The Vorbing (5 page)

“Deadulus fears you, Vlad.”

“Me?! Why would the NightLord be afraid of me?”

“Deadulus knows that you are the son of a warrior and that you have courage flowing through your veins. The darkness in your heart is a powerful weapon against him. He knows this. That is why your farm is targeted for attack more than the rest. He and his kind are trying to frighten you and your mother into leaving Nocturne for good. They know that without your presence, this village is at their mercy.”

“I can’t defeat Deadulus,” Vlad said.

“Why do you say that? Do you doubt your own ability?”

“It’s not that. I have complete confidence in my ability. The reticence of the people in my village bothers me. How can I harm the vampires if my people will not help me or themselves? It is just like my father said: They need martyrs before they will act. That is the cost of living under vampire tyranny too long - they have become docile. They’re just lambs to the slaughter.”

              Mattna stared long and hard at Vlad.

“To defeat Deadulus, you must become like him. Temporarily, that is. You must bring out the darkness in your heart, your mind, and your soul, and use it against him. There you are, my boy. I have told you everything I know.”

              “I need to know more about how to keep them at bay,” Vlad replied, as he put the bowl down and wiped his mouth with his hand.

              “Well, let’s see,” said Mattna, as he wracked his brain for more information for his anxious student. “Have I told you about the Lord’s Prayer?”

“No, you haven’t.”

              “Rumour has it that reciting the Lord’s Prayer in Latin is effective in repelling vampire attacks.”

“Is that true?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never tried it.”

“Is there anything else?”

“Nobody lives forever, Vlad, not even me. You know that, don’t you?” the wise fellow said with a weak grin. “Magic cannot repel nature, no matter how powerful it may be. Magic is a set of instructions handed down from generation to generation, instructions that can be mastered by those who apply themselves. Through practice and the application of these instructions, the user can become a powerful magician. However, these instructions can become stagnant, whereas nature, especially the supernatural, does not. It is always changing and growing stronger. The vampires have an unfair advantage. Their powers are infinite, whereas ours are not. We must use conventional tools to stop an unconventional enemy that always seems to have new ways to attack us. Only when they evolve new powers can we react and block them, but they are always one step ahead of us.”

“What can I do?” Vlad said desperately.

              “Defeat the vampires,” Mattna said. “Death is the ultimate end of their progression.”

The old man stood up and gripped Vlad by the shoulders.

“My life is almost at an end, and still, my mortal enemy lives,’ Mattna continued.

Vlad felt a tide of tears rising in his eyes, but kept his composure. He had learned so much from his old friend. All his wonderful wisdom would die with him. Vlad dismissed the confusing thoughts from his mind, as they were too upsetting to contemplate.

              “The reason I have told you so much about the vampires is that I want you to carry on the struggle,” Mattna said. “I think your father has a worthy successor. You are young, strong, and you have heart. Those are three things the vampires fear most. More than any stake, cross, or flame.”

Vlad’s eyes welled up with tears.

              “Of course, the life force within us will never get extinguished,” Mattna added, “even by death. It merely assumes another form. It is nearly time for me to move on to another plain of thought.”

              Vlad reluctantly absorbed Mattna’s words, nodding as if in a trance.

              “If you ever need more advice or help, there is one who knows more about vampires,” Mattna said.

“Who knows more than you?”

              “In the Northern Forest, there’s a woman.”

“A woman? What could a woman possibly know about defeating the vampires?”

              “Never underestimate the power of the female, Vlad. Life springs from their bodies. It is only right that a woman should possess the knowledge necessary to defeat the essence of death.”

Vlad shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

              “Now,” Mattna said, “her name is Carnessa.”

              “Is she pretty?”

              “It depends what you consider beautiful, if beauty is of any significance. Carnessa is a giantess, a seven-foot tall Atrubian witch, reputed to be the most powerful sorceress in all of Dubhtayl.”

              Vlad seemed impressed with Mattna’s description of her.

              “You may not need her now, Vlad, but someday you might.”

              “I suppose you are right,” Vlad grudgingly conceded.

              “To procure what you need from Carnessa, you must appeal to her vanity.”

“How?”

“Compliment her on her beauty.”

“I am a warrior, not a poet!”

              “You’ll never know how to inspire men to fight for you or learn a witch’s secrets without words, Vlad.”             

“I agree.”

              “She is smarter than you, Vlad, remember that. Misjudge her at your peril!”

              “What does she have that will help me beat the vampires?”

              “That reminds me. I have something that could help you do that, Vlad, and I want you to have it.”

Mattna went over to a large, oak chest in the corner and produced a metal object.

“Here.”

“What is this?” Vlad asked, as he took the gleaming object into his hands.

“That was your father’s.”

Vlad stared at the plate in awe.

              “That was the breastplate your father wore at McLintock’s Spit.”

“How did you get that? You didn’t fight at McLintock’s Spit.”

              “I am a scavenger, Vlad. That’s how I survive. I retrieved it from the battlefield early the next morning. The ground was churned up and scarred. There were human corpses everywhere. The few vampire corpses I saw disintegrated with the rising sun. I saw things in that dawn light I cannot banish from my mind.”

              Mattna shivered at the unwelcome memories that barged back into his thoughts and shook his head from side to side as if to shake them loose from him like lice.

“No one was around, and that enabled me to find many useful things,” Mattna continued. “I sold the rest of the things I found that morning to passing peddlers, and they carried news of McLintock’s Spit to the capital, but I kept that breastplate for myself.”

              “Why did you keep it?”

              “Even though I do not believe in the wars of man, I knew your father was honourable, that he fought with great bravery against evil and sacrificed himself so others might live, including me. There are times we must fight or be destroyed. I know that now. That breastplate is like a relic of Adam’s martyrdom. A constant fear of mine is that the council of Nocturne will come for me in the night. I thought I’d use the breastplate to bargain with them for my life.”

              “You’d be wasting your time, old friend. The council have no respect for my father or those who fought at McLintock’s Spit. They see the whole thing as a fool’s errand. They would probably throw that breastplate on the dung heap and your body with it.”

              “You must think me a cold, selfish man, using your father’s belongings to save my own skin and keeping this from you,” Mattna said, staring at the floor in shame.

              “Not at all, you had your reasons. I would be scared, too, if I lived out here all alone. The plate is of no use to my father anymore; I would have no quarrel with you getting some good from it.”

              “You should, too. I want you to have it, Vlad. I knew the chances were good that you would one day follow your father’s example and avenge his death...and here you are. If there was any luck in that plate, your father must have used up most of it.”

“I don’t deserve it.”

“Yes, you do, my boy.”

“I’m not ready.”

              “Yes, you are. You have been a dedicated student, Vlad. It is yours now. Wear it with pride and remember me when you claim victory over evil.”

              Vlad was speechless as Mattna pressed his father’s breastplate into his hands. Adam Ingisbohr was torn apart by the vampires while still alive. There was no body to bury, no funeral, and no proper grave to visit to pay respect to him (only the headstone Vlad had erected on the farm). It was the final humiliation for a man who deserved better. McLintock’s Spit became a taboo subject in Nocturne, and life just lurched on somehow. Adam left few things behind, just clothes and the simple tools he used on the farm. Vlad was even starting to forget what his father looked like. He cursed the vampires and hated himself for it. The plate was a welcome reunion with his fading memory of his beloved parent.

              Vlad slowly stood up and looked Mattna in the eye.

“What can I do to repay your confidence in me?” Vlad asked.

              “Kill Deadulus!” Mattna said, as his eyes filled with conviction.

              “It’s what I want, what my father wanted, and what you want,” Vlad said smiling. “I will do everything in my power to ensure that it happens.”

              “Imagine what you could do if you were fearless, Vlad.”

              Vlad smiled to himself as he thought about it.

              “A little fear is good; it makes you cautious, forces you to prepare, but fear has held me back, kept me here all my life. Don’t let that happen to you.”

Mattna pointed at the door to his hut.

“Go out into that world and become fearless. Make real your dreams,

and let nothing and no one stand in your way.”

“I will,” Vlad said.

              “Good, good,” said Mattna with a big smile on his face. “Leave me now, I am tired.”

              Vlad looked at the plate and then at Mattna.

“Goodbye, my friend,” he said.

“You have God on your side, Vlad,” the old man said. “Never forget that.”

              “I won’t,” Vlad said. “You are the first person I shall thank on the day of my victory.”

              Mattna did not reply.

              With that, Vlad left the hut and went home.

Chapter Four

Vlad lay restlessly on his bed. He muttered something in his sleep. Noises outside made him jump and open his eyes. He listened as he felt the sweat roll down his temple. Instinctively, he grabbed the crucifix from the wall. He thought he heard a familiar voice calling him, so he moved closer to the window. He made out a shadowy figure crouching down in the moonlight. It was Mattna.

              “Vlad, come outside, quickly,” Mattna pleaded with an unusual urgency in his voice. Vlad put the cross down and swung his woollen cloak over his shoulders. He opened the door and stood in the doorway as the chilly night air sank its teeth into his goose-pimpled flesh.

              “What are you doing out there? Have you forgotten about the vampires?” Vlad asked.

              “I have no reason to fear them now with dawn almost upon us,” Mattna replied.

              Mattna edged closer to Vlad.

              “Keep back!” Vlad said angrily, “I can’t invite you inside. Go home before you get us all killed.”

              Only then did Vlad notice Mattna’s pale and gaunt appearance. He had gone from relative health to looking like a dying man in just a few hours. “My God, Mattna!” Vlad said, startled, “You don’t look well. You should go home and rest.”

“I gave you your father’s shield,” Mattna said. “Now, there is one thing you can give me…”

“Name it, and you shall have it,” Vlad said.

“Your blood!” Mattna roared as he lunged at Vlad.

              Vlad desperately tried to fend off his friend. He saw that Mattna’s eyes were blood red and his mouth foamed like a mad dog’s. The stench of his breath was making Vlad nauseous. Mattna grabbed Vlad with tremendous force and threw him to the ground.

              “Have you gone mad?” Vlad screamed.

              Mattna leaned over Vlad and opened his mouth to reveal a set of yellow, curved fangs.

Vlad froze and held his breath. “You’re…You’re a vampire!” Vlad stuttered, as if trying to convince himself of the reality of the situation unfolding before his eyes. He had never seen a human vampire before, and it fascinated and repelled him. Perhaps no human eyes ever had seen a human vampire before.

              “I gave myself to them tonight,” Mattna boasted.

“Impossible,” Vlad said, “vampires never let human converts live.”

“No?” Mattna said with a taunting laugh. “Deadulus and his kind are not the only vampires in this land. Now you will know how good it feels to be one of them.”

              “No!” Vlad shouted, pushing his friend away as far as he could.

              “Let go of putrescent humanity and its weaknesses, Vlad,” Mattna begged, his eyes getting redder and more maddened by the second. “Do so and you shall live forever like me, and become the most powerful vampire warrior in existence. Even more powerful than Deadulus himself!”

              “Eternal damnation is what they offer, and you have chosen to lay down with evil” Vlad said.

              Mattna cackled in a way Vlad had never heard before, and it made his flesh turn cold.

              “You’re not my friend,” Vlad said. “You’re a filthy creature like them now. My enemy!”

              Vlad looked around and saw the pile of stakes he had whittled earlier. He reached out to grab one, but Mattna took hold of him with great force, and a life-or-death struggle began. Vlad stretched to reach the stakes with his fingertips as Mattna’s fangs were an inch from his throat.

              “Accept the contagion, Vlad!” Mattna growled.

              Vlad grabbed Mattna’s neck and attempted to shove him back, but Mattna overpowered him and clamped his teeth around Vlad’s throat. Mattna’s red eyes rolled back in his head. He applied pressure to Vlad’s skin with his jaws to puncture it and vorb for the first time. Mattna jerked his body back suddenly as he struggled to regain control of himself from the bloodthirst that tore at his mind, body, and soul. Tears came to the old man’s eyes and his voice became the gentle sound Vlad remembered.

“Kill me now, for God’s sake, boy, KILL ME!” Mattna sobbed, a vestige of his true self rising in him for the last time.

              Vlad knew he was dead if he hesitated. Mattna would go on to vorb on others, kill them, and never be free. Blocking all thoughts from his mind, Vlad grabbed a stake and plunged it into Mattna’s chest. Vlad watched himself do it as if a detached, horrified observer. The old man died a slow, terrible death, wailing like an animal in pain. Vlad let go of the stake as if it was red hot. He looked away and vomited from shock. Mattna’s lifeless body collapsed on top of Vlad, the blood of his friend baptising him in death. Vlad had killed his mentor, his best friend, and the only real father figure he had in his life, and the vampires had made him do it. He shoved Mattna’s body off of him and it slumped to the side. Vlad thumped the earth with his fists in frustration. He then scrambled to his feet. Incensed, Vlad tore at his clothes and skin with his fingernails, drawing blood in the process.

              “Is this what you want, my blood?” Vlad shouted at Mattna’s corpse. “Take it, take it all, I don’t want to live!”

              Vlad then let loose such a feral scream of loss and frustration from his throat that it stopped him in his tracks. He glared right at Vampire Mountain.

“DEADULUS! I WILL KILL YOU AND EVERY FOUL THING LIKE YOU!” Vlad yelled.

              A cacophonous laugh from the trees in the distance made Vlad stop dead in his tracks. “You did this, you cowards!” he continued. “You sent an old man to kill me? Why don’t you face me yourselves? Why don’t you-”

A shrieking sound echoed around Vlad and he felt his neck being pinned to the ground by an enormous claw. Vlad knew how a mouse felt under the cold, sharp grip of a cat, but he was in the presence of something far more fearsome. He was in the grip of one of the foulest creatures ever encountered by man or beast. Its skin was moist and reptilian. Vlad was repulsed by the sight and smell of the beast.

“You called, mortal?” the vampire sneered.

Its black forked tongue tasted Vlad’s bleeding wounds, making it shudder orgasmically.

“I am Necromus, heir to the throne of mighty Deadulus, and one day, his successor.”

“You are his brother,” Vlad said.

              “All vampires are brothers in the brotherhood of night,” Necromus said.

Vlad’s mother appeared in the doorway.

              “Vlad, what is-” Hana said, stopping as her eyes widened at the monstrosity before her.

The vampire lasciviously looked at her.

              “Oh, God!” Hana said as she recoiled in horror from the sight of her son at the mercy of a pitiless vampire.

              Necromus smiled, showing a set of serrated, curved yellow fangs as he gave a throaty laugh that came from the depths of his dark soul.

              “Who’s the pretty one, eh?” Necromus said, smugly savouring the exposure of Vlad’s Achilles heel.

              “Go back inside,” Vlad whispered to his mother.

              Hana, frozen with fear, did not move.

              “GO IN!” Vlad shouted forcefully. It was all he could do to save her life without giving ground to the vampire. Hana slowly complied and retreated indoors. Vlad looked at the vampire. “If you kill anyone, let it be me,” Vlad said.

              “A noble gesture from an unworthy creature,” Necromus sneered. “I have a message for thee from my master.”

              “What’s the message, death-giver?” Vlad asked.

              Necromus gripped Vlad even tighter with his claws.

              “We release you from the prison of mortality,” Necromus said. “THIS is the message.”

Necromus tore Vlad’s mouth open with his talons as he contorted his jaw and tried to vomit a steady stream of black blood into the boy’s throat. Vlad averted his head enough so the foul fluid missed his mouth and spattered over his cheek and neck instead.

              “I’m going to kill you for what you did to my friend,” Vlad said.

              The vampire threw his fearsome head back and cackled scornfully.

            
 
“I drank the blood of a hundred men at McLintock’s Spit!” Necromus said. “Why should I fear a struggling boy?”

              “This is why!” Vlad said as he rammed a stake through the vampire’s chest.

              Awful, feral yowls of disbelief came from the vampire’s mouth as Vlad desperately tried to crawl to safety. The deafening roars echoed around the hills. Necromus lashed out at Vlad and gashed his leg. The creature then fell forward, embedding the stake even deeper in his chest.

            
 
“Deadulus will tear your souls apart for this!” Necromus said menacingly. “You and your whore of a mother!”

              “This will silence you forever!” Vlad said, as he picked up an axe and beheaded Necromus. The head rolled off and stopped next to the body of Mattna. Thick, dark blood flowed everywhere. Even though his head was separated from his body, the vampire’s eyes still glared at Vlad.

              “You have won nothing, Ingisbohr,” the lips of Necromus whispered, the life ebbing from the severed head by the second. “Deadulus will come for you in your sleep. You will see him in your nightmares and wish for death. We will come in our thousands and wipe every last one of you from your precious earth. I return to thee, my king.”

              At last, the blood loss took its toll, and Necromus’ eyes closed for good. Vlad studied the vampire’s features. It was the first time he had the chance to see a vampire up close without the danger of being attacked. He was repulsed by the mottled pallor of the face and the decaying odour from the fangs, but he could not look away from it. It looked vaguely human, but was also not human. It was dead, but Vlad wondered if it had ever had life in the conventional sense. The many paradoxes of the strange being before him raced through Vlad’s mind.

Before Vlad had time to contemplate any further, he felt stinging pain all over his body and collapsed. Several drops of the vampire’s blood must have entered his mouth somehow. It was coursing through his veins and taking effect. Hana rushed over to her son and began to drag him indoors.

              “For the love of God, come inside, Vlad, before more of them arrive,” Hana said as she helped her sick, exhausted son back into the safety of the farmhouse. She slammed and bolted the door shut behind them.

Regan McGillycuddy’s room was in the attic of the house and one step removed from the activity below her. She lay in the beams of moonlight that streamed in through her open bedroom window in the ceiling. She knew it should stay closed at night, but she had a hidden fantasy about vampires and secretly longed for a visit from mighty Deadulus. Another night was about to pass and she ached for the encounter with the NightLord that would fulfil her.

Regan’s long, flaxen hair draped over the shoulders of her nightgown. Her heart raced with anticipation as she adjusted her sleeping position. Then she heard the dull thud of someone’s footfall, except softer. The floorboards gently creaked. She thought it was her mother checking on her and sat up to take a look. An immense, silvery silhouette stood over her bed in the moonlight. She screamed, but an invisible hand covered her mouth. Another hand tore her gown from her young body. A great weight landed on top of her and she strained for breath. The door burst open, and her father came into the room.

              “What is it?” her father cried, straining to see the cause of his daughter’s terror in the moonlit attic.

              The weight lifted off her, and she saw her father being hurled across the room again and again by the intruder.

              “No, stop it, leave him!” she cried. “It’s me you want.”

              Her father slumped to the floor. Blood trickled from his nose, mouth, and ears, but he was still alive. Slowly, the quiet footfall returned as the thing got closer to her again.

              Regan felt invisible hands parting her legs and the great pressure of its weight on top of her. She let out a low, throaty moan as a massive claw choked her and she felt herself being penetrated simultaneously. Her eyes opened wide and she let out painful gasps and wondered if the rumours were true that Deadulus had a two-headed penis. Regan did not dare look down, but the sheer girth and twitching movement of his member inside her seemed to confirm it, and it made her eyes roll back in her head. It was the type of thing girls in the village giggled about in private. The reality was anything but funny: It was brutal and raw and relentless.

              Regan was reeling from the ferocity of the assault. She heard the intruder grunting and smelled its foetid breath. She tried to lean her head back away from it, but it was no use. Her breasts bled as sharp teeth bit and suckled on them. Claws dug into her shoulders as the thrusting increased in intensity. She prayed for the fury between her legs to subside. The sting of freezing ejaculate signalled that her ordeal was almost at an end. The enormous phallus withdrew and the footfall crept back across the floor. Afraid to move, Regan lay there bleeding and saw the shadow shoot out of the window and into the air. She listened to the sound of its beating wings as it flew away. Exhausted, Regan lost consciousness. Her fantasy of meeting Deadulus had become an awful fact, but the worst was yet to come for her. She would live to regret it in ways she had never imagined.