The Vorbing (4 page)

Vlad passed a turbulent sea of golden wheat that danced in ripples in the field as if God himself whispered his praise directly upon it. In a beech tree, an early robin sang his warning that winter was coming. Vlad was surrounded by life and he genuinely felt glad to be alive every day. He was headed to a place a short distance away that once was called Nevage. The name of the place gradually faded away when rumour spread that the forest there was haunted by sprites that waited in trees to possess passers-by. The region became isolated and a no-go area, especially after dark.

Mattna the Shaman’s hut was the only dwelling in that area, and he attracted suspicion and ill will from Nocturnians for living there. Vlad visited the old man frequently, as he was a fountain of local knowledge on the vampire. Mattna was considered a friend of Adam Ingisbohr’s until the decision to go to war against the vampires alienated them from each other. The shaman’s burgeoning pacifist beliefs lost him a good comrade, but saved him from certain death at McLintock’s Spit. That stance drew the ire of Nocturnians, who accused him of cowardice, and they shunned him from then on. Mattna relayed many stories about Vlad’s father that filled in the gaps in Vlad’s increasingly patchy memories of him. Vlad’s mother did not like talking about Adam, as it made her upset, and Vlad hated seeing her like that. Therefore, he went to Mattna instead. Mattna also knew everything there was to know about the supernatural.

With his straggly white hair, wild beard, and the monk’s cowl tied with rope at the waist, Mattna was quite a sight to strangers. To Vlad, he was just a friend. Vlad waded through a flock of clucking chickens to gain entry to Mattna’s hut, which lay inside a massive, hollow tree trunk that probably had been there for millennia.

Vlad stuck his head in through the half-open door. Mattna was in the corner, mixing up another one of his potions. Even though Vlad remained silent, Mattna was aware of his presence. The old man spun around rapidly.

“Come in, lad, rest your young bones, and have a cup of rain. I’ve just made some broth, too. Would you like some?”

“Yes, please,” said Vlad.

Mattna handed Vlad a cup of rainwater, which Vlad downed in one gulp. Mattna then went over to a massive black cauldron that was bubbling away on the fire. He dished up a thick, yellowish substance into a wooden bowl. There was meat of dubious origin (probably carrion foraged for by Mattna on his wanderings) and blackened potatoes that just about qualified as
pommes des terres
. Some barley floated reluctantly on the cloudy surface and collided with chunks of incognito mushroom. Despite looking horrific, its taste was exquisite. Vlad was becoming a bit addicted to Mattna’s broth. Despite Vlad’s bowels rumbling for hours after eating it, he always felt great when he relieved himself the next morning. It did something good for him. He was unsure what that something was, but he felt it. Vlad’s mother always shot him a knowing glance when his stomach was churning like that on his post-broth return. Some mothers may have felt slighted that their son would rather eat the food of a strange recluse, but Hana always saw the funny side of it. Besides, it just meant there was more food in the larder for later.

“The food of warriors,” said Mattna, “but before I share my food with you, isn’t there some food you must share with me?”

“What?”

“Food for Judas.”

Vlad remembered, and opened a small cloth bag and tossed Mattna a worm. Mattna in turned tossed it to Judas, his giant black crow that squawked loudly in the corner of Mattna’s dwelling. The bird expertly caught the worm in its beak and swiftly swallowed it down.

“I don’t suppose you have a toad in there as well, do you?” Mattna asked.

“Apologies, my friend, I do not.”

“One can never have enough toads, I say, I shall have to catch one later.”

Judas squawked with contentment after his meal and began preening its feathers.

“He always cleans himself when he’s enjoyed his food,” Mattna said with a smile as he admired his pet.

“Why have you named your crow Judas?” Vlad asked.

The old man turned to Vlad, almost happy at the topic being raised.

“Judas followed his own path, as I do. That is why I lead this hermit’s existence. There are no masters out here for me to obey.”

“Judas betrayed Jesus and the path he chose took him to Hell.”

“Judas did what he thought was right and regretted it later. History has not been kind to him, but at least he had the courage to go his own way. That is where my admiration lies.”

“My admiration lies in your talents and your knowledge; I just think they’re wasted in solitude.”

“A man’s talent is like his phallus: It’s a battering ram to be wielded wisely.”

Vlad’s eyebrows shot up, but he remained silent.

“Now, going your own way does not mean being rebellious for the sake of it; that’s just petulance,” Mattna said. “You must use your ability to punch a hole in this world and leave your mark.”

“Love is another way to leave one’s mark.”

              “There was a time when I thought the only solution to the frigidity of life was the treachery of love.”

Vlad picked up a clump of dust from the table.

“This place needs a woman’s touch.”

“No, no, not now. I’m in the winter of my life, and my heart is as stiff as my aching bones. The only future I could promise a woman is widowhood with this hovel bequeathed to her. Not many would want that, and I would not want anyone to go through that for me. I choose to rely on myself.”

“Your bird has been fed, now what about me?” Vlad asked as he eyed the bowl of broth with large, ravenous eyes.

“Patience, dear boy, patience, all good things to those who wait.”

Mattna slid the bowl of broth onto a small, round table for Vlad, and Vlad hungrily took a mouthful, spat out some animal hairs and feathers, and resumed his scoffing.

“They say you are a madman in Nocturne,” Vlad said with his mouth full. “They say you dance naked in the moonlight and converse with crows. I see the latter bit is true.”

“I need not explain myself or my life to them. I harm no one. I just want to be left in peace.”

“People have burned for less, Mattna. I worry about you being all alone out here.”

“Worry not, boy. If it is my destiny to die at their hands or someone else’s, it shall happen regardless of whether you or I want it to or not. It is only the reputation of the Haunted Forest that stops them from coming to burn me out. That reputation can’t last forever. All it takes is for someone like you to burst that illusion. Then they will come, one by one, and then by the dozen. They will say that Judas is my familiar and that I am in league with the Devil and that will be that. Mattna will be no more.”

Mattna went over to Judas the crow and smoothed his feathers affectionately with his hand. Judas cawed with satisfaction.

“Judas is my friend, a good friend. He saves me from loneliness and despair. He is always there when I need him, he never disappoints me, and he never says the wrong thing.”

              “It’s a good thing he’s not a parrot!” Vlad quipped.

              Mattna laughed.

              “You are a good friend, too,” Mattna said. “I do enjoy your visits. You keep my spirit light.”             

“And I keep Judas not-so-light by bringing him fat worms. I tell you, this broth of yours is getting better.”

              Mattna smiled.

              “Is that a hint you want more?”

Vlad held out his bowl, and Mattna filled it after stirring the bubbling cauldron once again.

“Tell me another tale of the vampires,” Vlad said in between slurps.

“Another one, eh?” Mattna said with a grin as he theatrically stroked his chin whiskers.

“Where did Deadulus come from?”

Mattna lost himself in mock thought; a good storyteller knew how to build anticipation.

“Well?” Vlad said, leaning forward, his eyes wide with excitement.

“Well, one evening, I was trying to negotiate a pass in the Gadzook Mountains, but bad weather set in,” Mattna said. “I stopped for the night in a mountain shack, but found it already occupied by a Northman. He welcomed me in and told me a story about the vampires that I had never heard before.”

“Oh, great!” Vlad said.

Vlad got comfortable and gave Mattna his undivided attention.

“He told me of a local myth that sprang up about Deadulus,” Mattna said. “The story went that Deadulus once had been a fierce king and warrior named Fafnir. He led his men into battle, only for their long ship to be shrouded in an unearthly fog. A flock of vampires swooped down and devoured most of the crew. They spared Fafnir and his brother Regin and made them vampires. Henceforth, Regin bore the moniker of Necromus, and Fafnir became the legendary vampire Deadulus.”

              “So Necromus is the brother of Deadulus,” Vlad said, drinking in the new information with glee.

“A survivor emerged from the icy water,” Mattna continued, “and babbled delirious tales of dragons before expiring from cold. From this, the Northman’s legend came about to explain Fafnir and Regan’s disappearance. The legend says that they changed into dragons to guard their father’s treasure. The conversion of Deadulus to vampirism was the single most important act a vampire had ever committed. This random attack created the perfect vampire: an ideal hybrid of all the best elements of the natural and the supernatural. Vampires had been hunters, but they had unwittingly created a tactical commander, capable of streamlining the vampires into a strategic force. The vampires then played humans at their own game. They had one of their finest commanders as one of their own. Deadulus had an invaluable ally in his brother Necromus. Whereas Deadulus was a ruthless military chieftain, Necromus had a sharp, practical mind. Even when he was mortal, Deadulus still confided in his brother. Necromus conceived a plan, and Deadulus would ruthlessly execute it. Together, they plotted to seize the vampire throne.

“The vampires also had taken something from Deadulus that hampered him as a human: his conscience. The amoral aggression of the animal was now his, a gift bestowed upon him by the giant supernatural beasts of the air. He now purged his flock of blood relatives and companions without batting an eyelid. It was almost as if the vampires had opened a Pandora’s Box and loosed an evil never seen in the history of humankind. Once in charge, Deadulus forbade his kind from making human vampires in his image. Henceforth, they would tear bodies to shreds during an attack, depriving the human victim of a mortal shell. Thus, Deadulus had stamped out any threat from other vampires. The only danger now would come from humans themselves.

              “Impinging progress brought the creatures’ tenure in the land of the Northmen to an end. Improving weaponry, better combat tactics and a loss of fear of the vampire all contributed to their downfall in that land. Deadulus and his fellow vampires fled the area and had to seek refuge elsewhere. They eventually found their way here, to Nocturne. We are a closed, rural community, an area already rife with superstition. They knew they could control us. The village provides a haven for them until we catch up with the rest of the world.”

              “Where will they go if they leave here?” Vlad said.

“Deadulus will cross that bridge when he comes to it,” Mattna said. “There’s always somewhere they can go. Our world is an enormous

place, filled with isolated areas and willing prey. The vampire is a scavenger, a nomad and a survivor. It is an opportunistic creature if nothing else. Is that what you wanted?”

              “Tell me more about Deadulus,” Vlad said.

              “More?!” Mattna laughed. “You are a glutton for punishment!”

              “I want to know my enemy as best I can.”

              “You must embrace your nemesis, Vlad.”

              “Embrace the thing that killed my father? NEVER!”

              “You and Deadulus may not be aware of this, but he’s forcing you to grow and become stronger. The stronger our enemies are, the stronger we must become to defeat them. So they do us good in the end.”

“He’s trying to kill me too! Putting my father and me in our graves is not a kindness!”

“You have to spoil a good theory, don’t you?”

“I am open to persuasion…for a price!” Vlad said laughing, knowing that Mattna lived in penury.

“I crave not the opacity of riches, nor the clarity of paucity,” Mattna announced pompously. “I look not for a heroic nor noble death. I hope it’s quick and painless, but it’s not for us to decide these things. It is for the great goddess of nature herself. I will abide by whatever she decides for me.”

“Our beliefs differ, my friend,” Vlad said. “If anyone else heard those words you have just spoken, it would be your end. I do not wish harm on folk who differ from me, nor do I object to their existence. I am curious to know more about them. People fascinate me.”

“A good way of thinking, my boy,” Mattna said, patting Vlad paternally on the shoulder. “You will learn much in this life that way.”

A silence fell, and they were comfortable enough with each other to let it hang in the air there between them.