by Stead, Nick
My words did get a reaction. All other emotion froze beneath icy hatred, his features twisting into a snarl. “You dare talk to me like that? I will have your throat right now, and we shall revel in the extinction of your species, vermin!”
Lady Sarah positioned herself between us before I could say anything else. “Peace, Elder. You say the murders happened during the full moon? I have been by the wolf’s side, keeping him in check and ensuring he would not unwittingly deliver himself to the Slayers, nor create a fresh trail for them to follow. I swear to you he is not to blame.”
Ulfarr looked at her with disbelief. “So you can account for everything he did after the moon robbed him of his senses?”
“I give you my word he is not the killer.”
“If I find out you are lying to me, I will have your head as well, Lady.” He turned his gaze back to me and spat “Get out of my sight, beast.”
I wanted to argue. Maybe another fight was what the rage needed to spark back into life. But Lady Sarah knew me too well. She gave a quick bow of her head to Ulfarr, then grabbed my arm and pulled me away.
Her grip lessened as we stepped outside and I shook her off. The uncomfortable feel of the stolen clothes was suddenly unbearable and I ripped them off, letting the transformation take hold and carry me back to the shape of the animal they all believed me to be. Then I broke into a run, mulling over this latest turn of events all the way to the moors.
“What was the point in taking me there just to be accused and have my life threatened?” I growled, in human form again and still looking for a fight, even though the emotions wouldn’t come. “If it was so dangerous to be around a bunch of vampires that clearly don’t need much reason to kill werewolves, why go there in the first place?”
Lady Sarah ignored my question, her eyes searching mine. “Did you kill him, Nick?”
“What? No! Of course I didn’t – why would I kill a vampire?”
“You were out of control for those first two months after the battle, and again this full moon. We cannot be sure where you went or what you might have done. Let the wolf answer me: did you kill the vampire?”
I sighed and called out to the wolfish half of my consciousness, but it had been as much a blackout period for him as it was for me.
“He doesn’t know. That need to kill we were feeling was like a drug or booze or something; it just took over and everything went hazy till it wore off again.”
“I feared as much. It is possible a werewolf might turn on another undead and even succeed in killing some of us, especially if you caught your victim unawares. In a crazed state you would be a formidable opponent for even the more powerful of vampires like myself.”
“Great. So for the older vampires who are still prejudiced there’s no doubt in their minds I am guilty, simply because of what I am, and now even you aren’t sure of my innocence. Looks like I’m screwed then.”
“I do not want to believe you are the killer but we know of no other surviving werewolves, and I must admit this does look like a werewolf attack.” Regret slid into her eyes and sadness crept into her voice. “If they find you guilty, I cannot protect you.”
I glared at her. Part of me wanted to keep on arguing but it didn’t matter how angry I tried to act – the emotion just wasn’t there. Even accused of murder I was sure I hadn’t committed, the fire still wouldn’t rekindle. My shoulders slumped and I turned away, staring out over the barren landscape in defeat.
And how could I be sure it wasn’t me? Without a way to fill the gaps in my memory, I could no more answer where I’d run off to or what I’d done than Lady Sarah could. I knew I’d killed and I had some vague memories of people screaming and blood running freely, their flesh tearing in my jaws. But there was nothing in those few brief snatches of memory to suggest any of them had been vampires.
Even if the two undead had been among my victims, could I be held guilty for crimes committed when I wasn’t in control of my actions? The vampires had already demonstrated they didn’t need any real reason to kill me so I supposed that wouldn’t matter to them. They viewed me the same way mankind viewed large predators – as ferocious brutes. Which brought me back to my original question.
“Why take me to that meeting if there was a risk they’d kill me without waiting for any evidence?” I asked, turning back to her.
Lady Sarah looked as beaten down as I felt. There was something disconcerting about that when she’d always seemed so strong and in charge of the world around her. “They demanded our presence there. Had we not attended, it would only have given them more cause to distrust us.”
“To distrust me, you mean. You could always leave me to my fate; there’s no reason for you to die as well if they’re intent on blaming me for this.”
She shook her head. “I will not abandon you now. If you did kill the two vampires I can at least try to prevent the loss of more lives, though I would highly doubt you would make a habit of killing undead, let alone develop a liking for vampire flesh. We all share a hunger for living prey, and even a vampire who recently fed would be a poor substitute for the true warmth of living flesh. Not to mention the risk to you of attacking creatures stronger than yourself, something that goes against every predator’s instincts. It is unlikely you would continue to be successful, even in the grip of so powerful a bloodlust. No matter what Ulfarr may think, if you were the killer, I believe these to be isolated incidents, and something you are not likely to repeat in the months to come. For now we will continue to keep a low profile and hope they find evidence to incriminate another undead.”
I took a moment to think over that. Despite the reasons she’d given, I wasn’t entirely sure why she was helping me – it wasn’t like we’d earned each other’s undying loyalty. But I needed an ally more than ever, so I had to trust she knew what she was doing. There was something else that was bothering me though.
“I know you said vampires and werewolves are never going to be best mates given our long and bloody history, but why does this Elder hate us so much? I was sensing the same level of hatred from him as the Slayers have for us, and it felt like more than just prejudice or a grudge dating back to the war our races waged against each other. Why was he looking at me with such loathing?”
“Ah, there is still much you do not understand, young wolf,” she said with a sigh. “Very well. You wanted a story of ages long past? I will tell you the saga of Ulfarr, our living legend. But you may not like what you hear.”
I was reminded of the morning we’d met, after my first transformation. Once again she paused to collect her thoughts, her eyes closed and her head bowed. When next she spoke, her voice held a sense of the ages, and her words carried that power which only the greatest of stories can achieve.
“In a time when mankind was still evolving, when men were still very much a part of the natural world, this legend was born. As a child he was no different to the other boys of his tribe, but he would grow to be a champion of his people, a great hunter and mighty warrior, renowned for his prowess in battle against men and beast alike.
“As a man, it is said he was every bit as fierce as the great predators of the land. He made his first kill when he was no more than seven years of age, and he would fearlessly drive off dire wolves, and wrestle bears with his bare hands. But no mortal is invincible and no matter how great the man he once was, his downfall was inevitable. Whether to the ravages of time or to the claws of a beast, even this mighty champion would someday meet his end.
“And that end came on the fateful hunt for Dread-Tooth, greatest of the mighty sabre-toothed cats of their time. Dread-Tooth was a fearsome predator, biggest of all his brethren with eyes that shone like fire in the night, fangs thicker than a man’s arm and like great daggers, and claws sharper than any crafted knife or spear. Many fell to those cruel teeth and claws. Dread-Tooth developed a taste for human flesh and he returned to the tribe night after night to prey on the people. He bore the scars from previous encounters with man, yet no
matter how many spears found their mark, it seemed nothing could stop him. The wounds healed and the beast returned, as powerful as ever.
“Long was Dread-Tooth’s reign of terror. Fear of him grew amongst the tribesmen, until only one dared stand against him. Their champion stood alone, as strong and impressive a figure as Dread-Tooth himself, and driven by that dark human need for revenge. For among the victims were none other than his wife and son. And when the beast charged, he did not so much as flinch.
“Dread-Tooth pounced, but this champion of men moved with greater speed than the beast had encountered before, and his fangs snapped shut around nothing but air. A terrible pain stabbed through his flank, another spear biting into his flesh. It was enough to drive the beast off, and he limped away to lick his wounds and regain his strength.
“The champion saw his chance. He set out to hunt down his adversary and finish what he’d started, but even wounded the beast remained a formidable opponent. The sun had already risen before he tracked down his quarry, and Dread-Tooth was ready for him.
“So began another bloody struggle. Six times the champion jabbed at his foe, opening up six more wounds. They only angered the beast. With the seventh, the spear found its mark in the beast’s heart, and those two fiery eyes glazed over, his jaws slackening, his fearsome fangs no longer a threat. But this victory came at a terrible price. Mortally wounded, the man stumbled away with four deep gashes across his abdomen.
“He struggled on until he could go no further, collapsing from loss of blood. And there he lay, his strength slowly fading, yet still he continued to fight for life long after night fell.
“But even in such primitive times, all those millennia ago, there were far worse than mortal beasts stalking the night. It was of course a vampire who would claim this man’s human life, drawn by the scent of his blood. And weakened though he was, when the female vampire began to drain what little of that crimson life force he had left, still this champion of men attempted to fight. It is said the vampire was so impressed by this show of bravery and strength that she could not bring herself to end his life, so instead she passed on the gift of vampirism. And so a mortal legend passed into immortality.
“Unable to return to his tribe, their champion became their worst nightmare. For thousands of years he stalked the long hours of darkness, the greatest of predators. But the world began to change as mankind evolved and shaped the land around them, and even in those days long before the Demon Slayers formed, the undead were forced to be more careful. We vampires will always be vulnerable during the day, and man’s reach was extending ever outwards, invading the old haunts of our race.
“With the rise of Lycaon and his great pack, the balance of power shifted and men were again no more than prey for the beasts that stalked them. Many of the younger vampires still bore the human desire for conquest, and for the first time in our history we were no longer solitary hunters of the night. Thus we began to ally together as a race, so we might wrest the land from Lycaon and his wolves and claim it as our own. Yet every faction needs a leader, and too many of those with a thirst for power wanted the position for themselves.
“And so the idea of the Elders was born. Only the eldest of our race had the power to unite us in the fight against the werewolves, and we turned to them for leadership. But most of the older vampires had no interest in waging war, content to keep to the shadows as they had always done. They were of another time, before the need to dominate corrupted the heart of mankind. Yet there was one who would fight.
“Once a champion of men, he would now become a champion of vampires, and the first to be given the title of Elder. And this first Elder vampire was every bit as ruthless and ferocious in battle against the werewolves as he had been against mortal beasts. Lycaon met his downfall when his pack turned on each other, but for each new werewolf seeking to follow in Lycaon’s footsteps, the Elder would be there to crush them before they could rise to power. He had retained his feral nature from the life he’d lived as a human and he fought with a savagery the younger vampires lacked. If he had a name as a man it has long since been lost to the ages, but he soon earned the title of Wolf’s Bane.
“Even after the Age of Men was restored and we returned to our solitary ways, still he would hunt down werewolves with a single minded ferocity. It became his custom to wear the pelts of his enemies. Even men came to respect the might of this monstrous warrior, but it wasn’t until early in the Viking era when he was given the name Ulfarr, or Wolf Warrior. Originally it was meant as Wolf Slayer or Wolf Killer, until the meaning changed over time, but it suited him and he has kept that name to this day.
“Over the centuries, the rise of the Slayers forced our races to become allies, weakened as our forces were from fighting amongst ourselves. Yet Ulfarr could never bring himself to trust creatures born of the same bestial nature that had claimed the lives of his wife and son. Our greatest leader withdrew into the shadows, unwilling to deal with wolves, let alone fight alongside them. But if ever a werewolf turned on us or was deemed too troublesome, it was to Ulfarr we would look to hunt them down. And it shames me to say the extinction of your race is as much my kind’s doing as the Slayers’.
“So now you know why I wished to keep you away from all this. Ulfarr will not hesitate to kill you, given even the slightest of reasons. You need to tread carefully from now on.”
I listened to the saga with mixed feelings. The love of stories I’d had as a human kept me entranced, though I couldn’t help but snarl through the second half of the tale. I could respect Ulfarr’s deeds as a human, when he’d killed the big carnivores to protect his people. But the way he’d butchered countless werewolves over the centuries seemed too much like the mindless slaughter humans indulged in, despite his insistence we were better than them when he’d spoken during the meeting. And killing animals needlessly for sport or out of fear and hatred was something I’d always loathed as much as my wolfish half, giving rise to my own hatred and creating an instant dislike for this Elder. Was I really any better than any of them when I’d also taken to killing in cold blood though?
Lady Sarah seemed to sense the impact the story had made on me, and the questions it created, just as her tale of Lycaon had done. She waited for me to break the silence.
“How much of that is actually true?”
“The details may have grown with the telling over so many thousands of years, but the story itself is true. Ulfarr has walked this earth longer than any other surviving undead, and though he has picked up some elements of civilisation over the years – most notably language – he still retains aspects of that primal nature of his humanity.”
“If he’s pretty animalistic himself, how can he hate werewolves so much? It wasn’t even a wolf that took his family from him!”
“Hatred is never rational. Some say he witnessed a werewolf killing a woman and child just as Dread-Tooth had done, and it opened up that old wound. Hatred became rage and rage became bloodlust, driving him to kill.”
“So why doesn’t he just kill me, if his hate’s already convinced him I’m guilty? Why bother calling the meeting tonight?”
“The alliance between undead has always been tenuous at the best of times. Ghouls are also solitary for the most part, and it goes against our natures to band together. If Ulfarr kills you without any reason, it could cause more fighting amongst ourselves which can only lead to extinction for us all. And we also look to our Elders for justice as well as leadership. Just as humanity have their laws and customs to maintain peace, there is a need for it in our society also. It is rare for one of our kind to turn on our own but it has happened, as we both saw with Vince.
“It was Ulfarr’s duty to warn vampire-kind and our allies that there appears to be a killer among us, and if the culprit is caught alive it will fall to him to carry out the execution. So you must not give him a reason to convict you because no matter how little evidence, if there is something to suggest your guilt it will be enough to satisfy the oth
ers. And that’s all Ulfarr needs to carry out your execution, which would bring him no greater pleasure, of that I am certain.”
“Great,” I said again. “There’s one other thing I don’t understand though. If an Elder vampire like Ulfarr is so powerful and commands so much respect, why doesn’t he lead us into battle against the Slayers? Why did it fall to me in the battle we fought back home?”
“Ah, if you think I am overly cautious, it is as nothing compared to the wariness of the Elders in the face of modern technology. Even a vampire so old and powerful as Ulfarr would perish in the blast from the bombs mankind have developed, so they will not risk open warfare for fear of leading us all to our deaths. And even the Elders remain vulnerable through the daylight hours. No matter how many victories Ulfarr could bring us, there will always be more Slayers, and as arrogant as men can be, they are not entirely stupid. They might prefer the sport of hunting and killing us through the night, but they will track down our daylight refuges if necessary. Especially those of us who pose too great a threat to face in the hours of darkness.”
“So that’s it then, we’re just going to hide in the shadows until we fade away into myth and legend?”
Lady Sarah spread her arms either side of her, suddenly sounding tired. “What more can we do?”
She didn’t want another argument, knowing it would get us nowhere. And without the anger driving me, I didn’t have any real reason to argue either. So I let it go. It had been a long night and I soon slipped into more troubled sleep.
CHAPTER TEN
Dead Inside
I was back in the familiar darkness of my bedroom, the early morning light just beginning to bleed through my curtains and chase away some of the shadows. But I still felt cold. Even curled up in my old bunk bed beneath my thick winter duvet, there was none of the comfort my surroundings should have brought me.
My bedroom door creaked open and I heard footsteps approaching. They were too heavy to belong to Mum or Amy. I pulled the covers over my head. Of all the family members I wished I could see again, he was the last one I wanted to talk to.
