The Vampire's Heart

by Breaker, Cochin

  “Not to my knowledge. Let me just consider the events to come.” As he does, Kellum’s gaze becomes distant for a few moments before he snaps back to reality.

  “No vampires and no imminent attacks,” he tells me, “though the witch will be back soon – it would seem that she has gone into one of the back rooms to find some clothes. She’s trying them on.”

  “Is she really a witch?”

  “Yes, she has magical powers granted to her, possibly from her parents, from her religion, or directly from her gods. She is a Pagan, which is the religion of a witch.”

  “How can she get magic from her parents?”

  “If they too were witches, their offspring could be an innate witch, having magical powers naturally, similar to our magic granted by the demons that inhabit us.”

  “How is it possible for two witches to mate?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Two women. How can two women have children?” I pull aside a chair and sit at one of the tables. Kellum continues to stand.

  “Oh, erm, throw away what the church taught you of witches; they aren’t all women, there can be male witches too. Admittedly there are more female witches. All they have to do is believe in the Pagan gods, and use the magic they give them, and they’re a witch.”

  “I thought that male witches were called warlocks?”

  “It all depends on viewpoint really. From my experiences, a corrupted witch calls herself a warlock. Obviously a corrupt male witch would also be a warlock.”

  “This is all a bit confusing. Do you want a drink?”

  Kellum shrugs, so I get up and head over to the bar. Arrayed on a shelf set above the countertop are a few clean pitchers and some stacked drinking bowls, the bronze they are made from is dull in the darkness.

  Hopping over the bar I find several barrels, each labelled differently. I run my hand over the dots and lines that identify them as differing ales. I pry the lid off a barrel of ‘Vested Interest’, whatever that means, and take two of the pitchers from the shelf. I fill them and head back to the table, going around the bar this time, not jumping it. I hand one of the large jugs over to Kellum, who takes an experimental sip, cocks his head to one side and then smiles. I can still smell the vampiric blood. I decide to ask about it.

  “Kellum, why is there vampire blood here?”

  “I can smell it too, but it’s not a vampire’s blood; it’s just dead blood. There must’ve been a bar fight here recently, and they obviously didn’t clean up after it very well. I think that’s the most logical answer.”

  Then he drinks again, but deeply this time. Satisfied with his reasoning, I taste the ale myself and find it to have a bittersweet taste; though nowhere near as nice as ‘fresh’ blood.

  “So okay, I think I understand some of the warlocks and women and magic stuff. What happened to you out there?” I ask. Kellum takes more of his ale before he answers.

  “To be honest I’m not exactly sure, my head felt as though it was about to explode. It must have been some sort of vision kick back. It’s never happened before, mind you. I wonder if something big is coming.”

  “Big?”

  “Big, as in world changing.” he says with a dark look on his face.

  “Oh, so quite big then. What can you see of it?”

  “That’s the odd thing, nothing. My sight of it is blocked for some reason. And that gives me cause for extra worry.”

  As if at the mention of trouble, the woman walks into the bar area through a door situated in the corner of the room.

  Now she is wearing a long green dress over a white blouse, giving her a mighty cleavage. Her hair is tied loosely back in a tail, and she is booted in leathers, which rise up her legs, past the hem of her dress. As she walks up to the bar she had her hands amongst her hair, seemingly tightening the knots that hold it loosely.

  “So, ‘woman’, what are we supposed to call you, being as you seem to be sticking around with us?”

  “Vampire, what makes you think I’m going to stay with you?”

  “Well, you seemed intent on making me wait earlier, and if you think I’m going to let you off, you’ve got another thing coming,” I say through a smile.

  “A fair point. You can call me… Witch. And who might I ask is your vampire friend here; your other lover?”

  “Still your tongue, Witch. This is Kellum. He serves me, as will you.”

  Kellum nods at the woman, but Witch just glares at me, failing to acknowledge Kellum. I return her gaze and our eyes lock. I outstare her easily, as not having to blink is a major help.

  “So then, what do you two actually do, other than wander about terrorising folk?” she asks as she averts her gaze, looking down now. I indicate that Kellum should speak. I have had enough games with this woman for now.

  “Well, it is funny you should mention that…”

  As Kellum begins to speak of our seemingly pointless wandering and my need to attain an essence of purest evil, my mind begins to wander, to think of removing Witch’s clothes.

  The memory of her naked is still bright and pure within my mind. I think of biting her, a naked embrace that would last forever. Just the two of us entwined together. Something feels so right about that scenario, but it also at the same time it feels so wrong. But I just can’t put my finger on it. It’s almost like I shouldn’t be thinking of her.

  I have no idea what that means.

  - Satch -

  The tales we have heard are worrying. There are many of them too. Most say that monsters have burned the village to the ground. Others say that Calcia no longer cares for Sacrem.

  Narrow spindly trees and scraggily bushes fly past us at tremendous speeds. We’d beached on the isle of Sacrem not many moments ago, on our journey back to the Heartland from The Dirigir Oak, though we’d met survivors long before. As soon as our feet were on the rocky beach we began to run. I’d checked the map while we were in the boat and realised that it was only about three miles to the torched village, Lankar.

  Meth had cast a CascadeTrap upon us and now we’re moving toward the destroyed village much faster than is naturally possible. The spell has slowed the world around so that we may pass it by faster. Unfortunately the side effect of such a magic is that we can’t converse with each other, and I’m guessing that Meth is just as worried about what we’ll find when we get to Lankar as I am.

  We close the distance to the village with every step, and as we near, it becomes clearer that there are still some fires burning. I cast out my magic, calling to the elements, and summon what I hope will be a raging storm. I pray to Calcia, to my goddess, for heavy rain to douse the flame. Ever so slowly the clouds roll in, dark and undulating. With a flash of lightning the rain breaks, heavy and ultimately soaking. It may not put the fires out, but it will certainly aid the process.

  Meth looks at me, mouthing the question ‘Is this you?’ I nod, knowing that he would not be able to hear me if I spoke. It is truly surreal moving at magical speed. It is the silence that gets to me. Whenever I travel like this I begin to doubt whether I will ever hear anything again.

  We crest a low hill and look down onto the destruction beneath us. A once vibrant village is all but burned to the ground. Many of the villagers, those that have not fled or died, have set up a makeshift camp on a nearby hillside. They are looking up at the thick cloud in the skies, their tears mixing with my summoned raindrops. Though they live, they have lost their lives.

  Meth’s spell falters and fades, returning us to the natural cycle of time. A myriad of sounds rush to fill my ears; each and every drop of rain splashing onto the ground, the deep rumble of thunder high above us, and the distant crackle of flame eating through what little timber remains.

  We look at each other fleetingly, and race across to lend our aid to the distraught villagers.

  ***

  It is unbelievable, even surreal, to be walking through a makeshift village. There are people, even children, wandering about alone, clutching what few
belongings they could save.

  It’s made all the more surreal because they’re rushing to erect shelter from the rains. It’s the contrast that makes it so strange, I think. They all have so little left and yet they’re going out of their way to try to keep a little dryer. Surreal is the only word that can describe the situation, for me anyway.

  Meth had rushed off to assist in another area of the ad hoc encampment, after seeing a paralysed child, leaving me to first walk among the dead and soon to die. I’m sure that immediate magical healing is the only way for that youngster to ever walk again. That is what Meth and I are here to do. We are here to help those in need. We may be Calcian Hunters, but we can use our magic in aid too, not just to protect.

  As I pass a group of elderly women huddled under a sodden blanket, another woman brushes past me, heading to the main camp. I quickly turn and grab the woman by the wrist, and spin her around to face me, suddenly intent on finding out some answers. She has a wrap of possessions in her arms.

  “What happened here?”

  “Demons came and killed! They burned everything. Nothing is safe!”

  “Think carefully now, can you tell me anything else?” I ask in what I hope are soothing tones.

  “They were death,” she shrieks, struggling to be free of my arms. I calm her with a little magic and she continues, more sedately, “they killed our men and cast the fires. They left before the sunrise. We could not have done anything.”

  The bundle in her arms shifts and I lean in close to her. Looking out from her protective clutches is the face of a child, no more than a year old. A burn has blistered the skin up its neck and behind its tiny ear. The woman begins to cry and tries to move away again. I hold her still, placing my hand on the baby’s head. I let my magic slip out of me and through the baby’s skin, to saturate its body.

  I cannot actively heal one so young because that would be dangerous. Healing an infant with magic for an adult can sometimes trick a baby’s body into thinking it need no longer grow. So I have given it the means to heal itself instinctively. As I understand it, babies are born with the instinct to dive underwater, so I hope it is the same with magic. But if not, the child will grow up to be an adept in magic, whatever path he or she chooses. The woman finally pulls away from me and flees, not realising what I’ve done for her baby. She is too protective of the child to think beyond the now.

  I move continue on to rows of laid out bodies on the hillside. There are two areas set side by side, one for those that are dead, and one for those that are soon to die. I walk up the centre of the two areas, inspecting the dead on one side, and checking the living on the other. The dead greatly outweigh the living.

  The first corpses I inspect have died from the fires, not from whatever attacked them, while the first in the living area should not be there. I soon come across the body of a man, with an unnaturally angled leg. Were he not dead he’d be in a great deal of pain from his broken limb. I roll him head to one side and nausea sweeps though my body. Seeing the side of the throat ripped out, I gag, but manage to keep my guts in check. This is the work of a vampire.

  I run my fingers across his teeth to check for blood. I don’t like what I find, and I can’t take the chance that he’ll become a vampire. I cannot be sure, as it is probably just blood from his throat, but it is better to be safe than sorry when vampires are involved.

  I reach into my satchel and retrieve a sandalwood stake and heavy mallet. Placing the point above his heart, I drive the stake in. The body shudders under the impacts of the hammer. If he had been turned, he will not rise now. In the morning we will burn his body and bury the ashes at a crossroads, meaning he will never able to return from the dead, whether he would have been a vampire or not. This man’s soul will never live again.

  I stand and walk over to the adjacent ‘living’ victim of the vampires, expecting to find another one already passed. This one lies on his side, head resting on the bloodied grass. Using my foot I roll him onto his back. I feel the nausea bite and turn my head before vomiting onto the wet hillside. Lying at my feet is my little brother, Thack. He has a bite mark deep in his neck. A tear pricks at the corner of my eye, but I blink it away when I realise he is still breathing. I can think of only one thing to do.

  “Meth!”

  I scream the name.

  The Seventh Chapter

  - Satch -

  88 days until the birth of a god

  The 21st day of Winter-Fall, 1537

  Meth had rushed over, taken one look at Thack and seized my hand, linking our magic together, allowing my magic to feed off of his, and allowing his to feed on mine. It made us much stronger together than we would have been separately. We both knew what had to be done.

  We cast as one, a single spell between the two of us, almost as if it were one magic. The spell had an instant effect on Thack. He regained colour in his skin, losing the paleness of lost blood, and the neat bite mark in his neck healed over, though a scar remained.

  We brought him to where the village folk had gathered to watch the last of their homes be destroyed. We stayed with the people, healing the injured and doing our jobs, just waiting until Thack would wake.

  He finally begins to stir as Meth returns from finishing checking through the dead and dying. He settles down by our youngest brother’s side, a bowl of broth in each hand and a sodden hunk of bread wedged into his mouth. Thack’s eyes flick open all of a sudden and he draws in a shuddering breath, looking up at the two of us from his position on the wet grass. His eyes narrow as he looks at Meth; the two of them never got along. Thack is a Pagan and Meth had always disliked him for it. Three different religions for three very different brothers. Meth is Descendant, I am of the Circle, and Thack is a Pagan. Right now is not the time for Meth’s unrelenting attempted-conversion, but he’s spoken before I realise what he’s doing.

  “Well, it looks like Calcia has been good enough to spare you.”

  “Meth, Satch, it would appear I should thank you.”

  “And Calcia,” Meth adds. I feel my annoyance rising.

  “Meth. Leave it. Not now.” Meth looks at me, his own annoyance clear in his face, upset that I have halted his attempt at ‘saving’ Thack. Returning my gaze to Thack, I continue, “Thack, let’s get you fed and then we need to talk. I hear you had a visit from some vampires, which was unlucky to say the least.”

  “A little more than unlucky, I’d say. Help me sit up,” he replied with an unwarranted smile.

  Meth and I both take an arm of our brother and haul him gently upright. He seems stable enough though I keep supporting him just in case. Meth hands him a bowl of broth, after cooling it a little magically, and then turns over the bread to our brother. Thack eats ravenously, as if he’s not eaten in seasons. Meth and I share the second bowl. The broth is bland, but hot and more than welcome.

  Once we have all eaten our conversation once again picks up.

  “Thack, what were vampires doing in the village?”

  I ask as we slowly check him over for any more damage. He seems to be in top physical condition, if not slightly on the tubby side. I keep talking, trying to come up with some reason they were on the Peninsula Archipelago. “Usually they keep a low profile, try to keep out of our sight. Perhaps they were looking for something, or–”

  “I have no idea,” Thack cuts in as I break for breath, “but I don’t think they came to find something. The only thing I can think of is if they’re heading to The Dirigir Oak to do some–”

  This time it is Meth that interrupts.

  “They are heading north, to the Heartland, not further down the Peninsula. I spoke to some of the survivors before Satch found you. We will get them for this. Don’t worry.”

  I’m a little surprised at Meth’s sensitivity. He’s usually so harsh. I take a few seconds to compose myself.

  “So what exactly did they do?”

  I quickly stop myself from talking on so that my brother can speak.

  “Well, from
when I turned up, after they’d called us out, it seems that they just wanted a fight. Well, one of them anyway. The other just stood and watched.”

  “It could be that a master vampire was giving tutelage to a freshly turned,” Meth adds.

  “But the one who fought was skilled in demonic magic, more so than any normal vampire.”

  “This makes no sense. The skilled ones are usually the master vampires, and they tend to show more restraint. They’re capable of standing back and watching. If that’s the case I’m guessing that we have at least one master vampire, maybe even two. This could be a lot more difficult that it first seemed,” I say. Meth looks as though he’s ready to go and fight them right now, while Thack looks happy that he is not.

  “Vampires, another great gift from Calcia and Jehovah,” Thack says to himself, though not quietly enough for Meth and I to not hear. It causes my two brothers to fall back into their old ways, back when we were just children. Meth’s voice raises a few notches.

  “The demons caused themselves, if they hadn’t rebelled…”

  “They didn’t rebel, Meth,” Thack tries to explain, even if it is just his own opinion, “Calcia and Jehovah shoved them in Hell for no good reason. They did make them like that after all.”

  “They tried to overthrow the almighty powers. They thought they could,” Meth retorts angrily.

  “So now we have to suffer them? Thanks, Calcia!” Thack shouts back.

  “Enough!” I shout over the pair, finally shoehorning a word in, hoping it will bring the carriage of argument to a halt.

  Luckily they take notice of me and fall into silence. I use the new quiet to begin to organise.

  “Alright. Here’s what I think we have to do. Find the vampires that did this, and set a trap for them. I doubt we’ll be able to take on two master vampires alone, even if that is a worst-case scenario. We also need to do it fast, preferably before they hit the Heartland. If they are masters they’ll move a lot faster than us. Meth, I need you to contact reinforcements in the Heartland to explain the situation.”