My Little Ventrue Pt. 09 Ch. 10

~~Triss~~

Endlessness, everywhere. The infinite cosmos. Space, the final frontier. What the fuck ever.

Triss gulped as she stared up at the night sky. A quick glance around showed no buildings, no trees, no rocks, and no street either. No floor, no nothing. Beneath her was white, but it had no texture. Just, endless white, reaching out before and around her to endless horizons. Endless endlessness.

"Oh hey, I'm naked. Wonderful." She blinked down at her body, frowning. The tattoos and piercings were there, as they usually were when she dreamed. No clothes though.

She touched her cheeks. Yeap, still gone, replaced with big crocodile teeth. Damn. Sometimes it was nice to dream about being human again.

She stared up again, and smiled. Stars. So many stars, tiny white dots against an endless black. Christ, what sort of infinite fucking universe had her dumb brain decided to invent, for a fucking dream?

She looked down. Below her was her Beast. No need to think about it, no need to convince herself, she recognized its swirling mass of black smoke, and all the strange limbs and claws and teeth and beaks inside it. It was beneath her, in that endless white she'd been in before, when learning crúac rituals. Except now, she was outside of it? Above it?

"Is this... an out-of-body experience?" Last she remembered was falling asleep in the Circle's cave. "Cause I'm pretty sure I should be able to look around and see the real world and shit if I was having one, and I don't see no cave."

"You are half right."

Triss spun around quick and jumped back. She fully expected vitae to send her back a good distance, but all she got for her effort was a small leap, totally mistimed, and fell on her ass. Ok, so, no vitae. Shit.

An old woman stood in front of her, hunched, short, with a cloak of tattered gray covering her body and the top of her head. Long strands of dirty white hair hung down the sides of her face, and warts covered her visible skin. Not much visible skin with the cloak, but her feet and hands were visible, and so was her wrinkly, old, sagging face.

She had a cane in one hand. No, wait, not a cane, a walking stick. No, wait, not a walking stick, a fucking witch staff, considering the dangling skulls on top of it. It was thickest at the top, a crooked branch with a curve where the old woman had tied rope to hook through the holes in the skulls. They jingled lightly, making hollow bone noises.

Triss grumbled as she reached for her vitae again. Not there. Definitely a dream, except normally you had some measure of control in a dream, especially when it was lucid. She squeezed her eyes shut and imagined riding a giant dinosaur. Nothing. Damn.

"You're naked," the old woman said. Even her voice sounded old, crackly, and not sweet.

"Sorry. I--wait, I'm not sorry. This is my fucking head, my dream, and I'll be naked if I want."

The old woman grinned. "If this is your dream, change it. Put on clothes."

"I'm not feeling very zen, apparently, and it's not working."

"Because this isn't your dream." After a quiet, disgusting, gargling chuckle, the old woman waved her stick at Triss slightly. Clothes appeared on her, the shit she'd gone to sleep in, a tank top and jeans and her combat boots.

"It isn't?" Triss gestured down beneath them, at the endless plane of white, and the smoke creature wandering around beneath them, blocked by a floor of glass or something. "Certainly feels like a dream."

"You were dreaming. But I wanted to talk to you without that nasty Beast of yours getting in the way."

"So..."

"So I removed you from your dream." The old woman gestured around with her staff. "You are in between, a place we can talk again."

"Again? I--" Panic jolted through her limbs, and she took a step back as she looked the old woman up and down a dozen times more. "You! I had to sacrifice a bunch of people for a chance to talk with you!"

"You got my attention."

Oh god this was happening. Happening happening, it was happening, oh fucking shit. She took another step back, looked around for any sort of exit to the strange dimension she'd found herself in, and sighed. Don't panic. If the Crone, assuming this was the Crone, actually wanted you dead, she could make it happen, easily. Right?

Or maybe she couldn't? The Crone was a god or something, and the more Triss dug into the world of dark rituals and shit, the more it seemed like there were divine rules mere plebes didn't know about. Spirits had to follow rules, apparently, so why not gods and stuff? Which made her panic again, cause that meant maybe the Crone couldn't hurt her right now, until Triss said or did something wrong. Fuck fuck, how the fuck do you play a game when you don't know the rules?

"I did? I mean, I did sacrifice--"

"Five hundred years ago, a village, remote, even for that time, sacrificed the first born of their chief to me, a girl of ten years. That sacrifice carried with it enough weight to change the landscape in a way that persists to this day. You, and your paltry sacrifice of the unwanted, barely warranted a glance from me."

Sweet fucking christ.

"Well sorry I didn't really feel like sacrificing--"

The old bitch tapped her staff on the white not-glass beneath them, making a quiet click click. More than enough to shut Triss right up.

"I said I noticed you, not the sacrifice."

"Oh, uh... sorry."

The Crone managed a weak grin. "You're smarter than you look. I can see the wheels turning in that tiny little brain of yours."

"Turning pretty slow right now, honestly. Why did you notice me? Who the fuck am I?"

"You're a sad little girl, who's lost her lover. And because you're smarter than most, you're dipping your toe in the water to see how cold it is before you take the plunge."

"You're... talking about Julias, and what I'm doing to... try and bring him back."

"I warned you once to let him go, Beatrice."

Something about hearing a deity use her first name was freaky as all fuck. Slowly, Triss's gaze fell, and she stared down at her boots like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

"Yeah."

"You ignored my warning."

"Yeah."

"I knew you would."

Triss winced and looked away. "Well, yeah. Black Blood and Jacob told me it was possible, and I believe them."

"I somehow doubt they told you only that."

Doubt? So the Crone or whatever she was wasn't omniscient. Good to know creepy weird larger-than-life creature things weren't watching them through the rooftops with x-ray vision.

"Yeah, it'll be hard. Yeah, there's a good chance it'll never work, they said as much. Yeah, I'm getting deeper into some pretty nasty shit, but... but I have to try."

When she finally managed to lift her eyes again, the old woman was smiling at her, the sort of smile a mom gives her kid when they trip and fall. Which of course sent rage surging through Triss, indignant and bitter. Which of course the old bitch saw coming, and her mommy smile faded, replaced with sadness.

"You should let him go, Triss. You have a good second life now, don't you? He'd be happy for you and this new life you're building for yourself. And that Sándor creature might even be interested in you, yes? Julias would want you to find love again. So let him go."

"I don't want to."

"Yes, I know." With a heavy sigh, the old crone gently waved her staff.

The world came to life around them. Dirt flowed out from under Triss's feet, and she squeaked as she jumped up. She landed on her ass, again, but dirt was a soft enough cushion to land on.

By the time she lifted her eyes up from the dirt, the rest of the world had come to join her. Grass, small rocks. Trees. Bugs! She snarled and swatted away a beetle or something as it crawled across her hand, and she quickly got back up to her feet.

Forests were supposedly romantic, but she'd never been in one. Born and raised in Dolareido, and embraced before she'd ever gotten a chance to visit other places. And it wasn't like vampires often packed their bags and went places when sunlight equaled death. Now that she was in a forest, she was glad she'd never visited one before.

How the fuck could anyone think of a forest as romantic? Maybe it'd be better in the day, but at night, it wasn't much better than that jungle nightmare world of Fiona's. Bugs buzzed around and made high pitched clicking noises. Distant rustling in the darkness she couldn't see announced wandering animals, raccoons and birds and shit. It was cold and windy; didn't bother a vampire, but still. A glance up showed the stars were mostly blotted out by trees, mostly pines, and another glance down showed the dirt and grass were mixed with bits of bark and twigs, and wriggling things.

This sucked.

"Oh god, why? I'm a city girl."

"Yes, of course you are. Witches everywhere cringe." After a quiet, grandma chuckle, the old crone waved her staff again. A fire emerged between them, and Beatrice shrieked as she jumped back. She hadn't shrieked like that in literal decades. "Calm down. You have no banes here, vampire. We are between."

"Uh huh." Triss eye the Crone suspiciously, but sighed after a while, and looked down at the fire. Circled by stones, it crackled and popped, and Triss found herself drifting closer. "You're... sure?"

"Of course I'm sure."

Nodding, Triss came closer, and held out her hand. Waves of warmth hit her skin, and faint smoke drifted upward.

"It feels real."

"I'm very good," the old hag said, smirking. "Sit. We should talk."

Triss sat. When a god comes to visit you, you fucking do what they want. That might change as the conversation went on, but for now, shut up and do as ordered.

So close to fire, instinct told Triss to back the fuck up before a random spark set her on fire, but a glance to the old woman and a nod from her told Triss it was alright. Well, if this wasn't real, or wasn't physical or whatever 'in between' was, and the Crone had pulled her out of a dream, then maybe the fire wouldn't turn her into ashes the moment it touched her. She wasn't stupid enough to stick her finger in the fire, but she got closer than her vampire instincts wanted.

Fire, was mesmerizing. The way it danced, the waves of heat that matched the flickering flame, the sizzle and pop of the wood, god damn. Fucking beautiful. A pretty sick joke that it was any vampire's bane.

"The flesh witch," the old woman said, "Elen."

"What about her?"

"She is a broken thing. There's little left of her mind, and she won't last much longer."

"She'll die? Jacob thinks she's immortal."

"Malachi is correct. She'll live on, even as her body breaks down. But another decade or so and there won't be much left of her brain. After that, she'll be nothing more than a pulsing mass of flesh, like cancer."

"Damn, that's rough. Do... do you know who gave her immortality?" A dangerous question to ask a deity. But knowledge was too damn fucking tasty to resist.

"I do."

"Wanna tell me?"

"No."

"Uh huh. Was it you?"

"No."

Triss rolled her eyes. "Alright, so what about Elen?"

"I'm sure you have guessed that she cannot create a replica of Julias to the exact degree you think is required."

Oh shit oh shit. That was either very good or very bad.

"You saying I don't need it to be perfect?"

"It needs to be perfect." Very bad then. "If you summon his soul into a body it doesn't recognize, the results will be as horrific as you've guessed. The stuff of nightmares."

"God fucking damn it!" She buried her eyes in her palms and rubbed them against her skull, before looking back up at the crone. "I was going to look for a ritual that could maybe... I don't know, help somehow. Maybe get a piece of Julias somehow? Maybe... maybe get a piece of me, a memory, to help?"

"Smart." The old woman chuckled, a hoarse and horrible sound. Slowly, she walked over to a nearby bolder, and sat against it, as if sitting on the ground would be too much trouble for an old woman like her. "Tell me, do you know why members of my Circle use torture to learn rituals?"

"Because it forces them to find, uh, inner tranquility, I guess? To go zen and shit."

The Crone laughed again. "Close enough. It lets you speak more directly with your Beast, and your Beast is capable of communicating across..." She gestured around her.

"Sounds like Jac--Malachi was right then."

"Malachi is too smart for his own good. It'll lead to his death."

Triss raised a brow at that, but didn't question it. She wanted to, but a little voice in her head told her this Crone thing wouldn't randomly drop a line like that, if she had any intent on explaining herself. Don't poke the bear.

"So crúac rituals come from you?"

"They don't come from me, not truly. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't have a hand in stupid vampires like yourself finding them."

"And... what are they, exactly? The rituals?"

"If I answered that, what fun would there be in being a witch?"

There was some truth to that, Triss supposed. Half the fun in all the dark witchy stuff, was the mystery of the forces they connected with. But it was also how witches got themselves killed, according to Jacob, and Lovecraft.

"So, am I being zen then, right now? To be able to talk to you?"

"No. Like I said, you got my attention. Or, maybe it's better to say, you're... relatable."

"Uh, I'm sorry, can you repeat that? Cause it sounds like you just said I was relatable, me, and you're, uh, something I'm guessing is the equivalent of a goddess."

"Close enough." Chuckling, the old woman reached into her cloak with her free, wrinkly hand, and pulled out a small bag. Old school didn't do justice what the bag looked like. Must have been a flap of deer skin tied together into a shitty bag by a shitty string made of who the fuck knew what. Which honestly made it pretty awesome. And she tossed it to Triss casually.

Triss caught it. "What's this?"

"A ritual. A memory. Open it later, and it'll help with building a vessel for your lover."

"Oh... oh fuck, really? I was thinking I'd have to go through some serious torture, zen out while Jacob ran barbed wire up my ass and right out my mouth. And we'd have to do it while bathing in the blood of a newborn baby or something."

"That might have worked, yes. Your Beast would have called out to the beyond, and someone would have answered. But let's skip that part, shall we?"

"Holy fuck you are being way too nice. What's the catch?"

"Time."

"Time?"

"You're running out of it."

"Because of Elen?"

"No."

Triss stared at the old woman, blinking, a lot. "You uh... wanna tell m--"

"I can't tell you more. The rules don't allow it."

"Rules? What the fuck are you talking about?" They did have rules then. Bingo.

"You've spoken too much, old crone," a soothing, motherly voice said.

Triss jumped to her feet and her eyes snapped around. Not her voice, or the Crone's. But before she could open her mouth, the Crone gestured to Triss dismissively. Not an enemy then? Then--

Light cut through the forest canopy. A glance up showed that the moon, which hadn't even been there before, was now very much there, and shining down on them with its soothing light.

Rustling around the fire forced Triss to jump back. "What the fuck?"

Next to the old woman, was a wolf. A white wolf. It sat on its hind legs beside the Crone, and watched Triss with the classic, cold, analyzing gaze of a wolf.

Ok, information overload. Having an out-of-body experience in some sort of in-between realm where a god had decided to have a chat with her, and help her out, for no reason at all, was already blowing her fucking mind. And now a white wolf with a soothing, feminine voice, was here to chat as well, right after the moon mysteriously appeared and decided to play spotlight.

"You're... the moon? Like, the one I heard the werewolves talk about? Luna?"

The wolf slowly nodded. "She catches on quickly. I can see why she interests you, hag." Spoken without moving its... her lips.

"Don't be rude," the Crone said.

"Funny, coming from you," the god damn mother fucking moon said.

Beatrice threw up her hands, palms forward, surrendering. "Ok. Pause. Time out. I can't handle this." Clenching her eyes shut, Triss slapped herself. Hard. As hard as this weak fake dream-not-dream body could handle; not very hard, but good enough. Except other than a harsh spike of pain, nothing changed. She opened her eyes, looked for anything different, and groaned. Fuck.

"Don't do as the Crone says," Luna said, steady gaze on Triss, wolf mouth still unmoving.

"Uh, why? She just gave me a fucking shortcut to finishing making a vessel. I am damn well going to finish it, and then--"

"And then what, vampire? Reach across the endless oblivion, across the Abyss itself, and pluck the threads of your dead lover's soul? Will you weave them together yourself?"

"I--"

"What gives you the right, vampire? You think you can defy the rules of life? Defy what gives life purpose?"

"I don't--"

"You don't have the right!" The wolf growled, baring her fangs. "You don't get to pluck the essence of Soul from the beyond, because you are sad! Who are you, blood leech, half dead creature, balancing on the edge of life itself, to think you have the right to defy rules not I nor the Crone have ever managed to defy?"

Triss stared at the wolf. If this wasn't a dream, it stood to reason she could very well die here if one of these fucking gods decided she should. Which wasn't fair at all.

"Luna, please," the Crone said, slowly shaking her head. "Let the vampire try. This isn't about us."

"Isn't it? Why else would you pick this girl, if not because of what she is trying to do?"

"There is more to this than this vampire's aching heart. The acts of Mict--"

"Do not speak his name!" Not so soothing or motherly anymore. Luna's voice shook the forest, and Triss gulped as she steadied herself.

Sighing, the Crone waved a slow, dismissing hand toward the wolf. "Fine, fine."

Triss dropped her hands, and fell on her ass by the fire. No point in standing anymore, and she couldn't even if she tried.

"Can one of you throw me a bone and tell me why you're both talking to me? Like... the fuck?"

"I came to help you with resurrecting your dead lover," the Crone said with a gross, toothy grin. She didn't even try to hide that she had ulterior motives, and Triss could respect that.

The wolf shook her head. "She knows you'll fail, vampire. Fail like we all have."

"Like you... all have?"

With a heavy snarl, the wolf stood up, and stepped around the fire toward her. Triss didn't bother getting up. At this point, she might as well accept that her fake dream-not-dream muscles weren't going to do a damn thing here, not against these two.

"You're not the only one who's lost someone close to them, who's lost a lover. Who are you to defy the laws of life and death, vampire, when I have spent thousands upon thousands of years unable to reach mine? Me. Me!" The moonlight over them brightened, feeling less like the moon, and more like a searchlight.

"Luna, be calm," the Crone said. "I'm helping her not because I think she'll succeed. Even she doesn't believe she'll succeed. But she's going to do it anyway, and I'd prefer she try before... Well, I can't speak about that either, I suppose. In any case, this witch has potential, and if things don't go as... he... expects, then I would have her learn the futility of her pursuits. Only when her dreams are ash will she be a worthy student."

"Uh, what? He? Student?"

"We cannot discuss he," Luna said.

"But," the Crone said with a small wave of her staff, "if he can flirt with the rules, so can we. And I think you would do well, following in Malachi's footsteps, Beatrice. You have the potential to be a grand and powerful witch."

Ok, so Malachi wasn't 'he' then. Black Blood? She wanted to ask, but they'd made it clear they couldn't talk about whatever was going on. And the Crone said his name was Mict...