The Vorbing (26 page)

              “Mistress, get five rags, for we must bind Regan’s feet and hands,” the midwife said.

              “Why?” Bathoria asked.

“Regan will kick, bite, and scratch,” the midwife replied. “She will hurt herself, us, or the child.”

“Let her harm it,” Bathoria said with a malicious glint in her eye. “It’s less for us to do.”

“What if we allow her to harm the child, and it is born perfectly formed?” the midwife asked. “That is murder, and we shall hang. No, we will do this my way. Now, do as I say. Hurry!”

Bathoria hurried to the kitchen to find rags. The midwife took out a stick for Regan’s mouth she had found on the way there.  Bathoria returned with the four rags and the midwife took two of them and left Bathoria with the other two.

              “I shall bind her hands, you bind her feet,” the midwife said. “We must work together fast, for there is no time.”

“What is the fifth rag for?” Bathoria asked.

The midwife tied the fifth rag to the stick. “It is to stop her from biting down on her tongue. Keep the stick in her mouth; she will spit it out, believe me. Are you ready?”

“Yes, I think so,” Bathoria said.

“Let us go,” the midwife said as she opened the door to the room.

Bathoria rushed in behind her. Regan contorted in agony as drops of sweat came off her body. It startled the midwife, but she rushed to Regan’s hands to bind them. Bathoria hurried to Regan’s feet and held them down. The midwife got one arm bound to the bedpost when Regan sat up and gripped the midwife’s throat with the other hand. Bathoria ran to the other side of the bed to pin Regan’s arm down. Regan released the midwife and gouged her mother’s face. Bathoria screamed in pain but pinned Regan’s arm down. The midwife rounded the bed and tied the other arm to the bedpost. Regan kicked out at them with her unbound legs. Bathoria and the midwife grabbed Regan’s legs and tied them down to the bedpost. Regan struggled against the restraints and then was still with exhaustion. The midwife put the stick in her mouth and tied the rag around her head. The patient was secure.

              “Now, we can deliver this offspring,” the midwife said with relief.

Bathoria held her daughter’s hand and mopped her brow as she grunted and sweated through the torturous labour. After what seemed an eternity to Regan, the foetus began to emerge.  Her mother moved around to where the newborn was emerging from, smiling with anticipation at the thought of seeing her grandchild at any second. One enormous final push forced the young life out into the open. A scream from her mother brought proceedings to a standstill. 

              “What is it?” the young girl said groggily.

Her mother covered her mouth with her hand and pointed in horror between the girl's legs. A claw protruded from her vagina, followed by a leathery, pug-nosed face. The creature struggled to break free of its mortal prison and flopped onto the floor. It squirmed around in the afterbirth. The young girl would have wept if she had the energy. Instead, she lay there broken and battered, physically, mentally, and spiritually drained.  Her son hopped across the room and landed on the windowsill with a screech. The new grandmother wailed piteously.

“Speak not of what you have seen here tonight,” the midwife warned, “or we shall burn for it.”

Bathoria, still in shock, nodded half-heartedly as the midwife rushed to leave.

After a final look at his mother, the vampire crawled out into the undergrowth by the window. It then disappeared into the night.  Like his father before him, he had left misery and chaos in his wake.  Deadulus had a worthy heir to his throne of darkness.

It was not a human vampire. It was a hybrid species, a demigod, or a Vephilim, as some Nocturnian elders called it. The Vephilim was genetically half-vampire but he was not spiritually a vampire yet. He had no part in Lucifer’s plot against God (especially his blameless human half). That was the reason he did not die in the womb and ascend to Heaven with the others when the curse on them lifted. The new vampire was born innocent and could choose to be on the side of good or evil later of its own free will.

Deadulus had taken a calculated risk in breaking the vampire commandment of making something in his own image. Had he survived the Battle of All Hallows, there would be no proof he was the new creature’s father. Deadulus probably would have allowed his son to be killed by the other vampires to restore balance to the vampire clan. He even may have tried to have his progeny accepted as one of their own as his ally. Nobody would ever know the outcome after the purge of Deadulus and his vampire society. Their commandment and ways died with them, but their war with humans would continue by proxy. Deadulus had unleashed a new pestilence upon the world. He had seen to that with his violation of Regan and of vampire code. It was the first partly-divine vampire allowed to reach maturity unchecked and make others like it. The Vephilim would make its own rules and form its own tribal hierarchy. Vlad Ingisbohr was totally unaware of his new challenge, but he would learn in time.

In the silent heart of the forest, NeverMind chuckled to itself.

“Vampires are not finished with the world or with you yet, Vlad Ingisbohr,” NeverMind warned. “Enjoy the glory of victory for now and the promise of a new dawn. You had given up on yourself and your fellow men, but your triumph has restored your faith in God and mankind, Nocturnian. For even in the pit of darkness, the beacon of hope and humanity can still shine through. Now…away with you.”

Copyright © 2015 by Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.

The right of Stewart Stafford to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988.

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Website:
www.thevorbing.com

Twitter: @TheVorbing

Thanks

My sincerest thanks to all the people who helped me get this book out over the years in large and small ways. Thank you to my family for moral support.

Thanks to the following for help with crowdfunding; Chelsea Tallent, James Stafford, Ann Marie Stafford, Mel Davey, Stephen Fleming, John Bruun, Paul Lindsay, Kellie Ratner, Nicola O’Connor and Francesca Harrison.