The Vorbing (2 page)

Once Deadulus had satiated his bloodlust and finished, Necromus gorged himself. The other males had to fight for what was left, and the vorbing frenzy resumed in all its gory glory. It was a bloodbath, with the vampires ending up covered in dark, red blood from snout to talon. Not one drop of precious blood was wasted or spilled. The vampires licked each other’s faces and necks with their forked tongues after vorbing to imbibe as much bloody nourishment as possible. They did not mind sharing blood that way; the liquid debt would be repaid later through reciprocal regurgitation. Once blood dried, it was no good to them; it made sense for another vampire to benefit initially and possibly benefit them all later.

When vampires attacked at that almost imperceptible speed and in those numbers, it showed intense desire, concentration, and control. They thought and moved as one organism. Deadulus was an immensely strong chieftain, and he and his vampires all were vastly experienced hunters. It was a terrible thing of beauty to see them in action.

Lillia wanted to run, but with her husband now dead and possibly her baby, too, life had lost its meaning for her. The vampire's grunting ceased, and there was a deafening silence. The only sound was the lightly howling wind that swirled around Lillia’s numb body. She flinched as something cold and wet brushed against her hand. Gusts of its foetid, freezing breath chilled her to the bone. Lillia held her breath as the slimy bristles on its snout probed behind her knee. The sudden, unwelcome contact shook her out of the malaise she was feeling, and she ran for her life. Her strong survival instinct surprised her. Life would be a nightmare on her own without her family, and yet she wanted to live so badly. The vampires snarled and charged after her.

Green eyes glowed in the fog behind Lillia as she ran. The vampires used mind games and the fog to disorientate their quarry. Though Lillia’s vision was restricted, she knew by the squelch of her footfall that the vampires craftily had driven her into the Caidoz Marshes. She was aware of the grave danger she was in. The ploy was devastatingly simple: As the marsh got deeper with every step, the prey got slower and more exhausted and confused. The vampires would attack when a victim was at their most fragile. They crept agonisingly closer and closer to Lillia. Just when they were about to pounce, a distant sound made them stop dead in their tracks: Lillia's baby was crying in the thicket. The green eyes that surrounded Lillia disappeared without warning and the beating wings faded away.

“My baby!” Lillia screamed. She fled after the vampires in a despairing bid to make them take her instead. Only God could help her child then.

Lillia's baby cried loudly in the thicket. It was a cry that Lillia usually answered with a spell on her ample breast for a feed. Instead, a wolf loomed out of the darkness and sniffed the baby. The wolf picked the baby up in its mouth and started to carry her away.

Red mist engulfed the wolf. It dropped the baby and snarled at the unearthly figures in the mist. The vampires growled back with twice the ferocity and volume. The cowed wolf fled with its tail between its legs. The baby lay defenceless on the ground.

The vampires slowly approached, and their hideous shadows fell on the baby's innocent face in the moonlight. A clammy claw snatched the baby up for inspection and pulled it into the mist. The vampires hooted excitedly like hyenas and took to the air, once more the undisputed masters of the night. Lillia Kurten ran after them and then fell to the ground in tears. The vampires turned for home, dropping rocks on Nocturne’s wooden church as they went.

The vampires' lair was a hidden cave high up on Vampire Mountain. The red mist that masked the vampires and their new prize retreated back up the mountain from whence it came. As soon as the last vampire entered the cave from the smokescreen of mist, the entrance to the cave slowly sealed itself until there was nothing there but solid rock. It was hardly surprising that the humans never discovered its whereabouts. Their opponents seemed to have every advantage.

Chapter Two

Vlad Ingisbohr crouched on the ground, staring at the star-shaped bloodstain. He shook his head in disbelief. He was draped in a thick sheepskin cape, tunic, and crudely-fashioned fur boots that protected him from the dawn chill. Even so, the thought of vampires killing animals on his family farm made him shiver. He never got used to that violation. The air crackled with energy like it did every morning after a vampire attack. There was a tangible frisson in the atmosphere, similar to the aftermath of a thunderstorm. The vampires had been gone for hours, but their menacing presence was still everywhere. Vlad stared at the turquoise freckle in the sky as he always did first thing every morning. It never seemed to move, but he found it reassuring and pleasing to his eye. Maybe because it reminded him of his father’s blue eyes that once looked at him with love and kindness. Vlad liked to think that the blue patch of sky was his father Adam watching over him from Heaven and protecting him. The sky always looked strange in Nocturne. When the clouds and the sun were in a particular formation in the afternoon, they seemed to bathe the village in an odd yellowish-green light. It was always noticeable to Vlad even though he had lived there all his life. It somehow never lost its allure to him. Vlad would come outside to look at it sometimes. Nobody else seemed to notice it or care.

Vlad’s worried mind turned to his favourite obsession again: vampires. He once managed to capture an injured young male vampire. Vlad tied the bloodfeeder up in his barn and interrogated it on the whereabouts of the NightLord’s lair. The creature was too weak to reply and expired before answering, or so Vlad had thought. When Vlad came out to the barn the following morning, the vampire had bitten through its own arm to escape. There was no sign of it. Vlad followed the trail of blood from the Ingisbohr homestead. The vampire had not made it very far, and Vlad found its body later on in the forest. It really was dead then. Its wing was wounded, making flight impossible. It had tried to make it back to the cave on foot (or hoof, in the vampire’s case), but the ailing vampire reached the forest just as the sun came up, and the beast subsequently disintegrated, not that it would have made much difference. The creature would have died anyway, if not from the massive blood loss that the severed arm induced, then from exhaustion. The young vampire was suffering from the triple effects of hunger from an unsuccessful night vorb, the blood loss from its arm, and the strain to get back to the cave.

Vlad had burned the body to make reanimation impossible. It would not betray Deadulus, even at the cost of its own life. Despite its self-inflicted injury, it still tried to get back to its NightLord, Deadulus, to warn him. It knew it would be shown no mercy by allowing itself to be taken prisoner by an inferior human, and even worse, an Ingisbohr. Vlad knew that the vampires’ loyalty to their king was an almost impenetrable shield when it was that strong. It was another layer he would have to penetrate to have any chance of beating Deadulus. He was stung by the recognition of the enormity of the task facing him and the people of Nocturne.

Hana Ingisbohr, Vlad’s mother, emerged from the house and looked with concern at her son. She was a slight yet strong woman with the swarthy features of those from the south. Locals said she was, “gypsy pretty,” and wondered if she might have the blood of Triethary tribesmen in her veins.

Hana never challenged the exotic theories about her pedigree, letting it add to her mystique and uniqueness. Her attractive, weathered features and sorrowful, sea green eyes told of years of toil and struggle. She had worked hard from an early age, and as such, did not have a childhood. Her father was a violent man who beat her mother on a regular basis. He died in a tavern brawl when she was six. Years later, her village of Carandinos had a fete one Sunday. There, she met a handsome man named Adam, Vlad’s father. Not long after, they became husband and wife. Hana was seventeen and Vlad’s father was nineteen. Vlad was born when Hana was eighteen. The birth almost cost Hana her life, and she could not have more children after. When Adam Ingisbohr died, she felt saddened but refused to allow herself to grieve. She had responsibilities with her son and a farm to run. Hana had instilled in Vlad the same toughness she had to learn as a child. Vlad was in awe of his mother’s resilience. In her, he knew he had the best teacher he could possibly wish for. Vlad had inherited her perceptive ways.

Hana did not like to see her son worried as he was. She knew Vlad had struggled greatly in the three years since his father died. In the weeks after Adam Ingisbohr’s death, Vlad had been distraught, and Hana worried if he would ever return to being the happy-go-lucky young man he had been before McLintock’s Spit. He had recovered somewhat, but he was never the same boy again. There was an unspoken sorrow within him that he exuded from every pore. He had no brothers or sisters to confide in. If any good came from it, it was that it had forced him to grow up and become the man of the house even if neither Vlad nor Hana felt he was ready for such a responsibility. A young man of his age should not have had the worries he did on his shoulders, but Hana had endured the same thing, and history was repeating itself.

Hana worried what would happen to him if she passed away. There was a daily threat of plague, war, famine, drought, and vampirism at large in the land. The only certainty about life in Nocturne was that it was harsh and usually, sometimes thankfully, brief. Elderly people were few in number in Nocturne. They were the first to die if famine or plague swept through the area, and they were the primary victims of the vampires. Nobody knew if Nocturnians were predisposed to die young, as natural deaths were not the norm. The only visible grey hairs on the locals were premature ones brought on by the stress of being inhabitants of a land in the grip of evil and death.

“What’s the damage, Vlad?” his mother Hana asked.

“They’ve killed another one of the cattle,” Vlad replied sadly, without lifting his gaze from the blood. “The remains are behind the stable. They tried to kill one of the pigs, too.”

“Burn the body, and I will make your breakfast,” Hana said matter-of-factly before moving back towards the house.

“Yes, Mother,” Vlad said, getting to his feet to look for kindling. His stomach growled with hunger, and he could almost taste the porridge and black bread his mother was preparing. They were luckier than most in that their farm was located beside a large body of water. It had all the benefits that entailed: water for their animals and crops and an abundant supply of fish (which Vlad caught regularly for their supper). The fruits of the forest and bird’s eggs also were close by.

It was astonishing what a person became accustomed to given time. At one stage, it would have been a tremendous shock to find an animal torn to pieces on their land. By this point, it was just a routine they played out every day, and Hana tried to make it seem trivial for Vlad’s sake. If he thought she was upset, too, it would worry him even more. He loved his mother with all his heart. She was all he had left now.

Vlad felt something at his leg. It was his wolf, Zoltan, and he stared at the bloodstain on the ground with his hypnotic pale blue eyes. Zoltan bent down, sniffed the blood, and howled. He knew what had caused it. A wolf far off in the distance howled back. Vlad had owned Zoltan since he was a puppy. He had found him one day after following a strange yelping from a thorn bush. Zoltan had become entangled in the thorns, and Vlad freed him. He brought Zoltan home and fed him some leftover beef and gave him a bowl of water. The young wolf ate ravenously and lapped up the water, spilling most of it on the ground. Vlad stroked his matted coat and decided to name him Zoltan. The wolf had saved Vlad’s life more than once. He was a good friend, and he would give his life for Vlad if necessary.

A black column of smoke rose high into the sky. Vlad knew how to set a roaring fire quickly, and he stared at the cow’s leg as it lay charring on its funeral pyre. Vlad took a vial of holy water from his tunic and doused a few drops on the carcass as extra protection. The fire hissed and spat as the sanctified droplets fell. Vlad blessed himself and walked over to the lake to wash the blood off his hands. He knelt down and thrust his hands into the cool water. The blood washed off and formed an ominous crimson pool around his fingers. Vlad looked back to check on the fire. The body was burning up nicely. He felt hungry after the work he had done, and his mind turned to culinary matters.

Just then, something touched Vlad’s hand in the water, and he sprang backwards. Vlad looked closer, thought he saw a fish, and laughed at his own skittishness. A body lurched violently out of the water, grabbing hold of Vlad and making him scream. The person was still alive, if only barely. It was hard to tell if it was a man or a woman. The face was bruised and swollen and covered in mud. The body had cuts and scratches all over it and trembled uncontrollably. Grubby, sodden rags were the only clothing, and the person breathed with great difficulty. Leaves and lake weeds had become twisted around arms and legs and lodged in the person’s hair as well.

“Mother!” Vlad screamed. “Come quickly!”

Hana Ingisbohr rushed to her son’s aid.

“My baby,” the figure whispered deliriously. “They killed my husband and took my baby.”

“Who did?” Hana asked.

The injured person wheezed and stabbed an exhausted finger at Vampire Mountain in reply. Vlad and Hana exchanged glances. They did not need any further information.

“Don’t worry,” Vlad said. “The vampires will take good care of your child.”

Vlad was all too aware of the unsubstantiated Nocturnian rumour that vampires spirited babies away to raise them as lookouts for their daytime slumber. As they were taken so young, the children had no memories of human society. They turned feral and obeyed Deadulus without question as a vampire would.

Problems arose when the children reached puberty and began to question their identities and why they were not vampires. That hastened their end. They had fulfilled their usefulness in the vampires’ eyes and were becoming disruptive. Their vampire “family” surrounded the children, tore them apart, and vorbed on the blood…or so the rumour went; there was no certainty in it. A worse fireside rumour was that the blood of human babies was the purest and therefore a sumptuous treat to Deadulus. That meant the infants would not be kept alive and raised as one of the clan. Most people did not want to hear the rest of that rumour, and Vlad cleared it from his mind.

“How do you know my baby is safe?” the person said. “You’re just a boy.”

“My father was Adam Ingisbohr,” Vlad said proudly.

“I thought you looked familiar,” the person said, new energy flowing through her body.

“Yes,” Vlad said with great pride.

“Forgive me,” the person replied, and started crying.

“Your child is in no danger,” Vlad said, trying to reassure her.

Vlad neglected to impart the further conjecture that vampires allegedly kept humans near as an emergency blood supply. If forced to evacuate their cave, they might have to travel a long distance to find another secure one. That would not be possible if they were ravenous. Again, any familial bonds between human and vampire meant nothing when it came to slaughtering them for survival and vorbing on them.

“Praise God!” the figure on the ground said, weeping.

“Time is on our side,” Vlad said.

“How?” the sad figure replied hoarsely. “No one has ever found the vampires’ lair.” Just then, the person from the lake lost consciousness.

              “Help me lift her inside,” Hana said.

              Vlad and Hana grabbed an arm and a leg each and staggered towards the farmhouse.

“Lillia Kurten!” Vlad’s mother said in shock as she mopped Lillia’s feverish brow with a cloth.

Lillia lay asleep in a spare bedroom, more recognisable as a woman and a human being than she had been earlier when she emerged in shock from the lake.

“She was my cousin’s best friend. We used to play together as children,” Hana said. “I haven’t seen her for a long time, but I’m sure it’s her.”

“Should I keep the fire going?” Vlad asked, looking at Lillia lying asleep in the bed.

“No,” Hana said. “I don’t think it will be necessary to burn anything else today. God willing, she’ll recover.”

“She’s lucky to be alive,” Vlad said. “Few people survive a vampire attack.”

“God help her and her poor infant,” Hana said, as she blessed herself.

Lillia moaned in her sleep, and Hana indicated that she and Vlad should leave the room and allow her to rest. Vlad took the vial of holy water from his chest and made the sign of the cross over Lillia. Lillia’s lips curled back in a growl, and Vlad looked at his mother.

“Let’s go,” Hana said.

Vlad surprised himself by being able to eat the food his mother had prepared for him. He thought he had lost his appetite after the scare he just had experienced.

“I won’t be putting my hands in that lake again anytime soon,” Vlad said.

Hana laughed.

“If I ever have to wash anything, I’ll draw a bucket from the well instead,” Vlad said.

“And what if there is another vampire’s victim down there?” Hana said.

“I’ll wipe my hands on my clothes and be done with it!”

“You’ll have to face the vampires sometime, Vlad.”

Vlad sighed.

“I know,” Vlad said, idly chewing.