The Empty by Thom Reese

require—first and foremost—human essence. Their form is essentially human, their internal organs similar, their intellect comparable. None are certain of the reyaqc’s origin; some say they are the product of unions between human females and demons, others claim they are a gross mutation; others, the next evolutionary step toward perfection. Regardless, it is safe to assume that there is some past human connection. But Tresset had forsaken human essence. He’d come to despise the need, to view it as inherently corrupt, and so refused to instill his system with this central component. Mountain cats, his sustaining species, were rare in this area and so he’d taken to infusing from simple house cats. The feline essence was similar enough that he had not suffered too greatly from incompatibility, but his body ached for the human component.
    And so, as Tresset leaped at the rabbit, a simple feat, a near-mindless kill, his legs betrayed him. He fell far short of his mark as the frightened creature bolted from view, never to be found again. Tresset cursed and rolled onto his back. His stomach growled in protest. It had been six days since last he’d tasted meat. He thought again of Dolnaraq. Why had they not yet connected? Why was he not here in Tresset’s time of need?
    The molt’s eyes fluttered in a vain attempt at focus. He sought to rise from his grassy bed, but found his limbs too weak. Better to rest. Later, food. Later, essence. Later, Dolnaraq.
    * * * *
     
    Tresset awoke to the smell of roasted boar over a crackling campfire. There were voices, laughter, the clanking of pots and pans, the mingled odors of both human and reyaqc.
    Gypsies, or, Romani as they often liked to be called.
    Tresset blinked.
    The sky wavered.
    Blink, blink. No, not the sky, canvass. A tent.
    A lantern sat at the far end, its flame dancing about, creating spirit-like shadows upon the uneven fabric.
    Now there was a face before him—young, female, dark of eyes and hair. Human. The young woman turned to her right. “He wakes,” she said with a suppressed giggle. The girl could not have seen more than seventeen winters.
    Another form appeared beyond the girl. Male, nearly elderly. Clothed in colorful gypsy garb. His milk white eyes glowed eerily in the flickering lamplight. A reyaqc.
    “I am called Jisch.” He spoke in the Russian tongue, one much more familiar to Tresset than German, though why this one did not utter the reyaqc’s own language, Tresset could only guess.
    “Human…lover,” managed Tresset, though still he was weak from lack of food and essence. Even the simple act of forming syllables seemed an effort.
    Jisch chuckled. “Perhaps. But this human lover is likely the sole reason you yet live.” The reyaqc moved closer as the young woman scooted slightly to her left. “You are well depleted, young one. Far too much animal essence. How long since last you drew from a human source?”
    Tresset stared at him, contempt in his gaze. He remained silent.
    Jisch sighed. “I suppose that is an unnecessary question. The point is, if you are to live, you must infuse. And this you must do quickly.” The senior reyaqc turned to his right, signaled to a young human male who had just entered the tent: tall, lean, a wry grin and intelligent eyes. “This is Carman. He is a willing giver.”
    “No,” managed Tresset.
    But Jisch paid him no mind. The young human stepped forward, kneeling beside Tresset. Jisch lifted Tresset’s right arm. The young molt struggled against him, but all strength had fled. He had no recourse. Jisch placed Tresset’s palm at the back of Carman’s neck. The process was instinctual. Tresset could not will the needlelike spines to remain hidden within his palm. Not when the need was so great. There was a surge of heat as the young gypsy’s essence flowed through Tresset’s hand, down his arm, and into his core. Tresset’s eyes went wide. His vision blurred. And unconsciousness took him yet again.
    * *