Blood Life (11 page)

Devendra simply studied the pool of spit. Looking back up and squarely into his face, she replied sadly, “Nor could you handle the immense strength gained from human blood,” she tersely warned him. “Your needs require something simple-minded for now, just until you come out of the denial stages of your death.” She stood and motioned for him to follow her. “Come.”

Stumbling over to the window, Roman collapsed against the sill. With a slow moving grace, she brought herself up behind him. “What is it you intend to do? Jump?”

“And if I do?”

“I would not allow it!” Her fingers harnessed around his shoulder blades. “But if that is what you truly wish, my darling, then fly!”

Lifting him from the gaps below his shoulder blades, she pulled him to her chest to hold him for a moment, breathing hot, sweet air onto his earlobe, and then delivered him through the thin pane of glass to a rapid seven-story descent.

The sudden inflation of his lungs stifled his screams, making his race to the Earth silent. Each second added another fold to the pace as gravity extended its arms and pulled him down. Every detail of the ground beneath him grew in size at a remarkable rate. Suddenly his descent turned to slow motion as he looked down to find Devendra smiling up at him. Reaching the ground he landed gracefully on his feet with the chaos drowning his mind.

“You’ll learn, Roman. Your life is not yours to take, but you’ll come to understand that soon enough.”

She took Roman’s hand, her grip stopping the quivers, and led him through her property to a barn. It took Roman the entire time to gather himself enough to speak, but once he saw the lamb, alive and awaiting execution, he was overcome with nausea. He slapped a hand over his mouth, controlling his urge to vomit.

“What is that?” he asked, pointing furiously at the animal.

“Don’t be silly, Roman, surely you have seen a lamb before,” she taunted, innocently.

“Well, yes, but why are you showing me? You don’t expect me to actually—”

“You have not the strength to conquer anything else,” she said, plainly, “but you must feed.”

“There is no way I could bring myself to kill such innocence.”

“Then starve. In time, the hunger will dominate your conscience.”

She left him standing in the barn, locking the doors behind her.

Sixteen

Over a week passed of Roman being confined to Devendra’s barn. His behavior had begun to change considerably. He started to experience the agony of his hunger within hours after Devendra first barred him in.

By the end of the first night, the ribs over his heart cracked due to the intense palpitations and dull aching inside his body telling him to eat to complete the change.

Each day progressed, until on the seventh, he could differentiate the point of pain between the four chambers of his new heart. He had resorted to distancing himself to the far corner, out of sight of the lamb. However, Roman was more disturbed by the failing of his conscience, as he knew that his only panacea was to devour the creature.

This thought had an effect on his entire appearance. Somehow, just the notion of tearing at the lamb’s tender flesh made his fingernails jagged and strong. His muscles remained tense and alert, with his veins protruding and exposing the innumerable tracks up and down his arms and legs. And with every throb of his heart, his entire body would spasm and his canines would pierce into his lower lip, ready to rip open skin and release warm, delicious blood . . .

Unable to control his new instincts any longer, he began to stalk around the wooden pillars of the barn, slowly hunting the lamb. With feline grace, he quietly leapt onto the edge of a stall, only able to see the back of the animal. His lips were markedly full and red, thick with his cold running blood, as he moved directly above his prey.

The benevolence had been crushed by the severe truth of his nature.

He had to go against his mortal conscience to expel this taste of pain. He propped his foot against the edge of the stall and launched himself onto the back of the lamb. Smothering the animal, he used his left claw to pierce its throat and grasp the screams, while using the right to slash through the young, soft flesh.

His victim was not allowed the chance to struggle or writhe before crumbling into the straw floor. Immediately Roman drank from the mess he had made of the stomach, feeling the twitching of its nerves through the blood stream.

“Roman,” Devendra’s voice cut through Roman’s savaging, “enough!”

She started across the barn towards him.

“Do not drink of the dead. Once the twitching stops, so must you.” She paused, breathing heavily. “Drinking of the dead is poisonous to our kind. It can drive you mad and a mad vampire is annoying to us all.”

She broke into a smile, but with a firm hand, she removed Roman from the dead lamb. “Your strength and nourishment comes from moving, living blood. The blood of the dead will only take away from the pleasure and weaken your powers. Now, come on, there is much for you to be taught.”

Roman looked back at the death he had brought to the barn, blood dripping from his clothes, face and hands. The warmth of the Blood Life started to rush through him, returning his poreless skin and tremendous strength; but he knew that his conscience was lost. “How did you know when to come?”

“I felt your thoughts when you started to need the lamb, when you could no longer stand the thirst. When you gave in to your immortality and cut into the ecstasy, I knew to come to you.”

“You’ll find superstition a contagious thing.

Some people let it get the better of them.”

–Curt Siodmak

Seventeen

Spirals of smoke swooned up from the peasant fires that burned in every village around Morgan. The “poor” colored towns consisted of Green, Yellow, Orange and Pink. Of all the poverty stricken towns, Pink held the wisest population, having each been educated by a witch who used to live there.

She had called herself Sagebrush and single-handedly started to educate each and every one of them with magical beliefs as well as book smarts. When she was sought and killed for her sorcery after only 10 years with them, they knew that she would want nothing else than for them to carry on her good work. And that is what they did.

Pink was the best place to get people to do the King’s dirty work because they were sharp and disposable in his eyes. All four villages had been warned repeatedly about the undead prowling around in the forests, “Especially close to Pink,” a messenger for Morgan had announced in their modest town circle.

“They have been searching for dirty peasants to feast upon,” he explained to them, grimly.

Only lately had the twisted counsel he burdened them with been confirmed by unexplained deaths around Pink and Green. The citizens of these towns took every appropriate measure heard of to protect themselves and ensure the safety of their children. Although Yellow and Orange didn’t seem to be in direct danger, they helped with no reservations to defend all the towns close to them.

Blood-tainted garments ignited in the flames as each villager vanquished themselves of everything that may have welcomed or invited the predators. They stood around the heaving remains, finding comfort in the smoldering hues of the fire. Their observant ring kept them vigil until the last spark snuffed into the earth.

With violent thrusts, they took turns kicking dirt over any droplets of blood exposed on the ground. Children were told to cover the outskirts of all the houses in the village with perfect lines of poppy seeds so that the hunter might be distracted by them. It was believed that vampires could not help but stop to count each tiny speck.

The women filled pails and jugs of water to place on their porches so that if the beast stopped at their door, he might be caught in his own reflection and again diverted. With the same idea in mind, shards of silver were scattered on the ground, giving off a dazzle of shimmering reflections.

Three men from Pink, Peter, Christopher, and Robin, agreed to go to the local graveyards to “walk the graves.” Their three geldings were coaxed over the graves of the deceased. Taking cautious, unsteady steps, the men watched for any hesitation or spooking on the horse’s part. As they slowly scanned the hundreds of marked plots, the horses stayed close together and were gently urged on. The men whispered amongst themselves, as uttering this out loud would surely hex them.

“Through the forest.”

There was a fork in the road just ahead of them.

“You know, up on the other side!”

Peter, being the man in charge, felt the need to be bossy.

Christopher and Robin swung their heads toward him in perfect unison, “You don’t mean Black Ridge, do you?” Christopher asked, bewildered.

“Yeesss, I mean Black Ridge, you fool,” Peter hissed, irritated by the stupidity of the young man’s question.

“Fine. You don’t have to be rude.” Christopher paused, turning his head to face the path they would take. Turning back to face Peter, Christopher added, “Why don’t you lead the way then? That way, you die before me.” Christopher smiled, humored by his own comment.

Peter stared at him hard, then looked over to Robin.

Unlacing his trousers, Robin’s face took on an expression of dread. “I gotta take a piss,” he whispered harshly, then changed his look to one of concern. “You don’t think them vampires are hiding in the trees do you?” he asked, trembling.

Peter squinted his eyes at Robin, pursing his lips and focusing on his moronic face.

“I-I guess not, be right back then,” said Robin, before Peter could open his mouth to yell at him.

“Right. Hurry up! It’ll be dark soon.” Christopher countered, moving his horse closer to Peter’s.

The horses sniffed noses, closing their eyes. “I think they like each other. What do you think?” Christopher asked him, stifling a chuckle.

Peter laughed despite his irritation with Robin; the horses did like each other.

He had always thought his horse was queer that way. Peter remembered seeing them that morning in the pasture communicating with peculiar body language.

Commotion interrupted their quiet laughter and Peter called out, “What are you doing over there?”

Silence.

“You crazy bastard, hush!”

A muffled gurgle was his only response. Christopher’s horse spooked so suddenly that he was thrown to the ground. Peter’s horse was out of control also, rearing and crab walking, nostrils flared enormously, releasing fog in the evening chill.

As soon as Christopher picked himself up from the ground, he walked around the trees Robin had disappeared into.

“Robin, what is the matter with you? Where are you?” He paused, listening. “Stop carrying on like this!”

The sound of crumbling leaves behind him whipped his body around, showing him nothing but more trees. Panning his eyes across the leaves on the ground, he caught a frame of a horror show image, wet and fresh, blending in with the Earth. He covered his mouth, pivoting around to gather his gelding.