Black Blood

I look at the man in surprise. I had expected many things to happen here, but this man is the last thing I could have imagined. At first glance, I cannot make out what the man is. He doesn’t look dangerous, not at all healthy. His skin is almost as white as his hair. If this is the guard, I can imagine that my father could enter this place. The man doesn’t look particularly dangerous.

‘Who are you?’ I ask the man. He folds his hands in front of his body.

‘Aah yeah sure. Let me introduce myself. Remicus Valius speaking. Guardian and keeper of the Albaria,’ the man says as if I should understand what he is talking about. Novak has now come to stand beside me.

‘Excuse me, what is the Albaria?’ Novak asks before I can say anything. The man starts laughing and takes a step aside.

‘Come with me, I’ll show you,’ says the man and walks deeper into the mountain. I look at Novak with a confused expression before I start to follow the man. We end up in a long dark corridor. It is a cleft in the mountainside. The mountain walls of the corridor run around us in a semi-circle. Here and there, a torch illuminates small sections of the wall. As soon as the gate closes behind us, you can hardly see your hand in front of your face. It is so quiet and cold that it sends shivers down my spine. When I came here last time, we landed the dragons at the headquarters. The part where we are walking now is below that. I now understand why we never took this route.

The corridor seems endless before we see a point of light in the distance. The man walks so fast that I am almost running to keep up with him. The light source comes closer and closer until I walk into a huge space. I end up in a room as big as the main hall in the castle. In contrast to that corridor, you are almost blinded by the light here. There are even trees with white leaves here and there. As if that weren’t remarkable enough, there is white sand everywhere you look. The ground is covered with it. There is not a speck of stone to be seen, everything is white. The glint reflected from the sand is dazzlingly bright. Every little bit of light that can be seen in the room is reflected by the white sand. In the middle of the room runs a path similar to a forest path.

‘Lady and Lord. Welcome to the Albaria. Better known to others as the Tomb of Blood. Aah look.’ The man points to a few metres away. A patch of sand lights up like the sun, holds the light for a while and then goes out. What remains is a small heap of new sand. I look at the event in amazement. What has happened before my eyes is a mystery to me. Even Novak, who is standing next to me, doesn’t seem to understand what he saw. The man, on the other hand, finds his enthusiasm in this space.

‘In this beautiful place, all beings connected to the bloodline find their rest. Think of it as the most beautiful cemetery on earth. Every grain is a soul that has found its rest here. Come follow me.’ I look at my feet and feel an intense sense of guilt when I see that I am standing on the sand. I am standing on souls. That is perhaps the craziest realisation that has crossed my mind. The realisation that every grain is a soul, a dead person, my brain cannot grasp. It feels unreal and confrontational at the same time. The man walks across the path. I follow the man in doubt and look around me. The white sparkles are beautiful. You can feel the magic floating through the room.

‘Night Riders are connected to all life lines, some more than others. Yet they find their peace here,’ the man says, pointing to a group of black grains of sand.

‘They are the only grains of black except for the afflicted souls. Some souls will wander forever and won’t even come here, others will struggle forever and most will find their rest. Do you see those heaps? That is the living world. The grains are just an appearance. The souls live together in a visual world with the fellow souls who were most important to each other. For example, farmers live together on a farm with their beloved. So everyone has their own world.’ I look at the spot the man points out and count how many grains I see. Three, four, five, six... seven. I count seven grains, that’s impossible.

‘I count seven black grains, that can’t be right,’ I say incredulously. The man looks at me with raised eyebrows.

‘The grains don’t lie beauty. Four Nazu and three Night Riders.’ Very slowly, too slowly, the realisation descends. Four Nazu. Rave. Rave is dead. I don’t know how and I don’t want to know how, but Rave is dead. Not only that. Four Nazu means Viko’s Nazu is gone. The Nazu are extinct. In fact, three Night Riders means Viko is gone too. I am the last Night Rider. I don’t know how, I don’t know when but Viko was dead before we got here. In total shock, I look at the seven black grains of sand. I can only stare ahead while the thoughts race through my head. The entire future of the Night Riders and stopping my father lies on my shoulders. The life of the underworld is on my shoulders. I am alone.

‘One day you will join them,’ the man says, which does not improve the situation.

‘Do you know when new souls will come?’ asks Novak. I continue to stare ahead in shock and silence. My brain doesn’t seem to want to process the realisation. They are a chaos and at the same time extinct.

‘Sometimes. Some souls are predictable, have a great energy. Others are a surprise,’ the man continues.

‘When did the last two dragons and Night Rider join?’, I ask without looking up. My gaze is fixed on the seven black grains of sand. My eyes seem to be petrified, my body frozen.

‘The Nazu and the Night Rider came three days ago. The last Nazu found his rest here yesterday.’ If only I had not let Rave go, if only I had kept him with me. If he had been with me he would still be alive. If we had been quicker Viko would still be alive. We are too late, we wasted our time and our chance. A tear escapes from my eye, slides down my cheek and falls on the path. This is all my fault. If I hadn’t saved Christian, things would have turned out very differently. Nora, Rave, Tristan and Viko would still be alive, Christiaan would be dead and my father would have a lot less power.

‘When do I get to lie here?’ I ask and finally avert my gaze from the seven grains. I look at the man in his snow-white eyes. I see doubt shooting through the white.

‘I don’t know,’ the man answers. He knows more than he is letting on. This man is more powerful than he lets on. He single-handedly guards the souls of millions of beings. That would not be possible if the man is as powerful as he pretends to be.

‘You are lying. You know exactly which souls will come and when.’ The man sighs and stands up straight. I cross my arms and look at the man expectantly.

‘You are smarter than you look, beautiful. Maybe you consider it a privilege to know when one dies. Maybe you want to know what the future will bring. Unfortunately, reality is not as rosy as you think. The peace that one will find here is irreversible, and neither is the situation that brings them here. There is a difference between having an indication of when and how one will die and knowing it. When I look at a person or a creature, I see their death, the pain they will suffer, the loved one they will leave behind and the place where they will live on. I once expressed myself to two men. That almost cost us the magic. The information I carry is deadly, maddening and absolutely not for the ears of a mortal’.

If one knows when he dies, he will act accordingly. I read that in a book once and it confirms this man. If my father knows when he is going to die, he will use all the time he has. He will no longer be afraid of death or injury. Some believe that your death is certain, others see it as a coincidence. If I am to believe this man, the first option is correct. I don’t know what I believe, what I want to believe. If I had to believe the man’s story, I would not have been able to change anything about Rave or Nora’s death. That thought, that powerlessness, is harder to grasp than the thought that it is my fault.

‘What is your opinion of murderers?’ asks Novak. The man begins to laugh.

‘It is not for me to pass judgment on the ways these souls end up here,’ the man replies tactfully. Something tells me he does, but doesn’t dare to speak out.

‘What is my next step?’ I have so many more questions for the man but something tells me it is not the time or the place. The man turns around, points to the other side of the room. There is an iron door full of locks.

‘That door is your next step.’