The Eclective: The Celtic Collection

by The Eclective

  Covered in the blood and organs of the soldier, the vampire reached out and wrapped his fingers around the neck of a nearby priest.

  “Have a prayer you would like to say, priest? I would love to hear you entreat your God as I suck your soul from His very clutches. Pray now, pathetic creature!”

  As the priest began his desperate devotions, Kurvail sank his fangs into the jugular and let the hot river of life flow into the back of his throat. The priest continued his prayer, until his veins were drained. The rest of the priests and invading men stood in shock at the horror and power the vampire exuded. Vlad tossed the emptied sack of flesh to the ground and turned to the remaining men with the dead priest’s blood pouring from his open mouth.

  “Which of you shall fall next?”

  Without hesitation, the group of cowards ran. Kurvail stood and watched, his laughter chasing the living out of the castle court.

  The echo of his own laughter chased Kurvail through time, a constant reminder of his need to eliminate the race of man for systematically destroying the only creature he had ever loved. It mattered not he would be eliminating his primary source of food. All the vampire Kurvail could see was the red veil of vengeance. The task grew more and more challenging as mankind multiplied like vermin. His only hope was to take down the scourge from within.

  Slemish Ireland 406

  Kurvail opened his eyes from his retreat into memory to see his men returning, a hooded stranger in tow. The lead soldier pushed the man forward onto his knees.

  “Remove his hood,” the dark voice boomed in the underground tunnel.

  With a flourish, the lead raider removed the hood covering the head of the young shepherd.

  “Where have you taken me? Who are you strange men?”

  Kurvail walked up to the shaking stranger and stood above him. “I shall ask the questions, meat.”

  The Shepherd stared upward, refusing to offer any sign of fear or weakness.

  “Tell us your name, shepherd.”

  The young man looked up and with a nervous gulp of pride spoke. “Maewyn Succat”.

  The raiders around Kurvail laughed — and laughed alone. The vampire raised his hand to silence the hideous sound.

  “Irish. Just what I need.”

  The young man looked up at the vampire, tears raining down from his cheeks. “You are mistaken. I am not of the Irish.”

  “And I am not of the living!” With a single hand, Kurvail launched the shepherd across the room. The man slid down the wall and slumped over. Before he could hit the dirt floor, Kurvail was on him, lifting him off the ground by the throat.

  “I could suck the life out of you before your mind realized what was happening. I could reach into your chest and remove your heart so quickly your body wouldn’t have a chance to die before your eyes bore witness to your own death. But I do not. And why? Such a creature as I must find a purpose in something as worthless as you.” Kurvail dropped Maewyn to the floor. “You are not a soldier. You are not a priest, a blacksmith, a farmer, a baker … you are nothing but a shepherd of sheep, a watcher of flocks. You are weak and you have nothing. But I have a need, therefore you have a value.”

  A laugh disrupted the silence of the moment. One of the raiders found humor in Vlad’s toying with the young man.

  “Do you find my words humorous? Am I but a court jester for your amusement?”

  Kurvail crossed to the laughing raider. The movement took an uncomfortably long time. The beating of hearts and the inhalation of breaths could be heard. Every living being in the room but the shepherd stood, locked in fear at what the vampire might do. When Kurvail finally reached the offending raider, only one question seeped from the undead master’s lips.

  “Slowly or quickly?”

  “I don’t understand … ” the confused soldier replied.

  “Your answer. Slowly, or quickly?”

  The man’s jaw quivered as the answer slipped between his teeth.

  “Slowly.”

  “As you wish.”

  The vampire smiled as he tore the man’s clothing from his body. With a single fingernail, Kurvail sliced a chunk of flesh from the man’s body and offered the meat for the soldier to devour.

  “Eat this, or I continue.”

  From the other side of the room, the shepherd could be heard praying. Upon hearing the prayer, Kurvail launched into an agonizing scream.

  “I will not tolerate your words of devotion, shepherd. Silence yourself or suffer the same fate.”

  Kurvail turned back to the raider who, with a shaking hand, held his own skin to his lips. “Master — .”

  “If you are to survive this, the only movement your jaw should be making is the chewing of your own flesh. Now!”

  The raider opened his mouth and slid the meat onto his tongue. As he chewed, blood and spit popped and spurted from between his lips.

  “Delicious, the meat of man. Although the Germanic flesh has the best taste, I am partial to the Franks. The sounds they make as you peel off their bits are exquisite. Swallow my good man … swallow.”

  The raider complied and swallowed — the lump going down slowly, painfully.

  “You live another day.”

  Kurvail turned away from the soldiers and returned his attention to the shepherd. The young man cowered into a fetal ball, muffling his weeping with his robes.

  “My dear Maewyn Succat, cry not. I have such pleasures and grand designs for you. You will not be stripped of your flesh, nor drained of your blood. Oh no … I have a need for you. You are going to serve me in ways you never dreamed possible.” Kurvail dropped to one knee beside the curled man and gently brushed his matted hair away from his cheek. “I am in need of a messenger, a servant. Over a century ago I was robbed of the only love I have ever known. When that happened, I swore I would exact my revenge upon the race of man. Until now, I was nothing more than one creature against millions. But with your help, I will secretly enlist an entire population of people to stand against their own.”

  “What do you want of me?” The quiet, sobbing voice of the shepherd was heard only by the vampire Kurvail.

  Vlad bent down and kissed Maewyn Succat’s cheek. “I want you to serve me. You will no longer be a slave to the Druid. You will take your gentle wisdom throughout Ireland where you will breathe the words of God over the oppressed and deposed. Give them life anew … reason to follow you. You will lead them from the pits of Hell and sorrow … ” the vampire hesitated and again caressed the cheek of the Shepard. “ … and into my bosom.”

  Kurvail laughed softly. The sound was a lyrical music none in the room had ever known.

  The young face of innocence looked into the eyes of the dark lord. “I don’t understand. Why would you have me deceive such a poor but proud culture of farmers and peasants?”

  Kurvail’s laughter filled the empty space of the cavern. “Oh, Maewyn Succat, you are an entertaining one. Why would I do such a heinous deed?” Again the vampiric laughter echoed from the walls. “Because revenge is a power to which even someone such as I must bow. You see, Shepherd, the race of man stripped me of the only thing that mattered. I was once capable of love, just like you, but that capacity was eviscerated from my soul by men claiming to follow the path of God. At that moment, I swore I would exact a revenge befitting the crime. And you, my delicious young man, will be instrumental in my plan.”

  Tears streamed freely down the face of the young man on his knees. His body trembled in fear. His voice struggled to get around the lump of his heart in his throat. “I beseech you — ”

  “Oh, do you now, dear sir? And would you beg I spare you from your fate? Beg me. Forget your dignity and beg for a mercy you doubt exists in my cold, dead heart.”

  Maewyn Succat stared up at Vlad Kurvail, maddening insanity rimming his tear-filled eyes. “I don’t understand.”

  “Then understand this — ” Kurvail took the shepherd's head into his hands and stared deep into the pool of his lost eyes. “Look within. D
ive into me, into my past. Feel the loss, the suffering, the hatred born of centuries of persecution.”

  The man was taken back in time, to the moment Kurvail lost Tamora. The suffering of that exact second wrapped itself around Maewyn like a cocoon of despair, and began to squeeze all hope and will from his heart. The worm of revenge threaded itself into the mind of the shepherd.

  Between the ebbing beats of his heart, Maewyn fully understood. He would comply. Will was no longer his own, his heart and soul belonged to the Vampire, Kurvail.

  “You are my Lord, God, and Master.” The shepherd's voice was but a frail whisper. The husk of a man took Kurvail’s hand in his and laid the ring of the vampire to his cracked lips.

  Vlad pulled his new servant to his feet and gently kissed each of his tear-stained cheeks. “As you do my bidding you will fall under the protection of my raiders. And should you have need, all you need do is call my name and I will appear.”

  The newly anointed slave wavered on his feet, still entranced and enthralled. “What is my first task my lord?”

  A shameless and sinister smile etched itself across Vlad’s face. “Upon kissing the soil of the Irish shores above us, you will entreat yourself as the voice of God and the mouthpiece of a new Ireland. When you have settled in as their one true spiritual leader your first task is to banish the snake from the garden of Ireland. I refuse to walk upon the same soil as that detestable creature. Once you have managed that simple task, I will begin visiting you to let you know your next steps.”

  Maewyn Succat again kissed the ring of the King of Vampires and found enough stability on his feet to allow him movement.

  “Now, go. Be my eyes and ears among the Gaelic and infect them with your venomous love and righteousness. Once they are held in your sway, and in the sway of your tiresome religion, they will be but a mere suggestion away from my wrath.”

  The Shepherd turned on his bare and worn heels and awaited the raiders to part.

  “Lead this man out. See to it he has safe passage. Should anyone threaten to visit him harm, disassemble them with haste.”

  The detail parted and the frail thrall of Vlad Kurvail was led out of the underground tunnels. As the group vanished from sight, the desire to rend asunder the living above ground overwhelmed the vampire. The desire gave way to action and Vlad Kurvail made his way to the surface to begin a reign of terror few would escape. He would sate his need for blood and lust and return to the tunnels to await the celebration of the beginning of the end of the pestilence known as mankind.

  * * *

  Jack Wallen has a streak of cannibalism in him, but only for true Irish red heads. It’s something about the lilt of the voice and the spring of the blood-red curls.

  Find more information on Jack and his books at www.monkeypantz.net, or follow him on Facebook and Twitter

  In a moment of pure chaos, the majority of the Earth’s population became the walking dead. One man promises to unveil the truth.

  When journalist Jacob Plummer is bitten by one of the undead he turns to the written word not only to ease the pain of change, but to reveal a truth that could spare the world from extinction.

  As Jacob attempts to reveal the conspiracy behind the virus he fights off the undead masses to save the planet from a collision with entropy.

  Available at:

  Other books by Jack:

  I Zombie Series:

  My Zombie My

  Die Zombie Die

  Fringe Killer:

  A Blade Away

  Gothica

  Shero

  Zombies Eat Leprechauns

  P.J. Jones

  “I need to withdraw all my gold. Now!” Lucky pounded the counter while glancing at the doors behind him. The moaning outside was getting louder. More and more fairytale zombies began scraping against the bank windows and rattling the doors. He wondered how long the security at Gingrinch’s bank would hold out before the horde of hungry creatures came crashing through their meager defenses.

  The goblin in front of him set down his ledger and looked him over with a glazed-over expression. “I will need two forms of identification, sir.”

  “Hobnobbin, it’s me, Lucky.” The leprechaun slapped his chest. “We’re neighbors.”

  The goblin sighed before turning his gaze back to his ledger. “I cannot release your funds without two forms of ID, sir.”

  “Here, goddammit!” Lucky slapped his wallet on the counter. He cast another glance behind him. More zombies swarmed the place.

  After what he’d seen earlier today, he’d had enough of zombies. All he wanted to do was get his gold and high-tail it to someplace safe, like a magical Elven realm or Hawaii.

  Anywhere but here.

  He’d already watched helplessly as one of his leprechaun friends was eaten and two more were turned into zombies. He had no idea how a zombie virus had suddenly taken over the kingdom, but he was convinced it had something to do with the water. Riley and O’Leary were fine until they’d taken showers. Lucky thanked his lucky stars that he had an aversion to cleanliness.

  “Luciano O’Mally.” The goblin arched a brow as he scrutinized Lucky’s driver’s license. “Luciano is a strange name for a Leprechaun.”

  The moaning outside intensified.

  Lucky’s limbs began to shake. “My mom was an Italian water nymph. You know this,” he hissed.

  “I’ll also need you to fill out this paperwork, Mr. O’Mally.” The goblin pulled out a huge stack of papers and dropped them on the counter.

  “Paperwork?” Lucky’s voice rose several octaves. “The kingdom is being overrun by freaking zombies and you want me to fill out paperwork?”

  The goblin rolled his eyes. “Standard procedure.”

  “Fine!” Lucky hastily snatched the pen from the goblin’s outstretched hand and leaned over the papers.

  “And you do understand there will be a ten percent early withdrawl penalty?” the goblin asked. “Your IRA isn’t set to mature for another six months.”

  “You’re busting my balls, Hobnobbin!” Lucky threw down the pen and roared. “There’s goddamn zombies trying to break down the door and you want to charge me a penalty fee?”

  The goblin wagged a finger. “It’s in the contract, Mr. O’Mally.”

  The banging and moaning outside was getting louder. The windows rattled. The walls shook. Lucky’s stomach churned.

  “What if I transfer my gold to another bank?” he asked through a shaky voice.

  The goblin folded his hands in front of him and leveled Lucky with a derisive glare. “There will be a five percent service fee.”

  “What?” Lucky screamed! “That’s robbery!”

  “Robbery!” All the other goblin tellers resounded as they dove behind the counter.

  Lucky’s mouth dropped as he took in the scene before him. Brain eating zombies weren’t enough to make the goblins cower in fear, but mention the word ‘robbery’ and they all hit the floor.

  “Yeah, that’s right.” Lucky called out while jumping on top of the counter. He stuck his hand inside his coat pocket and aimed his finger at Hobnobbin. His gaze swept over all the tellers who were lying on their stomachs with their hands shielding their heads.

  “This is a stickup,” he called before fixing Hobnobbin with a stern expression. “Now gimme all my gold.”

  Hobnobbin rose on trembling legs and pulled a big bucket from the vault. “Fine. Take it, but good luck carrying it out of here without getting eaten.” He slammed the heavy bucket on the counter.

  Lucky gawked at the full pot of gold and then turned back and warily eyed the bank entrance. More and more zombies had converged on the bank. It wouldn’t be long before they broke down the door.

  A loud crashing sound resonated from up above. Lucky and the goblins screamed and ducked for cover as they were pelted with shards of glass from the shattered skylight. A giant winged beast dressed in a ruffled chiffon skirt landed with a bone-jarring thud on the marble lo
bby floor.

  When the dust had settled, Lucky popped his head from his hiding spot beneath a small chair. In all of Fairytale Kingdom, he knew of only one cross-dressing dragon, and that dragon was relatively harmless.

  The village idiot and failed excuse for a dragon slayer, Barthalamew Huganut the Tenth, was dismounting from his unlikely sidekick, Drag. On an ordinary day, Lucky would do his best to avoid those two freaks, but today was no ordinary day.

  He jumped up and wiped dust and glass off his pants. “Drag! Barth! My old pals. Am I glad to see you!”

  The dragon snorted a plume of smoke and turned up his snout.

  Barth ignored Lucky altogether as he strode past him and up to the counter. “Hey, Hobnobbin,” he called to the goblin who was still hiding somewhere behind the counter. “Sorry I didn’t use the front door.” Barth waved a hand toward the entrance. The zombies were now banging on the windows with old shoes and severed heads. “The bank’s surrounded by zombies.”

  The goblin stood and adjusted his collar. “So I see,” he scowled.

  Barth leaned against the counter and pulled out his wallet. “There’s a problem with my debit card,” he spoke with an air of boredom in his voice, as if the kingdom was not being overrun by flesh eating ghouls. “I just tried to buy cheeseburgers and it’s not working. I think it must be the magnetic strip.”

  Hobnobbin slapped his forehead. “We go through this every week, Barth. You have insufficient funds in your account.”

  Barth scratched his head. “How can that be? I just got paid two days ago.” Then he narrowed his eyes at Hobnobbin as he sucked in his slightly protruding gut and slapped the counter. “I demand you give me my money! I’m a peer of the realm.”

  Hobnobbin shook his head, smirking. “You’re a minimum wage rent-a-knight who can’t even slay dragons.”

  Barth unsheathed his sword and swung it in an arc over his head. Blood dripped off the tip and splattered the walls. “I just wasted zombie knights, zombie hobbits, an evil step-mother zombie, and even a few princess zombies. I demand recompense.”

  Hobnobbin sighed. “You’ll have to take it up with the King.”

  “Fine.” Barth sheathed his sword. “I will.” He puffed out his chest and strode back toward the dragon.

  “Hey, Buddy!” Lucky jumped up and raced after Barth. “Where are you going?”