The council of elders was not a council of merit; it comprised the only older people left in Nocturne. There was an automatic presumption of wisdom being present with their advanced years, but that was not always the case. There were three types of elder on the council: the one that had ultimate power, the sycophants who supported the one with ultimate power, and envious rivals who wanted his power for themselves. Vlad had no time for cliques and was not old enough to infiltrate the particularly odious, power-hungry one before him. Vlad was a lone wolf in that way, like his father. The caveat to their freedom was that they were both isolated and had few allies to call on in times of danger. Outside of a vampire attack, becoming the focus of the council’s suspicion or anger was the most dangerous time for a Nocturnian. It made life extremely difficult for that villager; they faced being shunned and their life was put at risk if they pursued it far enough. Added to the vampire threat, it was an extremely dangerous situation for anyone to live in, but Vlad was a gambler like his father Adam. He was content to cast the runes and see where they fell. Vlad somehow knew that things would come out in his favour. He was not always correct in that belief, but he carried it with him.
Vrillium raised his arms, and a hush descended on the place at once. He wore a large pearl ring on his right hand as a symbol of his status.
“There will be order here!” he shouted. “There is a council meeting in progress. What is the meaning of this interruption?’
“Vlad Ingisbohr has killed Necromus, sir,” the old man said.
Vlad stood before the council. He was nervous inside, but did not show it as he brushed the lingering dirt and rubbish from his clothing. Vrillium remained unimpressed at Vlad sullying his barn. Vlad felt wearing his father’s breastplate would remind the council of what Adam Ingisbohr had done for the village. It also was a shield that gave him moral courage and a modicum of physical protection against some of the opprobrium coming his way. The council sat on a wooden bench. Ordinary Nocturnians sat on piles of hay and watched.
“Is this true, Ingisbohr?” Vrillium asked.
“My name is Vlad, and, yes it is true,” Vlad said.
“Why are you covered in blood and filth?” Vrillium asked.
“The blood is from the vampires,” Vlad said. “The rest is from my fellow villagers.”
“I see,” Vrillium said. “This is most serious. While you are here, there is something else that you must answer for. It has come to our attention that you have not been attending the religious processions through Nocturne. Why is this?”
“Prayers have not defeated the vampires so far, have they?” Vlad said.
The crowd murmured.
“It is God’s will that the vampires punish us for our transgressions and not man’s place to question that, and certainly not yours, you upstart crow,” Vrillium countered.
“I am an Ingisbohr, and you will address me as such,” Vlad said, seething with rage at the unflattering put-down. “This curse will never leave us unless we make it go; my father knew this.”
“Your father is dead as a result of his rash actions,” Vrillium retorted. “We will not shed one more drop of blood following another madman into battle.”
The crowd shouted their agreement.
“My father was a great man!” Vlad said with conviction, and it quietened the crowd. “He gave his life for us.”
“You think the name Ingisbohr absolves you of participating in our holy processions?” Vrillium asked, tightening the verbal noose around Vlad’s neck.
Vlad wisely did not take the bait and stayed silent. He felt and heard Vrillium’s rabble-rousing skills taking effect all around him, and it worried him. The tide was turning against him.
Vrillium rose dramatically to his feet and pointed a long, bony finger of accusation at Vlad. “Or perhaps you are in league with the vampires and do not need God’s protection!” Vrillium shouted angrily.
The crowd reacted again, some of them even jostling Vlad where he stood.
“That’s not true!” Vlad said. “The vampires took my father from me, why would I side with those things? I hate them more than anyone here.”
The crowd relaxed slightly, but there was still an air of agitation around Vlad. Sensing the mood of the crowd, Vrillium took a moment and then made his next surreptitious move.
“We hear that you are missing our religious processions to fornicate with a young farm girl in a field,” Vrillium said, smirking with superiority and self-satisfaction at his inside information about Vlad’s private life. The barn was in uproar. Ordinarily, Vrillium would have called for order, but he was deliberately whipping the crowd into a frenzy for his own ends.
“Leave her out of this,” Vlad said.
“Ah, so you admit this is true?” Vrillium asked. “Your father is spinning in his grave…wherever that is.”
“I admit I am in love with this girl and want to marry her,” Vlad said testily. “If that is a crime, then so be it. I am not ashamed, and neither are my parents.”
“You presume to know what goes on in the spirit world with your father?” Vrillium said. “How do you know this?”
“I know my father is proud of me, because I have done nothing wrong,” Vlad said.
“Evil spirits speak to him!” Vrillium said. “That’s how he knows.”
“That’s not true!” Vlad protested.
The crowd murmured and shifted nervously where they sat and stood.
Gladwish whispered with the other members of the council.
Vlad knew they were plotting against him, and he had to try something fast or he faced a harsh judgement. He turned and faced the crowd. “I have known you all my life, my friends,” Vlad said. “Do not let these people poison you against me with untruths.”
“Silence!” Vrillium roared. “You are not in charge here. You do not make pronouncements without permission.”
“Mattna the Shaman died last night,” Vlad said.
“You will not mention that sorcerer’s name in our presence,” Vrillium said, his voice low as he looked at the floor.
“You don’t want to know?” Vlad asked.
“The misfortunes of a mad hermit are hardly a matter for this council,” Vrillium replied.
“Mattna was a member of this village,” Vlad said. “What happens to one of us, happens to all of us. So his death is relevant here. He was my friend.”
The crowd quietened down. Some of them agreed with Vlad.
“That sorcerer was NOT a member of this village,” Vrillium said. “We banished him, and rightly so. The forbidden dark arts he practised would never be tolerated by us.”
The crowd reverted to Gladwish’s side again.
“Mattna was no sorcerer,” Vlad said. “He denied being a shaman, but the epithet endured. That was not his doing.”
“You yourself called him Mattna the Shaman a moment ago,” Vrillium said.
“Only so you would know which Mattna I referred to; the name is common in Dubhtayl,” Vlad said.
“My fellow Nocturnians,” Vrillium said, raising his hands, “I have heard enough. Vlad Ingisbohr has condemned himself with his own words.”
Vlad looked around in disbelief at the situation he found himself in.
“He admits refusing to join our religious procession!” Vrillium shouted as he jumped to his feet and gesticulated wildly at Vlad. “That is heresy!”
The crowd muttered agreement and their hostility grew.
“He calls a sorcerer his friend!” Gladwish continued. “That is witchcraft!”
“No!” Vlad cried, “I have done nothing wrong. It was I who killed Mattna.”
Gladwish laughed. “So we can add murder to the charges facing you,” Vrillium said. “So be it.”
“No,” Vlad said. “I did not murder him, I released his soul. He had become a vampire.”
“Aha, so this sorcerer was one of them,” Gladwish said. “You were friends with a vampire?!”
“I killed Mattna as a gesture of mercy, th
e way any of us would end the suffering of someone we know,” Vlad said. “I took no pleasure in his death.”
“Murder is murder,” Vrillium said, “even if your victim was an undesirable.”
“I also killed Necromus!” Vlad blurted out. “He was second-in-command to Deadulus. I did it alone. Imagine what we can do if we unite!”
The crowd backed off somewhat and looked to Gladwish for guidance.
“What?!” Vrillium said. “The vampires will retaliate tonight. They will wipe Nocturne off the face of the earth!”
“Not if we fight them,” Vlad said.
“What madness is this?” Vrillium said. “You know only a blind man can defeat the vampires. You know the prophecy.”
“I know it,” Vlad said. “I just don’t believe it.”
“You young fool,” Gladwish said. “I will hear no more of this. We should burn you for your crimes. However, we shall spare your life as a gesture to your late father and your once-good family name. Take him outside, and let his banishment commence!”
The crowd tried to grab hold of Vlad, but he avoided their clutches.
“Leave this place at once, Vlad Ingisbohr,” Vrillium said. “You are expelled from Nocturne forever! If you ever set foot in this village again, the penalty is death.”
“Good,” Vlad said. “I refuse to live among cowards.”
“You dare insult this council?” Gladwish said.
Vlad turned his back on Gladwish and tried to walk through the crowd. Storm Vidor struck Vlad on the back of the head. He slumped to the ground.
“Call us cowards, will you?” Storm shouted, his red face getting redder.
The incensed villagers surrounded him as they kicked and spat on him.
“Stop, I am on your side!” Vlad said.
The mob ignored Vlad’s pleas and continued their assault on him.
“No!” Vrillium said.
The crowd stopped beating Vlad and looked to Vrillium for guidance. Battered and bruised, Vlad crawled towards the entrance to the barn.
“Let him go,” Vrillium said. “He is no longer a Nocturnian. If you return to this village, Vlad Ingisbohr, you will get worse than you did today. The Ingisbohr name is dead. It died with your father.”
“Wh-where will I go?” Vlad asked, his voice shaking with rage, fear and adrenalin.
“You can kiss the arse of the Devil in the moonlight for all I care,” Vrillium said. He disowned Vlad with a curt wave of his sleeved hand as a conceited smile played on his lips. “This council is adjourned,” Vrillium said.
The villagers filed out past Vlad, aiming a last few gobs of malicious spittle at him as they went. Vlad trembled with shock as he reached the exterior of the barn. He staggered to his feet and fled for his life. Gladwish was beaming. He had won complete control of Nocturne and its people. The last challenger to his authority was out of the way for good.
Chapter Six
Vlad’s blurred vision and aching body somehow carried him out of Nocturne. He did not look back. Vlad’s stunned psyche registered the pain of his injuries and then a feeling of welcome numbness. His birthplace and former home fell away into the distance and into the recesses of his mind. In moments, he had become a pariah at the mercy of the elements. Dread and uncertainty coursed through him. Vlad stopped to catch his breath and review his situation. Angry Nocturnians had not followed him, and that was a relief. Vlad had reached his pain threshold for the day. Gradually, his mind considered what he needed to survive and how he would get it. He looked at the Mortisian road ahead and into the surrounding woods. If Vlad disbelieved he had left the safe womb of Nocturne, confirmation was staring him in the face. There was a stone altar with cattle skulls adorning the top of it. Vlad knew straightaway what it was.
“Pagans,” Vlad said through trembling lips.
Where there were pagans, there undoubtedly were sacrifices too, of the human kind. In the dappled forest light, Vlad thought he noticed human skin and blood on the altar, but he was unsure and thought it wise not to wait for confirmation. The sound of distant female laughter made him look around frantically. He ducked in behind a tree and peeped around, but saw no one. Vlad had heard stories from his grandfather about wood nymphs and spirits that lured men to their deaths. He left the area with great haste
Vlad’s heart wanted to return home, but his head reminded him that his only choice was to keep pressing ahead. From going hunting with his father, he knew that a moving target was harder to hit. It was too late to turn back. His old life in Nocturne was a memory. His people brutally had exiled him from their community, and only certain death awaited him if he returned alone. He forgave them in his heart for not believing in him when he had not yet proven himself. They were frightened, ordinary people, and fear made the nicest people make questionable choices. Vlad did not forgive Vrillium Gladwish, though. He had done everything in his power to thwart the Ingisbohrs and deliberately led Nocturnians astray to make them commit heinous acts in his name. It was more than personal.
Vlad reckoned that Gladwish had prolonged the reign of vampire terror by having Nocturnians at each other’s throats instead of uniting them for battle. Vlad’s animosity for Gladwish had many layers to it. He had an overwhelming desire to return, confront, and oust Gladwish. Vlad would restore the name of Ingisbohr to a place of honour in Nocturne again if it took a century. He silently pledged that to himself.
As he rounded the corner and entered the forest properly, Vlad saw the River Iosa before him. It was the last obstacle between him and the road to Mortis. The river came down from the highlands carrying sediment in it that gave the raging water a blood red tint, especially at sunset. The legend was that the blood of the victims of Gadzook Goblins or Carthic Giants had stained the river red. No vampires ever drank from the Iosa, confirming to some Nocturnians that it was not real blood. Others argued that the water had diluted the blood and made it unpalatable to Deadulus and his kind. Vlad spotted the white flesh of a Spraoid fish (pronounced “Sprid” by locals) deep in the River Iosa. They emerged from a whirlpool near the riverbed. It deterred anyone from swimming in that river, although Spraoid fish did get caught and eaten from time to time. The fish allegedly cured many ailments when consumed or when rubbed directly on the skin of the afflicted. They stank for several days, but their ailments diminished or disappeared, according to local superstition. Spraoid fish appeared to be pure white in the dark water. When caught, their scales changed to rainbow colours. It only enhanced their magical reputation.
There was no bridge over the River Iosa, and to outsiders that would be a major problem but not to Nocturnians. Vlad went to the ancient tree beside the river and confided in it a real sin he had committed. The tree seemed to shudder and groan with disapproval and pain as it absorbed the sin into it. Nocturnians in denial always said it was the wind. Only a true sin not confessed before would work, otherwise the person would become an involuntary swimmer and drown. Vlad confidently strode out across the flowing water but did not sink into it. He walked across the water. As his feet crossed to the other side of the bank, he took his first step on the road to Mortis. Vlad froze and stared into the unknown up ahead in the gloom.
He felt like he was stepping off a precipice from which there was no way back, and he was right. He had no food or drink, and was without a horse, weapons, money, or a map to guide him, nor did he have family, friends or any shelter ahead of him. Vlad faced a long journey through alien, hostile territory for a possibly fruitless endeavour in a harsh, intimidating city where no one knew or cared about him or his problems. He was an animal running for its life, and he felt it in every fibre of his being. The veneer of civilisation could not mask that. He did not dare contemplate his desolate future if his desperate mission to Mortis failed. Vlad checked himself for even thinking about Mortis when reaching it was far from guaranteed. He was at the fear barrier; he either would go through it (and get the confidence that awaited him on the other side), or he would turn away and always wonder w
hat might have been.
An eccentric bird sang in the trees. Vlad had heard nothing like it. It preoccupied him and broke the spell of fear that gripped him. The honour guard of elm trees on either side of the road ahead swayed teasingly in the brisk breeze. The rustling of their leaves was their conspiratorial whispering and mocking laughter in unison. Vlad took it as a sign, and he would not be mocked by anything or anyone. He had to face up to his quandary, no matter what. Vlad had to show the people of his village that he was as brave as his father. He would do exactly what he had set out to do, and no one, neither man nor beast, would stop him. Vlad breathed deeply and took fast, determined strides on the road to Mortis. As he left the last vestiges of Nocturne behind, a rock seemed to lift from his back, and he felt free and full of energy.
The majestic columns of elegant elm trees flanking either side of the road and the encroaching mist obscured the surrounding countryside. All Vlad saw was a vast bank of ferns and small trees at ground level surrounding a mossy, dirt track. Merchants on their way to and from Mortis had gradually worn the shrubbery down, and the wooden wheels of their carts had cut a path into the forest floor. Beyond the elms stood seemingly endless rows of ancient trees, the girth of their trunks had grown undisturbed for centuries. They stretched far up into the sky. That sight made Vlad pause momentarily. It would be a good place for someone or something to ambush him. If there were more bandits or vampires hiding in that woodland haze, Vlad would be oblivious to them when they attacked.
Vlad reckoned travel would be impossible there when it rained. The road would become a virtual quagmire. Vlad was filthy, but he still trotted on the grass verge to avoid getting any dirtier. He tried to run on the edge of the verge in case someone or something leapt out of the forest to attack him. Keeping his distance from the forest gave him a vital few seconds reaction time. It was the difference between life and death…or living death. Vlad was too far from Mortis to reach it before nightfall. He decided to put as much distance between himself and Nocturne as possible, and hope that shelter presented itself.
The Vorbing Page 7
