The Blood Decanter (The Tales of Tartarus) Read online

  “And why are you showing me this, Tramos? Why do you come to me? Night after night. Why do you come?”

  Tramos stopped, and they each stood on a stone that rose from the misty waters. “Because I have told you. And I will tell you again. You are destined to be part of the blood ancestry. And I am destined to make you a part of it. And here, I am leading you into our world, to show you your heritage. You are mortal. I can only come to you in your dreams. But when you wake, you will remember. And I will come to you again.”

  There were the mornings when the demon had visited him. It was after nights of the dreams of darkness, when he would travel through barren wastelands fraught with meaninglessness. Traveling amongst stones – it was always amongst the same stones – as he would look at his arms, they would always appear translucent, as if he were not completely there, somehow. But each and every night, as they approached a giant, angry, sea, Darius could very clearly hear screaming coming from the sea.

  And it would always play out the same way. He would look up at Tramos, as his heart quickened. “What are those screams?” His question would always be the same. And during one of the dreams, Tramos would answer: “They are the screams of the lost souls.”

  And during a subsequent dream, Darius would ask the same question at the same point in the dream. But Tramos would have a different answer: “You do not want to be one of them, Darius. Remember what you hear. Keep it with you for eternity.”

  And the sky would turn violent, with winds roaring, black clouds racing across a virulent sky.

  And at that point, Darius would always awaken.

  The sunlight would finger its way through the curtains, brilliant and bright, bathing the room in light. But as he lay in bed, on the next morning, he saw the monster standing over him, looking down on him. All his vision would allow him to see was a silhouette of a powerful demon, horns rising from its head, heavy, deep breaths, and powerful, muscular shoulders and arms.

  All he could do was lie completely still. Frozen under his covers, hardly able to take a breath.

  The demon moved closer, and reached its arm over to Darius’ chest. “I have come for you.”

  Darius shuddered and took a deep breath.

  Tramos reached for the blanket, as Darius lay motionless and shivering.

  “It is time to do the deed…”

  And then the blanket was whipped away and tossed across the room, and Darius felt a chill in the air. His sweat dried almost instantly, and he felt a coldness that became more intense as the demon move closer to him, hovering over his body, his powerful arms reached around Darius’ small body, the roping muscle taught against his back. The demon pressed Darius’ head back on the pillow, as he sought his neck.

  Darius cried out as he felt the piercing on his neck, and the heat of his blood running downwards towards his chest. The demon drank, as Darius felt the room spin. He opened his eyes, looked over towards the window, and saw multiple square lights.

  Don’t look into my lights…you will certainly go mad.

  It was madness and isolation that Darius felt when the demon was in the room with him. The light from the window looked like a filter had been flung across the window, a strange, blue tint; tiny snippets of darkness permeated the room, as the crescendo built.

  Enter my chambers…take my hand and follow me. Do what is written, do what must be done…

  As the suckling continued, he closed his eyes, and saw rivers of blood, seeping across an uninviting sky. He thought at one point that he rose from the bed, but could not be certain. For he floated above dry carcasses and cracked muddy beaches in an unforgiving land, in unexplored and unfamiliar territory, looking down and seeing a sea covered by a swirling white mist. He could see the demon in a shadow, the beastly muscular profile, and then he felt the roping muscularity of the monster’s arms wrapping themselves around him.

  The sensation of being carried followed, and he opened his eyes, but all he saw was blackness. Utter and complete darkness. He held his hand in front of his face, but saw nothing. He listened for sounds in the noiseless black, but heard nothing.

  But he could still feel the power of the roping, muscular arms, holding him close and tight to the monstrous chest.

  Feel my arms, protecting you. Feel my power as it develops within you. Feel me in you…

  The arms fell away, and he was floating, feeling alone.

  Like in some seismic, extrasensory cosmic existence.

  But as he looked downwards, there was a pinpoint of light – far from where he was floating; it looked like a tiny star. For a moment, he floated above it, and as he gazed down upon the light, he noticed it growing larger; it expanded across, a tiny white beacon that grew, expanded and widened. Then he noticed that it was not the light that was expanding, but that he appeared to be floating down towards it. He drifted further downwards, yet there was never the sensation of falling, nor of distress or of a threat – just impenetrable isolation.

  And once the light expanded to a massive proportion, enveloping him like a dome; as he levitated towards it, the colors multiplied and stretched over where he was floating, and for some time, they were blurred. He thought he could make out shapes; lengthening dark orbs, floating and stretching before his eyes, until he was standing on the same stones he had been on in his dream.

  Tramos stood in front of him, with a smile beaming across his face. “You see, Darius? Do you appreciate what I have done for you now?”

  Darius looked downwards as the mist lifted. The water brightened and he saw the bodies. A mass grave, filled with the dead; all ages, male and female, their bodies bloodied and dirty, some limbs missing, others intact, but all eyes closed and faces expressionless.

  “There is no hope for them, Darius. But there is hope for you.”

  Darius looked up at Tramos. “How can you say that? That there isn’t hope for anyone?”

  Tramos led Darius over to a clearing at the edge of a forest that bordered the lake. He touched his shoulder. “There is hope for you, Darius, because now, when you wake up, you will be immortal. I have come to you, to transform you, because there is hope for you. You are now part of the bloodline. You were always meant to be part of this blood ancestry. And now you will be for eternity. There is no going back. It was as it always has been written. You were chosen – since before you were born.”

  “And what about them?” Darius gestured over to the lake.

  “You don’t want to wind up there, Darius. You don’t want to wind up lost in a mass grave, drowning in a barren seascape. It’s just one step from the anger of Hades.”

  And then Darius woke up in a pool of blood.

  The sheets were stained bright, crimson red, and the sun was shining through the curtains. He winced at the pain on his neck.

  He propped himself up on his elbows, and looked around the room. The demon was gone. No sign of anything, except for the blood. Did he dream of the assault?

  And then he looked down at the blood-stained sheets.

  He touched the sheets with his fingers. The blood was real.

  *****

  Outside the offices of The Astral, Douglas cowered and hunched over as a tall man with sandy brown hair swung open the door as the winds picked up in force. “You need to get in here, now!”

  Doug pleaded with wide eyes, pointing down the street. “There’s a young man lying in on the sidewalk down there! I think he is still alive!”

  The man craned his neck around the side of the building and looked down the street. “Ethan!” He ran towards the young man and knelt down next to the body. He looked back up and gestured over to Doug. “Get over here! I need your help!”

  Doug rushed over and picked up the young man’s feet, and the two carried the body inside the offices and slammed the door. They set the young man on the floor and then the tall man went to the door, clicked the lock, and peered through the blinds. Doug joined him and looked out the window as well.

  The white worm slithered down the opposi
te side of the street, now the length of a full city block, and several feet wide.

  “The worms come every night, just at sundown,” the man explained, as he rushed to a small break room behind a cluster of empty desks. He opened several cabinets and fished out a small, white towel, and ran it under the sink.

  “Anthony Peterson,” he said, extending his hand as he returned to the waiting area. He knelt down below the body and folded the towel into thirds, and laid it across the young man’s forehead. He placed his index finger on the side of the man’s throat and looked at his watch, and a few minutes later, looked up at Douglas.

  “I’m Douglas, sorry.” He looked up and out towards the window. The white worm had expanded further, the circumference reaching outwards halfway across the street. It pulsated and moved. Douglas gasped. “Are the people in there…alive?”

  Anthony joined Douglas next to the window, as Douglas stood, shaking his head, saying nothing. Douglas looked over at Anthony who moved back to check on the young man. “Those worms clean up everything,” Anthony said, as he checked the man’s pulse again. “They pretty much eat everything and cleanse the city for the next day.”

  “I…I just simply don’t understand this, Anthony. It sounds like a horror novel. Or Science Fiction, maybe.”

  Anthony nodded. “Yes, to you it probably does. But I have seen others who have crossed over, like you. Somehow, you got here. In this alternate reality. It looks the same as the world you are used to…only different. Somehow, you got here. And usually the ones who have just arrived don’t initially understand the way things work on this side.” Anthony took the towel and dabbed the young man’s face gently. “And for this man – Ethan here – we have to get him down below. And get him some medical attention.”

  “So you know him then.”

  “Yes,” Anthony said. “I rushed to his side because I know this man.”

  *****

  Anthony wasn’t the only one who knew the dying man on the sidewalk.

  Darius had also known the man who lay dying on the sidewalk next to Doug on Ponce de Leon. He remembered the young man, from his days in Miami, centuries after he dreamt of Tramos, and of the bodies. The young man had been a shopping partner, and there were days that he recalled long martini lunches; as the two laughed together, he could still see his tight cropped brown hair, the sunglasses which he always wore on his forehead, and how his eyes seemed so large, so brown and inquisitive. And as the young man would stare at Darius with lust in his eyes, while sipping on his martini in the bright afternoon sun, there always seemed to be a question even if a word was never spoken.

  Darius smiled, and brushed his hair behind his shoulder with his hand. “You know I am so happy that I transformed you, Ethan. You have so much joie de vivre…such a zest for life. Panache. That’s what I like about you.”

  Darius could tell that Ethan was smiling, even though the oversized martini glass concealed the lower half of his face.

  “And I invited you to this luncheon so I could review the blood ancestry with you. And I can explain to you our bloodline. You can meet those who have come before you, and you will meet two others today. Antoine and Delia. They are part of your bloodline.”

  Ethan nodded and smiled. “I trust you will let me dine with you alone later tonight?”

  Darius smiled at Ethan, and then looked upwards, over Ethan’s shoulder. Ethan set his drink down and looked around his shoulder.

  Darius beamed. “Antoine!”

  Antoine approached the table arm in arm with Delia. The contrast between the two was striking – Antoine tall, dark, dressed in a black pressed suit; and Delia, small, frail, aged. Her stark-white hair was tied back neatly in a bun, save the few strands at the crest of her forehead which had escaped. Antoine nodded at Ethan and the two joined the table. Darius rose from his seat and pulled out a chair for Delia, and Antoine flashed a bright, white smile at Ethan, whose mouth hung open and could not take his eyes off of Antoine.

  Darius noticed Ethan noticing Antoine, and smiled. Antoine shot Darius a glance and winked. As they took their seats, Antoine leaned over to Darius. “Interesting new catch,” he said, concealing his mouth with a cupped hand. “Interesting indeed.”

  Darius nodded. “Where’s Roberto?”

  Antoine didn’t answer as the waiter approached the table and took drink orders. Delia paid no attention to the subtle interactions between the men at the table (and, as she had been seated next to Ethan, she also did not notice his puppy dog eyes shifting between stares at Darius, and then Antoine, and then Darius again).

  Ethan ordered another martini, and Darius raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. Antoine smiled. And Delia got down to business. She extended her hand to Ethan.

  “Welcome to the family,” she said.

  The young man set his drink down and covered his mouth, giggling. “I…thank you…”

  Delia looked over at Darius. “Has Darius informed you as to why we are having this luncheon today?”

  Darius shook his head, and Antoine raised his eyes, looking over towards Darius, but did not move.

  “I see,” she said. And then she looking back at Ethan, who faced her, sitting forward, looking directly at her.

  Delia sat up straight in her chair and smoothed her blouse. “I am Delia. I am your maternal figure, if you may. I remember, years ago in Paris, when I knew Darius.” She looked over at Darius. “Do you remember? Certainly you do. Those days when I was in Vaudeville. Oh wow, were those days something!”

  Ethan’s eyes widened. “You did Vaudeville?”

  Delia nodded as the waiter set drinks down at the table. “Yes, I certainly did. I was a vixen. I used to wear bright red lipstick. When it first came to Paris.” Delia raised her chin, just a little, and lowered her eyelids, and smiled.

  Ethan chuckled and nodded. “I can see it! You were probably a knock-out back then, right, am I right?”

  Delia looked over at Ethan and smiled. “I still am.”

  Ethan took a sip of his fresh martini and, just after he swallowed, looked around the table. “So, is this our entire bloodline?”

  Darius looked over at Antoine as Delia sighed. “No, I’m afraid it isn’t.”

  Ethan’s face shifted. “I don’t…you’re afraid it isn’t? What does that mean?”

  Delia looked over at Antoine. “You care to fill him in, or should I?”

  Antoine shook his head and looked up to the sky for a moment, and then back around the table. He looked directly at Darius. “Darius, you are the reason why she is following me. She has a death wish against me.”

  Ethan sat motionless, and stared at Antoine and Darius.

  Delia shot a glance over at Darius. And then Antoine. “Both of you shush!” She pointed her index finger like a school teacher, and looked at Darius. “I did not create you to fight with your offspring like this!” And then she looked to Antoine. “And you, for all you have done lately…The Astral…the interviews with that ridiculous fat, old man…I would expect a little more panache from you! Both of you! It doesn’t matter who did what at this point. It’s time we told him about Claret!”

  Antoine and Darius both sat back in their chairs, and there was an awkward silence which lasted only a few seconds, but seemed like minutes. Ethan, as he took a sip of his martini, looked over at Darius, and then Antoine, and then Darius again. And then finally at Delia, who was shaking her head and scowling.

  She exhaled, exasperated. “Well then. I will explain the story myself.” She looked over at Ethan. “I told you that I was a Vaudeville performer in Paris. It was the late eighteen hundreds…Vaudeville had just started around then.”

  Ethan nodded.

  “Burlesque mainly,” Delia said, smirking as she took a sip of her wine, laughing into her glass.

  Darius rolled his eyes, as Antoine remained quiet.

  “Anyway,” she said. She placed her glass down. “There is a reason why we are selected for the mission that we are on. Why we have been select
ed for immortality. Just like you. And why Darius selected you.”

  Ethan smiled and his eyes widened, and looked over at Darius. “Why did you select me, Darius?”

  Darius shrugged.

  “Oh come on!” Antoine leaned forward, on his elbows. “I know why he selected Ethan. Isn’t it obvious?”

  Ethan smirked.

  Delia raised her eyebrows. She looked like a china doll as she replied, so quiet that she could barely be heard. “No, it isn’t quite obvious, Antoine. That’s why we are here. I called you all here so we could be on the same page. There is a rumor of a great threat to us, to our kind, and we must all be in unison to survive it.”

  A silence permeated the table, as the tone shifted.

  Antoine spoke first. “A threat?”

  Delia looked down at her wine. “It’s something I have been meaning to tell you. And, I know you thought this lunch was about you introducing Ethan to me, and bringing him to our bloodline, but this luncheon is really about us saving our lives.”

  Ethan’s mouth hung open, looking confused. Darius and Antoine spoke to each other, inaudibly, as Delia drew Ethan closer to her, as she whispered to him. “You don’t really know who I am, Ethan. Or why I am here. But they know.” She pointed at Antoine and Darius, waggled her finger, and they stopped, both looking at Delia.

  Delia placed her hands on the table, and looked downwards, then back up at the three men. “There is a man,” she said. “And he is thought…I want to repeat…thought to be on a mission to exterminate us. But I want to stop now and tell you – these are rumors. Simply rumors. I believe them to be untrue.”

  Darius interrupted. “Wait a minute. Who are you referring to?”

  Delia looked up at Darius. “A man in a hood. Very dark. Comes from the shadows.”

  Darius took a deep breath and looked down at his lap. His face shifted. “Shadow demons?”

  Antoine put his arm around Darius as if on instinct. “What is it, Darius?”

  Darius hung his head low. “I know about shadow demons.”

  Antoine looked Darius in the eyes. “Shadow demons? What happened to you, Darius?”