Immortalibus Bella

by SL Figuhr

  I stayed crouched in the shadows, looking back up at the young man. He had turned over but had not wakened. Slowly I stood, hearing a thumping. Where was it coming from? The door? Was someone pounding on it? No! It was my heart, beating as it had not in centuries, beating as if it were still mortal! Ye gods! What was this boy that his blood had such an effect! I tried slipping into his thoughts again, ignoring the growing unease that I had to get out of there right now!

  The clearing was shades of gray, black and silver. A circle of men stood chanting about an altar, not quite drowning out the screams of the terrified men and women in pens behind them. A man was chained to the altar. Nicky carved symbols into him as the victim attempted to flail about. Suddenly the background melted, the altar blurred. The chanting never stopped, but the voices, the altar, the voices, were different.

  The scene reformed, the advisor now a boy who sat at a heavily carved wooden table, reading from a large, ancient-looking book. An old man with gray hair and beard instructed him. “No, you do not pronounce it right! Repeat after me: Acfantamin! Manopeo! If you mispronounce it, the spell will not work correctly, and you won’t like what comes through, much less what will happen to you.” The little boy’s eyes lifted from the pages, seeming to glare into mine as he grated, “I understand, Master. I will do better.”

  Now Nicky sat sobbing on the ground in a pair of jeans and t-shirt. A man with sandy hair and brown eyes had hold of his ankle with one hand, and the other pushed up his pant leg to reveal a strange mark. “But you are one of us! Where did you get it?”

  A second man knelt, big and blocky with dark brown hair and tired brown eyes. “We’ll help you any way we can, but please tell us, who marked you?" Nicky continued to sob; the men missed seeing the hatred and calculating look flashing behind the tears as the boy answered. I felt a shiver of tension run through me; I knew one of the men, somehow, but before I could guess from where, the scene flashed again. The little boy was in a robe, fighting the two men, fighting dirty. The air rippled in a disturbing way about him as he brought pain to his adversaries. I could feel a deep, long-running hatred in the boy toward the two, along with fear. He wanted them dead; they knew too much about what he could do.

  The scene shifted yet again; the little boy was now a young man, sitting upon a horse. To one side, a cloaked figure stood, and before him a man dressed in filthy leather and furs. “How long will it take you to recruit the men and march upon the city?” Nicky coldly inquired.

  He swore under his breath. “Very well. Gant will ride with you and make sure you are doing all you say you will. He will be the one to receive payment for the men and dole it out. I want two thousand men . . .”

  The person before him snorted, but Nicky continued, “I told you I will pay handsomely. I don’t care if you have to collect every murderer and cutthroat on your way to the town. You will show up with two thousand men, and several companies of them had better be mounted. Try to keep the raping and pillaging to a minimum on the way. I don’t want the king to get wind of this. Here, for you.” Nicky held up a leather bag, the pouch chinking as he tossed it to the man.

  I lost my connection to his mind, all my senses screaming danger. The young man snorted, giving a shout of fear, sitting up. I froze, watching. Nicky’s eyes stayed shut, but his breathing had speeded up, lashes fluttering. I could feel him starting to wake up. Swiftly but silently I ran toward the door and eased it open enough to slip through. As soon as it shut, I used my power to lock it. I heard Nicky call for someone. He was fully awake. I started running, a blur amongst the darkness. I waited in a clump of trees for Domiano and my horse. What I planned to do next was tricky, but I had to know if my presence had been detected by the advisor with his strange powers. I left my body to float near the ceiling in the boy’s room. He was talking to his hooded companion.

  “I swear I felt someone in my room!”

  “The wards are in place and undisturbed, the door remains locked.”

  The companion bowed, turning to go. I swear he looked right at the spot where I hovered. I saw a gleam of red eyes, a cruel smile, and I felt as if I hurtled from the room. I slammed back into my body painfully, not realizing I was on hands and knees until I focused on the ground inches from my nose, my heart pounding, wanting to beat its way outside my chest. Slowly I stood. I would have to be very careful around the young man, awake or sleeping. Most of his images showed him as a young boy of twelve. Suddenly, I didn’t feel well. My stomach gave a grinding lurch as I shuddered, almost doing a face plant in the ground. I waited for the pain to pass, but it didn’t. Instead, my head seemed to swell, my veins felt on fire, and I could feel the heat rising from my body. It was time I went back to my hiding place. I didn’t know what else his blood was going to do to me. I felt vulnerable and exposed. I could also feel the coming dawn more keenly than I ever had in all my centuries.

  Chapter Nine

  I awoke from my dead sleep abruptly. My dreams had been even more twisted than usual. Ever since I awakened to my new life, centuries ago, they have never been the same. They are not dreams, but one ongoing nightmare. My resting spot remained pitch black, no scent of intruders, undisturbed. I still had on the green silk linen gown from last night, somewhat worse for wear. I walked up the tunnel, coming to the iron door set into the side of the mountain. I opened it, not understanding what was wrong. I listened to the downpour, saw how it silvered the world. Thunder growled across the sky, lightning brightening it in flashes. I stepped out from under the rock, looking up. The dark clouds parted to reveal a glowing orb in the sky. No! I scrambled for the door, the security of the tunnel. I was panting in terror, my back against the cold iron as the rain trickled down my face. I brought my shaking hands up to my face, but they only had a golden sheen, making me appear more human. For once there was no pain with that exposure. Okay, think. Why was I able to go out into even this modest amount of daylight uncovered and not suffer for it?

  Calm, the trick was to remain calm and think about this rationally. The only change on my end was the blood of the young man. Surely it couldn’t . . . could it? First things first; open the door. I made it back out under the rock overhang. The rain still poured down, the sky was still terrifyingly light. I stood there with my cloak held at the ready, just in case, but my eyes didn’t burn out of my head. I took a step into the thunder and lightning. I was immediately soaked, but I didn’t burn! I felt strangely energized! Did I dare? I slowly held a shaking hand out; steam curled from it and I snatched it to my chest, taking a hasty step back under safety. I inspected my hand. It was no more burnt than it had been; the steam was because my skin was so hot, the rain so cold. I couldn’t help it; I laughed in delight. I could walk in daylight uncovered and not burn! I could see colors in all their brilliant glory, not the muted shades appearing to my night-seeing eyes. I could not waste this opportunity! Be bold! I walked out from my shelter feeling the rain soak into my hair. The blood of the advisor kept me from burning in daylight. I had to discover what he and his kind were, and if there was a way to bottle and store their blood.

  I wrapped the cloak around me in an attempt to save the dress. As I walked, I smelled wet horses I had stolen from bandits. A few of the animals grazed on the grass and looked up in curiosity as I approached. I whistled for Windstorm, who was “talking” to himself and the mares while trying to mount them. One of them lashed out with her hooves, and followed by biting him. I whistled for him again, and he decided to leave them alone. He came at a trot, nuzzling my hand for treats I didn’t have. I was thoroughly drenched by now, but I didn’t care.

  I found Domiano underneath the crude lean-to the horses sheltered under when they felt like it. He was sorting through bags and trunks of stuff I had stolen along with the animals.

  “Is there not anything of use in what I liberated?” I asked the boy as we dried, brushed and saddled our horses. Windstorm turned his attention toward snuffling and biting at boxes and bags, still “talking” to himself.


  “Lots of stuff. Looks like they raided several merchant trains. You’re going to need a dwelling, or this will all get ruined by the weather. Plus, the horses will need hay soon, or moved somewhere they can graze unless you plan on selling them.”

  The path into the sheltered valley was treacherous even in daylight. I wasn’t worried about anyone finding my spot. Even when airplanes and helicopters and such had ruled the air, the rift was near-invisible. The only technology which could have detected it had no doubt fallen out of space by now. Plus, there was no one who could manipulate such technology if it still worked and existed. The path resembled a treacherous goat trail. Domiano sucked in a breath as we threaded between stone walls so tight they looked as if they would crush us. My current haven had been in use by brigands before I woke. I was lucky they had a leader who had been stupid, refusing to leave, even when his men slowly started disappearing one by one. Him I had saved for last. Their remains littered another, smaller canyon with no way to it except to fly down, or rappel for the adventuresome. My hunger was a faint thing inside, one I would have to feed sooner or later depending on how well the day went.

  We rode out of the hidden valley, taking a different path down from the stony mountain hills which would bring us to the plateau the nobles and royals had built their homes upon. We came out on the cliffs, the river flowing swiftly past below us, an abandoned, tumbledown stone mansion before.

  “What do you know of the property?” I asked Domiano as we rode up through what had once been paddocks to a crumbling brick wall with a closed gate. I slid down off my mount, reaching for the latch, leading Windstorm.

  “Haunted? We shall see,” I murmured, and louder, “Go about your business. I shall be at the inn later.” He bowed, riding past me toward the front of the ruined hulk.

  The gate had lost all its paints, and it no longer sat its hinges correctly, so I had to muscle it open. Shells crunched under my feet from what remained of hidden garden paths, Windstorm crowding me, snatching at wet mouthfuls. Our trail through would be easy to see. The overgrown hedges, trees, and grasses showed a muted yet glossy deep green. The colors of the closed petals themselves! I wandered amid the wet plants, bending to smell their soggy scent, in love with their rainbow hues.

  I touched the coldness of a statue covered with patches of bright green moss and laughed. Movement at my feet had me peering into a dirty, near-clogged water basin. I saw the flick of bright gold, orange and red of a few remaining fish. I had been trying to catch one and inspect its colors up close when I almost missed hearing the footsteps which stealthily approached. I pulled my hand out of the water, letting go of the fish. It frantically swam off to hide beneath a lily pad as I straightened up.

  I whipped around, my sodden cloak spraying water, but I saw no one. I could pick out the scent of unwashed skin and clothing, the sound of a beating heart, and the slow, careful breaths of a hidden watcher.

  Silly maid, this is no place to meet a lover, not on a day such as today.Gradually I resumed walking in no particular direction, trying to see if the person would be content with just watching. The wreck of the mansion loomed before me. I scanned the building with my mind, picking up many persons hiding inside. Squatters. Windstorm nudged me in the back; he was tired of being soaked. The house was a dark gray stone flecked with mica, so it sparkled, even in the muted light of day.

  The empty window frames had been boarded over or shuttered up. Leafless vines crawled over all. I came to a door with rusted hardware, but something wasn’t right. I studied it, realizing there was a perfect, hairline outline following its dimensions, running through the concealing vegetation. Someone had gone to a lot of effort to make it appear there was no way in.

  I would hold off going inside until nighttime, continuing my inspection, aware of careful footsteps following, only stopping when I turned the corner to the central courtyard. The iron-studded wood gates hung crookedly, my mount and I managing to squeeze through onto the main street. As I rode out from the remains of the mansion, I received a few shocked stares, some sniggers and a few glares I ignored as I crossed the road, entering the Silver Thorn’s courtyard. My body slave was horrified at my sodden, bedraggled state, and upset I had chosen to stay somewhere else for the night. It took all my remaining strength just to stay awake as I stripped, drying myself. I dismissed Susafan, locking the door. Suddenly, sleep was dragging me down, the deathly sleep all my kind fall into when the sun is high. I let my limbs relax on the bed, tumbling into the nightmares I knew waited for me.

  When next I woke, the rich smell of blood assaulted my nose. The room lay in darkness; I could hear each heart beat in the inn and nearby stables. Drink me, they thumped. My fangs ached with the need, a hollow feeling in my stomach. I felt like a newborn vamp unable to control her need. Drink me. I had to keep control, however impossible it seemed. Only my centuries of life saved me. In a sudden rage, I yanked out the pins holding my hair in place, so the whole mass fell in long curling waves down my back. Drink me. I clawed open the shutters. They slammed against the building in a crash, but I didn’t care. I balanced on the ledge. Drink me! The sound was maddening. I flew onto the roof, landing in a crouch. The noise had attracted attention. I was up and running, the folds of my gown floating behind me, keeping to the shadows, a blur of darkness. The mansions behind me would be too well guarded for what I needed. The cliffs loomed ahead, the bridge with the palace guards. On the opposite bank, the main town side, the stinking mud flats held hovels. The very poorest of the freemen and women lived there, slaves too old to be of use, beggars, dumped like so much garbage. Forbidden to live anywhere outside their quarter. Ignored, expendable, they had no guards, looking out for each other as most have nothing worth stealing. Nothing of value except to a vampire. The guards never saw the flying blur I became as I landed beneath the bridge. Soon, death visited. Drink me! Drink Me!

  DrinkmedrinkmedrinkmedrinkmeDRINKME DRINK ME!

  I stumbled from a hovel, the aching need inside me gone at last, my gown streaked with dirt and other filth from the few occupants who had woken and tried to fight me. The memory of what I had done flooded into my brain. Shit! Bad me! That’s how Van Helsings are made. My immense age should have made me immune to a newbie’s feeding frenzy. I had drunk more than any average vamp, even the newly turned. I felt fat and bloated, like a tick or mosquito. I would have to do something. I just wanted away from the dead, with their staring eyes, asking why I wasn’t one of them. I had lived too long; I should be dust, murderer that I was. Stop it! I forced myself to go back inside, looking for flammables. Old grease, tar and pitch there were aplenty. I poured cooking oils over the bodies. The few bits of furniture and loose wood I broke up, stacking together. I did this for each hovel. They would have to burn together. The only problem would be those made of mud bricks. I raced from each dwelling starting with the furthest, lighting fires. I couldn’t risk flying across the river with the illumination from the flames. I climbed the bank, hiding in the shadows of the bridge as the fires kindled, growing brighter. I listened as the guards smelled the smoke, debating what to do. In the end, they did nothing. After all, what does it matter if the hovels of the poor burn as long as they don’t catch the rest of the town on fire?

  I slunk into the shadows behind them, crossing the bridge to turn into the haunted mansion’s grounds. Now that the worst of my unexpected thirst was slaked, curiosity about the house rose in my mind. I used the shadows to conceal me as I quickly inspected the outbuildings lining the drive to the central courtyard. They showed old signs of use as I could see repairs. What did these “ghosts” do to make previous owners flee? The cliff side of the mansion remained bathed in the flickering light of the fires I had started. I avoided that side, hidden by the bulk of the building, made my way to the door with its ingenious concealing vines.

  Inside, I listened for the squatters. They all seemed to be clustered toward the half-exposed upper rear of the mansion—watching the fire, if their thoughts were any indica
tion. I was free for the time being to inspect the main floor without them knowing, I did so quickly, noting repairs. The last owner had left some furniture and window coverings. Time had made the furniture only good for kindling, and spiders spun webs between the faded, shredded fabric. Some of the rooms still had dirty, slimy rushes covering the floor. Rats, mice, and bugs continued with the business of living as I walked with my usual soundless, lightpressured steps. A normal being’s footfalls would have made the old clay tiles crack. I avoided the cobwebs draped over every surface, between every gap, not wanting any evidence of my passing. I mounted a stillclassic, dirt-encrusted marble staircase. A faint scent of mold and damp, rotting wood clung to the air from wall paneling.

  I ran into the first squatter just past the landing. He had no chance to warn the others as I struck swiftly and silently from the shadows to snap his neck. I set him down gently, continuing my hunt. Two more times I killed before I heard voices of the remaining squatters.

  “A young woman meeting a lover or on a dare to view the house. Go see what has happened. I will hide myself until you get back.” I heard the sound of sliding wood, then soft, careful footsteps.