by Darren Shan
“It is good to be taught humility when we are young,” Seba said softly. “If we do not experience pain as children, we will cause pain as adults. You have to learn from your beatings. Accept your shortcomings and work on correcting them, but welcome them too. You might one night be asked to lead others. If so, you must be able to see people as they are, not as you yourself might be. A true champion must know not only his own mind and heart—he must know the minds and hearts of those weaker than himself. You can only do that if you have stood where they stand.”
Seba patted the wolves and smiled. “They are not so fast, these beasts, but they are strong. They can run for many miles and endure. We are not so different. It is hard for one so young, as you are, to peer forward and focus on the centuries ahead of us, but I ask you to accept the word of one much older than you. Your losses now will profit you in the long run, if you learn from them, if you accept them and seek to rise above them for the right reasons.”
“The right reasons?” Larten echoed.
“Come back and face Staffen Irve again,” Seba said. “Ignore the jeers of those who mocked you. Wounded as you are, weaker and slower than Staffen, you should still challenge him and be defeated again, so that you can learn and grow.”
Larten thought about that, then hobbled to his feet. “How long do you think it will take?” he asked. “How many losses must I endure before I can be a great warrior like Perta Vin-Grahl?”
Seba sighed—his assistant hadn’t understood. This wasn’t about overcoming one’s limits but acknowledging and living with them. He thought about trying again, but he felt either he lacked the right words, or else Larten was not yet ready to hear. Perhaps the young vampire had to learn his lessons the hard way, as Perta Vin-Grahl had.
“More losses than your ego can bear, fewer than your body can endure,” Seba answered. As Larten puzzled over that, the elderly vampire clapped his assistant’s back and offered his arm for support. With Larten leaning on his master, the wolves trailing close behind, the pair commenced the long climb back to the Halls of Vampire Mountain.
Part Four
“Now, there’s a man with style!”
Chapter Nineteen
“Do it again.”
Larten scowled and picked himself up off the forest floor. Flicking twigs and moss from his hair and clothes, he climbed the tall tree and edged out along a branch the width of his wrist. When he got as far as he could standing up, he bent, gripped the branch with his hands, and kicked his feet into the air. It took him a few seconds to find his balance. Once he was steady, he walked out farther on his hands.
“Stop,” Seba said as the branch creaked and bowed from the weight. He was sitting higher up in the tree, chewing a bone. Wester was at the end of another branch, balanced on his hands like Larten.
Larten stared at the ground, feeling sweat trickle along his neck. Seba watched for a while, still chewing. Then, without warning, he tossed the bone in Larten’s direction, but a couple of feet beyond the branch on which the young vampire was precariously perched.
“Catch it!” Seba barked.
Larten’s left hand shot out, and his fingers clutched for the bone. He almost made contact, but as had happened sixteen times already, his right hand shook wildly, he lost his balance, and he fell with a startled cry, hitting the earth not long after the bone.
Seba tutted, then said, “Do it again.”
As Larten muttered angrily and climbed back up the tree, Seba dug another bone out of the bag in his lap, then threw it at Wester. His other assistant enjoyed no more success than Larten had and was soon picking himself up from the ground and wincing.
“This is ridiculous,” Larten grumbled, staring at the branch with something close to hatred. “It is an impossible task.”
“Not at all,” Seba said. “Every vampire learns to do this. It is a basic test.”
Larten squinted suspiciously at his master. There had been a lot of “basic tests” in recent years, since their visit to Vampire Mountain. Larten and Wester had failed most of them. He was starting to think that Seba was playing with them, setting goals that they couldn’t possibly achieve. But why would he humiliate them in such a fashion? Maybe the tests were genuine and his assistants simply weren’t up to the standards required of trainee Generals.
“I almost caught it that time,” Wester said, joining them in the branches.
“No,” Larten grunted. “You were nowhere close.”
“Thanks for the confidence boost,” Wester pouted.
“Are you sure this is necessary?” Larten asked Seba.
The elderly vampire shrugged. “The Generals are very demanding. They will test you in many ways. You must be flexible and experienced in a variety of skills. If you cannot do this, there is no point going any further with your lessons.”
Larten sighed, shared a resigned look with Wester, then edged out along the branch for the eighteenth time.
Seba chewed a bone and watched neutrally. He waited until Larten was in position, then lobbed the bone at him, closed his eyes, and waited for the thud. When it came, his lips twitched, and he almost smiled. But when he opened his eyes again, there was no hint of a grin on his carefully composed face.
“Do it again.”
* * *
Larten was in a foul mood when they made camp for the day. It had been a long, tiring night, but there was to be no rest for him.
“I would like a loaf of bread when I wake,” Seba said as he yawned and made himself comfortable. “Will you fetch one for me, Larten?”
“We are miles from the nearest village,” Larten noted.
“I know,” Seba said.
“I will not be able to catch much sleep by the time I travel there and back.”
“You are young,” Seba said. “You do not need a lot of sleep.”
Wester wanted to volunteer to go instead, but Seba would be furious if he said anything. Assistants were never supposed to contradict their master.
“Do you want any particular type of bread?” Larten growled.
“Of course not,” Seba said, settling back and closing his eyes. “You know that I am not particular.”
“How about you?” Larten snapped at Wester.
“I’m fine,” Wester said quickly.
Larten set off through the forest, grumbling and kicking any tree stump that got in his way. The last few years had been a frustrating drag. Endless tests, most of which he’d failed. No contact with other vampires. No adventures. Not much travel, and when they did go to a new country, Seba wouldn’t let them explore. “I have already seen that,” he would say whenever they asked to go sightseeing. “It is not worth the trek.”
Wester was bored and irritable too, but he still had faith in their master. He believed Seba was doing this for a reason, that every vampire had to endure such treatment on the way to becoming a General.
Larten wasn’t convinced. He thought maybe age had caught up with Seba, that his thoughts had become muddled. Maybe these weren’t real tests at all, just ways to make his assistants look foolish. Nothing they did in recent times satisfied the grouchy old vampire. He found flaws in everything. Larten couldn’t believe that other masters were this critical of their students.
He took his time walking to the village. He kept to the gloom of the forest as best he could, avoiding the rays of the sun, which were painful for him now. But sometimes he had to pass through a clearing. When he did, he raised his cloak–a tattered gray thing he’d picked up during his travels–over his head and jogged, muttering darkly once he was safely back among the shadows.
When Larten returned with the loaf–still warm, tucked away in the folds of his cloak–Seba stirred and called to him. “Is that you, Larten?”
“Aye.”
“What took you so long?”
Larten bit down on his tongue to stop himself from cursing. “You said you were going to eat later. I did not think there was any rush.”
“I am too hungry to wait.” Seba bec
koned impatiently for the bread. Larten resisted an urge to toss the loaf at his master’s head, and instead unwrapped it and handed it across. Seba’s eyebrows creased. “I wanted brown bread.”
Larten trembled. “You said you didn’t care what kind,” he snarled through gritted teeth.
“Did I?”
“Aye.”
“Oh.” Seba blinked innocently. “My apologies. I meant to ask for brown.”
He held the loaf out to Larten and nodded in the direction of the village. Larten stared at the bread, wondering if it was possible to batter a person to death with it. Then he turned abruptly and headed back the way he’d come. He passed close by Wester, but his friend kept his head down, buried beneath a blanket, afraid Larten would vent his anger on him if he caught his eye.
* * *
Several weeks later, Larten and Wester were fishing. They stood in the middle of a fast-flowing stream, thigh-deep in cold water, hunched over. The test was to spear a fish with their little finger. It should have been a simple task, except Seba had tied a strip of cloth around their eyes so that neither could see.
“Listen closely, gentlemen,” he called from the bank, where he was tucking into a pheasant that they had caught and roasted for him earlier. “No creature moves in complete silence. Focus. Train your ears. Ignore the sounds of the stream and the rumblings of your stomachs.”
“Easy for him to say,” Larten huffed, the delicious smell of the pheasant thick in his nostrils. He hadn’t eaten since they’d arrived here four nights ago. Wester hadn’t either. Seba had told them they could eat nothing until they caught a fish.
Wester bent close to the water and strained, but he could hear nothing moving beneath the surface, even with his advanced senses. After a few minutes he stabbed directionlessly, figuring if he did that often enough, he had to catch something eventually. But he came up empty-handed.
Beside him, Larten was struggling to control his rage. He was starving, wet, and freezing. But worst of all, he felt like a fool. There was no way they could do this. If it was a still pond, perhaps, but there were limits to what even a vampire could do. Besides, when he’d studied the stream from the bank before getting in, he hadn’t seen any fish.
Something bumped lightly against Larten’s leg and he thrust at it. His nail struck true and he yelled with triumph. But when he ripped his blindfold away he saw that he’d only speared a piece of wood.
“You will not get fat on that,” Seba chuckled, juices from the pheasant dripping down his chin.
“Charna’s guts!” Larten roared and threw the stick at Seba. It struck the vampire’s shoulder and bounced harmlessly to the ground. Seba stared at it, then at Larten, his expression unreadable.
“Apologize!” Wester hissed. He’d removed his blindfold and was trembling.
“For what?” Larten shouted. “He’s treating us worse than animals. There’s no way we can—”
“He is,” Seba calmly corrected him. “There is.”
“How about this?” Larten sneered. “You are a stupid, cruel, decrepit sham of a vampire!”
“Larten!” Wester gasped.
“You have lost your senses,” Larten pressed on. He waded out of the stream and stood dripping before his master. “You do not deserve the title of General. You are giving us tasks that no vampire could complete, just to watch us fail. You should go and…”
He stopped. Seba had stood up and was heading for the stream. He got in and told Wester to tie the blindfold around his eyes. As the pair of young vampires watched in silence, he extended his arms and stuck out the index finger of both hands. Seba crouched low over the gushing water and held his position like a hovering hawk. For a long time he didn’t move, and his assistants were motionless too. Then, in a flash, his left hand shot into the water. When he pulled it out again, his finger was stuck through the middle of a small silver fish.
Seba tossed the fish onto the bank, removed his blindfold, and raised an eyebrow at Larten, inviting an apology. But Larten was in no mood to beg his master’s forgiveness. With a curse, he suggested a dark, warm place where Seba could stuff the fish, then spun on his heels and stormed off.
“Larten!” Wester cried, struggling out of the stream. He wanted to go after his friend, but before he could, Seba called to him.
“Hold, Master Flack.” When Wester looked back, he was astonished to see Seba smiling. “Let him go. It will do him good to sulk for a while.”
Wester frowned, then looked for the fish. Picking it up, he sniffed carefully. “This isn’t fresh,” he whispered.
“I would be shocked if it was,” Seba chuckled. “I caught it some hours ago, while you were hunting for my pheasant. I had it concealed up my sleeve. As a trained magician, Larten really should have noticed. Perhaps he was too hungry to concentrate.”
“Larten was right,” Wester snapped. “You’re making fools of us.”
Seba’s smile faded, and he shook his head. “You are like sons to me. I would never do that to you. The tasks I have set are all within the means of vampires of a certain standing. You and Larten are not yet ready to pass such tests, but they are legitimate, and there is no shame in failing them.”
“I don’t understand,” Wester frowned. “Why set the tests if you know we can’t complete them?”
“To provoke a reaction like the one we have just seen.” Seba sighed and stepped out of the water. “Larten is a fine young vampire, honest and obedient, but he lacks patience. He also tries to hide his true feelings. It is important for a man to control his emotions, but sometimes we need to be able to express ourselves freely in the company of those we love and trust.
“Larten needs to rebel,” Seba said. “He has stood by me loyally ever since we met in that place of the dead, but the time has come for him to face the world by himself. He must choose his own path, not simply march with me down mine.”
“Why don’t you just tell him that and cut him free?” Wester asked.
“It is important that he thinks it is his own choice,” Seba said. “If you have to be told to rebel, it is not a true rebellion.” Seba noticed Wester’s confusion and laughed. “You might have assistants of your own one night, and then my actions may not seem so curious.
“In the meantime I must ask you to trust me. Say nothing of this to Larten. Continue to suffer with him as he fails more tasks and grows ever angrier. If he asks how I reacted to his insults tonight, tell him I fumed and cursed his name. Let him think I am as angry with him as he is with me.” Seba’s eyes softened, and his voice dropped. “By no means tell him that I love him dearly, or that this hurts me a lot more than it infuriates him.”
Chapter Twenty
The three vampires came to a city in the middle of the night. It was raining, and they trudged through the streets in silence, keeping to the shadows. Larten and Wester were paying little attention to their surroundings, heads lowered, waiting for their master to find a spot where they could rest up. They assumed Seba would lead them to a graveyard or the ruins of an old building, as he usually did, but this time he surprised them by stopping in front of an inn.
“I feel like sleeping in a comfortable bed tonight,” Seba said. “How does this establishment look to you?”
“Very nice,” Wester said, beaming at the thought of spending the night indoors for a change.
“Fine,” Larten grunted, casting a weary eye over the front of the inn. Then he paused and studied it again. It was an old-looking building, with blue glass in the windows. Not many inns had such curious glass. In fact, Larten had only seen one exactly like it, a long time ago, when he was still a human child and passed by this way quite often.
“I know this place,” Larten whispered, raising his head and staring at the street with more interest.
“Do you?” Seba asked, faking innocence.
“I’ve been here before. This is…” He stopped and gulped. “This is the city where I was born.”
Wester and Seba stared at Larten with surprise, though
Seba’s stare was forced. “Really?” Seba purred. “I had not thought. But yes, now that I cast my mind back, you are correct. It was in a graveyard not far from here where our paths first crossed, aye?”
Larten nodded slowly.
“Well, this is a nice surprise,” Seba chuckled. “Or is it? Would you rather we move on and not spend the night here? It might stir up old memories. Perhaps we should—”
“I don’t mind,” Larten growled, feeling strangely uneasy but not wanting to admit to his concerns. “It makes no difference to me. Stay or leave—I don’t give a damn.”
“Very well,” Seba sniffed. “In that case we will stay. And, Larten?” He shook a finger from side to side when Larten looked at him. “Do not.”
The innkeeper was surprised to see three travelers abroad at such an hour, but Seba said they had been traveling in a carriage that had crashed when their horse lost its footing. The innkeeper expressed his sympathy, then gave them a reduced rate for the night–against Seba’s protestations–and led them to their rooms, one for Seba and one for his assistants.
“A kind and generous gentleman,” Seba noted as the innkeeper returned to his post. He turned questioningly to Larten. “Are all the people in your city of such fine standing?”
“Not that I recall,” Larten said darkly, thinking about Traz and the way the foreman had murdered Vur Horston all those years ago.
“Well, perhaps they have improved in your absence,” Seba smiled, then bid the pair good night and turned in.
Larten sat by the window in their room and said nothing, staring out at the darkness and the few people who passed by during the remainder of the night. He was remembering his old life, the days when he and Vur had set off to work each morning, fearing Traz’s wrath but pleased to be together, making wild plans for the future, dreaming of a time when they could break free of the factory and city and head out into the brave, unexplored world beyond.
