7

SAVAGES (1783)

The Indian sprinted through the woods, quietly, I supposed, to human ears, but I was able to track him quite easily through my hearing alone.

Which was completely unnecessary with his intoxicating scent filling my body, burning my throat with need, reminding me once again of the open torch that had been lit in my body a year and a half ago. I tossed that thought aside as I watched the squaw, darting through the forest after the large boar he had spotted. He had no knowledge that there were two hunters in a chase right now – though if the boar sought prey and was unaware of the savage, I supposed there were three.

I moved among the trees above, leaping from branch to branch to ensure I did not expose myself before the moment of the kill. It was close now, but I did not rush. My eyes had gone from bright red to a darker shade in the past months, and my control was far greater than I could have imagined in the first year of the third incarnation of my life.

The Indian moved quickly and carefully, taking a path that would intercept the boar rather than chasing blindly. He would have seemed a clever hunter to any mind but my own, skillful and graceful. His dark skin was entirely exposed above the waist, muscle and sinew built from years of hunting and killing, prey like the boar, and prey like my own, or at least my former, race. The savages were fun to hunt, for they were far more agile than my former kind. Where I had once relied upon brute force and heavy weapons, they used their minds and their speed, sought to understand their prey in order to destroy it. I had grown to respect them over the past half year. They were artists, of a sort, and of course, their artistry made the hunt far more fun.

I moved from the trees to the forest floor, as loudly as I could, and hissed to draw the attention of the Indian. This was the new joy to overcoming my newborn tendencies. Never before could I, would I, have had the patience to postpone the kill, to savor it. I waited for the savage to turn. He seemed painfully slow in my mind, though it was but a second. The eyes that returned my stare were initially shocked, but they became, again, the eyes of a hunter. Perhaps I was seeing a bit of my own eyes.

The Indian moved slowly, attempting to evaluate his new prey. I reflected on my own appearance and wondered what it meant to him. Torn and tattered clothing, skin paler than any pale face he had encountered, sandy hair run wild, dirt and leaves covering my body, hanging from my hair and beard, and of course the eyes. Eyes like no human could have: dark, red eyes with only the smallest hint of pupils, the iris overcoming what white was still there. No, I was not his average pale face, and he responded in kind.

He crouched, as I crouched, and the blade of his knife was in front of him in his left hand, his small axe – I'd heard it called "tomahawk" from those who'd fought the Indians that aided the British during the war – coiled behind him in his right hand. His body was lithe and tense, all of his muscles prepared for a surprising new fight. Yes, I respected these Indians, for they knew when there was no purpose in running. So much more fun!

The axe spun from his hand towards me, as if in slow motion to my eyes, and I caught the handle with my left hand a full foot in front of my face. I briefly considered what to do with it, and then tossed it back as gently as I could. "You may want to keep that," I said, and heard the smile in my words.

The Indian did not move, and let the axe fall beside him. He certainly had no intention of speaking, now that he fully understood the danger. Then he rolled to the axe and spun into another crouch before launching himself across the five feet between us. I did not move until he was nearly upon me, waited until the last possible second, and then darted to the side so that he landed right next to me. I hesitated, allowing him awareness of my new position, and waited for him to strike with the knife. He slashed fluidly, bringing his right side across with the axe directly behind the knife.

I twirled between his arms and around them, until I was once again beside the savage. He was very smart, even among his people, brilliant hunters that they were, and the axe turned against the momentum of his original blow, towards me once again. The best move he would ever be able to make against one such as me. My fun was over for the day, I knew, but this Indian had been an immensely enjoyable hunt. I ducked underneath the axe and stopped his body as the knife returned, then smoothly broke his neck before opening his throat and enjoying the pleasure of the kill.

I was aware of the presences behind me, smelled the strange roses and perfume scent of William, a scent that was very difficult to reconcile with the man I had known, and the lovelier woodsy scent of Mary, who smelled like a wildflower in the midst of a deep forest, a wildflower never seen by man. I finished quickly, alleviating William's impatience, and turned to them.

"Have fun letting the savage think he could kill you?" William asked, a smirk on his face, the mirth always edged with something darker. His expression, as always, was both amused and bemused at the same time, as if a great conflict stormed through his head. Above all, the expression was rueful, and that expression had cropped up in the last few months.

Mary was…curious. Again. She could not understand this new creature she had made. She could not understand either of the creatures she had made.

The first months of my new life had gone quickly, and they were filled only with the prey. I knew nothing except the bloodlust. My thirst could never be satiated, no matter how many I killed. I would only stop when I could drink no more.

At first, I looked to William, for he was eager for me to kill, to placate my needs. Mary had been reticent, had wanted to help me control the fire, but William was always accommodating, finding a new farm, a small village. We'd moved west through Virginia from that small farmhouse outside of Petersburg where I'd made my first kill, into the frontier. Our speed let us go anywhere that was convenient, and we had hunted in and out of the Appalachian Mountains, east and west, as we needed. William was always confident that our prey would be seen as the unfortunate victims of Indians, and we carefully burned the homes when we were finished.

I discovered the new things about myself quickly. The sun was the first. When they saw my astonishment at my new skin in the sunlight, the very first day of my vampire existence, William and Mary immediately brought me to a slow moving stream, allowing me to see my self, skin glinting, no, glowing, with gold. I had seen them already, so I knew what to expect, but it was nearly impossible to understand that this was my skin, my body, and not someone entirely different. It was only when I put my hand in the water and the image blurred that I could break away, but I did not truly accept my new appearance.

When I saw it again, this time in the dark, in the mirror in one of the homes that we massacred, the experience was completely different. I was still another species, but not quite as different anymore. I supposed I was beautiful, pale skin and red eyes, my six feet and four inches covered in marble instead of skin. I was beautiful, I knew it, nut nothing compare to the go and goddess that accompanied me. I had no regard for my outward appearance, and my hair was pulled back in a ponytail, my clothes shabby and dirty, the blue coat of my old life torn in places. When I saw the condition of the coat, I became more cautious during the hunt, wanting to protect it.

For I was a savage now too, a monster, but those two memories I'd placed above all else, those two memories that I held from William's suggestion, had become the core of my new character, along with the joy of the hunt. Susan, freedom, the hunt. If I was honest, the hunt usually came first. But when my thirst was briefly tamed, they were the most important of my thoughts.

That I could not sleep was torment, for it made the thirst, no, the hunt, my obsession. There was very little to occupy my expanded mind when we were not hunting. I learned William's story quickly, but Mary was not forthcoming, so conversation meant little to me. William and Mary conversed often, but I was already a taciturn man by nature, and their conversation could not divert me. Only the hunt.

I learned slowly of the natures of my two new companions, though I could not claim to know them. My first reaction to them, when my sanity was restored, was a burst of laughter. They looked at me quizzically. "You're William and Mary? As in 'William and Mary', king and queen of England? I go from fighting a damned revolution to living with the king and queen of yore?" William laughed with me, though Mary showed little amusement. Mary never showed amusement.

Mary was quiet, and strange. She did not enjoy the hunt as I did, did not enjoy the kill as William did. She killed efficiently and without discrimination. She took little pleasure in anything, from what I could see. Most of all she was alone. I could not understand her, but I knew our presence did little to help her. I guessed, after the first year, the purpose for the creation of William and me, but it had done little for her state of mind. She could not understand me, and, when I watched her as she watched William, she longed to understand him.

I knew what she did not. The hunt held no interest for him, as it did for me. It was the kill he enjoyed. When we began, he tried again and again to emulate that first kill of mine, or at least its circumstances. He preyed on farms and families, on children and women, it did not matter. He sought to prolong the kill, just as I sought to prolong the hunt. Whereas I would kill a savage quickly after allowing him to fight, William prolonged the moment of the victim's death, so that he could savor it. He was more interested in prolonging their torture. His favorite pleasure in our Indian hunts was forcing the mothers to watch their children die.

After the first year, I insisted we move west, towards the frontier and away from civilization. There was no joy in hunting the way William wished. They accommodated the newborn, though William was increasingly unhappy with destroying Indian villages by himself. He saw us as family, and felt we should feast together.

We were ill-matched as a trio, and I should have anticipated an explosion.

We returned from my hunt of the Indian to a small clearing, and I pulled off my jacket to inspect it, to make sure it had not been further damaged. We had not been near a needle and thread in a very long time. I ignored the conversation between William and Mary as I examined the coat, until it was suddenly more heated.

"This is not what I expected at all!" William was shouting now. "Savages and hunts for Garrett, while you run off by yourself and leave me to the fun! We should be doing this together!"

"I warned you of this," Mary replied, refusing to raise her voice. "I told you he might not be as you are, that this life might be different for him." The look on her face was resigned once again, struggling to placate William and explain as well.

"He can be like me! He just needs the proper motivation."

I grew wary of the way they spoke, as if I was not there. "Have I done something wrong?" I asked, though I knew I had not, knew that this was William's frustration. "You do not need to respond to my every whim."

"You have done no wrong, Garrett. I am simply impatient for you're true nature to emerge," William replied, though the look he gave me was wary.

"I am not who you want me to be. I understand that. What would you have me do?"

It was Mary who responded. "You need not do anything. You are exactly what you should be. There is only one rule, as I have told you, and you do not break it." She had pushed William to allow me my new path, had never complained, had even helped me to control myself in the presence of the delicious humans. I knew not why, for she seemed to love William so much.

"Yes, one rule, do not reveal ourselves. But this life is so much more! My way does not upset your Italian rulers either. This must end. We must return to civilization," William was not angry anymore. He was resolved. "I'm going to find another village full of Indians to drink," he said, quietly now. "But when I return, we must find a new way to exist together. Our family will not survive this way." He turned to leave.

"Coven," Mary said. "And perhaps we are not so strongly bound as you believe."

William's look was dismissive. "I'm about to change that," he replied, and then launched himself through the trees.

He did not return.