The Fifth Sun

By Crystal Carroll

In an alternative European renaissance, where princes keep vampires as servants, the British Isle has been split into two kingdoms. In the South, Queen Mary rules an England in turmoil. Fearful for her unborn child, she increasingly obeys the whispers of the stone mirror on her wall. While in the North, Queen Elizabeth juggles suitors, the undead and preventing the apocalypse.

Each night, Elizabeth dreams of the end of the world. Dreams she shares with four people scattered across Europe: a psychic lost in the present, an undead Crusader, an Aztec priestess and a teenage vampire. Elizabeth struggles to understand how she can save a world that's shaking itself apart. The question for these strangers is that world worth saving.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Crystal Carroll
• Release date: Oct 13, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301000784

Crystal Carroll

Crystal Carroll has been writing for as long as she can remember.Crystal has had a long fascination with mythology and folklore. Starting in fourth grade, when she read every book her local library had on Greek mythology, she has long been fascinated with the rhythm and beauty of religious traditions, mythology and folklore. During her years at the University of California at Santa Cruz, she dug deep into the field of literature with an emphasis on medieval literature with all it’s strange and quirky stories.Crystal balances writing privacy and security documentation during her day job and writing fiction during her off hours. Crystal’s fiction writing focuses on lyrical prose from the point of view of specific characters with an aim of letting the reader know what the world feels like for those characters.

Book preview

The Fifth Sun

By Crystal Carroll

Copyright © 2012 Crystal Carroll

All rights reserved.

Discover other books by Crystal Carroll at crystal-carroll.com

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter 1: Hail and Well Met

Elizabeth --- York, Rose Castle --- 22 years old

It was a sad but true fact that hunting vampires was frequently boring and often involved a great deal of sitting in cemeteries. Elizabeth sat on her camp chair throne. Her royal posterior had grown numb with sitting. God’s Teeth, this was dull. It was a threadbare tapestry of tedium. A milk-and-water feast of monotony. A plodding platitudinous affliction of repetition.

She couldn’t think of a word dull enough for what this was.

Elizabeth kicked her sandaled heels and waited for Dickon of Norfolk to wake up from the grave into which he‘d crept to sleep away the hours of daylight. He was a sluggard this vampire. A sluggard and a Spanish spy. Then again, he had had a very heavy meal of three people before his sleep. She wondered if he’d be a handsome spy, but such had never been her luck. Her brother-in-law, King Felipe, always sent such plain vampires to creep about her kingdom.

She adjusted the folds of her classique-style dress and her crescent moon French hood. It was bit chilly to be dressed as a Greek goddess, but that was a sacrifice that she was willing to make. Plus, the pearl bodice showed off her trim waist.

The moon rose in the sky and more nothing happened.

Elizabeth could actually feel her flesh becoming boring. Feel herself melting into the chair, which would be unfortunate since it was an heirloom. The chair Richard sat on the night before Bosworth. Before his son, Edward, received the sacred snuffling kiss of the White Boar of Scotland that made him the next Hunter King. The night before there was a joined Kingdom of York and Scotland with young Edward its confused ruler—the selfsame kingdom that Elizabeth now ruled as Hunter Queen, drawn out of English exile by the same snuffling unchallengeable choice.

That’s it, focus on interesting things. A battle where a twelve-year-old was blessed with the strength to wield his father’s axe like some steel butterfly and decide the fate of nations. She could imagine herself there, dressed like the prophetess Deborah, or perhaps as Queen Boadicea. Although, given that Edward had fought Elizabeth’s grandfather at Bosworth, there would be some question as to what side she’d be on. Also, there was the whole issue of time magics being inordinately dangerous, unstable, and the cause of extremely frizzy hair.

It was the year fifteen fifty-five and that was all there was for it. No time magics for the Queen. She was stuck here to the monotony of infinite tedium infinitum. Waiting.

Finally, hand pushed back the stone slab, followed by Dickon himself. He was not handsome.

She smiled at the collared vampire. Elizabeth said, Don’t you know that you should never keep a lady waiting? Dickon lunged at her. She slid fluidly to one side and kicked him in the arse. Dickon stumbled and turned around.

Tell me, she said, as she held up a glittering stake, does this weapon go with my outfit? She danced forward and snapped a sharp kick to Dickon’s head. She said, Don’t let the fact that I am about to kill you in any way interfere with your answer.

Bollocks, said Dickon, who turned on his dirty heel and fled.

She ran across the tiny graveyard and quickly cornered Dickon by the old rectory. Since you don’t like the stake, we’ll have to try something else. Elizabeth tossed the jeweled stake at Dickon’s head. As he flinched, she pulled out the French rapier that she wore baldric-style on her back. It had sentimental value.

It was also very sharp. Of course. Feint, kick, lunge, and Dickon crumpled to the ground in the moonlight less his head. Although, technically his head fell also. Tumbled and rolled to the feet of young James Merriweather, one of her pages, who goggled at Sir Reginald, the head of Elizabeth’s guards. The guards quickly dressed her kill. They ripped open what was left of Dickon’s shirt and broke open his ribcage with a bone saw. Elizabeth made herself watch as a guard pulled out her trophy, the dying demon worm that had animated the vampire’s withered heart.

Elizabeth accepted the thing and held it up to the cheers of the crowd that waited outside the church yard gates.

God bless and keep you, Your Majesty, called out one old woman.

As I have a Hunter’s body and heart, said Elizabeth, His blessings on us all.

Elizabeth handed her rapier and the worm back to a guard. She said as heartily as she could, God’s Teeth, I’m hungry. Don’t be standoffish, girl, hand me some chicken. One of her maids scurried forward with a chicken leg and a lace-trimmed napkin. Elizabeth ate and waved at the crowds.

Elizabeth tossed her chicken bone over the low fence and into the crowd. There was a quick scramble for possession of this hungry relic.

She glanced sidelong. Her head of Council, Sir Cecil, looked like he’d eaten the chicken bone. She shook her head. Oh, don’t hang back, my Spirit. What is it?

Cecil stepped out from behind a particularly dyspeptic angel. Your Majesty knows that I would never interfere in your sacred duties as the Hunter.

Piffle. Interference is your bread and butter. So? Was my style not like to Diana at the hunt? Was my justice not swift enough?

Cecil smiled, The safety of your kingdom lies between your two shoulders and in your heart. With portents pointing to some rising darkness, it was reckless to throw aside your weapon to make for a better show.

She decided not to remind him who was Queen here. She rather thought the crown gave it away. Yes, but my Lord of Council, Elizabeth leaned forward, I give a good show that my people might love me better, and she waved once more at the crowd, who had waited for hours to have a good spot to watch their Queen hunt a vampire.

Elizabeth waved and the crowd cheered. Elizabeth blew them a kiss and they cheered all the more. Elizabeth glanced at Cecil and gave him the wink, and for all that her Spirit tried not to, he smiled.

Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder and pitched her voice up to carry over the sound of a guard hammering the dead worm to the church door as a sort of warning. Men who seek to win me should not sit at home all day amongst the cinders but should, in time of peace, keep themselves employed in warlike exercise.

The men of her court glanced at one another. Murmured amongst themselves like so many doves.

She strolled to them, and her court parted before her. They awkwardly stumbled around graves. She walked over them. The dead wouldn’t mind. Or perhaps in some quest like in the days of old. There was a distinct murmur and Cecil turned a shade somewhat puce. She gave her winks to her suitors. Each in turn. Perhaps a ruby apple from the garden of Hesperides. Or a coat of Basilisk skin.

Kat, one of her ladies of the chamber, called out, My lady, that’s not the sort of quest I send gentlemen on. She laughed.

Blanche, another of her ladies, said, We all know where you’d send them questing. This set Kat to laughing all the more.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes at them. She waved to the huddled musicians. Enough with melancholy tunes. We would have a galliard. She looked around the graveyard. Her court grumbled. The crowd cheered.

Dancing, Your Majesty? asked Lord Heinrich, an emissary of the Emperor Charles of the Holy Roman Empire.

Yes, steps arranged to music. She spun on her toes.

Lord Heinrich made a good attempt and said, Your Majesty looks like a veritable angel.

Elizabeth said, I’d rather you said that I looked like a Prince, for it is by my princely seat and kingly throne wherein God has constituted me.

She jumped in a rustle of fabric, feeling for a moment like flying. Then she was down to earth again.

Your Majesty ... is ... as ... radiant as ... a sum- ... summer’s day, puffed the Duc de Montrachet, his plump face glistened under an unfortunately pink hat.

I could not possibly be more radiant than yourself, my Escargot, said Elizabeth as she spun away.

An excellent leap, Your Majesty, said Sir Christian as his feet skimmed an inch above the ground. If I may say, you are like a falcon in that dress.

However, unlike a falcon, I’ll not stoop, said Elizabeth as she spun away.

Sir Robert Merriweather jumped and spun. He showed off his quick, light steps. Your Majesty is particularly glowing this evening.

She said, Good sir, if you are trying to imply that I am rank with sweat, you have but to come out and say so.

Your Majesty is in a royal mood this evening, said Merriweather.

Then it is a good thing that I am royal, said Elizabeth and she spun away. Danced her court amongst the crosses to the cheers of the crowd. She hadn't a care in the world. Perhaps this night, she'd be too tired for dreams.

Itz --- Rome, Vatican --- Sunset

In her dream, Itz poled her flat-boat through the flower market. Walked the sun-warmed streets at midnight when the jasmine bloomed.

Climbed the temple stairs to the Magician’s Gate. She could still smell the sweet stench of burning hearts. She’d looked in the stone mirror and knew something important.

She woke in her Old World bed and felt the collar of the captor around her throat. It was marked with the seal of Suleiman to make her obey the one who wore the ring that went with the collar. But her mistress was hundreds of miles away.

She took a moment for herself. Itz climbed the narrow stairs to her attic shrine.

It was small. She’d been on the move since Cortez had sent her back on that first treasure ship. There were no windows. No hearts. No blood.

Never blood. Her gods were as hungry as she was, but they were dead. Had never even existed.

She took care not to feed them.

She lit a candle in front of a tiny statue of Coatlicue, mother of the gods. Itz’d been sworn to her once. Her teacher, Imex, had given the statue to her long ago when the time came for Itz to sacrifice Imex to the new fire.

This last longest night, it would have been Itz’s turn. Her time to keep the wheel spinning. But Itz was alive, and the world went on.

Foolish world.

Foolish Itz.

The light of the tallow candle glimmered wet on Coatlicue’s serpent head. On her belt of hands and hearts. The demon worm inside her heart whispered in the language of her childhood. Once she’d thought it the child of a god that sent blood straight from her lips to the hearts of the gods. Now she knew better.

She blew out the candle from her other life. Left the jade statue in the dark. A false idol. Itz belonged to the Queen of France now. Wore an iron collar to make her do a Queen’s bidding.

Brushed dreams aside. Her mistress had sent her to Rome with certain objectives. She went into her parlor where a few friends from previous visits waited. A slight Roman complimented her attire, Your codpiece is obscene. He glanced back at his own reflection and plucked at his hose. I wish I were so well dressed.

Itz’s clothing broke three sumptuary laws and at least one ecclesiastical law.

Itz said, It is a wonderful world that has such boots in it. They make me feel like dominating small city states, but then I tell myself not to settle for anything less than the desolation of empires.

An old woman with a grandmother’s curls laughed. She knew which empire Itz wanted desolate.

They fell to talking as friends do. Itz gave one friend a pouch to pay for wine to pour whispers on certain unloves. She gave another words to say as she lay with her patrons. Directions. Gossip. Itz listened too. Learned many interesting things.

What she learned sent her on a trip.

Itz stood in her doorway and took a deep breath that she did not need. Rome smelled like a city. All those warm unwashed bodies clustered together with their rotting fruit and meat and refuse. This morning, there had been a riot over grain supplies. The air still had a faint burnt smell. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a black winged butterfly make its way across the grey sky. She snapped open her sunshade, needed or not on this sullen grey day, and put fancies away.

The carriage rattled through Rome. The city smelled like despair. She breathed in deep and sighed when she arrived.

She climbed marble steps that were nothing like the pyramid in her dream. Men in red cassocks passed her. They fluttered. These men, these tall, silken conquerors.

Itz walked and men whispered. Whore. Demon. Mistress. Vampire. Words clung like a trail of perfume from heavy velvet and warmed flesh.

A nightingale sang or maybe it was a child crying. She imagined the child. Plump and juicy. She imagined the bird. Fragile bones that snapped. She imagined Rome burning and the world on fire. That might warm her up.

She walked deliberate and slow until she reached her destination.

She easily opened the heavy oak door. She was old, and she was strong, and ... she paused in the doorway, she was really quite vexed.

Her charge, ten year old Henri, the bitter apple of his mother’s Medici eye, spun like a top while wearing Itz’s favorite red dress.

The hem was filthy with mud. One sleeve torn. It hung loosely off the body of her new charge, the stone in her sack as his mother, Queen Catherine, threw them into the cesspool of Roman politics.

He flailed his arms as clerks clapped.

A clerk spotted her. He smiled nervously and said, Good evening, Mistress Itz. Didn’t even comment on her enormous codpiece.

Henri looked at Itz with dark, caustic boy’s eyes.

Itz shook her head. She had not asked for this.

A pretty mouthed cardinal licked his wet lips. Mistress Itz. He had the ear of the pope, stewed deep in his own petty wickedness, this pretty boy. He said, I’d hoped to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you. He offered her his hand.

She walked towards him in liquid slowness. And I you. She looked up at him. She looked up at all of them. These giant Europeans. But size really didn’t matter. She said softly so he’d have to bend, Did you know that I was a priestess in New Spain before it was New Spain.

Heh, like I’m a priest. He sucked on a winesack.

Not exactly. Itz smiled all her sharp teeth. I drank the blood offerings to my goddess, serpent-headed Coatlicue. Circled close enough to smell his rank breath. Punished the unclean. Prepared myself as a sacred, she brushed by him lightly, vessel.

Held his eyes. Hooked him on her string. Turned away. However, I think we’ve wasted enough of your time. She put her hand on Henri’s shoulder. Come along, Henri.

He looked at her mulishly. I don’t want to go.

A clerk giggled and then hiccupped. Lovely.

Itz did not waste time on a sigh. She picked up Henri and carried him from the room, which was hard to do with someone she wasn’t supposed to hurt. Like holding a serpent, but he had no idea where to strike.

He was however persistent. She loosened her grip when they came to the carriage and he wriggled away. Brat. Ran into the winding warren streets that ringed the Vatican.

Itz did sigh then. Not that he was difficult to follow. She knew the scent of his blood. But still, she had better things to do.

She caught up to him in a crooked street. Under a crooked building. He’d fallen and skinned his knee. He had stolen her heaviest dress. She said, Are you done?

He rubbed his leg. I don’t have to do what you say. Mother’s letter said that you have to love me and help me. But I don’t need your help.

Which seemed the cue to summon three men waving ill kept knives. She looked for signs that they were from any of a dozen factions that would wish to kill them.

They didn’t seem to belong to anyone. Unusual.

The tallest, a Pigpen Slob growled in a manner unsuited to this great city. Also, his belly rumbled. The summer and its harvests had never come this year. Itz tilted her head to look at her attackers. Victims. She had a bad habit of stress eating. Still, here they were.

Henri yelled, You’d better leave us alone. My Itz is going to rip your hearts out and eat them.

She reached out to grab the little idiot by the back of his collar, but Bloody Doublet grabbed Henri first. Held him by the neck and said, Move and I kill him. Give us your purses.

Henri squirmed and said, My Itz is going to kill you all. Chop your heads off and pull out your brains and walk on them. Really, where did he get these ideas.

Bloody Doublet shook Henri and said, Quiet.

Henri looked at her desperately. She shook her head slightly. She stepped a little closer to them. Let them feel their superior height and numbers.

Give us your gold, said Bloody Doublet. Pigpen Slob tensed to spring. Pretty Boy lunged.

They were so slow. Young and not getting any older as she struck blows that cracked bones. It was once considered an honor amongst her people to fight the chosen vessel of the Gods, but Itz no longer cared about willing hearts. She killed as calm as the maelstrom. Found herself surrounded by corpses. Pigpen Slob’s heart in her hand. Hot blood on her lips. She tossed the heart away with a wet smack.

She held out her non-bloody hand to Henri.

Henri took the bloody one. Bloodthirsty, children and Gods.

They left the bodies behind.

Itz gripped Henri’s hand firmly until they reached her carriage. Handed inside by servants. Blood glued them together. Realized that her fingers dug tight. She made herself let go. They lurched forward. I shall expect you to write an essay on Forethought by this evening.

Henri squirmed on his seat. She said, What were you trying to accomplish? Wearing my dress and going to the Vatican of all places.

Henri shrugged, his child’s chest thin in the low neckline of the dress. You didn’t say not to. And you’re wearing men’s clothes!

Itz looked at him thoughtfully. Yes, my men’s clothes. And when you are an adult, you can get your own dresses. However, that doesn’t answer my question. Why are you here?

Henri twitched in her favorite dress. I don’t want you here.

She tapped her fingers together. You asked your mother for a vampire for your birthday. She held out her hands. Here I am.

I wanted a vampire I could tell what to do. Not one that tells me what to do. He swung his legs back and forth.

Itz reached down to brush the filthy hem of his skirts. Her skirts. Their skirts. Your mother wants you where you can do her the most good. Do you even know where that is?

Henri glared at her. No! No one tells me anything. I’m not stupid!

Itz looked into his eyes. They burned like the sun. She didn’t shade herself. She said, Your mother, the dowager Queen of France, wants you to be made the Papal Legate to England.

His dress fell off one shoulder. Blood splattered over bruises from the men that she’d killed. Henri said, Why? What’s in England?

Itz straightened her dress on his shoulders. Flicked away the blood. Felipe, the King of Spain and the New World. The Queen of England is very pleased with her handsome young husband, Felipe. Since France is his enemy, we do not care for this situation.

Oh, said Henri, clearly not certain what he was supposed to do about it.

We shall go and create certain, situations, which it will be my pleasure to create. She offered another truth. You see, King Felipe’s great-grandfather, King Ferdinand, was my first master. I was one of the first treasures his conquistadors sent home.

Henri chewed on his lower lip. Unfortunate habit. He said, So you didn’t always wear a collar?

Itz said, No. When I was a priestess, no one owned me except my God.

Are you going to kill him? He scuffed his foot on the floor of the carriage. The King.

Itz smiled. We’ll see. Decided that what Henri needed was the clean, clear acid of honesty. I’d kill them all if I could. They laid waste to my people. I wish to return the favor.

Oh, said Henri. For the first time since she arrived, he looked interested. She really was going to have to kill Henri’s tutor when they got home. Clearly he had not been doing his job.

Itz smiled. Turned so that the light glinted off the points of her filed teeth. The jade plugs in her ears. My people believed that vampires were the memories of the gods. She gave him a sour smile. However, before your mother hands you a vampire as a toy, remember that it is our nature to forget nothing. She flicked her fingers at his skirts. We hold long grudges. She held up blood streaked fingers. So, let us make a deal. I will answer any question honestly, and you will think before acting.

Henri shrugged. He said, Tell me about that goddess you worshiped. She waited. He sighed. Please.

Since you ask so nicely. As they wheeled over the rough stones, she told stories.

Later, she killed the monster under Henri's bed, his tutor, and a young bullock. She wasn’t terribly hungry, but she felt the need for a snack. Stress eating. She would pray over it, but her gods were dead.

Guillaume --- Danzig --- 409 or 40 years old

The sputtering torches threw shadow monsters on the walls. Guillaume had crept over the bailey wall and in. He had a human face, but it was shadowed by the falling rain thundering down to the stones. It flashed white when the sky cracked with lightening curls.

His armor gleamed in the rips of light. An engraved iron collar round his neck. Long twisting spikes on his shoulders and arms. White hair plastered flat to his head, showed the shape of his skull. Pale, pale eyes.

He smashed a metal boot into an armsman’s face.

The bailey swarmed with men, who pushed to reach him. Tried to kill him. Maybe this time the slack-witted pignuts would succeed. But he doubted it.

He roared and the sky answered with a glitter of hail. A sweep of his sword and demon-dead muscles cut through armor and flesh. Bones and blood glinted in the snatches of light.

Men shouted over the thunder. Men died in the ice.

The black stones were slick with blood and rain and viscera. The sky was falling.

At last, the fight was over, and Guillaume stood alone in the dark space between the inner and outer castle walls. He contemplated his dead, their blood pooled on the stones, and he tapped his fingers on his collar.

Sheathed his sword. He climbed up the inner wall like it was a stroll in a garden. The weight of his armor

Reviews for The Fifth Sun

[madamediotte · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This novel could definitely use some editing, as there were numerous errors that tended to make things a bit confusing and took away from the story. The story itself, though bloody and disturbing at times, was fairly interesting. Not my typical novel, but it would probably appeal to fans of vampires.

[realalondra45 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

IN THE BEGUINING I WAS A LITTLE BORED AND DESCONCERTED, BUT AFTERWARDS I GOT IT!iS A STRONG DEPICTION OF LIFE IN A TIME CONTINUOUS WHICH IS WEIRD, LIKE THE CHARACTERS.A GOOD WAY OF PLAYING WITH THE LATELY KNOWN IDEA OF THE END OF THE WORLD BECAUSE THE 12-21-12 THING.SOME IRONIC HUMOR ALSO.INTERESTING VIEW.

[muddyboy · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

A little too much is going on in this book. It is an alternative history very loosely based on European and Aztec History in the 1500 and 1600s. The author adds vampires into the equation which is a little to much as it seems every author these days feels the need to get into the supernatural realm. It just doesn't work for me perhaps since I teach Western Civilization at a junior college. It might be fine for others.