“Why?”
“All he needs is to stay outside of the dagger’s power perimeter and have his children, his undead minions rip you apart. Remember, the dagger cannot kill a vampire, nor will it control a lesser vampire. Only a wooden stake through the heart or decapitation can kill them.”
Jacques shook himself and tapped the side of his top hat. Wet snow flung off of him. He extended his hand. “It was good meeting you, Forrest. I’m certain in the not so near future that I shall hear your name spoken in awe in many taverns and whispered in fear at cemeteries after sunset. The undead shall fear your name and the sight of seeing your shadow darkening their path will terrorize them.”
“Before you leave,” I said, shaking his hairy hand. “How did you know my father was near death?”
He grinned. “He and I took an oath and became blood brothers, back when we were no older than you. We were born under the same moon to mothers who were sisters. We each know the burden of the other.”
“You’re my cousin?”
“I am. Keep a keen eye on your mother and father during his recovery. Their safety depends upon you. Keep the dagger on you at all times, as it will repel the baron should he return. I’d advise you to keep one of your father’s stakes handy as well. I’m certain you know much about vampires from the legends, that they travel and seek their victims at night.”
I nodded.
“The master arrived at your cottage before the sunset, or did you not notice?”
“I thought it was darker than it should have been, but I didn’t think it was past sunset.”
“It wasn’t,” Jacques said. “Remember this. When the sky’s heavily overcast during a blizzard or a horrendous thunderstorm, a master can emerge from his lair unharmed to seek his prey, as the sun doesn’t rule the sky.”
“Thank you,” I replied. “For tending to my father’s injuries, your advice, and for making the baron run away.”
“Another tidbit of advice I leave with you. Age is the best instructor, for over time you gain experience, sometimes through your errors, and sometimes due to no fault of your own. But there’s no greater teacher than your own mistakes, just be certain that none of them are fatal ones. If you’re outmatched or outnumbered, there is no shame in retreat. Dying leaves you without a rematch.” He tapped a finger to the side of his head. “Use your wits. Study your enemies. Find their weaknesses. The last thing we hunters need is for one of us to become one of them.”
“I wish you could stay longer.”
Jacques smiled and nodded. “We shall meet again, Forrest. I have no doubts. You’ll be trained and even stronger than you presently are. But it will be misfortune that brings us together again. So, be safe and wary at all times.”
“Be safe in your travels.”
A second later he vanished through the forest. I thought about his last warning. Uneasiness crept inside me, more for the uncertainty of what was coming than any fear. Misfortune . . .
Chapter Five
After my werewolf cousin vanished into the night, I stood and watched the large swirling flakes plop, building higher. I thought about the things he had mentioned, about me becoming a vampire hunter, or rather his insistence that I already was. Regardless of what ambitions might have swayed me otherwise, my destiny had spoken this day.
My father’s broken body, his struggle to drag himself home when he should have already died, and standing my ground against a master vampire, defiantly protecting our home—these events molded my mind, revealing to me that I was born for one reason: to hunt and kill the ungodly bloodsuckers.
I had a lot to learn yet, but over time I discovered that some hunters didn’t distinguish in what they chose to hunt. Some sought to kill all vampires. Others stalked and killed werewolves. A few championed killing both, as they regarded both to be the direct spawns of the devil. Dependent upon the circumstances, I’d kill a hunter in favor of a werewolf if such choices needed to be made.
Jacques was the reason I vowed never to hunt a werewolf since he was my blood relative. Besides, werewolves and I held a common enemy. We were allies. From what I gathered from my cousin, werewolves enslaved by a master vampire wanted to be released from their captor. Attack the vampire, and there was a good chance—not a definite guarantee—that the pack would turn on their master. However, loyalties ranged at different levels.
I entered the cottage. The heat clung to me, melting away the thick layer of snow covering my clothes. I shed my heavy coat, hanging it on a spike stuck into the wall. I unbuckled my boots and set them beside the door. Momma had enough to fret about without the bothersome task of cleaning up unnecessary water pools on the hardwood floor.
My mind wondered with all of this information Jacques had blessed me with. Merely a wad of spit in the vast angry sea, but it was vital knowledge for me to retain. While my mother sat on a stool at the side of my father’s bed with her head wearily laid on the hard mattress, I dragged a chair and placed its back against the door and sat down. I was determined not to sleep through the night but instead to stand guard.
My mother whimpered softly until she finally dozed off with her head next to my father’s hand. I drew my dagger and held it in my hands, studying it in the faint glow of the bedside lantern and the soft fire flickering inside the hearth. The wood ax I propped to the side of my chair.
Jacques had said that the dagger couldn’t kill the master or any vampire, but since decapitation could, I favored the ax for my weapon for the night. Should the baron return, I expected he’d sense the dagger’s shield at the door as he had when I stood at our cottage door refusing to let him pass. Even if he returned, I didn’t expect him to charge at the door, but should he return with his faithful, undead offspring, they were the ones I needed to be concerned about.
After Momma had been asleep for over an hour, I rose from the chair and retrieved my father’s hunter box where she had taken the holy water. Six crude notches had been carved down one side of the box. I guessed that was the total number of vampire kills my father had made. I glanced toward him with a different sort of admiration. I had always viewed him as a hero, a soldier who had placed his life on the line by fighting in the Great War for what he believed important. But knowing he had fought against the most dangerous, unholy night creatures to save others from becoming enslaved undead minions, gave me pride to follow in his footsteps.
I unlatched the two silver clasps and lifted the top of the box. The various items inside intrigued me and already seemed to be a part of me.
Jacques had mentioned the wisdom of a past hunter had been bestowed upon me, and I no longer doubted it. I held one of the stakes. Excitement rose inside my chest. An unleashed vigor to drive the stake through the aged ribs of a vampire and pierce its withered heart drew my impatience. The baron’s face came to mind. Anger surged inside of me. Vengeance.
My heartbeat hammered. Renewed energy radiated, giving me a desperate need to rush through the forest and hunt down the baron, his minions, and kill them all. Their desperate shrills before their deaths whispered at the edges of my ears. The aged scent of grave dust wafted beneath my nose. Watching them shrivel in their final moments made me giddy inside.
I urgently fought against my self-restraint, but finally acquiesced, putting the stake into its proper slot inside the heavy box. The moment I put the stake back, the harsh adrenaline impulsion waned. It was then I noticed that I had been salivating as my senses overloaded, feasting upon fulfilling my duties as a vampire hunter. After wiping the drool from the sides of my mouth with the back of my hand, I lifted the next item.
The silver cross.
The blistered cross outline on my father’s chest matched this particular cross. This one must have been his spare. No telling where the other was now or why the outline remained a permanent design on his skin. Only after my father awakened could he reveal the story behind that, as well as the other pertinent confirmations for which my curiosity demanded answers.
Beneath the silver
cross rested a tattered bible. I thought the combination of the two items a bit odd since none of my family attended cathedral services, and yet my father faithfully carried these holy relics in spite of our pagan beliefs. But, perhaps he had his reasons.
From the legends I learned that vampires were unholy, ungodly creatures, cursed forever without the hope for redemption. We children had been told that the cathedral property was sanctuary or hallowed ground. Vampires could never set foot upon such territory, but later I learned this wasn’t always true. Jacques had been correct in saying that all legends contain both truth and deceit. This legend was one of them.
During my century-plus years hunting vampires in the farthest reaches of the world, I have miscalculated and made mistakes based more often upon what legends deemed true. At eight years of age, during the innocence of my learning, I held the church sanctuary sacred property from the undead monsters until deadly events unfolded that proved otherwise. That, however, is a story for a later time.
In the early morning hours, I held and examined each item inside my father’s hunter box. While the full knowledge for each individual weapon was not entirely revealed to me, occasional disturbing visions and images disrupted inside my mind. Often these bursts of insight were so disconcerting that I pressed my weight against the door to reinforce it, ever mindful that my father was still under attack.
There was a connection between the contents and myself. I sensed the drawing power, how this destined link prompted my young mind with necessary information. And although this knowledge solicited me, I wasn’t foolish enough to refuse the fact that while I might understand what each proponent within the hunter’s tools represented and how they might be used, I was still not properly trained to act quite yet. I wasn’t seasoned. I lacked experience. To rush off into the night with the box was quite possibly my immediate death, regardless of the urgent push inside my soul to exterminate these unholy demon soul leeches.
Slowly I closed the box, reflecting on its contents and again of the knowledge Jacques had bestowed unto me. It was then when other questions that had plagued me for the past several months were finally answered.
All of the children living in cottages inside the forest met three days a week for schooling. We met in an abandoned building that had remained unoccupied after the Great War. Since no one had ever reclaimed it, our parents agreed it was a suitable place for us to be taught.
From the time I was enrolled, I had been the largest child there. Even the children in their early teens were smaller than me. I was shunned because they were frightened by my size, which is understandable. I’ve always been intimidating to other children, usually upon first glance, and without even trying. It didn’t help that my mouth curved partially downward, like I was unhappy or angry all the time. My brow was also firm, even, like a frown. People often misread me, thinking I was an angry child. But my father always corrected them, saying, “Trust me. You’ll know when he’s really angry.”
A couple of my teachers didn’t know how to view me, but a few of them I intrigued. They marveled at my incredible knowledge and often held discussions with me like they would with other adults, never talking down to me. I found it strange that the some of the history books we were assigned to read—books I’d never even read before—weren’t new information for me. What I sometimes read seemed familiar, like old news. We didn’t have any books at home, so I wondered how I already knew the information. When I did happen upon new tomes filled with new information, I devoured them and retained what I read.
My teachers eventually told my parents that there wasn’t any need to have me continue schooling, as there wasn’t anything more they could teach me. I didn’t begrudge their decision, even though at the time, I had recently turned eight years old. To be released from the school because I was too smart should have been the greatest compliment, but it stung. For I was already alienated by the other children because I was different, and now, the teachers, some of which had treated me with the utmost respect, were also excluding me from a social group I longed to remain a part of. Over time, other groups would do the same thing but for different reasons altogether. Thus was the life of a vampire hunter, to be solitary and nomadic, never truly having a home because our duties to eradicate the undead required us to seek them out. But for the several months after I was dismissed from the school—up until I met Jacques—I questioned how it was possible for me to contain all of the knowledge that set me apart from the others; information I shouldn’t have known.
Jacques had told me that wisdom and knowledge of a former hunter had been given to me. His revelation was what I needed.
I glanced toward my father’s bed. It creaked slightly as my mother rose, slipped onto the bed next to my father, and positioned herself to the edge of him, barely touching, careful not to hurt him.
When she fell asleep again, softly snoring, I stood and covered them with a heavy quilt. Her hand clutched desperately to the blanket beneath his arm, identical to the hope inside her heart that he’d ever be with her. I watched them sleep for several moments. The bond of their love was incredibly strong. For whatever reason, I knew such love from a significant other was something I’d never find during my lifetime. Why this foreshadowing knowledge pierced my mind, I don’t know. Maybe it was to ease the burden early, to prepare me for my constant predestined roaming. The less baggage one had, the less grounds for an attack from a bitter enemy. Not to say that love is a burden, certainly it had never been for my parents, but when an enemy sought to cause the most agony, they struck where it hurt the most—those closest to your heart.
I left them lost to sleep and headed to the hearth. Little flames flickered. Quietly I placed another split piece of firewood onto the fire. Embers rose. A gust of heat greeted the log, licking at the sides of the wood.
I couldn’t afford to let the fire extinguish during the night. This was the last chunk of wood inside the cottage, which was why I had delayed placing it into the hearth. I hoped that it lasted until morning. I didn’t want to scrounge through the snow-covered woodpile while it was still dark without someone to keep watch over the door. With an armload of the firewood I wasn’t able to open the door, so I’d have to leave the door cracked open. During that time who knew what might sneak inside the house? In addition to that thought, I realized I was defenseless while carrying wood and vulnerable to attack. The one piece of wood had to do until morning’s light.
Chapter Six
Morning came without incident. No violent attacks occurred during the night. After my confrontation with the baron the day before and his disoriented departure, I hadn’t expected him to return anytime soon anyway.
I did expect him to be plotting, not only to kill my father, but my mother and myself as well. He seemed the type. I held no doubt that it was attuned to his pompous nature. Aristocrats, governors, and members of royalty were seldom forgiving to those who didn’t respect their title or prominence, often viewing the person as an unruly enemy. An enemy that must be imprisoned or publicly executed.
The fire was near death, so I pulled my heavy coat over my shoulders, wrapped my scarf around my neck, and slid my hands inside sheepskin gloves. I glanced toward my parents before opening the door. My mother had, during the night, placed her hand on my father’s chest, subconsciously checking for his heartbeat I supposed. His chest rose slightly and fell. He was alive, for which we were thankful, and I couldn’t wait for him to awaken. There was much he needed to explain to me; things he should have already told me, so I needed him to survive in a much different way than my mother did.
Easing the door open, I faced a knee-high wall of packed snow that had accumulated overnight. The frigid wind swirled with less snow than the evening before. I trudged onto the snow bank and tugged the door almost closed. Snow clung to the sides of the trees, revealing the direction the night wind had blown. The forest was eerily silent, other than the occasional sound of snow clumps dropping from the trees and thudding onto the snowy forest fl
oor.
Before heading toward the woodpile I searched the surrounding snow for footprints of any sort. Not finding any, I was somewhat relieved. Still no full sunlight, but at least the thinning clouds forecasted a coming break in the blizzard. The less ominous skies meant, at least from what Jacques had told me, that the master vampire would not risk leaving his lair during this day. The sun would eventually shine, making vampires seek the darkness of their tombs.
Wearily I tramped my way through the deep snow to the woodpile. I needed sleep, but chores needed attended to before I could do so. I hefted an armload of frozen firewood to the cottage door and leaned my back against the door, pushing it open.
Momma aroused, perhaps at the noise of the whistling cold wind rushing across the threshold or the clumsiness of my heavy footsteps when I stepped down from the snow onto the hardwood floor. She eased from the bed and met me at the door. Once I was inside, she closed the door.
I lowered the armful of firewood at the side of the door, but no matter how hard one tried, there was never a quiet way to release a heavy bundle of wood onto the floor.
When I rose, I turned to apologize, but she placed a warm hand against my cheek and smiled. Her endearing smile caught me off-guard because she had endured such heartache the evening before, which still hung heavy on her heart. But a mother’s smile, one mixed with love and pride, was enough to make a hardened heart relax.
“You’re so much like your father,” she said softly. She rose on tiptoe and kissed my forehead. “And . . . you’ve grown so quickly. Your age is a deception because I fear, you’ll soon be leaving us.”
Momma walked past me, grabbed the miracle salve my cousin had left, and went to apply it to my father’s cuts and abrasions. I had to admit, in the glow of the lantern, his wounds were remarkably smaller. The salve was working.
“Momma, why would I leave? I’m still a boy.”
Forrest Wollinsky: Vampire Hunter [Book One] Page 4
