Visus Verus Volume 1 Page 8

  Not yet ready to celebrate, Noir became focused on climbing up the stairs on all fours. The wizardry he’d just used had doubled the nausea caused by his recent alcohol abuse. On reaching the top step, Noir discovered that Silence's door had been left open. Shadows danced across the wall in Noir's line of sight. He crawled closer, propping himself up with the bedroom doorframe.

  The dim light of the streetlamps shining through the lightly netted window projected shadows from Silence's resting body onto the bedroom's grey wall. There were three silhouettes; one was unrecognisable and much larger than the others. Noir noticed that one of them was in fact his own shadow and the other was of course Silence's. The shadows fought, fumbling across the wall like wild apes. Noir watched for a while, laughing at his shadow’s attempt to overpower its giant enemy, while Silence's shadow rolled around, writhing in what looked like pain. When he’d had his fill of the dreaming shadow-fiend’s nightmarish shadow puppet display, Noir took his leave and entered his bathroom, taking a drunken knee before the grubby cast iron toilet. He lifted the seat and pushed two fingers deep down his throat.

  Lawrez lay sleeping in a bed large enough to make him seem of average size. His favourite song woke him as it played through the speakers of his phone. The werewolf reached his gargantuan arm from under his Egyptian cotton duvet and grasped the minuscule phone that had disturbed his sleep. On the screen a picture of Noir blinked in the darkness.

  “It's not even seven o'clock, Noir. What do you want?” asked Lawrez, vocally displaying groggy irritation.

  “Hello, Noir. How are you doing? How was your night?” slurred Noir, somewhere on the other side of the phone.

  “You’re drunk!”

  “I am.”

  “Remember there's a council meeting later.”

  “That's why I'm calling. I won't be over to collect the taxes, I'm sending my P.A.”

  “Your P.A? Is this really why you’ve woken me?”

  “I want you to introduce him to Jasper and explain the wolves to him. He's a bit fresh.”

  “Goodnight, Noir!”

  Noir slipped his phone back into his pocket and punched the code into the security panel of a large tower block that he had found himself swaying outside. Entering the block, he slammed the door behind him and stumbled to an elevator. Noir took a key fob out of the right chest pocket of his jacket and placed it on the reader on the elevator’s control panel. He smiled widely as the lift doors opened, and while he rode the elevator to the top floor, he thought about the incident with his keys, and made a mental note to install something similar at home. The lift doors opened once more to a mansion-like, open-plan apartment. The walls were two floors high, painted with intricate swirls of purple and silver. The stunning apartment was half-modern, half-antique, as if decorated by an elderly billionaire and his twenty-something-year-old girlfriend.

  The pure onyx-tiled floor beautifully complemented the fifteen-foot, aged mahogany bed, as did the chrome kitchen suite with ash marble tops in the far corner of the room.

  Stepping out of the elevator and into the luxury mansion/studio flat, Noir peeled off his very lived-in clothes and slipped into the foaming Jacuzzi, conveniently placed between the doors and the bed. He washed for a while, then took one of the towelling robes from a stand next to the jacuzzi and made his way to the bed, where lay a tall, slender woman. She had auburn hair, white, silken skin and the beauty of God’s broken mould, and she lay asleep, wrapped in an eiderdown duvet. Noir threw himself onto the bed and pulled as much of the duvet as he could from under the slumbering beauty. Regaining his breath from the struggle, he gave her a kiss and rolled onto his belly. The woman opened one eye and gave a disapproving pout as she violently pushed Noir out of the bed with her large but delicate feet.

  “Brush your teeth!” exclaimed the woman in a cute but grumpy voice, as Noir used the side of the bed to pull himself up.

  “I love you too, Char,” replied Noir as he made his way to the bathroom.

  Chapter Three

  Amber flames danced over white-hot coals, causing the darkness to fade in and out as the light washed over the ancient clay-stone walls, like moonlight caught in the sea’s tide. A shimmer was borrowed from the flickering firepit. It gleamed across the polished ebony coffin that sat elevated against the rear wall. Beneath the coffin was a platform and before the platform lay a deep red carpet, which circled the firepit forever burning in the centre of the subterranean room. The carpet began at the third step down from the giant bronze doors, set firmly into the wall adjacent to the glimmering coffin. The doors were solid and as ancient as the earth they were under. Each door had been smelted long ago and was riddled with calligraphy in a forgotten language. The bronze doors hovered over the seemingly invisible black marble floor as they crept open.

  A man with skin as white and as soft as a snowflake gently floating in the winter’s brisk air, elegantly strode through the doorway. His wing-tipped boots made no sound as they touched down upon the marble. The man didn't have a long stride, the pleats in his trousers barely bowed as he took each step. His movement was swift. He rapidly drew closer to the effervescent light of the undying fire pit.

  The diamond encrusted wedding band of intricate design that rested upon his scarlet cravat, sparkled brightly, piercing the surrounding darkness with immaculate thin beams of white light. The man reached the coffin and gently pried it open with his delicate slender hands. Ashel lay lifeless in the red velvet-lined coffin, with his cheeks sunken and deep dark bags under his eyes.

  “Please do awaken, my Liege,” said the man courteously. Ashel opened his eyes but remained still. The man removed a small notebook from his tailored suit jacket and flicked through the pages while Ashel stared blankly into the darkness.

  “Wyll, my friend,” said the dormant king.

  “Yes, your Majesty?”

  “Do you think I could… court a human?”

  It wasn’t uncommon for a vampire to pair with a human. As long as the vampire could control their bloodlust the human would serve as a companion, a renewable source of nutrition and a warm body in the burning light of day. Although most vampires wouldn’t marry or date a human, for their short-lived lives proved to cause too much heartache. That was, if the human refused to be turned into a vampire before their imminent demise.

  “Of course you could, Sire.”

  “But what of the day? It’s turning dawn soon and I shall be resting, all while she wakes and lives in the light of day. Our worlds do not coincide.”

  “That’s nonsense, my Liege! My husband is human. They may be weak, feeble even, but they adapt and adjust with ease, to pursue the fleeting feeling of happiness.”

  “I guess you’re right, Wyll.”

  “Is that all, Sire?”

  “Yes. What was it you wanted?”

  “Sho is waiting for you. He says it’s important.”

  “Humans!” scoffed Ashel, “Must they always conduct business so early in the day?” Ashel leapt out of his coffin and led Wyll out of his room. The two entered a hall that mirrored the grave nature of the king’s dreary bedroom. The hall seemed to stretch out infinitely, there was no way to see the end, there was only the light of the small oil lamps on either side of the many bronze doors set equally down the endless hall. If the vampires had walked at a worldly pace, it would have taken them over half an hour to reach the office where Sho had been patiently waiting, but luckily for the king’s guest, the two vampires reached him in the blink of an eye. Wyll and Ashel appeared in front of Sho without notice, as he licked the sticky part of a large brown sheet of Rizla that he had been carefully rolling.

  “Oh, how I miss my respiratory system! I have heard the herb you smoke has become quite potent, due to scientific advancement,” laughed Wyll, sniffing the air and falling into a reminiscent state. Sho took no note of the king’s advisor.

  Instead, he rested his spliff on the large marble desk that he had been sitting at for a moment too long and checked the tim
e on his watch. This annoyed Wyll but brought a humorous smirk to Ashel’s face. Usually a human could never display such laidback conduct in front of the king. Usually a human would, by now, have had their carotid artery severed and would be enjoyed as a ‘short-lived’ snack. But Sho was no ordinary human, although his appearance was almost instantly forgettable upon chance encounter. The five-foot-six human of Persian decent belonged to a group of mortals that held the highest prestige amongst vampires and other supernatural beings.

  Sho was known as a herald, and only a select few humans held this title. It meant they were trusted. Sho was the vampire’s herald and was trusted to act as Ashel’s word in the sun, as well as overseeing the king’s London-based blood banks.

  “So, my friend, what’s so important you had to travel half a mile underground just to inform me?” asked Ashel. Sho remained emotionless, like a doctor relaying bad news to his late patient’s waiting parents.

  “We have a problem with the blood banks, Sire,” stated Sho professionally.

  “Have we been robbed?” asked the confused king.

  The blood banks being robbed was a common occurrence.

  From time to time some aspiring young vampire would go rogue and try to steal a human or two from the king’s personal reserve, but even a successful attempt wouldn’t be cause for Sho to address the king. The herald would usually have the vampire hunted down and executed minutes after the robbery.

  “No, Sire, much worse. It seems there has been an act of terrorism,” replied Sho.

  “Terrorism? Could it be the wolfpack?” asked Ashel.

  “It couldn’t be, my Liege. Our alliance with the wolves has never been stronger,” interjected Wyll.

  “Yet the wolves themselves are in a state of civil unrest. There’s nothing like a war to bring a pack of savages together,” laughed the half-serious king.

  “I'm afraid it's much worse than wolves, Sire,” stated Sho, his voice resonating with mortification.

  “Who else could it be?” asked Ashel. “The wizards are too disorganised, the warlocks wouldn’t dare, the witches rely on our trade and the zodiacs would have stormed our nation without restraint.” Sho took a breath.

  “I believe the attack was by dwarven design.”

  “That's impossible!” exclaimed wyll.

  “Not impossible... just improbable,” explained Sho.

  Ashel sat pondering, tapping his right pinkie against his temple, while he rolled the fingers of his left hand on the table. This carried on for a minute or so. Sho and Wyll both looked at the thoughtful king as he searched his ancient brain.

  “Rundeep,” said Ashel in a voice as tender as bruised flesh.

  “My Liege, I'm not sure I follow,” stated Wyll.

  “We took this Kingdom nearly ten thousand years ago. A witch helped us put out their light, and in the darkness, we slaughtered practically an entire race. My brother took pity on the lowest of the castes and pleaded with me to spare them. Back then he was softer, not as bloodthirsty as he is today. I allowed three families to live, the forging family Irongrasp, allowing them to build a new home, the farming family Claygrowth, so they could feed their people and the warrior family Rundeep, to protect them from the beasts that lived below. We sealed the families off in the Underverden and until now I had forgotten them.”

  Beneath the earth there was the Dwarvern Kingdom, where the small but mighty dwarves ruled a vast network of tunnels spread across the world. The dwarves’ duty and sole purpose for existence was to protect the earth from the threat below their home. Satan, in his youth, had created monstrous beings that devoured all they came across.

  Satan loved these creatures but saw there was no place for them on earth and so he made a place for them deep within the world, and to ensure they stayed in their place, he created the Dwarves.

  After many millennia of pushing back the beasts that they had come to call the Djevelen, the Dwarves eventually built a blockade solid enough to keep the beasts at bay, sending only the lower castes of warriors into the Djevelen's home. The only family of warriors to survive the depths of this place came to be known as the Rundeep clan and after centuries of training, they, like the Djevelen, came to know the Underverden as home.

  Chapter Four

  Silence’s bedroom walls were alive with a city's worth of silhouettes, which depicted a great battle between beasts and men. Silence tossed and turned as his dream played out around his dormant body. After a while an alarm sounded on his phone. The shadows rushed back into his body, leaving only his own silhouette standing over him. As his eyes opened, his shadow faded as if a dimmer switch had brightened the light of the room.

  Silence sat up and took the aggravatingly noisy phone in his hand, and after a few pokes and prods, the alarm stopped and the flashing light on the screen was replaced with a message:

  07:00 wake up.

  Breakfast in microwave.

  Bathe and be ready for 07:30

  Silence stared at the phone for a while. He thought he would be making his own decisions, but it seemed as though the phone had other plans for him. He shrugged off his crippling thought process and followed the phone’s instructions. Halfway through the full English breakfast that had been left for him, Silence stopped to wonder where Noir was. He hadn’t realised that the house was empty.

  It didn’t seem empty to him, the dust-riddled house looked as though it had been abandoned long ago, but at the same time felt as if it had an invisible family living in it. Perhaps it was just the creaky floorboards or the old pipes squeaking as water flowed from the boiler. Something felt odd to the shadow-fiend, like he was alone but not completely. After having a short but relaxing bath, Silence picked out one of the many outfits that were perfectly selected for him and made his way to the front door. He was five minutes ahead of schedule. Silence waited by the door for his phone to convey his next command.

  Impatiently playing with the door handle, his mind took control once again. He thought about the gnomes, how Noir would dress them and position them as workers. Silence felt as though he could relate, standing by the door the way he was, waiting to be put in his place. Noir had technically dressed him already. He thought about the room labelled wort-cunning, recalling the stench that seeped from under its door, and although the smell had made his nose twinge and eyes water slightly, it comforted him. Silence’s phone began to beep, bringing the door handle back into vision. Ending the phone’s alert with a decisive prod, he saw a message displayed on its screen:

  08:00 tax collection

  Meet Lawrez at Ealing village. You will be escorted to Jasper’s assembly point where you shall receive a briefcase.

  Deliver said briefcase to Kristophe Jarvie at the Boston Manor U.A.K. building, then await further instruction.

  The phone beeped again, replacing the message with a link:

  Begin Journey.

  Silence tapped the screen and a map loaded with his route clearly displayed, and although he didn’t like the thought of a phone dictating his life, Silence did like the simplicity of it. He opened the door and stepped out of the porch. It was a cloudy yet sunny day, the ground was still damp from the night’s rain and the frosted wind carried the damp fragrance only known to a winter in London. Silence stopped midway down the front garden path, where the patio was finished, and the gnomes were placed around another set of blueprints. The foreman gnome was pointing towards the corner of the patio, where a foundation for a bird house had been laid, while the worker gnomes stared at the blueprints through their lifeless clay eyes. Continuing his journey, Silence laughed. The thought that Noir had come home to make breakfast and rearrange his gnomes, as well as finish off his patio, tickled the shadow-fiend. He thought Noir was odd, but his eccentricity baffled him. How could he trust someone who showed no sign of sanity, let alone work for the man?

  After catching a couple of buses and taking a short walk, Silence reached the large viridian gates of the well-hidden gated community that was Ealing village. He
wasn't sure what to do next; there was no way to inform the occupants of his arrival. He looked around. Behind him was a very busy road, but other than that there was nothing, just a street like any other. As he turned back, a large and ferocious shadow stretched through the gates. It had the face of a wolf and its body was almost human. Silence’s worried eyes followed the shadow up to the feet of Lawrez, who was standing at the gates with a scowl of irritation fixed upon his face.

  “Oi,” snarled Lawrez. “For the third time, why are you here?”

  Silence stared for a second but could feel the anger rising from the werewolf’s shadow. He took out his phone and showed the message to Lawrez.

  “Noir sent me,” said Silence.

  “Ah, so you’re his P.A.”

  “It's a trial run.”

  “I'm sure it is,” laughed the behemoth of a man. “C'mon in then, I'm in a bit of a rush.”

  The viridian gates opened inwards and Silence followed Lawrez in his hurried path. All throughout the gated community, people as average looking as any plain-faced Londoner paused their daily routines to watch Lawrez lead the mysterious outsider through their contained village.

  “Welcome to London’s Alpha pack,” said Lawrez, taking an apple from a fruit stall owned by a very nosey elderly lady.

  “Alpha pack?”

  “Didn't Noir tell you?”

  “He just told me to collect taxes. Well, his phone told me.”

  Lawrez laughed between taking bites of the vibrant green apple.

  “I guess I’ll explain,” said Lawrez. “This small village is home to the most esteemed werewolves in London.”