The Elixir

  The Elixir

  The Fempiror Chronicles

  by

  George Willson

  Text copyright 2015 by George Willson

  Originally published as The Fempiror Chronicles: The Elixir of Draculya

  Adapted in part using characters, situations, and text from Dracula by Bram Stoker, published in 1897

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author.

  First edition, October 2015

  Second Edition, March 2018

  Printed in the United States of America

  www.fempiror.com

  For Tasha and the girls,

  who continue to fill my life

  with more wonder and drama than

  any story I could ever concoct.

  Thanks to Tim for being a friend

  through this process and enduring

  the time it took to finish this one.

  You can stop hounding me now.

  Also by George Willson

  The Fempiror Chronicles Series:

  The Initiation

  Mutation Genesis

  Razer Hunt

  The Maze Series:

  City of Phase

  The Kursas

  The Off-Worlders

  False Invasion

  Ancient Visitors

  The Terraformers

  Others:

  Atari Speaks

  Vengeance

  December 1385

  Prologue

  King Jakrad of the Felletterusk people had invited alchemist Miraslav Draculya to his country in 1384 hoping that the knowledge he possessed might serve to strengthen the waning Felletterusk army in their ongoing war against their Corelnesh rivals. In his time as an alchemist in Wallachia, Miraslav had created a variety of different tonics and serums that gave temporary strength to its users, but King Jakrad wanted something stronger – something permanent. He needed the assurance that his Piror, the Felletterusk word for “warriors”, would have no chance of losing their extra strength in the heat of battle.

  Kings of nations had made this request of him before, but no matter how he mixed his solutions, no change was ever permanent. These previous concoctions had been sufficient for those kings, but Jakrad was unwilling to issue any serum to his army or pay Miraslav for his services or travel until he considered the serum perfect. So Miraslav was obligated to deliver what the king required or make the journey of several hundred miles home empty-handed. That is, if the king or their opponents allowed him to leave with his life after such a failure.

  Miraslav was given the best equipment the Felletterusk could acquire which was sufficient for his simple needs, and they willingly supplied test subjects. Ingredients were limited, however, since they were a country at war, so he was forced to work with what was on hand. After much experimentation, he stumbled upon the perfect combination of ingredients that sustained a Piror’s strength far beyond anything else he had ever created. He was not certain it was permanent, but it had not worn off of any subject who had taken it which meant it would at least last long enough for their needs. He kept a tight watch on his first subject in order to determine how long it would last and when another dose would be required, but after a week, the effect remained.

  While this definitely fulfilled King Jakrad’s request, Miraslav was concerned over the side effects of the serum more than the unending effect. The new Piror had the speed and strength requested by the king, but for some reason, sunlight caused such severe burns that one of his subjects died. In addition, their body temperature dropped so low that based on everything Miraslav knew about the human body, his subjects should be dead. He remained concerned over what other side effects might manifest, but before he was allowed time for further research, the king arrived to review his progress. Upon noting how long the effect lasted, he ordered Miraslav to give a group of Piror the serum and send them to the front lines.

  That first group was followed by many, many more until there was an entire regiment of new warriors, or “Fempiror”. He soon learned that the serum flowed through the blood of these Fempiror, and the commanders expanded their armies by having new warriors drink the blood of the existing troops creating more Fempiror through a newly created, and intense, initiation ceremony.

  The Felletterusk split this regiment into two separate orders with their own disciplines: the Rastem (wolf) Order handled the regular melee battles they conducted at night, giving them a distinct advantage over their enemy’s day-weary soldiers, and the smaller Elewo (owl) Order specialized in stealth-oriented, hand to hand combat missions behind enemy lines.

  Against this new enemy, the human Corelnesh army did not stand a chance. The Fempiror regiment poured over the land like a plague destroying everyone without mercy, taking no prisoners and leaving no city or town in the entire Corelnesh country standing. It was equally impressive and terrifying, and Miraslav knew at some point, these Fempiror would want to return to their former lives with their families. The problem remained that the serum never wore off, and they could not have a life in the sun unless he found a way to reverse their condition.

  However, everyone knew to whom they owed their country’s victory, and Miraslav was called Voivode by many of its citizens as a badge of honor since the title referred to a leader of warriors in his native tongue from Wallachia, though they pronounced it, for some reason, phonetically in Felletterusk which sounded strange to him. He accepted the title with all due humility all the same, but knew the honor would become a curse if he were unable to finish the job and return these Fempiror to normal.

  It did not take long for the worst to happen among the Fempiror after their homecomings and the realization of what they had become. The men could not work outside during the day, they were cold to the touch, and accidents happened where a fit of anger would cause unbelievable destruction or even death because of their ridiculous strength. The population, who believed in witchcraft, demons, and the walking dead, decided to label these heroes of their country as monsters or demon-possessed. Families not only turned away their own kin, but in some cases, the villages and hometowns of these willing volunteers banded together to kill the Fempiror out of an irrational fear of their condition. This horrific turn of events placed additional pressure on Voivode to find the elusive cure, but while he worked to fix the problem he had caused, the Fempiror were taking matters into their own hands.

  Members of both orders gathered together to discuss the situation, and from these talks came three prevailing opinions. The Elewo decided as a group to patiently wait out the cure in seclusion, away from both the country who had called them and the people who rejected them. The Rastem were divided in their desires to simply wait and serve their country away from the danger of their families and the wish to show their country and people who was the stronger force and destroy them or even change others using their blood to share the rejection experience. The loyal Rastem swore to defend their country even against its own people should this group try such a thing, but the group went their own way and called themselves the Tepish (bat).

  That was the most recent report Voivode had heard, and at this moment, he knew the remaining Rastem were discussing their next move in the military headquarters just in case the new Tepish Order decided to attack them. He preferred to remain in the laboratory where he had spent the last year of his life, even celebrating his fortieth birthday within these walls among the cups and solutions he called friends and ignoring the outside world with all of its ongoing tribulations.

  He had come close a few times to counteracting what he referred to as “The Fempiror Condi
tion” with a combination of garlic and orange juice, though it failed to stick for any length of time. He had noted the negative reaction exhibited by the Fempiror to these elements along with the wood of the white oak tree, which while not common in this part of the world, it was used in making some wooden weaponry, and it had come to his attention that the Fempiror experienced pain when they touched these weapons with their bare hands. He had created a stirring stick with some of the wood in an attempt to infuse its properties with the garlic and orange juice. So far, no combination of these ingredients had worked, so this time, he had let the solution sit all day to cure hoping time might lend itself to the antidote he sought.

  Since the Fempiror could not come out during the day, he conducted his experiments at night, and he heard his latest volunteer, Andrew, enter the lab. Voivode had removed the glass containing the day-cured version of his antidote from the window and prepared to test it against a sample of Fempiror blood. As Andrew waited patiently for Voivode to acknowledge him, Voivode placed a drop of Fempiror blood onto a glass slide he had beneath a magnifying glass on a table surrounded by candles to give him sufficient lighting to view the results in the dimming hours. Under magnification, he had noticed a superficial difference between human and Fempiror blood, and if the two were mixed, he was always able to discern the presence of the Fempiror changing the human to match itself. Therefore, he hoped introducing this solution would produce a noticeable result and not simply water down the blood to make it look like orange juice.

  Carefully, he placed a drop of the solution on top of the Fempiror blood and viewed the results through his magnifying glass. The blood reacted to the contact of the solution, and in the end, it looked different enough to him to believe he might finally have something. He looked to Andrew, who nervously waited. He poured some of the solution into a cup and walked to where Andrew stood by the entrance to his laboratory.

  Andrew had been beyond gracious through this process sometimes enduring searing pain from the attempts Voivode had given him to reverse the condition. Still, he knew this was a difficult process and always kept an open mind as Voivode presented another solution to imbibe.

  “Good evening, Voivode,” Andrew said as Voivode approached. The young warrior stood patiently before him dressed in a tunic, trousers, and bare feet.

  “Good evening, Andrew,” Voivode replied. “I trust the night has found you well.”

  “I’m not sure, to be honest, sir,” Andrew said. “A lot of people are worried about our brothers who left the order. We’re afraid they may do something rash.”

  “Not to worry, my dear boy,” Voivode assured him. “I believe I have found the answer finally.”

  “So we can go home?” Andrew asked hopefully.

  “Yes,” Voivode said with equal hope. “It is my sincere desire that your service in the Army of the Fempiror is at long last complete.” He handed the cup to Andrew, who sniffed the contents and turned his head in disgust, tears brimming in his eyes. Voivode expected this reaction, given how the Fempiror condition responded to its ingredients.

  “What’s in this?” Andrew asked.

  “Much the same as previous attempts. A drink that would be quite healthy to normal people and Eltpiror, even,” Voivode explained, using the term for their warriors who had not been changed, “but you will not like it. In fact, it will be painful for you, but when it has done its work, you will be normal.”

  Andrew looked at Voivode warily, the tears from the scent of the drink serving to make him look even more pathetic, like a child forced to eat a food in protest.

  “You must trust me,” Voivode said confidently. Andrew finally nodded.

  “I trust you,” he sighed, and then with a final glance to the cup, he closed his eyes and chugged the drink down in one gulp.

  As soon as the drink was gone, Andrew dropped the cup and held his neck. He gasped for air, and then swung out his arms, his fists clenched as he continued to gasp. His body convulsed as the drink did its work, and Voivode was afraid he might have really hurt his subject this time. Andrew finally took in a huge breath of air followed by a strained scream before he collapsed on the floor.

  The reaction was not unlike the original serum, but still concerned that he might have killed another one, Voivode knelt next to Andrew’s body. He placed a hand on his volunteer’s forehead, feeling of his frigid body temperature. He sighed, but hoped the results just took time. Keeping his hand in place, he felt Andrew’s temperature increase and then his chest moved as the lad breathed again. Somehow, it was working. He had done it. He had cured the Fempiror condition.

  Andrew’s eyes fluttered open after only a few minutes, and he turned to the alchemist. “Voivode?” he said wearily.

  “How are you feeling, Andrew?” Voivode asked.

  “I’m all right,” Andrew replied. “I feel weak, though. And cold.”

  “Your temperature is returning to normal,” Voivode told him excitedly. “You feel cold because your body temperature is rising above the temperature of the room. I believe it worked.”

  Andrew smiled and grasped Voivode’s hand. “Oh thank you, Voivode,” the young man said. “Again, you will be our savior.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” Voivode said. “I would like to check you over completely to be sure.”

  “Of course.”

  Suddenly, the door was kicked in and several men in their early twenties dressed in dark armor with the image of a bat scrawled across the breast plate in red paint charged into the laboratory. Voivode and Andrew rose to their feet.

  “What is going on here?” Voivode demanded with what authority he could muster. Inside, he was frightened. He recognized a couple of the men as Fempiror, so he knew he would have no hope of standing against them if they attacked him.

  The men stood aside as their leader confidently strode into the lab. Voivode recognized him as Pelkra, one of the Piror who had taken the original serum. He stood menacingly before the alchemist and his volunteer.

  “What do you want here, Pelkra,” Voivode asked.

  “I am leading the Tepish Revolution against those who have rejected us,” Pelkra said as four other warriors surrounded Voivode and Andrew.

  “What is that to do with us?” Voivode asked. “There was no rejection here. I’m still working to help you, and Andrew is one of you.”

  Pelkra nodded to the warrior directly behind Andrew, and with the telltale ring of a sword leaving a scabbard, a bloody blade emerged from the unfortunate lad’s chest. Voivode turned in shock to see the sword withdraw and Andrew slump to the ground, dead.

  “He was not one of us any longer,” Pelkra said. “He still supported the Rastem.”

  Voivode felt his heart rate increase as he turned back to Pelkra as calmly as he could. “Is that my fate as well?” he asked.

  “You created the serum that created us,” Pelkra explained. “It was your responsibility to change us back, and you failed.”

  “No, I have succeeded. Look,” Voivode said quickly as he retrieved the container of the antidote he had just given Andrew. He held it before Pelkra. Pelkra looked doubtfully at Voivode and then sniffed of the mixture predictably reacting negatively to it. He winced and angrily tossed the container across the room, shattering it and sending the precious fluid splattering all over the wall and floor.

  “You seek to poison us!” Pelkra yelled. “Your answer is to get rid of us like every other person in this country wanted to do.” Voivode shook his head desperately, but Pelkra continued, ignoring him. “No, you will suffer our fate. A fate worse than death itself. You will know what it is to feel our rejection; to never be able to return home; to never see the light of day again. You will not die. You will live in our hell.”

  Voivode took a reflexive step back, but he felt the iron grip of the warriors take his arms. He had no hope of struggling against them. Pelkra sliced one of his own arms, allowing the blood to flow. The warriors behind Voivode kicked the backs of his knees, forcing him to the g
round. One of them grabbed Voivode’s hair and pulled his head back so he faced upward, while another held his mouth open.

  “We will not allow you the dignity of a cup,” Pelkra said, and he held his wound over Voivode’s mouth. The captive alchemist tasted the cold blood as it dripped past his lips, but he refused to swallow it. He knew the change could begin with a miniscule amount, but he hoped that if he were able to spit it out, it would give him a better chance.

  Then they held his mouth closed and plugged his nose. He was unable to breathe. He struggled for a moment, but they easily held him still. He had no choice. His body took over and swallowed the blood, and as soon as they saw this, they released him. Their work was done. He felt the coldness turn his stomach. He hoped he might be able to vomit it, but he knew once he felt the heat in his veins, it was too late.

  “Destroy the lab,” Pelkra called out.

  Succumbing to the serum he created, Voivode watched the warriors pulverize everything the Felletterusk people had provided for him to do their work. Glass shattered. Wood splintered. The tainted blood reached his heart, and a scream broke from his lungs as he became one of them.

  August 1888

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Carpathian Mountain range formed the southwestern corner of Austria-Hungary, separating it from Romania to the west and nestling the principality of Transylvania within it. After the Scandinavians, the Carpathians are the second longest mountain range in Europe, providing habitats for a variety of creatures, both natural and otherwise, in Europe’s largest unfragmented forest area. As such, many things would endeavor to disappear within those endless forests with its huge supply of animal life.

  Many years ago, an area of the forest was cleared to make way for a secluded fortress which, following its destruction, the forest quickly reclaimed. The damage from that incursion, however, lasted far beyond a single building. While nature could recover the infinitesimal area the invaders profaned, it could not prevent the ones those people left behind from living off the land and remaining out of the sight of humanity, most of whom did not enter the mountain forests.