by Kallysten
"Can I help?” Mierna offered, remembering with another jolt of guilt that she had hurt him.
"No need.” Already, he was tying up the extremities of the cloth length together, with such ease that it was clear he had had a lot of practice.
"It's a rather deep wound,” she said, still uneasy. “My grandmother ... she taught me how to make a poultice—"
"No need for that either."
He stood and warily stretched his arms over his head. Mierna averted her eyes again, biting her bottom lip and blushing. She hadn't seen a man without shirt since she had stopped swimming in the river upon becoming a young woman, and back then her swimming mates had been boys, not grown men. She could not remember their muscles being so defined, and couldn't remember either having ever wondered what their skin would feel like beneath her fingers. Like all girls her age, she had had crushes on boys before, she had even let Devon kiss her cheek during the last Spring Festival, but none of them had ever made her throat so dry. None of them had ever had imprecise images of kissing by moonlight bounce through her mind. None of them had made butterflies dance wildly in her belly.
"Come."
The strong word, almost a command, caught Mierna off guard and she started. She looked back toward the vampire, and found that he had crossed the room toward one of the torches. He picked it up from the wall and carried it through a doorless, arched opening into the next room. After hesitating for a few seconds, like she had in front of the open door, she finally followed. She tried to convince herself she wasn't going after him because she was attracted to him. Rather, it was for the same reason she had entered the house. She had to ask him for a weapon. She wasn't sure how to ask, but she needed to do it. She wasn't even sure he had weapons, but surely the Fighters had not sent her on a fool's errand.
Her fears disappeared as soon as she entered the second room. On the wall in front of her, metal gleamed, reflecting the flames of the torch. There were a couple of barbed spears leaning against the wall, three axes, all with handles thicker than her arm, but it was the swords that caught her eye. Resting on hooks on the wall, they all shone bright, from the long, thick sword with the intricately carved handle to the shortest one, no longer than two of her hands put together, more a long dagger than a sword.
"Choose."
Certain that she had heard him wrong, she looked at the vampire. His face was very grim, and it made his eyes look darker. He nodded toward the weapons even as he slipped the torch through a metal loop on the wall.
"Go ahead. It's what you came here for, isn't it?"
She blinked. “Do you ... do you mean it?"
"Right now, I do, but choose quickly before I change my mind. I still think you're too young."
She didn't argue with him about being old enough. Let him think what he wanted as long as he didn't change his mind before she left. She stepped closer to the wall, detailing the swords there. Once, a blacksmith in Riverside had known how to make fine blades such as these. A demon attack had left him and his two apprentices dead, and the town had never recovered the precious lost skills. That was why Mierna was here. All who wanted to join the Fighters needed a weapon. If their family did not own one, they needed to travel to a town and buy one, or find another way to procure one.
"I don't know which one to pick,” she murmured when she had reached for three swords but done little more than brush her fingers to their hilts.
The vampire chuckled behind her, but more than amused, he sounded sad. “Ah, women and shiny things."
He stepped forward, coming to a halt so close behind her that Mierna shuddered. Before she could move away, he took her right wrist and guided her hand to a slim blade, four hands long, she hadn't considered until now. His hand slid until his fingers covered Mierna's, and he gently closed them on the hilt of the sword. He lifted her hand to free the blade from the hooks on the wall, then took two steps back, pulling Mierna along with him. She could feel his chest, pressed against her back, solid and strong, and it made her shiver. She had to fight herself not to jump away—or lean against him, she wasn't sure which.
"The woman who owned this blade was as petite as you are.” Still gripping her hand, he guided her arm into slashing the blade in front of her, back and forth. “She complained it was too small, the first time she saw it. Said she would never be able to kill a demon with it, that it would break the first time she tried.” His voice had taken accents of fond remembrance. It dropped in volume until he was murmuring, more to himself than for Mierna, it seemed. “She killed three, her first night with this sword, and she danced of happiness when she did. Her name was Deborah."
He let go of her hand and moved away. Mierna took a few deep breaths to try and calm her racing heart before she turned toward him, but already he had left the room. Taken aback, she followed him outside the house. When she caught up with him, he was standing in front of the graves again, dressed as earlier with a tunic and cloak.
"Thank you,” she said, raising the sword to show what she was thanking him for. “I will think of Deborah, when I fight. And of you, too."
He nodded, almost absently, and she had the feeling that he was barely paying her any mind.
"So ... I will go back to my village, now."
Another nod disappointed Mierna. She had half hoped he would ask her to stay a little longer, though why she wished so, she couldn't have said.
"Goodbye, Lord—” she frowned mid sentence, unsure how to finish. “I didn't ask you what you are called."
He turned a slight frown toward her. “You don't know my name?” he asked, clearly surprised. “Has it been so long that your village has forgotten—” He sighed. “Elden. My name is Elden."
"Goodbye, Elden.” The name wasn't familiar, but it rolled easily on her tongue. “And thank you again."
He answered her bright smile with a fainter one.
"Don't forget your spear, child."
With a jolt, she realized she had been about to walk away without Carrel's spear. She hurried and picked it up from the ground, grimacing at the blood that covered its metal tip. She looked toward Elden, ready to give a last apology for hurting him before she left, but he had turned his attention back to the tombs. She watched him for a few seconds, standing so still, so straight, as though he were but another stone himself. She wondered if vampires believed in the afterlife, or if they even prayed to the gods. She would probably never know.
Turning away from the tall, fair haired man who had scared her so much before surprising her even more, she got back on the trail, retracing her steps from not even an hour earlier. The same sounds and shadows played around her in the night, but she barely noticed them, her mind divided between the novelty of the blade in her hand and the extraordinary encounter she had made this night. Would anyone believe her, if she told them that she had met a vampire and that he had freely given her the weapon she had come to take from him?
Chapter 2
The trail looked different in the afternoon light than it had two weeks earlier when Mierna had come at night. The shadows that had made her heart beat so fast seemed playful now that sunlight rather than the moon filtered through the branches, and the calls of a few birds held none of the cold of the wind howling in the night. Like then, though, she had a weapon in hand, this time the sword Elden had given her rather than a spear. And just like that night, she had no idea what to expect once she reached the end of the trail.
"Hello, Elden! Remember me?"
She winced at her own words. Too joyful. She wanted him to take her seriously. Somehow, she doubted that smiles and a sweet voice would be enough. If anything, they would reinforce his idea that she was a child.
"Hello. I wanted to thank you again for the sword. I will honor Deborah's memory—” she cut herself mid sentence and frowned. “No. If I say her name, he might become sad again."
Frustrated, she slashed the sword in the air in front of her. It made a now familiar swooshing sound, but she would have given a lot to trade it f
or the sound of metal on metal. In the two weeks since the Fighters had grudgingly accepted her as a trainee, no one had found the time to show her how to use a sword, and they wouldn't let her join their nightly patrols until she could best one of them. She had come to realize Carrel had used his influence amongst the Fighters to make sure no one would train her. That was why she was returning to the lair. Seeking the company or help of a vampire went against every warning children were given as they grew up, and so she had needed some time to make up her mind. Still, she didn't see what other choice she had if she wanted to become a full-fledged Fighter. She had to ask him. She just wasn't sure how she would convince Elden to help her again.
"Good afternoon—"
She stopped mid stride, struck by a sudden thought. Vampires were supposed to hide from sunlight during the day and spend their nights out. Would he be awake, when she arrived there? Disrupting his rest might not be the best way to start that encounter. Maybe she would wait outside for a few hours, and knock only at nighttime.
Lost in her thoughts, she started walking again, more slowly now. After a little while, she dismissed the idea. She would not stay on his doorstep, only feet away from the graves.
"Hello, Elden. I am sorry for bothering you. Sorry for throwing that spear at you. Sorry for coming to your lair to steal from you. Sorry for thinking about you every day and every night since I met you."
She grimaced as the words left her tongue. They were true, every single one of them, but that didn't mean she wanted to share them with Elden. What would he think of her, if she told him she could remember every word he had said, and the feel of his hand on hers when he had made her pick the sword? He wouldn't take her seriously. She wasn't even taking herself seriously. He was a vampire, and much older than she was. Taking a fancy to him was only one more way to avoid thinking of the two men courting her. Her parents were not pushing her into making a choice yet, but the time would come, she was sure, when they would ask her to put her ideas about fighting away and accept a marriage proposal. If she could only show them, all of them, that she was a good Fighter before it came to that...
"Hello Elden. Could you teach me to use a sword?"
There. Straight, and to the point. If he refused or if he wanted an explanation, she could tell him more. Otherwise, there was no need to volunteer more information than he needed to know. He had seemed like a man of few words.
A few more minutes of following the trail and she finally reached the clearing in the woods. She avoided looking at the row of tombs and went straight to the door, heart thundering in her chest and throat suddenly dry. She shook off her hesitation and knocked on the heavy wood four times, wondering even as she did whether the sound would be loud enough. She had only seen two rooms inside, and neither had looked like a place where he might rest. Surely, there were other rooms, and maybe heavy doors between him and—
The door opened, and there he was. He stayed back, his body half concealed by the door. Mierna noticed how his eyes tightened as though he were blinded by the sun and for a second she was afraid she was letting sunlight inside his lair. A quick look down however reassured her; judging by the shadows, the door opened to the north, safe from the sun.
"Mierna.” His voice was tight with wariness. “Why did you come back?"
She barely heard his question. As she looked back up, she had just noticed, in the same instant, that he wasn't wearing a shirt and that he held a heavy axe in his left hand, only half of it visible from behind the door. The memories that had danced through her mind for the past week resurfaced, skin rippling over a muscled chest, these same muscles strong against her back. Flustered, she forced her eyes back to his face, forgetting her carefully prepared words now that he was in front of her.
"I need ... I mean, I'd like ... if you don't mind..."
Her voice vanished when she saw his eyes narrow and his jaw twitch. Had she ruined it all, already? Had her babbling upset him in some way?
"I won't give you more weapons."
"That's not why I'm here."
He seemed to ponder her statement, as though not quite believing it. “Why, then?"
Needing to break free of his eyes, she looked at her sword even as she pointed it up, hoping her movement wouldn't seem hostile.
"It's a beautiful sword,” she said, the words rushing past her lips, “and I am honored that you gave it to me. But I do not know how to use it properly, and no one is willing to teach me. I was wondering if you would. I will ... I will give you my blood in exchange if you—"
She had looked up again toward his face as she spoke, needing to judge from his expression whether he would accept or dismiss her, and the ice she saw in his eyes froze her to the bone. He was going to slam the door in her face, she was sure of it, and then—
The door creaked as it opened just a little wider, leaving Mierna to hold her breath and hope.
"Well?” Elden's voice snapped like a whip. “Are you coming in or not?"
She jumped at his tone. He certainly didn't seem too happy about helping her. She wasn't going to question him, however, and risk angering him further.
"To the weapons room. Lead the way."
The muscles of her back tense from the knowledge that he was so close behind her, she did as he had ordered, passing through the room with the table and fireplace and into the one where she had picked the sword. It was large, the same size as the other room, but because it was devoid of any furniture it seemed larger, even more so than the first time she had entered it as three torches on the walls now brightly lit the space. She stood in the middle of the room, waiting for directions. Elden passed by her and went to hang the axe on the wall before picking up the longest sword.
"Stand at my side,” he said, still as harshly. “Copy my movements."
Mierna was a little put off by the way he was talking to her, but she wanted to learn too much to say anything. She stood where he had indicated with his sword, copying his stance, feet spread out and squarely planted on the stone floor, the sword held in front of her with both hands. He moved fast, striking in front of him high, then low, changing the angle of the sword from one movement to the next. When he resumed his initial posture and looked toward her, Mierna shook herself into motion and tried to imitate what she had seen the best she could. After having witnessed the grace of Elden's movements, she felt clumsy and hyperaware of his eyes on her, but for a first try, she thought she hadn't done too badly.
"Sloppy,” was all Elden said before demonstrating a second combination of movements.
Sloppy. Inaccurate. Slow. Weak. Pathetic. The verbal blows came one after the other, the only reaction Mierna received for all her efforts. Her arms were tiring and her fingers were cramped around the hilt of the sword, but the physical discomfort was nothing. It was Elden's icy condemnation of her best efforts that pulled tears always closer to the surface.
It lasted an hour or so, until Mierna was panting with exhaustion, sweat plastering hair to her forehead and stinging her eyes.
"There's a well outside if you're thirsty,” Elden said, still no warmth or encouragement coming through his words. If anything, he sounded bored.
Mierna nodded, her throat too parched to produce a word, and slowly made her way to the front door. The light stung her eyes when she stepped outside, sharper from having been inside for so long, and two tears rolled down her cheeks—from the sun, she assured herself, nothing else. She walked around the building until she found the well, and rested her sword against the stone edge as she pulled a bucket out. She placed it on the ground, kneeling beside it to drink hastily from her cupped hands. When her thirst was sated, she plunged her hands in and left them there for a few moments, letting the coolness soothe them, then splashed her face, erasing both sweat and tears in the same movement. As soon as she had dried her face with her sleeve, more tears welled up in her eyes. Refusing to shed them, she closed her eyes tight even as she fisted her hands on her thighs.
When she had thought of Elden
training her, she had imagined he would take her hand in his and guide her, the same way he had made her pick the sword. She had heard, also, his soft-spoken voice giving her encouragements, pointing out how to improve, even praising her. Next to that fantasy, the reality she had experienced felt like a nightmare. She didn't feel like she had learned anything from an hour spent wielding the sword in increasingly complicated patterns, and she certainly didn't feel like going back for more. Surely, she would find someone else to train her. All she had to do was ask, and continue asking until someone agreed. It wasn't as though anyone would know she had given up so fast, and even if they did, no one could blame her when Elden was being so harsh.
Her decision made, she stood, picking up her sword again. There was no need for goodbyes; she didn't want to hear yet more railing of her skills. He would understand when she didn't return.
She started to walk toward the trail, but her steps slowed down, and she came to a halt before she had even left the clearing. No one would know she had given up if she left now; no one but her. She had wanted to become a Fighter for years, and now that her chance was there, she couldn't throw it away so easily. She might have to learn to ignore Elden's cruel words—or learn not to let out her tears of frustration and humiliation until she was out of his sight—but she couldn't let him chase her away. He might be a harsh teacher, but he was the first and only person who had accepted to teach her.
With a deep breath in, she slowly turned back toward the house. The door still gaped open, waiting for her. She went back in and closed it behind her.
She found Elden in front of the fireplace. He had just added some wood in, and the flames were casting dancing shadows around the room. When he turned toward her, the fire at his back made his light hair shine. He raised a questioning eyebrow toward her.
"I'm ready to continue,” she said, steeling her voice and body for what was to come.