by Darren Shan
“Why should I believe you?” she finally asked.
“Surely you know me well enough to know when I am telling the truth.”
“I thought I did,” she nodded. “But I never really knew you at all. I bet Vur Horston isn’t even your real name, is it?”
“No,” he admitted. “I am Larten Crepsley.”
“And you’re a vampire?”
“Aye. But not like the monster in the–”
“How long?” she interrupted. “How long have you been like this?”
“I was blooded a century or so ago,” he said.
She looked like she was about to be sick. “You’re a hundred years old?”
“Give or take a few years.” He tried a smile. “I look good for my age, aye?”
“Gavner!” she cried. “Don’t tell me he’s one too!”
“Gavner is an ordinary boy,” Larten calmed her. “Vampires cannot have children and I never blooded him. I was tempted to, when we were adrift in Greenland and his life was endangered, but we prefer to blood those who can make the choice for themselves.”
“Greenland?” Alicia echoed weakly.
“That is a story for another time. Unless this is our last…” He couldn’t go on. He wanted to rush to her, hold her, hug her, kiss her. But he had no right. This was a woman he loved but had lied to. He’d promised to marry her without telling her who he really was, that he’d long outlive her, that he couldn’t father the children she craved. What right had he to expect anything of her now?
“Have you seen Tanish?” he asked instead.
Alicia shook her head. “He left the next morning. He said he feared for his life and he urged me to leave with him. He said that Gavner and I wouldn’t be safe while you were on the loose. I wanted to go – it’s been horrible, people look at us with hatred and suspicion, as if we’re to blame for what happened to that poor woman – but I couldn’t. I knew you wouldn’t harm us and I sensed you hadn’t run far. I had to wait, to give you a chance to explain.”
“And now that I have?” he asked quietly.
Alicia’s face contorted. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she shouted. “You let me fall in love with you. I thought we could have a life together, but all the time you were sneaking off at night, drinking blood, mocking me behind my back.”
“Never,” Larten growled. “My love was true, even if little else was. The proposal of marriage was a mistake, but it was an error of the heart. I forgot what I was. In your arms I believed the lies. I thought…” He shook his head miserably.
“But you did drink,” she said stiffly. “You cut people open and swallowed their blood.”
“Small amounts,” he said. “I never hurt them. We do not kill when we feed. I told you that.”
“But maybe you’re lying again. How can I believe anything you say?”
Larten hung his head. There was no answer to that.
Alicia was crying. She said nothing until she had her tears under control. Larten was silent too, waiting in the shadows of the shed, not separated from her by the sun but by a wall of bitter lies. “We’re finished,” she said eventually and he felt his heart tighten. “I can never take you back. You know that, don’t you?”
“Aye,” he sighed.
“Even if I wanted to, if I went with you and accepted your unnatural appetites and all the rest, it wouldn’t be fair on Gavner. You gave him to me to raise and told me I must do my best for him. I wouldn’t be doing that if I exposed him to a life of darkness and blood.”
“But if not for Gavner…?” He wasn’t sure why he asked. Better to think there had never been any hope of happiness than to believe he might have had her, if not for the boy.
“I don’t know,” Alicia moaned. “Perhaps.”
Larten nodded sourly. He had often thought that he deserved to be punished for what he’d done on the ship. Now it seemed that fate had got around to dealing with him at last. The boy whom he’d orphaned had ended up denying him any chance of love from the woman he adored. It was fitting in its way.
“Where will you go?” she asked.
“Wherever Tanish has scuttled off to,” he growled.
“You’re going to hunt him?”
“Aye.” Larten’s hands balled into angry fists. He could have forgiven the cowardice, the selfishness, even the betrayal. But he’d never forget the way Tanish had slit Ginette’s throat and casually dropped her from the roof.
Alicia hesitated, then said, “I wish you wouldn’t.”
Larten was shocked. “After what I told you?” he barked. “Tanish let people die. He offered me to the vampaneze and killed Ginette. You want me to allow him to trot away, lie low for a while, then build a new empire for himself?”
“I make no excuses for Tanish,” Alicia said. “He meant more to you than he ever did to me. But Gavner loves him. Tanish was the father that you refused to be. If you kill him and Gavner finds out, he will hate you and maybe even hunt you down to seek revenge. If he does, one of you will surely die and that would tear me apart. I beg you, Vur – Larten, if that’s your real name – if you ever loved me, do me this favour and don’t seek revenge on Tanish Eul. Please.”
Larten hadn’t thought about Gavner and his feelings for the sly vampire. He was sure, if Alicia explained it to the boy, that Gavner would understand. But perhaps the child shouldn’t be told. He would learn the true nature of the world as he grew up, but he deserved this period of innocence and faith in the goodness of man. It would be wrong to expose him to the ugly truth at such a tender age.
At the same time there were scores to be settled, debts to pay, deaths to account for.
“I will let Tanish be for now,” Larten said gruffly. “I will not move against him while Gavner is a boy. But when he is a man, there will come a time of reckoning, and I will move on Tanish regardless of the consequences. Ask no more of me, for this is as much as I will promise. And I would promise it to none other than you.”
Alicia bit her lip, seemed about to argue with him, then nodded curtly. “Thank you.” She turned to leave and his heart sank. But then she stopped and glanced back. “Was your love truly real?” she asked softly.
“Truly,” he whispered.
“So was mine,” she wept, then fled, wiping fresh tears from her cheeks.
Larten watched the woman he loved flee from him, taking all of his hopes and dreams with her. When she was gone, he slowly closed the door of the shed and retreated. He didn’t think of Alicia – he knew she would fill his thoughts for many nights and years to come – but instead focused on his immediate future. He didn’t want to let this destroy him, and if he sat here, moping, he was sure that it would. He needed to move on, put this chapter of his life behind him, make a new start and try to build yet again. But where to go when the sun went down? It was a wide world and all areas were open to him.
The answer came before he had finished asking the question. Larten had made many mistakes in the past and gone far astray. He’d been a wanderer, a killer, a lover. He had tried to be human and he had failed. For years he’d roamed without real purpose, denying his true calling, torn between two worlds, able to commit to neither.
Now at last he was ready to put humanity behind him forever. If the Generals and Princes accepted him, he would return to the clan and pledge himself to their cause for however long the gods gave him. It was time to face Seba, Wester and Vampire Mountain again.
It was time to go home.
PART THREE
“beloved red”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Larten encountered no other vampires on his way to the mountain, and he was glad of that. The months alone in the wilderness sharpened his skills and senses. It had been a long time since he’d lived like a true vampire and he found the harsh isolation refreshing. He was haunted by thoughts of Alicia and Tanish, plagued by a locust swarm of regrets. But Seba had always said that the past could never be changed and only a fool fretted about it, so he tried his best not to dwell on his mista
kes and losses.
But it was hard.
At least he’d left his doubts behind. As he abandoned the day world completely – only rising each night when the sun had firmly set – and hunted once more as a vampire, he realised he genuinely loved this life. He couldn’t wait to see the peak of Vampire Mountain and drink bat broth again. He wanted to catch up with all the news, complete his training, assume his place as a General. His uncertainty had vanished — forever, he hoped. He had put his human longings behind him and could face the future as a committed night creature now.
Of course there was a strong possibility that it would be a very short future. When the Princes heard of his crimes on the ship they might sentence him to death. If that was the case, he would accept their verdict without argument, as any true vampire would, and do his best to die cleanly and with honour.
His breath caught in his throat when he finally sighted the snow-capped mountain one cold, blustery night. It stood ahead of him like a beacon, drawing him home. It had been a long time since he drank fresh blood, and he’d been sipping sparingly from his bottles for the last few weeks, so he wasn’t at his strongest. Even so, he picked up the pace and jogged the last stretch. It should have been a two-night trek, but he was determined to reach the mountain by dawn, and he did.
Larten slept for a few hours when he made the shelter of one of the tunnels leading into the mountain. Revived, he climbed swiftly, following the carved signs on the walls, smiling eagerly in the gloom. It was the first time he’d smiled since Paris.
He hoped Wester would be on duty at the gate – it would make for a startling reunion – but he didn’t recognise the man in green garb. The guard was surprised to see the orange-haired vampire, but once he took Larten’s name and checked the scars on his fingertips, he let him pass.
Larten made for the Hall of Osca Velm. It was virtually deserted, as most of the Halls were in the long years between Councils. It would liven up later, when the young vampires in training rose to prepare for another gruelling set of lessons. But for now it was almost a ghost Hall.
Larten helped himself to some stale bread and cold cuts of meat. He ate slowly and washed down the food with water from one of the mountain streams. He was nervous now that the time had come to face his old companions. He wasn’t sure what sort of a welcome to expect. What if Seba didn’t want to see him, if he turned his ex-assistant away like a rabid hound?
Larten almost retreated. He was seriously considering going back the way he’d come, to perish in the snow, when he became aware of someone standing behind him. Looking round, he found an ancient, wrinkled, grey-haired vampire dressed entirely in red.
“I have been waiting for you,” Seba said softly.
“How did you know I was coming?” Larten gasped. “Did you search for me with the Stone of Blood?”
“I did not need to,” Seba said, his voice cracking. “How could I not know you were near when I could feel you–” he pressed a hand to his chest “–here?”
He held out his arms and Larten hurled himself into them, hugging his mentor hard, blinking back tears, his fears of rejection vanishing like the foolish wisps of fancy they had always been.
The pair of vampires sat, heads close together, for many hours, discussing all that Larten had endured since he’d parted ways with his master. Elements of Larten’s story saddened Seba, but didn’t surprise him. The quartermaster had seen and heard pretty much everything in his six hundred years. Larten’s tale wasn’t so different from that of dozens of others who had lost their way for a while.
But Seba was genuinely shocked when Larten said that he had discovered Perta Vin-Grahl’s palace of coffins. Seba made him describe it several times, listening like an entranced child. He was troubled by talk of Desmond Tiny – it was never a good sign when that infernal meddler showed an interest in a person – but he tried not to let that overshadow Larten’s remarkable find.
“This is a momentous occasion,” Seba insisted. “Many vampires have set out in search of those tombs of ice and all have failed. This will stand you in good stead at the next Council. But I fear you will have to repeat your story more times than you might wish to.”
Larten sighed. “Maybe I will only have to repeat it once. When I tell the Princes what happened on the ship…”
“There is only one Prince in residence,” Seba said. “He has little time for those who stray from the path, but I am sure he will judge you fairly.”
“Which Prince is it?” Larten asked.
“He is new to the throne,” Seba said. “A couple of the older Princes have died since you left. This is the first of their replacements. There will be more in the not so distant future, but so far–”
“Is Paris Skyle one of the dead?” Larten interrupted, thinking for a horrible moment that the elderly Prince – a hundred years older than Seba – had passed on to Paradise in his absence.
“No,” Seba chuckled. “Sire Skyle is still going strong. I think he will live to be a thousand.” The quartermaster stood and groaned, rubbing the small of his back. “Come, I will present you to our noble new leader.”
“Who is he?” Larten asked, but Seba only touched his nose and winked.
“What about Wester?” Larten muttered as they made their way to the Hall at the top of the mountain. “I would like to see him before I introduce myself to the Prince, in case things go badly and I am executed.”
“I doubt that will happen,” Seba said. “In any case, if the luck of the vampires is with us, we might run into Master Flack along the way.”
Larten kept an eye out for Wester, but saw no sign of him. He was disappointed, but said nothing as they approached the tunnel that led to the Hall of Princes. He would have to seek out Wester later, the verdict of the new Prince permitting.
A slender guard stepped into their way as they neared the tunnel. No weapons were allowed beyond this point. Guards always checked those who wished to pass, even the quartermaster. There would be a body search and their hair would be combed for hidden blades.
“I wasn’t expecting you tonight,” the thin guard said to Seba. Then he saw Larten and his jaw dropped. Larten’s dropped too. They gasped each other’s name at the same moment.
“Larten?”
“Wester?”
Larten lunged forward and picked up the lighter vampire. He swung him round with delight and Wester whooped. The pair were brothers in all ways but birth. It was only now that they’d been reunited that Larten realised how much he had missed his best friend.
“Look at you!” Larten exclaimed, releasing Wester and admiring his outfit. “A guard of the Hall of Princes.”
“It will do until something better comes along,” Wester joked. This was the highest honour for any of the mountain’s guards. Only the most respected and trusted were granted the privilege of guarding the entrance to the throne room. Larten had never thought that Wester would achieve such a lofty position so early in his career, but he was delighted for him. Proud too. His own future didn’t seem so important now that he’d seen how well Wester was doing.
“Where have you been?” Wester asked. “What have you been up to? Why have you returned?”
“He will explain all later,” Seba said calmly. “First I must present him to the Prince. If you will let us pass…”
Seba started forward. A split second later, the tip of Wester’s sword was at his master’s throat. “No further, old man,” Wester chuckled, but he was serious too. He knew that Seba was only playing with him, but if the ancient vampire actually tried to pass without being searched, Wester would strike him dead in an instant, despite the fact that he loved the quartermaster as a father. He had been well trained and Larten was impressed by his quick hand and steely determination.
Seba stepped back and subjected himself to Wester’s search. Three other guards watched closely. The Hall of Princes housed the Stone of Blood. Every vampire let the Stone absorb some of their blood when they joined the clan. It allowed any one of th
em to be located by a user of the Stone in an instant. If an enemy ever got their hands on it, they could use the Stone to track down and destroy practically every living vampire. The guards here took their duty very seriously.
When Seba and Larten had been cleared, Wester led them through the tunnel and into the Hall, where a large, white dome gleamed warmly and pulsed eerily. Mr Tiny had given the dome to the clan as a gift, along with the Stone of Blood. The vampires had been suspicious of the gifts to begin with, but now they were a sacred part of their culture.
Wester struck the doors to the dome four times with a staff he carried especially for this task. There was a pause, then the doors swung open. Wester made the death’s touch sign and bid Larten luck.
“Are you not coming in to listen to my tale?” Larten asked.
“I can’t,” Wester said. “I’m on watch for another five hours. But I’ll hear it later, if you don’t mind telling it again.”
“If the Prince lets me live, I will happily tell it as many times as you like,” Larten said gloomily.
Wester was alarmed by that, but before he could ask any questions, Seba nudged Larten ahead of him, into the Hall where his fate would be decided.
Larten had only been inside the Hall of Princes once before, when he’d laid hands on the red Stone of Blood and let it drain some of his blood, thus linking him forever to the clan. He paused as the doors closed, glanced at the bright walls – light came from them, though no vampire knew how – then at the thrones in the centre of the room and the Stone of Blood on the pedestal behind them. He felt the way that religious humans did in cathedrals or mosques.
Then he saw the new Prince, sitting awkwardly on one of the thrones, and his sense of awe evaporated, to be replaced by incredulous delight. “Vancha?” he cried.
A filthy vampire in purple skins, encircled by belts of throwing stars, raised an eyebrow and sat up straight. Brushing green hair back from his face, he said archly, “That’s Sire Vancha, if you please.” Then he winked, spat over an arm of the throne, broke wind loudly and grinned. “I bet you never saw this one coming!”
