Blood Possession (26 page)

“Good,” Nachari responded. He took a deep breath. “Once Napolean is under, Kagen will need to…drain his life force—ensure that he actually flat lines—so that Ademordna will be compelled to leave his body.”

“Excuse me?” Nathaniel asked hesitantly. “As in—”

Nachari held up his hand to stop Nathaniel’s question before he lost his momentum. He needed to get this all out—finish explaining the plan—before he lost his nerve. “Brother, a possession spell requires a physical death in order to transfer a soul: Ademordna took possession of Napolean at the exact moment his previous host died, and it will require Napolean’s brief death to cast him out. The dark lord cannot remain in an expired body.”

Kagen cleared his throat, the expression on his face one of grave concern: “You realize we are more or less talking about
killing our king
in order to force his possessor out of his body. Some might consider that sedition. If something were to go wrong…” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

“In a sense, yes,” Nachari responded, “but you will bring him right back to life so quickly that there will never be any real danger of losing him.” He narrowed his gaze and held it steady. “Napolean is immortal—an ancient vampire. It will take far more than a temporary…loss of blood…to end his existence.” He eyed each of his brothers in turn, staring deep into their eyes to convey his conviction. “Our king’s…lack of sentience…will be temporary and short, I assure you.”

Niko Durciak stepped forward, cleared his throat, and added, “Ademordna will leave the instant Napolean flat-lines.” His voice was firm and unwavering. “We would never propose such a thing if there was any doubt.”

“Okay,” Marquis said, sounding somewhat dubious, “so how do we keep Ademordna from jumping right back into Napolean’s body once we revive him?” He glanced around the circle. “And what is to stop him from possessing someone else?”

Nachari placed a hand on Marquis’s shoulder. “You guys don’t. I do.”

“How?” Nathaniel asked, rolling his shoulders to relieve some tension. His brow was creased in a frown, and his midnight-black eyes reflected a host of unanswered questioned.

Nachari glanced from Niko to Jankiel, and the latter nodded his head in encouragement. “I will be there to meet the dark lord the moment he is forced from Napolean’s body.” Nachari’s next words were clipped with an uncharacteristic staccato—probably because he was straining so hard to just spit them out. “I will do whatever I must to keep Ademordna from re-entering our Sovereign’s body. And as for possessing someone else? He can’t. The spell was specific to Napolean. It takes a tremendous amount of blood—not to mention sacrifice—to procure the sanction of a deity in an act of Possession: The Dark Ones have not paid for another soul, nor have they had time to conjure another spell.” He tried to force a half-hearted smile in an effort to reassure his family. “Once Ademordna realizes that Napolean is protected—that our king is no longer vulnerable—he will do what is natural for him, return to the Valley of Death and Shadows.”

A hushed silence fell upon the group.

After several minutes had passed, Nathaniel shifted his weight from one foot to another, kicked up a divot of grass with the steel toe of his boot, and slowly raised his head to stare at Nachari. “What aren’t you telling us, little brother?” There was no trace of malice in his words, only concern. “As far as I know, you are an impressive wizard, but even you cannot consort openly with deities, nor can you see or talk to ghosts—at least, not last I checked. So how then do you plan to protect Napolean from a dark lord?”

When Marquis eyed him sideways, and Kagen raised his eyebrows, Nachari knew they were finally catching on. He swallowed a lump in his throat and briefly closed his eyes—the moment of truth had arrived. “You’re right. I exist in the realm of the living, while Ademordna exists in the realm of the dead—it takes a spirit to confront a spirit—and that is why Kagen will need to drain my life force…before he drains Napolean’s.”

Nathaniel frowned, and—as if such a thing were even possible—his dark, ebony eyes grew even darker. A hint of red rimmed his pupils. “Come again?” His voice was clipped.

Jankiel stepped in then. “Nachari has to…cross over before Napolean does. He has to already be there—waiting on the other side—when Ademordna exits Napolean’s body.”

“He has to buy Napolean some time,” Niko explained.

Marquis laughed—a humorless, wicked sound. When he spoke, a low growl edged his throat, and his jaw tightened. “You mean Nachari has to
die
long before Napolean does, and if you intend to bring him back to life—and I presume you are at least planning to humor us with such an attempt—Nachari’s resurrection is to occur significantly
after
Napolean’s. Unless, of course, my youngest brother is lost somewhere in the netherworld, tangled up with a demon lord.” Leave it to Marquis to go straight to the heart of the matter.

Nachari ignored the sarcasm, recognizing it for what it was: a defense meant to deflect Marquis’s concern…for him. “I fully intend to come back, brother,” Nachari assured him. “Trust me, I have no desire to leave the earth right now, but our king’s survival is far too critical: You know this to be true. When Ademordna steps out of Napolean’s body, someone has to be there to prevent Napolean from being—”

“And why does that someone have to be you?” Nathaniel interjected tersely. His eyes were a full crimson red now, and the tips of his fangs had extended toward his bottom lip—which was also pulled back in a snarl. “I can’t believe you are going to actually stand here and ask Kagen—your brother and my twin—to
kill
you, Nachari? To live with the consequences should you not make it back? Forgive me for asking, but are you insane?”

Nachari sighed. “Nathaniel…please…do not do this. Not now. Do not make this any harder than it already is.”

“Why you?” Marquis demanded. He fisted his left hand tightly over his right—which was still gloved in an ancient cestus—causing blood to seep from his palm where the spikes bit into his skin.

Nachari concentrated on keeping his voice both respectful and calm: “Because I am a Master Wizard, Marquis. I am trained in second sight, and I have knowledge of both worlds. Not to mention, I also have possession of the Blood Canon—the ancient book of Black Magic—and I’ve read it from front to back. I know more about the dark lords than any of you.” He rubbed his temples. “Even if I don’t understand them, at least I recognize how sorcerers like Salvatore think—I see the intention behind their spells, the machinations beyond the darkness, the laws that govern the misuse of their power.” Before Marquis could respond, he turned to face Nathaniel. “And to answer your question, brother, perhaps it is insane, but it is also the only way. We all know that the dark lord will not relinquish Napolean’s body, just walk away and leave it behind, unless he is forced to do so. And he will not be forced to do so unless Napolean is truly—
and permanently
—dead. Would you let that happen, Nathaniel? Would you, Marquis?”

Marquis grinded his teeth together and then absently licked a trail of blood from the palm of his wounded hand. “But your death,” he snarled, “this is acceptable?” He muttered something unintelligible beneath his breath.

Nachari shook his head. He understood that emotions were running high for all of them. “I won’t die, Marquis.” He quickly turned to look at Kagen, whose normally handsome face had turned gaunt. “I am hoping that this excellent healer will be able to sustain my body while I am…gone.”

Kagen looked distressed. Clearly disliking Nachari’s pitiful attempt at levity, he said, “Don’t make light of this, Nachari.”

Nachari placed a gentle hand on Kagen’s shoulder. “I’m not, brother.
Trust me
. All I’m asking is that you keep me on life support while my soul travels. Maintain my heartbeat and provide oxygen to my brain…no matter how long it takes.” He tightened his grasp. “You can’t resurrect me immediately—like you will Napolean—but that is only because my soul will not be available to reanimate my body; however, there is no reason why you cannot revive my body as soon as possible and keep it alive until my soul returns.”

All three of his brothers became deathly quiet, and he knew that they were considering the facts—measuring the numerous possibilities, weighing each eventuality carefully in their minds, and he could only hope that none would be willing—let alone able—to risk Napolean’s life. Simply put, they could not let Napolean die. No one could justify such a cowardly choice. Napolean Mondragon was the pulse —the very heartbeat—of the house of Jadon. And he had no successor. His
destiny
had finally come
after twenty-eight hundred years
, which meant that a true heir to Napolean’s throne was less than one moon away from being born—an heir who would share Napolean’s memories and powers, an heir who would intervene with the gods on behalf of the Vampyr.

They simply had to save Napolean.

The implications of his loss were too epic to even put into words.

And he knew all of his brothers understood this.

Nathaniel eventually spoke first, and when he did, his voice was a velvet whisper on the wind: “You cannot guarantee that you will merely go to the brink of death and return, can you, Nachari? The truth is, we may actually lose you…forever.”

Nachari exhaled slowly, unaware until that moment that he had even been holding his breath. “Yes, Nathaniel. There is always a chance I might not make it back.”

As if it were too much effort to remain standing, Kagen squatted down. He looked up at Niko and Jankiel then, regarding each wizard in turn. “Is this really necessary, wizards?”

Both vampires nodded, but it was Niko who spoke: “It is, Kagen.”

Nathaniel squatted down next to Kagen, his movement both graceful and predatory. He stopped when they were eye to eye. “I share your fears, my brother, but we must consider this carefully.”

Marquis’s eyes flashed red. “Fine. Then I will go in Nachari’s place.”

“With all due respect, Marquis,” Niko spoke hesitantly, “the battle we must wage is one of light versus dark…wizardry versus sorcery.” He kept his gaze respectfully averted downward and swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he avoided the Ancient Master Warrior’s penetrating stare. “We are not talking about a battle of strength and agility—one warrior’s skill pitted against another’s. We are talking about doing battle with a dark lord.”

Marquis Silivasi grunted and gestured angrily with his bloody hand. “And there is absolutely no way for one of us to confront this demon without dying first?”

“It will take a spirit to confront a spirit,” Niko answered softy. He turned to offer a hand to Kagen, and when the healer accepted it, he helped him up. “Help us do this, Master Healer,” Niko implored. “Please.”

Kagen brought the back of his hand up to his eyes and let his head fall forward, struggling to restrain his emotion. He took a slow, deep breath and said, “I’m sorry: I cannot.”

When he started to walk away, Niko and Jankiel gawked in disbelief and then stared pointedly at Nachari with a look of desperation in their eyes.

“Kagen,” Nachari called, “healer…please, come back.” When Kagen refused to turn around, he spoke to his back. “I don’t want to die, brother”—his voice was heavy with conviction—“but I will do this thing with or without you.” He lowered his voice then and whispered, “My chances are far better with you.”

Kagen turned around slowly, and the look of defeat on his face made Nachari’s stomach turn over in waves.

The truth had been spoken…aloud.

Nachari would risk his life to save Napolean, and no one could stop him.

He would fight like hell to survive, but there was no guarantee that he would.

Marquis rubbed the bridge of his nose, appearing suddenly weary as opposed to enraged. He took several steps back and stared at Nachari blankly, his eyes deflecting light like primordial stone. When he finally spoke, his voice was as vacant and hollow as an empty vessel. It was as if he had buried all emotion inside of a tomb. “I have not yet given you my blessing, Nachari.” There was an implied threat of pulling rank in his words. “Nathaniel? Kagen? What say you each?”

Kagen shrugged and threw up his hands as if to say,
I surrender
. “Above all else, I am a healer for our people. I will help to subdue Napolean. I will even assist in draining his blood until he flat-lines, with the intention of bringing him back to life. And yes, I will do the same for Nachari: I will pump air into my brother’s lungs and circulate it to his brain while he fights in spirit for our king.” He stared at all three wizards, each one in turn, regretfully shaking his head. “But do not ask me to take part in the decision. This, I will not do.”

Nathaniel’s broad chest rose and fell with deliberate slowness. “We are brothers—always—but first, we are subjects, loyal to our king. I will ask this only once, Nachari, and I insist that you speak the gods’ honest truth:
Is there any other way
?”

Nachari thought long and hard before answering. When he finally spoke, he did it with strength and conviction. “No, there is not.”

Nathaniel stepped forward and pulled Nachari into a hard, unyielding embrace. He brushed the top of his head with a kiss so light it was almost indiscernible.
You are loved
, he whispered in his mind. “Go forth with my blessing.”

“Thank you,” Nachari said, nearly choking on the raw emotion. He turned to face Marquis then, and the look in the proud warrior’s eyes almost shattered his resolve. If he could have knelt before his eldest sibling, pledged his loyalty, and promised to live a long, healthy life, he would have done it—just to erase the grief in Marquis’s eyes.

But he could not make such a promise.

And so he waited…

Marquis gripped both of Nachari’s shoulders and paused to consider his next words carefully. “I will also allow you to do this thing, but know this, little brother: If you die, I will never forgive you. Remember that.”

Nachari recoiled, gasping. “Dear gods, Marquis…don’t say that. Don’t—”