The Oldest Living Vampire In Love (The Oldest Living Vampire Saga Book 3)

by Joseph Duncan

  “May the ancestors guide you to the Ghost World, little one,” I whispered.

  The tracks of the T’sukuru angled away to the northeast, trailed by splashes of errant blood. Not far away, at the base of a gnarled oak, the footprints vanished. The killer had taken to the trees.

  I gestured to Valas. I needed to confer with him. We needed to change our tactics. Before we could speak, however, Iltep broke away from his comforters. He pelted through the snow, falling, rising, then collapsing to his knees beside his son.

  “Menoch!” he sobbed hoarsely. “Oh, Menoch, my son! I am so sorry! Look what that monster has done to you!”

  He pulled the mangled child into his lap and began to rock him, stroking the lad’s curly bangs from his brow. I had to look away. The sight of the boy’s arm flopping lifelessly as his father cradled him was too heart-wrenching.

  “The raider has taken to the trees with the other child,” I said to Valas in a low voice. “There will be no catching him now, unless Ilio and I take to the trees after him. Your men won’t be able to keep up.”

  The others had gathered around-- Gibbus and Sephram, Valas’s sons, the men who fished on the lake, our strongest and fiercest tribesmen. Some of them listened in on my conversation with Valas. The others were trying to sooth Iltep. Snow whirled around us, falling more thickly now.

  “Do what you must,” Valas said, his words steaming in the cold. “We will follow.”

  I told him what I’d already discussed with Ilio, that I feared leaving the group unprotected, that there could be more of my kind lurking in the snowy wilderness, that the blood drinker might double back and slaughter them in my absence.

  “So we are slowing you down,” Valas sighed. He shivered, snot frozen to his mustache. He looked back in the direction of the village, eyes narrowed, thinking, then announced, “Then we will turn back… for the other boy’s sake.”

  Several of the men objected.

  “How can we trust him to continue the pursuit?” one of the men demanded. This was a fisherman named Gilt. He’d always been suspicious of me. “How do we know he won’t let the fiend go? Or join the foul thing in feasting on poor Pudhu? They are kin--!”

  Before he could finish what he was saying, Valas stomped forward and clouted the man, sending him stumbling back into the fellow behind him.

  “Bite your tongue or spit your teeth on the ground!” Valas hissed.

  I was shocked. I did not expect Valas to defend my honor to such an extent, and with the revelation, a fierce love for the man swelled in my breast.

  Gilt lurched upright, wiping blood from his lips. For a moment I was afraid the two men would come to further blows, but Iltep intervened.

  “For my son’s sake, don’t fight,” he said. Though he did not speak loudly, the ragged pain in his voice froze us all. He looked up at me and said, “Go on, Thest, if you think you can save my little Pudhu. I trust you. You have never done us harm. We will return to the village so you do not have to worry about us. We will take my poor Emoch home to his mother.”

  I glanced at Ilio and he nodded.

  “I will save your son,” I told the man. “If I fail in that, I will bring back the villain’s head so that you may spit upon his face.”

  Iltep nodded, his dead son in his arms. Valas and Gibbus helped the bereaved father to his feet. “See that you do,” Iltep said hoarsely, clutching the boy to his breast. “See that you do!”

  “What if the beast kills you first, Brother?” Valas asked.

  “Then know that I die content,” I answered. “For the first time in many, many years.”

  The men turned and began to make their way back to the village. I watched them shuffle through the snow for a moment, their torches glittering on the snowdrifts, impressed by the way they closed around Iltep in a protective circle, their hands going out to the dead child’s cheek, the father’s shoulders. They were good men. As compassionate as they were brave, and then it struck me again that they were my descendants, all of these men, and I felt such pride and love for them that I thought my heart would burst. The children of my children’s children. Recompense for all that I had suffered.

  “Come, Ilio!” I called, my voice tight with emotion, and then we were away.

  5

  We raced through the snow to where our quarry’s footprints vanished, then leapt to the nearest bough. I landed in a crouch, grabbing the limb above my head to keep my balance. A moment later, Ilio was perched beside me. The limb bobbed beneath our weight. Clumps of snow plopped to the ground below.

  “How will we follow him in the trees?” Ilio asked quietly, glancing back at the withdrawing Tanti. They were too far away to hear him now. Their torches winked between the tree trunks. Shadowy claws raked the hillside as if trying to erase their tracks.

  “There will be a trail to follow, even up here,” I answered. “It won’t be as obvious as those footprints in the snow, but… Ah! There! Do you see the bark scraped away from that limb? And there: a broken branch.”

  “Yes!”

  “This way!”

  Perched upon the limb I had pointed out to Ilio, I cast my gaze about. The canopy of a nearby tree looked as though it had been disturbed recently. The snow had been jarred from its branches so that the patterns of light and dark did not match the whole.

  Calling out to Ilio, I leapt across the space between the trees. I moved quickly through the maze of leafless tree limbs, ducking some, climbing over others, following the faint trail with my eyes.

  The limbs were icy and slick, and twice I nearly lost my purchase and fell to the ground below. The next tree over, I picked up the scent of the mortal child. I found a scrap of torn clothing on a sharp pointed branch, a droplet of blood where the limb had gouged his skin. Poor little Pudhu… I had been dragged through the treetops like this once when I was a mortal man. It is not a pleasant experience.

  I quickened my pace.

  The land sloped down, the trees more closely spaced. It was becoming easier to follow the child’s scent. We were closing the gap. I heard tree branches snap in the valley below, the sound echoing in the snow-padded hush. I froze, gesturing for Ilio to halt, and listened intently. Another snapping tree branch. And then the child whimpered. Faint. Distant. The boy was still alive!

  I slithered forward through the trees, Ilio at my heel, moving as quickly and as quietly as I could. As we drew nearer, the sound of the vampire’s flight through the forest grew more distinct, the boy’s scent stronger. I wasn’t even paying attention to the fiend’s trail now. I was following him by ear. By ear and by nose.

  “We’ve almost got him!” Ilio whispered at my side, and I hissed, holding up a hand to silence him.

  But I knew it was too late the moment the words left his lips. If I could hear the Tanti child’s whimpers, our quarry could certainly hear Ilio.

  I listened. Our quarry listened, too. The forest was silent but for little Pudhu’s whimpers.

  A voice called out somewhere to the north of us, not far from our position. It was not speech-- not any kind of speech I understood, anyway-- but a series of rapid clicks that echoed within the encircling hills.

  What was the meaning of such a sound?

  I did not know, but I did not intend to respond to it. I stayed still, and made sure with a gesture that Ilio did not reply to it either.

  Again, the strange clicking. It was the sound a man can make by popping his tongue against the inside of his cheek, but what did it mean?

  The other blood drinker let out an inquisitive grunt, and then I heard him scrambling through the treetops again, racing away from us. The child yelped, began to wail.

  I shot forward, careless of any noises I might be making. It didn’t matter now. The other blood drinker knew we were pursuing it. He might have even guessed that we were T’sukuru, like him. I had no idea how keen his senses were, or the meaning of the strange sounds he had made, but he had surely heard us flying through the treetops, and no mortal man could move in
such a manner.

  He was fast. He raced through the trees like a storm wind, breaking branches, limbs still swaying as we followed in his wake, but we were faster, and we narrowed the gap between us even further.

  Suddenly, our quarry stopped. I heard a soft snapping sound, and the vampire’s young captive let out a piercing howl. A moment later there was a thud, as if a large fruit had fallen to the ground, and then the blood drinker was racing away through the forest again. I could hear the swish and crackle of his flight, growing ever fainter, but the mortal child’s wailing did not wane.

  I flew forward, grinning with sudden optimism.

  Thank you, Ancestors…!

  Little Pudhu lay at the base of an alder, sprawled in a hump of snow.

  He was crying loudly, his left leg bent unnaturally just below the knee, but he was alive. The vampire had broken his leg and abandoned him—or the boy’s leg had broken when he fell from the tree. Thinking of the snapping sound I had heard, and the child’s immediate cries, I deduced it was the former, and our quarry had done it to distract us from further pursuit, but no matter. The child lived! That was all I cared about.

  Ilio and I descended from the trees.

  The child wailed even louder as we approached. He could not see who we were in the dark, only our shapes closing in on him. He clamped his hands over his eyes, his lower lip quivering.

  “It’s all right, Pudhu,” I said gently. “It is Thest. We’re going to take you back to your mama.”

  “Mama?” the boy snuffled, his chest hitching.

  “Yes, Mama is waiting for you at home,” I crooned, kneeling down beside him. I examined his leg without touching him, scowling at his injury. I had seen my father set bones when I was a boy, but I’d never done it myself.

  “Thest, he’s getting away,” Ilio hissed at my shoulder, looking to the north.

  “I know. It does not matter.”

  “Is Pudhu going to be okay?” Ilio asked, coming around to the other side of the boy. He kneeled down and tried to sooth the child. “Ssshhh, Pudhu. You are safe now.”

  “Ilio?” the little boy sobbed.

  “Yes, it is Ilio.”

  “I want my mama, Ilio! I want to go home!”

  “I know.”

  “Will you take me home now?”

  “Yes, yes, just lay still for a moment.”

  Ilio stroked the little boy’s hair, looking at me with a fretful expression. I was digging through all my pockets, then the satchels attached to my belt. I pulled out medicinal herbs, sharp flakes of flint, which I used for cutting, some bone fishing hooks, an awl, but no string. I sat on my butt and took off my shoes, then pulled the laces out of them.

  “What are you doing?” Ilio asked.

  “I am going to set the bone,” I said. “It is a long way back to the village. We can’t have his little broken leg flopping the whole way back.”

  “Can’t you use the Blood?”

  “And have the bone heal crooked?”

  “Oh.”

  “His injuries are not serious enough to use the living blood. Just comfort the child,” I said, rising. The snow and wet mulch of the forest floor squelched between my bare toes, but it felt good. I listened for the retreating raider-- the vampire thief-- but he had passed out of earshot. He was no longer a danger to us or the child. Putting the T’sukuru out of my thoughts, I broke off a couple tree branches and returned to the child.

  “Pudhu, are you listening?” I asked, kneeling back down.

  “Yes,” the boy sniffed.

  “This is Thest. Do you remember me?”

  “Yes.”

  “That bad man hurt your leg. I have to fix it before we take you home.”

  “Okay,” he said shakily.

  “It is going to hurt,” I told him. “Can you be brave for a few moments longer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. You’re a good boy.”

  I used my superhuman senses to determine how the bone was broken underneath the flesh, and then I grasped the boy’s limb and repositioned it. He screamed and went limp, fainting from the pain, and I placed the wood splints on either side of his leg and fixed them in place with the laces of my moccasins.

  I scooped the trembling child into my arms and rose. His head rolled back limply and I cupped the base of his skull in my palm.

  “Can you find your way back to the village from here?” I asked Ilio.

  “Yes, but why?”

  I put the boy into Ilio’s arms. “Return with the boy quickly. Protect his body from the wind as you go.”

  “Thest--! What are you planning to do?”

  “Don’t argue with me,” I said sternly. “Return the child to his parents. Tell Valas what has transpired, and that I have gone on in pursuit of the T’sukuru.”

  “Come back with me, Thest,” Ilio pled. “We can chase after the blood drinker together, after we have returned Pudhu.”

  “If I return to the village with you, our enemy will escape. Don’t worry, boy. I will be careful.”

  Ilio sputtered and complained, but he was a good son. He obeyed. “Keep to the ground,” I called after him as he pelted away. “Do not drag that poor child through the treetops a second time tonight!” I saw him nod as he reached the top of the hill, and then he rounded it and vanished, and I was on my own.

  I looked in the direction the vampire thief had fled, smiling faintly. Narrowing my eyes, I dropped my mental shields and searched for the little beast with my powerful vampire senses. There! The greedy thing was far away now, moving at great speed… but not too far away! Not fast enough to escape me!

  With a great lunge, I flew to the very top of the alder, and set off in pursuit.

  6

  In truth, my pursuit of the vampire thief was motivated by curiosity as much as it was by a desire for revenge. Menoch’s death was an outrage. I was not close with the child or his immediate family, but he was a member of my tribe, and more than likely another of my descendants. Or, at the least, a descendant of one of my ancient tribesmen. A cousin, if not a grandchild. His murder could not go unanswered. Yet, I was excited by the thought of meeting another of my kind. I had been a blood drinker for untold ages, but in all those years, I had only known three other vampires: Ilio, my maker, and my maker’s twisted pet. Of the rest, I knew only rumors—the name Zenzele, a fabled city, gossip of foul deeds and cruelty. I wanted to catch this blood drinker. I wanted to lay eyes upon him. I wanted to question him, if we spoke the same tongue, and find out what he knew about our kind. Where did we come from? Was there truly a city in the east where our kind lived together as mortals do? Only then, when I had sated my curiosity, would I destroy him.

  If I could.

  I flew through the treetops as I had never flown before, racing recklessly across the wooded valley, the wind roaring in my ears, the cold snow cutting across my cheeks. I paid little attention to the injuries I sustained in my headlong rush through the wilderness. My skin was sliced open a dozen times by cold-stiffened tree branches, but the living blood healed the injuries almost as quickly as I inflicted them upon myself.

  In the middle of the valley was a river, a winding black ribbon in the starless night. I plunged down to the forest floor and made my way to the edge of the water. There, on the opposite bank, were some footprints, left behind by the fleeing blood drinker. I straightened my winter coat—it was hanging askew, tattered by my flight through the forest—and then I leapt across the burbling river, a distance of about thirty meters.

  I knelt down beside the tracks and examined them, then stood and glanced up and down the watercourse. If I were the one who was fleeing, I would try to use the water to throw off my pursuers. It was an old trick, but I saw no sign that he had changed course. The mounds of snow to either side of the waterway were undisturbed. There were no tracks on the river’s rocky banks either—so far as I could see.

  I listened. All was still but for the chuckle of the river. Then, from the south, the snap and rustle
of movement in the treetops. Distant, but closing fast. I was certain the blood drinker had not circled around behind me, and besides, what would be the point of that? It was most likely Ilio, though I thought I had told him to stay in the village.

  Perhaps I had not.

  I waited while the noise of his approach grew increasingly louder. Finally, he sprang from the treetops and landed on the other side of the river. He grinned at me guiltily, then jumped across the water to my side.

  “I thought I told you to remain at the village,” I said.

  “Did you?” he asked. A little too innocently.

  I cocked an eyebrow at him. “I am almost certain I did.”

  “In either case, I am getting too old for you to shelter me so much,” he replied airily. “I am no longer the child you rescued on the steppes.”

  I laughed. “You will think again when I turn you over my knee!”

  He grinned.

  “Did you return the child safely to the village?” I asked, all humor aside.

  “I carried him to his father,” Ilio answered. “They were almost back when I caught up to them.”

  I nodded, turning in a circle.

  “Do you still sense him?” Ilio asked.

  “Yes, but he has taken cover. I’m having trouble pinpointing him exactly.” The land on the north side of the river rose steeply to a high and thickly wooded ridge. If our quarry had been a mortal man, I could have sensed him easily. I would have heard his heart beating, smelled his blood, sensed the heat given off by his flesh. But he was not mortal. Like Ilio and I, his heart did not beat, and the only odor I could detect was the faint scent of the mortal children he had abducted clinging to his skin. I listened closer, shutting my eyes, then cupped my hands behind my ears. I sniffed at the wind. I could smell the residue of poor Menoch’s blood, probably smeared across the blood drinker’s lips, but it was faint.

  And something else. A scent I did not recognize.

  “What is it, Father?”