Legacy in Blood Page 11

  But she turned a deaf ear to him. Marisa tapped her fingers against the iron door then walked away and sank down onto one of the chairs.

  “I will find this bitch,” she insisted in a passionless voice.

  3.

  Nulles dies cessat ab aliqua re.

  No day passes by without some event.

  Dalana spent almost the entire day on her laptop browsing through the vastness of the World Wide Web. The internet, she supposed, was one of the very few things that truly called forth admiration in her. Besides, Dalana knew that the internet, just like any other invention of human genius, did not serve humans alone.

  Certain sites told her much that was interesting about Alexander Soigu. What, how much, when and with whom – the creators of the site ‘totalsleaze.ru’ enlightened their visitors on these questions in sufficient detail. Dalana deduced that Soigu pilfered expertly and with an eye to the future. Not at all like his counterparts did during the Russian economic collapse – they grabbed too much too quickly, and then they either sat on their laurels or were compelled to flee to another country in disgrace. No, to all appearances, Soigu left Russia for greener pastures, and he was in no hurry to sit on his laurels. It stood to reason that he also engaged in some entirely legal business ventures. As one caustic journalist put it, he was ‘on the take’. Soigu did not engage in financing the ‘color’ revolutions in former Soviet republics, he did not collect yachts or football clubs, and he was not a patron of the arts. He was never observed to have any disreputable associations with little boys. According to the website, there had been about twenty assassination attempts.

  The site ‘oligossip.net’ willingly confided ‘facts’ from the life of his wife, Stella Soigu, shameless romance novelist and apparent alcoholic, as well as the mother of Soigu’s only son. The writers on the site maintained that Stella was a permanent guest of the ‘Sacrament of Vice’, a club where devotees of sado-masochism and similar transgressions gathered. The mudslingers also maintained that the mole above Mrs. Soigu’s lip was fake. As well as many other parts of this celebrity’s body. About Alexander himself there was minimal information.

  On the site ‘famous-faces.com’ Dalana searched through a collection of Soigu’s photographs. The picture quality often left much to be desired, but Dalana suddenly caught herself thinking that there was something vaguely familiar in the tycoon’s face.

  Dalana still had to investigate the personal file of her future victim and ascertain why all the attempts of her predecessors had failed. Following that she needed to go on to the stage of shadowing her target.

  Browsing through sites, Dalana did not neglect the opportunity to search for any verifiable information on the mysterious organization by the name of CRUSS. But the attempt to fish useful data out of the usual internet trash was not successful – apparently the ‘crusaders’, as Dalana called them in her mind, were very skilled at suppressing even the smallest leak of information.

  The audio system that stood behind the computer desk was tuned to the station ‘Glamour FM’ and from early morning had been playing blandly melodious pop songs or, as the DJ put it ‘super hits of every time and country’. Dalana really did like the early songs of Michael Jackson, Madonna and Stevie Wonder, but on this day she was not listening to the station for aesthetic reasons. Today was the day she was supposed to be contacted by the client’s representative. It was his responsibility to give Dalana her advance – half of the agreed upon sun – and the dossier on the victim, Mr. Soigu. Apart from two or three rare exceptions, Dalana never met her clients, nor did they ever meet her. The role of middleman in such delicate matters always fell to certain unidentified individuals whom Dalana called ‘contacters.’ The methods according to which the contacters worked varied, but generally they were delineated by specific parameters.

  But this time everything had been so far from the normal routine that Dalana was almost one hundred percent certain that the contacter was not human. There had been too many innovative touches, which were not, in principle, typical for humans of this ilk. Dalana expected to find out soon if the contacter was a Begotten of Old, and who exactly this creature was.

  Dalana fluidly swayed in time with the beat of ‘New York, New York’ and wistfully thought about the fact that it would not be possible for her to return any time soon to this city favored so by Frank Sinatra. Although, who knows? In the end, the Earth is full of other, no less interesting places. Stockholm, for example…

  “Yes, everyone likes New York City,” said the DJ cheerfully, interrupting the last phrase of the song. “But I personally love Stockholm. Especially Fatburstrappan 18. If you’re in the area, a renowned architectural monument is located there – Soder Torn designed by the celebrated architect, Henning Larsen. Oh, how I love to stroll there around nine in the evening. Especially in the park beside the building.”

  Dalana turned off the stereo. Well then, now she knew both the time and place of the meeting. All that remained was to find out who had scheduled that meeting in such an eccentric way.

  The ‘architectural monument’ turned out to be just that; a magnificent, octagonal, 24 floor highrise shining in the northern night. She quickly sensed the prescence she’d come to meet in a dense group of trees..

  The contacter was waiting for her. After a moment the creature, which, of course, did not belong to the world of humans, furtively emerged from the darkness to meet Dalana.

  How did I not guess immediately? Dalana grinned at the sight of her old acquaintance. You and Art are two inseparable notions. I hail you, Star, Giver of Happiness and Good Fortune.

  And we hail you, Red Daughter, and we wish you long life, the creature answered politely.

  It came closer, revealing both its aspects to Dalana’s gaze. Being not just anthropomorphic, but also amorphous in the most straightforward sense of the word, the creature was remarkably strange looking. In her lifetime Dalana had seen the most diverse works of Mother Nature, but this formlessly cloudy mass that somehow had contours resembling a corpulent human body always called forth in her an intense interest that bordered on idolatry. The creature, which was now bringing her good tidings, bore a host of names and aliases. Not even Dalana knew what the true name of this strange, hermaphroditic something was. It was regarded as the architect of human fortune. In ancient times humans had called him Sulde, The Great Hare and Dzayan. Some simply called him Star or Lord Fate. In Dalana’s native lands, both humans and the Begotten of Old preferred to call it the Tengri of White Fortune. Dalana herself liked calling it Star, all the more so since by the turn of the third millennium this name had acquired a more profound sense that reflected the reality of modern fame and fortune. Only one thing was indisputable: a great future awaited the human who was touched by Star at his birth. That’s why the expression ‘marked for greatness’ was so apt – the Tengri of White Fortune put its mark on its chosen and in so doing gifted that human with the chance to distinguish himself from the rest. Humans who were marked by Star generally developed into creative personalities. Star’s gift could develop into almost anything – the talent of a painter, whose canvases sent the public into a flutter many centuries after his death, or a strong vocal range of five octaves, or a bright poetic talent, or a phenomenal flair for the sciences. Painters and musicians, natural philosophers and actors, writers, sculptors and film directors – all those justly called geniuses by mankind--once experienced Star’s touch. But the mark of Star was a coin with two sides. Star was an outlandish creature that carried within itself the essences of both a man and a woman. The female half of Star was capricious, impudent and somewhat extravagant. The male essence of Star, as the complete opposite, manifested as an infantile, unassertive, anxious man. Together they formed a synthesis, endowing Star with both the qualities of an organic whole and the two discrete essences. It is no wonder then that along with genius humans also received another legacy from Star: the constant internal strife of two completely contrary natures. This explained the patho
logical drive towards self-destruction, which, in varying degrees, all geniuses possessed, as well as unbalanced psyches and emotional instability, and a multitude of other flaws and taints.

  Humans were capable of a combination of the most remarkable antitheses, for example, genius and monstrosity. This monstrosity was often expressed in the guise of rare pathologies and megalomanias. Adolf Hitler, Napoleon Bonaparte, Alexander of Macedon – dictators from all epochs, thanks to Star, spent their lives at the juncture between genius and evil. They created Empires, and in so doing they killed millions. The great Beethoven created his musical masterpieces while deaf. A man, who received from Star the promise of a phenomenal talent for surgery, earned fame the world over under the name of Jack the Ripper. One way or another each of the ‘marked’ eventually had to pay for the Gift of Star.

  Nonetheless Star itself sincerely believed that it blessed these ‘remarkable’ humans with happiness and good fortune, and it did not doubt at all its own good intentions.

  This is an unexpected encounter, actually, Dalana continued her conversation with Star. By what fate are you here?

  How droll it is when people ask such questions of that which is Fate, declared the female essence of Star with a note of disdain.

  It’s a figure of speech, Dalana explained with a grin.

  Yes, we know, the male half of Star entered the dialogue. We were also surprised to be meeting with you. You never know what or who awaits you on the next sweep of a raging river.

  Why so much complexity? asked Dalana with a slight hint of displeasure. This could have all been arranged much more efficiently and quickly.

  We’re interested in real communion, said woman-Star laconically.

  We’re drawn to Life, and not to soulless electronics, added the masculine essence. As to all the rest, we haven’t been here in a long time.

  Both essences of Star gaped at the nighttime Stockholm that surrounded them. Dalana felt her patience wearing thin. There was no doubt about it – dealing with humans in certain situations was far simpler.

  This city is so splendid and so defenseless. It needs us, the feminine half of Star said pompously.

  Dalana knew quite well her predilection for pathos. The rhetorical gift that politicians usually received was definitely the purview of woman-Star.

  It was time, however, to get down to business.

  Are we doing this? Dalana asked.

  Vasilisa saw a mighty brick building in front of her with a solid front entrance and realized that she had finally found her way. Completely worn out, she had difficulty understanding how she could have successfully navigated such a long route and yet not fallen into the hands of the ‘specialists’.

  Having found herself in the bosom of the secret passageway that led straight to the garage, Vasilisa did not waste a second. She was not at all surprised to find a soldier in camouflage outside. Vasilisa killed him quickly and soundlessly. She simply burst out from under the opening garage door and, taking advantage of the boy’s confusion, knocked him off his feet, after which she tore out his throat in two bites. Realizing that every second counted, Vasilisa did not even pause to drink the blood of her victim. Leaving the corpse crumpled next to the garage, she sprinted at full speed towards the nearby forest belt.

  Disappearing into the underbrush, Vasilisa took a breath and tried to wipe the blood stains off her clothing. She was going to have to make her way into Stockholm by obscure paths, given the odds that at any train station the police would be waiting for her, having received operational briefings and her description. It now seemed to Vasilisa that pursuers loomed behind every tree.

  Vasilisa ran, then walked, then furtively crept from the forest across a road, and then once again ran. Sometimes she holed up, letting the endless stream of cars pass in front of her. Not a single human in her place, of course, could have withstood a similar steeplechase. However, not a single human could ever find himself in her place. But Vasilisa, who had not been a human for seven hundred thirty-six years, simply ran, walked and slinked forward, clenching her fangs. And she moved heaven and earth to escaped detection.

  Vasilisa tried not to think of what had become of her family. Assuring herself that all was well with her brother and sister, Vasilisa constantly repeated the address her sister gave her as if it was a mantra. Vasilisa growled, thinking about how she could most dearly lay down her life, should they suddenly catch her.

  But everything worked out. Her watch said that it was just after ten. Dirty and tired, Vasilisa dragged her feet, comforting herself that she was only a few meters from the building.

  The closest entrance turned out not to be the one she needed, and Vasilisa was heading for the next one when suddenly she smelled a repugnant odor, which was wafting from the half-open door.

  At that moment something dark bolted out the door at her and flipped her over onto the asphalt.

  Dalana saw the transmog from behind and immediately recognized her. Cranky and tired to the bone from of her recent meeting with Star, she experienced an influx of rage that the capricious girl had searched her out, but in the next moment she understood – something had happened. It was not a foolish girl’s whim; Vasilisa had grave problems. Judging by the waves of despair that her mind was transmitting, Vasilisa needed help. The rage within Dalana yielded to vexation. Why did this girl think she would help? Dalana resolved to connect to Vasilisa’s thoughts and send her on her way as soon as possible, but she did not have time to do so because a moment later a creature leaped from an open door and pushed the transmog over onto the ground. Then the creature scooped Vasilisa up into its arms and in a split second lugged her away back into the building.

  The Master, guessed Dalana. He had decided to dine on a hapless passerby. A fairly macabre death awaited the girl. Dalana imagined the fetid maw closing around Vasilisa’s throat. Beautiful and fresh, she was only a slab of meat to the voracious house spirit.

  And then Dalana – cursing herself and transmogs – dove into the building.

  Even in the stinking darkness Dalana could effortlessly discerned the other door that led into the basement. In three mighty leaps she traversed the requisite distance and landed on the back of the monster, just as he was about to tear into his prey. Dalana swung her fists forward, punching straight into the back of the monster’s head. His jaws went slack and the monster fell to the floor, overwhelmed by Dalana’s blow. Had a human been in his place, Dalana’s fists would have demolished his skull. But once he recovered from his momentary shock, the house spirit just grew more savage.

  Get out of the way! Dalana managed to shout at Vasilisa, who was half dead from terror.

  Then the monster lunged at Dalana with a wild roar. Surprisingly enough, Vasilisa displayed quick reflexes and sprang backwards to the opposite wall. Dalana met her opponent with two blows to its vile, scaled belly. Then with all her might she slammed her foot into the monster’s genitals. It howled from the pain and pressing both hands into its groin, it stooped over slightly, exposing its defenseless face to Dalana’s hands. With one swift moment Dalana deprived the monster of all four of its eyes – fortunately, she had enough fingers to do this all in one go. The blinded house spirit howled even louder and, to his misfortune, turned his back on Dalana. Without delay, Dalana wrapped her arms around the behemoth’s neck and broke his cervical vertebrae with a satisfying crunch. She released her embrace and the carcass of the domovoy collapsed onto the floor. The fiend was dead.

  Dalana stepped back, realizing that once again all her clothing was soiled with monster slime. She was convulsed with disgust.

  “Wh-what was that?” asked Vasilisa in a shaking voice. “S-some kind of-of troll?”

  “Do you have any matches?” asked Dalana, ignoring her question.

  “I-I don’t have any.” Vasilisa shook her head in despair.

  “Find a rock,” Dalana bid her.

  “What?” Vasilisa did not understand.

  “Any heavy object,” explained Dalana, t
rying not to raise her voice. “Find something and hit it against the floor. The floor here is stone. I need you to make sparks. Even just one.”

  “O-okay,” said Vasilisa and she started to search.

  In the meanwhile, the inhabitants of the apartment building were in an uproar. Several humans had cracked open the doors of their apartments in an attempt to identify the source of all the noise.

  “What is going on?” bawled an elderly lady, judging by her voice. “Oh, it smells so nasty, should I call the police?”

  “Didn’t I say the buzzer should be fixed?” some geezer answered her.

  “That’s it, I’m calling the police!” said the woman.

  “Make it quicker,” Dalana said to Vasilisa.

  “I found something!” the transmog announced joyfully. “Will a piece of piping do?”

  “Strike,” snapped Dalana.

  Vasilisa sat on her haunches, holding the rusty length of pipe out in front of her. Then she lifted up her arm and struck the floor. Just one small spark was produced alongside the crash of iron against stone, but that was enough for Dalana.

  I greet you, Gal, Master of Fire, Gentleman of the Flames, said Dalana.

  And at that very second the single spark of fire, scarcely perceptible to the eye, burst into a profusion of blazing light, like a firework, illuminating the dark cellar. Vasilisa dropped the length of pipe from surprise. The stamp of fear on her face gave way to wonder that bordered on worship. As far back as Dalana could remember, Gal, the Noyan or, as he was often called, the Khan of Fire, always summoned a primitive awe in humans. Many of the Begotten of Old also trembled in awe before him, for all were subject to fire. Or almost all.

  The Khan of the Fiery Elements preferred to appear to the world in his first-begotten guise, in the form of an imposing tongue of flame, the shape, size and color of which changed depending on Gal’s mood. The three other Khans of the Elements – Khalkhin, The Sovereign of the Wind; Tsagaan Ebugen, the Khan of the Earth, Protector of the crops; and Ukha Loson, Master of the Water Element – were also not anthropomorphic and commanded their appearance dependent upon the situation or their mood. However, humans who happened to meet Rulers of the Elements face to face often saw them differently. The Khan of Water seemed to them to be a magnificent dragon. The Noyan of the Earth was a gigantic serpent, and Gal was a fiery monstrosity with a blazing eye on the top of his head. The Khans could enchant with only their outside appearance. And so here now was Vasilisa, who had come face to face with the Essence of Fire: she was overcome, unable to tear her gaze away from the terrifying and yet simultaneously magnificent sight.