Dhampir

by J. C.

  Aunt Bieja once said with sympathy, "They fear your father was something unnatural," but that was as far as she'd go—

  Finally, Magiere grew less curious about her parents, and she began to hate the villagers for their superstitions and their ignorance. With the passing of years, little enlightenment came and hostilities toward her increased. In the end, she cared nothing for her past and grew hard toward those around her.

  When she turned sixteen, Aunt Bieja took her aside, pulled a locked wooden box from under the bed, and presented it to her. Inside the box was a bundle, wrapped in oilcloth against the wet climate, which held a falchion, two strange amulets, and studded leather armor suitable for a young man. One of the amulets was a topaz stone set in pewter. It was simply hung on a leather string. The other amulet was a small half-oval with tin backing that held what seemed to be a chip of bone with unrecognizable writing carved carefully into it. Unlike the other, this one was strung on a chain that passed through the squared side of the amulet, so that its oval half hung down with the bone side always outward.

  "I suppose he expected a son," Aunt Bieja said, referring to Magiere's mysterious father. "But you might be able to sell them for something."

  Magiere lifted the falchion. It was exceptionally light for its look, and the blade gleamed even in the low candlelight of the room. A small glyph like a letter—but from no language she knew—had been carved into the base of the hilt. The shining metal suggested that Aunt Bieja had kept it polished over the years, but there was a thick coating of dust over the box it had been stored in, which indicated the contents had not been disturbed in a long time. The blade might bring a good price at market, but Magiere's thoughts began to run a different course from that night onward. It was a late spring night when she slipped out of the village, never once looking back.

  There had to be something better in the world… something better than stepping outside each day to see faces filled with hatred, or people who pretended they didn't see her. She cared neither for her unknown past, nor any kind of future with such a wretched lot. Loneliness would be bearable if she were actually alone.

  The following years had been hard, moving from town to town, working at anything to stay alive, and learning the things she wanted to know—how to fight, where to hunt for food, and how to turn coin from the foolish and unwary. There was little work for a young woman on the move, and she nearly starved to death twice. But she would not go home. She would never go back home.

  Her hatred of superstition never faded. She became even more aware of how superstitious the people of the land were and how common from place to place. It was easy in the end to choose the specific things to exploit. Most of all, people feared the dark and death, and more so anything connected to both. The idea for "the game" didn't just come to her suddenly. It developed in stages as she began to realize she might make a living by playing on fear, the same kind of fear which had once ostracized her.

  At first, she worked alone, convincing peasants that vampires were often spirit creatures that could be trapped and destroyed. The elaborate display of floating powders, fake charms and incantations made ignorant villagers actually believe she could trap undeads in the brass urn. She even worked out the trick of the dye in the wineskin, so that she could terrify her customers with sudden bleeding wounds as she wrestled with invisible attackers. In the areas she traveled, she would set up a place in one town for messages, usually a well-patronized tavern rife with gossip, where her exploits would be passed quickly on a wave of whispers. Outside just such a place was where she'd met Leesil for the first time. He was very good at what he did. So good, she really shouldn't have caught him.

  Walking away from a tavern in the evening, she felt a sudden trembling itch at the small of her back run up her spine and into her head. The whole night around her appeared to come alive as her senses heightened, and she heard rather than felt the hand digging in the cloth sack over her shoulder. When she turned and snatched the wrist, ready to deal with this thief, there was complete surprise on his face—a strange, tan face with glittering amber eyes beneath high, thin blond eyebrows.

  Magiere couldn't remember exactly what they said to ease out of that tense moment. Perhaps it had been a mutual recognition of their special talents. Leesil's unusual appearance mingled with the schemes in her thoughts. She'd never actually seen an elf before, as they were not known to travel and lived far to the north. The combination of his human and elven blood created an exotic look in face and form. They spent a wine-soaked evening of conversation, during which he took off his head scarf and allowed her to see his ears. The next morning, they left town together, along with a strange wolfish dog Leesil had with him. That was four years ago.

  The fire cracked again. Chap lifted his head and whined, staring into the darkness.

  "Stop it," Leesil slurred, halfway through his flask by this point. "There's nothing out there." He scratched the back of the dog's neck, and Chap turned to lick at his face until he had to push the animal's muzzle away.

  Magiere leaned over and looked out into the forest. Chap didn't usually fuss about nothing, but still, he was a dog. More than likely he'd just heard a squirrel or a hare.

  "I don't see anything," she said, and turned back to the fire. In the red light, she remembered the dimly lit common cottage and the two unexplainable oozing holes in the neck of Zupan Petre's son. Her head began to ache. She dreaded the discussion she'd planned to have with Leesil. For a month, she'd been putting it off, always waiting for a better time. But this last job made her wonder how much longer she could stall. She was getting tired of it all, and Leesil was getting careless. Things were becoming a little too unpredictable.

  "Before you drink too much, we need to talk," she said quietly.

  "I never drink too much, always just enough." He squirted another mouthful from the wineskin. He was about to take another gulp, when the tone of her voice made him stop halfway. He lowered the wineskin. "What about?"

  She reached inside her pack and took out a folded parchment, slightly crumpled. "There's a bank in Belaski where I put money when we pass through, and where I have messages sent to wait for my next visit."

  Leesil's expression went blank. "Messages? What are you talking about?"

  She held out the folded parchment to him. "This is from a land merchant."

  Leesil took the parchment, slack jawed with surprise. "You've been hoarding money away?"

  "He's been looking for a certain kind of tavern for me, somewhere along the coast… seems he's found one." She paused. "I'm buying a tavern in a Belaskian town called Miiska."

  Leesil blinked as if he didn't understand a word. "What?"

  "I didn't want to tell you until the right place was found. I never planned to run the hunter game forever, and I'm tired."

  "You saved money?" Leesil shook his head. "I don't believe it. All I've got is what's in my pouch."

  Magiere rolled her eyes. "That's because you drink it all, or waste it at a card table."

  Then she heard him suck in his breath and the words began to flow.

  "Just like that?" he nearly shouted, ignoring her answer.

  "No warning. Not even a 'By the way, Leesil, I've been saving for a tavern.' And you never mention it. How much have you been putting… no, never mind. We're in this together. I say we do four or five more villages and then talk about quitting."

  "I'm done," she answered softly. "I want something of my own."

  "What about me?"

  "You'll like the town," she rushed in. "We just head for the coast and turn south. It's ten leagues down the coast from the capital city of Bela. I'll handle the drinks. You can run the gaming. I've heard you talk about running a faro table… every time you lose your last coin at one."

  Leesil waved her off with his hand and a disgruntled scowl.

  "Chap can watch over things," she continued, the dog lifting his head at his name. "We'll sleep inside every night and stop taking all these risks."

&nbs
p; "No! I'm not ready to quit."

  "You'll be the card master…"

  "It's too soon."

  "… a warm bed, plenty of ale and mead…"

  "I don't want to hear any more."

  "… and mulled wine from our own hearth."

  Leesil became quiet. She could see him working his thoughts, examining the possibilities. He wasn't stupid, quite the opposite. Finally, he let out an exasperated grunt, or perhaps it was a burp.

  "Can we talk about this in the morning?" he asked. Still sulking, he took another long drink.

  "Yes, if you like."

  And with that, Leesil rolled his back to the fire. Magiere leaned over, snatched up the parchment he'd never even bothered to look at, and tucked it away again inside her vestment. As she settled down, Leesil suddenly sat up and looked about as if lost, startling Chap to his feet.

  "How could you have saved that much money?" he blurted out in confused exasperation.

  "Oh, shut up and go to sleep," Magiere snapped.

  Leesil rolled over again, grumbling under his breath.

  Sleep wouldn't come quickly enough, and Magiere felt restless and anxious. Leesil wasn't going to easily give in to this sudden change of plans. That much she'd expected, but he was at least thinking about it now. It wouldn't be too hard, she hoped, to push him the rest of the way, though it might take a little while. Waiting until he had coin in his pocket was the best time. With an empty purse, he would have been more resistant, wanting to wait for another ill-gotten windfall.

  Magiere watched the small fingers of fire dancing before her. She noticed Chap had not curled up next to Leesil as he usually did, but sat a little ways apart, looking off into the trees. Finally fed up with watching him watch nothing, she closed her eyes. She didn't see him shift his place, taking position to the side of the fire, equally near both Leesil and herself.

  * * * *

  Out in the thickness of the forest, something moved. From tree trunk, to bush, to snag-fall, to tree trunk, it darted closer to the wisp of firelight. It settled behind an aging oak with scales of fungus sprouting from its sides and peered into the clearing where two forms slept quietly. Between them was a dog, its body somehow shimmering too brightly in the watcher's vision for a normal hound. But the hidden watcher gave the animal no more notice when it focused its eyes of pinprick lights close upon the woman lying beneath a wool blanket.

  Her pale skin now glistened in the firelight, and highlights of blood red ran in her dark hair.

  "Hunter," it whispered to itself and choked back laughter with a swallow as fingers tickled their claws down the bark of the oak.

  Chapter Two

  Chap lay with his long head down, nose just shy of his paw tips. His half-open eyes rarely blinked as he stared relentlessly into the darkness around the camp. Above the whisper of leaves and grass in the breeze came Magiere's light breathing and Leesil's soft, drunken snore.

  The fire burned low in the late night, a pocket of molten-colored embers sprouting the occasional flicker of flame. The camp was well flanked by large trees in a black forest wall. Not far away, sounds of the Vudrask River, swollen with spring rains, gurgled as water splashed against rocks in its steady, ceaseless flow. Magiere rolled over on her blanket with a low murmur. Wisps of her hair loosened from its braid and caught in smudges of leftover dried mud on her face. Chap glanced at her once and then resumed his vigil.

  Movement flashed between two trees a half dozen leaps outside of the camp.

  Chap raised his head and growled for the first time since his companions had settled down to sleep. Silver-blue and gray hairs rose on his neck, and his jowls wrinkled until teeth showed between his lips. The rumbling growl swelled into a snarl. Magiere struggled in her sleep, but didn't awaken.

  Another quick blur passed in the darkness.

  Haunches, shoulders, and leg muscles tensed. Chap dropped his head down again, growing silent, and inched forward along the ground.

  A white face with eyes like glistening stone appeared above a bush two leaps out. It stared at Magiere.

  Chap launched forward with a high-pitched snarl. In the time it takes to lick a muzzle clean with the tongue, the forest wall covered him from sight.

  * * * *

  Magiere woke in a panic and thrashed off her blanket in time to see Chap's rapidly moving body disappear into the forest. She jerked her falchion from its sheath in confusion, still heavy with sleep as she wondered what noise had broken through her exhaustion.

  "Leesil, wake up," she said quickly. "Chap is gone… after something."

  The dog rarely barked unless threatened. He never attacked unless ordered to do so by Leesil, and in the years Magiere had known him, the hound had never abandoned camp.

  An eerie, hate-filled cry floated through the forest from somewhere near the river. It was nothing she could imagine coming from a dog's throat.

  "Leesil… did you hear me?" She got to her feet. "Something is out there." Her amulets brushed against her companion's shoulder as she leaned over him and snapped, "Get up!"

  He murmured something and rolled away from her. The wineskin lay empty beside him.

  "You drunken sot," she said in frustration.

  Another raging cry echoed low through the trees, and this time she knew it was Chap. She hesitated for a moment as she considered whether or not she should leave Leesil alone. Then she charged into the forest toward the sound.

  Something had spooked the dog so badly that he'd attacked without orders or even bothering to wake the camp. Visions of Stravinan wolf packs tearing him apart pushed Magiere to move faster. She smashed through low-hanging branches and underbrush, the sound of the river growing stronger ahead.

  He wasn't even her dog, but he'd thrown his own body between hers and danger enough times that the thought of him being hurt bothered her more than she expected. The strange wailing snarl she'd heard earlier mingled with Chap's usual growling bark, but the closer she got to the river, the more the gurgling rush of water made it difficult to get a bearing on the dog's location.

  Magiere called out as she ran, "Chap, where are you?"

  She had no torch, but the nearly full moon gave just enough light to distinguish some passage through the forest. Twice she tripped, catching herself with her free hand while gripping the falchion tightly with the other. The earlier bungled fight with Leesil had left her muscles sore. She cursed the overzealous hound, from both frustration and concern. Through the trees she caught the glitter of moonlight on rippling water.

  "Chap!" she called again, rushing forward.

  A flicker of white passed through the left corner of her vision and she stopped. From the same direction came the sound of Chap's chopped barks. Magiere ran toward the sound, only to have it move off to the right, again toward the river. The forest broke into a small clearing upon the river's shore. What she saw caused her legs to freeze. Even from behind Chap, she could see the dark stains around his neck and shoulders. She moved wide to his left, not wanting to startle him.

  His muzzle was smeared and dripping, and though it was too dark to tell the color, she knew it was blood. Whatever fur on his body wasn't matted and wet stood straight out, making him look even larger than usual. The lips of his muzzle were pulled back, showing teeth in a shuddering snarl. Magiere's head turned slightly toward the dog's quarry, trapped against the river's edge.

  Man-shaped, it crouched in the mud and gravel, hands placed flat on the ground as if it could move on all fours if it so wished. Shreds of a shirt hung from its torso where Chap had torn at it. Trickles of blood ran from wounds down the arms and chest of this moon-colored man. The dark hair hanging to his shoulders appeared out of place, as if he'd been carved from pale wood with blackened com silk placed on his head as an afterthought. The stringy hair shadowed his face, but his eyes shone as if reflecting a nonexistent light. He lifted one emaciated hand to stare at the gashes of teeth marks ringing his wrist. Small gnarled nails, like misbegotten claws, extended from each
fingertip.

  "Not possible… just dog… but its touch burns." The man's voice was filled with surprise. "Filthy mongrel…" he hissed in anger, "could not hurt Parko, not like this."

  Glowing eyes turned away from his wounds as he became aware of Magiere's presence. The man's head began to tilt to one side, then farther and farther still, until it nearly rested upon his shoulder like an owl as he stared at Magiere. Hair fell away from his long face, and she tightened her grip on the falchion.

  Sunken cheeks and eye sockets made dark pockets in skin as white as a cave grub's. Some illness had wasted him away to thin muscle and bone.

  "Hunter?" he said with a sharp intake of breath, voice sweet and tonal. His head tilted farther sideways, then crow-chatter laughter erupted from his throat. "Hunter!"

  Magiere felt cold and fearful at that word. The man knew of her, or at least knew why she'd come to this place, yet she had never seen him before.

  He dodged left, springing from all fours.

  "Chap, stay back," Magiere ordered, but not quickly enough.

  Chap mirrored the man's movement, but before he landed, the white figure reversed direction in a forward leap to the right. Chap's front legs gave in the loose gravel as he tried to twist back. He toppled, skidding in a clatter on the river's rocky beach. Magiere saw the man's movement, right then left, then her eyes flicked toward Chap as the dog fell. She blinked.

  The man was in the air coming down upon her.

  Magiere ducked and rolled forward along the ground, passing under the airborne arc of the man. There was no time to ponder how he moved so fast or leaped so far. She spun and came up with her back to the river in time to see her assailant twist in the air, already facing her again. His feet barely touched the ground before he lunged at her.