Chapter 18: Black Water
North Sea, HMS Eagle, September21st, 2016
Flames cast their red, flickering light in the sky. They breathed hot in her face, clawing, tearing, biting at the metal of the ship. The command structure was burning, crumbling to pieces in front of her eyes. The deck was ripped to shreds, the SR-71 sticking out of it like a huge cross, pointing out every last fault of her long life. The gates of hell were open, casting their flames into the world. It was waiting for her. The Major had been right all along.
In the end, Zamiel was coming to get her.
Rip had run for so long, had avoided him so often. In her native city of Frankfurt, in Paris, in Poland, on the way to South America, when the war was lost for the German Reich. The doctor had turned her into a vampire and her nightmares had stopped. For seventy years, she thought she had been safe. But safety was an illusion and the devil was patient. Nobody could run forever. Not even a vampire. Her companions were burning, ripped to shreds, abandoning her. Maybe they would find the peace they were craving.
Zamiel appeared. The devil of the hunt. Rip van Winkle was not really surprised to see her doom was a woman. Figures had no meaning to the eternal. She had known for a while, ever since the Major decided it was time. And despite her will to fight for her family, her battalion, her insides had shivered. Brazil had been good to them, she had seen a lot, and met many she liked and missed now. But that was how the world spun. And her world was about to crumble.
The tall figure in the long coat stepped out of the flames, unscorched, unhurried, majestic. Rip could only stare up at the beautiful, pale face with the cruel eyes, her musket lying uselessly over her shoulder. The weapon of Samiel would not help her anymore.
She could hear the Major, so many years ago, when she was just a young girl that had been taken in by the Millennium project, eager to serve her country, easy to impress.
"A magnificent ability, lieutenant. No doubt the magic bullets of the legendary demonic hunter. Der Freischütz, ja? Certainly this is the devil's own deed. But it vould be best you kept something in mind, lieutenant."
Zamiel was coming toward her, illuminated by the wreckage of the aircraft behind her. The huntress loved flying, always had. Flying and hunting. Those were her passions and talents, she had brought to Millennium, to escape her own meaningless life at home.
"Do you know the finale of Der Freischütz, my dear Rita? At the end of the opera, Caspar is taken to hell by the hunter demon king Samiel, whom he had dallied with. Then Caspar's corpse is cast into the wolf's glen. For if thou presumeth to flirt with spirits, thou shalt join them. Take heed, lieutenant."
Zamiel was reaching for her. Soon, she would take the huntress to the flames of hell, to her worst nightmares and endless agony. She had thought she had fled him, had escaped, so many years ago. But of course this had been just a happy illusion. She could hear the smirk in the Major's voice. "Samiel just may appear before you too."
Rip tried to scramble backwards, away from the figure with the glowing red eyes, her doom. She couldn't. She was frozen in place, only able to whimper. Zamiel's hand reached for her face.
Then blood splattered from Zamiel's head. She was ripped around when more bullets tore through her body.
"Lieutenant!" That was the voice of her second-in-command, her old friend Joachim Drews, her loyal men. Rip was crying, but now all she felt was relief and gratefulness. She hastily scrambled away when her men began to fire at the shredded figure. Bullets pierced the air.
"Panzerfaust, los!", Joachim roared. The left side of his face was covered in blood from his forehead, but he helped her to her feet. "Lieutenant!" Rip couldn't stop shaking, she just couldn't. All her strength had left her, all will to fight. They could not win. Joachim shook her harshly. "Pull yourself together!", he barked, no pleaded. "I though you vere a Werwolf!" After all those years this was what he told her. A Werwolf. They had survived the war together, had been friends, had fought for their lives, when their friends died, all those they cared for. And then they went to South America and things changed. "Lieutenant!"
She looked at him with lifeless, hopeless eyes. "It's not much longer to Herr Major's orders! Until then! Somehow ve must..."
"It's too late," Rip said softly. "The Major will not help us."
"Very right, freaks," a voice growled. "Products of madness."
The men spun. There was barely anything left but shreds of flesh and bones, but the figure was reforming. "Feuer! Angriff!", her old friend roared. Her loyal men attacked. They always did. The spirit of Millennium. "Guns are useless! Use hand grenades!"
Another explosion ripped at the deck. Rip ran. She huddled in a corner, wrapped her arms around her musket, and cried. She could hear screams, and more gunfire, and explosions, and she cried. "Samiel," she whimpered. It was over. "Samiel." She would come for her soul. The huntress was done for. Rip cried. For everything she had lost. For her own foolishness. She wasn't even able to feel any more rage at the Major for abandoning her, or the others for abandoning her. Hadn't Jolene always said this? Trust no one. Neither your friends nor your enemies. Maybe because of that she had always been better off.
Her alarm clock, that smiling, funny pink thing, was ringing, and ringing, and ringing. The time of the Major's orders was here. She already knew them, of course. Her men were gone, gone to Walhalla, where she would never see them. Her place was in Zamiel's Hell.
A foot smashed the alarm clock to pieces. Rip shrieked, then hastily covered her mouth with her hands. She spun, looking upon her eternal damnation. Zamiel smiled, wind blowing her black hair out of her face.
"Now, what will you do?", she asked softly. "What will you do, Rip van Winkle?" She whimpered, looking over the inferno of the ship she had conquered. Her men were lying in their blood. Her friends were gone. Joachim's cap fluttered on a distorted steel beam.
For a moment, she couldn't move, just clutched her musket, as if it would help her. She didn't want to die. Damn the Major, damn everybody. She would not go down easy. She was a Werwolf.
Rip took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes, then put them on again. She saw Zamiel smile, and that made her angry. You planned all of this, Herr Major, didn't you? I am just a sacrifice.
A hunter's life was never easy. She would not go down crying in the corner like a small child.
"Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor. My bullet punishes all without distinction!", she hissed. The ship had gone eerily quiet and the shot echoed like in a tomb. Her bullet ripped through the red clothed body, changed course, hit again, again, again. Zamiel stumbled, was pushed, to the ledge of the ship. The black waves were roaring under them.
"Fall," she hissed, her teeth gritted. "Fall! Fall and perish!" Just one more hit.
Zamiel stopped. Her bullet stopped. Zamiel chuckled. No! That's... impossible! Zamiel slowly raised her head. The left side of her face was scorched and ripped, but between her teeth shimmered something. "No," Rip whimpered.
"Look what I caught," Zamiel said. She bit down and the bullet sprung into a thousand glittering pieces, raining down like snow. Rip shrieked and stumbled back, only to find her back to the wall. A fist connected with her jaw and she fell, her glasses splintering on the floor. Then the same hand closed around her neck and she was picked up, held against the wall. No matter how much she struggled, it would not help her.
Zamiel grinned at her and picked up the fallen musket. Rip froze, only stared at her. The musket pressed against her chest, harder and harder, until it pushed through clothes and flesh and bones. The huntress screamed, tasting blood, trying to struggle. Or at least relocate the wound to her heart. She would die anyway. The best way would be a fast death. But that was not what Zamiel had in mind for her. Zamiel looked her in the eyes, smiling softly, or at least she thought so. Her vision was blurred by tears of pain and desperation. A fire had begun to consume her, the center right in her chest, just left of her heart.
Her musket, that magic weapon, dug into the wall behind her, holding her upright. Zamiel grinned, then bent down and began to lick up the blood she had spilled. Rip couldn't scream anymore, could barely speak, her mind was blurred by pain. But she could see the full red moon hanging overhead, casting its unearthly light down on them. The perfect night to be their last.
She would never see the sun again. Rip missed it, just feeling the warmth on her body, without her protective parasol. Shadowy hands, a dozen of them, groped for her and she wanted to scream, but only managed a groan and a bloody cough. Zamiel grabbed her, forced her head up, and buried her teeth in the huntress' neck. She screamed, despite not having known she could still do that. Her mind had accepted the pain in her chest, and now her neck was ripped to pieces as well.
"You've done well, lieutenant." She couldn't see anything, but she knew the voice. She had heard a million speeches and orders from him. He had taken her in more than seventy years ago, had made her respect and admire him through blood, and death, and madness. And the worst part was, she could not hate him, not even now. They would all die like Tubalcain and her, not shedding a tear for their fallen friends. "The mission is a success. A total one." She could hear the Major smile. Zamiel was listening closely, but never stopping at drinking the huntress' blood.
"However many stones are thrown into ze vater's surface, however much a shadow is tread upon, neither the surface nor the shadow vanish. That is how such things vork. It's the river of Death." Rip would like to tell the Major he could put his river where the sun never shone.
"In it, life, death, everything is a hoax," the Major continued. "Immortality, invincibility, unbeatableness, ultimate strength all utterly absurd." Rip wanted to say something, no matter what, and couldn't.
"But ve vill overthrow him. By the sacrifice of your repatriation, ve vill overthrow Alucard." Zamiel growled, a wild, inhuman sound. Rip began to feel numb. Her body seemed to be fading. She had lost control over it the moment Zamiel had her in her claws, but now her body seemed to vanish, literally. Thankfully, the pain began to subside with it. She vaguely heard the Major and the Doctor arguing. She had fulfilled her mission and her body would not be incinerated. As if that made a difference now. Her body was fading out, shadows swallowing her in whole.
"Auf Wiedersehen, Leutnant van Winkle," the Major said. "Ve'll meet again in Walhalla." If only, Rip thought vaguely. She heard the others say goodbye, her friend Zorin, the Last Battalion, even Schrödinger. She wondered if Captain Hans was saying goodbye as well, despite being unable to say it out loud. All those she had seen as her friends, her only family. They were smiling. Nobody was mourning her. It was the privilege of the dead not to care.
"Ciao, Rip," Schrödinger said brightly, like she was leaving for a weekend holiday.
"Auf Wiedersehen, Rip!", another voice shouted. She sounded sad, close to tears, even. But that was impossible. She was gone, for fifty years. No even in Millennium everybody was able to cheat death.
Hundreds of voices intoned: "Sieg Heil!" But maybe she was just imagining all of it. Blackness swallowed her and Rip was gone.
Mira held the blood-coated musket, shimmering in the moonlight. The cat boy was watching her with an amused expression. Mira dropped the weapon, threw her head back and laughed.
A town near Edinburgh, Scotland, 1967
"It's been really long since we last came here," the girl said. The priest briefly shot her a glance and redirected his eyes at the shining, slippery road again.
"Aye, aboot ten years."
The girl twirled a flaxen strand around her finger and looked over the highlands stretching around them, only vaguely visible in a thick gray curtain of rain. "I barely remember anything."
The priest laughed. "Sure. Ye were a wee little kid. Nae even five years old."
The girl turned away from the window and beamed at the priest. "Father, thank you so much for taking me here!"
He shook his head. "It's yer birthday."
"It's your father's birthday," the girl corrected. The priest smiled and shrugged his shoulders. The car came to a halt in front of a pretty house at the edge of the village. The priest killed the engine and they ran through the pouring rain to the door. It was flung open before they could even knock.
"Oh, ma dear son!", the woman beamed and hugged him. She had to get on her toes to even reach his neck and when he returned the hug, her feet dangled an inch over the floor. He set her down again and her eyes fell on the girl hovering nervously in the background. Her mouth formed a surprised O. "Is this..." She trailed off, then suddenly hugged the girl, who didn't really know what to say. "Darling, ye hae grown so big! Hou lang has it been? Ten years? What ae pretty lassie ye've become!" And immediately they were ushered through to the birthday table. The priest handed over a present and began talking to his relatives, but after their arrival, the actual birthday, his Father's, was quickly pushed aside.
The girl had to be introduced, as it was clear she could not be the priest's daughter. His mother insisted on sitting next to her, chattering constantly. She was the center of all attention, but she put up well, making conversation, telling about her home in the Roman orphanage and what she wanted to do with her life. She would become a nun, maybe even work in the orphanage herself. This caused quite the disbelief among even the most pious of the family. She had a talent for children, the priest explained, helping the adults whenever she could.
Ever since she had come to the orphanage at the age of four, after her mother had died in a car crash and her heathen father didn't want anything to do with her, she had been his little angel. A sometimes annoying little angel, who flitted after him all the time, so that he had no choice but to bring her when traveling to Scotland ten years ago. Ten years. Dear God, how time was passing.
"Ye look just the same ye ayeways have, son," his father said, making him jump.
"Aye, " the priest replied, not having any better answer.
The party went on and on, until the middle of the night. But the girl had already fallen asleep on the sofa long before. The priest had brought her to bed and waited a few minutes until he was sure she would be fine. Then he returned to his family. It had been a long time since he last saw them. His work kept him away from his home country, his vow to the Lord bound him. But now he realized while he himself might have a lot more time, his family had not. He was an only child, there were only his parents and their siblings, but they had no children either. His grandparents had gone in the arms of the Lord a while ago, and he had not even found the time to visit their funerals. Nobody was reproaching him for it. But he was. Was it so wrong for a servant of God to want time with his family as long as he still could?
The next morning, the girl awoke, still fully dressed, and the first in the house. She washed and changed her clothes and quietly sneaked down into the kitchen to wait there for the others to wake up. But when she entered, her teacher's mother was already up and preparing breakfast.
"Top o' the morning, dear," she said quietly. "Want some breakfast?"
The girl nodded and chose a bit of bacon, toast, something she thought to recognize as porridge and a glass of orange juice. That was the least she could get away with. She was not used to having so much for breakfast. After a while, the priest's mother let it go and they just sat there, hearing the rain had stopped and a beautiful day was preparing in the east.
"Ye ken, ye're like the granddaughter we cannae have," the woman said. "O' course he cannae have kids, and that's fine, but... Ah'm glad ye're here."
The girl looked down on the table. "I'm also glad I'm here," she answered truthfully. "Thank you for being so kind."
"Promise me something."
The girl looked up and met soft green eyes. The formerly blond hair, or so she remembered it to be, had turned to gray, but she was still pretty. Maybe not tall, that was rather the father's most obvious trait, but strong like her son. "Yes?", the girl asked carefully.
"Talk him intae visiting us more often."
The girl had to smile. "Sure."
"Ah hope ye will be with him then," the woman added.
"Guid morning," the priest said when he entered the kitchen, surprised to find his protegee and his mother chatting over the breakfast table. The girl jumped up and hugged him.
"Father, can I look around a bit? It's not raining anymore."
The priest looked at the bright morning sky outside. "Ah suppose it's not. Fine, Ah'll talk ae bit more wi' the others before we return tae Rome. But put on warm clothes. Dinnae want ye tae get ae cold, aye?"
"Yes, Father," the girl said immediately, and ran upstairs to get her pullover, rain jacket and gumboots. She didn't take long to put everything on, pulled her hair back in a ponytail and ran downstairs again. Everybody else seemed to be sleeping. The priest and his mother awaited her at the end of the stairs.
"Ah'richt," he said, smiling. "Be careful not tae fall intae ae loch."
"Yes, Father," the girl replied dutifully.
"And tak care o' the kelpies," the priest's mother joked. The girl nodded and giggled, then opened the door and waved at them while walking down the path past the parked car.
"Ye really have tae gae back? Ye just arrived yesterday," the mother sighed.
"Aye. Ah'm sairy, but the orphanage needs me. But Ah'll visit again soon."
"Will ye bring the lassie?"
"Sure, why nae?" Said girl left hearing range and suddenly started to run. The highlands were wide and green in front of her, sprinkled with small lakes. There was so much to see.
Laughing out loud, she ran over the wet grass, splashing mud everywhere. She jumped over a gray stone wall and cut through a flock of sheep that bleated at her. There was a shepherd on the other side of the flock with his dogs, but the cursing and barking from animal and owner soon turned into a good-humored greeting. They sat down on the low stone wall and talked for a few minutes. He told her walls like these were everywhere, because cattle was still one of the main trades up here. The Scotsmen and women had just taken the stones they could get and that was why the walls were made of these rough gray stones. The girl listened eagerly and could not help enthusing about the wonderful country. She wished she could stay here a bit longer. But as her teacher had said, maybe they would come back soon. That would be great. She would like to have a real family.
"Ye ken, lass, there's a beautiful loch richt there," the shepherd, an elderly man who had known the priest's family all his life, told the girl. "There're nae cliffs, so ye cannae fall in just like that. Want tae go and have ae keek?"
"Sure, thank you!", the girl said and jumped to her feet. The man helped her over the wall and she took off, waving happily.
"And tak care o' the kelpies," the man called after her with a laugh.
"I will!", she shouted back. The name triggered a faint memory, of a story that had been told to her a long time ago. Maybe even when she had been here ten years ago? She couldn't exactly remember what the name meant.
The man looked after her, until the girl swerved to avoid another wall. "Hey, ye're running in the wrong direction!", he called. But she didn't seem to hear him and vanished behind a hill. Sighing, the shepherd picked up his rod. "Sebastian, Dexter, ye stay here, lads. Ah'll better tell the old misses the lass is striving so far. Before she falls intae ae loch."
Panting, the girl stopped on a hill. Under her stretched a strip of grass that might have been a paddock once. But the fence was broken and withered, the grass sprawling everywhere without anyone taking care of it, not even the paddock's inhabitants. The girl looked around and frowned. It did not exactly match what she had imagine when the shepherd had said there was a beautiful loch near. There was a small lake here, but it was scarcely more than a big puddle. The shore was covered in algae and dirt, the water was dark, impossible to see through. The only thing missing were trees to cast an oppressive shadow. But no, the day was clear and beautiful. The sun was rising and it was getting warmer by the minute.
Something neighed and the girl jumped. A beautiful white horse trotted slowly over the dark, untended grass. The fur was so bright it seemed to glow in the sun and its eyes were shimmering bronze. It stopped a few meters away from the girl and looked at her. The girl hesitated, the horse springing some old, distant memory. It didn't evade her when she stepped forward and stroked it. The fur was cool and incredibly soft. The horse gently nudged her with its nose and she leaned her cheek against its flank.
The priest looked at his watch. They should probably start their journey, or otherwise they would come back in the middle of the night. The sun was almost all the way up and his protegee had not returned yet. That was not like her at all. Then again, the landscape was magnificent and she had never been here, at least not in an age able to appreciate it.
"Ah'll better gae and fetch her."
"Sure, dear. Ah'll make ye lunch for the road, aye?"
The priest nodded and began to walk in the direction he had seen the girl run into. Maybe he met somebody who had seen her. Although he did not want to admit it, some nagging premonition had settled in his stomach. The highlands were so big, it would take weeks to search in them for one girl. And there were so many lochs she could easily vanish in. He should have given her directions.
She's a big lass, she's responsible and can tak care o' herself. Dinnae be ridiculous.
He heard somebody call his name and turned around. The shepherd had not seen him in at least two decades, but the priest had indeed barely changed. The shepherd had aged visibly, but looked still like himself.
"Did ye see a young lass, aboot thon height, red hair, wearing a rain coat?", the priest asked.
"Aye, Ah was just coming by tae tell ye aboot it. Ah told her hou tae get to Loch Emerich, but she took ae wrong turn Ah think. She was headed for Loch Tabse, Ah think. Hey, whit's wrong?"
The priest didn't answer, but pressed on, with all the strength his body had to sprint. He might not be too late yet.
He came to a skittering halt on top of the hill. The lake was as dark and lifeless as he remembered. But no, there was a shimmer at the bank. He ran down the hill, taking giant leaps on his long legs. The shimmer turned into a white horse, a beautiful stallion with bronze eyes standing peacefully on the remains of the paddock. The girl was stroking it with a dreamy expression on her face.
The priest called her name. "Get away fae there!" She didn't react, but the horse's head shot up and it bared its teeth at him. The girl's hand sunk into its flank, that had begun to melt in gray algae. The priest called her name again, more desperate this time. The girl looked around.
"Hey, wait, I know that from somewhere," she murmured. She felt like she had just awoken from a deep sleep. She heard her teacher call her name again and stared into the horse's face, now only hung with gray, dead algae instead of a majestic mane, the flesh melted away revealing the bones and teeth and black eyes. The girl shrieked in terror and tried to pull away, but her hand had vanished in the liquid flesh of the creature. It began to walk to the shore, inevitably pulling the girl with her, and waded into the water.
"Let me go!", she yelled and tried desperately to pull her hand out, but she couldn't even feel it anymore. The kelpie pulled on, much stronger than she was, its hind legs transforming into something that might have been a mermaid tail, but colored an unhealthy gray, its fin ripped and tattered. She was splashing through water that already went to her waist. The kelpie neighed again. It sounded like a roar and a triumphant laugh at the same time. The girl turned, throwing a longing glance at the shore, which was getting ever further away.
The priest ran even faster, tossing off his long coat while doing so. He could see the girl struggling to breathe, struggling to stay over the water's surface, then she vanished. It took the priest only seconds to get there, but when he plunged into the water, the lake already lay just as still as it had before. A passer-by would not have noticed anything stranger than the tattered grass and oppressing atmosphere.
The priest dived, only taking a second to gather his breath. The water was icy and pitch black. A small loch should not be this deep. Strings wrapped around the priest's arms and legs, trying to hinder him from getting any further. They had to be here somewhere. It didn't end that fast. The loch was not big enough. He searched and searched, finding nothing but plants and mud. The kelpie would hide somewhere. Maybe it hoped he would die in the loch in his frantic search, so it could eat him as well. The priest could only ignore his body's need for air so long. He had no choice.
Something wrapped around him. There they were! He broke free and touched the ground, felt rocks. Suddenly his hand broke through and air rushed over it. His head broke the water's surface and he gasped. How did he get up here? He had been on the bottom of the loch.
Unless the kelpie was fooling him. He took a few breaths and tried to judge where they could be. The loch was not more than twenty feet in diameter.
The priest dived down again, to the bottom of the lake and searched on. He had no big hopes of finding them. The kelpie had to find him. If he would drown in this lake, or even near it, it would come out. He could not be sure it would not prefer to stay with the prey it certainly had, so he did not want to try luring it out again. The priest pretended to have lost the idea of top and bottom, not knowing where the surface was so he could breathe. He struggled for a few seconds, then went still.
Time stretched to an agony. Some part of him was wondering how long a human could survive without oxygen. If he didn't pull her out now, she would, even if he could rescue her, be permanently damaged, more than any scars her mind would have to bear. And if not... he didn't want to think about that. The kelpie was clever. Maybe it understood the trap? But its greed would be stronger than reason. A death horse would never abandon a potential prey.
Something brushed over him, a fish tail. Only it was too big for that. His hand brushed over a flank, the flesh felt spongy and loose. He felt a face, or what was left of a horse's skull. Then he gripped a lifeless body on the flank of the horse. The girl was unconscious, her skin felt icy. But there was a weak pulse on her neck. It was not too late.
She was hanging on to the kelpie, fused with its flesh. The priest ignored his body's cry for air. His lungs were burning by now, but he could not fool the kelpie again. Either he won, or the girl died. And he with her, probably. The kelpie was steadily moving forward, or downward, away from the surface and its safety. The priest felt a sudden kink in the spongy flank of the monster and-
Ferdinant Luke's orphanage, outside Rome, September 21st , 2016
The story was interrupted by a phone ringing. The girls started. They had sat on the floor the whole time, like little children, listening to Anderson telling them this story. He had just wanted a test audience to judge if that story was appropriate for the children of the orphanage. And of course, he was slightly nervous. In such a big fight, he needed to be focused and the best for calming down was routine work in the orphanage. It hadn't helped that Maxwell had just not showed up last evening. But the boy had the right to be nervous like everyone else. His career and maybe even life was at stake in this. The Cornelius affair was an additional problem. It was pretty late for training, but if it helped him, who was Anderson to judge?
Everybody had gotten a good night's sleep. The girls had been so considerate to wait until the group was complete. Lisa had insisted on sitting on the floor like in a real story time (or whatever she thought that should look like). Even Enrico had eventually given in to her stubbornness. Then again, he would do basically anything for his sister. Though they seemed to have some more differences in the last weeks than usual.
Enrico dug out his phone and his face lit up. The boy had so far been listening just as intently on the story as everybody else, but now he jumped to his feet, ignoring the angry glances from the girls.
"Story time's over," he announced. "Millennium is coming to London."
"What, now?", Lisa gasped.
Enrico rolled his eyes. "Well, no, they are on their way. I suppose they will attack this evening after sunset. Until then, there's a lot of things to do. We can hear the rest when this is over."
Grumbling, the girls got up. Heinkel murmured something about "It's not that this half an hour makes a difference", but didn't complain aloud. Anderson sighed.
"Whit are we going tae do?"
"You will go to London as soon as possible, as our vanguard. The rest of Iscariot gets ready. Once you tell us the attack has started, we will interfere. I want Lady Hellsing captured. Alive. The crusaders will come in once Millennium has had their share. The less resistance, the better for us."
He looked at his phone again and Anderson wondered how he could know where Millennium was in the first place. The paladin had never really caught up to today's gadgets.
Anderson looked up to find Josephine standing in the door. She must have been listening on the whole story. She smiled at him. Her flaxen hair was streaked with gray by now, but she was still pretty. She smiled at her old teacher. A bit ironic that he was going to go into battle, being so much older than her. Technically he should be retired or already dead. But no, not for a regenerator. Kenzy had made it to the age of 114. The process had not worked out like it was supposed to from the beginning. Absently, he rubbed the scar on his cheek.
"Whit aboot the vampires?", Anderson asked.
"There's still this aircraft carrier under Millennium's control. Hellsing will send Vladimira there," Enrico said.
"Hou do ye want tae ken?" Anderson raised one eyebrow at his chief's scowl and stopped asking.
"We're starting for France at noon," Maxwell barked and strutted out of the room. Lisa threw a last glance back and followed him hastily. Anderson looked after them until they had turned around the corner, not able to help a feeling of dread. He didn't like the worry in Lisa's eyes.
Anderson went to get his equipment and was informed the heavy gear would be brought by the other Iscariots. He would take a regular flight to London. When he exited the orphanage grounds he thought to hear shouting. One voice sounded like Heinkel's. But he was already late for his flight and it was not unusual for the Chaos Girls to go at each other before a mission. It didn't affect their team work and after it they mostly went out to eat or something. And if it had to do with the orphanage kids, Josie was there to take care of it. She would make a great leader to this orphanage. Anderson wasn't sure how to feel about Marco coming on the crusade as well, but again, he had no time for discussions. He threw back a last glance to the orphanage that had been his home for so long. How many of those that had grown up here would come back after this night?
For some reason he wondered if Vladimira missed her old home. According to Enrico, she was on her way to this ship. For what reason somebody would sent his strongest weapon to a cell like that was beyond the paladin. The orphanage was peaceful in the late morning's light. Most kids were in school. Anderson thought of Scotland. Until Kenzy's funeral hadn't been there for years after his parents and next to every close relative was dead. Suddenly he wondered if he would ever get to see it again.
Loch Tabse, Scotland, 1967
Alexander felt a kink in the kelpie's flank and something sticking out of it. Josie's hand had vanished completely into the flesh-like substance, but it was still there, he knew it. The kelpie ate its victims like any beast would once it was in a safe place.
He would need to hurry. His head was beginning to swim and not even his special powers would help him out here for much longer. He didn't even want to think what might have already happened to Josie. He drew his bayonet, graceful for having them.
The kelpie swerved, seeming to have a premonition what he was about to do. Josie's wrist cracked audibly, or maybe he just imagined that because he felt something like a crack, and he cringed internally, but he had no other possibility to hang on. Josie only swayed in the current the kelpie's movements created. She was still unconscious. Or dead.
The bayonet dug deep into the kelpie's flank. The beast roared, literally roared underwater, its eyes lighting up in the darkness of the muddy water. Alexander knew he could not really hurt the beast, he had no silver, nothing to use against a demonic spirit like this. The kelpie could not be killed, it didn't hurt. But it knew he was going to take away its prey.
Teeth dug into the fabric of his shirt. They were unnaturally sharp, especially for a horse. He managed to dig a blade into the kelpie's neck. Or somewhere anyway, he couldn't see. It shook its head, roaring, its glowing eyes the only bright spots in the darkness. Whatever he had hit, it gave Alexander enough time to cut a wide circle around the spot where he presumed Josie's hand to be. The blade scratched over bones, but the flesh-like substance came off easily, like a wet towel. He put one arm around Josie's waist and began to head for the surface.
Behind him, there was a roar, and something heavy hit him. If the beast managed to get him with its glue-like flesh, they were both doomed. Something ripped at his sleeve, and this time it tore through. Alexander drove a bayonet in that direction. There was light! The water's surface could not be that far away. Light and air. He was not sure what he wanted most right now.
Something slammed into him and pain flared in his cheek. He couldn't help a startled cry, which took away the last bit of breath he had. This was not supposed to happen. He had not gone through all of the pain and nightmares to become a regenerator and then get killed right on his front steps! Something icy and strong wrapped around his legs. Instead of struggling, he held still and could easily slip out. He was not sure if his blade hit anything, but then they broke the water's surface.
Alexander gasped, for seconds utterly unable to breathe, despite desperately needing to. He hastily paddled to the shore, hurling Josie out first and then carrying her away as far as he managed with the rest of strength he had. Just as far away from the loch as possible. The kelpie would not attack them again, out of its element and injured. And if it did, he was ready. Once he had his breath back, he would be fine, he told himself. Then why had the wounds not healed yet?
He laid Josephine on the grass, falling to his knees. The world was swimming around him, a blur of green and blue. He coughed, his throat hot and dry, despite all the water he spat on the shaggy grass. You can't pass out now. Josie needs you. He shook his head, feeling hot blood run down his neck, but finally getting his thoughts back together. He touched his face and his hand came back smeared with bloody water. The kelpie had almost bitten out a piece of his arm as well.
Josie lay on the grass like a broken doll. Her flaxen hair stuck flat and dreary to her head. She was incredibly pale and her skin was icy. The piece of flesh the kelpie had caught her with fell off and turned to muddy black water.
Josie was externally unharmed, but she wasn't breathing. Suddenly the paladin was somewhat glad they had bothered to learn this new CPR thing. But no matter what he did, Josie didn't stir. How long had she been underwater? A few minutes at the least. She had always been so weak with her immune deficiency, still she wanted to and would become a paladin. One of the best, even. He just knew it.
"Josephine!" Please dear God, don't let her die. There had been a lot of moments he had thought she might die on him, but never had he been directly at fault. "Josie!"
She coughed, her eyes springing open. She rolled on her side, curling into a ball while she vomited dirty water. Alexander had never thought he might feel weak of relief, but now he did. He held her soaked hair out of her face and waited for the worst to blow over.
"Teacher?", Josephine eventually managed.
"It's fine, dear. Ye're safe." He went to pick up his coat and wrapped her in it. The fourteen year old almost vanished completely in the masses of fabric.
"That was a kelpie," she whispered. "Like in the stories you told me when I was little."
"Aye." He began to walk back to the village, and quickly. Josie needed a hot bath as soon as possible. She would probably get sick anyway. And then they both could get a bit of rest.
"Sorry for not being careful enough."
"Nae yer fault."
Josephine was fighting to stay awake. Her body had eventually begun to shiver, and now she was shaken with cramps while her body tried to elevate its temperature. She could barely make a controlled movement. The ground was heaving and swerving while Alexander sped up even more. Josie managed to free one hand from the tight roll she was kept in and touched his temple, careful not to hurt him. There was a cuneiform wound running from the middle of the cheek right to the jaw, so deep she could almost see through the flesh. He would get a nasty scar from that.
"You're bleeding," she whispered. Her throat felt like sandpaper. She wished for a glass of water. Real, clean water, that didn't taste like mud, and a hot bath, and somebody staying with her so she would not wake up alone when she dreamed of the pale horse.
"Jus ae scratch, deary," he said. That was an outright lie. The dirty water had washed some of the blood right into his collar, giving it a reddish-brown color. But he would not discuss this with her right now, and she was very tired.
A pale horse, hung with algae and dripping black liquid, dragged itself out of the water behind them. It shook its head and transformed into the beautiful white stallion that had drawn her to the lake before. The piece of flesh missing in its flank regenerated.
Josie wanted to tell her teacher about it, wanted to warn him, but she couldn't.
The last thing Josie heard was a terrified gasp when they finally arrived at the house, and a female voice barking orders at someone. Then Josie fell asleep. She did not dream of the pale horse this time.
Josie had next to no memory of the past seven days. She was told she had pneumonia, and had been unconscious for most of the time. What she did remember was her body feeling incredibly hot, but at the same time cold, the pain when she coughed or tried to speak, and the nightmares. It was always the same, what the kelpie had shown her on its way down.
In these, Alexander did not rescue her. In these she was brought down by the kelpie, all the way to the bottom of the loch, to its lair, where it would feast upon her body. She would not feel it anymore, because she had already drowned, but she could see it. The dead did not need light. Her soul would not go to Heaven, nor to Purgatory or Hell, for that matter. Her spirit was trapped down there, with all the other victims, mostly children or young adults, damned to watch as the kelpie brought new victims, unable to help or warn anyone, only mourning the loss of their lives and of others.
And then Alexander was there as well. The kelpie had found him and lured him into the loch making him believe Josie was there, she was still alive. And it fed on him, but him being a regenerator, he did not die, but the flesh grew back and Josie had to watch him suffer for all eternity.
Then she woke up with a thin scream, because her sore throat did not permit anything else. She cried a lot in this week.
After ten days, Josie demanded to go home. Mrs. Anderson was so nice to her and Josie liked the family a lot, but she knew if she didn't get home, the nightmares would never stop. Aside of that, the orphanage needed its leader. The wound on Alexander's face had closed more or less, but like she had expected, he would not be spared from a deep scar running over his cheek. She had already apologized for being so careless, and despite everybody saying it was not her fault, she knew it was and felt guilty for it.
So finally, they agreed to get back to Rome. In thick clothes and two blankets, Josie sat shotgun in the car that would bring them to Edinburgh airport. Mrs. Anderson, Lorna, stroked Josephine's matt hair.
"Guid cheerio, deary. Get well and visit us again, aye?"
Josephine smiled and nodded. She felt better, and was finally able to speak again. "Thank you for everything."
"Ye're welcome." She kissed the girl on the head, closed the door and hugged her son again. "Ye tak care o' the lass, darling."
"O' course." Alexander got in the car, that seemed a bit too small for him, and started the engine. It was another bright, sunny day, but the wind was cold. The weather there would be a bit warmer in Italy he hoped. Josephine waved at the house and its inhabitants until they had reached the road.
"Ah'richt?", Alexander asked her.
"Yes." Josie stared out of the window, the rattling of the car almost making her fall asleep again. They drove through endless hills, with stone walls and paddocks. Josie shot up. No, she had not been wrong.
There, on the hill, stood a white horse. And it looked after them until they had disappeared.
I know the chapter is somewhat weird, and I'm sorry if it seems so off-topic. I stumbled across the kelpies randomly on the endless internet and my best friend, who this chapter is dedicated to, was like: You need to do that. Josie was more or less her character as well and actually part of a completely different AU. But well, here you go. The voice mourning Rip? That's her OC Mischa which I wrote a series for (in German, though). She wanted to invade my story, but that's how far she got.
I personally like the chapter a lot and it was fun to write. Tell you what, I wrote some parts of it in the evening when I was a bit too lazy to stand up and switch on the light and it freaked me out. You can google the kelpies, there are a lot of amazing artworks and it's a cool story.
I derived "Loch Tabse" from the Celtic word "taibhse", meaning Ghost. It's pronounced like "tavshe" or "tavshi".
Also a greeting to catsvsdogscatswin whom I did not have the pleasure to meet in the end (goddamned flu!), but at least had a very interesting conversation on the phone with. Thanks for the constant support and I really hope we can keep it up!