- TMK -

Lisaveht clutched the brim of her felt hat against the high breeze. Careful to keep the shadow against her skin, she peered over the spire’s guardrail. From the tower, Lisaveht saw the checkerboard green of a thousand miles of farmland carved into the Sair basin. Between those rectangular patches were dust clouds kicked up by herds of Denagan steers. To the west, Mount Ryak cut the heavens as a single peak guarding the farmlands from Saluja’s cold desert.

           

A cirrus roar exploded. A pair of bullethawks ejected a stream of teal cirrus gas above the spire. The hammer-shaped gliders whirled about, nosediving and pitching in a commotion of canvas and turquoise.

           

Lisaveht grinned, following the bullethawks as they made their mark across the clouds. She took a deep breath and savored the clean scent of the high air.

           

For now, it was the closest she’d get to making her own mark across the sky.

           

As the Imperial patrol made another pass, Lisaveht craned her neck to follow them. A second later, she felt the unmistakable sear of the sun against her skin. She recoiled, covering the red patch on the back of her neck with the hat’s shadow.

           

“Careful now, little Vampire,” an Imperial constable walked to her. The black-haired human wetted a handkerchief with his canteen, handing it to Lisaveht. “Are you alright?”

           

“Yes–thank you…” Lisaveht took the handkerchief, wetting her neck.

           

The constable followed her gaze to the twirling bullethawks. “Fancy gliders, little Vampire?”

           

“A bit,” Lisaveht said timidly.

           

“I was a pilot in Lysander’s war, you know. Flew all over Harralheim,” the constable said as Lisaveht returned the handkerchief. “Takes a lot of discipline. A lot of skill. Most of all, it takes a lot of schooling.”

           

Lisaveht’s crimson eyes opened wide. “I was just–”

           

“Calm, little Vampire. I’m not going to turn you in to the preceptor,” the green-eyed constable said with a wide smile. “I skipped school more than you back in the day. Got quite a few beatings for it. But it led me to the skies. Understand?”

           

Lisaveht looked at her feet, ashamed. “I see.”

           

“What’s your name?”

           

She looked up at the black-haired Human and said, “Lisaveht.”

           

“Well, Lisaveht, if you ever want to join me, I suggest you get back to the preceptor as soon as you can.”

           

“Yes, Sir.”

           

Lisaveht pushed her hat forward, not wanting to show the anxiety on her face. She darted for the spiral staircase that led into the spire’s interior. Inside was a bevy of shops and docking bays made for every conceivable airship. Each was honeycombed into the spiraling, crisscrossing network of staircases that led from the ground lobby to the twelfth level. Clockwork elevators ushered people around the colossal structure that echoed with hissing vapor, squeaking gears, and shopkeepers’ pitches.

           

As an elevator to the lobby filled with a mob of more black-haired humans, Lisaveht jumped onboard. She squeezed herself into the crowd.

           

“Watch it!” someone said as Lisaveht’s hat crumpled against the mass of bodies.

           

“Sorry,” Lisaveht removed her hat, revealing a braided ponytail of colorless hair. Some disgusted grunts arose as her hat came off, but most people were wary of airing their prejudices in public. That was one of the good things about the Empire. The Empress took away free speech and with it their choice for prejudice. Such things would not do in an Empire with dreams of world conquest. All served the crimson star. People, at least in public, kept their mouths shut about how they felt about Vampires or other minorities.Children were a different story.

           

Like their parents, most were content to live and let live. Those that were not drove Lisaveht to hide in the spire. They were the children who hated what they didn’t understand. And in the Empire, Vampires were the minority of the minority. So, like many cultures reviled in a foreign land, the Vampires of the Empire banded together. Only, they banded together into the cartel. As the cartel grew, so did misconceptions about Lisaveht and her kind.

           

But worse were not those misconceptions. It was that they were true. Those truths were why Ghozai brought his family from Gwenryth. They wanted to get away from living in the cesspools of the world.

           

For Lisaveht though, the disgusted gazes of Saironian provincials were testament to how stepping into the light burned. So, when the elevator reached the base of the spire, Lisaveht nearly leapt through the doors. Once in the lobby, her hat found its way on her head once more. She nervously tightened her chinstrap as she darted through the throngs of the spire. At the bronze-plated doorway, she burst onto the streets of Denagan.

           

She was met by the familiar stink of manure and wet cowhide. After all, Denagan was the ranching capital of the Empire. Cattle, goats, mares, or yrak--it made no difference. The pastureland at the base of Mount Ryak was rich and the Sair basin fertile. Thus, slaughterhouses and cheesemakers were the heart of this city. Nearly everyone worked in them or in their shadow. Including Ghozai.

           

That would be what he wanted for Lisaveht in time. Slaughter was one of the few businesses where a Vampire could thrive. Being stronger than the other races, Vampires could slaughter, skin, and carve a steer in record time. They had no problem with the mess and most managers turned a blind eye to a quart of missing blood here and there.

           

It was little wonder why slaughterhouses sought them like prized jewels among a nearly all-Human workforce.

           

Lisaveht, though, her thoughts always lay with the sky. The sky and the relentless dust of the Denagan afternoon. As she walked, Lisaveht passed steam carriages clambering across the stone paved roads. More vendors hawked their goods to potential customers in the nearby bazaars while constables stood guard.

           

Denagan should have been like any other Imperial city. But the streets were broad, made for herding dozens of side by side cattle. Old habits turned to tradition. So, the city rose into an urban sprawl meant more for cattle than men.

           

While that sprawl in turn became an impossibly large area for the local constabulary, it also provided some comfort in privacy. Houses in this city did not share walls like in Gwenryth, Treslynn, or Taulrenius. No, here the houses were actually spaced apart.  

           

That separation, however, was the only sense of individuality the homes kept. One after the other, they all shared the same square walled, triangle roof design. Simple, efficient, and cheap enough to replicate. These units were perfect to house a rapidly growing class of slaughterhouse workers and their families.

           

As the spire bells echoed over the city, a lump formed in Lisaveht’s throat. What she thought was going to be a quick detour from class ended up lasting longer than class itself. Like always, her daydreams had delivered her to another of preceptor Maktre’s canings. The canings didn’t bother her. Not physically. She was a Vampire, of course. A little elf swatting at her with a stick was akin to egging a rhino. It was the shame of the caning she hated. Just more proof to the Humans of what she was.

           

At the spire, though, Lisaveht had tasted the sky. No caning nor insult could cheapen that moment. Even better, this day she no longer had to return to school. For the time being, Zharia and Ghozai would be none the wiser.

           

That in mind, Lisaveht quickened her stride through Denagan. She passed more bazaars, slaughterhouses, and row upon row of identical houses on her way. Every now and again, a frigate would sail overhead, casting a brief shadow over her. As each went by, Lisaveht counted as many planks as she could on the airship’s hulls before they floated away. Lisaveht tried doing something similar with clouds, but this was a challenging way of passing the time. She was getting good at it, too, almost being able to count nails and rivets too.

           

But as she turned a corner, something hard swept her feet from under her. Lisaveht tumbled to the street, striking her chin against the paving stones. A second later, she felt her chinstrap digging into her skin while her hat was ripped away.

 

Then everything burned.

           

Her face grew pink and the red patch on her neck blistered. Panic took hold as pink skin turned red and Lisaveht clawed for any bit of shadow she could find. Finally, she took refuge by the wall of a nearby house. The cool shadow soothed her skin as the burns slowly began to heal. As she caught her breath, a chorus of laughter filled her ears.

           

She turned her red eyes to the street where Cantrec was waiting for her. With him were two smaller, dustier boys. However, there was no doubt Cantrec was in charge. He was a head taller than the other Humans in Lisaveht’s class on account of his early puberty. Lisaveht could smell it on him–the acrid stench of sweat and overactive pheromones.

           

“Where you gonna run, little tick?” the auburn-haired Cantrec taunted her. He waved the hat ripped from Lisaveht’s chin. “Can’t go very far without this.”

           

“Leave me alone, Cantrec!” Lisaveht shouted, hoping a passerby would hear.

           

“Like you left school today?” the boy to Cantrec’s right sneered. “Because of you, Maktre gave us all demerits.”

           

“Ticks like you always ruin things for the rest of us,” Cantrec said. “Just because the slaughterhouses use you like maggots, you think you can do anything you want.”

           

Lisaveht clutched the wooden wall of the house, splintering the boards with her inhuman strength. She followed by ripping a board out of the wall, brandishing the plank like a club.

           

While Cantrec’s companions backed away, the tall boy grinned.

           

“Think I’m scared of you?”

           

Lisaveht screamed, hurling the board at the boy. Cantrec was fast though, dodging the plank without a second thought.

           

“My turn,” Cantrec said, fumbling for an item in his pocket. In his hand unfolded a compact mirror.

           

Lisaveht’s eyes widened as Cantrec turned the mirror on her. A ray of reflected light scorched her cheek as she crumpled into a ball, pulling her baggy robe over her head.

           

Cantrec laughed. “Oh, what? Playing turtle now, little tick?”

           

Lisaveht breathed heavily. She rubbed the blistered skin on her face. There had to be a way out of here. Cantrec and the other two weren’t that smart. She could outrun them easily. She only needed a distraction.

           

Before Lisaveht could act, a dull crunch sounded against her back and molded a throbbing bruise. She pulled back her hood as a stone collided with her face, breaking the blood vessels in her nose.

           

“More rocks, boys!” Cantrec jeered.

           

Lisaveht stood, bearing her fangs at them as her eyes flushed orange. 

           

“Careful!” Cantrec angled the mirror threateningly. “It’s the rocks or the light, little tick.”

           

A laughter erupted from his companions as they pelted Lisaveht with any stone available. Tears welled in her eyes as she turned around, letting her back absorb the flying rocks. More bruises spotted her back as tears mixed with blood. Insults swirled around her while the boys cackled.

           

And Lisaveht prayed to Atam, if the god was listening at all, to make it stop. Tears became sobs and more stones flew. Rocks bounced off her skull and shoulder and Cantrec’s voice stung her ears.

           

Until it didn’t.

           

Because their laughter became screams. Cantrec yelped and the stones stopped flying. Confused, Lisaveht whirled around to find a juvenile Salamander looming over the trio, its reptilian fist dripping with blood. She found where the Salamander had bloodied its fist, one of Cantrec’s companions clutching a gushing nose.

           

“Ah, the tick and the cricket chomp. Never thought I’d see the day,” Cantrec sneered.

           

“Go home, to your bottle popper dad, Cantrec,” the Salamander replied.

           

“What did you say?” Cantrec’s sneer turned into a glare, the boy’s pale face growing redder than Lisaveht’s.

           

The Salamander took a step forward. “Go away.”

           

Cantrec jolted forward before common sense kicked in. Big as Cantrec was, he was nothing compared to the Salamander. To the juvenile, Cantrec was a head shorter with half as much mass. To top it off, the Salamander had spiked teeth and claws in its arsenal. Even if the three boys dogpiled the Salamander, he’d throw them across the street like the rocks they’d hurled at Lisaveht.

           

“Go ahead, cricket eater. Lay a hand on me and my father will turn you into a boot.”

           

The Salamander showed his reptilian grin.

           

“I’ll give you one thing, Salamanders aren’t picky. Crickets, beef, Humans, it’s all meat to us. So, before your drunken shit stain of a father comes anywhere near me, I’ll have strung you up like a steer.” The Salamander opened his fist, black claws gleaming in the sun. “Won’t even need a knife to open your throat. And when I’ve drained all your blood into a bucket, I’ll hand it over to Lisaveht, while I eat what’s left.”

           

One of the boys tugged on Cantrec’s sleeve. “Cantrec…”

           

“Oh, if you think it’ll just be Cantrec, you’ve got an unpleasant surprise coming. Small shits like you will be my dessert.”

           

“Cantrec, let’s go,” the boy clutching his nose said.

           

Cantrec glared at the boy, finally relenting. “Next time.”

           

The Salamander waved to the boys as they scurried off. “I’ll be waiting.”

           

The Salamander scooped the hat Cantrec dropped in the scuffle. Patting off the dust, he wobbled to Lisaveht and extended his hand.

           

“Thanks, Joron,” Lisaveht said with a sniffle.

           

Joron’s second eyelids flicked over his slit irises. “You ok?”

             

“Yeah. Nothing that won’t heal before I get home.” She pointed to her nose, the bruise already fading. “Perks of being a Vampire.”

           

“Yeah well…” Joron shook his monitor-lizard head. “That’s why they don’t like you. One of the reasons. Maktre, too.”

           

“Was it that bad in class?”

           

“Maktre was as red as you are when he found out you left.”

           

Lisaveht gazed at her feet. “I’m sorry.”

           

“It’s fine.” Joron pat her on the back with an oversized hand. “Maktre would’ve found any excuse to demerit us. Makes him look good to the head preceptor. You know, whipping all us unruly Vampires and Salamanders in shape.”

           

“I guess.”

           

“You shouldn’t take that from Cantrec, you know. You could crack his head open if you wanted. Him and those two little turds.”

           

“Joron, let’s…” Lisaveht sighed. “Let’s just go home.”

           

“I’m just saying you don’t have to take this from them.”

           

“Please, I want to go home.”

           

Joron’s nostrils flared as the Salamander breathed heavily. “Ok. Come on. Let’s walk slowly though. Don’t want your mom seeing those tears and thinking it was me.”

           

At that, Lisaveht flashed her toothy Vampiric smile. “Thank you.”