| |
Winter 1889
The journey to deliver Varak, the half-blood vampire, to the Archdiocese in Freiburg, Germany was one of the harshest routes I had ever traveled, not to mention, one of the most depressing.
When I had promised Albert the Were-rat that my father and I would escort the child across several countries to the proposed destination, my ambition had not taken into account the approaching fierce winter. Due to the rugged terrain, the frigid winds, and snow mixed with ice, traveling was painstakingly slow. Several times we had encountered mountain passes that were too treacherous to cross, forcing us to find an inn, seek an alternate route, or set up a campsite in the shelter of a crag until the road was cleared.
In many ways the obstacles seemed to dictate that delivering this child to the archbishop was being frowned upon by Fate and by the higher powers that had chosen me as a Vampire Hunter. These hindrances were warnings we were meant to heed, but acting upon my promise to Albert and due to my undying stubbornness, we continued onward.
This half-blood child was diabolical and should not be allowed to live. As an infant he appeared harmless, and indeed that was true, at least on the surface. In time, however, once he gained awareness of the charismatic persuasion power contained within him, he could usher forth as a fiendish tyrant worse than anything the world had yet seen. In my soul there was no denying this to be the solid truth. My nightmares continually reinforced these fears.
There would be grave consequences for protecting Varak and keeping him alive. A hefty penalty would be demanded by the powers that had chosen me. I understood that, but never in a thousand lifetimes would I have ever imagined how great that cost would be.
In addition to these dilemmas surrounding Varak, I grieved over Jacques’ absence. The loss of his companionship made me ache inside. While I was happy that he and Matilda were going to have a child, he had been more like a father to me than a cousin and I selfishly suffered jealousy that his attentions and fatherly affections had turned elsewhere. In less than a year’s time, I had lost my mother, Rose, and now Jacques. Off and on, Father seemed absent. Even though he traveled alongside me, his mind obsessed over other factors.
Father slept on the seat across from me in the coach. He had bundled a heavy blanket into a wad, pressed it against near the corner of his side window, and used it for a pillow. Across his lap was a thick wool rug he favored to use as a blanket. Madeline sat with her back in the other corner with her legs slightly pointed toward Father. She had wrapped a small woolen blanket around Varak and cradled him in her arms.
I sat on the seat across from them. Because of my height and width, I almost required the entire seat just to sit down. Neither of them could have squeezed in beside me had they wanted to. Sleeping comfortably along the journey had been nearly impossible for each of us.
The temperature inside the coach wasn’t much warmer than the outside cold except we were protected from the bitter biting winds and snow. Our breath was visible when we exhaled, and I couldn’t imagine how our coachman, Thomas, had been able to withstand the extreme wintery conditions seated near the top of the coach. Thomas wore two thick overcoats, heavy gloves, and double thick woolen britches, which possibly wasn’t enough to keep him warm, but he had never complained one time.
The coach suddenly bounced, jarred us sharply, and creaked on what had been, until that moment, one of the smoothest roads we had traveled. The coach tilted to one side, so I slung my weight to the opposite side of my seat to counter it, which was possibly the only thing that prevented our coach from tipping over.
Thomas shouted at the horses, “Whoa!”
I pulled the curtain slightly aside and peered through the ice-covered window. Dusk was upon us, making the thick forest trees along the road’s edge even more ominous. Uncertainty settled over me since we had stopped in such a foreboding place. Thomas had insisted we had enough daylight to make the next village before nightfall where we could find a small inn. But this unexpected delay was inevitable.
Strange misfortunes continued to plague us throughout this journey, and I had a difficult time shunning my suspicions that they kept occurring because of this child.
“What is it, son?” Father asked, arousing from his sleep. “Why have we stopped?”
I shook my head. “I don’t rightly know.”
Madeline gently rocked Varak in her arms. She smiled when I caught her gaze. The cute dimples at the edges of her narrow lips deepened. Her bright eyes sparkled, reminding me of Rose, and even though I ached inside, I couldn’t resist smiling back. She had been kind and pleasant company during our trip, and I found her endearing like a lovesick fool in spite of our age difference.
The were-rat had chosen Madeline to accompany us to Freiburg to tend to Varak. She and Father had taken a liking toward one another, and at times the two acted like Varak was their own child, which disturbed me. It troubled me more that Father behaved that way since he knew what the child really was. She and Thomas didn’t know because Father and I had sworn to maintain secrecy concerning the infant.
Father sat upright, pulled his curtain aside, and peered out the window at the growing darkness. “Well, boy, aren’t you going out to see what’s the matter?”
I reached for the door latch. “I suppose I am.”
Stepping outside the coach, I was rewarded with a harsh welcome of cold wind whipping across my bearded face. I shuddered. Thomas stood in front of the horses. The hard thin layer of snow crunched beneath my feet as I approached him. “What’s wrong?”
He pointed. “Bridge is blocked.”
Rocks and snow had fallen onto the road and covered part of the bridge. The howling wind whistled across the narrow stream below. Most of the rocks didn’t look too large or heavy, but clearing the path would take several hours. I walked to the roadblock and hefted one of the larger stones, tossing it aside.
“Forrest,” he said. “It will be dark in less than a half hour. We should focus more on setting up camp and getting a fire started. We can worry about moving the rocks in the morning. From the looks of it, we might be better off finding an alternate route come morning.”
I glanced back toward the coach and nodded. He was right. Getting a fire started was the most important thing. Once the night set in, the temperatures would plummet. At the back of the wagon, I lifted a trunk lid and took out several small dry logs. Deeper in the forest, owls hooted. The piercing howls of wolves echoed.
Before I turned with the firewood, something on the road caught my attention. Farther behind the coach I noticed a deep trench had been dug across the road, which seem odd. It appeared freshly dug.
Thomas stood near the rocky ledge, looking down. With all of the extra clothes he wore, he looked like a massive man, but underneath all the layers he was actually medium framed and thin like my father. I wondered why this man had owed Albert a favor. He had readily accepted this task of providing his horse and wagon to drive us halfway across Europe without ever questioning our intent or offering a single complaint.
The were-rat had sought seclusion and remained hidden underground because he couldn’t risk being seen by mortals, and yet, these two people who traveled with us had somehow become indebted to him? Even though I was curious, I didn’t ask. We all had our secrets.
I set the logs at the edge of the road and joined Thomas. He regarded me with nervous eyes, but only for a moment before he looked down again. The stream below wasn’t large or fast flowing, so it seemed strange that it had divided the rocky outcrop in half with a several hundred foot gap over time. Water and wind weathered out gorges, ravines, and mountainsides, but usually those water currents were much stronger.
In the dimming daylight the view of the darkening cliffside was like the barrier that divided good from evil. I imagined dusk at this crag during the summer months was livelier with hundreds of bats swarming into the night on their hunt for insects. But, this winter night, the bats were dormant, silent.
The coachman removed a glove and broke away the snot icicles that had formed on his gray moustache and beard, ignoring the thin ice attached to his thick bushy eyebrows. He tried to hand comb his beard straighter before his nervous beady eyes glanced up at the narrow ridgeline that followed the road to the ravine where we stood.
“This might sound odd, Forrest, but this small avalanche didn’t occur from nature. It’s not by chance.” His voice was a near whisper and shaky, but not from the cold.
“What do you mean?”
Thomas nodded toward the cliffside. “Somebody has intentionally blocked this roadway.”
Glancing up, I could see that most of the debris had fallen from the peak of the ridge not too long ago since no fresh snow covered the surface. The fallen debris had not crumbled from the side of the rocks. The top edge was barren with several long smooth logs lying at the edge where it appeared someone had used them to dislodge the stones to make them tumble onto the road.
“Since it was almost dark,” I said, “I don’t know if you noticed or not, but there’s also a trench dug across the road. That’s what had made the coach nearly tip over right before you stopped the horses.”
His bushy white eyebrows rose, and he stared back at the coach. “Really? No, I didn’t notice that, but I wondered why the coach rocked so hard.”
Instinct caught my attention and I gave a shrewd stare toward the coach. “I think we’d best get back to the others and quickly.”
“Why?”
I started running. “Either we’re under attack or about to get robbed.”
From the dark edge of the woods, two shadowy figures slinked toward the side of the coach and yanked open the side door. Madeline screamed.
“Forrest!” Father shouted. “Help us!”