Sarah Palin: Vampire Hunter (Twinkle)

by Dan McGirt

  “You, sir, are an impudent knave!” said the captain. His eye-lights flared out of their sockets. “It is you who should crave our pardon!”

  “How so?” said Mercury.

  “To begin, knave, we are not barrow-wights.”

  Merc shrugged. “You are unnaturally animated dead men.”

  “Yes, we are. But that gives you no license to barge into our home and start hacking at us!”

  “You’re undead,” said Merc. “Your very existence is an abominable crime against nature and The Gods.”

  “That is a highly necrophobic thing to say.”

  “What?”

  “Anyway, we’re not undead. We’re non-dead.”

  “Same difference,” said Merc.

  “No, it is not the same difference! Do you think all walking dead look alike?”

  “Er, pretty much,” said Merc.

  “Well, we’re not the same! The undead feast on the flesh and vital force of the living.”

  “And the non-dead?”

  “And the non-dead don’t.”

  “But aren’t you possessed by evil spirits, possibly demons?” I asked.

  “Great heavens, no!” said the captain. “Just because we’re dead doesn’t mean we’re evil.”

  “I thought the good dead stayed dead.”

  “Oh, the only good dead are the dead dead, eh?”

  “Well, that’s not exactly what I meant.”

  “Sure you didn’t. We are warriors brave and honorable. Only we happen to be dead. And cursed. You shouldn’t judge people based solely on appearances.”

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “So how are you not barrow-wights?” said Merc.

  “You never stop, do you? Barrow-wight is an offensive term!”

  “Then what are you?” I asked.

  The captain shook his head sadly. “You don’t get it, do you? We’re people. People with feelings.” He touched his exposed rib cage with his skeletal hand. “Feelings right in here, where my heart used to be, before it turned to dust some time ago.”

  “Fine, you’re not wights,” said Merc. “Some sort of gaunt, rather. My mistake.”

  “Again with the labels! Gaunts if you must, but we prefer to be called by our names.”

  “You haven’t told us your names,” said Merc.

  “Nor have you shared yours,” said the captain. “All you’ve done is barge into our home, assault us unprovoked, call us nasty names, and make unfounded accusations!”

  “He has a point,” said Rubis. “They’ve been perfect gentlemen.”

  “Maybe we did jump to conclusions,” I said.

  “The undead can be tricky,” said Merc.

  “Non-dead,” said the captain.

  “Whatever. We still don’t know how Rubis got here.”

  “I vaguely recall walking down a dark tunnel,” said Rubis.

  “That much we did know,” said Mercury.

  “I can explain all to your satisfaction,” said the gaunt captain. “I will grant you that courtesy, despite your insults. Shall we start over?”

  “Merc?” I said. “Your call.”

  “Very well.” Merc lowered his glowing fist and his sword. “Mercury Boltblaster, at your service.”

  “I’m Jason Cosmo,” I said.

  The gaunts reacted as if I had punched each of them in the face. In the strangeness of the situation I forgot that I was traveling incognito due to the tremendous price on my head. “I mean Burlo Stumproot,” I added hastily.

  “Well met, either way,” said the captain. “I am Sir Orlan, once called Orlan the Bold. You no doubt know the name from ballads and histories of the Great Rebellion. I am indeed the very Sir Orlan of woeful infamy.”

  I shook my head. “Haven’t heard of you. Sorry.”

  Orlan sighed. “Perhaps you know me as Orlan the Cursed.”

  “Nope.”

  “Orlan the Unforgiven? Faithless Orlan? No? I haven’t left this cave in ages, so I truly don’t know how my tale is told.”

  “It isn’t,” said Merc.

  “My name has not endured through the ages as a byword for wretchedness?”

  “Can’t say that it has,” I said.

  A murmur—actually more of a dry rattling sound—went up among the dead knights.

  “Well, doesn’t that beat all!” said Orlan. “I thought the whole bloody point of our dreadful fate was for us to be an example for others! Don’t be like Orlan and his band! Don’t do what they did! Object lesson for all time! No? Really? All for nothing then? Peachy.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” I said.

  “You don’t know of me at all? You’re not just pulling my leg?”

  “The short one cut off my leg!” called one of the other gaunts.

  “You’re the nine bleak riders from the relief in the tomb,” I said.

  “Ah!” said Orlan, pleased. “Yes, nine bleak riders. That we are indeed. Shall I tell you our tale?”

  “We actually just want to take Rubis back and get some sleep,” I said.

  “It is not a lengthy tale,” said Orlan.

  “It’s all right,” said Rubis. “They’re harmless. Just lonely, I think. Let us stay a while and hear them.”

  “Very well,” said Mercury. “But do make it quick. This night has dragged on long enough.”

  We took seats around the table. Orlan apologized for being unable to offer us refreshments, then introduced his men. They were called Tor, Yyth, Oert, Pyr, Narn, Gon, Mor, and Lem, whom I had disarmed.

  “Sorry about that,” I said.

  “Ah, no worries,” said Lem. “A bit of epoxy, I’ll be good as new.”

  “Ahem!” said Orlan. “Know you that in life, we were Companions of the Mighty Champion, knighted by him, and sworn to his service in the Great Rebellion against the Empire of Fear.”

  “You knew the Mighty Champion?” I blurted.

  Orlan regarded me oddly. “I knew him well,” he said. “As did we all. We fought by his side on many a battleground and in his name felled many a foe. But in one ill-fated battle, alas, we were absent. Therein lies our curse.”

  “Sorry to interrupt again,” I said. “It is only that I thought I knew all the tales of the Mighty Champion and his Companions, and I’ve never heard your names.”

  “So you’ve said. No need to rub it in. We’re dead, not deaf.”

  “Sorry.”

  “But, just out of curiosity, what Companions do you know by name?”

  “Well, there was Blaze Shurben, of course.”

  “The Champion’s chief lieutenant,” said Orlan, nodding. “A noble and radiant captain of men.”

  “Gan, Orp, Dar, Zast, Xor, and so on,” I said. “Most have kingdoms named after them, you know.”

  “I did not know,” said Orlan. “Kingdoms named for them. Fancy that.”

  “Oh, yes. The surviving Companions became kings or queens and founded those realms that make up today’s Eleven Kingdoms.”

  “Really?” said Orlan. “Kings and queens. Founding realms. How special.”

  His men murmured and muttered.

  “As you see,” said Orlan, “we were not among the survivors. I suppose no one thought to name any kingdoms after us. A town? Maybe a river or a mountain? No? Completely forgotten, eh?”

  “You mentioned a curse,” said Mercury.

  “Aye. After the Battle at the Lakes of Brass, we were encamped in the Crimson Forest of Yrr when word came that a great demonic horde would soon cross the Dhorian Pass to harry the liberated towns west of the Plain of Badgers. The Mighty Champion led an advance force to hold the pass. But it was a trap. There were two demonic hordes, a swarm of dragons, a cadre of spiromancers, and a complement of dreadnoughts, among other foes. The feint through the pass was but a pretense meant to draw out the Champion. My band was called to reinforce him. But we did not.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  Orlan looked down, shuffled his feet, and muttered. “We overslept.”

&nb
sp; “Overslept? How can that be?”

  “We were encamped at the base of the pass, to secure the path. When the Mighty Champion realized his danger, he ordered a flaming arrow shot into the morning sky to summon us to his side. But none of us saw it, for we were all still abed after a late night. We showed up later, but by then the battle was over. To our eternal shame, in the Mighty Champion’s most desperate hour, we, his sworn knights, were not there.”

  “Was no one on watch?” said Merc.

  “Funny you should ask that,” said Orlan. “I had the same question at the time. Didn’t I, Mor?”

  “Oh, Gods, are you still harping on that?” said Mor. “It was not my turn at watch! It was Yyth!”

  “And I asked you to take my watch and you said you would!” shot Yyth.

  “I never said it!” said Mor. “Anyway, Lem should have stayed on post until he was relieved. He’s the one who sunk us!”

  “Don’t put this on me!” said Lem.

  “Must we do this for the millionth time?” said Oert. “It hardly matters now.”

  “Agreed,” said Narn.

  “It matters to me!” said Mor.

  “And to me!” said Yyth.

  “Enough!” said Orlan. “Not in front of our guests.”

  “You brought it up,” muttered Mor.

  “So I did,” conceded Orlan. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have. Ultimately, as captain, the fault was mine. And I’m usually a light sleeper. Really, I should have been up. But I wasn’t, we missed the signal, and we missed the battle. It was clear dereliction of duty. Our lives were forfeit. We were hanged that very day as oath breakers.”

  “All of you?” I said, aghast.

  “Yes, for such are the harsh realities of war and the strict demands of honor,” said Orlan.

  “How tragic,” said Sapphrina, wiping away a tear.

  “Well may you pity our fate, fair lady.”

  “So where does the curse come in?” said Mercury.

  “The Mighty Champion gave us a second chance,” said Orlan. “I still remember his words: ‘It is in my heart to pardon you, but I dare not, for discipline must be kept if we are to win this terrible war. Today you die dishonorable deaths. But rally to my side when the Last Call comes and you may yet redeem yourselves.’ End quote. ”

  “Heavy,” I said. “What does that mean?”

  “Unclear,” said Orlan. “The Champion was always saying uplifting but inscrutable things like that. We usually just went with it.”

  “You did not inquire when this Last Call might come?” said Merc.

  “We were hanged directly after so there was no time to ask questions. We all assured the Champion that we would not let him down again. Then we were put to death.”

  The twins shivered and hugged one another tightly.

  “The next thing we knew, here we were. Well, upstairs in the burial chamber. We awoke to find ourselves non-dead. We eventually moved down here. It was a bit cramped upstairs for nine.”

  “An elaborate resting place for oath breakers,” said Mercury.

  “Indeed. I surmise we spent some time in shallow graves before being moved here after the Great Rebellion. Who moved us or how long we have been here I could not say. A few hundred years, I suppose.”

  “Try a thousand,” said Merc.

  Orlan was taken aback. “A thousand years? Really? Time sure flies when you're rotting in your grave.”

  “This is the year 990 of the Age of Hope,” I said.

  “Oh, Age of Hope, is it? We lived and died in the Age of Despair. Think about that. A whole age devoted to despair. Terrible time to be alive. Or dead, for that matter. So what are you hoping for in this Age of Hope?”

  “Better days than came before,” I said.

  “That should be easy enough. Believe me, the Age of Despair was no picnic.”

  “Is that your story?” said Merc.

  “The essentials,” said Orlan. “We have since surmised that the Last Call will be some manner of ultimate battle against the forces of evil at the end of time.”

  “That sounds reasonable,” I said.

  “Yes,” said Orlan. “Perfectly reasonable. Pay for our mistake with our lives. Be dead for a while. Wake up, fight one last battle. Unfortunately, we have a noisy neighbor whose baleful, ceaseless, unearthly piping woke us too soon from the dreamless sleep of death.”

  “The Old SOD,” said Merc.

  “Indeed,” said Orlan. “And that is our true curse. We missed the call of battle by a surplus of sleep. Now we pay the penalty of endless insomnia. It is one thing to wait for the end of time while blissfully dead. It is quite another to be non-dead, cooped up in a tomb, and stuck down the hall from a nameless horror that will not for the love of The Gods shut up!”

  Orlan yelled the last bit in the general direction of the other passage.

  “Sorry,” he said. “That gelatinous trilling nightmare gets under my skin. What little I have left. I often suspect we were entombed here on purpose, to be tormented by it. It is a slimy, shimmering fever dream bound at the bottom of a chasm down the left-hand path. Every so often a pair of us go over and heave a boulder down the shaft. That quiets it down for a while, but it always starts up again, speaking its unspeakable gibbering gimgammery!”

  “I can see how that would be annoying,” I said. “Back home in Lower Hicksnittle, the howl of the hobcat sometimes keeps me up at night.”

  “This is like a thousand years of a thousand hobcats times a thousand,” said Orlan. “You have no idea. Narn and I were headed over to drop a rock on the obnoxious thing when we found your fair Rubis wandering down the tunnel in a deep trance. The noisy monstrosity had pricked her sleeping mind with its nightmare tendrils and called her to its pit of madness. Fortunately we caught her before she had gone too far or was too far gone.”

  “Yes!” said Rubis. “Now I remember! You saved me!”

  “It was my pleasure,” said Orlan. “We brought her here for safekeeping, intending to return her to the front chamber in the morning.”

  “And you decided to play poker to pass the time?” said Merc.

  Orlan nodded. “Fortunately for us Oert was laid to rest with a pack of cards in his pocket. We’ve been playing each other at cards for centuries. And this point we know each other’s tells and stratagems all too well. Rubis spotted the cards and expressed a desire to play. She is quite good!”

  “As are you, worthy opponents all,” said Rubis.

  “You and your poker,” said Sapphrina, giving her sister a playful punch.

  “The game seemed to speed her recovery from the nameless one’s sorceries, helping her to shake off the aftereffects of its influence upon her mind. And we were happy to have a new player. Especially one so lovely.”

  “You are too kind,” said Rubis.

  “But now dawn approaches,” said Orlan. He stood. His men did likewise. “And you must go, before the nameless horror tries again to ensnare you all. You must leave this place, never to return.”

  “Works for me,” said Mercury, rising.

  “But before you go, Rubis, you must have your winnings.”

  “Oh, no, the game was all in fun,” said Rubis. “And you did advance me stakes. I could not take your peculiar eight-sided gold coins marked with strange emblems.”

  “Truly, these are such coins as should not be let loose in the world,” said Orlan. “Instead, we will cash you out with these.” Orlan extended his hand and presented Rubis with a pair of ruby stud earrings. “I believe of all the poor treasures we have here, these would suit you best.”

  “Oh! They’re beautiful!” said Rubis. “But I couldn’t!”

  “I insist. You won the prize fairly.”

  “Well, if you’re insisting. Thank you, Sir Orlan!” Rubis threw her arms around the surprised non-dead knight and kissed him on the cheek. “You have been a true hero and a perfect host. All of you.” She curtseyed. The dead knights solemnly bowed to her.

  “Yes. Wonderful. Thank you a
ll around,” said Merc. “But we must be going.”

  Back in the main cavern, we found the horses waiting impatiently for our return.

  “What a long, strange trip it’s been,” I said. “I’m exhausted.”

  “As am I,” said Sapphrina.

  “Me too,” said Rubis, yawning and stretching.

  “We can’t sleep here,” said Mercury.

  “We wouldn’t dream of it!” said the twins in unison.

  “It is quiet outside,” I said. “Do you think the feral beagles still wait for us?”

  Merc shook his head. “That would be anticlimactic. You can’t go from tragic souls and nameless horrors beyond imagining back to dangerous dogs. It’s an untenable retrogression.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “They’ve most likely found other prey or been driven away.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He shrugged. “Few things are certain in life, Cosmo. Now stand back. Time to open the door and see the world again.”

  Merc did his mind over matter moves, levitating the jumble of rocks and fragments out of the cave mouth. No barks or howls or bared fangs or wagging tails met us.

  “The dogs are gone,” I said.

  “Yes,” said Merc. “But it is still raining.”

  We rode into the new day.

  Author’s Note

  Greetings, Loyal Reader!

  I hope you enjoyed Sarah Palin: Vampire Hunter (Twinkle) and the bonus stories.

  Please visit me at DanMcGirt.com to discover my other stories and to join my email list. I also invite you to follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

  Thanks for reading!

  Best regards,

  Dan McGirt

  DanMcGirt.com: My official website.

  JasonCosmo.com: Home of the Jason Cosmo fantasy adventure series.

  Dan McGirt Facebook Page

  Twitter: @JasonCosmo

  About the Author

  DAN MCGIRT is the author of the Jason Cosmo fantasy adventure series and other works of fantastic fiction. As a child, he lived in a haunted house. He once jumped across the Mississippi River. He was also named Time magazine Person of the Year in 2006. (Seriously. Look it up.) and he is a member in relatively good standing of the Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers of America, AAA (for the free towing), and the National Geographic Society (for the magazine). He may or may not be a member of a secret society the existence of which he can neither confirm nor deny. Please visit DanMcGirt.com to learn more.