by Tanith Lee
A dog began barking then behind us, a loud strong bell of a bark. Some of the men swore, but my father said, “It’s good. Let them know out there land is here. Let them hear and come on. Let’s show the lanterns, boys. I’ll bet this slut is loaded down with cash and kickshaws – we’ll live by it a year and more.”
And just then the vessel slewed, and the line of it, all shown in light, altered shape. We knew it had entered the channel and was ready to run to us.
Something came rushing from the other way though, and slammed hard against my legs, so I staggered and almost fell. And turning, I saw my dog there. He was standing four-square on the shale, panting and staring full at me with eyes like green coals. Brighter than our uncovered lamps they seemed.
I said Iron would never come to the sea, nor anywhere near it.
“Wonders don’t cease,” said my father. “The dog wants to help us with it too. Good lad. Stay close now…”
But Iron turned his eyes of green fire on my father, and barked and belled, iron notes indeed that split the skin off the darkness. And then he howled as if in agony.
“Quiet ! Quiet, you devil, for the sake of Christ! Do he want to sour our luck?” And next my father shouted at me. I had never seen him afraid, but then I did. And I did not know why. Yet my whole body had fathomed it out, and my heart.
And I grabbed Iron and tried to push him back. “Not now, boy. Go back if you don’t care for it. Go home and wait. Ask Ma for a bit of crackling. She knows when you ask. She’ll give it you. Go on home, Iron.”
And Iron fell silent, but now he sank his teeth in my trouser and began to tug and pull at me. He was a muscular dog, though no longer young, and tall, as I said.
The other men were surly and restless. They did not like this uncanny scene, the flaming ship that drove now full toward us and cast its flame-light on the shore, so the cliffs were shining up like gilt, and the opened lanterns paled to nothing – and the dog, possessed by some horrible fiend, gnawing and pulling, his spit pouring on the wet ground in a silver rain, as if he had the madness.
And then there came the strangest interval. I cannot properly describe how it was. It was as if time stuck fast for a moment, and the moment grew another way, swelling on and on. Even Iron, not letting go of me, stopped his tugging and slavering. And in the hell of his eyes I saw the wild reflection of the gold fire of the ship growing and moving as nothing else, for that moment, might.
“By the Lord,” said my father softly, “it’s a big one, this crate.” It was such a foolish, stupid thing to say. And the last words I ever did hear from my father.
They call them she; that is, the seafarers call each ship she. As if she were a woman. But we did not. We could not, maybe, seeing as how we killed them in the Night Work. Just as we ignored the women who died with the ships, and the children who died.
But now I must call it she. The ship, the golden ship.
Believe this or not. as you will.
I do not believe it, and I saw it happen. I never will believe it, not till my last breath is wrung from me. And then, I think, I shall have to.
The moment which had stuck came free and fled. We felt time move, felt it one and all. It was as if the two hands of a clock had stuck, and then unstuck, and the ticking of it and the moving of it began again.
But as time moved, and we with it, it was the ship instead that froze. Out there at the edge of the grey slab of the fog, under it, yet visible now as if only through the flimsiest veil. She was well in on the last stretch. She could not stay her course. No vessel, mighty or slight, could have stayed itself now. So far she had driven in, she must hurl on towards her finish against the rocks, and on the faces of the cliffs around, those that crowded out into the sea to meet her. Yet – she did not move. Our clock ran, hers had halted. But oh, something about her there was that moved.
I behold her still in my mind’s eye. So tall, six or seven decks she seemed, and so many masts, and all full-laden with her sheets. There was not a man on her that I could see. None. Nor any lamps or torches to light her up so bright that now, almost free of the fog, half she blinded me. No, she blazed from something else, as if she had been coated, every inch of her, in foil of gold, her timbers, her ropes, her sails – coated in gold and then lit up from within by some vast and different fire that never could burn upon this world, but maybe under it – or high above. Like the sun. A sun on fire at her core, and flaming outward. Lampless. She was the lantern. How she burned.
Not a sound. No voice, no motion. Even the ocean, quiet as if it too had congealed – but it moved, and the waves came in and lapped our boots, and they made, the waves, no sound at all.
And then the dog, my Iron, he began to worry at me, hard, hard, and 1 felt his teeth go through the trouser and he fastened them in my very leg. I shouted out in pain and turned, not knowing what I did, as if to cuff him or thrust him away. And by that the spell on me was rent.
I found I was running. I ran and sobbed and called out to God, and Iron ran by me and then just ahead of me. It seemed to me he had me fast by an invisible cord. I had no choice but to fly after him. And yet, oddly, a part of me did not want to. I wanted only to go back and stand at the sea’s brink and look at the ship – but Iron dragged me and I could not release myself from the phantom chain.
I was up on the cliff path when I heard them screaming behind me and some one hundred and fifty feet below. This checked me. I fell and my ankle turned and a bone snapped, but I never heard the noise it made, for there was no sound in that place but for the shrieking of the men, and one of them my father.
Of course, I could no longer stir either forward or back. I lay and twisted, feeling no pain in my foot or leg, and stared behind me.
And this is what I saw. Every man upon that shore, every lad, even the youngest of them, ten years old, and the dogs, those too, and those screaming too as if caught in a trap, all these living creatures – they were racing forward, not as I had inland, but out toward the sea, toward the fog, toward the golden glare of the ship – but they howled in terror as they did so, men and beasts, nor did they run on the earth. They ran on water. They ran through the air. The three children from the cliff-top – they too – off into the air they had been slung, wailing and weeping, and whirling outward like the rest. And up and up they all pelted, as if racing up a cliff, but no land was there under their feet. Only the ship was there ahead of them, and she waited. The thin veil of the outer fog hid nothing. The light of her was too fierce for anything to be hidden. The men and the boys and the dogs ran straight up and forward, unable to stay their course until, one by one, they smashed and splintered on the cliff-face of the golden ship, on the golden fangs and cheek and rock of the ship. I saw so clear their bones break on her, and the scarlet gunshot of their blood that burst and scattered away, not staining her. As they did not either, but fell down like empty sacks into the jet black water. Till all was done.
After which, she turned aside, gently drifting, herself as if weightless and empty, and having moved all round she returned into the fog, under fog, and under night and under silence. She slid away into the darkness. Her glow went soft and melted out. The fog closed over. The night closed fast its door, and only then I heard the waves that sucked the shale, and the pain rose in my leg like molten fire.
They will be hanging me tomorrow. That is fair; it is what I came to the mainland for, and made my confession. At first I never said why I had had to. How I had crawled up the path, with my dog helping me. And in the village of Hampp, all the faces, and seeing that each one knew yet would not speak of it. My mother, she like the others. How I stayed two months there, alone, until I could walk with a stick, and by then almost everyone had left the place, the empty houses like damp caves. And then I left there also. But I came here, and my dog quite willing to cross water, and I found a judge, and was judged.
Men have gone to search the waters off the coast, below Hampp. They find nothing of the dead ships. We took all there was to take
. As for corpses, bones, theirs and ours are all mingled, like the gargoyles and angels in the stones of the beach.
When I did tell the priest of the ship, he refused to believe me. So I have told you now and let it be written down, since I was never learned to make my letters.
You see there is an iron manacle on my ankle, but it is quite a comfort. It supports the aching bone that snapped. The rope perhaps will support my neck and then that will be crushed, or it will also break, and then I will leave this world to go into the other place, from which golden things issue out.
It is kind they let me say farewell to Iron, my dog. Yes, even though he is no longer mine. They have told me a widow woman, quite wealthy, is eager to have him, since her young son is so taken with Iron, and Iron with him likewise. I have witnessed it myself, only this morning from this window, how the dog walked with the child along the street, Iron wagging his strong old tail that is only a touch grey to one side. The child is a fair boy too, with dark sad eyes that clear when he looks at Iron. And certainly his mother is wealthy, for her cloak is of heavy fur.
That is all then. That is all I need to say.
No. I am not sorry for my village. No. I am not afraid to go to the scaffold. Or to die. No, I am not afraid of these things. It is the other place I fear. The place that comes after. The place they are in, the men of Hampp, and my father too. The place where she came from. The Ship. I cannot even tell you how afraid I am, of that.
Young Bloods
Kelley Armstrong
The man on the subway car was dead. He looked like he was just passed out drunk, but Roger wasn’t fooled.
The dead man slumped against the window, eyes closed. His mouth hung open, his cheek damp with drool. A teenage girl started to slide in beside the dead man, then stopped, nostrils flaring as the stink of BO and booze hit her. She quickly moved on.
The man hadn’t been dead long. The blood dripping down his neck still glistened. Three drops of it had fallen on his dingy white shirt, forming an ellipsis. To be continued, the mark said. Fate’s idea of a joke, Roger supposed.
When Roger saw the twin puncture wounds on the dead man’s neck, he’d thought of finding another seat. But by then, the vampires had spotted him and he’d had to sit down. Pretend he didn’t realize the old man was dead. Pretend he didn’t know they were there.
Roger never doubted that they were vampires. He knew what those neck wounds meant. Any fool should. The fact that the local media failed to draw the same conclusion when two other blood-drained corpses had been found proved the suspicions he’d already had about their collective IQ level.
He supposed the real question should be: how did vampires manage to drain a man’s blood on the subway? A tragic reflection on modern society. The bigger tragedy was that Roger wasn’t surprised.
He looked around at his fellow commuters. The teenage girl had taken a seat across the car, ear buds planted, music blasting, gaze fixed on the nothingness zooming past her window. Opposite Roger, a businesswoman’s fingers flew over a smart-phone keyboard. A man in a coal-gray suit was trying to catch her attention, a mission as futile as flirting with the metal pole between them. Two more men sat farther down, hidden behind their newspapers. They shared a subway car, but they might as well have been in hermetically sealed pods for all the attention they paid to their surroundings.
The only ones who were paying attention were the vampires. Two of them. Boys. Neither looked like he’d passed his twentieth birthday. Both were dressed in leather jackets, motorcycle boots, worn jeans and tattoos. Their fingernails were clean, though, and even their beard stubble was carefully cultivated. Wannabe thugs, the kind you could find on any city street corner, attracting girls who thought they’d be a safe walk on the wild side. All bark, no bite. These boys, though, had plenty of bite.
He’d known they were the vampires the moment he’d realized what happened to the old man. It wasn’t the flush of colour on their pale cheeks. It wasn’t even the faint smear of blood in the corner of the older youth’s mouth. It was the eyes of the younger one. Hard, vacant eyes.
The train slowed for the next stop. A transfer station. The businesswoman snapped her phone shut and walked past, giving Roger an appraising once-over glance that earned him a glower from the would-be suitor dogging her heels. The other two men got off, too. Roger should do the same. That would be the smart thing, he supposed, under the circumstances, but that would mean leaving the teenage girl alone with the vampires. So he’d stay.
As the train pulled away from the station, the younger vampire said, “What are you looking at, old man?”
Roger checked over his shoulder, thinking someone else must have gotten on.
“I mean you, old man.”
He turned and met the boy’s empty eyes. Old man? He could have laughed at that. The businesswoman certainly didn’t seem to think he was old. But, he supposed, to this boy, he was.
“I asked what you’re looking at.”
Roger thought of saying “not much,” but it didn’t seem wise. Nor did denying that he’d been looking. So he murmured an apology and fixed his gaze on the dead man, then quickly shifted it to the window.
The seat beside Roger squeaked. He glanced over to see the older vampire sitting there, arms crossed, staring at him.
Roger nodded. The vampire scowled, and thumped his leg down on the seat opposite them, blocking Roger’s exit and smirking a challenge. Roger nodded again and returned to gazing out the window.
“That old guy’s really tired, huh?” the vampire beside him said.
Roger considered pretending not to hear him, but settled for a vague, “Hmm?”
The vampire waved at the old man slumped in his seat. “Dead to the world.”
Roger managed a small laugh. “Looks that way.”
“Maybe he’s not sleeping.”
Roger peered at the old man. “I think you’re right. From the smell of him, he’s passed out drunk.”
The vampire caught his eye. “Should I check?”
Roger shrugged. “If you like.”
The vampire didn’t like that. He said nothing, though, just squirmed in his seat, glancing over now and then, waiting for Roger to realize he was sitting across from a dead man.
Roger took out his planner and flipped through it, checking his appointments for the week.
“You’d better not be planning to get off anytime soon,” the vampire said.
“I’m not.”
A pause, then the vampire called to his friend across the aisle, “Tasty, isn’t she?”
Roger looked over to see the younger vampire sitting beside the teenage girl. She was still staring out the window, music cranked up, oblivious.
“Very tasty.” The younger vampire leaned over until his nose almost brushed her neck. He inhaled. “She even smells good.”
Roger returned to his calendar. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the younger vampire poised over the girl, his gaze shunted Roger’s way, waiting for a reaction. When none came, he growled and the older vampire snatched the calendar from Roger’s fingers.
“You won’t be needing this.” He tore the book in half and dropped it on the subway car’s floor. “Something tells me there won’t be any more appointments in your future, old man.”
The younger vampire laughed. The train slowed, pulling into another station.
“Actually, I believe this is my stop,” Roger said, standing.
The vampire didn’t remove his feet from the seat across the way. “No, I believe it isn’t. You’re going all the way to the end of the line, old man.” He flashed a smile, fangs extending.
Roger froze. He glanced out the window and waited until the train stopped, doors opening. Then he scrambled over the vampire’s legs. The younger vampire lunged, but Roger dodged and made it out the doors, the vampires on his heels.
As the door closed behind them, the younger vampire let out a string of curses, realizing he’d lost the girl. Roger barrelled through the sle
epy, late-evening commuters. A guard shouted. Roger looked back, but the man’s gaze was fixed on the vampires behind him – the thugs chasing the middle-aged businessman through the station.
Roger smiled, broke into a jog and raced out the exit as the guard called for backup.
Roger made it to the road, only to find he’d exited into a section of downtown that had closed hours ago. Office buildings lined the road, only the occasional lighted window suggesting signs of life.
He looked up and down the empty street.
“No cabs out here, old man,” a voice called.
He turned to see the two vampires sauntering toward him, teeth glittering under the sickly glow of the streetlights.
“No cabs, no buses, no cops…” the younger one said. “Guess you should have stayed on the subway. And let me finish the girl. Maybe I’d have let you go. Now I’m hungry. And the more you make me run, the hungrier I’m going to get.”
Roger took off.
After ten minutes of running, Roger began to reflect that he really needed to add a workout routine to his daily schedule. Seemed those boys were right. He was getting old.
He veered down another back road. His shoes thumped against the pavement, as loud as a locomotive chugging along the tracks, the sound echoing through the emptiness.
That was the only sound he heard, though. Had he lost them? He turned into an alley, gaze fixed over his shoulder, watching and listening for –
A thump in front of him. He spun to see the older vampire standing there, the fire escape overhead still vibrating from the force of his leap.
“Gotcha,” the vampire said, flashing his fangs.
“Actually, no. To get me, you needed to jump down after I passed you and found myself trapped in a dead-end alley.”
The vampire frowned, momentarily thrown. He recovered with a grin. “Maybe I don’t want to trap you. Maybe I like running.”
“True, but I don’t. Getting old, as you so graciously pointed out. Which is why I appreciate what you’ve done – trapping yourself between me and that dead end.”
