She plunged two fingers into the salve and scooped a generous portion out of the jar. She smiled but didn’t make eye contact as she applied the ointment on Father’s wounds. “Your father has known since your second birthday that . . . you held a different path than a normal child. I sensed it too, though I’ve often tried to deny it. But Jacques, his purpose here was not just to pull your father back from the brink of death, but to do something your father should have done already.”
“What is that?”
Momma’s eyes flicked directly toward mine. “Reveal to you what you are.”
Chills ran up my spine. Her hushed tone when she spoke those words were rigid, almost cold, like she had been cheated and robbed by a higher power at the blessing—or curse—I was born to bear.
“But Father is a vampire hunter, too.”
“Not in the same way as you.” Tears crested in her eyes as she whispered. She turned her attention to my father again. “Your father had chosen to hunt them after discovering what they did to Jacques. No higher power had chosen him for the task. He took the path, but what you are is everything he wishes he could have been.”
The sadness in her eyes, the slight detest in her voice—not directed toward me, but at whatever authority responsible for predestining me—made me want to reassure her that I was still her son and always would be.
“Momma, I still have not been trained.”
“And your father is paying the price for not doing so.”
I stared at my father. “You think this is his punishment for not teaching me? Momma—”
Her jaw tightened. Fury set in her eyes. “How could it be anything else? We both refrained from openly admitting what you are. We wanted to . . . we hoped . . . by ignoring the obvious that it might alter. But you cannot change what Fate demands.”
“Momma—”
“Go, put some wood on the fire before it goes out.”
I nodded and went to the thawing woodpile beside the door. I tapped melting snow off of two logs and carried them to the hearth. The fire hissed when I placed the damp cold wood onto the remaining coals. While the low flames attempted to dry the wood, I glanced over my shoulder. My mother continued nursing and dressing my father’s injuries. I supposed her attitude was a way for her to deal with her grief. It was part of her emotional healing process.
She had been predisposed to tears and her anguish the night before, to clinging desperation while she slept, and this morning anger to thwart succumbing to her inner sadness and despair.
I blew into the growing flames, igniting the white coals to roar slightly, releasing their heat. I snapped a few dry kindling twigs and added them. Once the fire had raised enough to where I didn’t fear it would go out, I stirred the remaining stew in the large black pot. Barely enough to last us a day.
I grabbed my rifle from the wall rack and made my way to the door. I was exhausted. Never had I stayed awake throughout the night before. There never had been any need.
Her nervous eyes gazed at me. “Forrest, you should get some sleep. Hunt later?”
“I’m going to check the traps first. Should I see rabbits or squirrels, I’ll shoot them and bring them back. Then, I’ll sleep.”
Before I opened the door, I took the hatchet instead of the wood ax from beside the door. The ax was too cumbersome to carry far distances, especially when I needed both hands for the rifle. Occasionally a trapped animal became frozen to the ground or in the ice. After the past few days of heavy snow, I didn’t want to risk the chance I’d need something sharp to cut the animal loose and not have anything. Besides, the hatchet fit perfectly inside the inner pocket of my heavy coat.
I glanced back at Momma as I opened the door.
“Be careful,” she said softly.
Words she’d never said to me before.
Chapter Seven
Becoming a man was something that generally occurred over a decade and a half. I was slightly beyond the halfway mark, age wise; however, the frailty of my youthful innocence was about to vanish forever, only I didn’t know its approach, nor did I recognize its closeness. The mental transition from a child to an adult can be abrupt. Sometimes one never saw the moment they crossed over.
The heavy blizzard snow hunkered down most folks. Any wagon roads were impassable, even for those riding on horseback. Few people ventured outdoors unless absolutely necessary, which was why I had never anticipated seeing anyone else out on that horribly cold morning.
About a hundred yards from the cottage was a narrow brook where my father and I kept our traps set. The brook was frozen solid but remained the only water source for wild game. There was a slim chance that I might find something in one of the traps, and if so, it was better than traipsing through waist-high snow, hoping to frighten a rabbit from its nestled bed.
Snow crunched underfoot. My weight caused me to sink up to my thighs with each step I took. Once I was in sight of the bramble that lined the creek bed, I stopped. Two men talked to one another nearby. They were outside of my view, so I guessed they were walking along the edge of the frozen brook. Their voices indicated they weren’t far from where our traps were set, but their accents indicated they weren’t one of the locals.
Trapping was common in our country, especially during the harsh winter months when an animal’s fur was thicker. There’s unspoken etiquette amongst trappers, and that was, quite simply, to never steal from another man’s trap. Not only was it illegal, but also when caught, the perpetrator stood the chance of being shot and killed by the man being stolen from. Seldom was the owner jailed or fined for protecting what was rightfully his.
Of course the dangers were also there for the trap owner, should the thief hold no qualms in adding murder to his agenda. Even though the Great War had been over, the unrest remained. For some, they viewed any threat as a legitimate reason to kill. To me, death wasn’t worth the hide or meat of an animal.
Before I approached the bramble, I listened. The two men seemed calm, discussing something between themselves. No malice or heightened anger exchanged in their voices, so I approached the brook and stopped beside a massive tree.
This tree was the landmark my father and I looked for when coming to the brook. For one, it was the largest tree, making it easily identifiable, and the other benefit was its massive roots formed a natural set of steps down to the water.
Placing my left hand against the tree, I took a wary first step onto the snow-covered roots. The icy slickness caused me to slightly stumble, but I rebounded by planting my left root against the edge of the next root. My movement and sudden gasp didn’t go unnoticed by the two men standing a few yards downstream.
By the time I descended the tree-root steps and stood at the frozen edge of the water, the two men were closer to my vicinity than I wanted them to be. Having a rifle didn’t make me feel safe.
“You there,” the one said. “These your traps?”
I nodded, looking down at the traps. I was surprised they weren’t buried beneath the snow. The curve of the bramble on the bank had caught the heavy wet snow, acting like a lean-to, and formed a slanted roof to force the snow to fall to the outside of our traps. Neither of the traps had caught anything and both remained ready to snap should something step upon one.
With an even gaze I studied the two men. They were a little taller than me, but neither matched my shoulder width or weight. They wore rabbit fur hats with flaps that lowered over their ears. Their long bushy beards were black, mixed with gray, and flowed to their waist. Their heavy overcoats were made from wolf hides. The heavier of the two men carried a tied bundle of wolf hides, beaver pelts, and deerskin over his shoulders. In appearance alone, they looked wilder than the animals they were hunting.
They were hunters, but I sensed they were more than regular game hunters. Power leapt from them, as if greeting what I had felt last night while looking through my father’s vampire hunting box. While they should have been kindred spirits with my own, I sensed something darker about thes
e two men. Something I detested and something that needed culled out and destroyed. My newly found wisdom warned me that these men intended to do my family great harm. The quicker I got them to leave the area, the better.
“This blizzard makes small game trapping sparse,” the man said.
“Looks like you’ve had some luck,” I replied, glancing to his bundle of hides.
He chuckled, combing his wiry beard with his hand. “Our game doesn’t require traps. Just good accuracy.”
I noticed the rifles they carried. My father had one similar. One he had used in the war before I was born. Their accents betrayed them as well. They weren’t from Romania, but I couldn’t place their country of origin. I never had dealt with people from outside our forest and the neighboring hamlets. They must have traded for these rifles, as I doubted they had fought on either side of our war. Of course, mercenaries held no boundaries of country or any morals at all.
“You live nearby, boy?” the other man asked, glancing toward the path beside the massive tree from which I had come.
Although I had physically been gifted with my massive stature, my hairless face gave away my adolescence, as I had yet to sprout any facial hair.
Since these two made me uneasy, I didn’t answer his question. The less information about me, the safer my father and mother were.
“What brings you along this way?” I asked. “The brook water’s frozen. The nearest hamlet is several miles back in the direction you came. Nothing any closer upstream, either.”
“My brother, Guise, and I were tracking a large wolf last night before the snowstorm became too severe for us to continue traveling.” When this man spoke, there was gentleness in his speech. He seemed affable and much friendlier than his appearance foreshadowed.
Guise frowned at me. “You see any wolves near here?”
Guise was different than his brother. His aura was dark. I sensed he was untrustworthy and out to gain money anyway he could, regardless of what it entailed.
I shook my head. “From the wolf hides your brother totes, it looks like you’d do better hunting wherever you killed those.”
“The wolf we hunt has a bounty upon it. Right Wes?” Guise said with a sly grin.
Wes nodded.
“Who’d put a bounty on a wolf?” I asked.
“It’s not a normal wolf,” Wes said. “It’s one of those cursed beings that turns from a man into part wolf and man. Baron Randolph has offered a generous amount of gold for its hide.”
My eyes widened as the shocking news pulsed through me.
“Ah,” Guise said. “You’ve seen it?”
“No,” I replied, but my reaction had already given me away. That was another problem of being a youth. Learning how to maintain stolid facial expressions took years to master, but in an instant I had revealed a vital secret by my uncontrolled emotional reaction. Despite any further arguments on my behalf, there was no way I could convince these men otherwise.
“Don’t lie to us,” Wes said. “We tracked this creature down the edge of the creek last night.”
“And with all of the snow overnight,” I said. “Any tracks have long been buried.”
“All but one,” Guise said, pointing at the tree roots.
When I had stepped down the embankment, apparently I had dislodged loose snow from one of the steps, which revealed a massive wolf print that stretched partway into a human’s, and the clawed toes pointed uphill. Had it been Jacques? Doubtful. He was wearing boots, and to the best of my knowledge, he had not shifted into a beast.
Between the two brothers, Wes was calm with friendly eyes and seemed the most sensible. Guise kept a constant crazy look in his gaze and was probably less predictable. I didn’t trust him and liked him even less.
“Where did you see it?” Wes asked. “When? Last night?”
“Wes, the tracks head in the direction the lad has come from. My guess is we follow his tracks through the snowy forest, and we’ll find the werewolf.”
“Or perhaps, the lad is this wolf we seek,” Wes replied. “There is something odd about him. I sensed it the moment I saw him.”
Guise frowned and stepped toward me, sternly peering into my eyes. “He’s different, but he’s not this creature we seek.”
“Seems too bold in his stance to only be a young man,” Wes said.
I stepped back, toward the root steps, trying to get my distance. Accuracy with a rifle was nearly impossible close up, should I be forced to defend myself and I hoped I didn’t have to. The thought of killing an undead vampire didn’t bother me, but I was certain killing a human, even in self-defense would affect me psychologically for some time to come.
I was aware of my direct surroundings. I knew the land terrain quite well, and much better than either of these brothers. However, in any other season, I could have used this to my advantage and quickly escaped from their presence, but not in the dead of winter.
Running was completely out of the question. The brook was slick frozen ice, and the bank was covered by waist-high snow. I had no quick way to escape.
They must have realized I was looking to get away because both men simultaneously aimed their rifles at me.
“Drop the rifle, lad, while my brother and I sort this out,” Guise said.
“You said that the bounty was given by Baron Randolph?” I asked, not lowering my gun.
“Yes,” Wes replied.
“Did he solicit you directly?”
“No,” Guise said, frowning while he stared into my eyes. “We read of it on a poster in a tavern near the center of Bucharest.”
“I see. So the reward has been offered for some time now?”
“I suppose,” Wes replied, looking to his brother. “Why do you ask?”
I shrugged. “More for my benefit than yours.”
“How’s that?” Guise asked, eyeing me with skepticism. “You know the baron, do you?”
“He actually paid my family a brief visit yesterday, before the worst of the storm set in,” my eyes held renewed boldness, as what I said was indeed the truth.
“Did he now?” Wes asked, lowering his rifle.
Guise lowered his weapon, too. “Why would he call upon your family?”
“He requested to see my father, but my father is ill. My cousin saw the baron off on his way, though.”
The brothers exchanged uncertain glances with one another.
I held my rifle with both hands but not in a threatening manner. “Why would vampire hunters be seeking gold from a vampire to kill a werewolf?”
“What?” Wes asked, his eyes slightly widening as though he’d seen an apparition.
“Which surprises you the most?” I asked. “That I know you’re both vampire hunters, or the fact that the baron is a vampire?”
The brothers were visibly shaken.
I smiled at them in a rather taunting way. Both revelations had caught them unaware, and I managed to conceal that it had me as well. Having access to the knowledge of a previous hunter held great advantages, but there was also familiarity coming to my mind that gave apt awareness to certain things I shouldn’t have known.
“Who are you, boy?” Guise asked.
“I bear a name you won’t recognize.”
“Are you a vampire hunter as well?” Wes said. “Surely you must be, to identify us.”
Guise glanced at Wes. “He seems to be, brother. How do you know the baron is a vampire? That’s never been told anywhere in the taverns, and even we’ve not heard it.”
“Do you think I’m lying?” I asked.
“You don’t seem to be,” Guise replied. “But how did you get such knowledge?”
“You’ve never met him in person?”
They shook their heads.
“Well, if you did, you’d know it immediately,” I said. “I’ll make a deal with you.”
“What kind of a deal?” Guise asked.
“You want information about the werewolf that you’re tracking?”
“I told you
, Wes! He knows where it is!”
“Do you or do you not?” I asked.
“Of course,” Guise said.
Wes no longer looked so certain.
“I will give you that information but only in return for one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“The baron wears a ruby ring on his right hand. Drive a stake through his heart and bring me the ring. Then I’ll give you the information you seek about the werewolf.”
The last thing I ever intended was to give the brothers any clues that eventually led to Jacques. He was family, and I’d fight to protect him. There were several reasons why I had made the insinuation. For one, I didn’t believe they’d have the courage to pursue the baron and if they did, there was a greater possibility he would kill them than the other way around. Should they happen to be successful in killing the master vampire, he wasn’t even wearing a ruby ring, so they had no evidence to bring back to me. But mostly I believed they’d stop hunting the werewolf altogether due to the repulsion of taking money from a vampire. Their true calling was to hunt vampires instead of werewolves.
Wes paled. “What if he isn’t a vampire? You’re sending us to kill a man of nobility. You realize the penalty we’d face for murdering him?”
“Can you not detect a vampire?” I asked. “A true vampire hunter has the ability to discern their presence.”
“Why didn’t you kill the baron yourself?” Guise asked, trying to tilt the challenge back at me. His complexion had lightened somewhat, too.
“The opportunity escaped me. He vanished into the forest before I got the chance. Besides, I’m much younger and less experienced than the two of you. And the baron is a master vampire. Such would require someone with better hunting tactics. Unless, of course, you don’t possess them? How many vampires have the two of you killed?”
“As a team, six,” Wes replied. “Apart, none. It’s safer to hunt as a pair.”
“I don’t doubt that. Were any of those master vampires?” I asked.
Wes shook his head. The more he thought about what I had said, the sicker he appeared.
I gave each of them looks of disappointment, even though I had no kills notched on the side of a hunter box like my father. One day I would, and the number of vampires I killed would be greater than my father or these two men combined. “Perhaps that’s why you’ve chosen to hunt werewolves instead? They’re easier to kill?”
Forrest Wollinsky: Vampire Hunter [Book One] Page 5