Chapter XI: The Well of Ash
The Outskirts of Mørkehule
Time: 12:51 pm
The frozen air of winter ought to have weakened the scent in time, yet the path could have been covered in entrails as far as they were concerned. The two lycans kept to the trees, sniffing their way and loping swiftly between thick groves. Silent and deadly as they assumed the unspoken commands of the hunt. For it was not just blood they smelled…the river, as Lucian so bluntly suggested. It was the meat drawing them on as much as the liquid itself. The crux of the matter. The question of why meat-scent was drifting from a vampire complex…vampires did not eat meat. They were clean creatures, disposing of their meals as quickly as they bit into their necks.
The stench growing as they approached the grounds…
Eventually coming to a clearing where…
Lucian stumbled abruptly, unable to mask the cold grip of pain breaking his stride. Twisting on his feet, he turned the stumble into a crouch, biting off an oath as he stared between snow and spruce at the clearing beyond the well. Magnus whispering something behind him…an unconscious prayer, it seemed. Whispers of gods and mercy.
Perhaps…but not for this.
Ash coated the snow. The bodies themselves all burned into life-size effigies of dust…he hated them. Hated the vampires, but…cruel was the word for it. Carnage. There were women among the bodies. Every single one of them torn in half. No battle…and no glory to be had from what had been done. The ash itself frozen to the ground…in parts…pieces of vampire flesh. Some had been dead when they began to burn, but others...others had been dragged forward and staked onto the ground. Staked for the coming sun. If he touched one of them…
Even the smell…a wonder he hadn't sensed it right away…but it had been years. Centuries. The ash frozen to the ground, but the odour…distinctive.
He wanted to retch.
Rotting cadavers…sewage…the most revolting smells in the city could pass by his nostrils without trouble…and yet it was ash that made him retch. Charcoal. And ash. He hated the scent of ash.
The well had been destroyed. The stone cover lying on its side, broken in half as if flung…or hurled was more like it. An explosion had shattered portions of the stone wall, save where larger pieces had been ripped off by ulterior means. For eight long minutes, they crouched in their hiding place…so close…keeping still and watching for signs of movement. Signs of life. Both lycans holding drawn weaponry suited to the current terrain. A hunting rifle taken from Magnus' back, while Lucian made do with his preferred shotgun…a testament that "bird-hunting" could be used as a respectable reason for having enough ammunition for an army stashed on his back.
But the scent that had drawn them lay further back…
He could see it from beyond the thicket...
A metallic building squared off and bound behind chain-link fences beyond the well. The door ripped off by its hinges. Icy white snow counter-balancing the shadowed entrance like a dark orifice calling them to draw nearer…nearer…so it might share its secrets. Every available window smashed…the shutters turned into splinters. The scent of…death. The shadows of the building…perhaps the cellar…keeping alive a scent that could only emit from darkness…
…the only place in this area where vampiric blood could remain spilled in the light of day.
It was from there that the smell came.
Keeping to what shadows there were, the two lycans began stalking guardedly into the clearing. As they passed one of the bodies, Magnus put a finger down to touch…a female by the look of it…slim…her body ripped in half. What little trace of her features captured by the sun even as it burned her hair off…her eyes haunting them with a vengeance as he searched for any signs of returning life. He avoided the woman's blank stare. God…let her disintegrate. But his companion only tapped the body, showing how the ash had become as hard as ice-covered stone. Shrugging, Lucian stared coldly at him before nodding towards the well.
Side by side, they approached it, walking in silence and wary that what had killed the vampires might still be lurking in the ground beneath. Even the birds had abandoned this place. No hum or clatter except for the crunch of snow beneath their feet…exceedingly noticeable in the piercing silence. A dangerous silence. A fair distance from the shattered stones, they halted…eyeing the well carefully before Lucian, stepping to the edge, picked up a rock and lobbed it into the crevice, listening intensely as it hit dirt. The well itself, a hole about six feet in diameter. Two more rocks…and then crouching, he reached for the flashlight fastened to the left side of his backpack. A second smell coming from down below. Like meat, but…
…familiar.
With no explanation, Lucian quietly signalled Magnus to check the perimeter, ignoring the look of confusion. He waited until the man had stalked at least twelve feet away before peering into the well. Enough space to run, he thought resignedly. Aiming light against the sides, he slowly turned the flashlight, panning left and right…making sure to hit all angles of the broken-down inner well. Leaving no facet unlit for the chance that what had murdered those vampires might still be clinging to these walls. His shotgun rested easily in his right hand, his finger stone-still on the trigger, all the while his thoughts keeping him company through the silence...
It ought to have been him who killed those vampires. His lycans. His faction. Cold and clean…a shot to the head. This entire episode only pointed to another creature not under his influence. Not a comfortable place to be in. Raze would undoubtedly think he ought to thank whatever had performed this carnage…as horrific as that sounded. Whatever creature…whether vampire…lycan…or…
The flashlight hit the bottom.
…not human.
"God," he whispered.
Abruptly, he saw Magnus backing rapidly towards the well, his rifle still aimed at the forest, his scent growing increasingly agitated. Eyes turning to slits, Lucian turned the flashlight off, ducking to the side of the broken well and waving the soldier back to his post. Keep your eyes on your task, he inwardly hissed...but the unspoken order went unnoticed. Ignoring everything he'd been taught in the past five hundred years, Magnus was already peering into the black, circling the well with his rifle as he tried to see what lay at the bottom. Idiot. The man's nightvision was about to kick in during daylight. Fine for looking in a well, but what about the split-second when you're attacked from behind?
"Magnus," Lucian quickly hissed, getting the man to look up. The man was spooked, but at least his eyes were clear. Pointing two fingers to the sun, he tossed the flashlight over to him and rose from his side of the well, shotgun in hand and keeping his eye on the periphery. The last thing anyone needed to see was...that...before investigating a situation, but while Magnus looked, he would take care of the surround. Whatever had done this, it could still be out there. Yet in the back of his head, he was aware that the true danger lay on a larger scale. Something dreadfully wrong about what lay below. The image continuing to play itself through his mind, a broken record...
Liam had been...consumed.
Pieces of him snapped and swallowed. Bones lying cracked and wasted where portions of his spine mingled with half-eaten lungs and intestines. Half his skull crushed, the brain sucked out. Parts of him entirely unrecognizable while the rest…like the shell of a mangled doll lying with its stuffing twisted about the form. Hardly any blood left for a smell to emit, but…whatever he had expected from this sojourn…it was not this.
Behind him, he heard Magnus whine softly, almost a moan, the scent of fear creeping through his breath. Their eyes met and immediately, Lucian nodded, turning his head coldly from the man's face and back to the surround. Better he let the man master himself now, so it wouldn't be an issue later. At the affirmative, the other lycan crouched against what little remained of the broken well. Rifle clutched between tense knuckles…white from the pressure of gripping his gun. Counting in his head, Lucian moved away and continued watching the trees, slowly circling and sniffing the air. The scent of fear was slowly being replaced by resignation, and now…anger…
But it had to be asked...
"Magnus," Lucian said quietly, watching the man's face carefully from the corner of his eye. The man hadn't moved. "Did you order this?"
The man shook his head.
"No."
A rough whisper barely perceptible in the silence, but Lucian nodded, accepting the answer. Little wonder the vampires used it as a prison when lycans spent their days telling horror stories of the old well. Magnus should have moved past this by now. Speaking of moving...
Quietly stepping from the well's edge, Lucian began to follow a pair of tracks littered upon the ground. Smudged, but essentially human...barefoot. This was their culprit. Though he didn't think it possible, this creature might even be older than himself based on the strength needed to shatter that well. Perhaps a fellow lycan prisoner gone berserk...or rabid. It had kept its human form during the killing. Sporadic footing…as if the creature couldn't make up its mind whether to walk, run or…
The tracks stopped.
His eyes widened and raising his head, turning one way and the other, he frowned at the building before them…over forty feet away…an untouched distance of forty feet. The ground was clear, the running steps of others fleeing whatever chased them...and the fencing dented along one end. The rusty mesh torn and crushed, framing the area where the creature had landed after leaping a forty-foot distance. The tracks continued further along past the fencing.
Leaping or...
No, he thought stubbornly…
There is no explanation for a leap of that distance.
None.
Swiftly motioning Magnus to get up, he glanced at his watch for the first time since they'd approached the old well. Two hours of daylight left. They would have to leave the body in its final resting place…pray that Liam's soul would forgive them. Putting a hand on Magnus' shoulder, he turned towards the metallic building. Sprinting across the grounds, thoughts racing ahead of him, slipping past the fence. Magnus two steps behind as they reached the door…
Liam, captured in Budapest…transported to Norway…the blood fresh. Death occurring last night…perhaps even this morning…and the lycan master on his way to Trondheim to stumble upon a carcass. She had given them both visions of finding Corvinus' heir…so why did one of them lie dead at the bottom of the well?
There were pieces missing here…
Silently, they stepped across the broken threshold...
The fruitful scent of blood and gore wafted from down below, the main floor deserted in a hurry. Every gun had been thrown into a corner, the metal twisted, silver bullets strewn haphazardly around. Shots fired through the walls. At the last, the vampires had tried to bolt themselves in the cellar, but the heavy door had been forced open. Stepping over the twisted door, Lucian slowly entered the cellar, allowing the small flashlight in his hand to tell the rest of the story. A few empty wine racks along the side of the small room. Some old armour abandoned on the floor. Stones spattered with blood and a small pool collecting where the floor dipped. Around four dozen bodies stacked neatly by the walls. Maybe more…maybe less. It was hard to tell by this point...
The assailant had managed to create a veritable vision of order and sensibility with his handiwork. After forcing the cellar door open, he trapped them in a corner...and one by one, dissected them. Arms with arms. Legs with legs. Torsos...heads…feet…every piece ripped apart and placed in its own pile. Women on the right…men on the left...
Behind him, almost immediately, Magnus started to retch, but eyes narrowing before a single drop could fall, Lucian caught the man's throat in his hand, forcing him upright. Keeping them both back from the walls, and making sure their presence remained unnoticed. The sound of choking, but he tightened his grip, knowing Magnus would thank him in the end. Eight seconds. The man could still breathe. Only when he heard swallowing did he finally release him, clapping him on the back by way of an apology. The sight could turn anyone's stomach, but unknown lycan cells spewed across the floor was not a good idea. In theory, they could burn the entire place down before the vampires decided to pin this on lycans......but no time to burn the evidence.
No fuel for that matter…
Feeling a bit sick himself…finally…he turned to Magnus."No more blood-wine then?"
The man shook his head.
"Good," Lucian muttered, taking the steps four at a time as they climbed the stairs, anxious to meet the fresh air above. No time to dally in this graveyard. At least one of those souls had probably radioed for assistance during the night. That they had used silver pointed to his theory that this creature was lycan in origin. The Mørkehule vampires would be approaching in a few hours, and their top priority would be tracking and hunting an escaped lycan. In other circumstance, he might have aided the creature...but once you ate your own kind, you were packless. Rabid as a lycan, psychotic in human form. An untamed creature...
He exhaled softly in regret. Pity about the lack of fuel…
Above ground and keeping their guns in easy grasp, they headed for the nearest exit from the clearing. "The train-tracks," Magnus grunted inaudibly…plainly still shaken from the dissection below. "Quickest way…leads right to the city."
Lucian nodded, gesturing him to lead on as he shouldered his pack…trying to make himself aware that regardless of how savage their species reportedly was, centuries of fighting still could not alter the disturbing effect of forty-eight dissected bodies organized into piles. They might as well have been alphabetized.
The most important thing now was to focus and put as much distance as possible between themselves and the massacre. They had a target waiting for them in the city. They had to be careful where they stepped. Though the vampires would be hunting lycan, their scent and any trace of their presence should be lost in the nighttime commotion. The assailant would likely go further into the wild, its hunger and madness sated for the time being...
Quickly leaving the scene behind, the two lycans again adopted the mode of the hunt…
Swift…silent…
…and troubled as they realized the creature's blood-scent was still following them…or rather, they were following it. A pair of tracks from the old well led in the exact direction they were planning to go. Similar agendas, Lucian considered bitterly…still brooding over the hows and whys of the strange scene behind them. Something to do with Liam…and himself. And…this rabid creature. It seemed to have taken a strange, horrific liking to their path, its tracks leaping about them like a bright silver line daring them to find a more time-consuming way through the forest. As if the creature wanted to be found.
Half an hour later, they stumbled upon the first pieces of human carcass, long since desecrated by a passing train. A torso...perhaps what used to be a leg. Tattered cloth of the same origin as the massacred vampires. Perhaps a human retainer kept on sight for daylight emergencies. The man was probably regretting his decision to keep company with the undead. No hint of fur on the ground...only blood. A certain tinge to the scent, familiar and yet distant, a putrid smell which characterized this creature as itself.
Something off...
Again, Lucian sniffed the air, aware that he was missing something in that putrid smell. Something seemingly insignificant and yet...vital. A small itch crawling between his shoulder-blades. The scent of a trap closing around them. Grunting at Magnus, he nodded towards the track, already loping forward as his mind began working on the puzzle. Hand reaching behind his pack to make sure his knives were handy. Whatever it was, by the previous kill, it kept order in its execution. Killed without sympathy. Hunger was no longer an issue based on the carnage behind them. And it had no qualms about killing lycans, vampires, or humans.
Another mile down, they found the first marker, his suspicions confirmed. Too neat. Too orderly. The creature had even fashioned a little mound just to be sure it would be seen, the dirt bloodied, shaped quickly but carefully beside the track. Most of the flesh had been removed, the fingernail chipped around the edges. Little wonder some passing animal hadn't snatched it up, but even nature found it too strange for a dismembered finger to be used as an arrow. The creature was thinking ahead. Lost in thought and idly scratching the back of his neck, Lucian began to circle the mound, vaguely aware that Magnus was talking. Without looking, he nodded, unwilling to speak his opinion. True...the marker could have been left for the vampires. Yet the blood-scent was already so strong, so putrid...obviously leading them towards the city. A creature so orderly in its actions could see no reason for flogging a dead horse when its entire sordid mess already pointed to Trondheim. It might as well have written "this way" in the dirt.
This way?
Abruptly, he turned to look down the track. The far-off city in the distance, warm lights starting to emerge as they approached dusk. Smoke rising from houses filled with life. On his right, a tiny mound with a finger on top. Blood-scent all around. Overpowering scent. Rank. Putrid...
...and something else.
Something that did not fit.
This way, he repeated, quietly in thought, drawing closer to the mound and sniffing. Distantly aware of Magnus moving on, the sound of gravel crunching and steps growing softer. He ignored everything but the scent, inhaling even closer, breathing deeply through all the smells that surrounded him. Blood. Dirt. Rust. Steel. Rankness. Magnus was calling his name. He opened his eyes. Reaching beneath his pack, he retrieved one of the knives stored at his side. Not the combat-knife, but the switchblade. Flipping it open, Lucian speared the finger and brought it closer to his nose. Turning it...eyeing it. Dried blood, flesh, gore, and bone. Not the finger. He sniffed it once more and then flung it aside. Something deeper. Using the same blade, he began to sift the soil carefully. Moving deeper into the ground beneath the mound, the stainless steel digging through blood, churning mud and drawing out the source. A hollow stem cut in pieces so the yellow liquid oozed from the centre. The cluster of flowers dead and gone in the midst of winter. He inhaled deeply, finally smelling the rank scent of carrots and mice that followed this creature. Genus cicuta virosa. Water hemlock.
"Lucian," Magnus hissed from behind. Very grim. "You smile at poison."
Surprised, Lucian looked up, raising an eyebrow in question. Was he smiling? Perhaps he was... Yet he was on the verge of understanding. The more he breathed, the more he could almost smell it. Shaking his head, he abruptly stood up and flung the plant to the wayside, stabbing his knife-blade into the snow. Forget the hemlock. Any undead fool under the night can track hemlock. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled forcefully, trying to clear his nose. Motioning Magnus to step back and inhaling the spot where the creature had stopped to create its mound and marker. Too much blood at the complex and by the carcass...but here. Only a finger. Misguiding ruse, the putrid smell masked the air. The vampires would follow the hemlock and fancy themselves blood-hounds. But deeper, drifting on the wind, the creature must have known this one smell would betray it and yet, it would not leave it behind. A keepsake...or a lure.
And suddenly, there it was...
...the heavy scent.
Barely there, the cutting so old, he had not even smelled it until now.
Nectar of aconitum.
Genus aconitum lycotonum, also known as monkshood or wolfsbane. Poisonous to any creature walking the earth, yet associated with killing wolves. Hardly surprising to a novice of lycan history, yet as masters, vampires had given up carrying the plant when they realized lycans could track the scent. Not so easy to poison someone when they could smell where you were and what you were carrying. On the reverse side, wolfsbane was an easy lure for anyone who hunted lycans. And this scent was faint. An old cutting.
One that vampires would not smell...
Bloods, that was an old trick.
Feeling a strange rumble in the back of his throat, Lucian abruptly began to laugh, the rolling peals loud and harsh, echoing through the forest. How long it had taken him, yet he should have noticed it before. The smell too faint. Too impossible. This was no blood-hunt...this was a lure. The creature was leading both parties behind it.
Hemlock for vampires. Aconitum for lycans. The first plant was strong enough that the vampires would follow it, incensed from the massacre and believing the creature was egging them on. The aconitum was faint enough that only lycans could smell it. The creature assumed they would follow, intent on tracking down Liam's killer. The vampire massacre became a side-step, and Liam's murder, an action of bait. The final blow would only occur later in the game.
At some point, the trails would diverge. The blood-scented hemlock would go one way, and the scent most veiled would go another. Both parties would hasten after each scent, believing they were on the creature's tail...but as the lycans trained in on the aconitum, they would be ambushed from another direction. The creature would smell of neither blood, aconitum nor hemlock. It was essentially masking its scent, three times over. For all he knew, it could smell of roses...
...but it definitely was tracking lycans, not vampires.
It knew they were coming.
His nails grew into talons and striding over to the track, he seized the frozen hemlock, his laughter dying so quickly it was as if it had never been. Carefully placing the stem in his backpack, Lucian swiped his knife clean from the ground and returned it to his belt, not even bothering to explain to Magnus. He squinted at the setting sun and then stood, turning back to the road. His mind working swiftly, his nose following the tracks once more, the single name on his tongue having taken the guise of a curse...
Nightrunner…
She had sent him into a trap.
"That creature is hunting us," he hissed at Magnus, words punctuated by a snarl as he began to run faster, already in sight of the next marker lying further down the track.
Growling, his subordinate picked up his pace, keeping in line, cold breaths shooting from his tongue. His fear was gone...instead anger, the scent of aggression sky-rocketing.
"Those vampires will hunt us if you don't drop that plant," the man grunted.
"I know," Lucian replied curtly, glaring at the marker from afar. An eye this time. Blue like the sky. Placed on another mound for their viewing pleasure. The creature had a keen wit. They could watch it as it watched them...
The other man halted in mid-stride. "You know?"
Feeling sharp eyes on the back of his head, Lucian slowed to a stop and turned, disgruntedly staring back at the other lycan. Without checking his stance, he stalked forward, balancing his feet on the train tracks and crouching down to where the blue-eyed marker sat. Always more questions. Everytime he spoke...Lucian, how can it be? Lucian, tell us more! A two-word answer should suffice, and yet...
"I know it thinks to take us before the vampires," he murmured quietly to Magnus. Finding his combat-knife, he roughly stabbed the eye and flung it aside, digging up the water hemlock and once again, carefully placing it in his pack, smoothing the earth and snow so the mound was gone. Calmly, he wiped his blade on the snow, his voice cold and harsh... "...but it has misjudged. It has forgotten that, like it, we also fight with strategy. The fork in the road will come, leading both parties one way or the other..." He gestured with his knife, right and then left. He pointed to his pack. "Thanks to its use of hemlock, the creature will think the vampires are lost, following the wrong scent...when in truth, they will be on our tail. When the time comes to strike, we will vanish, Magnus. The vampires will kill the creature, and we will be done with this massacre." He stabbed his blade into its holder. "Now should I repeat myself or is that not the same as 'I know'?"
Magnus punched his fist against his palm. "Lucian, have you not listened to a word I've said? It is a norn from Urðar-brunnr, it ate Liam, and it massacred those vampires. It came from the well, for bloods' sake! Norn in front, vampires behind...at least if we let it be, we might survive. The vampires will go their way, we will go ours."
Norn?
Lucian scowled, rapidly losing his patience for a language he could not understand. Magnus was specifically not bothering to translate...and by the man's beastly glare, he wasn't about to ask. They were spooked enough as it was without having to discuss nonsense. Barking softly, he gestured with two fingers and began loping forward again, signalling Magnus to keep up and hunt. They had wasted enough time already...
Breathing with every fourth stride...
Eyes on the track...
...but his mind kept working on the word.
It sounded so familiar. Norn...like the name of a foreign language. Norn, norn, norn...
For once, he couldn't dredge it up from the vast lake of knowledge that represented his ego.
But he wasn't going to ask. He didn't need to ask.
He was Lucian, keeper of the...
"Magnus," he grunted crossly, the curiousity finally overtaking him. "...remind me of the word norn?"
Magnus spat to his left and sped up so they were side by side. "I've told you before, Lucian, there's a reason northern wolves don't go near the well...Urðar-brunnr is the well. Norns guard it. They are shaped like women...demon-fighting goddesses."
"You mean a succubus?" he offered viciously between breaths, knowing his disdain was becoming sorely apparent. A shame to insult the man's beliefs, but he would not have fear jeopardizing this mission. No wonder the man had lost his courage. "Come, Magnus, you are not afraid of a wives' tale? You know this creature is lycan. Perhaps a woman finely-shaped, but surely not a goddess."
"Not a wives' tales either." The man growled sharply. "Scryers of fate, I tell you, it's a demon that lay buried under there."
"Then we will hunt a demon," Lucian snapped in return, weary of Magnus' superstition and speeding up even further, signalling there would be no more talk of norns and scryers of fate. Stories were stories. This creature planned its actions, it had tracks. The vampire had even used silver against it, and he was certain this was a species of virus, not some mythological creature flying up from a well. Magnus was being a fool. Anything with tracks could be hunted. In less than an hour, dusk would fall, and the night would become their enemy. Soon there would be no choice but to keep moving. Fate grant him, the Nightrunner had not lied about their mortal target as well, or at this rate, he would be hunting her skin when he returned to Hamburg.
Not if he returned...
When.
A/N: Hope the newest two chapters will satisfy some curiousity. (I was hoping we might have reached Trondheim already, but Lucian and Magnus are still brooding over not being in charge of their own destinies. Perhaps more Lucian than Magnus. At least, Áris is acting much more sensible these days. A bit bloodthirsty, but she keeps herself in order. Nightrunner just lies there plotting. Get up, woman, get up!) Anyway, thanks to Lauren and Mimyr for reviews! To all past and new readership, please feel free to read and review.