Chapter VII: A Shriek in the Distance
The Outskirts of Mørkehule
Time: 10:32 pm
Beneath the ground...
The monsters were running again. Ill-natured beasts with their metal bellies of sulphur. She could feel them in her blood. Awareness rolling back and forth and glinting through the white light flickering on, off, on, off. And yet she could see nothing. She could feel...nothing. Her body lay buried in the rubble, her skeletal form crushed beneath the weight of centuries. Her life-force caught in the throes of hibernation. This vampire of the wolfen clan. Her veins empty and dry…but pulsating. Always pulsating. Beating on the winds of a great storm rising against the long-forgotten moon.
And then she heard it…again.
The voice…
The one who had wakened her three decades ago. Awakened her…but not freed.
"Fluorescent lights flickering on, off, on, off. Blood stains," the voice had whispered urgently through the dry earth. She could hear it now as in the night before. Weak and clawing. The violent creature twisted and mad and twitching above the dark surface…
"Tracks on the ground. Empty birdcage. Straight-back chair by the window ledge. Blood on the marketplace floor…the bloodstained…city. The blood-stained north. Wake, for the wolves are coming…run to the marketplace floor. Line of ants by the hallway. The door stands open. Outside the door stands a man. Between his fingers lies a…g-gun. The trigger goes off. He hits the mirror. Shards of a broken mirror. Wake, for his name is Lucian. Run, for your name is…"
Shhhhh, the voice whispered suddenly.
A shriek in the distance…
…and as if on the edge of sleep, the eyes of two seers watched as the creature…Liam…chose honour above life. Falling upon the sword of the modern age, the wooden slats of his prison jutting from his chest. The dark blood trickling from pale lips as he dropped onto earth, allowing the strength of his forefathers to falter. Watching the pitch-black heavens as he fell further into his death, the youthful body crumpled against the stones of a forgotten well. His blood spreading beneath the weeds…and along the festering wood. Below the disintegrating walls and the frozen steps of an unmarked tomb.
Will you take it? Softly now, the voice whispered. And then again. Will you take it? the voice demanded, the words cold and harsh. Louder. Leaning against the cradle of her worn bateaux.
Since the night before, the voice had demanded her answer...
A choice then, thought the creature with some amusement. To sleep under this well. To sleep under the weight of time. This avalanche of mud and stones blanketing these shattered bones of yore. The rust of this armour. The shame of this sword broken beneath the rock of treachery…
Or…
'Yes', she answered in reply. Twenty hours from the time of question, the creature finally gave her answer. 'I will take it.'
Then wake, hissed the mariner's voice suddenly. Wake beyond your slumbering conscience. And run…
…for your name is Áris.
Abruptly, as if no time had passed, the eyes opened.
Black.
Burning.
Áris…
Gaunt lips …dry and hissing as foreign blood swept through her body, forcing its way past dry rivers of silver growing upon her flesh…swelling. Fighting. Urging her spine to arch as she fought against fire trying to eat her consciousness. The dark liquid of flames. The dark blood of a…
…lycan.
The change of breath.
Áris.
Her name was…Áris.
And far away…as if in another time, the mariner's voice shrieked her name. The word growing stronger…louder…until it screamed through the night. Over and over, the mantra which wrapped so simply round a warped intellect. Wrapped in fury and yet, snickering with the answer as it spoke. Laughing as it hissed her name. Hissed the name of the creature whose veins lay trapped in the blood-soaked city to the North.
Slamming her fist against stone, the creature abruptly broke through the old floor, dragging her rusted armour behind as the first throes of Change came over her. Blue-veined and broken in her form. The hair clinging to her withered skull as she began to heal. Bones cracking and twisting, her body withering towards the ground…the skin of her back tearing as the sinew knit upon itself. Pale and hoarse in her beauty…a creature of darkness faltering beneath the weight of newly-formed wings. This horror of the night...
…this last sight of Liam, son of Tadgh.
In seconds, the Change was complete...and still wrapped in her nakedness, the pale creature of darkness kneeled before her voyeur's still-seeing eyes. The dark hair of a maiden, the light of a wolf reflected in her fertile gaze. Around her, the scent of foreign seas untouched by man, waves crashing against the coast. The dried nectar of aconitum hanging around her neck.
"Fíat iustitia et pereat mundus," she whispered, her voice soft and soothing as she placed her Latin hand heavily upon his dust-covered brow. Spontaneously dragging him closer into her arms and cradling his dying form. Let justice be done, even should the world perish…
"Nu-no," he said, the voice drowning in the stale waters of death...his body weakly struggling in her arms…blinking harshly even as the blood ran from his lips. Blood. Warm blood…still pulsating. "Y-you will…p-perish."
"...and the world with me," she answered calmly, her cold voice poised on the edge as she mimicked his tongue. Wrapping her lips around a foreign language for the first time in over a thousand years. Without waiting for a reply, she abruptly cracked his spine between her fingernails…
…and began to feed.
Not just the blood…
…or the flesh.
All of it.
…o…
Four minutes later…
Above, the wardens of Liam's prison approached the covered well, drawn by the sounds, but unwilling to believe their charge still lived. Months he had lain down there, tortured and broken…throwing back food and slurs. Unwilling to give up his secrets in the face of a species trying to exterminate his people. A lone lycan captured…and run from his bunker prison into the ground. Left to rot in the icy well for the sake of sport.
But Liam was to be avenged…
Peering towards the covered well, guns and silver at the ready, his captors looked for their prisoner…and instead of finding death below…the sound of wind shot past their ears. The scent of their own mortality hanging on the fetid breath of a goddess. The silence ensuing as their bodies slammed against massive oak trees and dropped for the dogs of rot to feed on. The blood wrenched from their veins as the monster unfurled her wings, throwing the heavy stone aside and stepping from the icy border. Stretching her limbs on the frozen edges of the old well…her gaze locked upon the storm-ridden sky.
Breathing deeply of the night air, she suddenly scrunched her nose…
The scent of fear…
…and turned her gaze towards the snow-covered bushes.
Catching the last guard in her claws as he tried to run from his hiding place, the monster forced his head back and drew the vampire closer to her lips, turning his head at the last minute so her breath might touch the edge of his ear…
"What is a…
…track?" she asked softly, the bones of Liam still crunching between her teeth as she dropped her rusty armour to the icy grounds. The vampire clutched between her claws spewing his secrets as if born to the object of cowardice. He had no visions of grandeur. No sudden loyalties keeping him from truth. All he dared hope was that he might survive this nightmare. But within a minute, he was dead. His head folded neatly to the side as she inspected his clothing. His strange attire. The metal of his…
…gun?
Indeed…the visuals were long in coming. Confusing…strange...
…but the words stayed true.
She must find these…tracks…that the voice spoke of. Metal beasts on their tracks of iron. She must journey through the blood-soaked city. The blood-stained north. Fluorescent…lights flickering on, off, on, off…
Allowing the wings to fold back into her body, she painstakingly began to strip the dead vampire of his clothing. His tunic and breeches. The…trenchcoat. The…watch. Holsters. Knives. Everything left in the snow so it would not be soiled by the blood of those around her. The blood of those who defied her with silver. All of them gone now. Quietly, she retrieved the snow-covered pile, ignoring the sound of weeping, only staring at those who cried out to her for mercy. As the memory of new words and substances began to sweep upon her conscience, she dressed herself carefully in the abandoned darkness of the old complex, stepping clear of the blood. It was time she left this place. Time she left her tomb for the sake of a gift. For the sake of the corpses who would be found…
…but not only by vampires.
The voice had been clear about that…
She must run…
…for the wolves were coming.
Her wolves…
Her veins once empty and dry…and now pulsating. Always pulsating. Beating on the winds of a dark storm rising against the long-forgotten moon. Already, she could feel them coming. She could sense them. Wolves. Thoughtless creatures whose blood she…coveted. A change of breath as she leaped into the forest and began loping along pathways long altered since the dawn of the last millenium. Her talons wrapped around a broken sword raised from the tomb below. Her iron armour abandoned to the ground and melding with the blood of vampires.
Áris, she thought with a cruel glint of teeth.
My name is Áris...
A/N: Not really much to say in general except "Please read and review..." and "I hope everyone likes the new chapter."
Jen Rock: A huge thank you for the last review! (I'm very glad you liked the little General. She's a favourite.)
ChristianRockStar: Glad you love the story so far, and I hope it continues to grab your attention. (It felt wonderful to know you couldn't stop reading!) Anyway, thanks for the lovely review...
Additional References for Semi-Extreme History Buffs:
aconitum - also known as monkshood or wolfsbane. About 250 species. Poisonous (do not eat, even in dried form.)
Tadgh - pronounced Teeg. (Irish origin)
"fiat iustitia et pereat mundus" - "Let justice be done, even should the world perish." (Latin phrase currently attributed to Ferdinand I.)
The only problem with me using the phrase is that it can only be dated as far back as the early to mid 16th century. Now before you history buffs start yelling "...but if she's been sleeping for x number of years, then how can she use a Latin phrase from only y number of years ago...", I'd like you to listen first. It turns out old Ferdie (Ferdinand...Holy Roman Emperor...pick your poison) was also using another similar "Let justice be done, even should..." phrase that can actually be attributed to Piso who lived around 58 BC. (Can you smell Wikipedia yet?) Therefore...I'd like you to assume that Ferdinand was influenced or using past phrases that could, in theory, be as old as Áris.