Vlad wondered why he should allow the vampires to control his life. To Hell with those evil beasts, Vlad decided. They already had caused him enough pain. Besides, Vlad found Ula irresistibly attractive. No matter what his mind told him, one look at her, and separation was out of the question. However, if he committed himself to Ula and something happened to her, he would find it unbearable. Vlad loved his father, and he had lost him forever. The road stretched out before Vlad Ingisbohr. It simultaneously enthralled and terrified him. Whatever he decided, marriage was a long way in the future. Until then, he and Ula enjoyed each other's company, free of pressure.
Vlad and Ula went to their favourite meeting place, beneath a tree beside the river. The tree was in full blossom, and in the sunlight, with Ula beside him, it felt like Heaven itself. Vlad’s eyes scanned her voluptuous form as she finished tossing stones into the water. He quietly watched the teasing rhythm of her unhindered breasts and the graceful movements of her long limbs as she got nearer to him. Vlad had not seen her for a while. Ula and her family had suffered a hideous run of illness. Ula and her younger sister were the ones chiefly affected mostly by diseases of the respiratory tract. Vlad asked many detailed questions regarding her illness. Surprisingly, Ula did not take offence and reassured Vlad as best she could.
Ula sat down beside Vlad and went to stroke his hair. He flinched and got to his feet.
“H-How are you feeling, Ula?” he stammered, smoothing his hair back, “better, I hope.”
“I have fully recovered, Vlad,” she said with a beaming smile, “my sister is also better.”
“The illness is gone?” Vlad asked enthusiastically.
Ula grinned and nodded. Vlad smiled and eased himself down beside her. He wanted to believe her and took her at her word, pressing Ula against him in a passionate embrace.
“You are a strange man, Vlad Ingisbohr,” Ula said passionately, reciprocating Vlad’s desire.
Vlad liked that the apparently demure female form bubbled underneath with feral passion, and with the merest kiss or caress he could unleash it. Ula had once been in love with a cruel man, a man Vlad had heard was rotting in a dungeon somewhere. Ula would never go into detail about that person. She would not even reveal his first name. Vlad had taken the hint and did not pursue the issue any further. Vlad stopped kissing Ula, and she opened her eyes with a start.
“Why are you stopping?” Ula asked.
“Haven’t you heard that a woman’s chastity is a sty in the eye of the Devil?”
“No.”
“Well, perhaps it’s a sty in the eye of that farmer over there!”
Ula looked up and saw nothing.
“What farmer, Vlad?” Ula asked. “There’s no one there; everyone is at the procession.”
“There was an old man leaning on his cudgel, watching us in the next field!’ Vlad insisted.
There was rustling in the bushes, and something shot up Vampire
Mountain with incredible speed.
“Did you see that?” Vlad asked.
“I saw it,” Ula said, stunned. “What was it?”
“The vampires were watching us,” Vlad said, fear in his voice.
“Why?” Ula asked.
“They’re probably wondering why we’re not at the village procession against them,” Vlad said.
“I’m scared, Vlad,” Ula said.
Vlad put his arm around her to calm her. “Was there any damage to your farm last night?” enquired Vlad.
“Yes,” Ula replied, “they killed one of our pigs.”
“Which one?” he asked.
“The small one with the black spot,” Ula said. “It must have escaped through that gap in the floor again. I told my father to patch it up, but it’s too late now.”
There was a long silence before Ula produced a basket. “I brought you some apples,” she said. She took one out and handed it to him. He munched on it hungrily and devoured it in three bites. Vlad tossed the apple core in the river. When he looked up at Ula, she was in a fit of giggles.
“Why are you laughing at me?” Vlad asked.
“You eat apples like my horse!” she giggled.
Vlad sulked, obviously hurt by the derisive giggles of a girl.
“Don’t be like that, Vlad,” Ula said as she moved closer to him. She just had placed her lips on his cheek when they heard chanting coming from the road.
After Vlad had kissed Ula goodbye, he looked up at Vampire Mountain as he walked and shivered. In winter, the biting northerly and easterly winds swept down from Vampire Mountain onto Nocturne and went right through the draughty dwellings and into the bones of the residents. It was an oppressive time, and the loss of life was greatest then, as sickness was rife and many just lost the will to live. Christmas was the darkest time of the year, when the vampires had roughly seventeen hours of darkness with which to lay siege to Nocturne and the surrounding area. On cloudy days, Deadulus was able to venture forth alone and cause more mayhem for brief periods. Those were the worst days, when the suffocating darkness was all around and nothing seemed possible. A crippling malaise joined with fear and paranoia and made life almost unbearable.
Although Christmas was a welcome relief, there was one other thing that the people had to keep them going: the prophecy. In Nocturne town square, there was a large obelisk. It had tableaux chiselled into it depicting an elderly blind man with a beard leading smiling children to a happier place in the sun. This blind man would deliver them all from evil by defeating the vampires. The prophecy had been passed down by word of mouth around the hearth in every home for generations. Nobody knew when or where the prophecy began, they were only aware it existed and they believed in it wholeheartedly. There was no evidence that there was even a grain of truth in it, but they had complete blind faith in their blind man - the blind leading the blind. Without their prophecy, many more Nocturnians would have lost the will to live.
As Vlad crossed Nocturne Village Square, he looked to the left as he always did to the timid hillock where his grandparents were buried. The burial ground was a jagged arrangement of wooden crosses that had been buffeted by the elements. Even the dead had no respite from the weather. It was ringed by a long wall of trees. If the village of Nocturne had been built on the far side of those trees, they would have served as a natural buffer against the driving wind coming down from Vampire Mountain. Beside the cemetery was Lake Veronus that edged onto the Ingisbohr farm. Beside the lake were the fields where Vlad loved to play as a boy. There were no other children of Vlad’s age around then, so he had imagined them. The villagers thought he was a strange, lonely boy, playing by himself all the time, but Vlad was lost in his own world and he loved every minute of it. He was the ruler of the world he had created. Whatever Vlad wanted, he thought up. He never had to ask permission from anyone to do anything. He just did it.
Vlad always picked flowers for his mother Hana in the fields as a child, and they brought a smile to her face, even when he brought back colourful weeds. He also made her food when she was sick, and she always ate it or pretended to even if it looked or smelled disgusting. Vlad’s father Adam had been a tough man, and he thought it was a weakness that Vlad was so close to his mother, but Vlad never saw it that way. Vlad thought his father had felt the diseased crow of jealousy pecking at his heart over the relationship he and his mother enjoyed. Some people had terrible relationships with their mothers, or no relationship at all. Vlad never got what the problem was, but it was a constant source of strife between Vlad and his father. If Adam started picking on his son, Vlad would retreat to the fields again to escape, no matter what the weather. He once got very sick by staying too long in the icy fields due to his reluctance to go home and face more endless criticism. Vlad loved his father and he did miss him, but he was happy that it was his mother who was still alive. Had his mother died first, life would have been unimaginably cold and difficult living alone with his father. Vlad shuddered to even think about it.
Vlad left his village
of Nocturne. He enjoyed leaving Nocturne behind and going for an adventure occasionally. If he stayed too long there, he felt the oppressive atmosphere start coiling itself around his throat. He needed to get away from time to time. Slowly, all signs of humanity melted away and rugged, windswept, harmonious nature surrounded him, and he felt at peace. Even the air began to freshen as funeral pyres and the stench of death receded into the distance behind him as he walked.
A huge storm had ripped through the area ten years before, and the scattered detritus left in its wake still was visible even though it had become overgrown with flora, green shoots from desolation’s grave. Vlad paused to look at it and remind himself of the remarkable power of nature. He was only a young boy on the terrifying night the storm had struck, but he had vivid memories of it. Recalling it still gave him a shiver of excitement and anticipation. He loved storms and how they had the power to change everything around him in a short space of time. Even if the result was ugly and chaotic, Vlad still liked the shift in perspective and welcomed it. There was a longing for anarchy and confrontation within him. It made the return to serenity feel even better. Forces of nature brought change to those who avoided it, and so did the vampires. Although their power and destruction was frightening and devastating, Vlad still wanted to experience their elemental fury. By surviving, he could learn and transcend anything. It made him feel stronger and in control of his destiny. In that way, freak events were a welcome catalyst. They challenged even the greatest plans and made their creators think differently and adapt and overcome.
Some in his village thought the ferocity of that storm was the end of the world, but Vlad laughed at that. He revelled in the potential for danger and rebirth the storm brought. It was another reason why Vlad was thought to be odd in his village, but he did not care. Vlad gleefully went for a walk on the morning after the storm to survey all the damage. Fallen trees and branches were particular favourites of his. Dirty looks from fellow Nocturnians did not dampen his enthusiasm for wreckage. Vlad laughed to himself. Some sustained injuries or lost loved ones during the storm, and Vlad had shown them great consideration. He hand-delivered food made by his mother to afflicted families and joined his father and other Nocturnian men in rebuilding properties damaged by the tempest. It was the first time Vlad had felt like a man instead of a boy, and he learned many valuable things, skills he was able to utilise long after his father was gone. Songs and jokes from the men as they worked remained with him, even the ones his father tried to stop him hearing by blocking Vlad’s ears. He especially liked those. Vlad loved the unity shown by the people of Nocturne then. It was an idyllic time before the vampires came. When Deadulus and his kind did arrive, there was one final massive show of unity at McLintock’s Spit, and then nothing. An every-man-for-himself mentality descended after that. Vrillium Gladwish was the ice forming in the rock slowly cracking the structure apart from within. Vlad came back to grim reality with a frown. There he drew a veil across his memories and proceeded onward.
Vlad passed a turbulent sea of golden wheat that danced in ripples in the field as if God himself whispered his praise directly upon it. In a beech tree, an early robin sang his warning that winter was coming. Vlad was surrounded by life and he genuinely felt glad to be alive every day. He was headed to a place a short distance away that once was called Nevage. The name of the place gradually faded away when rumour spread that the forest there was haunted by sprites that waited in trees to possess passers-by. The region became isolated and a no-go area, especially after dark.
Mattna the Shaman’s hut was the only dwelling in that area, and he attracted suspicion and ill will from Nocturnians for living there. Vlad visited the old man frequently, as he was a fountain of local knowledge on the vampire. Mattna was considered a friend of Adam Ingisbohr’s until the decision to go to war against the vampires alienated them from each other. The shaman’s burgeoning pacifist beliefs lost him a good comrade, but saved him from certain death at McLintock’s Spit. That stance drew the ire of Nocturnians, who accused him of cowardice, and they shunned him from then on. Mattna relayed many stories about Vlad’s father that filled in the gaps in Vlad’s increasingly patchy memories of him. Vlad’s mother did not like talking about Adam, as it made her upset, and Vlad hated seeing her like that. Therefore, he went to Mattna instead. Mattna also knew everything there was to know about the supernatural.
With his straggly white hair, wild beard, and the monk’s cowl tied with rope at the waist, Mattna was quite a sight to strangers. To Vlad, he was just a friend. Vlad waded through a flock of clucking chickens to gain entry to Mattna’s hut, which lay inside a massive, hollow tree trunk that probably had been there for millennia.
Vlad stuck his head in through the half-open door. Mattna was in the corner, mixing up another one of his potions. Even though Vlad remained silent, Mattna was aware of his presence. The old man spun around rapidly.
“Come in, lad, rest your young bones, and have a cup of rain. I’ve just made some broth, too. Would you like some?”
“Yes, please,” said Vlad.
Mattna handed Vlad a cup of rainwater, which Vlad downed in one gulp. Mattna then went over to a massive black cauldron that was bubbling away on the fire. He dished up a thick, yellowish substance into a wooden bowl. There was meat of dubious origin (probably carrion foraged for by Mattna on his wanderings) and blackened potatoes that just about qualified as pommes des terres. Some barley floated reluctantly on the cloudy surface and collided with chunks of incognito mushroom. Despite looking horrific, its taste was exquisite. Vlad was becoming a bit addicted to Mattna’s broth. Despite Vlad’s bowels rumbling for hours after eating it, he always felt great when he relieved himself the next morning. It did something good for him. He was unsure what that something was, but he felt it. Vlad’s mother always shot him a knowing glance when his stomach was churning like that on his post-broth return. Some mothers may have felt slighted that their son would rather eat the food of a strange recluse, but Hana always saw the funny side of it. Besides, it just meant there was more food in the larder for later.
“The food of warriors,” said Mattna, “but before I share my food with you, isn’t there some food you must share with me?”
“What?”
“Food for Judas.”
Vlad remembered, and opened a small cloth bag and tossed Mattna a worm. Mattna in turned tossed it to Judas, his giant black crow that squawked loudly in the corner of Mattna’s dwelling. The bird expertly caught the worm in its beak and swiftly swallowed it down.
“I don’t suppose you have a toad in there as well, do you?” Mattna asked.
“Apologies, my friend, I do not.”
“One can never have enough toads, I say, I shall have to catch one later.”
Judas squawked with contentment after his meal and began preening its feathers.
“He always cleans himself when he’s enjoyed his food,” Mattna said with a smile as he admired his pet.
“Why have you named your crow Judas?” Vlad asked.
The old man turned to Vlad, almost happy at the topic being raised.
“Judas followed his own path, as I do. That is why I lead this hermit’s existence. There are no masters out here for me to obey.”
“Judas betrayed Jesus and the path he chose took him to Hell.”
“Judas did what he thought was right and regretted it later. History has not been kind to him, but at least he had the courage to go his own way. That is where my admiration lies.”
“My admiration lies in your talents and your knowledge; I just think they’re wasted in solitude.”
“A man’s talent is like his phallus: It’s a battering ram to be wielded wisely.”
Vlad’s eyebrows shot up, but he remained silent.
“Now, going your own way does not mean being rebellious for the sake of it; that’s just petulance,” Mattna said. “You must use your ability to punch a hole in this world and leave your mark.”
“Love is an
other way to leave one’s mark.”
“There was a time when I thought the only solution to the frigidity of life was the treachery of love.”
Vlad picked up a clump of dust from the table.
“This place needs a woman’s touch.”
“No, no, not now. I’m in the winter of my life, and my heart is as stiff as my aching bones. The only future I could promise a woman is widowhood with this hovel bequeathed to her. Not many would want that, and I would not want anyone to go through that for me. I choose to rely on myself.”
“Your bird has been fed, now what about me?” Vlad asked as he eyed the bowl of broth with large, ravenous eyes.
“Patience, dear boy, patience, all good things to those who wait.”
Mattna slid the bowl of broth onto a small, round table for Vlad, and Vlad hungrily took a mouthful, spat out some animal hairs and feathers, and resumed his scoffing.
“They say you are a madman in Nocturne,” Vlad said with his mouth full. “They say you dance naked in the moonlight and converse with crows. I see the latter bit is true.”
“I need not explain myself or my life to them. I harm no one. I just want to be left in peace.”
“People have burned for less, Mattna. I worry about you being all alone out here.”
“Worry not, boy. If it is my destiny to die at their hands or someone else’s, it shall happen regardless of whether you or I want it to or not. It is only the reputation of the Haunted Forest that stops them from coming to burn me out. That reputation can’t last forever. All it takes is for someone like you to burst that illusion. Then they will come, one by one, and then by the dozen. They will say that Judas is my familiar and that I am in league with the Devil and that will be that. Mattna will be no more.”
The Vorbing Page 3
