Chapter 12
Harry froze for a moment, the sharp call ringing in his mind. Harry closed his eyes and let out a breath, drawing it in sharply as he searched and felt the keen tang of panic through his mind. Arai's anguished, wordless, cry suddenly turned furious, Harry winced at the feel of red-hot fury and pain. Then there was an abrupt silence.
"Arai," he whispered softly, " dovelrak, Jaqra eru resla nimdaer, salye nir negam?" (Vampire, Lord of the night, what is wrong?)
There was only silence where Arai had been, Harry opened his eyes and hurried back into the camp, pausing to leap into the trees, as graceful and sure-footed as an elf. He made sure to rustle enough leaves to wake Jalim with his approach; the elf shot upright and looked around, his keen ears having heard Harry's approach when the other was still a few trees away. Upon seeing Harry leaping from the next tree over to land beside him he signaled the guard that everything was all right.
"I must leave for a while, I have business in the Way to attend to, I will be back before sunrise." Harry said quietly, his voice soft enough so that not even the other elves heard it.
"Is it anything to do with the death eaters?" Jalim asked softly.
"I do not know yet, perhaps." Harry said, with a short nod he leaped from the tree to the ground and left the camp again at a quick trot.
He was a half mile from the camp when blinding pain flashed through his mind, Harry hissed in pain, then mastered it and continued, blocking it off and reaching through the link it created to his vampire friend, but there was no answer to his silent search. Harry took a small bunch of strange oval golden leaves with jagged edges from a black leather pouch. The leaves each had a strange pale starburst shape on them, like water dripped on to wet watercolor paints. He swept one arm out in a circle, dropping the leaves as he did. They glowed silvers as they touched the ground.
"Versahaer eru pazirel, norilna melit ley erya." (Forest of time, open now for me.) As he spoke the ground beneath him began to glow brightly, though the light could not be seen by even the keen eyed elves at the camp. A breeze began to blow his black clothing and cloak about, shoulder length black hair, mostly tied back, began to blow across his face, Harry closed his eyes and called for the Ways. Wind began to blow hard around him in a circle, contained by invisible walls as he split open time and space and entered the Ways. When he finally vanished only a few scattered leaves remained on the ground.
Harry dashed through the Ways, the light here was always evening, dim rose/gold light against dark brown/gold and gray/gold trees with gold/green and pale gold leaves. He paused beside a small clearing, staring hard at the swirling runes drawn on the circle of dry dirt at its center. Then he moved on, long powerful strides carrying him through the forest from clearing to clearing, his eyes unfocused as he searched for Arai's mind. Finally he felt the distinctive darkness that marked the vampires, the cold life-less feeling. Pausing he closed his eyes, reaching with all the strength he had. Finally he felt the unending endurance, skill, power, and fiery spirit that filled the Old Ones, the oldest vampires. Searching even further here he reached for Arai's mind, his old friend's gentle dark humor, vicious hunting power and perfected skill. An artistic weave of strength and endurance and beauty to mirror the talented painter and powerful vampire. Finally he found it, Arai's unique mind, but it was dark and empty, devoid of everything but unrelenting agony. Confused as to what had happened to the vampire Harry searched further, brief images, piece of a battle, fire everywhere, vampires, ugly horrible things, young vampires, Voldemort's. Humans fleeing in terror, or being burned to death, vampires dying in flames, darkness, pain, more fire. Harry tore his mind away and stopped where he was.
Harry's eyes snapped open and he went still, his mind had led him to a small clearing in the Ways, walking into it he carefully read the patterns traced into the ground.
"What in the world would Arai be doing on the outskirts of Miami?" he wondered aloud before stepping into the clearing and vanishing.
Harry raced through the filthy alleyway, which was surprisingly vacant of all human activity, actually it was empty of anything alive, something had scared everything away. He could feel the powerful fear in the air, sniffing the wind he smelled the sickly sweet scent of fresh blood, mixed with the slightly more bitter tang of vampire blood.
Harry's eyes flicked about, reading the signs of battle around him. The charred scent in the air distinctive of burned vampires, holes in walls, only vampires had the strength to punch a hole in a brick wall. Burns and scorch marks all over the place. Finally he caught sight of an unmoving blackened heap lying in the shadows. With a gasp of shock Harry ran to the figures side and knelt beside it.
Arai's skin was charcoal black and cracked, charred from fire, the once lustrous black hair was scorched, melted in places from the extreme heat. His face was cracked in places and bleeding lightly. The fact that he was bleeding gave Harry hope, for if the vampire were dead the blood wouldn't be flowing. Pressing two fingers to the vampires throat Harry felt a very faint pulse. He sighed with relief and placed his hand upon the vampires forehead, seeking to know the extent of the damage. Thin silvery lines in graceful patterns and shapes flared up all over Arai, Harry read what they told him. Arai had five broken ribs, a light concussion, his left arm broken in three places, both ankles broken, his collarbone fractured, and his jaw broken. Harry lifted one wrist and examined it, the skin was cracked and bleeding all around the wrist, probably from chains used to keep the vampire still. A scuffling sound from around a corner startled Harry, he went still, watching carefully, it was only a muggle. Gently he lifted the vampire, Arai gave a low moan of pain, Harry concentrated hard on Arai's house, with a quick flash of light they both vanished.
***
The silvery glow of the healing magics faded, Harry stood and slowly and walked across the room to the window. He had healed Arai as much as he could, but healing magics did not work well on the undead. He would have to wait for Arai to awaken and let the vampire's natural healing powers set in. He paused watching the slow breathing of his injured friend, old memories resurfacing.
When he had first met Arai the vampire had been chained to a stake in the center of a small farming village. A crowd of angry farmers cheering while the vampire burned, already horribly injured by a baby dragon, and whipped until he was nearly unconscious by the villagers, the vampire had been unable to escape or defend himself. Arai had been only two centuries old, about the age most vampires were when they, seeing the world around them changing while they remained the same, killed themselves. The vampire who had made Arai, a very powerful vampire, though weak minded and half-insane, had died in the jaws of the young dragons mother.
Harry had departed from the War Mages a year before (a year for him) he had traveled to the time Arai was in to make sure a political discussion between two countries had gone as it should, otherwise a huge war would have broken out. Not yet ready to return to his own real time, and feeling like exploring a bit, he had undertaken a two hundred mile journey across Asia.
FLASHBACK
Heron rode into the village, it was early evening, the sun sinking red in the sky. Diablo tossed his head and whinnied and challenge to a draft horse in a passing field. The draft horse declined the invitation to be torn apart and back away a bit, not making eye contact. A strong breeze blowing towards Heron brought the scent of burning wood, blood, and the distinctive charred odor of burning vampire. Heron sniffed the air a few times to be sure, and then urged Diablo forward. There were no War Mages about, nor any magic folk. Though that didn't matter, he was dressed as a Shirul. The Shirul were a small, loose association of traveling warrior/shamans. Their numbers had never risen above two hundred, they had vanished during the Pax Romana, which was still many, many years away at this point. The Shirul had been the best warriors that could be found anywhere at this time, they also had some prophetic power, healing skills, and "awesome" magic, as one of them Heron would gain enormous respect in any place he went.
Heron neared the village center, noting the houses and barns, the livestock and huge fields, the gutter system, this was a fairly prosperous village, though not a particularly large one. He rode Diablo up to the edge of the crowd, a few of the villagers, hearing the approach of a horse and rider, turned to look at him, smiling widely.
"Hey there traveler! Come on forward, join in, all should rejoice on this day!" Heron looked around and dismounted gracefully. The shimmering movement of his Shirul cloak, the long sword at his side and three knives made everyone take a step back.
"Shirul?" Heron turned; it was an elderly man, standing a bit apart from the rest. Heron nodded calmly, noticing how the rest of the village went silent. The crackling of the fire becoming louder.
"Heron, Master Shirul." He confirmed, though he spoke quietly the villagers all heard. The old man slowly walked forward, leaning heavily on a walking stick.
"It has been many many years since any of the master warrior visited our village, welcome Heron." The man turned and gestured to the fire, the villagers parted, "come see what we've caught." The man said, his wide smile showing several missing teeth, Heron nodded and turned, slowing his pace to match that of the other.
The five feet around the stake was piled three feet deep with very dry brush and kindling, some old fence posts doused with oils. It was blazing nicely all around. *Well these people certainly know how to burn someone* Heron thought as he walked forward, mentally commanding the fire to shift and flicker differently, the wind changing. Moving the fire to see through the eight-foot high blaze.
Arai was hanging limply from the stake, thick iron wrapped around his throat, wrists, and ankles, securely attached to the stake. Long charred dark hair hanging down about his face. His skin dark charred from the fire. Blood flowed from three parallel long ripping slashes across his chest. The wounds had been gouged out of his flesh in a away Heron knew instantly was dragon-wrought. Vicious whip marks covered him, red blood standing out against the burned skin. Heron paused, scanning the creature for life, identifying exactly what the damage was while the old man blabbered on.
"We caught him, he was in an avalanche. Got no idea what those wounds are, but we're damn glad he had them. Else he might have killed us all. We whipped him good, teach him to kill humans! Filthy bloodsucker. This day will go down in history!" The old man said, practically dancing with glee and slapping Heron on the back. Heron gave them all a small grim smile and walked closer until he was walking through the flames. The villagers going silent as they stared in awe at the Shirul warrior.
The flames bent aside for him and Heron walked through calmly, reaching the dying vampire he placed on hand of the vampire's forehead. Closing his eyes he reached out, searching for the vampire's mind.
Finally he felt a faint tingle of life in the tortured creature's mind. The vampire suddenly became aware of another in his mind and stiffened, as much as his ruined muscles would allow, his eyes flickered and he trembled as he tried to move. Heron smiled faintly, relieved, the vampire was not beyond all recall; the battered creature had an enduring will power and a very strong mind.
"Rea irim nesarle erya, kav'lensi yar gilmasen jahar Nelas." (Do not fear me, I'm no danger to thee.)
Heron whispered softly, knowing the when badly injured hearing diminished he used magic to speak into the vampire's mind. Slowly he encircled the vampire's mind with a barrier against further harm and pain. Though the War Mages and vampires occasionally found cause to go to war with each other both sides had promised the other that, in times of peace, they would be friends. The old vampires had long been good friends of the war mages, if the friendship did get strained when the younger vampires over populated. Heron could feel the same strong spirit in this vampire as he did in the old ones, though this one could not be more than two hundred. This was a time of peace, this vampire had not sought to harm him nor any of the villagers and he could not just let the vampire die. The vampire drew back from the unfamiliar language being spoken in his mind, though he relaxed visibly as the barrier stopped the fire from hurting him. Heron could feel the vampire forcing his telepathic abilities to work, sending out a faint feeling of gratitude for the spell.
The watching villagers stared as the Shirul raised a hand, instantly the chains snapped open and fell off, the vampire dropped the ground, but the flames parted as he fell and the ground cooled.
Heron lifted the vampire easily, surprised at how little he weighed, and walked back out of the flames, once he was out of the fire he knelt and dropped the vampire onto the ground, pressing a finger to the vampire's lips as he did, a mental spell causing the fang teeth to become normal.
"I admire your courage, villagers, but I am disgusted at your methods of finding vampires. This here is not a vampire." Heron said finally, his voice filled with power and disgust.
"He is! He must be, our hunters found him after dark, when only the greatest of warriors may go out, dark creatures come at night. He was found near the body of one of our children, the child was bloodless, he must be!" One of the villagers cried out, outraged.
Heron kept one hand on the vampire's should, magics of healing flowing into the creature.
Did you kill the child dark one? he asked, aloud and mentally, a burst of magic giving the vampire strength for a moment, but it was not enough for him to speak. The vampire opened his mouth slightly a faint noise coming from him.
"N-no," he went silent, barely breathing, but it had been enough for Harry to see that the spells had worked. Keeping a hand on the vampire's shoulder to keep up the magic he carefully open his mouth.
"He does not have the teeth of a vampire does he?" he asked calmly, there was some muttering amongst the villagers. Heron closed his eyes and sent out his mind, telepathically he perceived that two of the villagers had checked for the fang teeth, and seen them, he erased the memory and that of those who had heard them, of everyone who knew that the person they were burning did in fact have vampire teeth.
"We were.burning a human?" It was the old villager again, Heron sensed genuine horror and shame from the old man.
"Yes, he is only human." There was a very long pause form the people crowded around him.
"Will he die?' One young man finally asked.
"Not if I can help it," heron said, picking up the vampire and turning to Diablo, who had come up beside him. Lifting the vampire up he leaped up behind him. "I'm going into the hills, there are plants there that I will need to heal him, goodnight to you all, be careful. Since this was not the vampire, that means that there is still one somewhere in the area." He turned Diablo and whispered softly, "ryam leim Diablo ryam ierul." (Run easy Diablo, run fast.) Diablo took off instantly at a gallop, the Zoran were gifted with a uniquely smooth gate, and powerful enough that, with the aid of a War mage, they didn't jostle their passengers at all.
END FLASHBACK
Harry turned back to the vampire lying on the bed, he was breathing steadily, and his wounds were scabbed over. Harry sighed and sat down in a chair, a feeling of de-ja-vu setting in.
He had taken the vampire deep into the hill lands, to a set of small caves in a hillside. There he had healed the vampire, using his own blood to hurry the process. Once Arai had been well enough to hunt and travel again they had traveled around Asia. Arai was lost in the world, his own times had long since vanished, giving way to the Roman empire's hold. He lacked the depth of understanding, calm, and perseverance which had enabled the old ones to pass the centuries in safety. By now Heron and full come to terms with his place and self as Keeper of the Ways and he taught the vampire as best he could how to live again.
Arai for his part had been an excellent pupil, attentive to everything Heron could teach him, intelligent almost to the point of genius, quick minded and with a skill in artistry rival that of the greatest Renaissance painters. His never failing interest in the world sustained him and helped him.
For nearly a full year they had traveled, Arai had often asked why he stayed in that time, Arai could have easily survived on his own, but Heron stayed, often leaving for a week or so at a time, but he stayed. Heron had never actually given a real answer, he stayed for his own reasons, though they had little to do with Arai. In that time he had established families in places all around the world, whose purpose was to serve him. One family in China had documented winter temperatures ever since then. One child in each generation ending up becoming completely devoted to keeping the records. These families were neither rich nor famous, nor poor. They had unusually long lives and each generation had at least two children. One of who miraculously seemed to want to do little else besides a job that paid well and kept them in their ancestral home, and keep the records.
Heron had left after nearly exactly one year, his agents established, Arai had finally chosen to settle down in South America, and Heron could feel the pull of the Ways on his mind, and knew that his return to his real time needed to happen soon. Satisfied that his agents were doing well he'd left for Hogwarts.
Harry lifted the white gold, silver, blood metal, and emerald chain off his neck, on of the links had what appeared to be a pale blue opal in it. Harry touched it lightly, sending a small jolt of power into it. The opal dropped into his palm, rapidly expanding into a pale blue scrying orb. "Anatye rihal shakul," he murmured softly, his words filled with power. The orb changed, the pale blue swirling and vanishing, becoming darker. An image formed of the humans and elves back at the campsite. Harry watched for a few moments. His mind directing the orb of his sleeping charges, not surprised to find Draco's spot empty. He searched and found Draco sitting apart from the group on the edge of the camp, Harry turned his attention to the elves and saw that Selna and Hermione were on watch, discussing a human book Selna had read in low voices. Jalim was keeping watch over the group from his perch, catnapping. Harry sighed and shrank the scrying orb again, he'd have to use the Ways to return before dawn, but he did really need to talk to the vampires.
Harry felt the approach of another vampire, one of the old ones; he rose and walked to the huge window. On the bottom floor the window were boarded up, but not on the top. He went out onto the large balcony and waited, scanning the sky with his mind and eyes. They were coming, they all were, they had all heard Arai's cry but had delayed coming, wary of a trap, until Harry let them know it was all right. Finally he turned westward, Nasiji was coming.
Harry froze for a moment, the sharp call ringing in his mind. Harry closed his eyes and let out a breath, drawing it in sharply as he searched and felt the keen tang of panic through his mind. Arai's anguished, wordless, cry suddenly turned furious, Harry winced at the feel of red-hot fury and pain. Then there was an abrupt silence.
"Arai," he whispered softly, " dovelrak, Jaqra eru resla nimdaer, salye nir negam?" (Vampire, Lord of the night, what is wrong?)
There was only silence where Arai had been, Harry opened his eyes and hurried back into the camp, pausing to leap into the trees, as graceful and sure-footed as an elf. He made sure to rustle enough leaves to wake Jalim with his approach; the elf shot upright and looked around, his keen ears having heard Harry's approach when the other was still a few trees away. Upon seeing Harry leaping from the next tree over to land beside him he signaled the guard that everything was all right.
"I must leave for a while, I have business in the Way to attend to, I will be back before sunrise." Harry said quietly, his voice soft enough so that not even the other elves heard it.
"Is it anything to do with the death eaters?" Jalim asked softly.
"I do not know yet, perhaps." Harry said, with a short nod he leaped from the tree to the ground and left the camp again at a quick trot.
He was a half mile from the camp when blinding pain flashed through his mind, Harry hissed in pain, then mastered it and continued, blocking it off and reaching through the link it created to his vampire friend, but there was no answer to his silent search. Harry took a small bunch of strange oval golden leaves with jagged edges from a black leather pouch. The leaves each had a strange pale starburst shape on them, like water dripped on to wet watercolor paints. He swept one arm out in a circle, dropping the leaves as he did. They glowed silvers as they touched the ground.
"Versahaer eru pazirel, norilna melit ley erya." (Forest of time, open now for me.) As he spoke the ground beneath him began to glow brightly, though the light could not be seen by even the keen eyed elves at the camp. A breeze began to blow his black clothing and cloak about, shoulder length black hair, mostly tied back, began to blow across his face, Harry closed his eyes and called for the Ways. Wind began to blow hard around him in a circle, contained by invisible walls as he split open time and space and entered the Ways. When he finally vanished only a few scattered leaves remained on the ground.
Harry dashed through the Ways, the light here was always evening, dim rose/gold light against dark brown/gold and gray/gold trees with gold/green and pale gold leaves. He paused beside a small clearing, staring hard at the swirling runes drawn on the circle of dry dirt at its center. Then he moved on, long powerful strides carrying him through the forest from clearing to clearing, his eyes unfocused as he searched for Arai's mind. Finally he felt the distinctive darkness that marked the vampires, the cold life-less feeling. Pausing he closed his eyes, reaching with all the strength he had. Finally he felt the unending endurance, skill, power, and fiery spirit that filled the Old Ones, the oldest vampires. Searching even further here he reached for Arai's mind, his old friend's gentle dark humor, vicious hunting power and perfected skill. An artistic weave of strength and endurance and beauty to mirror the talented painter and powerful vampire. Finally he found it, Arai's unique mind, but it was dark and empty, devoid of everything but unrelenting agony. Confused as to what had happened to the vampire Harry searched further, brief images, piece of a battle, fire everywhere, vampires, ugly horrible things, young vampires, Voldemort's. Humans fleeing in terror, or being burned to death, vampires dying in flames, darkness, pain, more fire. Harry tore his mind away and stopped where he was.
Harry's eyes snapped open and he went still, his mind had led him to a small clearing in the Ways, walking into it he carefully read the patterns traced into the ground.
"What in the world would Arai be doing on the outskirts of Miami?" he wondered aloud before stepping into the clearing and vanishing.
Harry raced through the filthy alleyway, which was surprisingly vacant of all human activity, actually it was empty of anything alive, something had scared everything away. He could feel the powerful fear in the air, sniffing the wind he smelled the sickly sweet scent of fresh blood, mixed with the slightly more bitter tang of vampire blood.
Harry's eyes flicked about, reading the signs of battle around him. The charred scent in the air distinctive of burned vampires, holes in walls, only vampires had the strength to punch a hole in a brick wall. Burns and scorch marks all over the place. Finally he caught sight of an unmoving blackened heap lying in the shadows. With a gasp of shock Harry ran to the figures side and knelt beside it.
Arai's skin was charcoal black and cracked, charred from fire, the once lustrous black hair was scorched, melted in places from the extreme heat. His face was cracked in places and bleeding lightly. The fact that he was bleeding gave Harry hope, for if the vampire were dead the blood wouldn't be flowing. Pressing two fingers to the vampires throat Harry felt a very faint pulse. He sighed with relief and placed his hand upon the vampires forehead, seeking to know the extent of the damage. Thin silvery lines in graceful patterns and shapes flared up all over Arai, Harry read what they told him. Arai had five broken ribs, a light concussion, his left arm broken in three places, both ankles broken, his collarbone fractured, and his jaw broken. Harry lifted one wrist and examined it, the skin was cracked and bleeding all around the wrist, probably from chains used to keep the vampire still. A scuffling sound from around a corner startled Harry, he went still, watching carefully, it was only a muggle. Gently he lifted the vampire, Arai gave a low moan of pain, Harry concentrated hard on Arai's house, with a quick flash of light they both vanished.
***
The silvery glow of the healing magics faded, Harry stood and slowly and walked across the room to the window. He had healed Arai as much as he could, but healing magics did not work well on the undead. He would have to wait for Arai to awaken and let the vampire's natural healing powers set in. He paused watching the slow breathing of his injured friend, old memories resurfacing.
When he had first met Arai the vampire had been chained to a stake in the center of a small farming village. A crowd of angry farmers cheering while the vampire burned, already horribly injured by a baby dragon, and whipped until he was nearly unconscious by the villagers, the vampire had been unable to escape or defend himself. Arai had been only two centuries old, about the age most vampires were when they, seeing the world around them changing while they remained the same, killed themselves. The vampire who had made Arai, a very powerful vampire, though weak minded and half-insane, had died in the jaws of the young dragons mother.
Harry had departed from the War Mages a year before (a year for him) he had traveled to the time Arai was in to make sure a political discussion between two countries had gone as it should, otherwise a huge war would have broken out. Not yet ready to return to his own real time, and feeling like exploring a bit, he had undertaken a two hundred mile journey across Asia.
FLASHBACK
Heron rode into the village, it was early evening, the sun sinking red in the sky. Diablo tossed his head and whinnied and challenge to a draft horse in a passing field. The draft horse declined the invitation to be torn apart and back away a bit, not making eye contact. A strong breeze blowing towards Heron brought the scent of burning wood, blood, and the distinctive charred odor of burning vampire. Heron sniffed the air a few times to be sure, and then urged Diablo forward. There were no War Mages about, nor any magic folk. Though that didn't matter, he was dressed as a Shirul. The Shirul were a small, loose association of traveling warrior/shamans. Their numbers had never risen above two hundred, they had vanished during the Pax Romana, which was still many, many years away at this point. The Shirul had been the best warriors that could be found anywhere at this time, they also had some prophetic power, healing skills, and "awesome" magic, as one of them Heron would gain enormous respect in any place he went.
Heron neared the village center, noting the houses and barns, the livestock and huge fields, the gutter system, this was a fairly prosperous village, though not a particularly large one. He rode Diablo up to the edge of the crowd, a few of the villagers, hearing the approach of a horse and rider, turned to look at him, smiling widely.
"Hey there traveler! Come on forward, join in, all should rejoice on this day!" Heron looked around and dismounted gracefully. The shimmering movement of his Shirul cloak, the long sword at his side and three knives made everyone take a step back.
"Shirul?" Heron turned; it was an elderly man, standing a bit apart from the rest. Heron nodded calmly, noticing how the rest of the village went silent. The crackling of the fire becoming louder.
"Heron, Master Shirul." He confirmed, though he spoke quietly the villagers all heard. The old man slowly walked forward, leaning heavily on a walking stick.
"It has been many many years since any of the master warrior visited our village, welcome Heron." The man turned and gestured to the fire, the villagers parted, "come see what we've caught." The man said, his wide smile showing several missing teeth, Heron nodded and turned, slowing his pace to match that of the other.
The five feet around the stake was piled three feet deep with very dry brush and kindling, some old fence posts doused with oils. It was blazing nicely all around. *Well these people certainly know how to burn someone* Heron thought as he walked forward, mentally commanding the fire to shift and flicker differently, the wind changing. Moving the fire to see through the eight-foot high blaze.
Arai was hanging limply from the stake, thick iron wrapped around his throat, wrists, and ankles, securely attached to the stake. Long charred dark hair hanging down about his face. His skin dark charred from the fire. Blood flowed from three parallel long ripping slashes across his chest. The wounds had been gouged out of his flesh in a away Heron knew instantly was dragon-wrought. Vicious whip marks covered him, red blood standing out against the burned skin. Heron paused, scanning the creature for life, identifying exactly what the damage was while the old man blabbered on.
"We caught him, he was in an avalanche. Got no idea what those wounds are, but we're damn glad he had them. Else he might have killed us all. We whipped him good, teach him to kill humans! Filthy bloodsucker. This day will go down in history!" The old man said, practically dancing with glee and slapping Heron on the back. Heron gave them all a small grim smile and walked closer until he was walking through the flames. The villagers going silent as they stared in awe at the Shirul warrior.
The flames bent aside for him and Heron walked through calmly, reaching the dying vampire he placed on hand of the vampire's forehead. Closing his eyes he reached out, searching for the vampire's mind.
Finally he felt a faint tingle of life in the tortured creature's mind. The vampire suddenly became aware of another in his mind and stiffened, as much as his ruined muscles would allow, his eyes flickered and he trembled as he tried to move. Heron smiled faintly, relieved, the vampire was not beyond all recall; the battered creature had an enduring will power and a very strong mind.
"Rea irim nesarle erya, kav'lensi yar gilmasen jahar Nelas." (Do not fear me, I'm no danger to thee.)
Heron whispered softly, knowing the when badly injured hearing diminished he used magic to speak into the vampire's mind. Slowly he encircled the vampire's mind with a barrier against further harm and pain. Though the War Mages and vampires occasionally found cause to go to war with each other both sides had promised the other that, in times of peace, they would be friends. The old vampires had long been good friends of the war mages, if the friendship did get strained when the younger vampires over populated. Heron could feel the same strong spirit in this vampire as he did in the old ones, though this one could not be more than two hundred. This was a time of peace, this vampire had not sought to harm him nor any of the villagers and he could not just let the vampire die. The vampire drew back from the unfamiliar language being spoken in his mind, though he relaxed visibly as the barrier stopped the fire from hurting him. Heron could feel the vampire forcing his telepathic abilities to work, sending out a faint feeling of gratitude for the spell.
The watching villagers stared as the Shirul raised a hand, instantly the chains snapped open and fell off, the vampire dropped the ground, but the flames parted as he fell and the ground cooled.
Heron lifted the vampire easily, surprised at how little he weighed, and walked back out of the flames, once he was out of the fire he knelt and dropped the vampire onto the ground, pressing a finger to the vampire's lips as he did, a mental spell causing the fang teeth to become normal.
"I admire your courage, villagers, but I am disgusted at your methods of finding vampires. This here is not a vampire." Heron said finally, his voice filled with power and disgust.
"He is! He must be, our hunters found him after dark, when only the greatest of warriors may go out, dark creatures come at night. He was found near the body of one of our children, the child was bloodless, he must be!" One of the villagers cried out, outraged.
Heron kept one hand on the vampire's should, magics of healing flowing into the creature.
Did you kill the child dark one? he asked, aloud and mentally, a burst of magic giving the vampire strength for a moment, but it was not enough for him to speak. The vampire opened his mouth slightly a faint noise coming from him.
"N-no," he went silent, barely breathing, but it had been enough for Harry to see that the spells had worked. Keeping a hand on the vampire's shoulder to keep up the magic he carefully open his mouth.
"He does not have the teeth of a vampire does he?" he asked calmly, there was some muttering amongst the villagers. Heron closed his eyes and sent out his mind, telepathically he perceived that two of the villagers had checked for the fang teeth, and seen them, he erased the memory and that of those who had heard them, of everyone who knew that the person they were burning did in fact have vampire teeth.
"We were.burning a human?" It was the old villager again, Heron sensed genuine horror and shame from the old man.
"Yes, he is only human." There was a very long pause form the people crowded around him.
"Will he die?' One young man finally asked.
"Not if I can help it," heron said, picking up the vampire and turning to Diablo, who had come up beside him. Lifting the vampire up he leaped up behind him. "I'm going into the hills, there are plants there that I will need to heal him, goodnight to you all, be careful. Since this was not the vampire, that means that there is still one somewhere in the area." He turned Diablo and whispered softly, "ryam leim Diablo ryam ierul." (Run easy Diablo, run fast.) Diablo took off instantly at a gallop, the Zoran were gifted with a uniquely smooth gate, and powerful enough that, with the aid of a War mage, they didn't jostle their passengers at all.
END FLASHBACK
Harry turned back to the vampire lying on the bed, he was breathing steadily, and his wounds were scabbed over. Harry sighed and sat down in a chair, a feeling of de-ja-vu setting in.
He had taken the vampire deep into the hill lands, to a set of small caves in a hillside. There he had healed the vampire, using his own blood to hurry the process. Once Arai had been well enough to hunt and travel again they had traveled around Asia. Arai was lost in the world, his own times had long since vanished, giving way to the Roman empire's hold. He lacked the depth of understanding, calm, and perseverance which had enabled the old ones to pass the centuries in safety. By now Heron and full come to terms with his place and self as Keeper of the Ways and he taught the vampire as best he could how to live again.
Arai for his part had been an excellent pupil, attentive to everything Heron could teach him, intelligent almost to the point of genius, quick minded and with a skill in artistry rival that of the greatest Renaissance painters. His never failing interest in the world sustained him and helped him.
For nearly a full year they had traveled, Arai had often asked why he stayed in that time, Arai could have easily survived on his own, but Heron stayed, often leaving for a week or so at a time, but he stayed. Heron had never actually given a real answer, he stayed for his own reasons, though they had little to do with Arai. In that time he had established families in places all around the world, whose purpose was to serve him. One family in China had documented winter temperatures ever since then. One child in each generation ending up becoming completely devoted to keeping the records. These families were neither rich nor famous, nor poor. They had unusually long lives and each generation had at least two children. One of who miraculously seemed to want to do little else besides a job that paid well and kept them in their ancestral home, and keep the records.
Heron had left after nearly exactly one year, his agents established, Arai had finally chosen to settle down in South America, and Heron could feel the pull of the Ways on his mind, and knew that his return to his real time needed to happen soon. Satisfied that his agents were doing well he'd left for Hogwarts.
Harry lifted the white gold, silver, blood metal, and emerald chain off his neck, on of the links had what appeared to be a pale blue opal in it. Harry touched it lightly, sending a small jolt of power into it. The opal dropped into his palm, rapidly expanding into a pale blue scrying orb. "Anatye rihal shakul," he murmured softly, his words filled with power. The orb changed, the pale blue swirling and vanishing, becoming darker. An image formed of the humans and elves back at the campsite. Harry watched for a few moments. His mind directing the orb of his sleeping charges, not surprised to find Draco's spot empty. He searched and found Draco sitting apart from the group on the edge of the camp, Harry turned his attention to the elves and saw that Selna and Hermione were on watch, discussing a human book Selna had read in low voices. Jalim was keeping watch over the group from his perch, catnapping. Harry sighed and shrank the scrying orb again, he'd have to use the Ways to return before dawn, but he did really need to talk to the vampires.
Harry felt the approach of another vampire, one of the old ones; he rose and walked to the huge window. On the bottom floor the window were boarded up, but not on the top. He went out onto the large balcony and waited, scanning the sky with his mind and eyes. They were coming, they all were, they had all heard Arai's cry but had delayed coming, wary of a trap, until Harry let them know it was all right. Finally he turned westward, Nasiji was coming.