Souls Night [The Pact Series]

by Kallysten

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  Alinar Publishing

  www.alinarpublishing.com

  Copyright ©2007 by Kallysten

  First published in 2007, 2007

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  Souls Night

  Kallysten

  Copyright © 2007 Kallysten

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written consent of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  The right of Kallysten to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published October 2007

  All characters in this publication are purely fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Edited by Margaret C.

  Cover by Kallysten

  ISBN (PDF only):

  1-906023-39-5

  978-1-906023-39-3

  Chapter 1

  Mierna wasn't afraid. She refused to be afraid.

  She clenched her fist around her short spear and remained still a few seconds more. The screeching that had startled her repeated twice before fading in the distance. Nothing was moving around her, or at least nothing that she could see. Breathing deep, she pushed aside the fear.

  With slow steps on the dry, crunching leaves covering the trail, she continued to advance, her eyes darting all around her, her ears straining to catch any more noises. The Fighters said no demons ever came from the woods, but that didn't mean there weren't any around. For all she knew, one of them was watching her and waiting for the right moment to attack. She stood a little straighter at the thought, and forced herself to look ahead rather than around her so she wouldn't appear to be scared. She would not be afraid of demons—and more importantly, of the idea of demons being close by.

  An owl hooted in the distance. Mierna's heart jumped in her chest as she instinctively whirled toward the sound.

  "Just a bird,” she muttered to herself. “Nothing but a stupid bird."

  In the dense woods, the trail sometimes disappeared for a few yards. This wouldn't have been a problem if the moon had not periodically hidden behind clouds brought by a wind that chased them away as quickly as it gathered them. At times, the changing shadows seemed to give life to the trees, and Mierna had to look twice to assure herself she was still alone. She wouldn't let a few shadows unsettle her, or the wet, earthy scent of decay brought by autumn rains, or the murmur of the wind above her head, or all the noises she couldn't identify. She was not a little girl anymore, and she had long since stopped believing that souls roamed free one night a year, looking for minds to inhabit for a few hours. Still, she would have felt better if the Fighters had not challenged her to enter the woods this particular night.

  Her spear felt slippery against her palm. She stopped, transferred the spear to her left hand, and wiped the right against the fabric of her pants to get a better grip. Then she continued walking, the spear back in her right hand, ready to thrust. The pants, like the spear, belonged to her older brother Carrel, and she still felt uneasy at having borrowed them. She hadn't had much of a choice, though. She couldn't have gone trudging through the woods in a frock, and she couldn't have gone unarmed either. All she could hope was that he wouldn't be too angry when he noticed she had taken them. She didn't even want to think of what their parents would say.

  Their shock when Carrel had told them she wanted to join the Fighters had been predictable, but she hadn't imagined her mother's tears, or her father's refusal to even hear her out. Whatever happened, now, she had to go to the end of the trail, and return to the Fighters with the proof they had demanded. Once she was accepted amongst them, maybe Carrel and their parents would begin to accept her decision. In any case, they wouldn't be able to stop her. It would be too late.

  Mierna froze. She could have sworn she had seen a light flicker, somewhere ahead of her. It was much too late in the season for fireflies. She breathed in deep, counted to three, and took one hesitant step. The light returned, far ahead of her, moving behind the trees, dancing up and down and ... it settled, low to the ground. Mierna took another step, then two, and gasped. There were now two lights. The first one remained where it was while the second moved, then settled down at a short distance of the first.

  Were these souls, Mierna wondered, recalling the tales old villagers told awed children every year on Souls Night. She did not fear the dead, but just the same, she didn't want to meet them.

  She hesitated, and then steeled herself. She had to go to the end of the trail. She had to find the weapon she had been asked for. Small lights dancing ahead of her—she counted five—were not going to stop her.

  As quietly as she could, she continued to approach. There were six lights, now, their glow even brighter as the moon had disappeared behind dark clouds, and she could see a shadow hovering around them. Her mouth suddenly very dry, she stepped always closer. The shadow stood less than twenty feet in front of her, and Mierna frantically tried to recall what she had heard of Souls Night. The souls might try to show her images. They wouldn't hurt her as long as she left them in peace ... but she couldn't remember anything about shadows lurking among the souls. Was it protecting them, maybe? Or was it something different, something much more dangerous—a demon?

  Just as the idea struck her mind, Mierna walked on a dried branch. She felt it snap before the cracking sound reached her ears, and she winced. This wasn't good. She hadn't wanted to be noticed by whatever was there, a few feet away now, but it was too late. The shadow was growing, turning toward her. A flame wavered in front of the tall shape, its light reverberating in fiery eyes. Mierna's blood turned to ice in her veins. Cold beads of sweat rolled down the back of her neck. The shadow took a step toward her, and she reacted without thinking.

  The spear left her hand before she was even conscious of having taken aim. She had trained so long for this, hiding from all to do it. Women weren't supposed to fight demons. They were supposed to stay home, and hope for the best. She had never understood why. As far as she could recall, she had known that she wouldn't be hiding while others fought for her.

  What she had never trained for, however, never expected, was the cry of surprised pain the shadow let out when the spear hit it. Part of her had expected the spear to pass through the shadow as though passing through smoke. Instead, the shout was accompanied by the noise of a solid body falling back on the ground. As it did, the hood of the black cloak that had made that body seem other than human fell back, revealing a pale face that almost seemed to glow in the light of the returning moon.

  Horrified by what she had done, Mierna rushed forward, falling to her knees next to the man. The spear was embedded in his abdomen, the area around it shining wetly with blood. He struggled to sit up and she babbled a string of breathless apologies.

  "I'm so sorry ... I didn't mean ... Gods..."

  He raised his hand and it hovered near the spear as though to grab it, but did not touch it.

  "Pull it out,” he grunted.

  Mierna's hands
shook when she grasped the spear. She raised her eyes to the man's face, ready to give him a warning, but instead what she saw sent a flash of pure fear through her. She let go of the spear at once and fell back on her heels in her haste to get away.

  "If I wanted you dead, I would have killed you already. Now get that spear out of me."

  There was something powerful in his voice, compelling even through the pain that tainted it. Mierna approached the man again—the vampire. For a moment, his eyes continued to burn with an unnatural fire, but nothing in him hinted at violence or danger. Only when the fire disappeared—leaving his eyes a deep blue—did she grab the spear again with hands as hesitant as they were slippery. She closed her eyes and pulled as fast, as straight as she could. The vampire groaned.

  "I'm sorry,” she repeated, daring to look at him again. “I thought..."

  Her voice trailed off as he stood, a hand pressed to his bloody side. She froze when he bent down toward her, certain for a second that he would take his revenge now, but all he did was pick up a small object from the ground. She watched, her fear and apologies forgotten in favor of curiosity, as he touched the cup-like object to one of the lights she had noticed earlier. A flame rose, tiny, wavering, but resistant even in the face of the wind blowing around them. They were small candles, she now realized; by the strong, acrid scent of them, she guessed they had been made from the sap of a certain kind of trees that grew in the woods. Such candles did not give enough light to be of much use, but nothing short of water would kill their flame.

  There were now seven of these candles, lined up at the top of small piles of rocks. Behind each pile, rounded stones had been polished smooth by the elements, but Mierna could still guess letters, here and there. These were tombs, she realized, her stomach tightening into a painful knot.

  The vampire stood still in front of the last tomb for a few more moments, then turned back toward Mierna, a hand pressed to his bloody side. She hurried to her feet so he wouldn't loom over her, but even so he stood a full head taller than she was.

  "Why are you here, child?” he asked, his voice gravelly. “Who are you?"

  "My ... my name is Mierna. I am from Riverside."

  A short, impatient nod told her he knew of her village.

  "The last time, your people sent three armed men during daytime,” he said, sounding more tired than angry. “Do they fear me so little now that they will send one lone child to steal from me?"

  "I'm not a child,” she replied, annoyed. She crossed her arms and raised her chin a little higher, forgetting that she had wounded the vampire in the light of his accusations. “And I did not come here to steal."

  His expression remained blank. “Then why are you here?"

  "It's a challenge,” she explained, trying to reach for a patience she didn't possess. “I had to come here tonight, alone, and return—” She realized the implications of what she was saying as the words passed her lips, but it was too late to stop now. “—with proof that I had come."

  "What proof?"

  She could feel her cheeks flushing at his accusatory tone and dropped her eyes. They fell on the bloody hand he was pressing to his side, and her feelings of guilt only heightened.

  "I have to bring back a weapon,” she said, talking very fast. Then, gesturing at his wound, she added: “Shouldn't you ... lie down, maybe? I could clean this for you. Bandage it."

  He ignored her suggestion, focusing instead on what she would rather not have talked about now that she understood the entirety of the challenge. The Fighters had indeed sent her to steal, even though they hadn't phrased it that way.

  "Who do you think owns that weapon you had to bring back?"

  "I didn't know anyone would be here,” she muttered.

  "And yet you came armed."

  She wanted to roll her eyes at that, but she doubted he would take it well. Her initial burst of fear at being in front of a vampire had faded, but she couldn't forget what he was, couldn't forget old stories of how, once, humans had shown so much respect to vampires.

  "Of course I came armed. It's Souls Night. I wasn't going to walk around defenseless. And I truly am sorry. I thought you were..."

  She couldn't finish, her fear suddenly too ridiculous to voice.

  "You thought I was what?"

  Once more, her cheeks felt too hot, and Mierna was grateful that it was so dark. “I thought you were a demon."

  He laughed. The sound took her by surprise, deep and truly amused, but somehow awkward, as though he hadn't laughed in a long time.

  "And you thought a spear would help against a demon?"

  "I don't know. I'm not a Fighter yet. But I will be. And a spear has to be better than nothing."

  His laughter died as abruptly as it had started. Mierna could feel his eyes on her, heavy, piercing, measuring her from her braided hair to the toe of her boots. When he shook his head, a wave of cold ran over her; she was sure she had failed whatever test he had run her through, and she had to fight her need to move back, away from the judgment about to fall from his lips. He didn't say anything however. All he did was grimace, look down at his middle and at his blood stained hand, and then he turned away toward the stone building fifty yards behind him. Mierna had been so focused on him, she hadn't noticed it until now.

  "Go home, Mierna,” he said without looking back. “Children have no business fighting demons."

  Outrage bubbled inside her at his words. She didn't think twice. She strode after him.

  "I'm not a child! I will be nineteen on my next birthday! And the Fighters have accepted boys three years younger than I am in the past. They only made me wait so long because I'm a girl."

  He stopped so abruptly that she very nearly bumped into him. She took a step back, expecting him to turn to her again, but he only glanced at her over his shoulder.

  "Your ... Fighters take children younger than sixteen to fight demons?"

  It wasn't simple curiosity in his voice. It vibrated with something that, to Mierna, sounded like an accusation, and she found herself taking a defensive stance.

  "Someone has to do it."

  He shook his head once more and started for the building without another word. It was a house, Mierna supposed, though the windows were both smaller and higher on the walls than she had ever seen. She doubted much light entered the building through them—which might have been just the goal, she realized. Stories said vampires were afraid of sunlight. He had reached the door and laid a hand on the latch. She couldn't let him dismiss her like this, not after she had come all this way.

  "We have to protect ourselves,” she called out after him. “You vampires haven't protected us for a long time."

  He stilled again. This time, he didn't look back, but bowed his head.

  "We do,” he said, so quietly that Mierna barely heard him. “There just aren't enough of us anymore."

  He pushed the door open and disappeared inside. It was a clear dismissal, or so Mierna thought until she noticed he had left the door open. She took a step toward it, then stopped, suddenly hesitant. She couldn't see inside, it was too dark, and her instincts were saying that it might not be such a good idea to enter a vampire's lair, just like she would have been wary to intrude on a wild animal's territory, especially a wounded one.

  Still undecided, she looked back toward the trail. She had walked for more than an hour to arrive to this point. If she left now, it would have been for nothing. The Fighters wouldn't believe her if she returned without proof. She didn't want to steal from someone she had already wounded without cause, but she might have a chance to convince him. If he gave her a weapon, it wouldn't be stealing. Her decision made, she entered the house.

  She had expected total darkness, but as soon as she entered, light caught her attention, making her turn to the right. She walked slowly toward what turned out to be a large room lined with three torches, hung high on the stone walls and burning brightly. In the center of the fourth wall, a fire was dying, ashes and embers piled
high in the hearth. Ten carved chairs surrounded an oval wooden table in the middle of the room. The chairs seemed dusty. Only when the vampire moved did Mierna notice him, sitting on a low bench on the right of the fireplace, a large, fuming pot at his side. He had removed both his cloak and tunic, and was pressing a rag to his bloody side, rinsing it periodically in the pot. She approached slowly, feeling a little uncomfortable at his state of undress. He was slimmer than she had guessed with the long cloak disguising his body, but there was no mistaking the play of strong muscles beneath the pale skin of his arms and torso.

  "You said there's not enough vampires,” she said, averting her gaze to look at the table and chairs. “Why don't you make more?"

  For a long moment, he remained quiet, to the point that Mierna wondered if he was going to answer. She finally turned her eyes back toward him, and found him staring at the bloody rag in his hand with a dark, absent look. He gave a small shrug before blinking and glancing up at her.

  "Only a crazy human would want to become a vampire and risk dying suddenly and without reason."

  Mierna had heard of the Great Death, of course. It was only one more tale old folks used to scare children. Stay away from vampires, they said, for if they turn you into one of them, you will die on Souls Night as surely as though they had killed you out right. Like for so many other tales, Mierna wasn't sure she still believed it.

  "You didn't die,” she pointed out.

  "No, I did not,” he replied on a flat tone. “I merely saw my seven Childer die in front of me without a scratch on their bodies, or a demon anywhere in sight."

  She understood then what the tombs outside were. It had been more than two hundred years, the stories said, since the Great Death had come. How often had he held a vigil over these graves?

  She remained silent for a while, watching him finish cleaning his wound. Next, he reached on the bench next to him for a piece of cloth folded in a square no larger than her hand, and he pressed it to the spear wound. Holding it in place with one hand, he picked up a long, narrow piece of cloth and started winding it around his chest.