by Janet Durbin
"I still chuckle when I think about the look on that sucker's face,” one said.
"Yeah, especially when he realized he'd been drugged,” said another.
"This boot knife will sure come in handy,” another in the group added as he held the weapon up.
The first man who had spoken held something in his hands. Drayco could not make out what it was because the man's back faced him. His blood seethed when the speaker held the object high. Firelight reflected off metal.
Brind emerged from the shadows of the wagons. “Best be thankful for that sword, Garrett. They don't make ‘em likes that no more."
Drayco crouched low behind some bushes and watched Garrett swing his grandfather's sword recklessly. His temper flared. Unfortunately, his body reminded him that he wasn't strong enough to take on the entire clan because of the need for blood. He'd have to wait for an opportunity to arise. Sitting down, he watched patiently as the group went about their business. Soon enough, he'd take back what was his.
Most of the Wanderers retired to their wagons once the evening meal was finished. After a while, only two remained by the fireside, drinking. Garrett still held onto the sword, the sheath for it lying on the ground near him. Drayco's pack lay next to the sheath.
"I wonder how old it is, and how many men it's killed,” he slurred, turning the weapon back and forth to admire the blade.
Brind glared at the younger one and said, “Probably more than you'll ever know."
He reached into his shirt and pulled something out, then leaned over toward Garrett. Drayco heard coins hitting together.
"We'll share these with the others ... maybe."
They had apparently played this game before. Both men started to laugh as the coins were divided equally. A few more drinks followed. All the while Drayco watched and waited.
The pair was hitting the wineskins hard. A stack of empties lay discarded, testifying as to how much they had drunk. Full ones waited nearby to be relieved of their contents.
Brind threw another empty wineskin into the ever-growing pile and almost fell over with it. With some difficulty, he muttered, “I gotta go empty my own wine sack. Don't drink everything up before I get back."
"I'll make sure to leave nothin’ for ya, Old Man,” Garrett slurred a little too loudly.
Brind stood and stumbled against a tree before getting his feet under control. He disappeared behind one of the wagons. Drayco saw his chance. Using the skill he'd been taught during his outings with his father, he crept in the direction Brind had gone.
The dark twin found the man standing with his back toward the woods, legs spread apart, relieving his bladder. One hand held tight to the large wooden wheel, thus preventing himself from swaying and wetting all over his boots.
"Boy, do I feel better,” he said with a sigh as he finished. “Now I have room for more of that fine wine.” He chuckled under his breath while he closed his breeches, almost falling against the wagon once he let go of the wheel.
Suddenly, he had an eerie feeling that he wasn't alone. He had lived a long time in this harsh world and had learned to trust his instincts. He tried to turn around; he was too slow. A hand covered his mouth, cutting off any chance of crying out. A powerful arm wrapped around his chest, pinning him against another.
Drayco whispered into his ear, “No one takes something of mine without understanding the price involved with such foolishness."
Brind froze. He knew that voice. It seemed he had underestimated this one, and he might not get another opportunity to correct his mistake. His family had tricked many strangers using the drugged wine. No one had ever acted like this one. All the rest had licked their wounds and accepted their losses. This one, this dark man, was like a devil incarnate. He felt his head being tilted back, exposing the neck.
Brind didn't know what Drayco was going to do. Even in his drunken state, he had a feeling it wasn't going to be anything good. His breath came faster and faster as Drayco leaned close. He wanted to say something, anything, to get this man to stop. The hand over his mouth prevented it. He struggled against the arm holding him. His present state made that ineffective.
Drayco bit deep into the exposed neck, allowing an artery to bleed freely. He drank the warm liquid without hesitation.
Brind struggled harder, to no avail. The last thought he had before death overtook him was that he should have followed his instincts and killed this man when he had the chance.
Drayco let the body slip quietly to the ground when the blood flow stopped and vanished back into the woods.
Garrett was still sitting near the fire, his head nodding, a wineskin tucked under his arm, when Drayco returned. His stolen sword leaned against a bent leg. The dark man slipped up behind him. Being a fighter, the Wanderer seemed to sense someone there. Garrett jerked his head up and looked at Drayco. He grabbed the sword as he staggered to his feet.
"You!” He spat that single word out as if it was poisonous.
Raising the sword above his head, Garrett charged at Drayco. Halfway there, he stumbled and fell on his face. The blade clinked on a rock sticking out of the ground; sparks flew into the air. He tried to get up, but was too slow. He'd had too much to drink. Drayco was upon him in an instant. He grabbed Garrett by his hair, pulling him to his knees.
"My grandfather's sword is to be cherished and respected. It is not a toy to be played with,” Drayco said through clenched teeth.
Garrett had forgotten the sword in his hand. He raised it in an attempt to slice at his attacker. It never reached him.
The dark man grabbed the arm and twisted it, causing the sword to fall from the hand. A pop echoed from the shoulder. Garrett opened his mouth to scream. A sharp yank on his hair snapped the head back, cutting off any sound before it came out.
Drayco sank his teeth into the exposed neck like a rabid animal. The soft flesh gave way easily, allowing the sweet juice of revenge to spurt with every beat of the Wanderer's heart. The dark twin drank like a man who had been lost in the desert without liquid for weeks. With every swallow, his body rejuvenated itself. When he had his fill, he dropped the body. It fell in a heap, leaving the ruined neck visible for all to see when they found Garrett's body.
After the rushing in his ears lessened, Drayco listened for any cries of alarm. The usual sounds of the night were all that filled the air. The brief scuffle with the younger man had gone unnoticed by the rest of the camp. Drayco went through Garrett's pockets, taking all the money found in them. Picking up his sword, he strode over to the fire and retrieved his pack and scabbard. Once the scabbard was in hand, he slid the sword inside with a silent prayer of thanks, and returned it to his belt. The missing part of him was now filled.
The dark man looked inside the pack and was surprised to find everything still there. Garrett must have claimed it and all the contents for himself. Drayco put it on his back and returned to Brind. A quick search through the man's clothing located the rest of the money taken from him. The knife for his boot was lost. It could be replaced easily.
The revenge killing had his adrenaline pumping. He knew that if anything was stupid enough to mess with him tonight—man or creature—he would enjoy showing them the errors of their ways. When he finished, Drayco disappeared into the blackness of the night.
With the coming of daylight, the Wanderers found the bodies of their comrades. The look on both men's faces showed horrible deaths: eyes wide with fear, their mouths open in an attempt to scream. Both had their throats ripped open. No blood surrounded their bodies, which was something very unusual. They wondered what manner of creature had killed them, and how it could have done so without waking the others. The Wanderers were a superstitious lot. Whispers of spirits and demons began.
The group refused to touch the bodies, choosing instead to burn them where they lay. The wagons were packed quickly and the horses hitched. Breakfast would wait; they wanted to be as far from this cursed place as possible before stopping again. Talismans were hung on the wagons
in an attempt to keep the evil thing that had killed the men from following.
They moved on, never to pass those woods again. They were afraid that if they returned, the demon would finish the job it had started, or the lost spirits would haunt them forever.
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Chapter Five
Shyanne was running, her clothes and the skin underneath ripped, her hair flying loose about her face. Darkness without end surrounded her. The only light she saw appeared to come from the thick, glowing mist around her. Wherever she went, the mist followed, wrapping itself around her lower body like a snake. It swirled into her face, then fell back to the ground as if it was a demon-possessed thing of the night. She waved her arms back and forth, trying to clear it. The mist always returned.
She had been running for what seemed like an eternity, her cheeks wet with her tears. She was lost ... and alone. She called out; no response came back.
"Drizzle! Jack! Where are you? I need you!” She spun around and around, causing the swirling cloud to spin like a tornado. “Drayco! Help me! I don't want to be alone anymore! I'm frightened!"
Noises started in the mist. The sounds were difficult to make out or pinpoint. The mist made them seem like they came from every direction. Shadows moved, but nothing solid ever materialized. She turned this way and that, trying to see what was in the swirling cloud. Outlines of huge, grotesque creatures were in her peripheral vision. They faded when she looked directly at them, never becoming real. She had the feeling that a thousand menacing eyes were watching her.
Shyanne started to run again, her breath in ragged gasps. Her chest and legs felt like they were on fire; her heart raced. Slowing to a jog, she panted, “I have to stop soon. But if I do, they'll find me and kill me."
A deep, guttural growl sounded to her right. She jerked her head around. A shadow moved. It was so close she thought she felt its hot breath on her neck. She turned and ran with renewed vigor as if her life depended on it.
* * * *
Drizzle watched Shyanne as she moaned and thrashed about. Her flowing hair was matted and wet with sweat. He tried to calm her by calling her name. She didn't seem to hear him.
"Shyanne, please come back. Jack and I can't go on without you."
Three days had passed since the attack. Drizzle had not left her side except for those few times when he stepped out to relieve himself. Hunger was ignored. Thirst was quenched with the water in the room.
After the rizbak were killed, he'd watched as Shyanne tried to make it to Jack and went down in a crumpled heap. He'd been off the wall and by her side in a flash. Rolling her gently onto her back, he saw blood on her thigh and left shoulder. The thigh had clotted itself off. The shoulder bled profusely. He held pressure to the area until the flow stopped. Her chest rose and fell in a rhythmic pattern. He'd been glad to see the motion continue.
Drizzle had bit into her shirt and dragged her closer to the fire. She'd been in shock, her skin so cold. He'd known he had to get her warmed up quickly or she would die before his eyes.
Several pieces of wood helped stoke the dwindling fire. A soothing warmth had soon filled the area around the burning mound of orange and yellow. He'd carefully cut open the shredded breeches above the leg wound with his claws. Several gashes showed. Fortunately, the muscle had appeared undamaged. He'd cleaned them as best he could, and covered them with a cloth from Shyanne's pack.
He'd moved to the shoulder next, carefully removing the torn material. Several deep gouges showed. Again, no muscle appeared damaged, but he knew this wound would take longer to heal. He flushed the area with some water and covered it. Rizbaks were filthy animals. Their wounds usually became infected, no matter how quickly they were taken care of.
Sadly, the infection he'd tried so hard to fend off had happened. That had been three days ago.
Shyanne continued to burn with fever. He wet a cloth and placed it on her forehead. She tossed her head back and forth, making it difficult to keep the cloth in place. Drizzle watched her. He wondered what she was dreaming about, what made her so upset and restless. He heard his and Jack's name mentioned on a few occasions, and Drayco's once or twice.
He checked and cleansed her wounds again. The thigh was scabbed over completely. The shoulder remained open. They were healing faster than anticipated, and thanks to his vigilance, all signs of infection were gone.
On the night of the attack, Drizzle had taken the bodies of the dead rizbak to the edge of the woods. The scent of so much available meat would bring many scavengers. He had not wanted to fight them off while trying to care for Shyanne. The scavengers had come, but they never strayed too close to the building. The idea of an easy meal of dead rizbak, versus a meal of very much alive humecat, won.
Growls and battles over the meat had continued long into the night. He'd wandered over to the door and looked out during the worst of the fighting. Animals that looked like a cross between a hyena and a badger nipped and bit at each other while others feasted. The scavengers kept at it until just before dawn. They'd faded back into the woods when the cresting rays of the sun hit them. They never returned. Drizzle had gone out the next day to discover nothing but bones left.
Drizzle focused his attention back on Shyanne. She seemed to be resting easier, her breath less ragged. He took the dry cloth from her forehead and wet it down again. Squeezing a few of the precious drops of moisture into her mouth, he watched to make sure she wasn't going to choke as she swallowed. He moistened her cracked lips before wetting the cloth again and returning it to her forehead.
The cat remembered when he had first met Shyanne. They'd both been very young. Shyanne's father had brought him home from work after getting permission from the government to continue his studies away from the lab. The “big people” had been interested in the learning capabilities of their newest successful genetic creature. They were trying to see how loyal and protective the cat would be, and whether it would be worthwhile to continue with the project.
Drizzle had stumbled toward Shyanne as soon as his feet hit the ground. She'd squealed with delight and run over to him, trying to scoop him up with her tiny arms. He was already over 60 pounds and as big a Labrador. Shyanne was only five, and small for her size. Her father had laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks at her attempts to pick him up.
Drayco had played with Drizzle almost as much as Shyanne, but he had been a little more aloof than his sister. He was a boy, after all, and boys did not do those mushy things like hugs and kisses. The three of them had run around doing all kinds of things, as kids do, with their father taking notes on the cat's learning progress the entire time.
When the twins grew into teenagers, Drizzle's body had aged the equivalence of only one year. It was discovered through testing that humecats had the possibility of living to a ripe old age of 500. He was about half that age now and considered himself to be in his prime.
The family had a great time in everything they did and all was wonderful—until the virus. He'd protected her through all the mayhem that followed. Drayco was there in the beginning. But the virus had changed him.
The need for blood became too much and he'd left one day when it almost cost Shyanne her life. She had been searching for him ever since. Drizzle hoped, for her sake, that Drayco had his blood lust under control. If he didn't, Drizzle hated the thought of having to kill her brother, thus causing her to hate him for the rest of his life.
Drizzle lay down, resting his head on his hands, and resumed his vigilance. His stomach grumbled in protest at the extended fast. Unfortunately, he had become very good at ignoring the empty feeling.
* * * *
Shyanne continued to wander in the mist, completely lost. She was exhausted from running. The fleeting shadows paced her every step, but they never came fully into view. She needed to rest, to regain her strength; the shadows would not let her. In total despair, she flopped down on the ground and cried.
Her shoulders shook with every racking sob
. She did not care if the things in the mist got her anymore. All she wanted to do was sleep. The sobs became less as she closed her eyes, almost making it to the land of dreams.
A voice, soft and distant, brought her out of her despair. Her head shot up. She knew that voice. It was a voice not heard in a long time. It was her brother, Drayco.
"Shyanne ... Shyanne ... Where are you? I can't find you.” The sound came at her from all directions because of the mist.
"Here! Here I am!” she yelled with all her might. Shyanne knew to stay where she was. If she moved, Drayco would never be able to find her. She continued to yell until a shadow broke away from the others. It took on the shape of a person.
"Drayco, I'm so glad you found me,” Shyanne said as she leapt to her feet. She put her arms around him, resting her head on his chest. “I've been looking for you everywhere. I've been so scared."
Drayco folded her into his arms and replied, “I've been looking for you too, little sis."
Shyanne's heart sang with those words. She and Drayco were twins, but he had always called her little sis because she was so much shorter than him. She snuggled against his body. His mannerism was too stiff, too reserved. Sensing something was wrong, she looked up at him, their arms still wrapped around each other.
This was not her Drayco. She could see it in his eyes. They were cold and without life. His smile tilted in a sinister manner. She tried to push away; his hold on her tightened. She could not break free. He grabbed her hair with lightning speed and pulled her head back.
"I've been looking for you too, little sis,” he said with the same ugly tone in his voice as was on his face.
The smile she had loved to see when she was a little girl now made her cringe. Drayco leaned toward her, his gaze locked with hers. She wanted to tear her eyes away from those horrible black pits, but couldn't. Her brain screamed for her to fight. Her body refused to respond. A sharp pain ripped through her body as Drayco bit deep into her neck. Her lifeblood started to flow into his mouth. Something inside her finally broke loose. The trance holding her disappeared. Shyanne started to scream and scream and scream.
