Discordant Melody
A Kurda Smahlt Story
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Third
Dolce
The Bitter End----
From the day I became his assistant, Kurda and I were never separated. For thirty years we lived life together, sharing triumphs and joys, sadness and tears. No matter where he went, no matter what he did, I was there by his side, loyally following every step of the man I loved.
Two years after becoming a half-vampire, I was fully blooded, and accepted into the vampiric fold, though Kurda never told a soul that he blooded me himself. Instead, he explained my sudden appearance as an abandoned half-vampire he happened upon one day, my original sire having left me cruelly to die. I don't know how many people actually bought the story, but it was accepted.
I met Kurda's three other assistants – Cyrus, Puck and Granz, all of whom were young for vampires, and just as devoted to Kurda as I was. They all had dreams for peace with our distant cousins – the vampaneze.
Kurda worked close with the vampaneze, a break-off group from the vampires. They, like the vampires, were respectful; however, they showed this respect differently. They found it honourable to completely drain and kill the human they were drinking from, and they seemed to have a problem with authority. They believed that a few vampires should not have the right to rule over all of them – that each and everyone of them was equal to the rest.
In some lights, the vampaneze were honourable creatures. I respected them in most ways, except for their habit of killing their victims and going crazy. That withstanding, I understood why Kurda worked so hard with them, in order to bring peace between our two people.
The first time I went with him on one of these 'ambassadorial missions' of his, I was given a set of scars on my face, almost identical to Kurda's. When I was cut, I jumped up and down in pain, the fresh wounds stinging in the open air.
"I hope you washed your hands before you did that!" I shouted at the confused vampaneze who had scratched me, a man named Marcus. Kurda just laughed at me, and gently dabbed at my face with his ever-present handkerchief.
"Why don't you just spit on it?" I asked curiously. He smiled.
"Because if I spit on it, it would heal over completely, and then we'd have to get you a whole new set of scars, wouldn't we?"
I winced at that.
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Every few years we would return to Vampire Mountain (which, by the way, I was right about - it was in some distant cold Arctic region) where we would recuperate. And by recuperate, I mean get beaten up by Arra and Vanez.
Having given up on Kurda ever becoming a proper fighter, Vanez began work on me, training me to become useful on a battlefield and how to hold a staff without falling over it. Despite the fact that I became skilful with it, I was mindful of my promise to Kurda, and not once in the entire thirty years did I use my staff to harm somebody.
However, I did use my training to try to knock the great Arra Sails from the bars. Though I never could, I always gave it a try, and always managed to put up a good fight. Eventually, she and I developed a mutual respect for each other. Every time we visited the Mountain, she would give me a tiny smile.
"Is your tail bone ready for another hard landing?" She would ask. I would grin roguishly back.
"You bet ya."
That cocky remark would then be followed by me landing painfully on my ass soon after, bruised and bleeding.
Kurda would look at me, raise an eyebrow, and shake his head.
"Stupid little elf," he'd say, ruffling my hair. I hated that nickname, and he knew it. I had always hated my elfish appearance, and, once finding that out, he always teased me about it. I couldn't hate him for it though. It was Kurda, after all.
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Every so often, on our annual rounds around the world, working with the vampaneze, we would visit one in particular: the one who had given me my scars, Marcus van Kütriht. He was one of the more respected vampaneze, a man who many of his kind looked up to, mainly because of his military past. He, like Kurda, was fairly young for a creature of the night, having come from approximately the same era. He was an experienced commander, leading his troops efficiently.
In our travels, we also came across a young woman named Peregrine Walters, one of the few vampire hunters who knew the subtle difference between vampaneze and vampires. She was desperately seeking revenge for some wrong done to her in the past by – coincidence? – Marcus. Kurda never gave her the correct location of Marcus, mainly because of the friendship the two of them had developed, but he pointed her in the right direction and continued to keep in contact with her for several years.
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Six years after the announcement of Kurda's investiture, which was to be held at the next council, Kurda and I went on an adventure. We lost ourselves in the vast labyrinth of Vampire Mountain, Kurda mapping every turn and dip along the way. Finally, we found a large cavern, which Kurda immediately began working on. Meanwhile, I sat on top of a rock and pulled out my flute, one of the only items that had stayed with me throughout the previous twenty-four years.
Over the next half an hour, we were silent, he happily sketching down the contours of the cavern while I composed a song on my flute, the soft melody echoing eerily in the large space. It was an odd song, at once pleasant, at other times not, but I continued to play, losing myself in its rhythm, closing my eyes to concentrate. When the song finally wound down to a close, I opened my eyes to find Kurda sitting on the ground in front of me, smiling up at me. I grinned sheepishly.
"That was beautiful," he said softly. He cocked his head to the side, still smiling. "What was it called?"
"'Ode to a Beautiful Prince'," I said at once. I blinked, surprised at myself. I didn't actually have a name for it, but that just came out of nowhere.
Kurda's smile continued to spread and he kept on looking at me, as if studying me.
"You know," he said, unable to wipe the smile from his face. "If you were shirtless, you would look like Oberon, King of the Fairies."
I glared at him.
"Oh, yes, and Puck would be your Robin Goodfellow, running around and doing all your dirty work for you while you try to win your love's heart."
My glare softened as a thought came to my head.
"He's gay, you know."
"Who, our Puck or the Bard's Puck?"
"No – Oberon."
"Oberon? But he loved Titania."
"Well, Rupert Everett, really. Now there's a hot gay man."
Kurda's expression suddenly changed, becoming almost wistfully thoughtful. He smiled in an almost cheeky way.
"There seems to be a pattern there," he said. "Something about 'hot gay men' making good fairies and elves."
I blinked, trying to understand what he had said. Utterly confused, I just stared at him as he stood up and stepped towards me, a smile on his face.
"Ah, my poor little elf," he said softly. "It seems he is confused."
Then, standing up on his toes, he placed a soft kiss onto my lips – so soft, so gentle, that I thought I had imagined it. As quickly and suddenly as it happened, it ended with Kurda stepping back lightly, his hands clasped behind his back and a happy smile on his face.
"Is my little elf still confused?"
All I could do was blink in confusion.
----
A few months before Kurda's investiture, we visited Germany again, paying Marcus another visit. Gavner Purl, a General, like Kurda, accompanied us, having business to attend to in that general direction.
One of those nights, we went to a nightclub, though Kurda didn't tell me why. He made me sit in a booth separate to him, where I could watch him – to my utter surprise, I saw Peregrine. To my even greater surprise, Kurda told her where Marcus was. Later, Kurda informed me that he was doing it as a favour to Marcus, in return for the help the vampaneze was giving Kurda in his upcoming plan.
It was a plan he had been plotting for, for years, covering every nook and cranny, looking at it from different angles and making sure there were no loopholes or things he missed. It was a plan so perfect, so well thought out, that I knew it couldn't fail.
I believed in Kurda's plan. Not only because I loved him, but because I also believed in peace between the vampires and vampaneze. And that peace had to come at a price.
Even if it would eventually mean our deaths for being traitors.
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The thirty years that followed my twenty-one years as a human were possibly the best years of my life, however long they were. It was like a thirty-year long summer, filled with laugher, love and fun, warmth and happiness.
But then, like all great things, those years came to an end. What goes up, must come down. That was the rule of the universe: equivalent trade, karma, an eye for an eye, tit for tat – the years I had had to be repaid. That was life, que sera sera, without all the cheerfulness usually associated with that phrase.
My happiness ended on one otherwise normal day.
It was the day he arrived.
Darren Shan.
And with every step that boy took –
Tragedy followed.
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A.N Hehe, all the Oberon and Puck business is from one of William Shakespeare's plays, 'A Midsummer Night's Dream'. It was turned into a movie, in 1999, with Kevin Kline, Michelle Pfeiffer, Rupert Everett and Calista Flockhart. And I'm being honest about Rupert Everett. I only found out about him being gay when some girls in my class told us while we were watching the movie. Half the class cried. Including the teacher. XD
Bleh. Another chapter I do not like. But woe is me, I cannot make it any better. Where have my muses gone? stalks her muses
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Next Chapter:
Fourth
Rubato
Behind Blue Eyes----
For the first time, we fought.
"Why are you trying to help him?!" I cried, barely stopping myself from stamping my foot. Kurda ignored me, shuffling through the heap of maps that permanently cluttered his desk.
"I'm helping him," he said steadily, "because it is stupid for one so young to be killed, just because he failed a stupid test that was too hard for him in the first place."
"Is that the only reason?" I asked, surprising myself with the bitterness in my voice.
"No, it is not," Kurda replied, still shuffling through the pages. "He is young. He is open-minded. He can be persuaded to our cause."
I crossed my arms. Vaguely, I could feel that ever-present jealousy bubbling in my chest.
"And?"
Kurda stopped his shuffling, and faced me slowly. He still held some maps in his hand. There was a slight frown on his face.
"No, Daegan," he said softly. "I do not love Darren."
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