by Darren Shan
“Come,” Evanna said, taking Vancha’s and Larten’s hands. “We can talk later. I’ve been looking forward to this wedding for a long time. Let’s not keep the Skelks waiting.”
With that she let the vampires escort her across the beach to where the naked Skelks were gathering around the monks. Larten thought the quiet men of prayer might be embarrassed by the nudity, but they took no more notice of the Skelks than they would have of any creature in its natural form. Without batting an eyelid they went on chanting and patiently waited for everyone to settle into place, so that Laurence could begin.
It was a strange ceremony. Laurence spoke in the tongue of the Skelks, and although he couldn’t mimic their sounds exactly, the sea folk listened attentively. Throughout the service, the bride and groom kept letting their hair grow, entwine with each other’s, then unwind and retract again.
Vancha translated the ceremony for the other vampires and explained how the Skelks were using their hair to declare their love for one another. “The movements matter as much as the words. The Skelks don’t have a huge vocabulary, since they can communicate fluently with their hair.
“The groom’s name is Velap,” he went on as the pair faced each other and smiled. “The bride is Truska.” He coughed and flushed slightly.
“An old girlfriend, Sire?” Larten asked.
“We spent some time together many years ago,” Vancha grunted. “I think my good looks put her off in the end—she knew she couldn’t keep hold of a man so desirable to women.”
“Perhaps you were too modest for her,” Evanna remarked drily.
“Maybe,” Vancha said, nodding thoughtfully.
“How come I’ve never heard of Skelks before?” Gavner asked.
“They keep to themselves,” Vancha said. “They’re an ancient race and they can live longer than us—Truska’s four hundred years old, yet still a young woman by their standards. But there aren’t many of them. Certain sailors think they’re evil and hunt them. They’ve inspired the legends of mermaids, and the more clued-in Scottish know them as Skelkies, but for the most part they mix with humans even less than we do.”
Vancha lowered his voice. “I must ask you not to discuss this with anyone. They don’t like it when we gossip about them.”
The vampires swore themselves to secrecy, then observed the rest of the charming ceremony. The Skelks applauded when Truska and Velap finished declaring their love. Several grew beards and wound their hair together into a bed. The married couple leapt onto the mattress of hair, then were carried back to the water, where they dived in and weren’t seen again.
“That’s it,” Laurence said, waving after the other Skelks as they swam off.
“No good-byes?” Gavner asked.
“The Skelks don’t even have a word for good-bye,” Vancha said. “They think friends always meet again, if not in this life, then in another incarnation.” He looked around for Evanna. She had followed the sea-creatures to the water but had not leapt in after them. “Are you staying or going, Lady?” he called.
“Staying,” Evanna replied gloomily.
“Why so sad?” Larten asked.
Evanna sighed. “I caught a glimpse of their future. They’ll face hard times. The first few years will be blissful, but later…”
“We all come unstuck later,” Vancha huffed. “I won’t have dark talk tonight. Come and dance with me, Lady of the Wilds, and let the future deal with its own problems.”
“Wise words, little Vancha,” Evanna chuckled, turning away from the sea. “But perhaps the monks will object.”
“Not us,” Laurence smiled. “We don’t get to wed a pair of Skelks very often—that was only the third marriage this century. We don’t drink or smoke, but most of us play instruments, virtually all of us can sing, and every one of us can dance until the sun comes up.”
“The last one to the monastery is a rotten egg!” Gavner yelled, then grinned sheepishly as the others stared at him. “It’s something I heard a human say.”
“I think you’ve got rotten eggs instead of a brain,” Vancha rumbled, then winked at the younger vampire, slapped his back, and raced ahead of him.
Kurda and Arra set off after the pair, and even the monks tried to catch up with them, but Larten and Evanna held back. They smiled at each other and Evanna stroked the vampire’s scar, which she had marked him with many years ago when he was young and foolish.
“I was sorry to hear about your loss,” Evanna said quietly.
“Thank you.” It didn’t surprise Larten that she knew about Alicia. Like her father, Desmond Tiny, the witch had extraordinary supernatural powers.
“How are you progressing in your quest for revenge?” Evanna asked. She phrased it neutrally, but Larten knew immediately that she didn’t approve.
“Poorly,” he said. “I do not think that my prey is still alive. You could probably tell me if he was dead.…”
“I could,” Evanna said. “But you know that I won’t.”
Larten nodded. “It is not your place to get involved in such affairs. You have told me that before. Forgive me for asking.”
“I hope you’ve been taking good care of Arra.” Evanna smirked. “I don’t think her knees have stopped shaking since she saw me crawl out of the sea.”
“She fears that you might ask her to become your assistant again,” Larten said.
“Never,” Evanna snorted. “Arra wasn’t cut out for that, any more than Malora was. They both belonged to the vampire world, for better or worse.”
“It is a good world to belong to,” Larten said, then sighed.
“You’re not suffering another crisis of confidence, are you?” Evanna barked. “I thought you’d come to terms with the vampire life.”
“I have,” Larten said. “I am content to be a General. But others think I can be more, that I will become a Prince. I am not sure if I desire such power. I look at these monks and the simple lives they lead and wonder if such a quiet existence is what I secretly crave.”
Evanna blinked. “You want to become a monk?”
“No. But there are others who work for them.…”
The pair set off towards the monastery. They walked in silence until Evanna stopped abruptly. “I won’t tell you what to do,” she said. “But you should be true to yourself. We must all face our destiny openly. Don’t turn away from it just because you have doubts. If you don’t want to be a Prince, simply reject the offer if they make it.”
“I cannot,” Larten sighed. “It would be an honor to lead. If I am asked, I will accept and do my best for the clan. But I am afraid of where I might lead them.”
“You mean into war with the vampaneze.” Evanna’s expression was grave.
“I believe that war is the only way to guarantee our security,” Larten said. “But at the same time it would result in bitterness, suffering and death. The thought of being responsible for so much upheaval and pain…”
“You must do what your heart tells you,” Evanna said softly. “The only advice I can give is to be certain of your beliefs. I detect shades of both Seba and Wester in your voice. Seba always felt he would abuse power if it was his, so he shunned it. Wester has always hated the vampaneze and plotted their downfall.
“I love and respect Seba, and I admire Wester in many ways too, but you can be a better vampire than either of them. If you are true to yourself and choose your own path, you can be a vampire of great standing.”
Evanna started to say more, then stopped. There were limits to what she could tell a mortal. She didn’t dare test those limits for fear of retribution.
Larten thought hard about what she had told him. Finally he scowled and said, “Joining the monks would be foolishness?”
“I think so,” Evanna said, feeling it was safe to speak now that he had put the idea behind him. “They would welcome you and do what they could to help you adjust, but this is too withdrawn a life for one of your potential. You need to play an active role in the affairs of the night.”
“Then I will continue searching for Randel Chayne,” Larten said, and Evanna’s heart sank. Larten saw her face drop and he frowned. “Is that a mistake, Lady?”
“Of course not,” she said quickly. “Don’t mind me. I was thinking of something else. Come, take my hand and let’s see what you’re like on the dance floor.”
She laughed, but her heart wasn’t in it. Because Evanna had seen into Larten’s future. She tried never to look at what destiny held in store for those she was fond of, but sometimes she couldn’t help herself. Larten’s decision would lead him into a bleak, lonely place of heartbreak and loss. If he had turned his back on revenge and war, he could have become a Prince of wisdom, sympathy, and strength. He might even have saved the clan from the torments of her father, who was ruthlessly scheming against them.
But now that Larten had ignored his chance to switch courses, he was destined to play into the hands of Desmond Tiny. As a result, his future would be darker and bloodier than any he had yet to imagine.
Evanna wanted to weep for her friend and all of the others who would suffer. But instead she put on a brave face, pretended to know nothing of what lay in store for Larten and those close to him, and danced.
Part Four
“I saw my mother’s killer tonight.”
Chapter
Seventeen
New York in the late 1960s was arguably the most exciting city in the world. It was a time of great change and freedom. People were expressing themselves in fresh, forthright ways, demanding more of their leaders, redefining their culture. The young dressed in colorful, fanciful clothes. The air was alive with fast, thumping, revolutionary music. The Big Apple had always been a hectic metropolis, but now it was more vibrant and energizing than ever.
Larten wasn’t sure what to make of the new world as he crept across the city late at night. He was glad that the humans had put the destruction and hardships of the war behind them so quickly. But the new music was loud. The clothes were ungainly. And the freedoms the youth sought were far removed from those that a vampire considered appropriate.
Perhaps I am just too old to appreciate this generation, he mused to himself as he hid in the shadows of an alley and observed a group of laughing, bellowing boys and girls mill past. They are no wilder than I was as a Cub. Gavner is right—I am turning into a stuffy old bat. He chuckled to himself. But I like being stuffy!
As the group spilled out of the alley, another jostled into it. Larten decided he wouldn’t get far very quickly on the ground, so he took to the rooftops, using his hardened nails to scale the walls. It wasn’t as easy to dart across the roofs as it had once been. Humans stayed up later than in the past, and the city was much more brightly lit than it had been when he’d first started to explore the night. But Larten was quick and experienced, so he was able to slip across the skyline undetected.
He had visited a lot of the great cities over the past twenty years. His search for Randel Chayne had taken him all over the world. He’d concentrated on the places mentioned by Holly-Jane Galinec to begin with, and spent several years in Europe. But with no sign of the vampaneze, he drifted farther afield, following trails that were sometimes decades old.
He found a vampaneze in Budapest who had known Randel and heard a rumor that he’d been seen in Korea. Seoul revealed no trace of him, but Larten ran into a vampire called Hughie who said that several vampaneze had based themselves in Australia and that the massive country was attracting more of them all the time.
Hughie had grimaced. “They like the taste of Australian blood. Personally I think it’s sour, but the vampaneze go crazy for it. You might find him there.”
Larten hit the major coastal cities and explored much of the rest of the country, since some of the vampaneze preferred the less densely inhabited areas. He crossed paths with six vampaneze during his time Down Under, and challenged and killed them all. But although a couple had known Randel Chayne, none had seen him recently. One swore, as he lay dying, that the killer was alive and that he knew where Randel was, but Larten thought that the vampaneze was only taunting him. It was unusual for one of their clan to lie, but imminent death could warp the tongue of even the strongest-willed person.
The General’s reputation had grown tenfold by the time he left Australia. Word had spread among vampires and vampaneze around the globe. The rumor was that a single vampire had driven the purple-skinned bloodsuckers from the continent, claimed it for himself and vowed to kill any vampaneze who set foot there. The children of both families of the night were impressed by the thought of a lone man defending an entire country, and those who knew the vampire’s identity spoke of him in glowing terms. By the time Wester heard the tales, Larten had allegedly killed thirty vampaneze and bathed in their blood for extra strength.
Many vampaneze set sail for Australia, to face the arrogant foe who had lain down a challenge to their clan. If Larten had known, he would have lingered and waited for his enemies to find him. But, having decided that Randel wasn’t present, he had already left en route to South America by the time the first of the vampaneze arrived.
Larten found three vampaneze in Peru. They had formed a pack and were hunting together. He fought all three at the same time. It was a ferocious battle and he was seriously injured, but at the end of it he was standing and the vampaneze lay dead at his feet. His reputation received another boost, but the victory brought him no nearer to finding the elusive Randel Chayne.
Larten was aware of what was being said about him. Wester stayed in touch and sent envoys to give him news of what was happening at Vampire Mountain. But he steered clear of their spiritual homeland and had little to do with the rest of the clan. He let Wester use his name to gather support for war with the vampaneze, but did nothing to promote his claims to becoming a Prince. He even avoided Council, not wishing to be distracted from his quest.
He first made his way to New York, after an absence of many decades, in the early 1960s. He had been working his way north and east, through the bustling cities of the United States, and it was an obvious place to target. But he went for another reason too—Sylva.
Larten had met with Gavner a couple of times since the monastery. The younger vampire kept urging him to visit New York and make his peace with Alicia’s daughter. The guilt-stricken General had put it off as long as he could, but finally he decided to face her and let her say whatever she must. He asked Gavner to warn her that he was coming, then met her in a graveyard—the venue was her choice—late one wintry night.
“You haven’t changed much,” Sylva had noted bitterly as the wind whipped a scarf around her face.
“Thirty years is not a long time for a vampire,” Larten had replied quietly.
“It’s a lifetime for many humans,” Sylva had said and hobbled forward—she’d had a lot of problems with the veins in her legs—to stand in front of him. “Do you still think about my mother?”
“Almost every night,” Larten had answered truthfully.
“We don’t discuss it much when he comes, but Gavner told me you’re hunting the one who killed her.”
“Yes,” Larten had said.
“You know who it was?”
“Aye.”
“Then I don’t need to give you a description?”
“No.”
“Good.” She’d sighed. “I hate talking about it, so I won’t. But I still see his face every time I fall asleep. If you find and kill him, will you inform me?”
“Of course.”
They had wandered through the graveyard. After a while Sylva leaned on Larten for support and they’d spoken of the old nights, the Paris they had known, Gavner, Alicia. Larten told her stories of life before Sylva was born, the early aeroplane he had flown in, Alicia’s love of art, the portrait they had posed for.
“I’ve seen that,” Sylva had said. “It’s in a book that Mama kept. You’re lucky it was never a bestseller or people everywhere would know what you look like.”
Sylva told La
rten about her life since fleeing Europe, her husband, her children, the job she had with the United Nations. Gavner had already told Larten most of it, but he pretended it was news to him—he liked listening to her speak.
Eventually she broached the topic that they had been avoiding all night. “I still hate you,” she’d said sadly. “I blame you for Mama’s death and I always will. You dragged her into your world of darkness, and if not for that, she might still be alive.
“But I’m about the same age now that she was when she died. I know she drove you away when she was younger, then forgave you later. I know you were honest with her when you came back, that you truly loved her. I know you didn’t mean for her to be hurt, that you did what you could to save her.
“Patrice—my husband—saw many disturbing things when he returned to France and fought in the War. He saw men and women commit terrible crimes. He still sees some of those people when he travels to Europe on business. I asked him once how he can face them. He said that we can’t afford to live in the past and be slaves to our memories. It’s hard for him—he’ll never forget or forgive—but he tries to live for the future.”
At that point Sylva had stopped and taken Larten’s hands. “I want to live for the future too. I want to stop hating you. You were an important part of my mother’s life, and mine, and I want to feel close to you again. I don’t know if I can. But I want to try. If you’ll let me.”
“That would please me more than anything else I can think of,” Larten had said in a strangely choked voice, and he’d held Sylva as she cried, remembering the losses of the past, hoping for a happier future.
Larten had visited her twice since then. They always met at neutral venues. Sylva refused to let him near Patrice or her children, for fear they might end up as her mother had. Larten didn’t think that was likely, but he respected her wishes.
The vampire normally let Sylva choose their meeting point, but on this occasion he’d asked her to let him pick the location. Some old friends of his were going to be in the city and he wanted to introduce Sylva to them.
