Solitary Fire 1st Chapter

7/31/2019 Solitary Fire 1st Chapter

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It is better to reign in hell than serve in heaven Milton

Chapter 1.

Welcome back, you who have chosen to follow the damned

into the dark corridors of the unknown and have emerged

baptized in blood. Do you dare to revel in the dance led

by the angels of darkness and find solace in the crusade

against the pure and mundane? Then hold fast and read on

as more dark deeds await your discovery wrapped in the

black robes of night.

Indeed, it was this black robe of night that was

ablaze with a fiery glow emanating from the Paris

courthouse. Three men were inside the inferno burning for

the vicious judgment they had handed down earlier that day,

but their prisoner had escaped and exacted her revenge.

Their cries were carried on the warm breeze up into the

darkness and it was under this shadowy cloak of darkness

that Christina Lafage made her escape.

The small carriage that held Christina and her

companions went unnoticed as it quietly made its way out of

the city toward the east. Christina had been through much

since being initiated into the realm of necromancy and

receiving her power. She had taken many lives, lives that


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had nurtured and increased her power. But she had yet to

master her awesome power.

Her mother and teacher, Madame Duchamp, was a

formidable necromancer in her own right. She had taught

Christina everything she knew, guiding her through her

initiation into the black arts that began with Christina

willingly selling her soul to Lucien, the master himself.

Christina had been a very eager student, greatly impressing

her mentor with her abilities and the speed at which she

learned them. She had proven herself to be very skilled in

formulating potions, amulets, death spells and even raising

the dead, but it was her decent into the netherworld to

save her lover, Richard, that had been her greatest

achievement. She had traveled all the way from France to

Egypt to the underground temple of Set and sailed along the

river of the dead. She had tricked Abbaddon, guardian of

the dead, and escaped with her power and her lover intact.

All of these things swam in Madame Duchamps mind as

she proudly gazed at Christina, but she could see that

something was clearly troubling her daughter. What is on

your mind, Christina? she asked, already knowing what

Christinas reply would be.

Oh, its nothing, Christina dreamily replied, her

dark brown hair framing her alluring features.


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But Madame Duchamp knew better, Christina was like an

open book, laid bare before her. She knew the cause of her

trouble had to be Rebecca, the only one who had betrayed

Christina and escaped through suicide. Christina had

developed a strong appetite for vengeance that was

difficult to quell.

Its Rebecca that torments your wounded pride, is it

not? Madame Duchamp knowingly asked. Christina heavily

sighed and turned toward the window. I thought you had

agreed to put that behind you, Madame Duchamp whispered

not wanting to wake Richard or Babette, their servant.

I am trying, Christina replied tearing her gaze from

the window. Its not easy to just let it go.

You need to, Christina, Madame Duchamp insisted.

You still have much to learn and dwelling on the past will

only impede your progress. Madame Duchamp could read the

frustration in Christinas eyes. I know it is a difficult

thing to do, she continued, but you can overcome it by

continuing on the path. Rebecca got the better of you and

you dont like that. She bested you because you were

inexperienced. Learn to use the element of surprise and

bide your time. Keep your anger in check and the wisdom

will come. The power can bring you so many things,

Christina, focus and continue to learn.


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I know that what you say is true, Christina

confessed with tears beginning to well. But you know that

I have such a fiery rage in me. Why does this fire burn so

hotly?

Madame Duchamp leaned over and squeezed Christinas

hand gently. Youth and inexperience, she replied. The

only remedy is maturity and learning, but it will only come

if you are ready.

Christina made a solemn promise to put the past behind

her and continue to look ahead. Even now she could feel

her power flowing through her veins; enhancing her senses

and making her feel alive. It would be reprehensible to

waste such a gift and not develop it.

The carriage that had been traveling so smoothly

suddenly came to a rough patch, jarring the occupants

inside.

Richard woke with a start. Where are we? he wearily

asked.

Yes, mother, Christina said. You never did tell us

where we were going.

Paris is not the only place with wealthy aristocrats

who desire our services, she declared, the wild blue of

her eyes piercing the dimness of the carriage. We are

bound for Vienna; there we will continue your training,


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Christina. The journey will not be a smooth one, but it

will be much easier than Egypt was.

Christina was not sure if her mother meant the journey

to Vienna or her journey down the left handed path but she

was too tired to inquire further. Sleep loomed on the

horizon and the road was becoming too treacherous to

navigate in the dark. Madame Duchamp decided that a safe

distance separated them from Paris and they stopped at a

small inn for the night. Luxury was unheard of in the

humble inn, but a bed of straw was better than a bed of

earth. Sleep came easily to Christina and she eagerly

surrendered to its serene embrace.

The early morning wove a tapestry of rain, composing a

somber melody on the roof of the small room that Christina

shared with Richard. Her body was intertwined with his

sleeping form and she wished to stay in his embrace, but

she knew that Madame Duchamp would want to move on as early

as possible. Christina was anxious to see Vienna, but

traveling in the rain was something that she was not

looking forward to. She reluctantly woke Richard and they

went to meet Madame Duchamp and Babette in the tavern. A

warm smell of coffee and freshly baked bread greeted them

as they opened the door and hurried inside.


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Im glad to see the two of you awake so early,

Madame Duchamp announced, pouring generous amounts of

coffee. Christina slowly sipped the hot coffee, chasing

the chill from her body. Warm your insides, Christina,

Madame Duchamp smiled. I know how you hate to travel in

the rain.

Is there anything we can do about the rain?

Christina asked through the rising steam of her coffee.

Im afraid not, her mother answered. We can only

control the storms we raise; well just have to endure this

one. The roads through Germany can be dangerous and

bandits are always a possible hazard, so we all need to

keep our wits about us.

They all nodded in agreement but Christina wondered

why her mother had chosen such a faraway place where the

journey held such dangers. She knew that her mother never

did anything without good reason, but she still had to know

what that reason was. Her curiosity kindled, she inquired,

Why have you chosen Vienna? Would it not be easier to

choose a closer destination where the journey is not so

dangerous?

Dont tell me youre backing away from a challenge,

Christina! Madame Duchamp said with raised eyebrows.


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No, of course not, Christina stammered, a bit

embarrassed that Madame Duchamp might think her question a

cowardly one. I just thought it might be easier . . .

Nothing worthwhile is easy, Madame Duchamp

interrupted. You above all should know that. She knew

that Christina had been through a lot of difficulty and the

temptation toward easy choices was strong in one so young.

I know we follow a difficult path, I didnt mean to

sound apprehensive, Christina said in defense.

Easy choices make us careless, Christina, Madame

Duchamp warned, squeezing Christinas hand. We need to be

far away from Paris right now and the road to Vienna is a

dangerous one, so be vigilant and Ill let you kill the

first bandit.

A mischievous smile spread across Christinas face at

the thought of taking a life and enhancing her power. No

one would question the death of a highway bandit; it was a

perfect way for Christina to feed her power.

The horses are quite rested, Madame Duchamp,

announced Gerard, their driver, breaking into Christinas

murderous thoughts. We should leave now while the rain is

rather light.

Very good, Gerard, Madame Duchamp responded. Well,

lets be off, new opportunities are waiting.


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They spent the better part of the day pushing on

toward Germany, the rain alternating between downpour and

drizzle. The bleakness of the day reflected itself in

Christina's mood, making her pensive and distant. It was

only when they stopped at an inn near the German border for

the night that her solemn mood began to melt. The promise

of a dry place to spend the night and finally be out of the

rain was a relief for all of them.

There was already a fire blazing in the hearth of the

room Christina and Richard shared, making it soothing and

inviting. The warm glow from the fire illuminated

Christinas face as she knelt before it and she could feel

the dampness begin to evaporate.

Richard knelt behind her and wrapped his arms around

her whispering, I want you. She could feel his naked

flesh against her, igniting her desire. His kisses were

warm and seductive and she eagerly surrendered, tilting her

head back and feeling his tongue caress her neck. She

turned to face him and rose, letting him undress her. He

worked slowly, fueling her fire until she was stripped

before him. She ached to have him inside her and he pulled

her down on top of him, kissing her deeply. Christina rode

him fiercely, her fiery passion permeating every cell,


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culminating in a blissful state of ecstasy that exhausted

them both.

Clear skies rode in on the early morning breeze

blowing softly through the window. Richard and Christina

woke in each others arms, his blond hair entwined with her

dark tresses, creating an intricate web. There came a soft

knocking at the door and Christina uttered a drowsy hail

that was answered by Madame Duchamp announcing the

approaching time of their departure. Christina assured her

that they were awake and would be ready to leave shortly.

It was not long before the bumpy carriage ride took

them to the German border where a shady looking customs

agent greeted them. Madame Duchamp turned to her

companions and whispered, The customs agents are easily

bribed, but today well save our money. These agents are

notorious for rummaging through baggage and helping

themselves to whatever they want. They are no better than

the bandits.

The agent approached the carriage and looked inside.

Baggage check, please, he said with a devious grin,

exposing gnarled brown teeth.

Madame Duchamp stepped out of the carriage, never

taking her eyes from his weather beaten face. Her

penetrating stare seemed to paralyze him as the look on his


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face changed from deviance to obedience. We are not

carrying any contraband, she firmly declared. We are

free to go. She waved her hand in front of his face, not

completely breaking the spell, but giving him the ability

to speak.

You are not carrying any contraband, you are free to

go, he uttered in a ghostly monotone.

Thank you, Madame Duchamp smiled as she boarded the

carriage and bade Gerard to continue on.

Christina was impressed but baffled as to why her

mother allowed him to live. Mother, why did you not kill

him and strengthen your power? she curiously asked.

It was not necessary, she confidently answered. We

cant kill everyone who confronts us, Christina. The power

is not to be used so recklessly. A dead customs agent

would certainly arouse more suspicion then a bandit. Dont

worry, youll get your chance.

Christinas chance came sooner than she expected, for

it was not long after they were stopped by the customs

agent that three bandits emerged from the dense forest.

One of them, who appeared to be the leader, fired a pistol

and commanded Gerard to stop. Richard quickly drew his

pistol but Christina placed her hand on his and asserted,

No, my love, this one is mine. Richard smiled and


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slipped the pistol back into his jacket. He knew how

deadly Christinas power could be and he could already see

it erupt behind her eyes, giving them a spectral glow.

Stand and deliver! the leader shouted. Your money

and valuables!

Take him, Christina, Madame Duchamp smiled as

Christina opened the door and stepped out to greet her

prey.

Christina was met by a raised pistol with a dashing

young rake behind it. Your money, frulein . . . and

you, he hungrily leered, as his eyes moved over her body.

The other two bandits stood behind him with pistols drawn

and aimed at the carriage. Do you travel alone, my lovely

prize? he asked.

Madame Duchamp motioned for Richard and Babette to

stay inside and she emerged from the carriage.

What a lovely cargo you carry, driver, the bandit

yelled to Gerard as he moved toward Christina. It would

be a shame to destroy it.

Christinas only answer was to stare into his eyes

while Madame Duchamp gazed intensely into the forest

beyond. He moved closer until the pistol was in

Christinas face.


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Think carefully about your actions, she calmly

whispered. Think carefully before you strike. Christina

could feel the power flowing through her with a fierce

intensity, her eyes never moving from his. He lowered the

pistol as she moved toward him and placed her hands on

either side of his face. His pounding heartbeat resounded

in her ears and she knew that his will had been

surrendered. He was hers. Christina seductively leaned

toward him and parted her lips, but before he could taste

her kiss, she vigorously twisted his neck completely around

causing him to face his startled companions behind him. The

power of his life force shot through her like a bolt of

lightning taking her breath away and strengthening her

power. She could feel it racing through her veins like a

raging inferno.

The bandits companions were in shock, but before they

could strike, the forest had answered Madame Duchamps

invocation in the form of a ravenous pack of wolves. They

immediately leapt upon the unsuspecting bandits, ripping

and tearing into muscle and sinew until the ground beneath

was stained a deep red.

Christina could feel her heightened power pulsating

through every part of her; every cell was alive and infused


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with it. She barely caught her breath when she felt Madame

Duchamps hand on her shoulder.

That was very masterful, Christina, she proudly

stated.

Thank you, mother, she gasped, while in the distance

she could faintly hear Luciens deep voice whispering, You

serve me well, Christina.

I am indebted to you, my lord, Christina whispered

to the unseen presence that had saved her from the

hangmans noose in Paris. Christina stood straight and

caught her breath, wondering when she would see Lucien

again.

She was separated from her daydream by her mothers

voice exclaiming, Enough diversion, on to Baden!

In the confines of the carriage, Christina still

thought of Lucien. His resonant tone struck a familiar

chord deep within her and she longed to be in his presence.

Although she did feel a pang of guilt as Richard laid his

arm across her shoulders and drew her close to him. She

did love Richard, but felt intensely drawn to Lucien as if

long familiar with him, yet she had only been in his

service for a year. It had seemed that so little time had

passed since Christina had surrendered her soul to Lucien

and he bestowed the power upon her and took her virginity,


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which she willingly gave him. Christina knew that Richard

was uneasy around Lucien, but he understood her dedication

to the path and what it demanded of her. The pact she made

with Lucien could not be broken . . . and she did not wish

to break it.

They had been on the road for quite a while and

Christina knew that they would be stopping soon. She

wondered what sort of hovel they would be forced to spend

the night in, when to her surprise, outside the window of

the carriage she spotted a huge hotel. Christina looked at

her mother with a delighted surprise as the carriage pulled

up to the entrance.

I thought we could all use some time at the spa,

Madame Duchamp smiled. This hotel has over one hundred

rooms and some of the best waters in Europe.

A footman approached the carriage, gallantly opened

the door and said, Welcome to Baden.

They had arrived in time for the evening meal, a sort

of pan fried breaded veal with potatoes.

It is called Wiener Schnitzel, Madame Duchamp told

her, noticing the curious look on Christinas face.

The dining hall was very spacious and could easily

accommodate three hundred guests who came from all over

Europe. Wine flowed freely and they feasted on apples and


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apricots that were halved, dried in the oven and served

with butter and cinnamon. A lavish party was to follow in

the grand ballroom, but Christina was too worn out from the

bumpy carriage ride over the rough German roads to attend.

An opulent room awaited her, but she was too tired to

marvel at its finery. The one thing she did take notice of

was the oversized bed. She was grateful for the chance to

sleep in a soft bed instead of straw scattered on a wooden

table. As she melted into the cool softness of the bed,

she felt Richard lay down beside her. Christina lay in

Richards arms, but it was Lucien that stole into her

dreams.

The days Christina spent at Baden were euphoric and

tranquil. She immersed herself in the relaxing sulphur

baths and let the clear water wash away her fatigue and

tension. There were even small tables floating in the

water that allowed the guests to play cards or other games

as they took the waters.

However the blissful feeling was not to last. In a

few days time Christina found herself boarding another

carriage to push on toward Vienna. Gerard assured Madame

Duchamp that the ride would not be as rough, since he had

the carriage fitted with stronger springs.


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Christina gazed out the window at the densely wooded

forest. The road wound through it like a lazy snake

bearing the carriage on its rough scales. She pondered

what wonders Vienna would hold for her. Madame Duchamp had

told her there was very luxurious living in Vienna and

Christina had hoped it would be just as lavish as the spa

they had just left.

The day was growing late and the rocking of the

carriage was having a sedative effect on Christina. She

laid her head on Richards chest, but just before sleep

overtook her the carriage came to a halt. Christina opened

her sleep filmed eyes as Madame Duchamp said, We will stop

here for the night.

Madame Duchamp opened the door of the carriage and

knocked at a battered wooden door. Christina could hear

her mother negotiating a deal with a man whom she guessed

was the innkeeper.

Madame Duchamp entered the carriage, took Christina's

hand in hers and whispered, I promise, this is the last

dreadful inn that you will have to endure.

Christina smiled at her mothers promise, but dreadful

would have been a compliment to this hovel. The place was

filthy and they would all have to share one room. There


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were tables strewn about the room with straw for sleeping

while animals grunted in the next room.

I think that I would rather sleep in the carriage

than with the horses, Christina said with disgust.

I know that it doesnt compare to what we just left

but we should all stay together, Madame Duchamp cautiously

answered. We are strangers in a foreign land and we need

to be careful.

There was no tavern, so the innkeeper, a man named

Klausner, invited them to dine at his table. The main

house where Klausner lived was not much cleaner than the

stable where Christina and her companions would be lodging.

Klausner himself was a squat, filthy individual with shifty

eyes and an ill mannered disposition. Klausner looked them

over as they sat at his table and wondered why these

tourists, who were obviously well to do, had chosen his inn

for the night.

So what brings you to this part of Germany? he

sardonically asked.

We are on our way to Ulm, Madame Duchamp quickly

answered. But the darkness traveled faster and we do not

want to lose our way.

Ulm? Klausner asked. What is there in Ulm?


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Christina did not like Klausner, he asked too many

questions and seemed suspicious.

Madame Duchamp sensed her daughters wariness and shot

a quick reassuring glance before she answered, We are on

our way to Vienna. We plan to sail down the Danube from

Ulm.

Vienna! Klausner exclaimed, winking to a young

servant who had began setting food on the table. Such a

beautiful and wealthy city.

We are but humble tourists, Madame Duchamp replied,

but Klausner was not easily fooled. Tourists who could

afford a private carriage and passage to Vienna by water

were not people of humble means. However there was

something about Madame Duchamp that made him cautious. It

was not her aristocratic demeanor or her appearance. She

was very attractive; raven black hair, alabaster skin and

electric blue eyes that seemed captivating and secretive.

She did not seem to have any fear and that could work to

his advantage . . . or against it. Nevertheless, later as

they slept, he would deprive them of their money and

instill a bit of fear into this bold creature and her

companions. That would please him very much, he concluded,

spearing a greasy black sausage from a large plate laden

with sauerkraut.


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I am very pleased that you exercised restraint with

Herr Klausner, she said.

It was not easy, she grumbled, the anger still

searing and gnawing at her.

I know, Christina, Madame Duchamp assured her. You

have a tremendous gift, dont lose control of it. The

power without wisdom can turn the gift into a curse.

I understand the logic, but its the emotion that

rages inside me, Christina morosely explained.

So like your father, Madame Duchamp sighed. He let

his emotions govern his power and it was his undoing.

Christina had not known her father. He had betrayed

her mother and some of Luciens followers and as a

consequence, paid the ultimate price when her mother

unleashed her power on him.

But I would never betray you, Christina quickly

replied.

I know, her mother smiled. But dont betray

yourself with your emotions. Now try to get some sleep.

Christina lay back on the brittle straw but was too

agitated to sleep. The candle that her mother had left

burning flickered hypnotically in the squalid darkness.

Christina stared at it for some time before feeling drowsy

enough to sleep, but just before her eyes closed, the flame


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trembled as if a sudden draft had wafted carefully into the

barn. Shadows began to creep along the wall, growing ever

longer as Christinas heart began to race. She heard a

pistol being cocked and saw the glint of a metal gun barrel

next to Richard's head.

You would be wise not to make a move, young sir, the

owner of the pistol advised. Christina could see

Klausner's servant with the pistol pressed against her

lovers head, when all of a sudden, the candle flame grew

bright and she heard her mothers voice loud and clear.

You would be wise to lower that pistol!

Christina looked to her left and saw Madame Duchamp

with a dagger at Klausner's throat, her eyes fierce and

burning with rage.

The terrified servant lowered the pistol as Richard

grabbed his arm and twisted it hard behind his back,

causing the pistol to fall to the floor.

So, this is how you treat your guests, Herr

Klausner? Madame Duchamp taunted. Not very hospitable of

you.

I am also constable of this hamlet, Klausner

protested. I would be missed.


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Not by the tourist trade, Im sure, Christina

interjected, retrieving the pistol from the floor and

pointing it at Klausner.

There is only one judge, jury and executioner and

right now she has a knife at your throat, Madame Duchamp

announced.

Please, Klausner begged. What do you want? Ill

do anything!

Quickly surveying her surroundings, Madame Duchamp

caught sight of a long pitchfork protruding from a large

mound of hay. The tines gleamed spectrally in the luminous

candlelight while a devious punishment formed in her

thoughts. She turned Klausner to face the pitchfork, drew

the dagger away from his throat and said Walk!

How far? he stammered.

All the way! she commanded.

Klausner walked toward the pitchfork and stopped just

before the tines touched his chest.

Walk! Madame Duchamp repeated.

I will not kill myself! he shouted, grabbing the

pitchfork and lunging at Madame Duchamp who raised her arm

and stopped him in his tracks.

Now, she calmly stated. Turn the pitchfork toward

your throat.


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No! he shouted.

Do it, she gravely demanded, staring into his eyes.

Slowly, Klausner, unable to stop, began to turn the

pitchfork on himself, the tines beginning to pierce his

fleshy neck. Please . . . he stammered as tiny droplets

of blood began to appear and roll down his neck.

Fall! she ordered and he fell forward, plunging the

pitchfork deep into his throat. The blood gurgled and

churned in his throat while the white flash of his life

force bolted through Madame Duchamp, knocking her to the

floor.

I have never seen power such as this, you are a

minion of the devil, Klausner's servant whimpered,

trembling in Richard's grasp.

Some things should not be seen by the uninitiated,

Christina replied, moving toward him, her heart quickening

with anticipation.

Richard tightened his grip, knowing that Christina was

about to strengthen her power. The servant began to

breathe fast and heavy as Christina placed her hands on his

eyes.

Shhh, she whispered, caressing his closed eyes with

her thumbs. I have heard that the eyes are the mirrors of


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the soul, she pensively said, her power beginning to stir

within her.

If it is my silence you want, it is yours. Just tell

me what you want! he nervously offered.

Your soul! she demanded, driving her thumbs deep

into his eye sockets as the blood drenched her hands and

face. He struggled, but Richard held fast, wrapping his

arm around the hapless mans neck and as his life ebbed and

the struggling ceased, Christina felt the familiar bolt of

power that she craved rush through her, intensifying her

power. Her whole body was shaking until the full force hit

her, dislodging her thumbs from the bloody eye sockets.

The power was ablaze in Christinas eyes, giving them an

ominous radiance. She could feel the charge of power

rushing through her, making her feel stronger than ever.

Richard let the limp corpse slump to the floor, the

eyeless sockets staring blankly. It was then that

Christina gazed into her hands and beheld the bloody orbs,

but before she could react, Madame Duchamp stood beside her

and whispered, These are but tools to help us.

Christina looked at her mother and immediately could

sense her intensified power.

Teach me, she requested, handing her the gory

spheres.


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Madame Duchamp smiled as she took the eyes from her

daughters hands. She was pleased that Christina still had

a burning desire to learn.

Thieves such as these, she began, usually have a

horde of loot that they keep hidden. These will help us

find it. We fortified our power, now we will fortify our

purse!

Madame Duchamp and Christina entered the house

cautiously while Richard kept a sharp eye out for any other

servants Klausner may have had. When they were satisfied

they were alone, Madame Duchamp placed the eyes in the palm

of her hand and recited a simple yet compelling incantation,

Eyes of the thief, hear me now,

Reveal your secret, break your vow.

With these eyes torn asunder,

Lead me to your hidden plunder.

Madame Duchamp could feel her power animate the dead

eyes, giving them life to obey her command. Christina was

amazed as the eyes looked upward toward the staircase.

Up the stairs, quickly, she said to Christina who

dutifully followed.

As they walked down the short hallway, the eyes

abruptly moved to the left toward a worm eaten wooden door.

Christina tried the door and to her surprise, found it


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unlocked. The room they entered yielded no plunder; it was

sparsely furnished and some of the panels in the walls were

cracked and peeling. It was one of these cracked and

peeling panels that the eyes in Madame Duchamp's hand fixed

their dead gaze upon. Madame Duchamp ran her free hand

along the panel until she heard a faint click and pushed

lightly. The panel opened to reveal another room laden

with stolen property. Christina followed her mother into

the room and was amazed at the cache of goods piled in the

secret chamber. There was gold and silver jewelry, swords,

pistols, clothing and all sorts of finery, snuff boxes and

even some musical instruments.

Old Klausner must have been in business for quite a

while, Christina remarked while looking over the newly

found treasure.

Yes, however, it is not lavish goods that we seek,

Madame Duchamp replied. The money, she commanded.

Where is the money?

At once the eyes lowered their gaze towards the floor

under Christinas feet.

Yes, Madame Duchamp smiled. Under the floorboard.

Christina immediately dropped to the floor and found

the slightly open seam in the floorboards. She carefully

lifted the board and found a niche filled with a


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substantial fortune. They filled their pockets, leaving

the servants eyes in the empty niche. Then mother and

daughter left the secret chamber and the room that hid it

as they found it and returned to the barn.

What did you find? Richard anxiously asked.

Enough capital to live very well in Vienna, Madame

Duchamp happily answered. It will be dawn soon, she

continued. We should be on our way. Can you ready the

carriage, Gerard?

Oui, Madame, he dutifully answered and set about his

task.

They arrived in Ulm just as the boats were being

loaded and passengers were boarding. Passage to Vienna was

secured on a vessel that resembled a wooden house rowed by

six pairs of men. Christina was surprised when she entered

the cabin and saw no bed, but instead saw hammocks

suspended from hooks in the walls.

Is that where we are to sleep? she inquired of her

mother.

Yes, Madame Duchamp answered. Proper wooden beds

would get wet in case of accidental flooding. This is much

more adventurous, Im sure youll like it.

Christina smiled at the thought of another adventure

and hoped that Vienna would be as thrilling as she


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imagined. Of course she realized that her continued

instruction in the black arts would take precedence, but

hopefully there would be time to experience Vienna and all

it had to offer. After all, she thought, how much more

knowledge could there be? She had already memorized herbs

and their usage, cast spells, raised the dead, killed to

increase her power and cheated death. What else could her

mother possibly teach her? Christina was not one to wait

for answers, so she approached her mother and asked, How

much more training am I to have before I am a true master?

That is up to you, Madame Duchamp replied. However

there are still some things you must learn before you can

master them.

Christina was a bit disappointed by her mothers

answer. Her power was strong, she could feel it and knew

how to keep it strong.

Madame Duchamp sensed her daughters disappointment

but decided to be firm with her. Mastery doesnt come

overnight, Christina. It takes years. Learning to master

the black arts is a lifelong commitment, one that cannot be

forsaken if one is to be a true master. She moved toward

Christina and put her arm around her shoulders. I know

that patience is not one of your strong attributes, but it

needs to be if we are to continue.


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But my power is strong . . . Christina began.

Your power is very strong, her mother broke in.

But there is more to the black arts than keeping your

power strong. Power without knowledge is useless; be

patient, master your power and nothing will be able to

touch you.

As Christina absorbed her mothers advice, she heard

Lucien's voice whisper to her thoughts, Trust in your

mothers words, she speaks the truth.

Christina knew that she had chosen a difficult path,

but Luciens encouragement made her realize that she had

chosen wisely.

Thank you, mother, she relented with a loving

embrace. She knew that her mother only had Christinas

best interest in mind and had sacrificed much for her.

Christina kept her mothers words in mind as she left

her embrace and walked out onto the deck. She inhaled the

warm air, felt Richards arm slide around her waist and his

soft kiss on her lips.

Madame Duchamp watched Richard and Christina, arm in

arm, peering over the side while the boat pulled away from

the dock. She never doubted Christinas loyalty and

willingness to learn. Christina possessed a burning

curiosity with all things pertaining to the black arts and


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would make any master proud, but she also had the pride and

impatience of youth.

You are quite capable of teaching Christina to

overcome her weaknesses, a voice behind her assured.

Lucien, she whispered, turning to find him behind

her and out of Christinas sight. I worry about her, she

confided.

She is no different from you at that age, Lucien

replied.

Yes, but I was more disciplined, more focused, she

confessed. Christina lets her emotions get the better of

her.

She always has, he replied. But of all my

disciples, you are the most knowledgeable and the most

skilled. I have the utmost confidence in you.

Thank you, my lord. I owe everything to you, she

returned.

You have done me a great service, Madeline, Lucien

declared, caressing her cheek and kissing her lips. I

know you wont fail me.

Your desire is my will, she firmly stated as Lucien

disappeared into the shadows. She was flattered by

Luciens confidence in her and grateful for the good life

the power was able to give her. She would instill that in


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Christina and make her see all the things that disciplined

use of the power could bring her. But that would be on

hold for a few days until they arrived in Vienna, for now

it would just be a pleasant journey down the sun-lit waters

of the Danube.

Documents

Solitary Fire 1st Chapter