Fools, these Mortals

Iago Chapter Twenty-One

A manner of pure unnaturalness poured through my every nerve as the distance between me and the boy grew to the extent that the pull was barely noticeable. It had diminished to a minor scratch at the back of my head. Irritating and miniscule but not forgettable. I hadn't jumped off the sled for one reason: by locking the boy in the cell, he was safe as I could ensure he be in a vampire infested castle.

Journeying through the forest was the true trial, even though all the humans were strapped safely on the sleds, pulled by the strong vampire guards along with unnoticeable courtiers that jogged apace. It was one of the few moments in Illyria where I didn't mind being degraded to second class citizen of mortal. Littered in the forest was the peasantry of the vampire world, their pitiful wooden hovels were not much to boost about. Trees were laboured by their abandoned branches, creating a small den for each vampire against a foundation tree, with scraps of cloth and leaves to protect their fragile skin from the sun's weak rays during the daylight. But even that was fatal to these pious creatures. Only the scraps from each stock appeased them, as the townsfolk were too well guarded to get past the vampires that resided there to protect the majority of their reproducing stock. Following the trail, six bodies from the previous night had been unceremoniously dumped, drained to pale husks. One desperate peasant was still attempting to suck whatever blood remained in one body's veins. I turned my eyes away, not giving the luxury of time to witness Illyria's food chain. Passing through the well-worn path pounded in place by thousands of feet over the generations, the forest was an uneventful trek. Though, it wasn't the free roaming vampire peasants that had my stomach on edge. It was the trees. A burial pit held a warmer welcome than this grove.

Looking close enough, I could make out the tortuous expressions of the condemned faces of the Goodfellows, trapped in their wooden bodies, Sycorax's punishment when the fae witch was threatened by their power, so Othello had educated me, passing down knowledge of the land. Lining the path and many layers thick, the Goodfellow Forrest served as a warning to anyone that thought radicalised thoughts against Sycorax. It wasn't known if some Goodfellows were alive, the splitting of rare few trees provided possible numbers. Hiding from the world that shunned them and their perished spirits.

Rumours have long since spread that those freed were now naturally agents of the Fae King, spying on his enemies. Such rumours even went so far as to describe the dungeons beneath the tranquil fae palace. Enemies of Oberon's were kept alive for one purpose. So that a Goodfellow could take their place seemingly in their close circles to gain information, hence Oberon's nickname amongst the vampires: the King of Shadows. It was common knowledge and tale told to the humans that a Goodfellow could morph themselves into another if the subject was alive. In essence, a Goodfellow, however powerful they were, could not replicate those deceased. Rumours thrived over how many victims lay at the whim of Oberon, tortured in a living death. Twinkling to the side, a pair of white opal eyes glowed starkly against the dark wood, a slow blink the one movement they could achieve.

Tearing my gaze from the trees, I hunched and focused on the night ahead. I was not interested in Illyria's history, only its future, with myself and the humans as the dominant race of Illyria. If I had a need for such creatures then matters would be different, but for now, the trees groaned at their unimaginable anguish.

The air was thin and ready to snap from the political strain when the border finally came into view. Already the vampires were positioned strategically along the marshy land struggling through the bog for stable footing. Through the trees with a slight incline lay Oberon's forces. A fae battalion was noticeably in position on their ridge advantage point, their black skin engravings clashing against the vibrant colours of the forest, their weapons black and sharp.

When I locked eyes with Desdemona keeping watch throughout the journey to the border, I was pleased to note her tense features and her worry looked to her precious Cassio. Storing the memory for later, I had to push that guilty pleasure thought to one side once the vampires had ordered us to disembark from the sleds. Along with the rest of the human servants, we ran to our masters' sides, adding another line to the border defences. Only Cassio and I wore the black leathers of Sustainers. Vampires knew that humans had the will to fight, putting it to our shorter lifespans. What our masters didn't know was some humans like me live for the fight, to dominate the lesser. Instinctually competitive in a literally cutthroat world, ex-criminals thrived in Illyria. And these humans listened to me; I was in my element and was finally living. My smile wouldn't move for all the wealth in Illyria.