The Vampire's Heart

by Breaker, Cochin

  A shiver runs up my spine, causing my line of thought to shatter. I try to grab at the metaphorical shards, but it is no use. Maybe if it weren’t so cold.

  “Meth, it’s getting cold again, if you wouldn’t mind?”

  Meth simply nods, and turns to one side, conjuring the flames that will ward the chill from our bones. While Meth works my thoughts on how to deal with the vampires coalesce and come flooding back to me; could it have been the use of magic that rekindled my mind?

  “You’ll need to tell them what we think these creatures may be. They’ll need to know of the worst they’ll be facing. If we’re lucky we’ll be wrong and they’ll both be normal vampires. We can only hope. Now Thack, you have a big choice to make. Do you want to stay here and rebuild the village or do you want to come with us? You know what we want.”

  “Well, everything here for me has gone up in smoke, if you’ll excuse the phrase, so I’m coming with you guys. That vampire needs to be stopped before it can do any more damage.”

  “Good. Then we’ll rest here another day, let you get your strength back, and then we’ll move on in the morning. Can we get horses from anywhere around here? We’ll need them if we want to keep up with the vampires.”

  Thack seems to think a while on it.

  “There’d have been a couple in the stables in town. Unfortunately they might still be in there, a little charred. But then again someone may have turned them out. If they’re safe I’m sure we’d be okay to take them to avenge the village. If not I can call some wild ones to us.”

  “Call? Sure you don’t mean cast?” Meth asks sarcastically.

  “Meth, yes I mean cast. Are you going to be okay with that?”

  “Listen to yourselves! You two, we’re going to be together for quite some time, so we need to get along. Just try not to fire each other up, for all of the god’s sakes.”

  My accidental mentioning of fire makes me shudder despite the heat from Meth’s warming flames. If we don’t stop these vampires, soon it could be Enlil or Rudra that goes up in flames.

  - Muzbeth -

  The three of us left had Longbridge about an hour before sunrise, heading to a nearby fishing port. It was small but more than capable of serving our needs.

  The rains had come quickly as we walked, soaking us all to the bone. Witch’s clothes clung to her figure, which only served to further her beauty in my eyes. I will have her and she will be mine eternally.

  We had arrived at the port a few moments before dawn. If it had just been Kellum and myself we’d have arrived long before, but we are now slowed because of Witch; she tires easily. As we walked Kellum and I ‘interrogated’ Witch. I seem to be talking and thinking more and more like Kellum with every day that passes. I guess I could have been like this before I died though, and now I’m just become more like my old self. I just don’t know.

  “So what is your name? I’m told I’ve been dead for quite a few years but I’m sure normal names haven’t gone out of the window quite so quickly.”

  “It doesn’t matter. ‘Witch’ is who I am now, not who I was.”

  “Then who were you?” I asked again, putting more force into my new voice.

  “Why does this matter to you?” she questioned.

  “Because if you’re going to be travelling with us then I’m going to want to know about you,” I said. In truth I wanted to know now mostly because I’d asked and she hadn’t answered. I’m the one in charge here and she needed to learn that. She still does.

  “Okay, you can know about me; my name is Witch. That is who I am.”

  “Bloody women!” I shouted, my frustrations escaping me.

  “Excuse me! I’m sure you’ve both got secrets of your own,” she said quickly back.

  Kellum quickly took up the reigns of the conversation while I fumed at her defiance.

  “True, we do have secrets, both of us. Fortunately his are locked away safely, because even he can’t remember them.”

  “And yours?”

  “Why, young lady, they’re secrets, it would not be proper to tell,” Kellum said with a smile.

  “I’m sure,” Witch responded, narrowing her eyes in mock suspicion.

  “So, tell us, if it is no big secret,” Kellum says after a few moments of silence, “what were you being burned for?”

  We were passing across the rolling hills of northern Sacrem, heading towards Yavert.

  “Ah, now that I will tell you. At least then some others will know what the Calcians did to me. Well, the cut down version goes like this. Some years ago my family sent me to the Lighthouse because they thought it wrong that I could use magic without being a Calcian. All the time I was there I refused to accept their beliefs. I was tortured, countless times. Each time I would use my magic to recover. Then one day I escaped and began wandering the Heartland with nowhere to go.”

  “Sounds fun.” I was being sarcastic, and they both knew it.

  “Let her finish, my ‘Karalis,” Kellum said to me, respectfully.

  “Thank you. So I eventually ended up in the Brangaine Woods, living in the wilderness and surviving on the land alone. Eventually the Descendants found me and chased me to the coast and drove me into the ocean. That was cold. I swam day and night, heading directly away from the Lighthouse. And so I ended up on an island, completely exhausted and naked. The villagers found me, thought I was some sort of vampire and tried to burn me at the stake.”

  Kellum shook his head from side to side, then took a lungful of air in and let it out slowly. I still don’t understand why he did that then, but he still does it from time to time.

  “Why do they never ask questions? It’s always burn first think later with the peoples on the Peninsula Archipelago.”

  “Apparently. So then you two turned up and gave me a chance to get down and regenerate. Now I’m here with you.”

  Then there was silence and it was a silence of which I was very glad. All of that had gone by a little quickly for my liking. We continued heading toward the fishing port, leaving the hills and valleys eventually. Kellum directed us easily to daytime shelter for him, and now he sits silently in the corner of the large damp room.

  A man had come to see what the three of us were doing in his barn. Kellum killed him and we both had our fill of blood. Witch had watched with some interest as we fed. The farmer never made a sound.

  - Thack -

  87 days until the birth of a god

  The 22nd day of Winter-Fall, 1537

  The three of us ride bareback as the tack for the two broken horses we recaptured was lost in the fires that destroyed Lankar. The wild horse I ride has never even worn tack.

  We gallop as much as possible, keeping the horses’ stamina levels up with magic. Fortunately my wild steed has good stamina. Because I have to keep it calm and placid with my magic I can’t really spare as much to keep it strong, as Meth and Satch can.

  We’re riding down a dirt track to a small dock area. There we hope to procure a boat to take us to the next island. Fortune favours the bold. But that is not true if they need to be somewhere quickly. It would have been better if we’d gotten a boat at night, letting us rest whilst still on the move, but as it is, the sun past its zenith about four miles back.

  The continued rains from yesterday blew out a few hours ago, taking all other late winter cloud with them, meaning that it now feels more like spring.

  As we approach the dock, the men working it stop and look at us. We are a rag tag bunch; two dishevelled Calcians, the signs of depleted stamina telling on their faces, and me. I’m dressed all in black, though there are scorch marks on my clothes and hair, and the bite mark on my neck, red and sore, obvious against my naturally pale skin.

  Meth slides off his horse and Satch and I halt whilst remaining atop our mounts. Meth walks forward to talk to one of the dockworkers. They exchange a few words and the worker points to a burly man with a barrel chest. Meth walks over to him, nodding at the man when he catches his eye.

  �
�Good day, sir. I wish to charter a boat, your boat. I have heard it is fast.”

  “Indeed the Tremor is fast, fastest in these waters.”

  “Then myself, my two brothers,” Meth gestures behind at us, only breaking eye contact with the owner of the Tremor momentarily, “and our horses, wish transport to the island of Langsom.”

  “That will be expensive you know, and she will be considerably slower with the horses on board.”

  “We will leave the horses then; speed is paramount in this situation,” Meth says, making that choice on behalf of myself and Thack.

  “As is payment, my friends. I’ll take six coin and the three horses you’re leaving.”

  “Only two of the horses are any use to you,” Thack cuts in.

  “What of the third?” The owner of the Tremor asks, as Meth shoots my younger brother an angered glance.

  “It is not broken, but controlled by magic,” Meth concedes.

  “Then I say twelve coin and the two horses.”

  “Very expensive, but for that kind of money we need to make land before wanemoon, any later and you will get only the six coin and the horses.”

  I wonder what Meth is doing. I know full well how much money we have with us.

  “A challenge, but a fair deal. It will take me a good few moments to prepare the Tremor. Are you gentlemen going to Solisport by any chance? That’s the nearest.”

  Meth nods and the man with the barrel chest strides off up the dockside and hops across to a slender single-mast vessel, assumption tells me that it is the Tremor. Meth comes back to us.

  “I trust the two of you heard that.”

  We both incline our heads.

  “Then dismount, brothers,” Meth says with a smile.

  “Meth, in case you haven’t noticed we do not have six coin between us, let alone twelve,” I say quietly, so that there is no chance being overheard.

  “I know. It is all in hand. Trust me.”

  Satch looks across at me and grimaces.

  “Why do I always get a bad feeling when he says that?”

  - Meth -

  85 days until the birth of a god

  The 24th day of Winter-Fall, 1537

  My feet hurt and my head aches. Thack is causing a constant throbbing nag in my mind; I can feel his heathen magic pressing against my own. Satch is not helping either. He seems sympathetic to Thack. I know Satch used to be Pagan like Thack, but he came to his senses and began to worship Calcia. Now he should be helping me to convert our brother. Calcia wills it. I will it. So should he.

  We need to be catching up with the vampires but now we’re crossing the isles on foot it’s proving a little hard to keep up. Or at least that’s what I think. A village lurks on the horizon, and we’re all thankful that there is no sign of destruction. Not yet anyway.

  A small black dot has appeared between us and the village. It is a few miles distant but it looks like it could be a person. I point it out to my brothers, extending my arm forth. They are still angry about what happened on the boat.

  “Look, on the horizon.”

  My voice is rather deadpan for some reason; probably because I’m so tired of walking.

  “Is that a person?” Satch asks quietly.

  “I think so.”

  “It could be the vampires. If they are master vampires,” Thack interjects, before slipping back into his usual silence. It is in his nature to be quiet.

  I remember when he was younger he said he did not understand conversation. It puzzled me then, but now I think I get what he meant. He can’t comprehend why he should tell people trivial things about himself; they will never need to know them, and they most likely will not remember or care. I feel like that sometimes.

  We have continued our walking while I thought. Now I can see that there are four figures, meaning that it cannot be the vampires, not unless they have met up with two more master vampires. But that is incredibly unlikely. I hope.

  As the troupe of four nears, it becomes clear that it is a family. A father strides ahead to meet with us, a woman, probably his wife, and two boys follow him. They are dressed shabbily in clothes that are too dirty to be healthy. They have a few possessions with them. They look like refugees of some sort? Are they fleeing the vampires that we are hunting?

  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 33rd 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 t
o 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 1st 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.