The Vampire's Heart (13 page)

The shabby man speaks first. I cannot help but wonder how long they’ve been fleeing.

“
Greetings, good men. My family and I are on our pilgrimage to The Dirigir Oak. Might I trouble Calcia’s honourable men for some bread to feed my family?”

They’re on pilgrimage? They’re not fleeing for their lives? I guess even the poor can worship with fervour just as well as the wealthy can.

“
That’s fine, how much do you need?” Satch asks. I had expected to be begged for protection from the vampires, or coin, which even we do not have.

“
Just enough to get us to Solisport,” the man says with a thankful smile.

“
Where have you come from?” I ask of the man, intrigued.

“
Harwood.” It is a town near Scathack, where myself, Satch and Thack grew up. I don’t think we’ve ever been there.

“
I meant on this island.”

I do not mean to, but the words come out a little harshly. The man shrinks back fractionally, and his smile slips, before answering.

“
Oh, we’ve passed through Menkh, Denro, and now we’re going to Solisport,” he says a little nervously.

“
Have you heard anything of vampires on the island?” Satch asks as he searches through his pack to find them some bread.

“
No. Should I have?”

It’s best not to say too much, so I remain quiet. Satch hands over some stale bread and the man takes it gladly, a smile once again warming his dirty face.

“
Okay, when you get to Solisport, get a boat to Geneet-Sa. Take the longer way around to Far Isle. Don’t go to Sacrem.”

“
As you wish, Father.”

“
I am a Hunter, not a Father,” Satch corrects the man, a smile on his face too.

“
My apologies. Veli, Rupar, thank these three Hunters.”

The children thank us in their high voices, as does the man’s wife, and then we part ways. I’m surprised that Thack didn’t object to being called a Hunter.

At least we’re now ahead of the vampires, which means that we can set a trap for them. Maybe we’ll even get some reinforcements from Midiar.

- Angel-Mexis -

76 days until the birth of a god

The 33
^rd
day of Winter-Fall, 1537

“
Muzbeth! I’ve found another!”

My shout echoes about the eerily empty town. They knew we were coming. The people of this place either fled or hid. I just found my fourth hider. He had rather foolishly run to the graveyard and had clambered up into the Dirigir Oak. He still cowers there now, clinging to one of the thicker branches in the vague hope that the tree, which looks after the dead, would now look after him in life.

“
What are you doing up there, sir?”

He does not respond to my ‘put on’ ignorant voice. One more try…

“
Sir? Are you okay?”

I still get no response. People; I fucking hate them. All they do is think of themselves. It makes the vast majority of them worthless, but the same trait also makes that rare few quite astonishing. I am one of those rare few.

I’m bored of playing this pointless game now, so I delve into my magic; viciously pulling out the wriggling strands that once came so freely to me. Now I have to force them into my care. I am a warlock. I am vengeance. The gods gave me magic, and then they took it away. So I stole it back. Now I’m an abomination to them. And how I love it like that.

I grind the fleeting strands into shape and form and send the spell out. Once I had used the same spell for healing, but now it is only for harm that I use it. The healing magics have been corrupted and now they inflict damage. Now they are fun to use, where once they had been boring and dull.

The man up the tree screams as the spell catches hold of him. He begins to tremble ever so slightly, and then he loses his grip and falls from the tree, hitting a few branches on the way down. He lands with a thud, where, on the ground, he writhes. He clutches oddly at his chest, trying to claw his heart out with his blunt fingernails. I watch intently, seeing his eyes lose focus and eventually see him slip away. How ironic that when he died he did so at the foot of the tree that would protect his soul. That is the only thing of fortune that he has acquired in the recent past.

Muzbeth comes at last and stands close by my side, putting his arm around my waist. His hand begins to caress my side. He obviously wants me and I’m sorely tempted to let him take me. I’m still feeling the high of magic and murder, so I bat has dead and cold hand away playfully. I turn to look at him and he sets his jaw defiantly. I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him lightly on the lips. He does not move. I slide my hands down his trousers. He gets hard. I feel the magic working within him. I smile. He smiles back. I remove my hands. He frowns. I walk away. My sexual game with him continues.

The sun still flies high over Gatheck. The world continues it endless march.

The Eighth Chapter

- Thack -

70 days until the birth of a god

The 1
^st
day of Spring-Rise, 1538

Meth had sensed the vampire coming about a mid-hour ago. That’s why we’re in such a state now. All of our focus is on to organising the town’s defence. Satch had ordered all of the women and children to head to the north side of the island as soon as Meth had told us; apparently it would be safer there, or so my brother thinks. Meth’s got all of the men that are capable of fighting and is placing them ‘strategically’ around the town. I’m a little dubious of the tactics taught by the churches, mainly because they managed to go to war with themselves.

He’s got them thinly spread, but I know that up against this vampire, it is not any use to fight up close, so variation and distance would be the key. The town’s best archer was placed immediately; stationed on a roof with a good view of the town. It is his job to make the first strike against the vampire. I’m sure he’ll be scared, but I have faith in these men. They know what they must do and the reasons they must do it. They also know the cost of failure.

I walk over to Meth who is talking at one of the men; I wait for him to finish before I address him. The man walks off with an old short bow in his hand. Are we sending these people to their deaths? Would it be better if we’d lured the vampires away from the populous?

“
Meth?”

“
Little brother?”

“
Do you really think we can win this?” I ask.

Meth makes a signal gesture to a man who is approaching, and the tubby man, probably only into his early twenties, turns and waddles off. His journey wasted.

“
Thack, seriously, if you’d become a Calcian like mother wanted you to be, you would understand the kind faith Satch and I have in ourselves. It’s not too late either, it would mean you’d be Circle, but it is your calling. We three brothers are meant to be fighting in the name of Calcia together. Look at our situation, it is meant to be. Calcia has made it so,” Meth says, completely failing to reassure me.

“
Brother, surely you would have noticed, but those years we didn’t talk was because I chose to keep my own beliefs, not to take up yours and mothers. That is not going to change. I am what I am. And I suspect that the only reason you’re helping me now is because Satch is.” My irritation that this is once again his chosen topic of conversation rises, as it invariably does. He never seems to get it though his thick skull that I will not become a Calcian. I do not want to be one. Though I guess it is testament to his character that he believes so vehemently.

“
Thack, your heathenism is not all that severe, you could still become a Calcian. You have the talent for magic. You would be a powerful Hunter, one of the best. It is not too late to save yourself. Do you wish to go to Hell when you die? To be with the demons?”

“
When I die I will go to the Summerland, not to Hell; that place is reserved for Calcians.”

“
Never has a good Calcian gone to Hell!” Meth says, a little too loud. A few of the villagers turn to watch us. I’ll bet if he gets much louder Satch will soon be along to sort us out.

“
And what of the stories concerning the Lighthouse?” I ask, fully expecting some poppycock answer.

“
Rumours spread by non-believers such as yourself.”

“
Don’t be stupid Meth. You’ve got magic, you can feel it. Just search for the pain and terror emanating from that place,” I say. Meth’s frown becomes a full-on scowl.

“
I’ve had enough of this; you can talk to your brother from now on. I will not have you slander the true faith. Not in my presence. Calcia will see to it when I cannot. May She have mercy on your tarnished soul.”

“
You are naive brother; it is a pity you got to Satch. He would have been happier if you’d have left him alone. He was happier before.”

“
True, he does not have the heart of a great Hunter, but I suspect that of all who weren’t born to the faith. The Descendants of Calcia are the rightful heirs to Gatheck,” Meth says, pride all to evident in his voice. He reminds me of a preacher from the Calcian Wars. He was a tyrant, according to the records.

“
You sound like Preacher Vyne. Is that what you want?”

Meth ignores that last statement and just walks away, not even catching my eye.

The battle will come soon.

- Holste -

We are waiting.

My team made it back to the catacombs just before sunrise this morning, and thankfully, our captive witch remained unconscious, through further spell work, until we’d arrived.

Our journey was much longer on the way back. We had to travel on foot, taking turns to carry the dead-weight witch, thanks to oddly clear skies. There was some light-hearted discussion as to the nature of the strong southerly wind that had upped the risk of being seen. Sincli and Penk thought that it was just natural wind, whereas Lorien and I could tell it was a magical thing. But when all is said and done, it was not viable to fly in the clear blue skies above Gatheck.

Currently we’re all in one of the observation rooms. This is one of the larger ones, which is about twenty foot along each wall, and has one wall completely made of spelled glass looking onto a second room, which has the same width but is only about half as deep.

We’re watching the newly awakened and very weakened witch coming to terms with the loss of a lot of power.

I can’t imagine what it must feel like to wake up and find out that you’re no longer free. It must be horrible. But then, he is working against the natural order of things; knowingly going against Calcia, and attempting to disrupt her influence. He deserves all of what he’ll get. And by being captured he will be furthering Calcia in a way he can never understand.

A door opens behind us and in steps the man in charge. None of us turn to look at him. He likes it that way. He is the man with the new vision for the defence of Gatheck. He is the commander of our new order. He is known to us only as ‘Legion’.

He first found his way to the Lighthouse a few seasons ago, dressed in ornate dark armour, which gleamed in the mid-day sun, I’m told. The story goes that he opened the gates using his magic and forced his way down into the catacombs where he met with the Grandfather Kestaris.

Apparently, when he made his progress around the winding corridors within the Lighthouse, he did not hurt us, he incapacitated us, but did not hurt or kill us. There was a lot of activity, and when the priests went to check on the Grandfather, they found the armoured man in his company. It quietened down then.

I was on the upper floors at the time of Legion’s arrival, but word gets around. A few men had come to search the higher levels, but neither had bothered to explain what was going on.

A few hours later Grandfather Kestaris called the thirty-five of us in and told us that we would be forming a new order, and that Legion would be our commander.

“
My gentlemen, well done. You have captured yet another perfect specimen,” the deep powerful voice from behind us says.

Somehow none of us have ever seen his face, and I can now see the reflections of the rest of my team trying to get a look at him through the reflection in the window. I can’t blame them; I’m doing the same. I can see the five of us perfectly clearly, though translucent, but I can only make out a dark shade by the door that must be Legion. He continues.

“
So tell me young Father Holste, how did the Void casting go? I am led to believe that you changed it somewhat. Is this true?”

“
Yes, Legion, I focussed the Void to only affect a certain type of magic. It meant that my men were completely armed when they apprehended the witch.”

“
Well done, young Father Holste. But do you see your folly?” Legion asks.

“
I am sorry Legion, I do not understand; the mission was a complete success, we were seen by no one.”

Fear starts to edge into my voice; a slight quiver that I hope only I can hear. I do not want to irritate him; I’ve seen what he can inflict on a witch with a single order to one of his subordinates.