Tomorrow's Shadow - Part II - Transitions Read online

  ~ Power Shift ~

  Stefano paused, momentarily nonplussed. When he spoke, his voice sounded strained. “Sire, Odessa, please, come have a seat so we may talk.” As the couple were getting comfortable on one of the settees by the fireplace, Stefano looked over his shoulder to his partner and chylde. “Gerik, please go get Viktor.”

  “Yes, my heart.” Gerik left through the door to the kitchens.

  “What do you need Viktor for?”  Vargon narrowed his eyes, a sure sign of his rising anger.

  “A moment Sire, please.”

  Viktor stepped into the great hall followed by Gerik as Vargon repeated his request. “Once again, what do you need Viktor for?”

  Stefano stood near the opening in the fireplace, his attention completely on his sire. “Viktor is family, sir. He is not just a manservant or friend, I trust him completely when it comes to the Keep, indeed all affairs at Haven. And I seek him out frequently for his deep wisdom. I wish him to hear this.”

  Viktor cleared his throat. “I am here, Master Stefano.” His face showed no emotion while his mind was in chaos. Family?  He considers me family?

  Stefano glanced over his shoulder and smiled at Viktor, then turned back. His voice was softer now, more submissive in tone. “I’m sorry for having you wait, Sire. I just felt it was necessary. Please, tell me again why you have come.”

  Vargon calmed at his chylde’s changed attitude. “It is time for you to be Prince. I am easily tired; trying to stay in touch with my territory is beyond just inconvenient with my leg.”

  Stefano flinched, knowing the fire was responsible for the injury to Vargon’s leg. Kindred can survive much and retain appearance and vitality. Fire, however, changes the playing field. “Father, I am sorry, I don’t know how…”

  Vargon held up his hand, silencing his son. “I know this. I know you did not intend the fire. I realize your anger was out of control.” His voice rose in volume gradually as he spoke. “ We both know what happened that night. If Viktor hadn’t reacted and sheltered us, neither of us would be here. And that act almost claimed his life. There is no reason for constant apologies. They do not undo what has happened.” He relaxed some as Odessa placed a hand on his. “They do not bring back my strength. So please, no more. Let it go. I have forgiven you. You must forgive yourself.”

  Stefano nodded, wiping a tear from his face. “Understood, Father. Then I am more than a trifle confused. I only remember the lessons on becoming prince after the current one was no more. On how the first chylde has first claim, but others may try to take it, and may win it over.” He stopped, hesitating to ask the next question. “Sire… Father… are you… are you going to die?”

  Vargon folded his hands with index fingers steepled. He tapped them slowly against his lips in thought. Finally he lowered his hands and raised his eyes to his son. For the first time to Stefano’s knowledge, Vargon’s eyes shone with sorrow and regret.  

  “No. There is another way to become Prince. It is called the Rite Of Passage, a ceremony where a Prince can abdicate his territory, his influence, and his power to another. I didn’t mention it because in my own pride I was sure it could never apply to me.” He laughed with remorse. “It seems I was mistaken. But know and accept, chylde of my heart, I do this willingly, knowing that all I give to you will be in solid, stable hands. You have grown beyond what I had believed possible at that grievous time. You are strong, my chylde. As you have said, you have Viktor at the ready. And with Gerik at your side I do not worry. Besides… selfishly I wish to see you as a Prince. I am proud of you, Stefano.”

  Stefano nodded slowly then turned to look at his manservant. He spoke gently. “Viktor, a house brandy, please.”

  “Yes, Master Stefano.”

  “Odessa and I will each take one also.”

  “Yes, m’Lord Vargon.”

  “And me, if I may.” added Gerik.

  “Of course, m’Lord Gerik.”

  Viktor delivered the drinks in short order, serving Stefano last. As he started for the bar, Stefano briefly touched his shoulder, bring him to a halt.

  “‘Master Stefano’. You have called me this all week. My friend, you knew of father’s decision.” It was not a question.

  Viktor turned to face him. “Yes, m’Lord.”

  “This is why you have been on the edge of the knife all week.”

  “Yes, m’Lord.”

  “And you kept it quiet because my sire wished it so.”

  Viktor raised a brow. “Yes, m’Lord.” His tone was as if that fact was a given.

  Stefano smiled warmly. “You are a treasure to be valued, Viktor. Your devotion to my sire is to be commended and applauded.” Stefano’s voice cracked as he finished. “And I am very proud to call you friend.”

  Viktor bowed slightly, his face still an unreadable mask, though his eyes were a bit more moist than usual. “Thank you, Master Stefano.” With that he returned to his post at the bar.

  Stefano took a sip of his drink and turned to Vargon. “My Sire, my Prince, what is it I need to know?”

  “There are several regions, camps, and kumpania within my territory. Each of these must be visited regularly. Any visiting kindred who comes within the territory for any reason must seek you out. If you are not within that area, they must keep their visit short – typically less than four nights. If you are present, they must request an audience with you. As Prince, it is your responsibility to be available for them to come to you. “

  Stefano nodded slowly.” I understand regions. Haven and this island is a region. But I do not know a difference between a camp and a kumpania, as the latter is just Romanian for camp. A camp is where you and I met. All live in wagons, unless they wish to set a tent. It is a temporary place but unless they are removed, they stay in that one place. “

  “Very good. Those in a kumpania also live in wagons, but they are travelers, nomads, never in one place long. They seek to see all they can in a lifetime. And they only speak Rom-Gypsy. “

  “I haven't spoken Rom-Gypsy in years, m’Lord. “

  “Then I suggest you refresh yourself. A Prince must speak the language of the people with whom he visits. “

  “How will I learn where each place is?  I have never seen you with a map of any sorts. “

  Vargon removed a key from around his neck and tossed it across the room. “Viktor, would you bring the tome?”

  Viktor caught the key and stepped to the end of the bar. He opened the drawer at the far end to withdraw an ancient looking bound manual. He reverently carried it to Vargon, and handed it to him gently, along with the silver key on its delicate leather thread.

  Vargon looked up at Stefano who still stood to the side of the fireplace. “This chronicles those who have been Prince of your island. For each it lists the lands they held and their location. The territory of Haven’s princes has changed numerous times – gaining land, losing land.” He turned through the pages as he spoke, stopping at the first blank sheet. “Here you will record your time as Prince. Places within my … your territory, when you visit them. You will record any chylde,” he paused to glance at Gerik briefly then continued, “the time and place you bring them over, and of course your justifications.”

  “Justifications, my Prince?”

  “A prince must always give cause for any chylde he brings into the realms of kindred life. It has been this way for ages, you shall continue the tradition. This is true of any chylde taken before the title of prince is gained.”

  “Of course, my Lord Prince. Please continue.”

  Vargon closed the tome and signaled Viktor to come take it. After releasing the book his eyes went back to his chylde. “In the ‘Rite of Passage’ you shall kneel before me, and listen closely as you are charged with the safety of your territory. You shall answer each question asked with honesty and respect. At one point in the ceremony you will be asked to offer your blood. You shall allow me to drink. Then you shall drink from me.”
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  Stefano stepped a little to the side and sat slowly in another chair. He drank the last of his brandy then glanced up as Viktor appeared at his side to take the glass. He turned back to his sire and nodded his head in understanding.

  Gerik silently stepped behind the chair and laid a hand on Stefano’s shoulder.

  Vargon looked between the men, his expression unreadable except for the small flash of red in his eyes. “Each land, kumpania, and camp will have a representative present for the ceremony. Each representative is your voice and your authority while you are away. Although you will have the right to change who is representing each place, I strongly recommend you keep them as they are. Any representative of a prince receives his position after severe testing. Again, all this is chronicled in the Tome of  Haven. Do you understand all you have been told this night?  I realize there is much you must learn and master, but again, I have faith in your ability. If I did not, we would not be having this conversation.”

  “No, my Sire. I believe I understand the gravity of this situation and shall spend time in careful meditation over it all. Should I have any questions on the morrow or next, will you still be here?  And when is the ‘Rite of Passage’?  I assume not soon if we are to wait for the representatives to be present.”

  “Odessa and I are returning to our camp on the morrow. Since the Rite of Passage is done only during wolfmoon, I shall be back two nights prior. The following evening your representatives arrive. If you have no other questions, it has been a long journey – my wife and I wish to feed before the next sun.”

  “None, Father. I am honored beyond measure. I love you, my lord Vargon.”

  Vargon stood. “And I love you, chylde of my heart.” He offered his hand to Odessa. After she had taken his hand and stood, he leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Are you ready, my love?”

  “In a moment, dearest.” She released Vargon’s hand and stepped over to Stefano, who rose as she neared him. “Chylde of our sire, do not doubt our love for you. Vargon will be ever present should you come to great need. You will become prince, but he shall remain your sire. And I his wife. And as long as either of us live you can expect us to visit to hear of your adventures as prince.” She leaned up and brushed his cheek with the merest whisper of a kiss, then turned and stepped back to Vargon. “Let us go. I am famished.”

  Vargon laughed, the sound of distant thunder. “Then let us go, my heart. Chylde, think on these things. You can refuse to take my place if you so decide. I do not believe you shall, but you do have the right.” Before they left, he took the thin leather strand and key from Viktor then tossed it to Stefano. “This is now yours. See that you care for it as you would your own life.”

  Stefano caught the key as his eyes shone pure ebony. “I shall, Sire. Have an evening of peace. Should I not see you afore you depart on the morrow, know my heart goes with you. Always.”

  Vargon smiled, then looked at Odessa as they walked to the door and left the Keep.

  Viktor visibly relaxed before he spoke. “If you need nothing else, Master Stefano, I shall retire for the night. I have much to begin setting in place come the sun.”

  Stefano bowed his head. “Of course, my friend. May your dreams be joyful and light. I shall see you on the morrow.” He waited until Viktor was gone then turned to Gerik. He pulled him close and crushed his lips in a kiss. When they finished he held up the key. “I need to see something. Come.”

  Gerik followed him and watched as Stefano unlocked the drawer at the end of the bar. “Are you sure you wish to know?  Unless it is not your turning that you are so eager to read.”

  Stefano gently laid the book on the bar and paged through it, seeking the entry of the night he became kindred. “It is. And yes, I am sure. If justification is recorded, I shall know it.” He stopped as he ran his finger down a page. He found the passage and began reading.

  “On the twelfth night of my stay in the Tyesh gypsy camp, I met a young man who had recently lost his wife and son. His heart was torn with intense grief, but it was not the grief that drew me. The lad emits great masculinity and strength of character. His eyes are deep pools of dark waters, he carries himself with grace, even during this time. His presence brought forth desires to finally take a chylde; desires that have been long buried.” Stefano paused, his mind racing. ‘Finally take a chylde’?  It sounds like I was his first. He has always said it, but that cannot be right, can it?

  “We walked for a while and he spoke of his pain. I became certain that walking in shadow could ease his burden; I had no doubt he was to be my chylde. There was no struggle, no hint of fear when I stepped behind him and kissed his neck. After he was brought across, his sorrow remained but lessened. He seems eager to learn. I have found a joy in him. My heart dances when I look into his eyes, at last I have a chylde, a son.” He stopped reading, unable to slow the flurry of thoughts flooding mind. I was his first chylde. His first. How can I be his first?  He has been vampire – been kindred for centuries. And he never had a chylde before me?  And now I have treated him like a diseased mortal. Like I care not for him. How am I supposed to face him again?   By the stars, the rights ceremony!  I cannot go through with the ceremony. But if I am not present, I will hurt him more than I have already. What am I to do?  Fates protect me, I do not know what to do!

  “Stef. Stef, are you alright?  Stef . . . please, speak to me.” Gerik grasped Stefano's shoulders. “What is it?  What did you read?”

  Stefano shivered. I cannot speak all that is written, not even to Gerik. Not yet. His eyes fogged over as he spoke; his voice was soft and muddled with confusion. “The rest is in Rom-Gypsy … I need to refresh my knowledge of the dialect before I can finish reading. I cannot understand most of the words. His meaning is clouded. I need to refresh the language in my mind.” Stefano slowly closed the book, pulled open the drawer and slipped the tome in. He then locked the drawer and turned to his chylde. His eyes glowed with unshed sorrow as he choked out his words. “Gerik, he speaks of me with unbridled compassion. Yet I have fought him and shown lack of respect. I have treated him bitterly. And worst, I almost killed him!”  He visibly wilted as tears begin to flow. “What have I done? . . . What have I done?”  He stepped forward into his lover’s arms as his grief overwhelmed him.

  Gerik embraced him tightly, silently, as Stefano wept on his shoulder.