by Amy Cross
Abigail
I should be dead.
Opening my eyes, I find that it's still night. I'm on the ground outside in the freezing cold, surrounded by broken wood and glass. Slowly, I take a deep breath before rolling over and then sitting up. I hold my hands up and flex my fingers, checking to see that they work. I remember falling and landing hard, but right now everything feels... okay. Standing up, I find that although I'm a little sore, my body seems to have healed itself. Just as Patrick managed to recover from that huge metal spike that Benjamin put through his chest, I seem to have somehow knitted my bones back together. In fact, it's as if I'm as good as new. I look up and see the broken window high above me. It's hard to believe I fell so far and survived, but I guess vampires are tough.
Turning and walking along the side of the building, I eventually come to a door. It's locked, of course, but I spot a figure sitting inside, drinking a glass of wine next to a burning hearth. It's Wormwood, the guy from dinner; I knock on the window, and he comes over.
"Let me in!" I shout.
He pauses for a moment, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a key. He unlocks the door and pulls it open. "Well you're a very lucky young lady, aren't you?" he says as I enter. "How did you know I have a key?"
"I guess you just seem well-connected," I reply as he pushes the door shut and locks it again. "I need to find Patrick. Where is he?"
"Gone," Wormwood replies.
"What do you mean?" I ask, feeling a rush of panic. Looking across the room, I realize that the house seems cold and quiet, almost as if it's dying.
"I mean he walked out and headed off to the wasteland," Wormwood says. "I believe he was going to investigate the light."
"What light?"
"Look out the window and see for yourself," he says.
As soon as I look out into the darkness, I see what he means. Far away, a small pinprick of light is burning in the night. "What is that?" I ask. "I thought all the land around Gothos was deserted?"
"It is," Wormwood says, "or at least, it's supposed to be. Nevertheless, that looks an awful lot like a campfire to me, and campfires don't tend to just spring up of their own accord. There's someone or something out there, and naturally your father went to take a look. The only thing out there should be bodies. Tens of millions of dead bodies. There shouldn't even be ghosts out there."
"When's he coming back?" I ask.
"I have no idea," Wormwood replies, "but I wouldn't count on seeing him again if I were you. He's not in the best of shape. Then again, he's a rather extraordinary fellow. It'd be quite wrong to write him off completely." He pauses for a moment. "I rather think he might have embarked upon his death walk."
"What's a death walk?" I say.
"When a vampire knows he's to die soon, he doesn't go to bed and wait for it to end. Not like a human. It's a point of honor for a vampire to die while walking, and over the years the ritual has become known as a death walk. He'll walk and walk and walk until finally he can walk no more, and then his body will fall to the ground. They say that when a vampire falls, the ground shudders for miles around. Can you imagine what it must have felt like during the vampire war, when millions fell at once?"
"He can't die yet," I reply. "He hasn't said goodbye. He hasn't told me what to do."
"He probably thought you'd never make it out of that room," Wormwood says. "To be honest, neither did I. You're a tough little bird, aren't you? How'd you do it? Did you break the door down? Did you find a key?"
"Window," I say.
"Nice," he replies with a grin. "Poor little Gwendoline, always plotting something but never quite managing to seal the deal."
"Where is she?" I ask.
"I'm not sure," he says. "She's around somewhere. She's a feisty little thing, your half-sister. She was such a terrified little child, but she's really come on in leaps and bounds."
I stare at him. "Half-sister?" I ask, feeling my blood run cold.
He pauses. "Well, now I feel I might have rather opened my big mouth too wide," he says. "You and she share the same father, but I wouldn't worry about it. She's the black sheep of the family. The reject. You're the chosen one."
Staring out at the light in the distance, I try to work out how, exactly, Gwendoline can be my half-sister. There's so much I still don't know about my history, and now Patrick seems to have wandered out into the wilderness without telling me the truth. I need him back here. Maybe he thinks he can head out into the darkness and lose himself, but I'm going to go out there and bring him back, and then I'm going to find out the truth about Gwendoline. She's tried to kill me twice now, but I guess maybe she was just jealous of me. If she's my sister, I have to try to help her. I have to at least talk to her.
"I shouldn't have said anything," Wormwood continues. "Please, don't blame an old man for having loose lips, will you?"
"She's jealous of me," I say, finally understanding why Gwendoline behaved so strangely around me. "She wanted to get rid of me so she could get closer to Patrick."
"Don't hate her too much," he replies. "She had a rather difficult childhood. If you'd been through the things Gwendoline has been through, I dare say you'd be in a sorry state too."
"I don't hate her," I say. "I don't trust her, and I don't like her, but I don't hate her either. I want to help her."
"Impossible," he says, glancing at his watch. "It's getting late. Perhaps you should retire for the night. Things often look better in the morning, even if nothing's really changed."
"Tell Gwendoline I'll be back soon," I say. "First, I'm going out there to find Patrick and bring him back."
"Well that's rather foolish," he replies. "Very brave, though."
I shake my head. "I'm not brave. I'm terrified."
"Bravery isn't the absence of fear," he replies. "Bravery is feeling fear, but doing what needs to be done regardless." He smiles. "Good luck, old girl. If you truly take after Patrick, you might just stand half a chance of surviving, but you won't bring him back, not if his death walk has begun. It's his destiny."
"I've surprised you once," I say. "Maybe I'll do it again." With that, I turn and open the door, heading back out into the cold night of the garden. In the distance, the little spark of light is still burning. In a few hours, dawn will come and the light won't be easy to spot. I can't afford to wait another day for nightfall to come, so I have to move fast. Fortunately, as I walk away from the house I realize I'm picking up Patrick's tracks. It's as if I can somehow tell exactly which route he's taken. Speeding up, I hurry after him. There's no way I can let him simply disappear like this. I need him.
Patrick
The vampire war left millions dead, their bodies scattered across the land. Not just vampires, but also other species that came to join the battle, and it's the latter whose bones splinter underfoot as I walk. I don't think anyone has been this far out from Gothos since the war ended, and in the moonlight the bones glisten against the charred ground. This is where the fire took hold, burning everything in its path. Vampires were able to escape the flames, but others were not so lucky; they fell and burned, their screams echoing into the night. Never in the history of the world has there been so much death in one place, but there are no ghosts here. There is nothing but the broken bones of warriors, crunching and snapping as I walk across the shattered landscape. This is a dead and empty land.
The cold wind has stopped now. Out here, there's nothing but still air, stale from the stench of death. For hundreds of years, these bodies have been undisturbed; now I come stumbling across them, paying no attention to where they fell. Pausing for a moment, I look down at a skull that stares straight back at me. From the bone structure, it looks to have been a Golv, probably drawn to the battle by a desire for glory. The vampire war drew many such creatures, many of them mistakenly believing that they could triumph; others knew they would die, but simply wanted to experience the carnage. This Golv probably died in agony, but he had probably killed others first. After he fell and b
urned, his charred bones will have remained here for centuries, untouched and unseen. Stepping forward, I put my foot straight through the front of his face, smashing the bones to dust.
Eventually I reach the edge of the bone-field; the point where even the carnage of the war ended. Now there is nothing ahead of me but a dark, barren landscape covered with black rocks, sheltered under a cold sky. There has never been life this far from Gothos, and even the vampires of old kept away from this part of the land. There were stories, told to children, of creatures that inhabited this tundra, but only the foolish believed these tales to be true; no life could prosper in such a place and, even if it could, it would inevitably move toward Gothos. I had hoped that my death walk would end before I reached this region, but now it seems I must walk on and on until I drop. I can feel my legs becoming tired, but still I stumble ahead. I will not weaken, even if I run out of world in which to walk.
After a while, I notice something in the air. As I keep walking, I realize that snow is starting to fall. Looking up, I see wispy white clouds above, and within minutes the snowfall has intensified and the land is becoming white. I no longer feel the cold, which is a good sign: my body is shutting down and death must be close. I always knew it was my destiny to die alone, but I did not realize it would be in a place such as this. I am probably the first living creature to set foot in this region in all of history. Stopping for a moment, I look back over my shoulder. I can see the mountains in the distance, and I can't help but think of Gothos beyond, its lights still burning in the night. The old palace of the vampires has persisted for so long, with no hope of a return to glory. Now that I have failed to raise a child who can take my place, my species will die with me and the walls of Gothos will begin to crumble.
Perhaps the old man at the campfire was right. Perhaps I should have worked harder and longer to mold Gwendoline into my successor. She was weak, for sure, but maybe a better father could have raised her more successfully. Then again, perhaps the real mistake was Abigail. After all, the prophecy pointed to Sophie as being the perfect mother for my child. I was certain that Abigail would be born strong and capable, and that she would need only the slightest push from me once she reached a certain age. Instead, she turned out to be weak-willed and easily deceived by her half-sister. Having been put to the test, Abigail failed, but maybe I tested her too soon. If mistakes were made, they were mine alone. I can't blame those two girls for what happened. I expected too much of them and -
Suddenly I trip and fall, landing hard against the ground. I immediately make a move to get up, but I find that I'm weaker than I expected. Taking a deep breath, I try to summon the energy to get back onto my feet, but something feels very wrong. After a moment, I realize that the time has arrived and my death walk is over. Staring ahead, I see nothing but a pitch-black landscape and falling snow. I no longer have the energy to get up, so I must just stay here now and wait for the end to come. Rolling onto my back, I stare up at the sky and watch as snow drifts down onto me. It was snowing, I've been told, on the night I was born all those centuries ago, so it's only fitting that there should be snow tonight as well. I've seen many people die during my lifetime, and I feel that my own death is one of which I can be proud. If I had raised a child who could continue the bloodline of the vampires, perhaps there would just have been more death and pain in the world. It's better like this. I wait patiently for the end to come, and then - just when it seems that life must be over - something impossible happens. Nearby, something moves. Footsteps coming toward me, crunching in the snow...
Abigail
The further I get from Gothos, the colder the world seems. It's hard to believe that Patrick would have come out here to die, but I guess I can see the appeal in a morbid kind of way: it's a desolate, empty landscape full of old bones. Picking my way across the rocks that litter the side of the mountain, I get closer and closer to the little campfire, and finally I realize that there's someone sitting next to the flames. I pause, trying to decide whether it's safe to keep going, but after a moment I see that the person is an old man. Figuring he must have seen Patrick, I decide to approach cautiously and ask him for help.
"My word!" the man says, laughing as he sees me approach. "It's been so long since I had a visitor, and now two come along on one night. There must be something in the stars. Come and sit down. It's such a cold night. Colder than normal."
"I'm looking for someone," I say.
"Oh, thank God you can speak," he replies. "The other one was rather gloomy. I had to prattle on and on for the both of us."
"You saw Patrick?" I ask, getting closer to the fire. The heat is hard to resist; I guess I can afford to stop for a few minutes.
"He didn't stay for long," the old man continues. "He warmed himself for a moment, but he wasn't in the mood to talk. Never has been."
"Who are you?" I ask.
He smiles and reaches out a hand. "Sir Edward Moss," he says. "I'm from the Berkshire side of the Moss family. I don't know if that means anything to you?" He sighs. "I suppose not. Young people these days aren't very interested in history, are they? To you, I'm just an old fogey who -"
"I need to find Patrick," I say, interrupting him. "Which way did he go?"
"That way," Edward says, pointing toward the horizon. "I don't suppose you'll have much trouble tracking him down. He was moving quite slowly. I've seen such things before. The death of a vampire is always -"
"He's not dying," I say firmly. "Not yet. I've come to take him home."
Edward smiles. "That's the spirit. You must never give up trying, even when you have no hope of success." He pauses for a moment, reaching his hands closer and closer to the flames. "I know a little bit about the vampires," he continues, "and I know a little bit about Patrick. I've studied them, you see. I even set up an organization to keep an eye on them. And there's one thing I can tell you about old Patrick. It's his destiny to die out here tonight. Alone."
"It's my destiny to save him," I reply.
He laughs. "Well that's something I've never come across before. Two destinies that contradict one another. I wonder how that might resolve itself?" He pauses, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small gold watch. "Do you happen to know the time? My watch isn't always very reliable, but it feels to me as if this night has lasted forever."
"I have to go," I say, "but if you're cold, you should go down to Gothos. They've got a huge house and I'm sure they wouldn't mind having a guest."
"Oh, I don't think that would do much good," he replies. "Gothos isn't going to last much longer. It's already starting to crumble. Anyway, I wouldn't survive the journey. Look at me, for Christ's sake. I'm an old man. I can't even feel my hands any more." As if to prove the point, he dips his hands directly into the fire for a moment, letting them burn for a couple of seconds before pulling them out again. "No pain. That's a good thing. I don't know if I even have the strength to get more fire wood tonight. When the last of this has finished burning, I suppose I'll just have to freeze, unless -" He turns to me. "It feels wrong for an old vampire watcher to die like this. Would you by any chance do me the honor of... you know..." He turns his head, to give me a better view of his neck. "Do that thing vampires do."
"No," I say.
"It would be an act of mercy," he says. "I've seen it done to others, and I would so dearly like to know how it feels. There would be no greater thing anyone could do for me, than to let me die at the hands of a vampire."
I stare at him for a moment. "I don't think I am a vampire," I say eventually.
"Oh, you are," he replies. "You're not like the old vampires. You're a new type, but you're definitely a vampire. Trust an old man who knows these things. Please. Patrick wouldn't oblige, but I'm sure you wouldn't mind taking my blood. It's all I have to offer."
"I'm sorry," I say, turning and walking away.
"Please come back!" he calls after me. "I just want to die a memorable death!"
I don't stop, and I don't go back. I know I
'll have to bite someone eventually, but I don't want my first time to be an old man on the side of a hill; I want to wait for a mightier beast, something strong and powerful. Besides, I have to catch up to Patrick. Walking fast, I cross the mountain and soon I find myself wandering across a barren landscape littered with broken skeletons. At first, I try to carefully avoid the bones, but eventually I have to just accept stepping on them. As I continue to walk, there's a constant crunching and snapping sound beneath my feet, until finally I reach an area where there are no bones. Ahead, there's nothing but a dark landscape, but snow is starting to fall.
And then I see him.
A few hundred meters away, Patrick has fallen to the ground. My first thought is that I'm too late, that he must be dead, but then I realize I can still feel his presence. He's weak, but he's alive. I start running, desperate to get to him, but I pull up short as I realize there's already a figure next to him. It's hard to make out the figure's features properly, and she seems blurry and faint, almost like a ghost. I take a couple of steps closer, and the figure looks up at me. Again, it's hard to get a proper look at her face, but she looks like... me. Like me, but not me. A little older than me, and with sadness in her eyes. She seems to be comforting Patrick. I feel my chest tighten and my whole body shudder as I realize there's only one person this woman can possibly be. After all this time, Sophie has finally returned.
Patrick
As I stare up at Sophie, she turns to look at something nearby. I watch her face, and I find it impossible to understand how she can show me any kindness, any mercy at all. After the things I did to her, the way I killed her... But she has come to me, in my final moment, even though she's long dead and the snow is falling straight through her body. Perhaps, though, this is just a hallucination. Why would Sophie come to me? Why would Sophie feel anything for me other than hatred? After all, I killed her and then I took our child and lost her forever. No, this can't be Sophie. Not the real Sophie. This is all in my mind. It's my dying hallucination. As I stare at her, she looks back down at me, opens her mouth, and fades away until all that's left is the dark night sky above me and the snow that continues to fall.
