Vampire Hunters: Prelude - Chapter 5

SIXTEEN

8 November.

The worst part in all of this was loving and losing you, Endolyn. Without you I am an empty glass falling to the rocks below. How much longer must I continue? “Just a bit further,” I tell myself.

Just a bit further.

10 November.

She is close, I am certain of it. I can hear her whisper in the wind. Far too long I have endured this path without the promise of better days. Then today, another sighting; the second in three days. I have tracked her to a farming community just outside Mayenne, though I am still a few days out. No telling if she has moved on.

The locals have warned me against going there. Several merchants have not returned, and tales of monsters and plague are told from trembling lips. Engagements have been missed. Inquiries remain unanswered. They are not hopeful.

Perhaps they are just trying to frighten me. Several have given me letters to take with me, but I sense many have already buried their loved ones in their hearts.

I will go there and find them, for better or worse. Hopefully one of us will find relief.

11 November.

I have crossed River Sarth, now a distance from the sea. Approach is limited. Few roads go into Avarié, most of them impassible. I have little choice but to brave the main thoroughfare. They will be waiting.

I hate being so exposed, but there is little choice. Elena is near; I will have to risk it. There is no time to survey the countryside, but perhaps this can work to my advantage.

In my encounters, I have used my father’s name Xavier, also my middle name. Those that know me wisely keep my name from their lips, lest bring ruin upon themselves. Upon my arrival in Mayenne, a message was waiting. The nobles of Avarié have already been contacted, and are sending an escort the day following. They refer to me as X. Hopefully that is all they know of me.

12 November.

Again the dream visited me. Dare I say an omen?

The wooden door stared back at me. Nicked and cracked, it did not have a handle nor hint of the treasures within. As I ran my hand over the splintery surface, the door began to bleed. First a trickle, and then buckets, spurting out the frame. My heart hammered inside my chest as I pondered whose blood was painting the entry. Abruptly the door shattered, falling away like leaves.

Light poured out, blinding me for several moments. All I could feel was the warm breath escaping me. A young girl turned, no more than 16. Her blue eyes and sable hair gave her away immediately. A mirror image of you, my love.

“Leave at once,” she said.

“Elena, do you not remember?” I asked.

She gawked at me like an unwashed vagabond wandering the streets.

“Elena, please. It is I, your father.” Grating breath taxed my ears. Something wicked lurked in the shadows nearby. I raised my crossbow, careful not to point it in her direction. “Quickly, we must leave.” I grabbed her arm.

“Get your hands off me.” She ripped her arm away. “Surely I would know my own father if I saw him.”

“Would you?” I looked deep into her eyes. “A young girl gave this to me once in case our paths split.” I took out a golden chain and crucifix from beneath my collar. “The cross I bear is yours.”

Elena gasped, understanding well the wound over my heart. “Father?” Light poured from her in waves. I was beholden to her gaze, powerless to look aside.

I embraced her, kissing her forehead. “Far too long you have been the only candle in the night. Come.” I cocked my bow and stepped into the abyss.

“No, I cannot.” She cowered.

“I am not leaving you,”

“Things have changed…I have changed…” She revealed her fangs. “Your arrow is meant for me. Use it quickly.” Tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Regardless of what you are, I did not travel all this way to end you,” I replied.

“Then you must ask yourself what salvation truly is.” She lowered her eyes.

Suddenly the door pieced itself back together. I reached for her as the final patch fell into place, casting me back into the darkness, the moans of the dying closing in around me.

13 November.

Too much time has passed. Am I a fool to think her still human? I refuse to give into the fear, but if she is no longer mortal, what then?

Sadly I must leave. My guide has arrived; he is gaunt, excitable. I only hope that the same cloud does not loom over him.

Help me find her, Endolyn; through her your memory lives. If I lose Elena, there is little left. Everything good in my life can be traced back to you. You are inscribed on my soul, the inspiration behind these words. I cannot give you up just yet.

As my letter is my virtue,

L.

Vampire Hunters: Prelude - Chapter 3

EIGHTEEN

Far stronger than his lanky body suggested, the ecclesiastic hauled me up, and dumped me beside the grave. He searched my belt and pockets, seizing a second pistol, throwing knives, and explosive munitions. Though Darrien concealed himself well, I did not question his aversion to the forest. Something lurked nearby, giving vampires and their familiars pause.

The crimson door creaked open, a slender shadow slipping from it. “Again the dream beckons, casting forth the night. I tread shadows, but cannot discern the song from my hunger,” she murmured. She stepped into the moonlight, blond tresses falling past her shoulders. “Her verse fades, and a sadness fills me. A world away that song of innocence, nothing more than a dream.” Her golden dress trailed behind her in a glittery blur.

She bent over, and put her face in mine. “Hello, Lawson.” Her eyes were more yellow than brown, pulsing with an inhuman energy. I strained, unable to bring her name to my lips. Delilah traced an icy finger across my brow and frowned. “Careful not to kill him, dear. Like you, he is fragile. Forget not your own mortality till you’ve traversed the divine path.”

The vampire stood, and then approached Darrien. “Besides, he is useful to us,” she whispered, running her fingers through his curly, brown hair. “What is this?” Delilah shook bits of flesh and bone from her fingers.

“My escort, or what’s left of him.” Darrien offered his handkerchief.

“More and more these days, I find myself wiping away the blood of others that are not my kill. It sours my cheer, taking my delicate form with it. Look at me—I cannot afford to lose a whit more. Just one shade shy of a ghost.” She stained the virgin cloth with her hands.

“You are perfect, my love. Divine.” Darrien reached around and kissed her hand.

“Only if it were so.” Delilah took the lobe of his ear in her mouth. “Tell me, what became of him?”

“Yves? He attacked the marksman head-on, and met his end at the point of an arrow. Poor fool. He never should have called the old man’s bluff.”

Delilah spotted the repeating crossbow dangling from my horse and grinned. Abruptly she discarded the soiled cloth, and slipped away from her adherent. The horse bristled as the vampire neared. Captivated by the silver bolt resting in its groove, Delilah groped the bow’s maple stock and exhaled.

“Careful, Delilah. ‘Tis not a toy.” Darrien wrapped his arms around her. “It has enough contempt for us both.”

I wallowed in the upturned earth, unable to carry through with my escape.

“We must uncover the hansard in his employ. Perhaps he can craft something wicked for us both,” she replied.

“It is my understanding that he forges his own weapons.”

“Intriguing.” Delilah turned. “Then we shall put him to good use before sending him off.”

“No, we must kill him now. He is too dangerous to be kept alive.”

“His bounty is special indeed, one that you must collect.” She licked her dry lips.

“Do you still think me fond of such heirs?” Darrien pulled away. “I gave you Avarié as a wedding gift, and in addition, myself. Gold coins mean nothing to me.” His ring sparkled in the moonlight.

“Ironic that you would take your father’s ring in addition to his head,” she sneered.

“He sought to destroy you, and I would have none of it.”

“‘Twas your father’s affection, as misguided as it may seem.” Delilah brushed against him.

“At one time the house of Laroche stood for something: opulence, refinement, and above all, honor. The ring passed from father to son, one black heart to the next. But when father fled his debts, and traded Hanover for Avarié, I knew he was no longer capable of carrying our good name. What designs he had faded into the countryside. So I reclaimed it from him, vowing to be the visionary he never was. Though gold conquers many hearts, religion knows no bounds.”

Darrien turned, and kissed Delilah deeply. “I owe myself to you, my love. In my despair you filled me, giving birth to new perspective.” He brushed her golden locks aside. “Take my offering of Lawson’s head, and be done with it.”

Delilah pressed her lips gently against his, and pulled back. “The black pope desires Lawson for himself.”

“Pope Ruminus of Abber Sur?”

“The one,” she replied. “Lawson Parker will fetch you an audience, but only if he is alive.” She glanced at me. “There you will showcase your findings, and how you intend to improve life for my kin. Thus, The Order will embrace you, and bestow its highest honor: the mark of the papacy. ‘Tis the only reason I haven’t turned you myself.”

“Anointed by the pontiff himself?” Darrien pondered. “One step closer to divinity.”

“My gift to you, my love.” She kissed him like fire over dry brush. “But until that day, we must keep you healthy and unscathed. Pope Ruminus will not accept you if he cannot to turn you himself, and shape you into the instrument of his choosing. And when he realizes you have located his wayward daughter, and guided her back to the path, he will offer whatever you wish.”

“I love you, Delilah,” said Darrien.

“As do I, my love.” Delilah pulled him into her, burying his face in her chest. Unable to restrain himself any longer, Darrien took her there in the graveyard. The vampire peered over her shoulder, exposing her fangs as he unleashed his passion in her.

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Vampire Hunters: Prelude - Chapter 1

The following is a preview of Vampire Hunters: Prelude:


At the dawn of ages

Blood flowed first

No human shell

No form at all

Just the essence

And the suffering

From this fervent pool

Something yearned

To rise up

And feed upon

All in its wake

--From Transient Thorns by G.R. Hollow

TWENTY

I spied them in the branches above, shadows springing from tree to tree. Silently, in unison with the howling wind, bare limbs clattering together, clickety-clack, clickety-clack, masking their advance to the untrained ear.

“Is it always so windy this side of Mayenne?” My frosty breath dissipated before me. The wind swelled, revealing my crossbow underneath, and nearly taking my wool hat with it. I tucked my journal into my pocket, and pulled my coat shut.

“Always.” The guide prodded his black mare forward. He was tall and slender, dawning a white lace shirt and tan breeches, oblivious to the biting wind. Brown curls fell to his shoulders, green eyes matching the emerald stream behind him. “I am Darrien Laroche, son of Hadrian.” He offered a hand.

“No names.” I waved him off, preferring to linger in the shade of the tree. “After you, my friend.”

We dipped into the frigid water, droplets splashing down from the firs above, dousing my glasses and mustache as our horses plodded through. A branch snapped nearby, and fell into the stream. They were clumsy these two; it would not be long before they jumped into our saddles, and broke teeth on us.

I studied Darrien, feigning ignorance of the surveillance above. I waited for him to give himself away: a subtle change of subject or a rise in his voice to mask the assassins edging into place. Instead he looked up, heeding the warning of the woods.

“To be honest, I had hoped another would take my place. The woodlands always give me chills. Wind and snow, not so much,” he conceded, his steed climbing onto the bank.

I held my bow close, acknowledging his prattle with a simple nod as I crossed through. I waited for the ambush that did not come, wading patiently through the murky stream, goading the watchmen to the water where their attack would be halved.

“Quickly.” His icy breath escaped him as turned back to the twisted branches above. “I do not like the sound of the forest this eve.”

We scaled a steep slope where the path gave way to walls of thorns. Yellow hollows peered out from the prickly tangles, following alongside us until the trail widened several paces later. “You must learn to welcome the whispers of the woods, if you hope to keep your head about you.” I cocked my bow, making sure that every living creature in the forest heard me, especially my new companion.

“It is a comfort that you are armed.” He flashed his teeth briefly.

I looked for the obvious signs: the keen incisors, pallid skin and odd stench like preserved meat. He seemed human enough, his teeth round and beaming; but his scant attire and disconnection with the cruel spell around us aroused my suspicion.

The farming community of Avarié was not known to be a magnet for traders and entrepreneurs, but the band of gold around his finger and expensive garb draped over his gaunt frame suggested otherwise. Wealth in remote regions always sparked my curiosity; either Darrien had uncovered a pirate’s trove, or something far more sinister.

Certainly he could be the son of an aristocrat, seeking to escape the mad pace of the city; but for someone with so much to lose, I could not fathom why he would wander the woods unattended. Why not send one of his underlings? Surely they would jump for the proper coin.

Unless, of course, he wasn’t alone.

“Tell me about your infestation. Vampires, is it?” I asked.

Darrien looked around. “I hope not.”

“Have you seen them with your own eyes?”

“Not exactly.” His hands shook. “Ever since we found the bodies, a dark cloud has loomed over Avarié.”

“Did you examine the bodies yourself?”

Darrien hesitated, and then bowed his head. “Yes.”

I stopped my horse, and raised my eyes to the intersecting branches above, slicing the silver moon into several sharp servings. “Tell me about them.” I took out my pipe.

“Sir, shouldn’t we keep moving?” The pink cast faded from his cheeks.

“Not until I know what I am up against. I must know what you do, in the event that you do not make it to Avarié.”

Reluctantly Darrien circled back. “Henry Thompson claims to have seen bite marks on the bodies of his eldest daughter Mary, and her best friend Edna; but this I did not see.”

“Go on.”

“The corpses I found were…ruined…flesh seared to the bone…as one might expect if they were bathed in acid.”

“Or if one needed to cover something up.” I raised an eyebrow.

“Frankly I’m surprised he could recognize her.” Darrien genuflected.

“Vampires are clever at hiding their tracks. Thus the odd corpses, glazed with an acidic wash, hinting at plague, and removing the eye cast upon them. Their necks—how badly were they damaged?”

“Most did not have necks at all.” Darrien’s horse gravitated away.

“Were any organs removed? Vampires have been known to steal a heart or two.” The corners of my mouth turned inwards.

“I do not believe so. Necks and forearms were burned to ash, but otherwise their corpses were unscathed.”

“Fascinating.” I scratched the stubble on my chin. “Do you think Master Thompson would be averse to us digging up his daughter’s remains?”

A branch snapped.

“I’m sure you can convince him.” Darrien glanced at my bow. “Please sir, shouldn’t we be going?”

“Of course.” I pricked the horse gently with my spurs. “We’ll see what the bodies tell us, but I am not optimistic. Outbreaks often precede attacks, leaving a community vulnerable. We can only hope that the malady doesn’t evoke the blood rage.” I lit my pipe.

“Blood rage?” He trembled.

“The dark tide within.” I raised my bow and fired.

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