Note: These characters are not mine and are the products of C.S. Friedman's commendable imagination and inestimable talent. The Coldfire Triliogy is only left us, his captive audience, to honor and dream about. This is one of my better ones *cough*, in that it actually makes sense with a definitive beginning and ending. It's the famous God's Glory sketch for anyone familiar with the more slashable elements of the series. I'm really proud of this one because near the end of the 3rd page it really summarizes what I would categorize as Damien's attraction for Tarrant.
It takes place at the very beginning of the 3rd book…Tarrant's hungry and the usual main course won't suffice.
If desire and admiration be the stuff of fiction, read on…. (apologies to Shakespeare)
Until otherwise vaingloriously renamed I bring you….
'THE HUNT'
Gerald Tarrant approached me, subtle movements betraying his weakness. His eyes finally found mine and within them a hollownesss stretched to the center of his being and I was surprised at how vulnerable he seemed. It was plainly evident that he could barley stand let alone venture out in a quest for food given that we were still a dozen miles from shore. The crew bustled about on the decks below hardly paying us any attention. Up here above the captain's cabin only the wind was testament to our impromptu meeting. I was angry at my own failure in not being able to provide enough sufficient nutrition for the Hunter via fear and blood. But after a moment I played back that thought and realized with a start how inured I had become to Tarrant' particular habits and needs. The words of the Patriarch flitted through my brain and I sought hastily to bury them. Let him get his arse out here and take up the mantle of the Church for which I was being ostracized. It had seemed like a daring mission at first. Only later did I come to realize that I was conveniently being used as a martyr and a scapegoat for work only the devil himself would be crazy enough to take up. The reason being, of course, that the underlying fine print entailed certain and inevitable death. But that should have been evident in the contract's clause shouldn't it? Not for all the gold on Erna. The catch had always been conspicuously absent. I was just a fool to not have noticed it sooner. But would that have made a difference? I don't think I could ever answer that. It doesn't really matter anyhow.
"So what do you we do now? Let you feed off the seagulls? That's strictly a taboo to sailors but go right ahead if you need it. I could string a fish out the back and reel them in like marlin." My cynical sarcasm fell on deaf ears. His eyes grew empty and cold and a flicker of emotions passed over his pale face. It was as if an inner drive was contending with his mask of self control. I watched the two do battle in silence. "I'm sorry I can't do more for you. Maybe if--"
"No." The harsh reply sounded of gravel and a slurry of sand. "It's the Barrier. In these waters the fae is too deep to Work to manifest your nightmares and the Barrier dilutes any further efforts that manage to get through at all."
"But I can't let you starve. We've come too far and we still have leagues to go. You can't kill one of the crew, that's too obvious. And the cabin boys are too young. I just couldn't stand for that. And you said yourself blood is just an appertif. But what if you did it on a more massive scale? I could help, you know."
The Hunter turned to me, interest sparking in his silver eyes. He drew his robes closer about him to keep out the offending chill. Since when did Tarrant ever worry about the cold? "You mean inflict nightmares on the whole crew at once? The thought is an intriguing one. But I don't think even a host of adepts could manage a single dream to scare a child. And I don't think I'm up to it anyway." The dropped hint to his fading energy reserves unnerved me. Tarrant couldn't give up so easily. There just had to be another way.
"Maybe I could get the captain to steer closer to shore."
"Certain death. The rocks would tear the ship apart within a hundred yards. And with these availing winds I don't think I could summit the cliff face very easily." Despair laced his words and I shuddered at the mere idea of being left alone in the rakh lands. No way in Hell.
"What exactly is the best means by which you draw sustenance? Is it fear?" It was time to get to the heart of the matter. Anything would help at this point.
"Manifest fear is only an appetizer. The main course is true, unabated fear. A terror that rips at your bones and sets every nerve on edge until your whole body is screaming in revulsion and horror."
I shuddered at the thought. "Hence the hunt."
"Precisely. If I myself inflict the emotion it comes clear and pure straight from the source. If I have to dredge it up from the mire of someone's inner dreams it's more murky and dilute."
"Like fine wine. That's a little sick, you know that?"
"It could be worse Vryce. I could require only blood in quantities large enough to fill lakes and rivers." The mental image of bodies piling up in mass graves momentarily paralyzed me. Tarrant chuckled softly. "That was a nice taste of fear priest, though it's only made me hungrier."
Goose bumps arose on my bare skin. But it wasn't from the impending chill of the deepening night or the salty spray that pelted our faces. Then an idea occurred to me but the moment it surfaced I hastily erased it. That was simply too much. Throughout our tumultuous relationship I'd tried to become more comfortable in his presence. But whenever it came to the methods by which he fed I always saw bloody corpses of women laying in the dark depths of the Forest. His stronghold where countless had died all for the sake of dinner. It was a gruesome, inhuman, and ghastly thought. But if I could stay alive long enough as a food bank so to speak that meant less people would have to die. It was what the Patriarch had wanted all along anyway. True, he'd rather have the fallen Prophet die at the church's hands but I'd seen too much death for that. And Tarrant--he'd saved my life too many times to warrant an underhanded assassination. I wasn't a mercenary, only a messenger and a keeper of the relative peace (though at any given time that fluctuated more than tidal fae). "What if I could guarantee both?"
Something white hot flashed behind the weariness in Tarrant's eyes and a river of ice coursed through my veins. "Without severely taxing us both?"
"If all goes according to plan. In order for this to work the crew needs to be out cold, every last one of them. If this costs too much energy I'm sure I can concoct some sort of mild sedative and later attribute it to food poisoning or some such thing. We're going to need the whole ship to move around in."
His interest was piqued. He stepped forward and searched my eyes, his piercing gaze analyzing and systematically turning over every alternative. "For what? A game of capture the flag?" The child's game sounded strange coming from him and I was forcibly reminded of the family he'd slaughtered in the name of his fetid glory. If I'd shook anymore I'd have fallen off into the sea.
"No--for the Hunt."
The ship had long since fallen deathly still. I was dressed in a light sun bleached tunic and loose pants. I had eaten well the day before and fasted for the previous twenty four hours. Tarrant had said it would help my body more if I didn't bog it down with the task of needless digestion. I wouldn't be the one eating after all. The sedative had been more obtainable than previously thought. In the captain's cabin a lethal bottle of port had been secreted away inside a panel under his desk. I had found it after Tarrant had distracted him on deck, pulling it out gingerly as the vile stuff sloshed around inside the bottle. It was old, too old. The captain claimed he'd found it on a wreck inside a rotting trunk that was caught on the debris. Some corpse must have been chugging it when he died. Yuck. When I'd sniffed its contents it smelled of stale bodily excrements. Tarrant had been brave enough to try a little on his tongue and was so inebriated he tottered around for a few moments before sinking into a chair. 'At least I don't feel so tired anymore…'
After putting a few drops into the watery sailor's rum that looked more like apple juice the crew had immediately retired after a quick trip to the bathroom. But I'd conveniently hid the chamber pot so the alcohol stayed in them until they all passed out. The captain was a bit hardier than the rest but a swift blow to the back of the head with a rotten barrel stave knocked him out cold. He wouldn't remember a thing. Now for the hard part…
When dreams are mixed with the waking world the blended realities are frightening in and of themselves. But when it's a nightmare that the dreamer is fading in and of, it becomes hard to discern what's real and what's not and when the illusion of pain is an actual physical wound. One thing begets another and terror escalates exponentially. It's a self perpetuating cycle of fear, an endless loop that keeps ascending to higher and higher levels. It drives even the most the balanced logician to insanity in a matter of minutes. A regular day laborer wouldn't last more than a heartbeat. The very thought drained my blood from my body and turned me into a wet noodle. I couldn't have escaped if I'd wanted to. And once the experiment began it would be too late to turn back. I probably wouldn't even remember how.
According to a hastily concocted plan that I was praying didn't have any loop holes I would be the Hunter's prey, coaxed into a waking nightmare that I would soon come to believe was as real as the deck beneath my feet. It would cost far less energy and effort for Tarrant to simply instill ideas into my brain and let the natural fear take effect, amplified of course. I would have the whole ship to run and hide in. The chase would be as close to the real thing as we could get. A little over the top perhaps but we would be sailing into port in a week's time and Tarrant couldn't last 'till then. And once we went ashore he'd have to be up to par in a matter of hours. The seaside town would be filled with shadows and the strange rakh. There wouldn't be time to think let alone feed. The clock was ticking and our time was running out. It had to be now. There was no other possible way.
Tarrant had warned me that in the process he might not be able to maintain control of his actions. The pull of hunger was so great I was surprised he hadn't eaten every single one of the crew yet. Or me for that matter. Friend and prey would be one and the same in his eyes. Sitting ducks trapped on a rocking boat with the pulsing sea spreading out in all directions filled with even greater dangers. There would be no escape. The wild call of what he'd sold his soul to become would take over his mind and body. The unspoken thought had hung heavy in the air between us. If he wasn't able to curb his aggression what would stop him from draining me completely? May God have mercy on my soul. He would most likely be pulling out all the stops and using every method available to him. Unadulterated fear and red hot blood would just barely be enough to satiate his bestial appetite. I was terrified already, never mind the Hunt itself.
The ship was deserted, nothing but the sound of the gentle waves lapping at the painted hull broke the thick silence. A pulley banging against the mast sounded like a large hammer beating against an anvil. It echoed eerily in the night. Rats scurried in the hold far below and barrels knocked against each other. Hammocks creaked and swayed loaded with the inebriated bodies of the crew. A door slammed somewhere and the ship groaned as it heaved its bulk over another swell. We had momentarily sailed into a viscous fog bank, a white mass that I would normally attribute to ground water. It was reed fog, the clingy cobwebs that crept up out of the rivers of the earth and hugged the ground as it crept up streets and alleyways. If I were to climb up the tallest mast I could probably see above the mists to the starless sky above. Only a small fragment of the moon shone tonight and its clear shafts sliced through the fog bank like arrows of fire. But it barely illuminated the deck.
I made my way carefully, cautious of every stray sound. My senses were on hyper-alert and I was becoming paranoid. I had no idea if he was going to swoop in on me out of the dark. We had both agreed that I was to find somewhere near the front of the ship to settle down in, preferably on open ground. A coil of rope would do. Then the dreams would begin. I felt like one of those princes in minstrels' ballads who winds his way through a labyrinthine garden entranced by the song of a beautiful maiden only to stumble into the lair of a sorceress. But Tarrant was no enchanter. He had claws and teeth that were as sharp as knives and a voracious hunger of several large demons combined. I shivered to think that I would be on the menu tonight out of my own free will. It was almost like I was mocking all those female victims who'd come before me, their restless souls still wandering amongst the black trees of their murderer's hunting ground.
But another part of me was far from scared. A thrill sang through my nerves causing my hairs to stand on end and my feet to move a little faster. From my association with Tarrant I'd embarked on a hopeless mission, to regain the humanity that still lurked somewhere within him. That spark that had all but been extinguished when he'd killed his family. But it was still there, in the inky blackness of what he'd become. It was there when he smiled, laughed, and saved me with a gallant nonchalance again and again. I'd never lose that hope because I think I felt an affinity, even an affection for that lingering flame. And yes, perhaps you might even call it love. His magnetic personality, austere dominance and strength, and aquiline features were haunting in and of themselves. But it was the sheer damnation of my attraction that made the affair that much more exciting. The forbidden fruit is always what sends us down the path of quickest destruction. But my aspirations for and within the church were proving to be a fool's folly. So why not a new crusade? If I couldn't save my soul than I saw no harm in sinning all the way to eternity.
I walked on and at last found a small space that was tucked away from the bitter gales. Several barrels were placed in a semicircle affording a neat hamlet within. Several old moldy blankets were placed on the deck and I imagined one of the sailor's had drifted off here on more than one occasion to sip pilfered ale. It sure smelled like it anyway. I listened to the howl of the wind and shivered in the crisp night air. The black sea seemed to reflect and amplify the chill until I seemed to be sitting on a giant block of ice. Why had I chosen the simplest garb to dash around in? Probably because if it tore or was soiled beyond recognition in my desperate gambit for survival I wouldn't miss it. I wondered where the Hunter was now. Maybe he was atop the captain's port lying in wait for the opportune moment. Each second that ticked by seemed like an eternity. A sound like a whip cracked through the pall of silence and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Every cell in my body was on red alert. I was in the flight or fight mode, the most primal drive that traces all the way back to human's earliest beginnings. Catch me if you can…
The deep silence and the thick cloak of fog muffled the roaring winds and pretty soon I found myself fighting to stay awake. It was a little warm sheltered from the elements and I no longer felt the ridges of goosebumps along my arms and legs. 'I should tell Tarrant to forget this experiment…' I remember thinking as a heavy sedation seized hold of my faculties. 'I'm too tired to continue. Maybe in a day's time we can try again…' And with that I was out like a light.
I awoke surrounded by complete darkness. The void seemed to swallow up any sound I made and my voice caught like cotton in my throat. I choked, wondering if I had died in my sleep. Had the ship foundered on the rocks now that the crew was unable to guide her through the turbulent currents? Then where was everyone else? Had they all been banished to their own personal Hells? Mine should certainly include some purifying fire to purge my sinful soul, or at least some caricature of the Patriarch to beat me with a pointy stick. That would be torture enough. I tried to walk and found that my feet were sticking to the ground. They made a sucking sound every time I managed to lift them and place one after the other. Then the darkness shattered and retreated to hang off the skeletal branches of dead trees that were densely arranged like tombstones in an abandoned grave yard. No, an ancient forest. The Hunter's forest… A vague thought tickled the back of my mind but I shoved it away impatiently. I had to get out of here. There was no time for idle thoughts.
The ground gave way slightly beneath my bare feet and I hesitated, reaching down to brush the soft soil experimentally. It certainly felt real. Rotting leaves coated the black earth and in the distance the opaque structure of the Hunter's private fortress loomed. The absence of sound had ceased to be unnerving. I would have been disturbed had I heard a bird in this accursed place. The Hunter's servants were nowhere to be seen. Every new place I drifted to seemed no different than the rest. The one thing that bothered me was the brief flashes of a ship that drifted in and out of my mind's eye. The gnarled trunk of a dead oak tree would manifest into the creaking timbers of a mizzen mast clad with moss for sails. Or the blocky castle would twist into the rigid outline of the captain's quarters above the swaying deck, bobbing resolutely in the distance. Sometimes I could even have sworn I heard the voices of the ship's crew shouting at me through the darkness. There was a sound of ropes slapping the wet wood, and the wash of footsteps over the deck. But it all blended somehow with the ever present forest that was emitting an unmistakable aura of evil. It oozed out of the earth pouring over the ground like the fog that had vanished into the shadows. But though I did not know it then I wasn't truly scared yet, just confused. I couldn't recall who I was or how I'd gotten there. All I knew was that I wanted out.
Then fire! Tongues of fire lancing through the trees as naked figures as black as pitch swarmed out of every crack, their hands a mass of sharp claws. Their teeth gnashed together, their jaws snapping open and shut in hunger. They had sensed their prey and would stop at nothing until they'd brought it down. Like a wave of writhing ants it washed towards me and I turned to run. But the ground seemed to now be made of quicksand. The harder I tried the slower I seemed to move. The figures kept coming, one after the other. Than other figures joined the burning branches, the hanging forms of mutilated victims. Their eyes were gouged out and many of their limbs had been torn off. Dried blood dripped from every orifice and their mouths hung open in abject terror. I opened my mouth to scream but nothing came out. A thought burst into my head and I knew the massacre to be the work of a Hunter, a demon of the night who lived for the taste of rich, coursing blood. A voracious, unremitting creature, the human soul that he had long since sold in exchange for immortality was only evident in his striking features. He had done this--had strung men, women, and children up all for the sake of pure carnage. And he would keep doing it unless he was stopped. Anarchy reined and vicious flames licked at the angry sky. Villages burned in the distance and I vaguely sensed that I was the only one left. Tearing through the trees I could feel the creatures gaining on me. The ground was ripped open in places leaving a bloody scar of burning lava that coursed through the damp mat of leaves. Now I knew I was in Hell.
The ship still reappeared from time to time. The farther I ventured the more corpses piled up end on end mutilated in the most unimaginable ways. The whole world was aflame, the charred bodies incinerated, their memories forgotten. Soon the very ground beneath my feet would be swallowed up in a vast lava pool. And then a voice, syrupy and intoxicatingly seductive plied through the web of my scattered mind, pulling together the various conscious bits so that I could understand its message. "Vryce…" It called and I almost stopped, waiting to see if it would come again. Was I not alone then? "Why are you running Vryce? Do you fear something?" My heart began to beat in my chest until I was certain it would explode. "Are you afraid that everything that has happened to these hapless people will in turn be done to you? I have saved you for the last. You don't deserve a paltry death like those that have befallen these worthless fools. I have something much better in mind for you." Where are you? I thought. I didn't care as to what was being said, as long as I could be taken away from this awful place. I had reached a junction. Ahead, a jetty of burning stones led up to the mouth of a volcano. To the left a maze of fire wound through outcrops of basalt like a giant chessboard that eventually ended at a precipitous cliff. I couldn't turn around, the creatures would surely overwhelm me. What to do? Could I surmount the crater? It was strange how everything that didn't pertain to the current situation was immediately discarded and forgotten. All that mattered was the here and now and the inherent drive for survival. I wouldn't be mowed down or brutally murdered by this nameless evil. I had come too far for that. But inside a weariness began to grow and I didn't dare stop for fear that it would consume me and make me collapse where I stood. A vortex of clouds spread out over the volcano and I quickly turned west towards the cliff face. Perhaps a river ran beneath that I could jump into. Anything was better than this land of black fire.
"Vryce. Are you trying to run from me? You won't get very far you know. I can catch you at any time." The clouds parted and a shadowy figure alit on the northern flank of the volcano. He was tall, a regal figure that stood out against the barren wasteland. Ebony robes of the lightest silk encased his graceful form and his golden hair spread out behind him in the gusting winds. The shimmering strands were the only true source of color in the raging inferno. I almost stopped in amazement. So I wasn't alone.
Then the rocking deck of a ship rose up before me and served as a bridge beyond the edge of the cliff. My feet carried me to the brink, up and over the guardrail and up the steeply pitched deck. I fought to keep my balance, not daring to look back. Up and up I climbed until I was at the prow of the boat. It ended in a sort of widow's walk with the figurehead standing at attention beneath. I backed up like a rat in a trap, completely cornered. Far below the sea raged in foaming caps of white. Maybe it would just be enough to put out the fires. But the steam it would create would severely lower visibility. Now my thoughts began to bunch up out of order and dart off at varying angles, one taking precedence only to be shoved aside by another as equally inane. Now what?
"I've found you Vryce. You didn't think you could escape me, did you? Will you put up a fight? I don't think you could win but I wouldn't mind my last victim dying in a blaze of glory." The figure alighted on the slippery planks, seeming to float up until our eyes were level with each other. His were the color of his hair, golden orbs that shone like cat's eyes in the darkness. His grin was feral and unnervingly predatory. Didn't he just want to kill me? So why didn't he just get it over with? "How would you like to meet your end? I'm not very partial to a quick death, not for you. You---you deserve something better."
"Like life?" Somehow I'd found my voice again but I had to force it out of my throat that was cinched shut like a vise.
The Hunter's derisive laughter pierced through my skin and it was then that I became truly frightened. In that moment his laissez-faire attitude towards the annihilation of the entire world utterly shook the foundations of everything I'd ever come to believe in. He'd killed hundred of thousands, if not millions of people and he laughed it off ready to do it all again if need be. Humans were like irritating gnats that were quickly quashed underfoot . He was a pure, ruthless killer, all the predatory instincts refined through the centuries and distilled into this flawless manifestation. It was ironic that he took the form of his prey, but perhaps that was intended to unsettle his victims. He reached out for my tunic and fingered it thoughtfully, watching my face for a reaction. Why didn't he just kill me? Was I special only in the sense that I was the last shred of humanity left that stood in his way?
"In another life Vryce, you may have joined the ranks of my female courtesans. They were the most delicious fare of all, their blood as refined as aged wine. I drained them slowly, savoring each crimson drop. Your blood too is sweet, but with a tang of fire for which this nightmare was created to honor. There is something about you that unnerves me---me, the Hunter of the night. What is it that sets you apart? Maybe it is because you are the one thing that has kept me alive all these years…"
I slid backwards until my back touched the wet wood. What he said was true. I knew this deep down inside and it undid me completely. Everything I'd ever done on my quest for the Church cumulated in the death of its founder who was still alive and killing as I speak---all because of me. I was my own archenemy, an antithesis to a wasted life. The grand irony did not lie with this monster but with me. My own life was an oxymoron. The Hunter seemed to sense this pass through my mind, the dreadful thoughts seeping through my skin like acid.
"So you know the awful truth. All these deaths…were because of you."
I screamed, the sound ripping through my chest serrating my throat into raw strips. I soon lost all account of consciousness, the overwhelming grief and guilt far worse than any base fear. And then I was falling, down, down towards the raging water. I saw the cliff engulfed in flame rise up before me as I tumbled down its sheer face. But before I hit the water I felt strong arms grasp my shirt front and lift me up until my bare feet touched earth again. I cursed him, cursed this thing that wouldn't permit me to die. Perhaps that was the death intended. To leave me alive with my guilt and remorse. I was the real murderer, not this shadow visage.
"Now you see Vryce. You don't need to die to go to Hell. All you see before you exists within you. All you need do is give in to your own despair." He dropped me and I fell to my knees, wrapping my arms about me. I was conscious of nothing, my mind a numb void.
"Ahhh, your anxiety plays like a sonata in my heart. Come, join me, and together we will live amidst the darkness. I no longer wish your destruction, you shall stand as the sole survivor and destroyer of human kind. And you know what's the grandest irony of all? You did it for love!" And with that he reached down and pulled me to him, his hot breath pouring over my face. "Will you join me Vryce? Or will you forever wallow in the fires of your own damnation?"
I nodded incoherently, my body hanging limp in his arms. I didn't care. The only sensation I was aware of was being riveted by his magnetic grace and sensuous voice. It was the only thing that made sense anymore and I clung to it like a lifeline.
"But you must remember that all the evil which you have perpetuated is culminated in me. I am the last thing you have to fear Vryce aside from your own personal Hell. So if you wish to join me, then run!" And with that he shoved me backwards and I took off, my feet pin wheeling madly beneath me. I didn't know what I was doing, only that I must obey. I felt him take off after me, darting like a shadow between the skeletal trees. Finally his breath warmed the back of my neck and I welcomed the sweet release of imprisonment. I was already forever chained to the black hole that whirled inside my chest where my heart used to be.
"You are mine Vryce, now and forever! Never forget that!" And with a swift lunge he was upon me, drinking in my abject terror and hopeless despair. I barely registered his sharp fangs sinking into my arm as his hands encircled me, pinning me down. As my blood drained from my body I felt the gentle pull of oblivion and I welcomed it with open arms. Here's to Hell.
Tarrant awoke as if from a drunken stupor with his fangs buried deep in the priest's neck. Carefully he extricated his teeth without leaving a gaping wound and laid Vryce down gently on the wooden deck. There were two bite marks, one on his lower right arm and another on his neck. There were other marks as well, scratches and deep cuts. Half of his ripped tunic was covered in blood. "Vryce!"
Tarrant murmured the familiar name, amazed at how satiated he felt. He could even feel the earth fae pulse in the bowels of the earth beneath the crashing sea. Every ounce of his being was elated and drunkenly exhausted, the effort to maintain the nightmare tiring his overworked mind.
But when Damien didn't wake up after the first few minutes reality began to dawn and he wondered if he'd gone too far. He hadn't been able to control his actions--in fact, he didn't remember much of anything after Vryce had left him in his cabin. The crew were all still snoring soundly although a few seemed about to rise. The ship was relatively intact. A few barrels had been knocked over and there was blood pooling beneath the priest's body. And then a thought suddenly occurred to him slicing through his listless torpor and immediately snapping him back to the present. "Vulkin Hell! I forgot that I can't Work here. If he needs healing…" Only the ship's surgeon with his rudimentary first aid kit could be of any service. But if the need was dire, there would be nothing he could do. Now it was Damien who was at death's door, and it had all been for the sole purpose of saving Tarrant.
Dredging up the energy to lift Vryce off the cold deck where he would surely freeze to death he carried him over to the nearest covered passage and laid him gently down on dry ground. Dreading what he would find the Hunter cracked open one of Damien's eyelids. He nearly fell back in shock. Damien's eyes were completely swallowed by his pupils which had dilated to cover his entire cornea. No white was visible. They were flat and lifeless like the eyes of a corpse. "Vryce!" He shook him several times. No response. Damien's heart had slowed to a sluggish thump that was barely discernable over the roar of the waves. The boat was drifting dangerously near to the rocks.
Tarrant knew he should go wake the captain but if he did so he might lose what little chance he had of saving the priest. He owed him that much at least. Beginning to invoke a tentative Knowing he probed deep down into the tangled mess of the priest's subconscious. It was a frightening maw of emptiness and scattered bits of memory. Slowly he painstakingly began to knit some of the more crucial connections together, hoping that in so doing Damien could be coaxed into regaining consciousness himself.
Finally it was done, nets of reinnervated nerves splicing through the raw hash of jumbled thoughts. And one by one they each aligned themselves accordingly, falling neatly into place like jigsaw pieces. Damien slowly opened his eyes, the black receding to roughly its normal size. "Hunter?" His voice was harsh and he was still lost in the vestiges of the dream world.
"Vryce, wake up. This isn't your dream. Step out of that Hell and come back. You're on a ship and your name is Damien Vryce." The Hunter knelt on his haunches, rubbing his hands up and down the priest's arms to help reawaken his frozen limbs. He carefully avoided the red bite marks that were larger than the marks he usually left on his victims and much deeper. He truly had lost himself.
Damien slowly recollected bits and pieces of his past, his memory coming back in snatches. "Oh, my head. I hope you're happy."
"Believe me, I feel like I could sleep for weeks and never again feel the pangs of hunger. …Thank you, Vryce." The last admission was a bit strained but he forced it out as casually as he could. They both had saved each other on numerous occasions and his stilted pride could be momentarily shoved aside for a word of gratitude.
"No problem. Except next time, could you leave me blood enough to move? I don't think I can stand. It's hard enough to talk."
"I bet you feel no different than those sailors. I'll help you to your cabin. You'll probably be able to sleep as soundly as I." Tarrant slowly scooped him up off the floor and followed the twisting corridor back to their rooms. He would have to remember to wipe the bloodstains up later. On second thought, he could blame one of the crew members for throwing up in the hallway. The red could easily be attributed to his last meal. He laughed inwardly.
Tarrant laid Vryce on the lumpy mattress and began to search around for warmer clothes. It was strange how easily he had carried him here. Either his strength had been amplified by the generous donation or Vryce had been drained of more than a moderate amount of blood. And Tarrant hadn't thought that he'd desire it, given the lucidity and depth of the nightmare.
"I hope we didn't wake anyone up. The clothes are next to the desk in the second drawer." Darmien lazily waved a hand in the air in an attempt to direct the Hunter's movements. The dream still had hold of his mine, the blazing fire still seeming to sear his skin.
"No, but your scream did. Truth be told it scared even me, enough to bring me back. Without it I might have….killed you." Tarrant winced, hoping it wouldn't be noticed.
But Damien's vision was fine if his body wasn't. "But you didn't, which shows I'm worth something besides a good meal. Was it adequate?"
"More than enough. I've--I've never experienced better, at least not that I can recall. Your plan was a good one. Through the manipulation of reality with your dreams the illusion became all the more real until you were physically and mentally living the nightmare. I almost thought I'd lost you towards the end. So many have become trapped in that perpetual loop of unending madness."
"And then your breakfast would be out to lunch. Literally." Damien still couldn't think straight and he hoped he wouldn't be blamed for the random emissions that darted out of his mouth. He could only recall bits and pieces like light reflected from a shattered mirror. It didn't seem real, the dream having evolved into an entirely separate world. But the memory of that thing's arms still clutching him as it offered to help swing wide the doors to his own internal damnation haunted him still. And the message rang loud and clear, the only part that hadn't faded with his wakening conscience. Damien shook his head, denying its Hellish message. If he listened to it everything he did was useless, he was already damned. But above all the one thing that bothered him most wasn't the whirlpool of sin that churned inside his chest. No--it was the simple fact that he'd accepted the Hunter's offer.
"I think you need to sleep." After removing the blood soaked shirt and attending to some of the more serious wounds Tarrant gave him a blanket and saw that he was properly settled. Damien didn't dare tease him about being a mother hen. He knew that right after a good meal the last thing the Hunter needed was to be remonstrated.
Back in his room Tarrant shuddered. That had been close, too close. He desired control above all things and the fact that his subconscious had nearly swallowed him whole was not something he was going to take sitting down. Inside he housed greater demons than anything the priest had dreamt that night. And sometimes their clamoring grew so loud he mistook it for his own heartbeat. And that frightened him. He was the Hunter capable of carrying out means to an end in any way possible. And once he had settled upon something nothing could stand in his way. Except himself. He wished his dreams hadn't blamed Vryce so much. That self-loathing for misplaced guilt was not something he could afford to retain given the dangerous and unpredictable environment they were sailing into. But there was something else he hadn't told the priest. None of his victims had ever stayed alive long enough for him to remember an important clause that he had almost forgotten. When blood was taken a bond was thus established between hunter and prey. And since it had been forged on the most intimate and primal level deep within their waking minds it would be all but impossible to remove. From now on they would be inextricably linked, both mind, heart, and soul…if Tarrant could claim to still possess one. Could he live with that? For that matter, could Damien Kilcannon Vryce?