The moon slipped coyly behind the harmless clouds, stealing glances down through the low branches of Urmlaspyr's scrubby trees. The quiet between the breaking of the waves was punctuated by cricket song and the occasional hoot of an owl in search of a mate. The sea breathed salt air over the beach and into the city, but halfway between the docks and the catacombs, the only salt that one young man could smell and taste was in his sweat.
"Attack."
But Kennig whipped his arm- and the staff that his hand held- back to a waiting, defensive stance. Vhalan watched him hold the pose for all of ten seconds before abruptly swinging his chain up to an attacking speed. The young man found he had to use his staff to fend off two particularly venomous attempts on his arms, smacking them away as he backed up a few paces to get out of the chain's reach.
"I said attack!" Vhalan repeated, his voice nearly a snarl. "The danger may be a guard, may be a mercenary, may be anybody- you cannot stay your hand just because you recognize your assailant!"
The master slung his chain out twice more- first, just barely missing the trainee's feet, then threatening one of his arms- and the silvery arcs that ripped over and around his head as they briefly embraced his neck thoroughly distracted the young man into a weaker stance. Pouncing on the opportunity, Vhalan stepped far to his right side, dropped into a lunge and slung the chain up and around the Kennig's arm.
There was a momentary pause which everyone knew better than to believe was indicative of any lack of ideas on Vhalan's part.
Turning himself around twice so that his chain wrapped around the outside of his arms, the vampire picked up enough ground to connect with a spinning back kick that snapped his student's head to the side and put him on the ground immediately. The chain yanked taut as Kennig fell back, nearly taking his shoulder out of its socket. His staff, to his credit, never left his right hand; although the grip wasn't tight enough to resist a concentrated attempt at disarmament, Vhalan left it precisely where it was.
Suddenly, there was a rustle of branch and leaves, and the wings of a raven cut through the weight of the night as though they'd been blades. Shanna, who'd accompanied Vhalan nearly out of force of habit, looked up from her meditation position on the ground.
"I talked to Deadriver, like you said," Kennig panted when he could hear himself over the ringing in his ears, "did Shepherd Aric tell-"
"That is not the matter at hand," Vhalan replied, his eyes narrowing as they cut away from the boy on the ground and toward the darkness of the night beyond his faithful monitor. Predictably, she had moved to close the distance between herself and the two men. "At the moment, I am wondering why, once you'd neutralized my charge the first time, you did not continue the assault."
"Continue it how?" the young man argued, sitting up and resting his arms on his knees. "The staff is a defensive weapon, not an-"
"The next time Sakhma tells you that, ask her to tell you about the thorough trouncing Svaentok gave her- with her own staff, might I add," Vhalan replied flatly, even though his amusement at the memory of the referenced event printed itself clearly on his face. "Generations of stick fighters have not survived the brute idiocy of blade wielders, the quickness of archers, and the agility of exotic weapon handlers with a... 'defensive weapon'... the term itself is nearly oxymoronic."
"Ha?" Kennig managed, stranded somewhere between incredulity and frustration. "You nearly took my whole-"
"Your weapon has just as much reach as mine, and it is solid; use it to help you spring forward, and hit me, Ironfeather; I know you know how to do that," the chain master said with crossed arms and an arched eyebrow. The raven, as if to punctuate his point, gave a short, self-satisfied caw.
Silence.
"I didn't want to, you know. I didn't enjoy it or anything."
Vashte, who had found a high perch long ago, ruffled her feathers. Only the master could hear the sound, a fact that, for some reason, rested uneasily within him. When the raven actually turned her head to look down at Vhalan, he gave a quiet sigh of resignation.
"The enjoyment of such activities seems wholly mine," he replied. "Yet, I fault you not for your tenderness of heart, mortal; merely for that of your spine."
Above the pair, the raven shifted on the branch, her head swiveling toward the town's horizon. An unfamiliar scent made its way, on the sea breeze, to the chain master, who decided not to turn his own head toward its source right away. In the space his lack of response left, the young man lying before him gave a strange, weary laugh.
"Something more interesting, huh?"
Vhalan looked down at the young man with the barest flicker of emotion. Kennig, in turn, had to fight with himself not to become nervous at the fact that he could not tell which particular feeling had tugged at his tutor's heart. From the knobby branches of some one of the scruffy trees, the raven's high, sharp caw split the quiet as she lifted herself into flight again. Shanna scanned the area, but could find neither the bird nor the reason she had called out.
"Leave me."
The young man grunted as he got to his feet. "You'll tell me, right? When you think it's time?"
The master scoffed before he spoke, but when he did, there was nothing mocking in his tone. "I am nothing, Ironfeather, if not a man of my word. Shanna, take him and go."
With a simple nod, Shanna moved forward and helped the monastic initiate to move a bit faster. There was a short, low conversation that began between the two to which the master worked hard not to pay attention. The two of them had gone some distance toward the above ground graveyard before the chain master turned to face the coastline and sat down. He focused on the whispers of footsteps, sniffing at the air to try to get a read of the emotional state of what he couldn't help but consider a victim.
"Will they return?"
The voice was high and thin, but not fraught with fear. Vhalan closed his eyes. Whatever this slip of a girl was feeling manifested itself as a dry rotted wood smell.
"If they do," Vhalan said, his voice a half-chuckle, "they will get what they deserve."
There was one tentative foot step, then another.
"The only territory I hold sacred is a single chair," Vhalan offered, understanding the reticence with a part of himself that still seemed strange. "Made of the stair up into Saint Cuthbert's... place of worship."
There were two more steps forward, then another pause.
"There isn't a stair up into the temple of Saint Cuthbert," the high voice answered. The tone was meek- almost that of an apology, as though the one speaking were sorry to have to correct a misconception.
"Now there isn't, no. Because when I was too weak to go on banging on their door, the 'brothers' assumed that I'd died, and that they were safe. They picked up the entire stone and moved it back into the wilderness from where my sire came, too afraid to even bury me, which was only helpful in that I was found by someone who was more brother to me than they ever were. It was while he was sorrowfully digging a place for me that I awoke and- to my great shame- attacked him."
Five more steps brought the small girl right next to Vhalan, who opened his eyes and looked at her. Instantly, a paternal spirit, stronger than nearly every other urge by which he had, to that point, been moved, swept away all considerations of prey or victimhood. She, on the other hand, seemed to be nearly jolted back by the sight of his red-streaked brown eyes, even though her hazel eyes had gained some crimson strains of their own. After an indecisive moment, she carefully seated herself next to him, as though she might get in trouble for doing so at any moment.
"Did he die?" she asked after a short silence.
"No," Vhalan replied with a half-smirk, as he remembered the fight. "I was still very, very weak, even for a fledgling vampire, because my sire could not care for me as Lucien has cared for you. My brother, even at his age, was already a warlock worthy to be feared. Had I any sense at all, I would have fled him, but I didn't, and when he had me firmly in his power, he would not kill me. Instead, he called me by name until I recognized it, and him- when I did, I fled his presence at once."
The little girl, whose tightly braided auburn hair pulled at her pale scalp, bit her lips and dug her toes into the dirt. "Can I know your name?" she asked slowly.
Vhalan reached his left arm over and across himself to lift the girl's chin, feeling very reminded of Silveredge. "My name is Vhalan. Now, what do I call you?"
"Tirabet Caemeth... although... I guess just Tirabet, now," the little girl replied.
"That is your choice," Vhalan counseled. "You can keep that name, or choose another- perhaps Lucien's- or simply have none at all. You don't have to choose now... and you can also change your mind, whenever you feel like it."
"I don't feel anything," Tirabet complained instantly, an unmistakable jolt of frustration in her voice. "I know I'm me, but-"
"But that 'you' has changed, and will keep changing," Vhalan replied. "You must allow it to happen peacefully. I was mortal for quite some time before my change, and had a very difficult time getting used to my new nature- new choices, new abilities- everything was unfamiliar. Horrifying, even- at first, I couldn't... well. Letting go of my Humanity... cost me many years."
Tirabet sighed and looked down at the ground again. "I will feel something then, won't I? After a while?"
Vhalan remained quiet for a few moments, biting back on his natural cynicism. Finally, when he was sure that he could keep all trace of bitterness out of his tone, he replied with a simple "You won't just feel different. You will be different. Almost everything you know about yourself will change."
In the quiet that flowed between them, the raven- Vashte- left her branch to settle herself on Vhalan's left shoulder. Tirabet, startled, leaned forward to look over at her immediately.
"This is Vashte," Vhalan explained. "She is an emblem of the Raven Queen, the goddess to whom those mortals who were with me are dedicated."
Tirabet nodded, and sat back again, looking at her hands. The nails there, jagged and mottled with white spots, spoke to Vhalan of a child who had been accustomed to biting her fingernails, but recently discovered that it was a much more dangerous pass time now than it had been before.
"Did you have a pet once?" he asked gently, aware of her awkwardness.
Tirabet shook her head. "Only my pony. I just got her; I can't even ride. I bet Logan gets her, now."
"Ah," Vhalan replied, not sure how to tell the small girl that the horse would likely run from her in terror now. "Her name?"
Tirabet shrugged. "I dunno. I got in trouble the same day I got her, so I never even saw her, really."
The old rebel in Vhalan couldn't help but be amused. "Got in trouble for what?" he asked, having a feeling the exploit would be something minor, like stealing a cookie from the kitchen before dinner, tricking a nursemaid, or getting a stitch wrong on a sampler.
"For hitting Logan in the mouth, 'cause he was making fun of Jana and Circe, calling them names. I don't know why he didn't get in trouble for calling her names, but I knew he wasn't gonna! He never gets in trouble; only me! That's why I hate him! I wish he would die!"
Vhalan wouldn't have given much thought to the words themselves, but the sharp, acidic smell of actual rage got his attention.
"I bet he's not even in trouble now, 'cause my parents never wanted me anyway," Tirabet continued furiously, not minding Vhalan's silence at all. "I bet they don't even care I'm gone."
"They-" Vhalan began, then thought better of it. "Well, he deserved that. And your parents deserve worse, if they even did one thing that caused you think for a moment that they didn't want you."
"They never wanted me," Tirabet repeated, her voice beginning to tighten. "They hate me, and I hate them too, because they are stupid, and mean, and they don't make sense ever, and they let Logan do whatever he wants 'cause he's a boy, and he's big, and smart, and everything they want, and I hope their house falls in on them too, like the other one up the road did. I hope they scream and get burned to death, because I hate all of them. I hate them; hate."
Vhalan sat in quiet thought for a few moments, listening to the small child next to him pant out the remnants of her fury. The tang of rage had edged down into some strange, vinagary smelling emotion that he could not quite put a name to- it wasn't metallic enough to be sorrow, nor bitter enough to be angst, nor quite sour enough to be a desire for revenge.
"They'll die before you do," he at last noted flatly, unable to think of anything else to say. "All of them, even Logan- I suppose he's your brother?"
"Yes?" Tirabet answered, half-stunned by the flippancy in Vhalan's voice.
"Well, take comfort," the older vampire counseled seriously as he arose. Vashte, unperturbed, took flight and made long, looping circles overhead, waiting. "Logan is mortal, able to die quickly, and for little reason. You are beyond his type of frailty. You are beyond being denied your pony, and or your freedom... even beyond your parents's stupidity- and never, never, let anyone make you feel that being a boy is better than being a girl. That is perhaps one of the biggest lies any of us are ever told."
"Wait, where are you going?" Tirabet said as she jumped up, watching Vhalan's long strides away from her with a throb of surprise and fear.
"The docks," Vhalan replied without looking back. "I have been particularly interested in a rather hefty fisherman who seems to enjoy spying on the burial grounds from his rooftop- are you hungry?"
Tirabet let out a puff of breath that should have been a threat of tears. "I don't know," she whined finally, finding that she couldn't even muster a proper temper tantrum. "I don't feel anything, so I don't know anything; I don't know what to do."
Vhalan, who hadn't been hungry at all, stopped and turned his head over his shoulder so that the girl behind him could see the right side of his face. "You'll have to use your mind- your memory, right now- to make up for what you don't feel. That would be one of those changes I was telling you about earlier. It might be difficult at first, but I'm sure you can handle it. Now, tell me, what did you do last week?"
Tirabet stopped huffing and pouting at once to get about the business of remembering, which Vhalan folded his lips over his teeth to keep himself from smiling about.
"I went to temple, and I mixed incense powder, and I sorted the flower seeds, and I found worms under a rock, and I went to market with Nursie, and I dug in the garden, and I played with Jana and Circe, and we pushed the Soargyl's cow- we didn't push it over, but Mama had Nursie beat me as though we did- and I socked Logan in the mouth, and then that's it."
Vhalan hummed with genuine consideration. "Well, I'm not taking you anywhere near Mama or Logan, because I can't promise that I'd leave them in one piece, after hearing all of this about them. I don't know where Jana and Circe live-"
"In the Dark Quarter now; they moved, 'cause their papa had to," Tirabet supplied immediately.
"Ah, hence the name-calling- but at this hour, they're probably asleep. I can't take you to temple, either; I don't think I'd be welcomed." Vhalan tilted his head slightly and allowed his gaunt, wolfish features to draw into a nearly comical caricature of thought, and Tirabet giggled in spite of herself. "Hmmm... that leaves... you like gardening?"
"Yes," Tirabet said, quickly closing the distance between herself and the male vampire. "I like buttercups best, but everyone says they're weeds."
"I know of a lovely spot," Vhalan smirked, throwing off the obvious pretense just as quickly as he'd donned it. "Someone obviously prepared it for a nice-sized garden, but then abandoned it- would you like to see it?"
Tirabet nodded at Vhalan with a smile, and in response, Vhalan squatted down so that he could speak to her without forcing her to look up.
"There are such mortals in the Dark Quarter as are unafraid of our kind, as I'm sure Lucien has already told you. I wonder if...perhaps... we can convince some mortal to get us some seeds at market?"
"Yes!" Tirabet cheered. "Papa Lucien said you'd say that! He said so before I even left! He knows you really well."
Vhalan, encouraged, continued conspiratorially, "Did he tell you whether I would want to go on two legs or four?"
"Oooh, four, four!" came the enthusiastic reply. "He taught me how to do it, and I learned really fast! Lookit!"
Vhalan stood and watched the little girl run several feet behind him, then whirl around and begin running back toward him. When she was about a yard away, she began leaping into the air, and on the third leap, her form scrunched up, her ears changed, and her whole body produced tawny brown fur. Vhalan turned around and took off himself, changing gracefully into his dire white wolf form on his first leap, then slowed down just enough to allow the smaller wolf pup to catch up and smack into his side. He gave a sharp bark of feigned insult as he stepped sideways, but quickly gave the pup a playful push toward the Witchrun, and the Dark Quarter.
Overhead, Vashte cawed her approval before coming to rest on a severely damaged tree near the catacombs. And in Letherna, with a satisfied smirk, the obsidian-eyed Queen knotted the vibrant green satin sash together with the dark grey braided cord.
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