The Vampire's Heart (7 page)

- Thack -

Suddenly the vampire charges at me, a sick smile playing upon its pale clammy face. Unable to move due to the necessity of protecting the injured Rhum, I lash out with the scythe at the creature’s legs in a vain hope to buy some time for my brother-at-arms. The vampire easily evades my poor attempt and is upon me with a vicious glint in those dead eyes of his. Suddenly my desire to protect fails and I can think of nothing better than to be running as fast as I can away from the creature at my throat. I twist and turn, scythe forgotten, trying unsuccessfully to escape the death grasp. I feel the creature bite deep into my neck. I’m screaming, thrashing, and scratching at my murderer. I can feel, through my panic, the vampire slowly sucking the blood from my body.

Calm rolls over me, the knowledge of my death is comforting. I’m about to let myself go, to head into the dark alone, but something stops me. At the mouth of the alley where the fight began, the other vampire is now standing with an evil grin on his face. But it is his eyes that betray its apparent nature. The creature is pained by what it is seeing, but evidently unable to do anything to stop it. The apology in its eyes is undeniable. As I begin to feel my soul leave my body something changes, my numb body almost unaware of the difference. My vision blurs.

The vampire is gone.

The picture becomes clear. I’m on the blood soaked cobbles, pressing my hand onto the wound in my neck to suppress the bleeding. I’m not sure how much time passes, with me just lying on the floor, but as dawn approaches my nostrils fill with smoke and my eyes begin to water, my vision is tinted with a flickering orange. The once peaceful village I swore to protect when I came here is burning to the ground. May the gods have mercy on that poor vampire’s soul, for when I’m done with it, it will beg for forgiveness and long for daybreak.

In the coming morning light, my sight blackens and my hearing begins to fade. All I can hear is the crackling of fire. Then the blackness of a still mind envelopes me completely.

The Fourth Chapter

- Lys-Karalis -

93 days until the birth of a god

The 16
^th
day of Winter-Fall, 1537

The man with the broken leg had stabbed me with a sword he’d managed to reach. It had brought a new meal to my attention. That was an hour and a mid- ago. The horizon glows with the orange of flame in the distance behind us. We torched their pitiful village. I killed dozens of people after the first fight. I feasted on the blood that gushed from their bodies like fountains. Kellum had taught me how to drink more effectively. Now I either rip out the throat and bask in the spray, or continue to chew after the first bite of the neck. Those are the most violent ways. The kindest and thus most unfulfilling way for us to feed is to bite once and not suck upon the wound, but to just let the heart pump a steady flow into our mouths.

I am finally enjoying my new un-life. We tour the island I grew up on, and terrorise those who I did not even know. I am even beginning trust in Kellum’s words, or at least his gift. I really have no choice but to trust in his foresight. He has consistently predicted the movements of the villagers. Meaning they have always failed to stop our reign of terror… not that they could have stopped us, even if they had caught us. Kellum looks to me as we walk.

“
I need to get to cover. The sun will be up in less than an hour. There is a small hut a few miles from here, hurry on ahead and clear it out, my ‘Karalis.”

“
I do not like that way you talk to me. I hope for your sake that it is just because the sun will soon be up. Remember who I am. Remember.”

I hurry on ahead, as suggested, running the distance slowly, all the time silently cursing his attempt to see what he could get away with.

I reach the hut some moments later and I find it empty, except for a few spiders and a fat raven. The bird eyes me before suspiciously taking its leave. I could go back and walk the distance with Kellum, but he has annoyed me. I’ll just wait.

It is as I am waiting for Kellum in the hut that my brain gets to thinking of who I used to be. I have absolutely no idea of who I was before I died, but now I need to be someone, I can’t just be an unknown.

It is while waiting in the pre-dawn light that I find myself a new name, a new being… or maybe it was my old one, from before I died, I do not know. But during this brief domination of the isle of my birth, I have become the monster Kellum told me I should be. How has it come so naturally to me? It must be in my very nature. Regardless, I will be the vampire and Lys-Karalis known and feared by the name ‘Muzbeth’.

I am going to be the greatest vampire. I will be a living legend, never to be forgotten. Well, an un-living legend.

- Angel-Mexis -

90 days until the birth of a god

The 19
^th
day of Winter-Fall, 1537

Tomam is an amazing city. To use the word phenomenal would not do it justice. Especially now the buildings have a slight sprinkling of dusty snow upon them. Roughly half of its inhabitants live in low houses, built around the thick trunks of trees, while many other civilians live in houses that are built impossibly high, wrapped around the trees in the same way as their lower counterparts. All of the houses are made of wood, and are almost shack-like; seeming tacked onto the trees by a few mere nails, though I know they are much sturdier.

I would not like to live up there though, suspended hundreds of feet above the ground. Each and every time I gaze up at the lofty abodes, the memory of the forty foot wall surrounding the Lighthouse comes flooding back, though it now seems a small hurdle compared to the size of the drop from up there.

I return my gaze to head height; glad my world is not so high in the sky. I focus on the streets, which wind and curve between the trunks, hoping to stop my head tilting back once more, as it usually does out of morbid curiosity.

The houses are cramped together, forced thus by the spacing of the trees, though their inhabitants do not seem to mind. I find my eyes being drawn upwards, towards the heavens, and the canopy, which filters the light. I’ve been coming here for four years now and each summer the woodcutters climb up to the canopy and cut back the overhanging branches, letting the light in for the rest of the year. The heavy branches are brought down safely via pulley and winch assemblies, which are set up during the spring, and their wood is used in the expansion of the city. Of course, taking wood just from the branches would not be enough to sustain the city’s economy and growth. Thus pockets of the forest are harvested, reseeded, and left to grow back, while other pockets of the forest undergo the same treatment. It is a kind and sustainable way to treat the living forest. I’m certain the Pagan gods approve of how Tomam is run.

Still I have not found the ‘path’ Herne spoke of; though I am sure it was him who directed me here. That’s also why I still come here. I don’t live in the city because that would be too risky; occasionally Calcians come here. Every now and again I return to sell the hide and furs from my kills in the woods. Today I intend to buy some new boots, as the leather on mine has finally worn thin and cracked, and so now let in the cold water that saturates the forest floor during winter.

I don’t speak to the people in Tomam, well, not the majority anyway. The first time I appeared they all just stared at me, almost unbelieving. Children cried, dogs barked, and one man broke an arm. But that is long past. They had dubbed me as a wild woman to begin with, filthy and covered in scratches and cuts, wandering around their city in complete awe. I’d been ushered out of the town that time, but I’ve been back hundreds of times since, and now I’m something of a regular, no longer filthy, and currently in perfect health. I’m just another person to them now.

I wander down the main street, which curves loosely around an old and ancient oak. The roads here are nowhere near the size of the roads in Rudra or even Wentham, but I guess they do dwarf them in complexity.

I come to a stop at a low building with a sloped roof; Gurnen’s house, the leather worker. I know that he’ll be around at the back of the house, away from the road, working under his veranda. He’s always outside; I’d be surprised if he didn’t sleep out there. I head off around the side of the vaguely circular building.

As I near the back a body comes into view, dressed in black robes. It is not Gurnen, and the person has their back to me. I hear Gurnen talking with that person. I pause, sliding back so that I can only see a sliver of the robes. My heart skips a beat and then stops dead. Or at least that is what it feels like. It is something spoken that shakes my heart and takes the breath from my lungs and worries my head; my name. I haven’t told anyone here my name!

I press myself against the outer wall of the building and edge ever so slightly closer to improve my ability to hear the conversation. The words become clear and I hear Gurnen’s voice.

“…
never before, alright. Go and ask someone else will you. I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“
Please, Sir, if you would just look at the picture again? Others have informed us that the girl has been seen trading supplies with you.”

“
No? Surely, that can’t be? It’s the Wild Woman, only, not wild, and a bit younger. Why are you looking for her? Sorry, I didn’t recognise her; she doesn’t look anything like that anymore.”

Indeed I don’t. Now my hair is long and knotted into braids, and my face has filled out; I have put on weight since I was at the Lighthouse. The other man mumbles something that skips past my ears unheard.

“
So, why are you looking for her then? What’s she done?”

“
This young girl escaped from the Circle’s custody four years ago, and now we’re looking for her as well. She’s very dangerous. If she comes back–”

“
So you aren’t Circle?” Gurnen’s voice cuts him off with another question.

“
No. We are Descendant.”

“
What was she in custody–”

Shit! I turn and run, reaching out with my magic and changing my body back to panther form as I run, the business of furs and hides forgotten. My shifting bones and muscles cause me to stumble and fall, and I hit the ground hard. I stay quiet and get up quickly, still not completely changed.

Moving as fast as I can, I hit the warren-like streets and begin heading south away from the village and toward the trees and their protective custody. I hear footsteps running behind me so I chance a quick look back; a priest, dressed in black, is following me. Another joins him out of a side alley, and a third from the doorway to a house across the street. I return my eyes to my chosen direction. What is happening? Is this my path? To be chased by both the Circle and the Descendants? What do the Descendants even want with me? They won’t want me to become Calcian, meaning they have something totally different in mind; murder.

I up my pace and hurtle through the trees, still heading due south. Ahead, a priest steps out of the shadows to block my path. Head down I barge past him, knocking him from his feet and the air from his lungs before he has time to cast any magic; these Calcians are so slow. I further my speed to full pelt. I need to get away from these people.

***

Hours have passed with no respite and I’m exhausted. I am tearing south across the grassy plains, which lie on the south border of the Brangaine Woods. The wind is heavy and stirring, whipping the icy snow into my face.

I’m being followed relentlessly, the original group of four from Tomam have been bolstered to a group of five, with six other groups of five also converging on my location, one of those groups is flying a couple of hundred feet up, in chevron formation. Evidently they are informing the other six groups of my exact position.

I’ve never known a Calcian to have the magical aptitude for flight, and neither have I ever heard of them in such numbers or with such organisation. I can’t think of anything they could be other than Calcian Hunters, so all I can do is run. I cannot hope to fight the Hunters, especially in the numbers they are in at the moment. One terrified Pagan against thirty-five Descendant Hunters. Not a chance. I don’t even know where I’m heading, running blindly away from my pursuers.

Because I’ve not stopped running since they found me, I have to use up my magical stamina to keep myself going, as well as magically increasing running speed. I can hear the ocean distant in the south. I can’t veer left or right away from the cliffs ahead of me, because the Hunter teams have flanked me. My only chance is to swim, but I have no idea to where.

Why do the Gods want me dead? Why didn’t they just let me die at Brangaine in peace? It must be because they want me to suffer for some reason, though I have no idea why they do, or what I have done to deserve such treatment. Well, fuck them, if they want to play games I’ll show them games. And I will pay them in the blood of the people that so want to see me dead. Gatheckians will pay for what they have done to me, as will Herne and his horns.

I will embrace the ocean, and I will not let the betrayer Calcia have me. I have something to do now. I have found my path.

The gods will rue the day they betrayed me.