Skybound Satanists

by Spark, Luc

  “This is Artyom he comes from the north countries near Russia, he has a strong influence up there, anyway enough prattle he will show you the way to your sleeping quarters , where there is strong timber beds that double up as coffins if you like, and plenty of ale and salted beef and the finest mead that has ever been brewed courtesy of David’s unorthodox brewing methods-make yourselves at home and be merry, you will receive your wakeup call at six am, I bid you farewell for the time being” Bogdan announced.

  Food the most obvious critical need to man and yet not once had Viorel given it deep thought, with him being a vampire he presumed that he would not need to eat, perhaps this was just optional for the joy of the taste or maybe the folklore and myths about vampires were untrue and that blood alone would not be enough to sustain him. He decided to go and find Dretore to report what was about to happen during the course of the week and also to ask some quick but important questions. The only problem with this was actually finding Dretore, the last time he had seen him was walking with David towards the far end of the camp. Viorel decided to ask around to see if anyone had seen his obligatory leader, but first Artyom lead him and Jacque across the courtyard and through a large brass door. Through the door, there were rows and rows of pentagrams and statues of werewolves and a giant flying gargoyle suspended from the ceiling twenty feet above the pristine red carpet floor. The corridor oozed everything possible linked to gothic culture, it was like a long walkway to Lucifer’s chamber. Except within forty meters, there was a sharp T-junction, Artyom progressed them down the left hand and along up a huge winding staircase with steps made of cold and hellish stone, their footsteps echoing to unbelievable decibels. They traversed another corridor and arrived at what was to be their allocated sleeping quarters. Artyom gave a solid knock on the door, his hands as big as a Kamchatka bear, which forced a female vampire to shout out in irritation.

  “Come in then, you rejects of hell!”

  Artyom swung open the door and gave a forced nod to the stunning vampire laid on one of the giant four poster beds. He handed both Jacque and Viorel a bedroom key and reminded them of the early morning wake up alarm, then he scampered off down the corridor and out of sight. Jacque found this quite amusing that an individual so big could be belittled by someone so apparently soft and fragile-least on the outside.

  “I guess he respects a woman’s authority then, we should talk to him later on Viorel and perhaps take the piss out of him”

  The exquisite female vampire gave her name as Anna and claimed to be descended from a line of Russian royalty. Both Jacque and Viorel could feel an instant attraction towards her; she seemed to have a very strong pulsating and magnetic aura about her, something which she no doubt used when enticing her victims for the big blood drink.

  Both fellows took up their respective positions and started to make themselves at home, Jacques bed was new because he had previously been on the eastern side of the camp with some more French vampires. Jacque decided to break the ice to the female vampire in the most pathetically cheesy fashion.

  “So exactly what do you look for in a vampire?”

  She gave out a rather unnerving and hugely sarcastic response.

  “I look for a vampire who is honest at all time, undemanding when it comes to the feed-and one who does not smell like a rotten cabbage field”

  Viorel could not hold up his growing sense of amusement any longer, he proceeded to drop to the floor and roll around like a pantomime clown on special mushrooms grown in the depths of Germanic forests. This, in turn, roused Jacque to look on the funny side too.

  “Yeah okay Anna I see what you’re getting across, you basically have no bloody heart and are perhaps a carpet munching lesbian, you obviously don’t appreciate a flamboyant French wonder like my good self, but hear this cabbages are good for your glands”

  Anna went to stage two upon hearing Jacques response.

  “Good for glands but bad for love and relationships, now I suggest that you two get some shut eye because Artyom will be sure to reanimate your pathetic corpses at six am for your early morning start, good night boys and don’t be perverts on me or else ill sodding drain you harder than your creators could ever have”

  With them, final words Anna drifted into a deep sinister sleep, of lying in a sea of maggots while having crows peck out her glassy eyeballs…her version of a beautiful dream that she did not want to be woken from for love nor money. With not much else to do for the evening, Jacque and Viorel decided to turn in as well. Jacque began to fall into a deep slumber, dreaming of the day he could lead France’s most powerful army of vampires, as for Viorel his dream world was more of a bizarre vision… he dreamt of a time traveling horse that would shape the course of his destiny and that of a hunched follower now what the blinking Dickens was all that about?

  Heading Thirty Degrees Southwest To an Unknown Cave, 1826

  Thomas was in complete and utter turmoil, the inside of his head was like a pressure valve waiting to burst. The nerves of his entire anatomy had been jarred to pieces, control was losing and random episodes of deathly panic attacks and vomiting were succeeding. Convulsions, breathlessness, blackouts and anything else deemed to be worth writing a will for were now part of his miserable existence. This was all self-made by his meek and imploding brain. The lifetime of failure had finally taken its heavy toll on this pitiful guy, and his final days of fighting off the breakdown had done him no favors. Even his vomit appeared to look up with disdain at the exit point from which it was produced, Thomas’s plaque ridden mouth. The outer points of his eyeballs felt like stress sensors that echoed the deep pain he was feeling inside, to put it in clear context, they were ready to shoot out of his head like bullets fired from a musket. From being bullied throughout his entire schooling years to the failure of his marriage and the complete disaster of his fleeting career as an accountant, Thomas could no longer muster the slightest feeling of self-worth. The time was at hand for him to do what most under achieving people want to do at some time or another; it was time to find that cave and blinking well hide and rot in it. The cave will be his new mistress; it will never patronize him or cheat on him, or cut short his wage cheque. The cave is the answer and the only logical place left that made any sense in his crazy world. The very word logic no longer applied to his life, there was no justice and no cause left to fight for. Everything was just a stop gap for the eventuality and racing certainty of death and despair. All Thomas could be sure of is that he wished he could just trot into his local tavern for one last jar of liver rotting ale. He had always got on well with the regular patrons there, but the thought of how would they respond to him now sent his broken heart into flutters that could disturb the plates of the earth. Alcoholism was often sneered at by the well off and prim and proper folk of Bucharest. They saw it as a religion to the lower classes and above all else a weakness worthy of ridicule. To Thomas, it had been an escape from his toad level existence, the warmth of the broth sliding down his wretched failed throat. The fumes gently drowning out the smell of excrement from the sewers, and the intoxication that ale produced once consumed removed all shards of insecurity and self-doubt, for the few hours the effect lasted he could go ten rounds with a werewolf and not care about his bones being shattered and his blood being spilled. Only now the years of downing the hard stuff had taken its toll on him, as he walked down the long road out towards the mountains one cock of his head produced the sight of the tavern that had been his friend. He could see inside the main door the rows of tables that sat the many boozers who had nothing left in life other than like he once did the glory of death juice.

  One of the patrons lifted his drunken cranium and opened his mouth in awe. The patron had got a good look at the hunch backed and purple eyed figure trudging along the road, he could hardly believe that this was the same man who took him for two coins at the customary annual blackjack tournament held at the tavern every December. The shock went straight to the gentleman’s head and he shrugged it off
as the ale doing a good job on him, he decided to order another to see what other images it might hallucinate for him. Thomas began to feel tears well up in his eyes, the guy had not recognized him or at least did not see the need to acknowledge him. With the confirmation that life was over and the game was lost, Thomas continued up the road passing the lines of tailors, blacksmiths, and the occasional whore house, until he came to the mud track that led up along columns of shrubbery and small trees towards the winding mountain road. No more than fifty yards outside the main gate to the city, a stout guard armed with a spear and crossbow demanded to know where Thomas was heading.

  “Sir on the authority of Prince Tepes, I require you tell me your destination”

  With hardly the slightest of emotion, Thomas responded.

  “Piss off guard my destination is my own business, I have had one hell of a week and I see no reason to partake in any further conversation with you”

  This did not strike the desired response for the guard, he rubbed the back of his neck, and Thomas could see the thick muscles of his chest expand as the guard went into official mode.

  “Sir I will ask the question only one more time of you, then I will be forced if you don’t comply of course… to use my skills to the level deemed acceptable by the Prince’s guard union, mark my words the union doesn’t look down on bone breaking and any other action which might arrive”

  Thomas so deep into his own personal dilemma paid no heed to the guards warning and he began to walk away with the hunch in his back getting worse like he was aging at an accelerated speed. The guard stayed true to his threat and used his training in “population management” to its fullest effect. The code book clearly stated that the general population, which covered anyone who was not of noble or military rank, or at least wealthy enough to have a degree of status… could be literately skull crushed into a stupor. The guard made the stringent point of reading the code book from cover to cover like his own personal bible; he did not want to end up on the wrong end of a court martial for negligence to his duty. With the skulking working class offender slowly walking away with his back to him, the guard charged him and knocked him hard to the muddy ground. Thomas gave out a rather girly and cowardly wail.

  “What on god’s green earth did you do that for you oversized arsing lummox?”

  The guard in no mood to carry on being diplomatic launched Thomas sternly against the closest tree; a snap could be heard coming from Thomas’s shoulder.

  “My god oh the mighty Lord above, you have dislodged my bastard accounting shoulder!” shrieked the failed accountant.

  The guard howled back.

  “That’s just the beginning sir, are we having fun yet because I sure am, this even beats the thumping I gave my commanding officer when I found him in bed with my pet ameba…oddly named Brenda?”

  Thomas frantically scoped the immediate area for some makeshift weapon, but all he could see was grass, mud, and shrubbery. That’s when he saw the hostile and white knuckled fist hurtling towards his weak face. With his nerves shot to pieces, there was no chance for him to duck the eventual impact that sent him back over onto the ground. With his nose looking like a piece of jelly stuck to his face he realized that it was truly broken and not going to be of much use to breathe through. The guard obviously reveling in his power and knowledge of physical assault did not stop there. First, he launched into another spout of stupid dialogue.

  “Now then sir it appears to me that your nose is broken like an eggshell, allow me to take your mind off that pain by introducing another, trust me you are in the good and able hands of a trained savage, which goes by another name… Bucharest main gate security personal-Guard Igor”.

  The guard getting increasingly more above himself and confident carried on.

  “We at gate security are the only members of Bucharest’s lower class who are allowed anywhere near Prince Vlad without the promise of instant impalement, what that means is the prince loves authority and imposing it on others, and we are his direct link to you the general population… to ram the final nail into your coffin what this means in the simplest of terms is around here we are the law and if we say dance you do it”

  Thomas could not muster the strength to come back with some semi credible retort; instead, he just gave out a pathetic plea.

  “Guard Igor I sincerely do apologize if I seemed to be offhand with you, I have some personal problems that have forced me to take a walk until I can find my inner self”

  The guard was without any doubt not convinced by this desperate attempt at a reprieve. He cracked his enormous knuckles and adjusted his chain mail, the weight of it made guards sweat like pigs in the summer. All regal and covered with well-made and strong studs dotting the outside, the chain mail was obligatory for all guards to wear, because sometimes the peasants were known to try and launch an assault against any form of authority. The guard decided to get intelligent with his bloodied and battered victim.

  “Sir, now I’m no mental doctor or philosopher, but it appears to me that your trying to make excuses for being no more than a drifter, you had your chance to simply pass on to me some simple information and you declined my request, and that’s what has got you into this pickle at present”

  Thomas with a sudden bolt of intelligence decided to go for the money shot, it was either that or he would be beaten more until his life gave out; desperate times call for desperate measures.

  “Okay my noble guard you leave me no other choice, my life is officially over as of this moment, I have nothing left to live for because my whore of a wife has filed for divorce, I lost my job at the city’s accounting firm and my old drinking partners down at the Dog and tickle tavern look at me like I’m something that belongs on the sole of their shoe”

  The guard felt a sudden overwhelming wave of sympathy engulf his bulky torso; the sympathy was striking him in floods. Regardless of this, he reminded himself that he had a duty to uphold, he had his own wife to support and could not afford to simply turn a blind eye to this man’s misfortunes and let him wander off into the wilderness. His meager guard’s salary was bad enough but if any other guard saw him being slack in his enforcing then they would be sure to tell on him to the head guard over at the security tower. Like a shining beacon of light Igor the guard had an idea, what he would do is perhaps use some brain power to get a result out of this. Brains not being high up on his skill list, this would be tough but not altogether improbable. Igor started to use his brain for the purpose of not decided what punch to land, but this time to decide how he could make sure that none of the other guards could spot what he was going to do. The hammer hit him like a trolls head butt, there was the guard’s entertainment tent no more than thirty yards to his left. On this tent, there were many items of joker tools and general light hearted objects. The owner and court jester Arnold was away at the tavern getting himself tanked up for his demanded performance for Bucharest’s most wealthy clergy tonight. The pride of Arnold’s performance was to pull off his face to the shock of his audience. What Igor knew was that he simply attached a rubber mask to his face which was what really got pulled off. The audience being simpletons believed he had two faces. To cut the prattle short, Igor’s mind calculated that he could put on the mask and walk around without being identified-then he could conduct his business with the hunched drifter.

  The plan was flawless and simply brilliant; Igor gave himself a mental pat on the back and broke into speech.

  “Drifter you stay very much still and wait for my return, don’t even visualize wandering off you feeble little turd”

  Thomas still oozing blood from his destroyed nose gave a shaky nod of his dizzy head.

  “Okay Igor the guard I will wait until you return”

  The guard quickly ran off to the tent, he had a quick look around to make sure no other guards were in the vicinity, and then he donned his mask. The fitting was a tad on the tight side of things but he persevered until it covered his ugly weathered face to the f
ull. With the first part of his crooked plan complete, he trotted back over to the man he was now going to accept a bribe from. Bribes being very well frowned upon and worthy of rank stripping, Igor knew he was playing a risky game… but to Hades with it, who was going to be any the wiser. He knew of only one man in the city who had taken a bribe, and he had earned himself a public belt whipping from a twenty stone witch for his effort. The belt is not only made of the finest leather, but also the twisted witch had put a curse on it that whoever it strikes turns transparent for the day, so everyone could see the victims insides even with a wonky naked eye, so there would be no hiding of belly worms for the unlucky soul. The time had come for the said bribe to take place, Igor began to speak.

  “Sir as a proud member of the Prince’s guard I gave you a good bashing for your ignorance, but in light of what you have told me I’m going to offer you a proposal, one that will save your worthless life from further torture”

  Thomas shaking like a leaf in a strong breeze felt confused but asked.

  “Yes guard what is your proposal?”

  “I am willing to accept from your person a bribe” guard Igor replied.

  “But I am simply humble and failed accountant, who now has a rather foul odor to me and one heck of a beard… what can I possibly use to ante up as the aforementioned bribe?” quizzed Thomas.

  The guard in no mood to waste any more time went for the money shot.

  “Sir kindly place your hand into your right-hand pocket, you will find an item protruding that will suffice for my bribe”

  The downtrodden and wretched Thomas shakily placed his spindly hand into his right pocket, and low and beholds he found the item the guard had his eyes set upon. It was the one thing is Thomas’s life that had never deserted him or back chatted him… it was the golden ticket for the Stony Elbow Tavern-a gateway for a seventy-five percent reduction on all forms of alcohol at all hours of the drinking day/night. To part company with his last remaining token of status, was the final strike to the head. Thomas was on a one-way course to hell in a hand cart, this was an evil act the guard was bestowing upon him, and he wanted the guard’s insides to implode into a vast nebula of rotting filth organs. He wanted to shove the droppings of a dead horse into the guard’s mouth for his insolence and watch him froth like a dog with an infestation problem. Alas though all the internal hatred he felt was not going to make a shreds bit of difference. The guard was in control and fully holding all the cards, Thomas handed over the ticket to the guard’s meaty hairy hands. The guard reveling in his success of his plan snorted.