Acula

by Robert D. Armstrong

  “Whoooo-oooo!” I yelled. I could hear him laughing as I fell towards one of the protruding rocks. I reached out, clutching at it with my fingers. But they failed to find purchase, and I found myself sliding into the black. I looked down into the darkness as I slipped, but then I felt an upward thrust as he grabbed my wrist, pulling me to safety.

  “I wasn’t finished,” he said, smiling.

  “Neither was I, just practicing,” I replied.

  “Hmm,” he said under his breath. He looked back at where I had jumped from. “Go and do it again, but listen to me this time,” he said. I hopped across each chasm until I made it back to the beginning. I turned around and looked for him, but he wasn’t there.

  “Ready?” he whispered into my ear as he warped directly behind me.

  “…Yes.”

  “Close your eyes and picture where you want to be, but this time, I need you think about something before you do,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Think about killing someone with your fangs, relishing in their warm blood. Think of the wolves. Think of the tearing of flesh, breaking their bones to take what you want. Lust for their blood; the more you lust, and the more violent your thoughts, the more powerful you become,” he explained.

  “Only thoughts?” I asked.

  “Of course, just use them to your advantage. It’s sort of like tricking your mind so that your body will do the work,” he said. I knew I could control it. I had imagined doing horrible things in the past, but I never acted on those.

  Initially, my thought was to imagine killing Morack, but I feared he could read my thoughts. Instead, I began to think of Arshad, the Persian slaver who had tried to sell Father and I.

  I hated him even now. I looked across the distance to the spot I wanted to leap to. Then, I thought of Arshad. I thought about his smirking face. I imagined slashing him with my fingernails, tearing his smirk off with my hands. I could hear him begging as blood poured from his face, pleading for me to stop. Then I plunged my fangs deep into his neck, draining him until he was nothing but bones.

  At that moment, I jumped. I opened my eyes, noticing I had overshot the objective by fifteen paces, but I landed like a leaf.

  “Woah!” I said.

  “A bit carried away there?” Morack asked.

  “…perhaps.”

  “Yes, you’re thinking too much for simple things like this. You’ll learn to gauge how much hatred and lust you require for an action,” he explained. “Now, come with me, back outside.”

  I tried to follow him back along the path we’d taken before, but now he moved much faster. “Keep up!” he yelled.

  I closed my eyes, uniting with the night. I ran towards the entrance, but he began to pull away from me. I darted out of the cave and stopped an instant before the cliff’s edge. Ice sprayed and curled into the air as I dug my heels in. I overlooked the countryside, scanning for him. “Here!” he said from out in the distance.

  To my surprise, he was hundreds of paces away from me, parallel on another mountaintop. “Don’t look down, hahahahaha!” His laughter seemed to echo into eternity. He stood as a silhouette casting out in front the moon, a black shard pricked atop the mountain. “Now you can unleash your hatred,” he said, for this jump was much greater than the last. I dared not look down to where the valley loomed so far below.

  Without hesitation, I thought of Aunt Zella, skewering sorrow into my soul. Sadness transformed into rage, and with one great burst of power, I leaped, landing just before him.

  No sooner had I landed than was he gone again, but his voice rang inside my head in the direction he was moving. “Don’t let go of that thought. Let the fury run through you,” he said.

  I took off, running along the top of the mountain’s crest. The edge I followed was no wider than a man’s shoulders. Rocks fragmented as I churned across the terrain with hatred, sending them falling down. My sandals split apart, exposing my bare feet, yet I felt no pain. My senses were acute to the tumbling boulders; I could hear them crashing into trees and ice beneath me. But at the top of the mountain as I was, what damage the boulders caused was of no concern to me.

  Up ahead, I could see a dip in the path, then another mountain below. “Heeeeere,” Morack called, ushering me towards it, the great distance forcing him to draw out the word.

  I backed up, drew in a deep breath in the darkness, and then ran, leaping just before the edge of the drop. My head grazed the clouds at the peak of my jump. My arms flailed about as I seemed to pause in midair for a moment. I felt the sting of ice on my face, as if someone had splashed it with a thousand partially frozen droplets.

  The rocks tumbling below, his voice, everything seemed to silence as I looked on at the giant moon to my right. I became powerless to its presence, its magnificence. So much light, a beacon in the blackness. I thought no man could ever witness such. Then, the moon turned red. It started with a wound at the top of it that gushed blood downward, filling it up. I closed my eyes; my anger had corrupted its beauty.

  I began to sink downward through the clouds as the rage injected back into my mind. I could see the ground below me approaching. Wind whipped my skin, its buffeting power a thousand lashes against my skin. My legs began to move just before impact, then, wooooom! My feet landed, but I felt myself moving forward before anything else.

  I could hear him breathing. I wasn’t sure if he was doing it on purpose, or if my senses were becoming more powerful. I followed, jumping across smaller mountains. I ran down one mountain, causing an avalanche that engulfed a huge tree. I leapt to the fallen apex of the tree and stood atop it, riding the makeshift raft downward as snow pelted my face. I abandoned the log just before it impacted an enormous outcropping of rock, and I watched it smash into hundreds of pieces. Some of the splintered fragments were larger than my arm, and one nearly skewered me through the gut. I felt Morack’s brief panic for me as if it were my own sensation, but already I was moving, scaling the mountain upward like a raven in wind.

  As I reached the highland again, I began to spring forward instead of run. Each step became longer and longer. I kept going, pushing it to the limit until each movement was near thirty or forty paces. My feet barely touched the rocks. I felt like I was flying! I held my arms out as if I were a bird taking flight, smiling from ear to ear. Never had I felt this freedom, this abandonment to reality. I closed my eyes, breathing in the night, as my rage slowly turned into ecstasy. I felt the anger was a poison that ran through my veins, but now it had allied with my new composition, giving me power and pleasure.

  “Much different from the shackles of mankind,” Morack said excitedly. I could tell by his voice he was enjoying himself too. I thought about my life as a slave. No man could bind my hands again. No man could give me orders. No man could take away what I loved. If father understood how much I was enjoying myself, maybe he wouldn’t oppose?

  Suddenly, I fell to one knee, skidding across the rocks. My stomach began cramping, and my lips snarled up. I felt the teeth of the other sliding into place. “Ahhhhh.” I hissed with discomfort, then abject pain that bordered on agony. What was happening to me?

  “Now that’s—that is part of it,” Morack said. He perched over me.

  “Cramps?” I asked.

  “Hunger pains. Using your powers like this can accelerate the cramps,” he said. No sooner had he uttered the last word than I felt hunger like I had never felt before.

  “It’s not far; we’ve been running for quite a while,” he said.

  “What’s not far?” I asked before roaring in pain. “Raaaahhhh!”

  “Sustenance and absolution,” he replied, furrowing his eyebrows ahead. He closed his eyes, looking into the night. I followed suit, following his vision. We moved through the clouds like apparitions, peering beyond where we sat.

  I heard voices, thousands of them, all speaking in the Persian tongue. I could hear horses, cattle, and the sounds of shackles clanging together under a trot.

  “Sl
aves. Look at them,” Morack said.

  “Where? Who?” I asked.

  “The slave camps where you were held; they’re retreating from your homeland. It appears Xerxes, the king of kings, has had enough,” he said.

  “I thought my countrymen freed them?” I asked.

  “It appears not all of them could be saved,” he replied.

  I felt him pick me up by my underarm, ushering me towards the camps. The more we progressed, the worse the pain became.

  ***

  “Just up ahead here,” he said, gesturing me towards a tent. I could hear two voices whispering.

  They don’t know we’re here, Morack spoke to my mind, smiling when I looked over at him.

  “Who?” I asked. I was too hungry to even try to mimic Morack’s power of speaking to my mind. I could hear hearts pulsing maybe a dozen paces away; it sounded like a drum beating inside my head.

  ‘A slaver. Dreadful act, of course, slavery, as you know. I myself would rather die than be someone’s pawn day after day. This is why I now give you choice. You can leave now and try and rescue your father, or you can deal with this abomination to mankind and cease your hunger pains,’ he posed.

  The combination of my hunger and hatred towards slavers was unbearable. There was only a moment where I felt the urge to resist, no more.

  The heartbeats became louder and louder as I slowly crawled towards the entrance. I looked back at him. He shrugged his shoulders, showing me the palms of his hands. ‘The choice is yours, I’ll drain him if you don’t.’ He smiled, long fangs gleaming in the dark.

  I closed my eyes, looking inside the tent. I hovered around the room, searching, and then there he was—Arshad. I thought for a moment this must be an illusion or trick, but it was him.

  ‘It’s a gift from your eternal companion,’ Morack said. I turned around and stared at him, confused.

  “Remember, Acula, use your bloodlust and anger,” he said aloud. Then he started laughing loudly. This startled Arshad. I could hear him demand, “What was…what is that?!” I could see his silhouette through the tent as he rose from his bed to investigate. Every movement he made was clumsy, slow, and loud. My senses were now merged with the darkness, such that even the slightest sound alerted me.

  He turned his back to me. Then, without hesitation, I barreled inside in a rage of hunger, fangs exposed, saliva spilling from my mouth. Arshad’s aggressive voice suddenly gave way to a fearful man, covering his face and squealing like pig when he saw me. The other voice we had heard was a whore. She screamed in terror as Arshad used her as a shield, putting her before me as they cowered in the corner. The smell of perfume and wine swelled inside my nostrils.

  “Guards! Guards!” he yelled.

  I gritted my teeth. I sent a burst of energy to my legs, closing the distance. I snatched Arshad away from the whore by his hair, pulling him into middle of the room. His eyes were closed as he cried, “No, nooo!”

  “Open your eyes!” I roared.

  I lunged at Arshad as he screamed, biting into his neck. He pushed me away with his frail arms as blood splattered the tent canopy. He scratched my face. “Stop! Ah-Ahhh-Ahhhhhh!” I gnawed at his flesh. I could feel his body shaking.

  “Hahahaha!” Morack laughed, clapping his hands.

  I chewed Arshad’s neck to the bone, biting through his spine until I severed his head completely. His corpse fell to the ground as I held his head by his hair. I fell to the ground, lapping up the blood like a dog as it poured from his neck. The whore suddenly stopped screaming, fainting onto the ground.

  ***

  The next thing I remembered was waking up to the next day back inside the ice cave. Arshad’s corpse was only a few paces in front of me. The edges of my lips were dried with his blood. I quickly wet my tongue, pushing the dried blood into my mouth with my trembling fingers. My body was shaking and my stomach was cramping. It seemed my hunger was more ravenous than before.

  I sprang up from the ground, plunging my fangs into Arshad’s chest. “Ughhh!” I pulled my head away. “Rancid!” I yelled out, spitting his blood across the room. “Morack!” I yelled. I paused for a few seconds. I felt myself begin to panic. I was alone and starving. I looked down at my forearms; black veins were throbbing, pressing through my thin, pale skin.

  “What have I done?” I said in a horrified whisper. “I’m corrupted by this hunger.” I looked to the heavens. “Morack!”

  Suddenly, I could hear sets of footsteps in the distance approaching. Some distance away, someone was crying.

  ‘I’m here. I’m here to help you,’ Morack said, speaking into my mind. His words felt comforting.

  The uncontrollable desire for blood frightened me. I wanted to cry, but my lust overpowered my emotions. I wondered if everything that had happened was real; maybe it had been an illusion of some sort.

  I began to think of who I was. I thought about my mission to find Larus and cure my disease. I thought about Father and where he was. I needed blood once more, and then I would rescue him.

  “I can read your thoughts, young Acula.” Morack entered the room with his arms crossed.

  “I need more,” I said.

  “I know.” he replied.

  “Do you have it? I just need it this once, then I’ll—”

  “Yes, yes, of course. Calm down. After this, I will teach you to control this desire, but for now I must reveal something to you, something horrible before I deliver your gift,” he explained.

  “Just—what of it?” I asked.

  “I’m sorry to reveal, but your father, Acula…it appears he has passed on,” Morack said.

  “He died?” I said. I could feel saliva trickling down my chin in anticipation.

  “Seems an infection set up from the arrow in this leg; he wasn’t able to stand trial for your actions,” Morack said.

  “My father…h-he’s gone?” I said, looking down at the ground. A part of me attempted to stir an emotional response, but shockingly I couldn’t. I only had one thought in my mind, and his death did nothing to quench my thirst. I thought if I could only feed again, I could return to myself.

  Morack walked out of view for a moment, then reappeared. He crept into the room with two people in tow. A grown man and a young boy.

  I felt my fangs slicing my gums as they approached blindfolded.

  “Here we are, Acula, fresh peasants from a village below,” he said, shackling them to the floor. He removed their blindfolds. Immediately, the boy began to weep loudly, “Nooo! Please, let us go!”

  The middle-aged man sternly stared down Morack. “Monsters! Cowards!” he yelled.

  “Father and son,” Morack said proudly, smiling as he nodded towards them.

  “Why must…why must it be this?” I pleaded. Was he taunting me so soon after my father’s death? And why did I still feel no anguish at his passing?

  “The sweetest blood you can drink is that of someone who is loved unconditionally. When you take that bond away in front of them, that severance is the sweetest thing you can taste. Think of it as your reward. After this, I’ll show you how to look for it,” he explained.

  “…I-I can’t do this. This is what you did to me. You picked me because my father…somehow you knew. You tried to take away the only thing that mattered to Father, and I-I…please…don’t…” I dropped to my knees, unable to partake in Morack’s dark, twisted ritual.

  “Shhhhhh, young Acula, once this is over, you can put all of that behind you. Once you taste this, your link to the world of the living will die, it’ll be over…we can live together, forever, as father and son…” he whispered.

  I closed my eyes as tears started to fall. My father’s love for me echoed through the father and son before me as they spoke to one another.

  “Harden your heart against what is to come, my son,” the man was saying. “I raised you to be strong.” His hard eyes looked my way then. “Make it quick and be done with it, demon.”

  That pushed me over the edge, and I felt so
mething shift in my heart.

  “That’s why you’re a monster,” I said with my eyes closed.

  “What?” Morack asked.

  “The wolves. You tried to compare us to wolves. This is what makes you different than them. They kill for food; you kill because you’re evil,” I replied.

  “I know you crave their blood…I can see it in your eyes. Anything else you say or do is going against what you are, against your own nature.”

  “This isn’t me. I don’t want anyone to die! Just let them go!” I yelled.

  The father looked up me, confused. “Yes, yes, you can stop him, d-don’t let him do this.”

  “Haha! See, you’re giving them hope. That’s torture—not even I do that,” Morack said.

  “Free them, Morack, please. I’ll do what you like…just don’t do this,” I pleaded again. How much longer would I be subjected to this monster’s games? I closed my eyes, using my connection to the night to peer back into our village. I searched frantically for Father, but he was nowhere to be found. Father…

  ‘Ready to go home, are you?’ Morack spoke to my mind.

  “What is the point of this, why—?”

  “Enough! Enough of all this!” Morack yelled. Suddenly, I heard a scream, and then a tingling sensation, a rising joy.

  I felt wet drops in my mouth and on my lips. I looked up to see Morack had cut the boy’s wrist with his claw, slinging his blood into my mouth. I tried to spit it out, but I could already taste it. I went into a euphoric trance; everything around me blurred except the boy. I was determined to taste more. I was unable to reason. I stood up, walking towards him.

  Morack’s eyes turned red as I approached the boy. “One day we will look back and laugh at this moment, both of us,” he said, sitting down. The father was pulling at his chains so tightly his wrists were bleeding. Veins protruded from his forehead as he cursed Morack.

  “Away from him!” His focus shifted to the boy. “Look at me! Hey! Look at me! Not the monsters!” the father yelled. The son was crying loudly. The father glared up at me furiously. “No, no! Don’t you dare, don’t you dare touch him!”