Blood for the Snow: Light of Adua, #4

By Brien Feathers

No quarter given. No mercy shown. The war for the realm rages on with the second coming of the mad priest.

Commander Drake embarks on a reconnaissance mission to the Alaskan Dome. Scorching the frozen water from underneath, the Prince of Fire sails up the Noatak River with a Viking crew. Upon reaching the fallen fortress, however, he shall find not Constantine, but a courtesan in the dead of winter.

Treason amongst the High Council devastates Sasuke's armada at sea. Without ever reaching the arctic coastal plain, the fleet burns, adding a shade of evil orange to the northern lights of the night sky above.

Guardian Ana traverses the memories of the dead, seeking answers in the fallen realm. Discovering an unknown rule of magic, she sees, at last, what the Dark Queen wants.

Burrowing through the darkness, Reginald hears a Sayer speak. But having no voice to communicate, he'll have to bear the weight alone.

"Split the throne. Double the loss—full eclipse of the crescent moon. Son of darkness cries tears of black. The realm has already fallen."

The prophecy is spoken. Destiny is seen. And time depletes, forging forward to cataclysmic doom.  

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brien Feathers
• Release date: Jun 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9789919985431

Brien Feathers

Dark fantasy author, poet, screenwriter, and cat enthusiast living in the land of Mongols.

Book preview

Blood for the Snow

Light of Adua, Book 4

Brien Feathers

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Brien Feathers

Copyright © 2022 by Brien Feathers

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Contents

Houses of the Realms

Elders of High Council

Part One

1. The Courtesan

2. Blue Macaw

3. The Awakening

4. Red Widow

5. The Perfect Doll

6. Harm

7. Dragon Banner

8. Badger

9. The Prince

10. High Treason

11. Charade

12. Forest of Prayers

13. Honey Tea

14. Chesnue Tower

Part Two

15. The Feuding Djeds

16. Carnelian Stone

17. Sunshine

18. Good Hunting

19. Madam of New Orleans

20. Tea House of Yoshiwara

21. No Such Love

22. Old Friend

23. Legion

24. Armor

Part Three

25. Shooting Stars

26. A Silver Key

27. Lord Aten

28. Guardian of Light

29. Rules of Magic

30. Queen Keket

31. Black Tears

32. Nature of Magic

33. The Final Stop

34. Home Free

35. Improper

36. Goodnight

Names of the Dead

From the Author

Houses of the Realms

House of Mind, Ka- telepaths and telekinetics both belong here.

House of Strength, Djed- are shifters.

House of Death, Osairi- are necromancers, and are called Puppet Masters.

House of Soul, Suns- are empaths who read and evoke emotions.

House of Realm, Zhai- realm benders are teleporters.

House of Fire, Ignis- has an ability to ignite and manipulate fire.

House of Air, Aeria- can control airflow.

House of Mirrors, Kage- can cloak (make an object invisible), and project illusions.

House of Light, Hikari- a fallen House of healers and spell masters.

Elders of High Council

Ayasu Sasuke, a Creator from House of Mind, he’s a telepath with the ability to construct a telepathic arena to host a consciousness of another. Such a space is called a Cellar.

Giselle Lavigne, a teleporter from House of Realm. She’s the wife of Ayasu Sasuke.

Ayasu Drake, telekinetic from House of Mind, is the soul of the fire prince Lucretius Ignis.

Ayka Lenkov, a Whisperer from House of Mind, can issue a telepathic command to override human free will.

Souleymane son of Khan, also known as Souley, is a werewolf shifter of House of Strength.

Shen Zhao, the record keeper of the Council, is a shifter from House of Strength.

Dalila Sauda, an empath from House of Soul, can manipulate emotions in humans and Elders alike.

Marcus Annius Verus, House of Air, is the most powerful Aerian of the realm.

Collette Sugarbaker, House of Mirrors, is the only light bender to cloak through objects.

Kostya Kowalczyk of House of Mirrors is deceased, killed by Ayka Lenkov.

Crawford of House of Mirrors is deceased, killed by Ayasu Sasuke.

Nailah of House of Soul is deceased, killed by Ayasu Sasuke

Part One

The Prince and the Courtesan

Chapter one

The Courtesan

Not only in New Orleans but on Orleans Street, amongst a row of old buildings with lavish colored marquees, each a different and brighter color than the last, nestled the House of Eve—the Louisiana branch. Not that different from Amsterdam, he supposed, where he transferred from… how long was it ago? Asher couldn’t recall, for days at Eve tended to stretch on as a continuation of one another, an unending yarn of time, undisturbed by numbers on the calendar. Less than a year, he thought, and that was well enough an answer for a courtesan, any courtesan.

A group of drunk girls, each holding a plastic cup, passed by. One of them turned and said, Nice hair!

Thank you, my Lady.

The girl’s face flushed bright red, and her friends giggled as she returned to them. People are nice in the south, one of them said. A California accent was more of a speech pattern than a true accent, often nasal despite the open vowels, and all three girls had it.

But he’s not from the south.

Yah, no shit.

Asher turned the corner, and there was Eve. Three stories tall, old-fashioned, with the windows of the third inside the roof like a cuckoo clock and a row of railed terraces on the second floor, indistinguishable from her surroundings except for the unmarked door and the two Djeds guarding it. Dressed as doormen, they were werewolves, or at least one was.

Good evening, Asher, said both, and one opened the door for him.

Thank you, said Asher. He didn’t recall their names or remember being introduced, for that matter. Perhaps far less than a year, he thought. And entered Eve.

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In a lobby with tall white walls and granite pillars, a low hanging chandelier shimmered over a vase of flowers on an antique table. Blue carpet with gold flowers embellished the tiled floor, and the red leather furniture hosted equal parts Elder and human patrons.

Asher, Rose greeted him. She was one of the three hostesses, and Asher tried to remember who the other two were. One worked the day shift, and that one, he never met. Demitri called for you today, she said as they crossed the lobby together.

Asher smiled and greeted to appease the patrons, many of whose names still drew a blank. But Demitri, he knew very well. The Russian natural gas tycoon was a client, and had been for years. Each time his Madam moved, expanding her establishments to new locations, Asher moved. And Demitri came to him.

Here? Asher asked about the location of New Orleans.

Yeah, answered Rose with an eye roll. I guess he’s picked New Orleans for his family to vacation at, specifically to come to see you. And now he complains that there is barf out on the street as if Eve ran the city sanitation. Welcome to the party city, I tell him, but apparently, there is no party without you. Rose stuck the appointment slip onto the front of Asher's ivory shirt as if the paper had an adhesive back; it did not, and Asher caught the falling leaflet as Rose returned to her hostess post by the entrance to greet incoming patrons.

The lounge, with black ceiling and floors, had brick-colored walls plastered with vintage photos of jazz and blues musicians. Asher didn't see Demitri amongst the patrons seated on stools at the bar with a colorful graffiti wall, and the loud Russian wasn't at the black glossy tables, either.

Move, a tiny voice from behind commanded. Asher stepped aside and Lily, carrying two kegs, passed by him on her route to the bar. The courtesan sneered. Who was drinking draft beer at Eve?

Lily, the little girl from Helsinki and a self-proclaimed werewolf, had moved here with him. When Asher left New Orleans, she’d leave with him. As Lily would often say, they were ‘ride or die’ together. A meter and half tall, or five nothing in the local measurement unit, the girl barely protruded from behind the bar, making what looked to be a margarita. Complete with salt on the cheap wide-rimmed glass—fine crystals for such a drink didn’t exist—she slid the distaste to a man sitting alone, large enough to be taking up three stools.

Impressive, Asher remarked on the craftsmanship of the stool to bear such weight as he made his way to the bar. He’d have a drink while he waited for Demitri.

Asher caught a glass of bourbon, neat, gliding on the bar. He’d been sampling local distilleries, of which there were many, and Lily knew it. The margarita man turned and smiled—fangs on the bottom row as well, a Djed. Some numbers of Eve regulars had left for the Dome, and a few from the waiting list had made it into the lounge to be ordering repugnant items such as draft beers and margaritas.

Good evening, sir. Asher smiled with a small nod of courtesy.

Hello, the margarita man said. Not his face perhaps, but Asher now remembered him by the Vacheron Constantine. Common enough wristwatch among patrons of Eve, his was remarkable in that the leather strap was unworn. The soles of his Amadeo oxfords would be glistening new as well. And in this exact attire, complete with the ill-fitting black suit and the objectionable red tie, Asher had seen the margarita man on a few occasions.

Introducing himself as Moussa, the man was lying about his business in Mali and pleasure in the United States. Baritone, the timbre of his voice was soothing, but with a distinctly Louisiana accent; he wasn’t on a ‘pleasure trip’ in New Orleans. He lived here.

Someone from Elder command, Asher assessed, otherwise he wouldn’t have been let in through the door. Lying wasn’t a sin at Eve but owning a single attire of mediocrity was.

Asher waited for him to finish his sentence before dismissing him with a, You have a good evening, sir. A courtesan had to be polite. En route to leave, Asher took his drink from the bar but the man grabbed his arm.

Yo! Lily’s high-pitched voice burst over the smooth jazz, and a lounge full of heads turned to them.

Asher smiled to let everyone know it was all right, let them know there was nothing to spectate at. After a pause, the lounge resumed its chatter.

Keep your voice down, Lily. We don’t yell at patrons, hissed Asher, maintaining the smile—it was an art.

We don’t we fucken grab courtesans, either. Lily clawed the man’s arm to let go of Asher.

It’s fine. Everything is fine, whispered Asher. At this point, the man let go and was motioning either that he meant no harm, or that he didn’t know. Displaying the inside of his palms, the man had his hands up. It’s fine, Asher said again.

I would like to see you, said the man in an uncommonly deep voice.

I’m afraid I don’t entertain Djed patrons, said Asher, pleasant as always, but to let him know the conversation was over he turned his back.

Demitri had arrived. Gold chains, a row of rings on each hand enough to be gold knuckles, and shadow boxing—a flurry of glitter, Demitri didn’t need to speak to be loud.

Why? the deep voice asked from behind, but the Djed knew—or at least he should—why a Ka courtesan wouldn’t entertain him. So without engaging in futility any further, Asher went to greet his client. Ineloquent and ill-mannered in every way, the thug chewing gum with one side of his mouth was one of Asher’s favorites.

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Before Demitri left Asher’s suite a couple of hours later he flashed a gold coin, rolling it through the knuckles—how he did that with all those rings was an art form on its own—and asked, I stay here for a week. I give you this and I see you every day. Okay, Asher? His English hadn’t improved.

Not simply made of gold but pressed with the Elder bank seal and worth its weight a thousandfold at the blood depot, the coin was also how High Council traded in favors.

You have to tell me how you have it, said Asher not reaching for the coin. If it’s a forgery you’ll get me killed.

Come on, Asher! Demitri threw up his hands, offended. The news and such in my country, I strangle it, he illustrated choking, nothing reports the zombie disease, and I have a box of these things. Do you want it or not?

A week, you say? I’ll clear my schedule for you.

Demitri flicked it as if it was nothing, and Asher almost gasped catching it. Nearly five hundred years old, and Asher had never held one. During his three centuries at Eve, he’d seen it on an occasion but here it was on his palm, a tiny thing to signify an immense power. Everyone served the High Council, and here was a courtesan holding a favor owed in his hand.

Thank you. He bowed after Demitri. And as soon as the door closed, he rushed to the phone to dial Lily. Never mind hold it, she would have never seen one.

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The brightly lit rows of bars quieted down in the early morning, although some drunks, university children, still staggered along the street. Asher, enjoying the quiet of the silver morning, had his hands on the balcony rails when Lily came up behind him. He always could tell it was her, since for one, she had little bells on her ballet shoes like toddlers learning to walk. And two, no one else cared enough to be coming to check on him. Not when the sun was coming up.

Throwing a little rag at his feet, Lily made an exaggerated noise of exhaustion. Asher turned to her as she slid her back down the glass of the balcony door.

Another day done, she said. One more tick in the list of eternity.

Despite her appearance of an emaciated short girl, Lily was a Djed. A werewolf she claimed, but a badger she was. But for the mammoth size and the dirk-like claws, the badger would be endearing to see.

Asher sat down beside her and took her hand in his. A small pleasure made her sigh, forget momentarily her exhaustion and the nights. Manufactured in an identical mold, time at the House of Eve duplicated itself without ever changing. The same day every day; the world changed but the vice did not.

Quit it, Lily said, pulling her hand away from him. I hear it’s addictive.

Would you like pain then? Asher asked. That cures addiction in a hurry.

How about you just don’t use it on me?

How about that, Asher thought. But the use itself was addictive. All right, he said, stroking her back when she leaned forward.

Quit it! Lily turned to swat the dirty rag at him.

But I wasn’t using.

It felt nice anyway. So quit it, she said. Do you want to go to the depot together? Spend some of your shiny coin?

Asher could feed but didn’t want the trouble of going. Due to the emergency event, blood was being rationed and there would be a line at the blood depot. The sun was up and it was past his bedtime. He pointed instead at a man locking up a bar and asked, How about that one?

Lily, snarling with both rows of fangs, struck her ‘Dracula’ pose with hands like claws, and echoed her evil laugh, Muahahaha, then sighed. For real, though, Madam says we should stock up on blood. She says there might be a shortage with the onset of war and whatnot. I have to go. So, can you please go with me? I’ll buy you a coffee.

We have coffee at Eve.

But it’s at Eve.

Lily had a point. Grudgingly, Asher got up.

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At the coffee place with the green siren logo, as they stood in line Lily turned and asked, Do you want to try the caramel frozen foam thing?

Two girls who’d been in front of them in line twisted, and one said, Konnichiwa.

Good afternoon, ladies. Asher smiled and both girls blushed. After the girls turned back to be speaking with the boy wearing a green apron behind the counter, he rolled his eyes at Lily who, in a pink wig was laughing, exposing her jagged white fangs.

The barmaid from Helsinki liked cackling with her mouth wide open, and often dressed as fictional characters so the fangs would be assumed an accessory to her attire. But speaking to him in Japanese, and asking about caramel of all things—well, that was her way of screwing with him. Asher didn’t enjoy undue attention, but his looks kept him employed, he supposed. Blood was expensive, and not allowed to kill, everyone worked somewhere.

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A few days later—how many was a few, at the House of Eve, no one knew—Asher received a house call from a client on the red list. Although only a human, the client was on the list of caution because she was a religious zealot, and those were always marked red.

A penthouse with a surveillance camera in the elevator, as well as the hallway, and Lily chose to roam around looking like a cartoon vampire.

She’s only human, Asher said again about her escorting him as he rang the doorbell. They waited together.

So what? Humans have silver knives too. And your reflexes are shit, Asher.

A middle-aged woman, already in her white robe, opened the door for Asher. Then eyed Lily. You have to wait outside.

Not a chance, lady, said Lily. "If you want privacy, you have to come to Eve where we check for weapons before you come in."

The woman shot a questioning look at Asher.

I’m sorry, Lady Florence. I’m afraid it’s protocol.

Fine, she said, turned, and walked away.

Lady! Lilly yelled after her. You have to invite us in!

Oh, she appeared from behind a wall, you may come in, then disappeared again.

Is she new or what? asked Lily.

No, she was not. Lady Florence knew they had to be both invited in. Addressed either together, or separately, but not with a generic ‘you’, an unspecified number. Otherwise, a human may say, ‘you may come in,’ to a single Elder, and fifteen might barge in. The rules of their magic were always meant to protect, never harm.

Florence was not new, but she took many medications, some of which clouded her mind, sometimes.

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In her bedroom, Asher closed the curtains for Florence as she sat on a stool. The back of her white rope glided down, revealing a column of bruises. Some aged, a few new, and one certainly about to be infected.

You have to get medical attention, Lady Florence, said Asher running a hand down her tortured skin.

I can’t go there like this, Asher.

Just call me next time, Lady Florence. With your blood sugar illness, you can’t be doing this. You heal slowly. It’s also probably your age.

You’re calling me old, Asher? She laughed. He liked her laugh.

No, my Lady, you’re far younger than I. Asher walked around the stool to face her. He placed one hand behind her head so she wouldn’t fall backward, then pressed the index and middle fingers of the other on her forehead. Pain.

Mortification of the flesh; Lady Florence practiced a religion that required it, and when her body could no longer handle it she called Asher. Afi pain was only in the mind, therefore, there would be no harm to her body.

Why practice pain? he had asked her before he’d accepted her as a client.

It’s only a sensation, not true pain, she’d said. "The true pain is in my soul, and the sensation alleviates it."

Masochists were harmless, which Florence was. Sadists were a different story. But everyone who sought pain was on the red list of caution at the House of Eve.

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Asher, in his suite washroom of black tiles and candelabras, was coloring a few strands of grey hair back to youthful black when the wall-mounted phone rang. Only the front desk could call courtesan suites, so thinking it was Rose, Asher answered with, Yeah. But it was Madam herself requesting his presence.

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Downstairs, the lounge was unexpectedly full of guests. Wilhelm, dressed in an attire akin to a human lawyer, reclined at the bar scouting the new arrivals, looking for patrons of his own. Not a courtesan, an art dealer his name card would say, but Wilhelm was a light bender and an art thief on the lookout for collectors. This was the right crowd for pitching recently liberated museum artifacts.

A change of heart? Asher asked, to which Wilhelm arched an eyebrow, an expression of question.

I thought you were going to Alaska. Did you have a change of heart? clarified Asher.

No. Council, it seems, has suspended all transport to and from the Dome.

Why?

Wilhelm shrugged a single shoulder. Then, pretending to inspect his finely manicured nails, he spoke quietly. Official explanation was issued amounting to, basically, technical setbacks. But… he lowered his voice further, "if one was to speculate, they’ve lost the bloody Dome. It went dark last night, off the grid. Satellite comm is down, but the word through the Ka vine is that the shelter was taken hostage."

By whom? Asher, like everyone else, had expected the conflict to be short and breezy, not encroaching on anything resembling an actual war. Elders were simply going to the Dome to take a break from the world. There can’t be that many loyalists left, said Asher, now whispering as well.

There is never any shortage of the insane, my dear Asher, said Wilhelm, shaking his head in disbelief. "Second coming of the mad priest, resurrection of the savior… What a hoot. Tensions had been running high for months with the rising number of possessions, and that Court Oak ordeal finally broke the crazy camel’s back, I suppose."

But an assault on the Dome? How brazen? Dazed, Asher stared in disbelief, but Wilhelm’s hand on his shoulder dispelled him from his musings.

Are you free? he asked.

I’m not sure, said Asher. Madam called, let me go check with her first.

You do that, said Wilhelm and raised a chin at the VIP room. She’s in there.

Thank you.

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Madam, a small woman wearing a pinstripe pantsuit and eyeglasses dangling from her neck by black straps, shot a gaze up at Asher from her deck of cards. Human VIP guests sat around the table. They were playing poker, but the pot probably wasn’t for money. More or less money didn’t entertain the wealthy, and they often gambled for political or market leverages. Information and sale of it was the real business at the House of Eve.

You called for me, Madam?

Yes, Asher, said Madam, inspecting her cards. "A house call for you. A general, they say and paid for a week in advance. Be accommodating, my dear."

Fuck! said a brunette in a green silk dress. She was a weapons dealer, beyond that her name escaped Asher because she wasn’t a client, not his. Who is it? Is it Horowitz? Paying off generals and senators, the boys at Burton think they can edge me out, she scoffed.

A week, that was a lot of money for any general. Asher was curious but the introduction would have to wait, he’d promised Demitri. I don’t take house calls or book trips with new clients, Madam, said Asher and it was true.

"Human Command, Asher. High Council says jump, House of Eve asks only how high. Make do, and off you go. Take someone with you, and call if there is trouble. You are a Ka, after all."

Afi are considered Ka? asked the weapons brunette.

Barely, my Lady. Asher, with an imagined skirt, gave a woman’s curtsy, amusing the room to a cackle.

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Lily watched videos on her phone and stayed at the back of the limo. Asher motioned for the chauffeur to park somewhere else other than the client’s driveway. Military men liked discretion, and this darling southern home with a second-floor terrace was in a quiet neighborhood, a gated community.

Asher rang the doorbell. A stocky man with star-studded epaulet, still in his uniform, answered the door. You may come in, he said, and before Asher could greet him properly, turned and disappeared into his home.

Thank you, Asher said, entering the home and closing the door behind him.

Other than the table lamp left on in the study, the house was dark and quiet.

Asher found the general looking out the window in a dark kitchen. He was that concerned about privacy, Asher supposed. Would you like me to close the shutter for you? he asked but the general didn’t answer.

Stepping around him to close the wood-paneled Venetian blinds, Asher saw in the dark backyard a silent doghouse. The metal bowl with uneaten food was left out, but there hadn’t been any barks when he arrived. Asher pulled the shutter, and the wood louvers made the sound of a purr rolling on the tongue.

My, my, my— A clap after each my came from behind and Asher, who hadn’t sensed anyone else in the house, turned, surprised.

A human boy with dark skin and blue eyes stood leaning against the door frame with his legs crossed at the ankle. He wore black leather armor with a red cross in the front, and carried on his back a greatsword almost his own height.

Just look at you, he said. Carnelian red, the color of the cross on his armor, was also braided as extensions into his hair.

Good evening. Asher, trying to ignore the large sword or the fact he hadn’t heard him approach from the back, smiled. I’m Asher.

I’m Constantine.

Chapter two

Blue Macaw

A liberal rendition of Van Gogh hung over the fireplace, and unlit candle sticks aligned the mantle—a white picket fence in front of Almond Blossoms. The living room glimmered in the neighborhood watch light coming in through the tall windows. The heavy curtains were drawn. With every switch in their off position, the large room was dark, but light enough for Elder sight, light enough for Asher to recognize the forged painting and the false boy.

Humans pretending to be what they called ‘vampires’ was a common enough fetish. Some would even go as far as to consume raw blood. Wanting to be a powerful villain was a tale as old as time itself. So Asher would oblige the human boy in fancy of an Elder villain, and call him ‘Constantine’.

Put that on, boy, and let’s go storm a fortress at winter, he said.

Following what he pointed to, Asher saw a samurai costume on a leather footstool by the sofa. Of course, Constantine.

"I stand here a knight, my boy," he said, and uncertain of what he meant, Asher assessed the client. The cross, the sword, and the knight—he wants to be addressed with the title of Sir in a knighthood capacity. He remembered that Constantine was a templar knight, or falsely claimed to be one. With the knightly organization dissolved, violently, at the onset of the 1300s, and the earliest Elders arriving in the realm at the end of the 1400s, he’d missed that mark about two full centuries short. But what did a human boy know?

Of course, Sir Constantine, said Asher with a courtly bow, the European one.

Fast learner, I like it, he said, followed by laughter that sounded like a bleating goat.

Upon closer inspection, Asher realized the costume was not a cheap replica like the Van Gogh, but real armor. The stylized tall antlers on the kabuto—helmet—meant a high rank, not a common samurai, he remembered. But not born of the warrior class himself, the courtesan wasn’t confident in these things. However, picking up the do—the chest plate—he did see a thing he was certain of. Asher set the attire down and stepped away from it.

I cannot, he said. Asher didn’t have to be Japanese or have seen the daimyo crests on the pamphlets produced at Edo during the Tokugawa shogunate to know the crescent moon was Lord Sasuke’s clan insignia, for every Elder alive had survived the Elder War, and remembered it well. Some better than others perhaps, and Asher, belonging to the former, dared