CIRQUE DU FREAK 7 - Hunters of the Dusk

by Darren Shan

  CHAPTER NINE

  ONE DUSK I awoke with a feeling of absolute comfort. As I stared up at a red, darkening sky, I tried putting my finger on why I felt so good. Then I realized — the itching had stopped. I lay still a few minutes, afraid it would return if I moved, but when I finally got to my feet, there wasn't the slightest prickling sensation. Grinning, I headed for a small pond we'd camped by, to wet my throat.

  I lowered my face into the cool, clear water of the pond and drank deeply. As I was rising, I noticed an unfamiliar face in the reflecting surface of the water — a long-haired, bearded man. It was directly in front of me, which meant he must be standing right behind me — but I hadn't heard anyone approach.

  Swivelling swiftly, my hand shot to the sword which I'd brought from Vampire Mountain. I had it halfway out of its scabbard before stopping, confused.

  There was no one there.

  I looked around for the shabby, bearded man, but he was nowhere to be seen. There were no nearby trees or rocks he could have ducked behind, and not even a vampire could have moved quickly enough to disappear so swiftly.

  I turned back towards the pond and looked into the water again. There he was! As clear and hairy as before, scowling up at me.

  I gave a yelp and jumped back from the water's edge. Was the bearded man in the pond? If so, how was he breathing?

  Stepping forward, I locked gazes with the hairy man — he looked like a caveman — for the third time and smiled. He smiled back. "Hello," I said. His lips moved when mine did, but silently. "My name's Darren Shan." Again his lips moved in time with mine. I was getting annoyed — was he mocking me? — when realization struck — it was me!

  I could see my eyes and the shape of my mouth now that I looked closely, and the small triangular scar just above my right eye, which had become as much a part of me as my nose or ears. It was my face, no doubt about that — but where had all the hair come from?

  I felt around my chin and discovered a thick bushy beard. Running my right hand over my head — which should have been smooth — I was stunned to feel long, thick locks of hair. My thumb, which stuck out at an angle, caught in several of the strands, and I winced as I tugged it free, pulling some hair out with it.

  What in Khledon Lurt's name had happened to me?

  I checked further. Ripping off my T-shirt revealed a chest and stomach covered in hair. Huge balls of hair had also formed under my armpits and over my shoulders. I was hairy all over!

  " Charna's guts!" I roared, then ran to wake my friends.

  Mr Crepsley and Harkat were breaking camp when I rushed up, panting and shouting. The vampire took one look at my hairy figure, whipped out a knife and roared at me to stop. Harkat stepped up beside him, a grim expression on his face. As I halted, gasping for breath, I saw they didn't recognize me. Raising my hands to show they were empty, I croaked, "Don't… attack! It's… me!"

  Mr Crepsley's eyes widened. "Darren!"

  "It can't be," Harkat growled. "This is an impostor."

  "No!" I moaned. "I woke up, went to the pond to drink, and found… found…" I shook my hairy arms at them.

  Mr Crepsley stepped forward, sheathed his knife, and studied my face incredulously. Then he groaned. "The purge!" he muttered.

  "The what?" I shouted.

  "Sit down, Darren," Mr Crepsley said seriously. "We have a lot of talking to do. Harkat — go fill our canteens and fix a new fire."

  When Mr Crepsley had gathered his thoughts, he explained to Harkat and me what was happening. "You know that half-vampires become full-vampires when more vampire blood is pumped into them. What we have never discussed — since I did not anticipate it so soon — is the other way in which one's blood can turn.

  "Basically, if one remains a half-vampire for an extremely long period of time — the average is forty years — one's vampire cells eventually attack the human cells and convert them, resulting in full-vampirism. We call this the purge."

  "You mean I've become a full-vampire?" I asked quietly, both intrigued and frightened by the notion. Intrigued because it would mean extra strength, the ability to flit and communicate telepathically. Frightened because it would also mean a total retreat from daylight and the world of humanity.

  "Not yet," Mr Crepsley said. "The hair is simply the first stage. We shall shave it off presently, and though it will grow back, it will stop after a month or so. You will undergo other changes during that time — you will grow, and experience headaches and sharp bursts of energy — but these too will cease. At the end of the changes, your vampiric blood may have replaced your human blood entirely, but it probably will not, and you will return to normal — for a few months or a couple of years. But sometime within the next few years, your blood will turn completely. You have entered the final stages of half-vampirism. There is no turning back."

  We spent most of the rest of the night discussing the purge. Mr Crepsley said it was rare for a half-vampire to undergo the purge after less than twenty years, but it was probably linked to when I'd become a Vampire Prince — more vampiric blood had been added to my veins during the ceremony, and that must have speeded up the process.

  I recalled Seba studying me in the tunnels of Vampire Mountain, and told Mr Crepsley about it. "He must have known about the purge," I said. "Why didn't he warn me?"

  "It was not his place," Mr Crepsley said. "As your mentor, I am responsible for informing you. I am sure he would have told me about it, so that I could have sat down with you and explained it, but there was no time — Mr Tiny arrived and we had to leave the Mountain."

  "You said Darren would grow during… the purge," Harkat said. "How much?"

  "There is no telling," Mr Crepsley said. "Potentially, he could mature to adulthood in the space of a few months — but that is unlikely. He shall age a few years, but probably no more."

  "You mean I'll finally hit my teens?" I asked.

  "I would imagine so."

  I thought about that for a while, then grinned. "Cool!"

  But the purge was far from cool — it was a curse! Shaving off all the hair was bad enough — Mr Crepsley used a long, sharp blade, which scraped my skin raw — but the changes my body was undergoing were much worse. Bones were lengthening and fusing. My nails and teeth grew — I had to bite my nails and grind my teeth together while I walked at night to keep them in shape — and my feet and hands got longer. Within weeks I was five centimetres taller, aching all over from growth pains.

  My senses were in a state of disarray. Slight sounds were magnified — the snapping of a twig was like a house collapsing. The dullest of smells set my nose tingling. My sense of taste deserted me completely. Everything tasted like cardboard. I began to understand what life must be like for Harkat and made a resolution never to tease him about his lack of taste buds again.

  Even dim lights were blinding to my ultra-sensitive eye. The moon was like a fierce spotlight in the sky, and if I opened my eyes during the day, I might as well have been sticking two fiery pins into them — the inside of my head would flare with a metallic pain.

  "Is this what sunlight is like for full-vampires?" I asked Mr Crepsley one day, as I shivered beneath a thick blanket, eyes shut tight against the painful rays of the sun.

  "Yes," he said. "That is why we avoid even short periods of exposure to daylight. The pain of sunburn is not especially great — not for the first ten or fifteen minutes — but the glare of the sun is instantly unbearable."

  I suffered with immense headaches during the purge, a result of my out-of-control senses. There were times when I thought my head was going to explode, and I'd weep helplessly from the pain.

  Mr Crepsley helped me fight the dizzying effects. He bound light strips of cloth across my eyes — I could still see pretty well — and stuffed balls of grass into my ears and up my nostrils. That was uncomfortable, and I felt ridiculous — Harkat's howls of laughter didn't help — but the headaches lessened.

  Another side-effect was a fierce surge of energy. I felt
as if I was operating on batteries. I had to run ahead of Mr Crepsley and Harkat at night, then double back to meet them, just to tire myself out. I exercised like crazy every time we stopped — push-ups, pull-ups, sit-ups — and usually woke long before Mr Crepsley, unable to sleep more than a couple of hours at a time. I climbed trees and cliffs, and swam across rivers and lakes, all in an effort to use up my unnatural store of energy. I'd have wrestled an elephant if I'd found one!

  Finally, after six weeks, the turmoil ceased. I stopped growing. I didn't have to shave any more (though the hair on my head remained — I was no longer bald!). I removed the cloth and grass balls, and my taste returned, although patchily to begin with.

  I was about seven centimetres taller than I'd been when the purge hit me, and noticeably broader. The skin on my face had hardened, giving me a slightly older appearance — I looked like a fifteen- or sixteen-year-old now.

  Most importantly — I was still a half-vampire. The purge hadn't eliminated my human blood cells. The downside of that was I'd have to undergo the discomfort of the purge again in the future. On the plus side I could continue to enjoy sunlight for the time being, before having to abandon it forever in favour of the night.

  Although I was keen to become a full-vampire, I'd miss the daytime world. Once my blood turned, there was no going back. I accepted that, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous. This way, I had months — perhaps a year or two — to prepare myself for the change.

  I'd outgrown my clothes and shoes, so I had to stock up at a small human outpost (we were leaving civilization behind again). In an army surplus shop, I chose gear similar to my old stuff, adding a couple of purple shirts to my blue ones, and a dark green pair of trousers. As I was paying for the clothes, a tall, lean man entered. He was wearing a brown shirt, black trousers and a baseball cap. "I need supplies," he grunted at the man serving behind the counter, tossing a list at him.

  "You'll need a licence for the guns," the shopkeeper said, running an eye over the scrap of paper.

  "I've got one." The man was reaching into a shirt pocket when he caught sight of my hands and stiffened. I was holding my new clothes across my chest, and the scars on my fingertips — where I'd been blooded by Mr Crepsley — were clear.

  The man relaxed instantly and turned away — but I was sure he'd recognized the scars and knew what I was. Hurrying from the shop, I found Mr Crepsley and Harkat on the edge of town and told them what had happened.

  "Was he nervous?" Mr Crepsley asked. "Did he follow when you left?"

  "No. He just went stiff when he saw the marks, then acted as though he hadn't seen them. But he knew what the marks meant — I'm certain of it."

  Mr Crepsley rubbed his scar thoughtfully. "Humans who know the truth about vampire marks are uncommon, but some exist. In all probability he is an ordinary person who has simply heard tales of vampires and their fingertips."

  "But he might be a vampire hunter," I said quietly.

  "Vampire hunters are rare — but real." Mr Crepsley thought it over, then decided. "We will proceed as planned, but keep our eyes open, and you or Harkat will remain on watch by day. If an attack comes, we shall be ready." He smiled tightly and touched the handle of his knife. "And waiting."

  CHAPTER TEN

  BY DAWN we knew we had a fight on our hands. We were being followed, not just by one person, but three or four. They'd picked up our trail a few kilometres outside the town and had been tracking us ever since. They moved with admirable stealth, and if we hadn't been anticipating trouble, we might not have known anything was amiss. But when a vampire is alert to danger, not even the most fleet-footed human can sneak up on him.

  "What's the plan?" Harkat asked as we were making camp in the middle of a small forest, sheltered from the sun beneath the intertwining branches and leaves.

  "They will wait for full daylight to attack," Mr Crepsley said, keeping his voice low. "We will act as though all is normal and pretend to sleep. When they come, we deal with them."

  "Will you be OK in the sun?" I asked. Though we were sheltered where we were, a battle might draw us out of the shade.

  "The rays will not harm me during the short time it will take to deal with this threat," Mr Crepsley replied. "And I will protect my eyes with cloth, as you did during your purge."

  Making beds amid the moss and leaves on the ground, we wrapped ourselves in our cloaks and settled down. "Of course, they might just be curious," Harkat muttered. "They could simply want to see… what a real-life vampire looks like."

  "They move too keenly for that," Mr Crepsley disagreed. "They are here on business."

  "I just remembered," I hissed. "The guy in the shop was buying guns!"

  "Most vampire hunters come properly armed," Mr Crepsley grunted. "Gone are the nights when the fools toted only a hammer and wooden stake."

  There was no more talk after that. We lay still, eyes closed (except for Harkat, who covered his lidless eyes with his cloak), breathing evenly, feigning sleep.

  Seconds passed slowly, taking an age to become minutes, and an eternity to become hours. It had been six years since my last taste of vicious combat. My limbs felt unnaturally cold, and stiff, icy snakes of fear coiled and uncoiled inside the walls of my stomach. I kept flexing my fingers beneath the folds of my cloak, never far from my sword, ready to draw.

  Shortly after midday — when the sun would be most harmful to a vampire — the humans moved in for the kill. There were three of them, spread out in a semicircle. At first I could only hear the rustling of leaves as they approached, and the occasional snap of a twig. But as they closed upon us, I became aware of their heavy breathing, the creak of their tense bones, the pacy, panicked pounding of their hearts.

  They came to a standstill ten or twelve metres away, tucked behind trees, preparing themselves to attack. There was a long, nervous pause — then the sound of a gun being slowly cocked.

  "Now!" Mr Crepsley roared, springing to his feet, launching himself at the human nearest him.

  While Mr Crepsley closed in on his assailant at incredible speed, Harkat and me targeted the others. The one I'd set my sights on cursed loudly, stepped out from behind his tree, brought his rifle up and got a snap shot off. A bullet whizzed past, missing me by several centimetres. Before he could fire again, I was upon him.

  I wrenched the rifle from the human's hands and tossed it away. A gun went off behind me, but there was no time to check on my friends. The man in front of me had already drawn a long hunting knife, so I quickly slid my sword out.

  The man's eyes widened when he saw the sword — he'd painted the area around his eyes with red circles of what looked like blood — then narrowed. "You're just a kid," he snarled, slashing at me with his knife.

  "No," I disagreed, stepping out of range of his knife, jabbing at him with my sword. "I'm much more."

  As the human slashed at me again, I brought my sword up and out in a smooth arcing slice, through the flesh, muscles and bones of his right hand, severing three of his fingers, disarming him in an instant.

  The human cried out in agony and fell away from me. I took advantage of the moment to see how Mr Crepsley and Harkat were faring. Mr Crepsley had already despatched his human, and was striding towards Harkat, who was wrestling with his opponent. Harkat appeared to have the advantage of his foe, but Mr Crepsley was moving into place to back him up should the battle take a turn for the worse.

  Satisfied that all was going in our favour, I switched my attention back to the man on the ground, psyching myself up for the unpleasant task of making an end of him. To my surprise, I found him grinning horribly at me.

  "You should have taken my other hand too!" he growled.

  My eyes fixed on the man's left hand and my breath caught in my throat — he was clutching a hand grenade close to his chest!

  "Don't move!" he shouted as I lurched towards him. He half-pressed down on the detonator with his thumb. "If this goes off, it takes you with me!"

  "Easy," I s
ighed, backing off slightly, gazing fearfully at the primed grenade.

  "I'll take it easy in hell," he chuckled sadistically. He'd shaved his head bald and there was a dark 'V' tattooed into either side of his skull, just above his ears. "Now, tell your foul vampire partner and that grey-skinned monster to let my companion go, or I'll—"

  There was a sharp whistling sound from the trees to my left. Something struck the grenade and sent it flying from the humans hand. He yelled and grabbed for another grenade (he had a string of them strapped around his chest). There was a second whistling sound and a glinting, multi-pointed object buried itself in the middle of the man's head.

  The man slumped backwards with a grunt, shook crazily, then lay still. I stared at him, bewildered, automatically bending closer for a clearer look. The object in his head was a gold throwing star. Neither Mr Crepsley nor Harkat carried such a weapon — so who'd thrown it?

  In answer to my unvoiced question, someone jumped from a nearby tree and strode towards me. "Only ever turn your back on a corpse!" the stranger snapped as I whirled towards him. "Didn't Vanez Blane teach you that?"

  "I… forgot," I wheezed, too taken aback to say anything else. The vampire — he had to be one of us — was a burly man of medium height, with reddish skin and dyed green hair, dressed in purple animal hides which had been stitched together crudely. He had huge eyes — almost as large as Harkat's — and a surprisingly small mouth. Unlike Mr Crepsley, his eyes were uncovered, though he was squinting painfully in the sunlight. He wore no shoes and carried no weapons other than dozens of throwing stars strapped to several belts looped around his torso.

  "I'll have my shuriken back, thank you," the vampire said to the dead human, prying the throwing star loose, wiping it clean of blood, and reattaching it to one of the belts. He turned the man's head left and right, taking in the shaved skull, tattoos and red circles around the eyes. "A vamped" he snorted. "I've clashed with them before. Miserable curs." He spat on the dead man, then used his bare foot to roll him over, so he was lying face down.