Night Shadows

by Martin, Shirley

  Next to the well, their leader, Kane, handed out the rings to the first one-hundred to arrive, for he had no more to give out now. Damn Angus Kendall! He needed hundreds more rings, but was getting them only a hundred at a time. The bandregas, haggard, their demon features showing, slipped on the rings and watched the glitter of the sunstone in the clear moonlight. In their deep voices, they chattered among themselves, scarcely able to wait to test the rings' magic. With their long noses and elongated ears, they preened and pranced, laughing with joy.

  Kane's gaze covered all the bandregas. "Where's Stilo?" he yelled. "Anyone seen him?"

  The bandregas looked down the line and from one to another, murmuring among themselves. Their demon features showed, their hands and faces sprouted with fur. They shook their heads in puzzlement. No one had seen Stilo.

  Kane seethed. What was Stilo up to? His anger turned to concern. Had something happened to him? If not, why wasn't he here?

  Overhead, clouds drifted in front of the moon, and a cold wind tossed tree branches and swept dirt along the road. The moon emerged from the cloud cover, its light silvering the ground.

  After the distribution of the rings, they lined up at the well, men, women, and children. At the head, Kane drank first, tilting the dipper at his mouth, letting the water run down his chin. Mothers and fathers rested their fur-dotted hands on their children's shoulders, telling them they must be patient. Soon, they would all drink from the well again; soon, they would all look human once more, with strength ten times that of mortals. The clang and scrape of the bucket was heard again and again as the bandregas drank of the magic water. The line stretched the length of the village and back into the preceding woods. The demons talked among themselves as they waited, the women exchanging gossip, the men boasting.

  "Get rid of the vampires once and for all! Kill every last one of them!"

  Those who had finished drinking left the deserted hamlet. For those on foot, it was a long walk back to Moytura, but they were invigorated now, their power at a peak. By now, they were used to the long journey from the capital to Magh Eamhainn, and they accepted it as part of their lives. Chattering among themselves, they headed back to their homes, but their talk quieted as they passed human houses, lest someone wonder why such a crowd was about at this late hour. The knew this area was all farmland, and since the farmers went to bed early, no one would hear them unless they made excessive noise.

  Hours later, an older bandrega stopped on the main road. He clutched his stomach, then his head.

  "What is it?" His son rushed up to him, his brow wrinkled. "Father, what's the matter?" Others gathered around, their faces pinched with concern.

  "Sick," the old man grimaced. "So sick. My head, my stomach, can't see straight." He groaned and looked around. "Where am I? Why am I on this road?"

  "Father! You're on the road, going back to Moytura. We just drank from the sacred well."

  "No, we're going the wrong way." The old man staggered, then bent over and retched.

  His son held him, then helped him rise. "Father, please, what is it? What has made you so sick?"

  A three-year old girl clutched her mother's dress. "Mama, I feel sick. Mama, sick!"

  "Ahh!" Staggering, the man clutched his heart, then toppled to the ground. He lay unmoving, eyes open to the sky.

  "Father!" His son felt his chest but found no heartbeat. Tears streamed down his face, and he rocked back and forth. He cried tears of sorrow but bewilderment, too. Screaming, he tore his hair out and shouted. "He's dead!" His glance took in all the others. "Dead! How can this be?" His body shook with sobs.

  One-by-one, the bandregas fell to their knees and retched. They touched their heads and stomachs, their faces twisted with worry and fear. They looked from one to another, wailing through their pain. "What is it? What has happened to us?"

  "The well water!" A young man rushed among them, pressing his hand to his forehead. "Well water! Poisoned!"

  "No, how can this be?"

  They looked for Kane, wanting and needing his guidance. But he had gone ahead with the other riders.

  "Hurry! Back to the well, go warn the others!"

  Too ill to move, they could only moan and vomit. Those who had ridden ahead soon showed the same symptoms, falling from their horses. The riderless horses cantered on, some dragging their riders caught in the stirrups.

  The bandregas languished on the path, dead or dying. With death, they reverted to their demon-like features, their bodies littering the countryside.

  Every one of them dead.

  * * *

  "Goddess!" A farmer who lived along the road gazed at the scene the next morning.

  His son stood beside him, both men shaking with fear. They made the sign of warding off evil. Thumb and forefinger touching, they flicked their right hand over their left shoulder.

  "Bandregas!" the father cried. "And we thought they had disappeared from the country long ago." He retreated several steps, his body trembling. Sweat drenched his clothes.

  The son turned a confused face to his father. "But Papa, where have they been all this time?"

  The farmer scratched his head. "Don't know, but we gotta get rid of the bodies."

  It was the same story all along the road. Stunned and bewildered, the people had to accept the evil that had dwelt among them. They feared to leave the bodies where they languished, but they couldn't bear to touch them, either.

  Much later, the farmers gathered together and developed a plan. They lifted the bodies with shovels, two men working together. After dumping the bodies into wagons, they had to take them far from any human habitation.

  "Where shall we bury them?" they asked one another.

  Magh Eamhainn was the answer. "The place is already cursed."

  Chapter Eighteen

  "It's done!" Returned to Moytura, Fianna joined Moreen at the bottom of the grassy knoll that led up to the cave. Clouds hid the moon and stars, and the air smelled of rain. Shuddering in the cold night air, she drew her cloak closer about her. Her long hair rippled in the wind, her dress molded against her body. Eager to tell the other woman about the well, Fianna could think only of Gaderian. The tall grass tossed in the wind, the scent of wild gorse filling the air.

  Wary hesitation crept into her voice. "Before I tell you about my mission, I must ask-- how is Gaderian?"

  Moreen's swept her silvery hair from her shoulders. "Completely recovered, and asking about you every night." Her eyebrows rose. "Now, you say it's done?"

  "Yes. I poisoned the well water!" Overjoyed for the successful completion of her task, she was even happier to hear Gaderian was well again. "I can hardly wait to see him!" Holding the horse by the reins, she walked the mare for several minutes as Moreen strolled with her. Strands of hair blew across her face, and she brushed the hair away and tucked the strands behind her ears. She led the horse to the stream to let it drink to its heart's content.

  "But I'll wager you want to rest, too." Moreen flashed her an apologetic smile. "I fear I'm rushing you."

  "Not at all. I had a bite to eat and water from the stream a few miles back. Just seeing Gaderian again is enough for me."

  Both women stopped while the horse drank from the stream and slurped up the water. After it had its fill, it snorted and shook the drops from its mouth.

  "Gaderian is ready to move into his house," Moreen said as Fianna led the horse up the rocky hill to join Moreen's mare, which was lazily munching on the grass. "But we thought it best for you to meet me here, as we had arranged. You don't know where his house is, and we have more privacy here."

  "Yes. It doesn't matter to me where I see him, as long as I see him." Moreen walked alongside her until they reached the top. Fianna watched in fascination as the woman said a magic spell that would keep the horse safe from harm or thievery. It joined Moreen's mare, that one apparently already protected.

  Her heart beat fast, every thought on Gaderian, counting the minutes–like hours–until she would see his
face again, hear his voice, feel his touch. The vampiress led her by the hand through the cool corridors of the cavern, the twists and turns Fianna thought she should know by heart.

  "Fianna!" Gaderian rose as they entered the passage he'd claimed as his own, the torchlight flickering on the wall.

  She rushed to meet him, reveling in his arms around her, the touch of his fingers, his deep voice that rumbled in his chest.

  "Ah, sweetheart, you're back, safe and sound. I can't tell you how worried I've been!"

  Lost in the joy of his embrace, Fianna choked, unable to say a word. This is what she had wanted, what she had dreamed of all these lonely days and nights away from the man she loved more than life. She gloried in his faint aroma of cloves, the feel of his arms around her, the pressure of his chest against her breasts. Reluctant to leave his embrace, she knew their love must wait for a private time together. From the corner of her eye, she saw Moreen, seemingly fascinated with the delicate beauty of the rock drapery in shades of white, yellow, and pink.

  Fianna drew back and settled on the floor, the others following. She laughed a little to hide her feelings, and clasped Gaderian's hand. "First of all, I succeeded in poisoning the well water. On the way back to Moytura, I may have passed bandregas riding in the opposite direction, toward the well. I veered off the road whenever I saw other riders approaching, and I couldn't see their faces clearly at night." She smiled in self-satisfaction. "So it's done. They should all be dead by now. But I haven't told you my other news–"

  "What?" Gaderian and Moreen asked in unison.

  "I killed Stilo." Divergent emotions clashed inside her as she uttered the words. Sorrow at killing another creature she had known so well still haunted her, yet she accepted the fact that she had no choice. It was kill or be killed. She related the circumstances that led to her plunging the dagger into Stilo's side and concealing the body. She wasn't proud of what she had done, only recognizing its necessity.

  "Time will tell how successful I was," she finished, "whether or not all the bandregas are, indeed, dead." She changed position, stretching both legs out. The torchlight cast wavy shadows on Gaderian's and Moreen's faces, and she heard water dripping close by. "If, as we have assumed, they all gather at the well when each moonphase begins, then there should be no more bandregas in Avador."

  "Which still leaves the other countries on the continent." Gaderian, too, changed position, drawing one leg up. "From what I've heard, they exist in Fomoria, at least. I don't know about elsewhere."

  For the first time, Moreen spoke up. "For now, we shall have to leave the problem to the other countries to handle as they will. The people of these other places are quite primitive. Our country is far more advanced than Fomoria and Partholonia. Galdina and Elegia are similar to Avador in culture, but even they are slightly backward. If these countries do have their own bandregas, are the creatures still primitive, too, as ours were long ago? Do the bandregas have their own sacred wells in these countries?" She opened her arms wide. "Who knows? But I don't think so. Possibly the situation elsewhere is as it was in Avador so many years ago–the bandregas keep to themselves, with no magical way to look human."

  Gaderian took up the thread of the conversation, his gaze shifting to Moreen. "We must discuss all this at the next meeting of the undead, next moonphase. If the bandregas of Avador are all dead–Goddess, let it be so–then there will be no more killings of humans. They will be safe, and we will be safe from their accusations." He sighed. "Let us hope and pray that there will be no more rewards for turning in the undead." He frowned. "And we must see about having our people released from prison, those few who were arrested." His frown deepened. "Not an easy job, but we shall see. For now, let us speak of other things." He hugged Fianna close. "And maybe we can continue with our lives, without fear of arrest."

  * * *

  Back at the Snow Leopard, Fianna returned the smiles and greetings of the men and women. She often circulated among the patrons before heading for the scrying room, a little socializing she enjoyed, talking to the patrons-men and women–and learning of their families. Some who tried to grab her earned disapproving looks from Cedric. The owner, too, managed to circulate among the customers when he wasn't serving ale at the counter.

  Easing away from one persistent admirer, Fianna headed for her room to fetch her mirror and coin box, then made her way across the hall to the scrying room.

  As her first customer sat down across from her, she found it difficult to concentrate on her fortune-telling, for all she wanted to think about was Gaderian, this man who had come into her life and given her so much happiness. He had asked her to join him for a while when she finished tonight, and her body warmed at the prospect, her imagination running wild. She felt his arms around her, tasted his kisses.

  "Ma'am?" The man who sat across from her gave her a puzzled look. "I'm waiting."

  "Ah, yes." She closed her eyes and forced herself to focus on her task. "Ah, here's what I see . . . ."

  Despite her anticipation at seeing Gaderian again, a dark shadow menaced this night. Angus Kendall. He was bound to come to this tavern again, sooner or later. Surely word would reach him that she had returned. She would face him alone when she met him again and tell him she was not going back to Ros Creda with him. She knew Gaderian would back her. It pleased her to know she had a champion who would defend her and protect her, if need be. But she also knew she could take care of herself. It needed only the will to tell him she had no intention of returning to Ros Creda with him, much less accepting him as her husband.

  After her customer dropped the copper coins in the box, he left the room, looking satisfied. She waited for the next customer, but Angus haunted her mind. She shuddered, not wanting to even think of his arms around her or his kisses, which would surely be cruel and demanding.

  Hours later, her night's work done, she deposited her mirror and money in her room and grabbed her cloak from a hook on the wall. Her eyes searched the room for Gaderian as she edged past the few remaining customers, some of whom touched her hand as she walked past, but that was the only familiarity they were permitted–no ribald remarks, no obscene gestures. Cedric treated her as if she were his own daughter. Trying to hide her eagerness, she looked all over the room, from one side to another, but didn't see Gaderian. Disappointment crushed her. This was her first night back; surely he'd want to be with her. Well, she'd go outside for a breath of fresh air before heading for her pallet.

  She pushed the heavy oaken door open to step outside and–Gaderian! Happiness flowed through her, around her and over her, a smile on her lips and a song in her heart. She rushed into his arms, never so ecstatic as she was now, this very moment, to be held in his arms again, to know that he was completely recovered, and he was hers! Her heart beat fast, every sense wonderfully alive at his presence.

  He stood back and looked long and lovingly into her eyes, as if seeing her for the first time. The wind whipped at her cloak and tousled her hair, and she drew her cloak closer around her. The sign above them proclaiming the Snow Leopard banged back and forth in the wind. With gentle fingers, he eased the strands of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheeks. He drew her into his arms and kissed her again, heart to heart, as if they were part of the same whole. Clad in a long-sleeved tunic and trousers, a wide leather belt circling his waist, and a plaid cloak over his shoulders, he was as handsome as ever, his smile a welcome sight, something she could never get enough of. The familiar faint aroma of cloves wafted around him, blending with the scent of cool air, of manliness and sexuality. Just being with him now made up for all the time away from him, days and nights when she'd worried about him, agonizing that he might not get better.

  "Are you cold, sweetheart?" he asked in his husky voice. "It's difficult for me to remember how mortals react to the temperature, something that doesn't affect my kind." He gestured toward his clothes. "The only reason I'm dressed like this is so I don't arouse suspicion, when everyone else is dressed
for the cool weather."

  She squeezed his hand. "I'm fine. Just being with you makes me warm." In spite of her pleasure at his nearness, memories of her mother and brother clutched at her heart. Would she ever see them again? Yes, she could, she lamented in brittle desperation. Go back to Ros Creda with Angus Kendall. Then she'd see her loved ones again.

  The streets were deserted at this hour of the night, only a stray dog padding along on the cobblestones. The wind soon slackened, the air not so cool. Dead oak leaves littered the cobblestones, the street lamp giving a faint illumination to the street.

  "Shall we go to the meadow?" he asked with that endearing smile she would always remember. "Or would you rather sit on the bench for a while?"

  "Let's go for a walk. I need to stretch my legs after being cooped up inside the tavern."

  They headed for the meadow, past the other taverns and inns, the silversmith's shop and other stores. They passed a pastry shop, where the fragrance of baking bread and sweets blended with the cool night air, for this was the bakers' busiest time as they prepared for the new day's trade. Ahead of them on Aventina's Way, the spire of Talmora's Temple reached to the sky. They neared the Treasury of Knowledge, hospital, and other important buildings in this, the cultural center of the city.