The Vorbing (7 page)

To divert his mind from his agony, Vlad concentrated on the screams coming from the other rooms. It was the sound of souls in torment and people being tortured. A swarm of flies covered Vlad’s eyes and face. They invaded his mouth and ears. The derisory buzzing became a mocking chant that reverberated in his mind. The evil was everywhere now. He did not have to look, listen, smell, or even think to detect it. It touched him and sang to him. Vlad felt his mind collapsing. Water streamed from his eyes. He was not weeping, as that would suggest emotion. It was just the overflow, like a river bursting its banks. It was his only way of unburdening himself and releasing some of the fear, hate, sadness, and rage that flowed through him. The room revolved with increasing speed. Vlad spun out of control. He was unsure whether it was real or just another hallucination. Whatever Vlad thought, he continued to twist around and around. He only saw blurred images through the cocoon the flies had spun across his face. A cascade of sweat poured down his face. His head throbbed, his mind raced, his heart pounded, and his breathing quickened beyond his control. Down and down he fell into the abyss of evil. When he reached what he thought was the bottom, he saw a door in front of him.

He opened the door with trepidation and saw a man and woman crouching over a crib. The woman was young, with a veil covering her head. The man had a beard and wore robes. They stood back to allow Vlad to see their child. Vlad strode over to the crib. He smiled with anticipation at the thought of the cherubic face that lay within. The infant lay with its back to Vlad, and when it turned, Vlad got a start. The child had no eyes. Vlad screamed out in terror, but found himself almost magnetically pulled towards the newborn child. It pointed an accusatory finger at Vlad as he drifted into the child’s eyes. The young man roared and covered his eyes.

When he opened them, another door confronted him. Vlad did not want to go through, but he was in a corridor with only one exit. He had to enter the room. Taking a deep breath, Vlad burst through the door. He wanted to run from the sight that greeted him, but he appeared rooted to the spot by paralysis again. A victim of crucifixion glared at Vlad with the same hollow eyes as the infant. A centurion stabbed the figure in the side with a sharp weapon, and blood dripped onto the floor.

“No!” Vlad roared.

The soldier slowly turned his head and sneered. “You think you can save your saviour?’ the soldier asked contemptuously. He then raised his sword and beheaded the man on the cross.

“No!” Vlad screamed as the neck stem gushed like a blood fountain and coated everything in the room.

The head rolled along the ground and came to rest at Vlad’s feet. Vlad tried to move again, but was unable. The head opened its feeble eyes and stared at the young man. “Help me,” it whispered before the eyes blinked shut.

              Within the blinking of those eyes, Vlad found a vast corridor of doors goading him to open them. He found fresh horrors waiting for him behind each one: a goat with its stomach slit lurched towards him on its hind legs, serpents infested the branches of an apple tree, and a well where Vlad sought to drink only yielded up shivering entrails, blood, and handfuls of locusts instead of water. As Vlad roared and roared, he feared for his sanity. As soon as it had come, the swirling chaos swiftly departed and disappeared into the distance. Silence soon followed, and Vlad slumped in the chair, drained of all his energy. The only sound to be heard was Vlad trying to catch his breath. He felt as if someone had lifted an enormous weight off his body. Golden shafts of light enveloped him. Vlad strained to see through it. A figure emerged from the glare.

              She was the most beautiful sight in the world to him: sweeter smelling than a summer meadow full of flowers, brighter than a thousand suns, and with softer skin than that of a newborn child. True love masked all flaws. It was Ula, his Ula, looking at him with all the love in her heart flooding through her enormous blue eyes. Vlad loved her more than anyone, including his mother. While it was a great strength to have Ula’s unique love in his life, though it was also a weakness the vampires sensed for potential future exploitation. That worried Vlad, even in his dream. If he lost Ula, he would never find a love that strong again, and he knew it. Only she had the ability to end the darkness around him, and it dispersed. The buzzing flies receded. The screaming, the choking stench, and the malevolent atmosphere all were banished by her virtuous presence. Vlad squinted at the incredible brightness and warmth that surrounded him. He was free again.

Vlad awoke with a desperate scream and gulped in huge quantities of air. The bedclothes clung to him. He retched so hard it made his chest cavity hurt, and then he vomited. The crimson emission slithered between the floorboards and evaporated. He smiled at the thought of the vampire’s poison leaving his body. Vlad did not know what had happened. He was thankful it was over and that he had survived. Making a deep sighing noise, Vlad stumbled over to the window and opened it. He rested his clammy head against the frame. His mother burst in the door.

“Vlad, what’s wrong?” she asked.

“I had nightmares,” Vlad moaned, “the worst dreams of my life.”

“Oh, my boy,” Hana said as she hugged him, “I’ve been so worried about you. It’s all over now. Are you hungry?”

Vlad shook his head. Food was the last thing on Vlad’s mind. Vlad’s sudden aversion to mountains and his mother’s enforced curfew did not last. Within days, Vlad’s fear had subsided. He began planning how to recover his lost pride and to plot the downfall of Deadulus, the Lord of Darkness.

Chapter Five

Vlad marched into the village of Nocturne that morning confident of convincing his people it was possible for them to rise up and conclusively defeat the vampires. As he entered the village, people backed away from him. Anyone covered in blood with scratches all over their face and carrying the head of a vampire in a bloodied sack usually had that effect. Vlad strode to the podium in the town square, climbed the steps, and began his oratory. “People of Nocturne!” he shouted.

Every head in the town square spun around,

              “As you know, I am Vlad Ingisbohr,” he continued, “son of Adam Ingisbohr, killed at McLintock’s Spit three years ago.”

              People congregated in front of the podium where Vlad stood. Old Rupert Haygood was late for the meeting of the council of elders, but he stopped to listen astutely to what Vlad had to say.

              “We know who you are,” said one of the villagers. “We also heard that Deadulus nearly killed you yesterday.”

              “It is true that I was attacked by Deadulus yesterday,” Vlad admitted as he looked down at them. “However, you have the story backwards; it was Deadulus who was lucky to survive.”

              A rising ripple of laughter spread through the mob.

              “Go home, boy,” old Rupert Haygood said.

              “Yeah, go home and count your chickens,” a portly woman sneered.

              Despite the crescendo of scorn from the crowd, Vlad continued. “I am here to persuade you to help me fight the vampires,” Vlad said.

              “Fight them with what?” one man said. “Pitchforks?!”

              “No,” Vlad said. “Fight them with bravery.”

              “What would you know about bravery?” Rupert said. “When they fought at McLintock’s Spit, you were still a boy.”

              “I was fifteen,” said Vlad. “I wanted to fight, but my father would not let me go.”

              “What difference will bravery make if you are dead?” another man said.

              “All the difference in the world,” Vlad replied. “They murder us at night anyway! Why should we wait for them to slaughter our loved ones? Let us take the battle to THEM for a change! Make THEM suffer for once!”

              “Your words are pretty, Ingisbohr,” burly Storm Vidor said, “but I will not place my life in the hands of a farm boy, especially not against those things up in the hills!”

              “We will not listen to another word of this juvenile madness!” Rupert protested as he walked away.

“What will convince you that I am the one to lead you?” Vlad asked.

              “Bring us the head of Deadulus,” a portly woman said facetiously.

              “If I could kill all the vampires myself, I wouldn’t need any of you,” Vlad said, “but I can’t do it alone. We must unite now, or there won’t be enough of us left to fight them.”

              The crowd murmured and shook their heads in disbelief. There was no support for Vlad or his plans. It was time to play his trump card. He tore open the bloodied sack and held aloft the head of Necromus. There was a sharp intake of breath from the crowd and then silence. There were not delighted or inspired, as Vlad had hoped; they were even more scared.

“I bring you the head of Necromus!” Vlad shouted. “Do you see? We CAN beat them! This land CAN be ours once again.”

“You shandy simpkin!” Rupert Haygood said. “You have killed us all!”

Old Rupert turned to face the crowd. “See what this foolish boy has done?” he said, pointing at Vlad. “The vampires will annihilate us for this.”

“I have killed the second most important vampire, next to Deadulus,” Vlad reasoned, “and you are unhappy?”

“Of course, I’m unhappy,” Rupert replied. “You have infuriated our tormentors. We will all pay dearly for your foolish actions!”

The mob became agitated and shouted threats at Vlad. They threw anything they saw at him: mud, dung, rotten fruit, and rubbish. Vlad looked quite a sight; he was bloody, muddy, and decorated with stinking detritus.

“Bring him before the council of elders!” Rupert shouted. “They’ll decide what to do with him.”

The crowd grabbed hold of Vlad and hustled him into a barn where a meeting of the council of elders was in session. The council’s debate was brought to an unexpected halt by the intrusion. It was the barn of Vrillium Gladwish, and he was also the head elder. Vrillium never tried to hide his disdain for Vlad, and seeing him being dumped before him in such a filthy state by an angry mob did nothing to assuage that. A stunned silence fell as they stared at Vlad in disgust.

Vrillium Gladwish had a pompous air about him. He had a long nose that he was content to look down through at everyone, including Vlad. He made anyone before him feel as if they had transgressed merely by being in his presence. Vrillium was an older man, which automatically engendered awe and respect in a land where life was incredibly brief. His long white tendrils of hair drooping down onto the sackcloth he wore were a sign that he was a survivor. The wrinkles in Vrillium’s chapped skin were tributaries leading to the torrent of intensity that were his hooded blue eyes.

To Vlad, Vrillium was a toad sitting on a lily, watching everything happen in Nocturne, but not doing much. He saw Vrillium as an arrogant man who had nothing to be arrogant about and a symbol of everything wrong with his village. Vlad believed Vrillium kept Nocturne repressed and living in fear. As long as that council was in power with Vrillium Gladwish at its helm, there was no way to challenge the dominance of the vampires. Nocturne’s council did as little as possible, but if anyone else tried to do anything, it sprang into action with animated scaremongering. The council’s duty was to provoke debate and avoid making snap decisions. However, Vlad believed they were encouraging inertia and submission at a time when risking nothing was the greatest risk of all. He reasoned that it was perhaps their advanced age that made them overly cautious, but he still saw it as no excuse for inaction. Vrillium had fiercely resisted Vlad’s father at every turn. When Adam Ingisbohr perished at McLintock’s Spit, it seemed to prove Vrillium Gladwish right, and Nocturnians flocked to him in the power vacuum that followed.

The council of elders was not a council of merit; it comprised the only older people left in Nocturne. There was an automatic presumption of wisdom being present with their advanced years, but that was not always the case. There were three types of elder on the council: the one that had ultimate power, the sycophants who supported the one with ultimate power, and envious rivals who wanted his power for themselves. Vlad had no time for cliques and was not old enough to infiltrate the particularly odious, power-hungry one before him. Vlad was a lone wolf in that way, like his father. The caveat to their freedom was that they were both isolated and had few allies to call on in times of danger. Outside of a vampire attack, becoming the focus of the council’s suspicion or anger was the most dangerous time for a Nocturnian. It made life extremely difficult for that villager; they faced being shunned and their life was put at risk if they pursued it far enough. Added to the vampire threat, it was an extremely dangerous situation for anyone to live in, but Vlad was a gambler like his father Adam. He was content to cast the runes and see where they fell. Vlad somehow knew that things would come out in his favour. He was not always correct in that belief, but he carried it with him.

Vrillium raised his arms, and a hush descended on the place at once. He wore a large pearl ring on his right hand as a symbol of his status.

“There will be order here!” he shouted. “There is a council meeting in progress. What is the meaning of this interruption?’

“Vlad Ingisbohr has killed Necromus, sir,” the old man said.

              Vlad stood before the council. He was nervous inside, but did not show it as he brushed the lingering dirt and rubbish from his clothing. Vrillium remained unimpressed at Vlad sullying his barn. Vlad felt wearing his father’s breastplate would remind the council of what Adam Ingisbohr had done for the village. It also was a shield that gave him moral courage and a modicum of physical protection against some of the opprobrium coming his way. The council sat on a wooden bench. Ordinary Nocturnians sat on piles of hay and watched.

              “Is this true, Ingisbohr?” Vrillium asked.

              “My name is Vlad, and, yes it is true,” Vlad said.

              “Why are you covered in blood and filth?” Vrillium asked.

              “The blood is from the vampires,” Vlad said. “The rest is from my fellow villagers.”

              “I see,” Vrillium said. “This is most serious. While you are here, there is something else that you must answer for. It has come to our attention that you have not been attending the religious processions through Nocturne. Why is this?”

              “Prayers have not defeated the vampires so far, have they?” Vlad said.

The crowd murmured.

              “It is God’s will that the vampires punish us for our transgressions and not man’s place to question that, and certainly not yours, you upstart crow,” Vrillium countered.

              “I am an Ingisbohr, and you will address me as such,” Vlad said, seething with rage at the unflattering put-down. “This curse will never leave us unless we make it go; my father knew this.”

              “Your father is dead as a result of his rash actions,” Vrillium retorted. “We will not shed one more drop of blood following another madman into battle.”

The crowd shouted their agreement.

              “My father was a great man!” Vlad said with conviction, and it quietened the crowd. “He gave his life for us.”

              “You think the name Ingisbohr absolves you of participating in our holy processions?” Vrillium asked, tightening the verbal noose around Vlad’s neck.

              Vlad wisely did not take the bait and stayed silent. He felt and heard Vrillium’s rabble-rousing skills taking effect all around him, and it worried him. The tide was turning against him.

Vrillium rose dramatically to his feet and pointed a long, bony finger of accusation at Vlad. “Or perhaps you are in league with the vampires and do not need God’s protection!” Vrillium shouted angrily.

              The crowd reacted again, some of them even jostling Vlad where he stood.

              “That’s not true!” Vlad said. “The vampires took my father from me, why would I side with those things? I hate them more than anyone here.”

The crowd relaxed slightly, but there was still an air of agitation around Vlad. Sensing the mood of the crowd, Vrillium took a moment and then made his next surreptitious move.

              “We hear that you are missing our religious processions to fornicate with a young farm girl in a field,” Vrillium said, smirking with superiority and self-satisfaction at his inside information about Vlad’s private life. The barn was in uproar. Ordinarily, Vrillium would have called for order, but he was deliberately whipping the crowd into a frenzy for his own ends.

              “Leave her out of this,” Vlad said.

              “Ah, so you admit this is true?” Vrillium asked. “Your father is spinning in his grave…wherever that is.”

“I admit I am in love with this girl and want to marry her,” Vlad said testily. “If that is a crime, then so be it. I am not ashamed, and neither are my parents.”

“You presume to know what goes on in the spirit world with your father?” Vrillium said. “How do you know this?”

“I know my father is proud of me, because I have done nothing wrong,” Vlad said.

“Evil spirits speak to him!” Vrillium said. “That’s how he knows.”

“That’s not true!” Vlad protested.

The crowd murmured and shifted nervously where they sat and stood.

Gladwish whispered with the other members of the council.

Vlad knew they were plotting against him, and he had to try something fast or he faced a harsh judgement. He turned and faced the crowd. “I have known you all my life, my friends,” Vlad said. “Do not let these people poison you against me with untruths.”

              “Silence!” Vrillium roared. “You are not in charge here. You do not make pronouncements without permission.”

              “Mattna the Shaman died last night,” Vlad said.

              “You will not mention that sorcerer’s name in our presence,” Vrillium said, his voice low as he looked at the floor.

              “You don’t want to know?” Vlad asked.

              “The misfortunes of a mad hermit are hardly a matter for this council,” Vrillium replied.

“Mattna was a member of this village,” Vlad said. “What happens to one of us, happens to all of us. So his death is relevant here. He was my friend.”

              The crowd quietened down. Some of them agreed with Vlad.

              “That sorcerer was NOT a member of this village,” Vrillium said. “We banished him, and rightly so. The forbidden dark arts he practised would never be tolerated by us.”

              The crowd reverted to Gladwish’s side again.

              “Mattna was no sorcerer,” Vlad said. “He denied being a shaman, but the epithet endured. That was not his doing.”