Tides

CHAPTER 18--Valeno

Valeno studied the painting of Wyrdynn, noting his skin a shade darker than any other vampire, the missing fang failing to protrude from his upper right lip, the strange flinty cast to his hooded eyes, the way his long hair that was a dark caramel blonde, tumbled about his shoulders and thought a strange thought.

He looks like a werewolf.

If you took away the second set of fangs that showed in his smile and darkened his hair and skin a bit, he would've looked very similar to Valeno. Which was strange. But also cool.

"Hello, Big Brother," Valeno whispered, reaching to brush his hand along the paint that made up the god's brow.

Valeno had never considered himself a spiritual person. The supposed Ancestors that were rumored to whisper to some of his kin had never spoken to him. And if they really were looking out for their mortal relatives, then why had Valeno's life been so shitty? Why hadn't some benevolent spirit taken all his pain away with one sweep of its ethereal arm?

Valeno had thought it was a load of shit.

Until now.

Because now, standing in the Hall of Gods, built by vampires, standing in front of a painting of a vampire god, Valeno had never felt closer to his supposed Ancestors. It was like he could almost hear them whispering.

A cold breeze stirred the still air of the Hall, and Valeno spun around, sure the gust of air had come from somebody opening the thick silver plated doors at the front of the cathedral. But the doors were shut and the wind died down as fast as it had come. Strange.

Moving to the altar, Valeno took the decorated ceremonial knife that was resting there and gripped it in his fist. Going back to Wyrdynn's alcove, he held his hand over the bowl that was meant to hold offerings to the god. Sliding the blade of the knife across his open palm, he let a few drops of blood plink into the stone dish.

"Tehk mi lihf-cora un domic d'hehv."

Take my blood as your own.

Wiping the blade clean on his pant leg, Valeno returned the knife to its spot and squeezed his fingers shut over his slit palm. His tongue felt weird. He hadn't spoken in his ancestral language since he was four and had been formally brought into the pack. Turning from the altar, Valeno strode from the Hall, feeling to all the world like he had given more than blood into that bowl.

Valeno tore a strip from one of the curtains to bind his hand with as he walked along, wondering where the throne room was. Wondering where he even was in this vast labyrinth that was called a palace. He had come out into a corridor lined with windows and benches beneath them, billowy curtains hanging before each vertical pane of glass. It was a piece of one of these curtains that now bound Valeno's hand, and the expense of his wrap almost had him laughing.

Cassin was going to kill him.

What had traversed in the Hall of Gods, Valeno refused to think about. He was not going crazy. But that had seemed like the best result for what he had done. Spilling blood for a vampire god.

So he refused to think about it, instead thinking about how he was going to find his way anywhere in this huge building. 

"Where am I?" he muttered to himself, turning a corner and leaving the curtain-hall behind him. It was time to find a servant.

Around his next corner, Valeno almost ran into one as she carried a duster, hurrying somewhere that Valeno didn't know about, most likely. Putting on his most friendly face which, when he looked in a mirror later, was not very friendly at all, Valeno tapped the vampire on the shoulder.