Chapter 17: Aldrich

The girl's white hand trembled uncontrollably, held uncertainly in the air as if imploring an unseen bystander for rescue. The vampire gently curved his own hand around hers, and held it down against the floor, suppressing its violent quivering. In another moment she would be at peace… forever. The vampire smiled as he watched the light grow dim in her wide blue eyes. Of the seven sisters in this house, she had been the sweetest after all. Complimenting himself for saving her for last, he smoothed her hair away from her lovely face, admiring the last few drops of blood trickling from the wound at her throat.

"He's here!" the frantic cry from outside broke the vampire's reverie, and his head snapped up angrily. He heard the sound of running footsteps and the crackling roosh of torches. Compliments turned to curses in his mind as the vampire realized that he was caught. He could tell just by listening for a few seconds that the house was surrounded. How clever of the humans, to sacrifice the girl as bait… yet his own stupidity had allowed the trap to work. He had been too obvious about his choice of victim. Of course when the other six sisters 'died in their sleep' one by one over the past few months, someone was bound to figure it out.

The vampire's annoyance turned to instant fury as he realized that the girl was dead, and he had missed the beautiful instant of transition.

"Damn," he muttered, quickly wiping his bloody mouth on his sleeve. He picked the girl up and returned her to her bed. For a moment his eyes hovered over her features, and then he glanced up at the crucifix on the wall above her head. He reached up and took the cross off the wall, not minding that it burned his fingers. Ceremoniously he laid the crucifix between the girl's breasts, and folded her limp hands across her chest on top of it. She made such a pretty picture that way. "Goodnight, my dear," he muttered, and leaned down to kiss the dead girl's lips.

The huge black bird that burst through the thatched roof of the cottage didn't make it far before a dozen arrows impaled it. Twisting and flailing in the sky, more arrows piercing it from all angles, the giant raven began an ungainly descent. As a formless black bundle it slammed into the earth, and a slender, two-legged shape rose in its place. Tearing arrows from his torso, the vampire began to run, and the angry mob gave chase. By the time the fleeing creature made it to the edge of the woods, there were four long arrows protruding from his back, and he cried out as another well-aimed arrow went through his knee. Angrily he snapped off the back of the arrow, and drew it out from the front. Limping for a only a few steps, he continued to run, but the humans had seen the delay caused by the arrow, and seconds later the expert archer repeated his shot, skewering the same knee for a second time. As the vampire reached down to remove it, he was shot through the other knee, and then an arrow speared the base of his neck. Paralyzed, he collapsed forward. The arrowheads were all of pure silver. Overcome by pain and rage, he awaited his destruction.

The humans thought it fitting to nail his body to an ancient, stout hawthorn tree right there in the forest, wrapping his arms around the trunk behind him. They were quite generous with their use of long silver nails, and they wrapped garlands of wild roses and wolfsbane around him, tying them tightly around his hands and feet and draping necklaces of the plants around his neck. An old woman arrived with a sack of salt, and for half an hour the humans occupied themselves by throwing it at the vampire, the hawthorn tree, and all over the ground. When all the salt was spilt, the enthusiasm of the crowd waned, and then someone remembered that in order to really defeat the vampire, they would have to find its grave and consecrate its empty coffin before dawn. One worried man asked whether they should cut off the trapped vampire's head first, or cut out his heart, before they went searching for an empty coffin. The others assured him that the impending sunrise would finish the creature, and someone else mentioned that removing the head or heart might allow the evil spirit to escape the body, in which case it would proceed directly back to its grave and survive to seek revenge. After a brief argument, they concluded that leaving the vampire's body trapped yet intact was the proper course of action, and they decided to spend the rest of the waning darkness searching for the creature's coffin.

It was perhaps three hours after sunrise. Unable to move, the vampire had no choice but to endure the relentless assault of the light. He groaned, wishing he would burst into flames, so to end his misery and humiliation. He knew it was useless; he was far too strong. The sunlight hurt him, but it would not destroy him in his present state. If he were to go without nourishment for long enough, he'd burn like any normal vampire. But like this… it would be months before he died. He wondered briefly why the humans hadn't returned to finish him off.

He shut his eyes tightly against the unforgiving sun, painfully aware of every bit of silver invading his flesh and preventing him from healing. His many wounds alternated between aching and stinging. The hallowed hawthorn wood made his back and arms itch and prickle. The aroma of the roses and wolfsbane sickened him, but mixed with it he caught another scent, and opened his eyes to see a small, yellow-haired human child standing in the wood about a hundred yards in front of him. The vampire watched the child with interminable hunger. Even though he had fed less than twelve hours previously, his present discomfort made him crave the reassurance of blood. Solemnly the child approached and the vampire realized it was a little girl about four years old.

"Hello," the child said, stopping about twenty feet away.

"What do you want?" snarled the vampire.

"Are you tied up to that tree?" asked the little girl.

"Yes."

"How come?" the girl blinked at him solemnly. Her cerulean eyes reminded him of the young woman he'd killed the previous night.

"Because I was bad," the vampire sneered.

"oh."

Just looking at her, he wanted nothing more than to drain her life from her tiny, fragile throat. She was so lovely, so irresistibly flawless and petite, like a doll. Mentally the vampire swore to eat nothing but children for the next twenty years, once he managed to escape from his current predicament.

"I like your flowers," the child told him. It amused him that there didn't seem to be the least bit of shyness in the girl, nor the least bit of fear.

"You may take them if you wish," the vampire said, trying not to sound overly hopeful.

"What is your name?" asked the girl.

"Raven," the vampire replied.

"Hraban?" repeated the girl. "That is a bird."

"You're a smart little girl. Now, how would you like to take these flowers…"

"But you're not a bird!" the girl exclaimed.

"What if I could turn into a bird?"

"Well, then you could have that name. But not when you was not turned into one. Will you be my friend?"

The vampire forced himself to hide his nasty sneer. "I'll be your best friend if you like," he said, trying to keep his voice even.

"My best friend died. His name is Aldrich. Can I call you that?"

"Certainly. Call me whatever you want. Anyway, about these pretty flowers--"

"My name is Hannelore," the child said, interrupting him.

The vampire nearly gnashed his teeth at her, but with the briefest flare in his dark red eyes, he stifled his impatience. "What a lovely name," he said. "Tell me… What are you doing out in the woods all by yourself, Hannelore?"

"I like it here," the child answered. "But there's nobody to play with."

"What a pity. I would play with you, if I weren't tied to this tree," the vampire offered. For a moment the little girl stared at him.

"Aldrich, do you think maybe I can untie you?" she asked solemnly, blinking her wide, sky-like eyes.

"That would be wonderful," Raban said, suppressing his excitement at the prospect of freedom. "First of all, take the flowers away."

Obediently the little girl began to pull apart the garlands of wild roses and wolfsbane. She cleared them away from his feet, and then moved behind the tree, to untie his hands.

"Oh no!" she exclaimed in dismay.

"What?" the vampire asked, unable to see whatever it was that had startled her.

"Your hands and arms have got lots of nails in them!" the child replied, distressed.

"Yes, well, never mind that," Raban said, as Hannelore came back around the tree to face him. "Just get rid of those flowers, if you please." She stared up at him, her face troubled. Her expression annoyed the vampire. "What's the matter with you?" he asked, struggling not to sound angry.

"Does they hurt you, Aldrich?" Hannelore asked.

For some reason Raban decided to be honest. "Very much," he told her, sighing.

Then the little girl did something completely unexpected. She took a few steps towards him, looking up at his pale, sharp-featured face. The vampire was taken aback as she held up her thin little arms, and then wrapped them about his legs.

"I'm sorry," she muttered sincerely, hugging his knees. "I'm really sorry for you."

Raban was stunned. For thousands of years, humans had feared, hated, and even occasionally envied him. But none had ever pitied him. The effect was more paralyzing than that of the roses and wolfsbane. He was filled with sudden revulsion, and he desperately wanted to hide from the child and her innocent, overwhelming, excruciating sympathy.

"I wish nobody had did this to you," Hannelore muttered fervently. "If you were bad, they should have just forgived you."

Raban was speechless.

"So how did you get free?"

Aldrich seemed mesmerized by the book in front of him and didn't reply. Sitting on a dusty couch on the other side of the castle library, D repeated his question.

"Did the little girl manage to free you?"

Aldrich looked up. "Oh, yes," he said distractedly.

"And then what happened?" D asked, annoyed that his uncle had stopped in the middle of the story.

"I kidnapped her," Aldrich replied evenly, looking back at his book.

"And then?" D prompted. "Did you kill her?"

Aldrich nodded. "Eventually," he said good-naturedly.

"When did all that happen?"

"Hmm… ninth century. Bavaria… yes, middle of the ninth century." The old vampire closed his book and looked at D coolly. "I told you this story because I want you to learn from it," he said. "Vampires are…conscious of pity. But we ourselves are pitiless. And so it is useless to show mercy to a vampire."

D's face remained expressionless, but Aldrich knew that his words were sinking in. "You have pity and compassion within you," he continued. "You have the ability to show mercy. But as a hunter, you must rid yourself of kindness. Pitying your quarry will have no effect."

For the first time in the three years he'd been living in the cathedral, D smiled. "You might be wrong," he said.

Aldrich tilted his head slightly to one side, curious. "Wrong?"

"Hannelore's pity affected you."

"What makes you think that?"

"Aldrich." Still smiling faintly, D left the library.

A/N: ok… this chapter is one of my favorites, but I bet that nobody else will even understand it! I love the idea of a vampire nailed/tied to a hawthorn tree, with a little girl trying to comfort him. Kind of disturbing isn't it? …anyway, obviously there was some random vampire lore in this chapter. Hraban really is the old German word for raven. Aldrich's history: Basically, he kidnapped Hannelore, let her grow up, and fell in love with her, and it was her love that 'changed' him, (remember that reference in the other chapter? No? oh well.) but of course he still killed her and all her children. Sigh!