by Nick Stead
Pain, pulsing in a steady rhythm of white hot agony through my skull, as if some sadistic blacksmith was using my head as an anvil to beat out metal shapes for his clients. There was also the throb of wounds elsewhere on my body but it was no more than background noise in the deafening roar of agony resounding through my head to that sadist’s beat. My thoughts were sluggish and I struggled to remember why I was lying on a hard, uneven surface with some kind of weight on top of me, in more discomfort than in any other place I’d tried to sleep since leaving home. Opening my eyes would probably shed some light on the situation but the ache in my skull was enough to persuade me to keep them closed and wish for the blackness to wash back over me, taking me back to the soothing nothingness of unconsciousness.
I became aware of death’s perfume slinking across my nostrils in the sickly sweet smog of decay, unappetising even with my carnivore’s craving for raw flesh growling in my belly. I vaguely wondered why the scent was so strong, but it didn’t seem that important with the constant assault on my brain, the sensation too immediate and intense for me to take much notice of my other senses. And whatever it was I could smell rotting was too far gone for me to feed the hunger with, so it wasn’t of much interest to me.
Blacking out again wasn’t happening, as blissful as that would have been in my current state. I would have been quite happy to carry on just lying there regardless, but somewhere in the back of my mind was the thought that I should get up and it was only growing more persistent as the minutes ticked by. With a groan I forced my eyelids open, instantly finding myself facing Death’s angels, eyes wide and staring unseeing into my own from out of those skeletal, greying faces. The shock of it sent my heart pounding as I fought to free myself of the decaying bodies, which grinned morbidly at me like they found the situation highly amusing. Suddenly I remembered why I was lying on the rough stone surface with rotting corpses piled on top of my own, recent memories coming flooding back in a sickening wave that only made my head throb harder. Or maybe that was the increased blood flow pumping out from my thundering heart. But my headache was the least of my worries if I was cut off from my allies and surrounded by enemies, and I kept my eyes on the cadavers as I got to my feet, expecting them to move at any moment.
The corpses remained still and silent, the necromancer having released them back into the eternal sleep of the deceased, or so it seemed. I stayed wary and ready for a fresh attack, not trusting them to stay down. But I would have to risk turning my back if I wanted to find my way back to the others, and from what I’d seen just before I’d fallen, they’d been in need of my help. I wouldn’t leave Zee to die at least, even if I didn’t much care for Gwyn or Hannah.
Still in my hybrid form, I kept my ears pricked for any sounds of movement from the corpses at my feet while my eyes roamed the door I’d fallen through and the stone around it, but there were no obvious levers or buttons to operate it. My hands didn’t have any better luck in searching for a way to open it, so I dug my claws into the panel and tried brute force. At least I knew which way it was supposed to open this time, heaving with all the strength I could muster to try and slide it far enough along for me to squeeze through and reunite with my friend and allies. Muscles strained beneath my fur but the door refused to budge and I was forced to submit, panting heavily with the effort. Fresh blood leaked out from the chunks of missing flesh where I’d been bitten, and I was forced to use some more energy to heal the worst of the damage, bringing a fresh wave of exhaustion.
After taking a few minutes to recover, I tried throwing my weight against the stone panel, even though I knew it was likely to be as futile as my previous attempts to break through these thick, dungeon doors. My only reward was a selection of new bruises and a fresh wave of pain in the various wounds I’d already sustained and hadn’t fully healed, and I resorted to beating my fists against it and screaming Zee’s name, not that he could hear me. No sounds carried through from the passage beyond, the dungeon well sound-proofed. Finally I had no option but to turn away from the door that had become just another dead end and continue onwards, defeated and forced to accept that if the vampire wasn’t already dead, he probably would be soon. The others would probably follow close behind once he fell, if Gwyn was truly as weak and unable to fight as he’d claimed to be.
A sense of doom settled back over me with the realisation that I’d been left to face that dread thing stalking the dungeon alone. Had that been the Slayers’ plan all along? I couldn’t sense it up ahead but maybe I was nearing the end of this game and I was heading unwittingly to the ‘final boss’. What other choice did I have though? I wasn’t about to give up and surrender myself to the hunger, driven to madness as I slowly wasted away in the gloom of the underground tunnels. And there was nowhere else to go but onwards, the passage stretching straight ahead for as far as I could see. There was no evidence of any other passages connecting to it, no more rooms for me to explore. The only way to go was forward, and I did so with a heavy heart.
Like the other passages I’d already been down, this one ended in another chamber. And like the other chambers, there was something waiting for me inside, though it wasn’t the bloody conclusion I’d been expecting after all.
I couldn’t tell exactly what was in there at first. The door slid open without me even having to search for a hidden switch of any kind, much to my surprise, and I tensed, expecting more enemies to come pouring out. Nothing happened. Whatever new challenge the room held, it seemed I was meant to go to it.
Something was waiting for me on the far side of the chamber, but it was wreathed in shadows. I wasn’t quite facing the complete blackness where the apparition lurked but the lights were much duller inside than in any of the other lit areas of the dungeon I’d been in, or perhaps there were just less of them. I could only just make out a shape at the other end of the room, the darkness much thicker in that area and unwilling to give up its secrets, even to my superior night vision. But it was the impossible scent I sensed first, a scent I’d never expected to smell again; a scent from my past, which couldn’t truly be there now.
Feeling sure I was walking into another trap, I crept inside, trying to force the shadows to reveal whatever dangers they concealed as I walked. But even with the anger burning in my amber eyes, still the darkness was unyielding. And then my eyes picked up a shape they’d almost missed, hunched on the floor and smelling of that impossible scent, which seemed strong in my canine nose, even with the overpowering stench of death and decay still dominating my nostrils. It brought me to a standstill while my brain tried to process the information my senses were sending it, and make sense of what simply couldn’t be. I realised there was only one explanation, even though I was sure I’d cured myself of that problem when I’d fully accepted my lupine half. It seemed I was hallucinating again.
Rage blazed all the stronger in response to the knowledge that my mind would still subject me to such torment, and I forgot all caution as I crossed the room to face this latest bout of madness. To the human I would have been no more than a monstrous black shape in so dimly lit a room, if she’d been real. But Amy couldn’t really be there, and when she stood to taunt me with more of my innermost troubles, I swiped at her before she had chance to speak, making her disappear like I had before with my brain’s phantoms. Except this time she didn’t disappear. My claws met with resistance, clothing ripped and deep gouges opened up in the flesh beneath, and she fell.
Chapter Ten – Ghosts of the Past
My sister hit the floor, shock rendering her mute for those few moments before she passed out. Blood welled up in the gashes I’d created and began to pool on the ground, and only then did the terrible realisation hit me that this wasn’t a hallucination as I’d just assumed when I’d first sensed her. Somehow the Slayers had my sister – my real flesh and blood and so fragilely mortal sister – locked up in this dungeon with me. And I’d just dealt her fatal wounds.
“No,” I growled softly, as if part of me was trying to d
eny the truth. The pool of blood was growing and in a sense of shock myself now, I fell to my knees beside her, holding her torn body to me and placing those same monstrous hands that had caused such horrific damage over the wounds to try and stem the blood flow. But I could only ever be a bringer of death, not life, and I was aware my attempt to stop her bleeding out was in vain. Some part of me even drooled over the warm human flesh I craved so badly, my stomach growling again and the scent of blood thickening as if it had suddenly grown so much heavier on the air, stronger even than the stench of decay. “No!”
I’d roared the word that time and I could have sworn the sound was so full of rage and pain that it shook the very walls of the room and reverberated throughout the dungeon. If only my voice had the power to drive off Death and delay his claim on my sister long enough for me to find someone who could help. I knew better than to cling to such fantasies though. The paleness of her weakening flesh was all too real and her breathing was becoming laboured.
It was then the shadows chose to give up their secrets at last, retreating behind a wave of light which filled the room and revealed all. The lights no longer flickered dully to imitate flames but became bright and steady, and six real flames sprang into being on candlewicks placed around the shape I’d seen in the darkness. I could see now that it was a shrine to someone else from my past, someone else I’d thought I’d seen the last of since fully embracing my lupine half. At least, I hadn’t expected to encounter any more visions of her conjured by my troubled conscience, or nightmares brought on by guilt, though she’d always be there in my memory, even if I’d made peace with her death. I never thought I’d find myself looking at her picture again.
That face was every bit as beautiful as I remembered it, full of warmth and happiness. The dark skin, like she had a permanent tan, such a contrast to the pale hue it had taken on in death, happiness replaced by fear in her final moments, before that too had been ripped from her by the same teeth and claws which had now doomed Amy to the grave. Her perfect smile flashed at me from six different images carefully arranged around the stone ledge which served as a shrine. And as if I could forget, her name was written in large letters across the wall above, in what looked to be more blood.
Silently I took all this in while I cradled my dying sister, the pieces beginning to fall into place. Then I understood. This was about revenge, and I had a pretty good idea who was behind it. But a chill ran through me when I realised it was more than that. This was personal. This was about hurting me specifically, and the others were just collateral damage, caught in my mess simply because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Zee, Gwyn, Hannah, Lady Sarah, and now Amy. They were here simply to add to the torment I was meant to suffer. And whoever died as part of my punishment; that blood would be on my hands, regardless of how they died. And then there was Amy’s blood which was literally on my hands, and the terrible knowledge that I couldn’t stop it, no matter how hard I tried to stem the bleeding. Her life was leaking through my fingers and I felt utterly powerless in the face of her mortality.
My roars of rage became howls of sadness and grief, as if I could call her essence back into its earthly vessel and keep her tethered to the mortal coil. But if it were that easy Fiona would never have died that fateful morning when I’d found her dying from the horrific wounds I’d dealt her, and the dungeon would never have been built to punish me for that tragic death in the first place. Amy would be safe at home and I’d probably be with Lady Sarah and Selina, figuring out what to do next about the whole execution problem and how to convince Ulfarr of my innocence.
Footsteps sounded in the passage behind me. Instinctively I cocked an ear in that direction but I didn’t turn round, too caught up in emotions I’d never expected to feel again. The thought crossed my mind that the corpses might have risen once more but it didn’t seem all that important then. I was too intent on trying to preserve what little life my sister had left, refusing to believe it was already too late. She was fading fast, her breathing shallow and her heart growing weaker, but as long as I could hear those two vital functions still going I convinced myself there was still hope, no matter how slim. Somehow I’d find a way to save her, if I could just keep the pressure on her wounds and make the bleeding stop.
I was vaguely aware of a new scent coming from the corridor but the smell of fresh blood was too overwhelming, and I struggled to pick anything else out. The hunger still yearned to answer that tantalising call with tooth and claw, ripping flesh from bone until finally it quietened with the satisfying sensation of a full belly. I fought the urge, letting myself sink deeper into the sadness instead.
Only when the owner of the footsteps strode into view did I look up, sadness turning to anger once again.
“You,” I snarled.
“Alright me old chummer, did you miss me?” Gwyn said.
“How did you get in here?”
“Same way as you; how else?”
“You’re working with them aren’t you?”
“I’m a prisoner here, same as you, Nick.”
I really wanted to argue with him and press him for answers, like how he’d managed to escape the undead horde when he’d shown no evidence of being anything more than the feeble human my senses perceived him to be. Even if the door I’d come through had opened for him as well, he’d still have had to fight his way through the walking corpses to reach it just as I had. And yet he’d admitted himself he was currently too weak to fight. Unless the Slayers’ necromancer had called the zombies off and allowed him to walk through the passage unharmed, or perhaps he’d never been in any danger to begin with – if he wasn’t a target the walking dead might have simply ignored him, focussing solely on those of us they’d been ordered to attack. I found these possibilities much more likely than the Welsh man either pushing his way through the throng of walking corpses or somehow slipping past them and the door just happening to open a second time as it had for me, and my distrust for him grew as a result. Come to think of it, I hadn’t heard the door open, though I had been focussed on more important things so I supposed it might just be that I hadn’t noticed.
My doubts grew further still when I realised Gwyn didn’t appear to be injured. His clothes were bloody so maybe he’d just healed the damage, but if the Slayers were deliberately weakening us as they’d seemed to be doing so far then I thought it just as unlikely that he’d been able to heal. And again I remembered how he’d admitted himself that he was currently weak. There was something off about the situation and my rage demanded answers. But in the end my grief won out. My suspicions could wait – Amy’s life was more important, what precious little was left of it.
“It seems we got off on the wrong foot, or should that be paw?” Gwyn said, changing the subject. “I see this human is important to you; I can help.”
“How?”
“Well you might not want to admit it, but I think we both know she’s done for unless she gets some medical intervention of the human kind, sharpish,” he began, raising a hand to quell my anger before I could snap back at him. “Or, there is one other thing that could save her – witchcraft. And lucky for you, the Slayers just happen to have a witch stashed away down here with us.”
“Selina?” I asked, hope rising within and driving back the rage, though not before it made me add “How could you possibly know that?”
“All in good time, mate. I mean, it’s not like time is of the essence or anything – she’s only BLEEDING OUT,” he answered with more of his annoying sarcasm, putting emphasis on the last two words. “So do you want to save the girl or not?”
“Okay, take me to the witch,” I growled. “But sooner or later you will give me some answers.”
“Null sweat, chummer,” he answered, tearing a strip off his shirt and handing it to me. “Here, tie this round her waist to help with the bleeding while you’re carrying her.”
The material was filthy but Amy was going to die of blood loss much quicker than infection, so I did
as he said, though it was something of a challenge with clawed hands. She was so pale as she lay there unmoving, she could have passed for one of the undead herself. Even if Gwyn was telling the truth about Selina (and I assumed it was her, for who else could it be?) a part of me couldn’t help but think it would be too late by the time we reached her. I suddenly wished I’d paid more attention to the lesson Lady Sarah had given me on first aid out in the wilderness and how to make use of natural resources to tend to wounds. She’d shown me how to stitch a cut using the tendons of an animal with a needle fashioned from wood. If only I’d followed the lesson more closely, I might have been able to donate some of my own tendons as thread and perhaps a piece of bone to make a needle, healing the damage with the power of the transformation. But I’d been too intent on finding a way to satisfy my need to kill at the time and hadn’t really been watching the vampire’s demonstration. And I daren’t attempt any sutures without knowing what I was doing in case I made things worse.
There was no way out of the chamber as far as I could see: no obvious doors to open by the shrine at the far end of the room or in either of the adjoining walls. Yet somehow the Welsh man knew just where the exit was located and the hidden button to open it, by some means I couldn’t fathom. If he wasn’t working with the Slayers, how did he know so much about our prison? I supposed he could have been down here longer than either I or Zee had been, but I doubted the Slayers would have allowed him to wander too freely and learn his way around.
