Cold. It was everywhere, and he could feel its icy, seductive danger despite the firm grasp it had on him. So he resisted, shoving himself toward consciousness and ignoring the persuasive pull it exerted on his bruised and tired body.
He was uncertain at first whether his eyes were open or not – the darkness remained, and for a moment he was frozen with fear. Then he blinked, and turned his head, and could make out faint moonlight on the snow. He hadn't been out for too long, then.
Gabriel carefully shifted his stiff body, and when he was sure nothing was broken, he tried to sit up. He almost bashed his head on something above him, before he realized that somehow, he had fallen and rolled under an overhang created by the exposed roots of a dead tree. The ground under it had been worn away by the flow of water through the ravine, and it had been felled outward – probably in a good storm.
However it had been created, the protective alcove had sheltered him from those chasing him. He had completely forgotten about the ravine, and grimaced now as he remembered Ben's warning of several days ago. It was deep – he was lucky the snow had cushioned his fall, and he had not hit any hidden rocks on the way down.
Gabriel edged out from under the drooping, frozen roots. A cascade of dirt and pebbles showered down on him as he brushed against the roof of his tiny cave. Wiggling and squirming, he pushed himself out from under, emerging into the ravine.
A quick breath and a moment of silence assured him that his pursuers were nowhere near. While they had probably recovered and moved on by now, the moon was beginning its descent, telling the hunter that he had been unconscious for several hours. The night continued on around him, a reassurance in itself. Had they wanted to track him, he would have been discovered long ago. It was now the first few hours of the new day, and he was safe.
But stuck, if only temporarily. The top of the ravine was four feet over his head or more. Luckily, the western edge wasn't a sheer drop – just a very steep incline. Slipping and sliding, Gabriel spent several strained, sweaty moments clawing his way up the snow-covered side of the ravine. Upon gaining the edge, he pulled himself several feet away before getting to his feet.
As he did, the world tilted and swirled crazily in front of his eyes, leaving him slumped against a tree trunk for support. A moment later the balance restored itself, and a thought flitted through the hunter's mind; maybe he had hit his head after all. Tabling the question for later examination, he glanced at the setting stars, and was shocked by how much time had gone by. With only a rough guess to go by, he judged that it was after four in the morning.
There would be no way for him to stroll into the town unseen at this hour; the baker and blacksmith at the very least would be hard at work by the time he arrived. The last thing he needed was to meet Ancell looking like he did. The hunter wasn't fool enough to think that the other man would pass up obvious weakness in favor of avoiding a public spectacle. He had attacked Lamar with little to no provocation, after all.
Only a show of strength would get him past knowing eyes untouched. Ancell, he could pinpoint. As for the other three – one would be sporting a broken nose today, but the others would be more difficult to identify. He couldn't take the risk of appearing vulnerable or unprepared in any way.
Looking down at himself, Gabriel could only sigh in resignation. The shirt he was wearing was torn and stained with mud and blood. His jacket sported several ominous patches that couldn't be mistaken for anything but dried blood, and the rest of his clothing was in similar disarray.
Walking into public view like this would raise questions. He had only one choice left, and he idly wondered if the Widow would even let him enter her home.
As he approached the house, however, the darkness that had been lurking in his consciousness since he opened his eyes seemed to dissipate, and he rubbed his head carefully. There was no sign of a lump, or any other indication that he'd been hurt in his tumble into the ravine, but he felt odd. The advancing and receding waves of evil lapping against his consciousness served only to confuse him.
Arriving at his destination none too soon, he called out a warning once he entered the yard. "Ben? Ned?"
In the time it took him to reach the door, the youths had bounded from bed and were quietly opening the way for him. Ben stared with wide eyes as the light from the fire shadowed the full extent of the hunter's adventures that night. "Are you all right? What happened?"
Ned was sniffing him carefully, as if searching for injury. "Blood," the black Lab added anxiously, giving a gentle lick to Gabriel's hand.
"I'm fine," the hunter replied. "I was -"
"Ben?"
The towheaded lad jerked in surprise. The hunter closed the door behind himself, turning and bowing to Mathilde as she wrapped a thick shawl around herself. Gabriel, conscious of his disarray, pulled his coat tighter around his frame. "I'm sorry, ma'am," he said politely. "I fell into the ravine east of here, and didn't mean to intrude at so early an hour -"
"But you've obviously done so anyway," Mathilde interrupted, sharp eyes examining him unforgivingly.
Gabriel met her gaze squarely.
The Widow sighed, then, folding her arms over her chest and glancing away, to the fire. Lamar was sleeping, propped up by several pillows and enfolded in blankets, before the banked coals. His breathing was markedly easier. "Ben, go to bed," she ordered quietly.
The boy hesitated, however, looking to Gabriel. He nodded, and Mathilde's eyes hardened as she observed the exchange before she sighed again, shoulders drooping in resignation as she stepped forward.
She waited until the door shut before she opened her mouth to speak, but Gabriel spoke first. "I'm sorry for intruding on you like this," he said abruptly. "I just came to check on Lamar. I'll go -"
"Wait." Mathilde cut him off, a mix of emotions flashing across her face. "Come sit down," she invited him finally.
The hunter was just as wary as the Widow. He sat on a bench opposite her, close to the fire, and took the opportunity to examine Lamar.
The Jerusalemite was ill, yet looked remarkably better. He was sleeping upright to ease his breathing, though Gabriel could tell that his face was a bit flushed from fever. His lips were parched and cracked, and every so often he would give a dry, tight cough. The sound was a good one; it meant that there was almost no mucus rattling in his lungs. Either he had already expelled it, or there hadn't been much to start with. It reassured Gabriel, as nothing else could. He knew the signs and sounds of death, whether coming from wound or disease or age, and Lamar showed none of them. The man would recover.
"He's looking much better," Gabriel murmured, a smile lighting his features.
Mathilde turned up a lamp, setting it on the rough tabletop, and tucked her shawl under her arms. "Yes, he is," she agreed quietly. "But that doesn't mean I understand why you felt the need to drop by this early to check on him. Especially -"
They both knew what she was about to say.
"I was worried." Gabriel lightly brushed off her worries, and the woman sighed.
"I believe, Mr. Van Helsing," she replied very quietly, "That I owe you an apology."
"Ma'am?" To say he was startled would have been an understatement.
Mathilde stared at Lamar as she softly began to speak, avoiding the hunter's gaze. "My father was a very harsh man, Mr. Van Helsing. I don't know if you knew, but I had an older brother. He ran away, to become a drummer boy in the army during the war between the states. My father was furious, vowed to beat him so hard that he wouldn't sit for a month, as soon as he got home safe again." She took a deep breath, and he could tell that the words were hard for her. She fiddled with the knob on the lamp, raising and lowering the light as she stared into the flame. "I loved Brian. He was my hero, my big brother. When we would hide together under the covers during thunderstorms, he would always tell me that all would come right in the morning, that the sun would shine brighter and the flowers be all the more beautiful for the rain and the noise. He died in his first battle," she said bluntly. "Fredricksburg – and the man who told me spent part of a day and a full night listening to the bullets hit Brian's body while he hid behind it to survive.
"I have never . . . understood violence, Mr. Van Helsing. And since that day, I have never condoned it. Brian's death destroyed my father. Ever after, I never saw him take joy in life, except when he drank and when he hunted. To have lost my husband to a hunting accident – it was almost more than I could bear, for a long time. The pain of it is still with me." Her eyes glistened, and she turned away. "I don't understand what it is that you do," she admitted, a laughing sob in her voice. "And I don't know if I can, but I'm afraid that I took it out on you the last time you were in my home, and I'm sorry for it."
She quickly wiped at her eyes, still facing away from him, and Gabriel spoke in turn. "It is I who should apologize. I didn't know the circumstances surrounding your husband's death – I am still largely unaware of them, truth be told, but asking you in so blunt a fashion was cruel of me, and unworthy of us both. I am truly sorry."
Mathilde's smile was watery, but strong. "It's nothing to be sorry for. Most people are curious, and at least you let me be, not like that Gray! He never stopped asking, no mater how many times I told him to leave." She sighed now, putting aside her tears to concentrate on the present. "But that's enough for now," she finished, muffling a sniffle in a handkerchief. "Suffice it to say, I think we understand one another a bit better, hmm?"
Gabriel nodded, and she banished her pain, looking at him judiciously. "And what happened to you, that has you knocking down my door at all hours of the night?"
"I fell into the ravine," Gabriel responded blandly.
"Of course," Mathilde snorted, giving him a knowing look. "And do you take me for a fool?"
"I'd spare you the details, ma'am," he said carefully, and she nodded briskly.
"Well, then, I think I can live with that. Ben!"
The door swung back immediately, and boy and dog practically spilled from the opening. Gabriel grinned, and Ben grinned back. Mathilde rolled her eyes. "Men," she scoffed gently.
Ned whined a little, wagging his tail and trotting up to Mathilde, to press against her side and gaze up adoringly. She sniffed, then smiled and petted his head.
"Ben, if you could go in the bottom left drawer of my dresser, and bring out some of the breeches and shirts you'll find there?" she requested. "They were Tony's," she said with a determined smile as the boy scooted off to follow her instruction. "I want to save a few, as patterns for Ben when he gets bigger, but the boy seems determined not to grow just yet," she laughed. "But I think you could do with a change of clothes, for now at least."
"Thank you," Gabriel murmured.
Ben brought the clothes out, and Mathilde said, "I'll leave you for now – call me if there's a problem. There should be enough water in the bucket, Ben. I need to check on Tanya."
With that, Mathilde moved to the children's room, shutting the door firmly behind her.
Gabriel pulled off his boots, shrugging out of his jacket with a resigned wince. His sweater was torn in places, through the shirt to skin, soaked and coated in dirt.
"Blimey," Ben muttered as it came off. The black shirt beneath was also soaked, ripped in fewer places than the sweater, luckily, but somehow it had contrived to be covered in dirt as well. It was harder to see, but mud flaked to the floor as Gabriel pulled it off.
Ben sucked in a breath in shock, but Gabriel was pleased to see that it didn't feel as bad as it looked. He pressed gently against a few of the bruises that painted a painful collage over his skin. Most were superficial, though a few tinged with deep pain that hinted of more damage than was apparent. Blue, purple, black and yellowed green – these colors and more played out over his skin.
Left Hand of God he might be, but his mortal incarnation was barely different than the human body, composed of the same strengths and frailties. He was different, in that he would heal easier with fewer marks, in that he was attuned to things beyond mortal understanding, but his physical body was as vulnerable as any other.
"What happened?" Ben asked, and the shock in his voice made Gabriel's head shoot up in concern.
"Nothing much," the hunter shrugged, being carefully nonchalant about his injuries; they really were minor. "I was investigating something in the woods, and there were a few people who thought I should be directing my attention . . . elsewhere. Could you get me some water, please?" Something, anything, to keep the boy distracted. He shouldn't be seeing this, Gabriel knew, and something like guilt assailed him.
He washed down his upper body, wiping away dirt, sweat and a little blood, before asking Ben to fetch him something from upstairs. As soon as the boy turned to go into the loft, he stripped down and washed the few cuts on his side where a boot had sliced open his sweater and shirt, and the bruises on his thighs and legs from the fight. He was dressed in the clean, dark brown breeches when Ben came down, empty-handed and confused, and he reassured the boy that his task had been unimportant.
He fingered the white shirt reluctantly before putting it on, and Ben's wide-eyed gasp when he turned to face the boy was not wholly unexpected.
There were few things that Gabriel did not do. He did not draw attention to himself, and he did not wear white. One thing was closely linked to another. White was symbolic for purity and innocence, but it was also so much more than that. The one color that was every color, the color which encompassed everything, even black, and utterly defied the shadows. White was used to see things clearly, its very nature making it utterly useless for concealment.
It was why Beelzebul had worn white. That creature had flaunted what he was to those with the eyes to see. Beautiful beyond measure, yes, but wholly evil and twisted, fallen and impure; and he terrified the world with his very existence.
It was why Gabriel never wore white, if he could help it. When he did, his true nature was that much harder to hide. White was a color that could not keep a secret, and to protect others as much as himself, Gabriel turned to the shadow and clothed himself in shades of black.
Now, he pulled in the control he had over his true essence, tightening the bonds that held his ultimate nature buried deep within. He must have succeeded, at least a little, because Ben's eyes lost their dazzled, overwhelmed stare. The hunter grimaced. Wearing white was always a revelation – for in the eyes of those who beheld his true nature, he also learned something more about humanity, and about himself. It was an unequivocal reminder of the split between himself and mankind, the gulf that separated him even from the perpetual youth who was now a little brother to him.
"Are you alright?"
Gabriel laughed softly, for they had asked the question at the same time. Ben lapsed into a grin as well, and nodded. Thoughtful blue eyes rested on the hunter, and it was the peace in Gabriel's expression that fully reassured him when the man responded, "I'll be fine in no time, Ben."
The boy accepted that answer, but it was Ned who spoke his next question for him. "Well, what happened out there in the woods, then, matey?"
Gabriel's grin banished solemnity, but only for a moment. He sat down at the table, pulling on his boots as he spoke. "I found something . . . truly terrible in the forest," he replied after thinking for a moment. He locked eyes with Ben, and then said, "It is not something fit for young eyes, and I would rather you didn't see it. Will you promise me, Ben, not to stray from the path or venture into the woods, until Carl, Lamar and I have figured out what is going on? Until we have removed the shadow from the town and woods?" Hazel eyes were pleading, true concern in their warmth.
The boy nodded solemnly, and Gabriel turned to the dog. "Do I have your word as well, Ned?"
The dog's brown eyes were filled with worry. "Of course." Ned stared at the boy for a moment, but the hunter did not listen in, and busied himself with lacing his boots. The clothes fit surprisingly well, if they were just a tad on the small side.
"What now?" Ben asked, as he walked to the closed door of the children's room and knocked, telling Mathilde that she could come out now.
"I'm going to go back to the Pardoes'," the hunter replied calmly. "I'll return your things as soon as possible, ma'am," he nodded to Mathilde. "My thanks for your help."
She shook her head at him, a friendly smile playing about her mouth. "I can respect you, Mr. Van Helsing, despite the fact that I may never understand what it is you do."
His face took on an unaccustomed grimness as the hunter stood and shrugged into his coat. "Thank you. I hope you never have to."
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