Chapter 4
He felt nauseous as eyesight returned to him, and he could feel the blankets that enwrapped him. It was cold, and the only sounds to be heard were soft screeches of the cave inhabitants.
Tristan sat up, praying that what he had last remembered was only some horrible nightmare. But then he saw her.
She entered the cave, her cloak switching from a dull brown to a luscious red instantly.
"Witchcraft" Tristan whispered to himself, his eyes narrowed in disgust.
She smiled at him. "I was hoping you would wake soon."
Immediately he lunged forward, as he had done to his enemies many times before, but she merely opened the palm of her hand. He stopped right before he could reach her, his body unwilling to move.
"What are you!" he shouted, anger rushing within him.
She wavered her arm and his body flew against the wall of the cave, and as she lifted her fingers, so his body too, lifted farther and farther up the wall, his arms outstretched as if he had been bound.
Tilting her head slightly, her dark eyes stared into his. "I am your mother Tristan. What I am about to tell you will be hard to hear, and it may take time to understand. I am an immortal."
He clenched his fists, trying feverishly to unwrangle from her power. "A sorceress?"
For the first time he heard her give a great bellow, echoing throughout the cave. "Hardly. I am the last of an ancient race….of a royal line that stretched back thousands of years. I am neither human nor beast; I am a vampire."
Tristan's eyes widened with both horror and skepticism at these words. Of course he had heard the tales of such creatures…how they preyed on humans, sucked their blood…but it could not be that his own flesh was that of a monster!
He shook his head. "It's not possible. They say vampires cannot survive in daylight."
Again she smirked, pacing back and forth as she eyed him amusingly. "That may be true of many of our brethren. But I am their queen. It would take more than mere sunlight to destroy me."
His breathing was rapid, and never before had he felt such terror rise within. "What have you done to me?"
"You are unique, my son. Born neither fully vampire…nor fully human. Never before in over five hundred years had one of my half breed children survived. But you…I had hoped this day would come. You see, when I gave you my blood to drink, I gave you my power. In you I have created a whole new breed of vampire…and from your offspring you will yield vampires that will be impenetrable to sun and wooden daggers! You are our hope, my son…..my Prince." As she spoke, she bowed before him, a tear sliding down her cheek in pride. Tristan did not know what to say. He didn't know what to think. Could her words be true?
For a few moments neither spoke. Finally, Tristan bit his lip. "I killed an innocent girl. Is this the kind of power you wish me to use?"
She touched his cheek gently. "I don't expect you to take all of this in right away. You have believed yourself to be human for thirty years. One day soon you will realize that humans are nothing but ants…ants that need to squashed in order for our kingdom to rise. It is their destiny to fall."
Tristan felt exhuasted…drained by her words. She sensed this, and with a flick of her wrist, he fell off the wall and unto the ground. Once more he had control over his body. His mother walked over to the entrance of the cave. "I will give you one year to get used to your new self…and consider what I offer you. The chance to rule the world, my son. In one year I will come for you, and together we will unite with our brethren and purge the earth of these foul humans."
"I will never join you…I will never kill like you," he said, barely audible above a whisper. He dared not look at her.
She smirked once more. "You are immortal, Tristan. Sooner or later you must feed, and you will realize how cruel this world is to our kind." Before his eyes, her body began to squish as her color changed, and instantly a raven now flew away, her laughter ringing maliciously in his ear.
Tristan did not leave the murky cave for hours. He sat against the wall, hitting his head occasionally as he let all of his emotions out. He rubbed his face with his hands, praying over and over to make the dream end. He could feel the newfound power within him rise as he let out his anger. After night had fallen he emerged from his hiding, his stomach strangely growling, though his mind did not hunger for food.
Even the dark seemed different. He could see clearer than ever before; his eyes and ears attuned to all of his surroundings. Soon the rain began to fall, first lightly and then angrily, drenching the ground and his body.
"COME BACK HERE!" he shouted as thunder began to sound in the distance. The wind howled as the skies unleashed their fury against the land. "YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME!" The only response came in the form of lightning.
"I WILL FIND YOU, MOTHER! I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN, AND YOU WILL NEVER GET WHAT YOU WANT! YOU HEAR ME! I WILL DEFEAT YOU!"
For four days Tristan fasted in the forest, the kills of game never filling his taste. He could feel himself growing weaker. He hid from the caravans of humans that made there way along the forest paths. Tristan refused to leave the cave, hoping that his mother could return and tell him more.
He tried feeding off the blood of deer and rabbits, but it would not strengthen him. After three weeks his belly writhed with excruciating pain, a sting greater than any wound he had been given in battle. He could barely move. A month had passed, and all he could do was bare the pain. He knew her words to be true, and this not of any nightmare. A thousand questions burned within him. Mother left out something…he thought. Why did she make it seem imperative that he join her? If he did not choose her 'side' so to speak, what would happen? "I will not kill to live, mother. I will not become a monster" he whispered, almost smirking in the thought that he would choose his own destiny.
He gripped his sword in his hand, and closed his eyes, seeing the faces of his fallen brothers in arms. I will see you soon. With one last prayer, he buried the sword deep into his gut. Seeing the blood escape him, he lay, awaiting the death god to claim him. Two days later he still lay in the woods, the wound healed, but the pain beyond bearable. His suicide attempt had not worked, and he could hear her voice laughing in his head. "You are immortal, Tristan. And one day you will join me".
Her voice vanished as he soon heard closer and closer.
"Father! Father! There's a body over here!" a young boy exclaimed. Tristan heard a larger man approach. "Simon, get in the wagon with your sisters."
Tristan titled his head to look at the man, his strength completely gone as he took in harsh breaths.
"By god! Mariam! Get blankets! This man is still alive!" Tristan peered up to see two concerned eyes stare back at him.
Tristan could only remember bits and pieces of the journey southeast. Several small faces curiously looked in on him from time to time. "Almost home", one said to another.
Tristan could no longer understand time, but presumably a few hours later his body was carried from the wagon into a house built of wood. He was placed on the ground near the fireplace, but the warmth could not extinguish his agony.
The man who had rescued him put water to his lips, though Tristan could not taste anything. "Please", he whispered hoarsely. "Leave me be."
The man, unsure of Tristan's reply, went to his wife in another room to discuss their new guest. His vision was blurry, but Tristan could tell three small pairs of eyes were watching close by.
The son, a boy of eight or nine, approached slowly. "Are you going to die?" he asked bluntly. The girl, a few years older than her brother, smacked the boy on the head.
"Shoo with ye. Forgive him, sir…he does not know how to be polite." The sister had long chestnut hair and bright green eyes. She smiled at the strange man before her. The third child, a girl with black hair, hid behind a chair.
"Well he looks like he's going to die" the boy stated, annoyed by his sister's authoritative tone.
Tristan tried to speak once more. "I assure you, death will not take me…" He winced as his belly once more prodded him for blood.
The man and his wife returned, ushering their children away as the wife doused Tristan's forehead with a damp cloth. "Your ice cold to the touch, stranger."
"What is your name?" the father asked. The fire cracked its song behind Tristan.
"Percival" Tristan said, not wishing to give his real name. Instead he had chosen to give the name of a fellow Sarmatian knight that had died years before Arthur had become king.
"You are very ill, Sir Percival. It's a miracle you've clung to life this long, but my wife says she cannot place what illness has befallen you. I'm afraid there is not much we can do."
The pains were rising within Tristan once more, and this time he could not contain his agony. His shouts startled his saviors, and immediately the wife searched to find the source of his cries.
"Please…just leave me be" Tristan pleaded.
The husband and wife looked at each other. "Nonsense. We'll do what we can for you, Percival."
Seeing that they would not leave him, Tristan closed his eyes in weariness. "Then place me away from your children. If my sickness is contagious, I would not want my bad fortune to befall you."
The words worked, and soon the kind couple placed him in the stable, away from the children. "Where am I?" Tristan asked.
"Mordua. West of the Naga Province." I am farther east than I thought, Tristan thought to himself. When the couple left him, Tristan tried to get up, but found it impossible.
Mother was right….he thought. I can't die. This pain is as bad as the Christians make their hell out to be. I must feed, if I don't, I could hurt someone again without realizing it…like Leah…his eyes searched the stable, until they rested on the only horse. Each second seemed to make him more delirious. Mustering up all the strength he could, he crawled over and unlatched the gate that kept the horse locked in. It was gray with white spots, and it neighed. Tristan had always been good with animals, and they had always taken nicely with him.
"I'm sorry" Tristan whispered, and willed his mind to change the length of his teeth. Baring down into the horse's neck, the mare gave out a loud cry, and Tristan drank as much as he could. The horse swaggered and fell to the ground, as Tristan continued to feel the energy inside him grow. The pain was subsiding, and that utterly sinful feeling of joy purged within, making him delirious to everything around him. He drank and drank, even as small footsteps approached, followed by a child's scream.
"Father!" The boy, Simon, had cried, running back into the house. Tristan barely heard it, but saw the man return, pitchfork in hand. Tristan released his fangs from the horse, blood dripping down his chin, his eyes bright yellow.
"It's a monster! Mariam! Gather the children and run!"
The once kind man now lunged at Tristan, and Tristan ducked out of the way.
"Please! I mean you no harm!" he said, as the man swung violently again. Tristan grabbed the pitchfork and smashed it in two. "I did not mean for this.."
"Stay back! I won't let you touch my family!" he said, a slight whimper escaping his mouth.
Tristan raised his hands in defeat, not wanting to hurt anyone. The man looked left and right, and took hold of a nearby horseshoe pick. "Get down on the ground!" he shouted, as Tristan's eyes returned to a normal brown and his teeth shortened. Tristan did as the man was told. Just run away, his mind told him.
Mariam entered the stable, two dogs wrapped in tow, and released them from their chains. Immediately they snarled, rushing toward Tristan like predators. He did the only thing he could do; he clawed out at one, lunging for the other with his legs. They bit at his legs and arms, and Tristan winced in pain. The only way to escape was to kill the dogs, so he clawed again, striking one in the eye as it howled its pain. He dug his fangs into the other, throwing it across the stable as the man and his wife watched in horror.
Something hit his back, and he turned, crushing bones in one powerful clench of his hand. Immediately his hand retracted, as he saw the boy fall limp to the ground. The child, Simon, had silently attacked from behind, and Tristan accidentally snapped his neck with one hand. "No…" Tristan said, not believing his eyes. Flashes of Leah came to his mind, and he could not escape them. The father thrust the horseshoe pick into Tristan's back, part of it protruding from his gut as he heard the howls of a mother as she clutched her dead son. But Tristan was not weakened by this. He extracted the weapon and threw it on the ground. Taking one last look at the couple, he fled from the stables into the fields, terror gripping him once more. Inside he heard her laughter.
"Every man is tested in different ways. Each of us must search the depths of our souls to find the peace that we desire. For some, fate's will is too strong, and they succumb to what they most fear, never reaching tranquility." Percival said as they scouted the northern border for Woads.
Bors spit on the ground. "That's beautiful mate. Poetic. I've got to take a piss…" he mumbled as he left the campfire. Tristan sat against with his back leaned against a tree, as Arthur came and gave him a bowl of hot broth.
"Do you agree with Percy here?" Tristan asked, subconsciously scouting out his left eye at the wood beyond.
Arthur sat down next to him and sighed. "Though I believe God has ultimate control over my destiny, it is man who must choose the way in which he will live his life. It just may not work out as he expected. As to this 'every man is a tortured soul' ideology, I believe we all wish to find hope that something better occurs because of our actions here on earth."
"You and your God" Lancelot said, coming in on the conversation. Tristan had heard Lancelot mutter those words with a smirk many a night with Arthur. He leaned in closer as if revealing some secret. "Find happiness in the bed of a beautiful woman, and leave this doomed spirit horse manure at the foot of the bed as you caress her assets with a large smile on your ugly face." All of them laughed whole heartedly, as Bors returned from his midnight piss.
"You alright there Bors?" Galahad asked, dipping into the pot to pour more broth into his bowl. Bors shot him a look that would make any grown man gulp.
"It's going to be a long night, wenches. I pity the man who has to sleep next to me…the broth isn't sitting well…"
Tristan awoke before dawn, immediately ignoring the dream of past times as a knight. You're on your own now, no use in remembering good times, he thought. Two agonizing weeks had past since his ordeal at the farmer's house. Tristan had made his way into the nearest town and, upon stealing one of the horses, set off eastward, no clear goal in mind.
The screams of the mother replayed over and over in his mind until he felt he would go insane. When he had ridden his horse too hard, he thought it best to strengthen and do away with it. Feeling braver, he entered one of the local towns one night and sat down for a pint at the pub. Looking around, it was almost like people knew he was different. A few kept their hands near their sheathed swords, as if they had smelled trouble with this one.
Even the taste of ale would not help. He clenched his fists to keep from lashing out at the staring onlookers.
One man, around Tristan's age with curly blonde hair was brave enough to approach the loner. Tristan, ever the scout, immediately took notice to the tattoos on the man's neck and around his wrists where the cloth exposed skin. Several piercing protruded from his right ear, and he carried on his belt a single weapon; a small dagger intricately embellished with tracery designs. Tristan could straight away tell this man was from Gaul, perhaps from a northern seaport province by the look of his clothes and hairstyle.
The blonde placed his pint in front of Tristan and sat down without invitation. He was pale, paler than most people from the west. Tristan wondered if possibly he had spent many years a prisoner in some dark enclosure.
"You're not paranoid. They can feel the anger within you." He said mysteriously, gushing down his ale with ease.
"Good to know…if you'll excuse me…" Tristan got up and left the pub, noticing the many stares that followed behind him. A quarter of a mile he walked up the local road near the mountain pass. Picking up a human scent, Tristan unsheathed his sword with lightning speed, but the man behind him was too quick and deflected the blow with his hand, knocking Tristan's prized sword to the ground.
Caught by surprise, the stranger smirked and handed Tristan back his weapon. Bewildered, Tristan took it with his eyebrow raised, awaiting his stalker to speak.
"You're one of us, aren't you? A creature of the night?" he excitedly exclaimed, once more catching Tristan off guard.
"Do I carry a scent or something?" Tristan asked honestly.
"And you've still maintained a humor…interesting…" The Gaul now paced around Tristan, inspecting him silently. "You must have been bitten recently, since I easily deflected your sword."
A bit hurt in his pride, Tristan sighed. "How many of you are there?"
The Gaul smiled. "Us, brother. How many of US are there" he corrected. "In all my travels I have only encountered a dozen or so, though I have heard tales that a secret society of hundreds of us dwell in the high mountains to the north."
"Where darkness out ratios daylight. Fitting. And how did you decipher that I was of your kind? Or were you sent to find me?" Thoughts of his mother flooded his mind.
The stranger guffawed, amused at Tristan's question. "You are young indeed. With time you will come to learn a great many things of our race. I was sent by no one, though that question in itself begs me to want to learn why you asked it. I am Braciaca."
"You are named after the Gaulish god of malt?" Tristan asked.
Braciaca smirked again. "More like intoxication. And believe me, the Gaels wanted to call me something worse, but I settled on this. It has an appeal to the female species" he said calmly, winking at Tristan.
The scout's eyebrows furrowed. "You mean to tell me you're a god?"
"Ha! You are quite the jester, young friend. The villagers at first thought I was a monster, but after a few hundred years I was raised to god-status. Funny people."
This was becoming a bit overwhelming for Tristan. The vampire continued. "Well, now that we know all about me, lets move on to you."
Tristan was about to reply when he heard the sound of a wagon rolling along the trail nearby. "Move" he called, but in turning back to the vampire, he quickly discovered that he was fifty feet south of where he had just stood. Tristan followed, and after the wagon past without seeing them, Tristan continued his interrogation of the vampire.
"How did you do that?"
"I can see this is going to be a long process. First, tell me your name, and we shall begin."
"Tristan." The vampire raised an eyebrow, but did not comment. Instead, they walked the rest of the night, and by morning had found Braciaca's cave; essentially his sanctuary during the day. Along the way Tristan merely stated that one night he had been bit by a vampire and the vampire offered him life, and Tristan took it. The vampire disappeared. Tristan took care not to mention his mother, as he still did not know what Braciaca was up to.
"Ah, home" Braciaca stated as they entered the dark cave as the morning sun crept its way up the sky. "I would offer you a drink, but we both know that doesn't quench anything."
"How do you survive?" Tristan asked bluntly.
Braciaca shrugged. "I feed." Seeing the look of horror on Tristan's face, he sighed. "I too once tried to fight it, long ago. The pain was unbearable. And soon I learned that these humans are merely pawns in a bigger scheme. They will die anyway you look at it, and personally I take comfort in the fact that they are at least dying so that I may have strength, rather than just simply dying from some ghastly disease or man's greed."
"Does it not weigh on your shoulders?" Tristan asked, barely above a whisper, as he looked to the ground.
Braciaca thought for a moment. "You have hurt someone close to you, that much is clear. It is a hard life we lead, believe me. I have endured centuries of it."
"Then how do continue to live it? Why not end it by walking out that cave into the sun? That's how you die, right? Or kill yourself with a wooden stake for that matter?" he shouted, his eyes narrowed.
Braciaca did not respond for a moment. Tristan was getting ready to think Braciaca must enjoy life, but the vampire soon spoke. "Because there is hope. Hope of a leader to come who will save our kind from the depths of these caves, one who will make our race the hunter, not the hunted."
Tristan's mind was racing. "Why do you think that?"
The blonde smiled. "Because of the prophecy."