Fan Fiction ❯ Dhampir ❯ chapter 2 ( Chapter 2 )

Disclaimer: I still don't own it, and I wish I did

Chapter 2

The rain had subsided slightly. Magiere knelt in the center of the village path, illuminated by two torches, hafts stuck in the ground on either side of the path. She placed the brass urn firmly on the wet soil and twisted it a few times until satisfied it was securely settled and would not tip over. Beside it she set a small wooden mallet.

Anna and two village men were watching from narrow openings in the common cottage's shutters. A few other eyes peered from window shutters in hovels and huts around the village. But the zupan would not be satisfied with a voyeur's view. He stood within shouting distance, just outside the door where he'd surrender the future of his village to a killer of the undead.

Magiere took a bottle from her pack and poured a fine white powder into one palm. She then sifted it back and forth between her hands. With a sudden flourish, she threw the handful high into the sir and waited. The tiny particles didn't fall but hung in the air like a vaporous cloud, creating a wondrous glow all around her as the particles caught the torch light. Gasps from the peasants reached her ears.

From another bottle, she poured red powder into her hand and threw it aloft as well, with a wilder flourish of her arm. It danced between the white particles, contrasting and moving like little sand-grain fireflies.

Magiere stood in silence, eyes closed for a moment. She opened them again without looking at anything in particular. Amid the hovering powders, her pale skin and dark hair made her seem a wraith of light, unloving, as if she were transformed to something kin to the night creatures she hunted. Each time a swirl of red powder in the air drifted by her head, its sparkling reflection of the torchlight echoed in her tresses with her streaks of crimson. She reached down and picked up the stake, holding the leather grip tightly.

"The red calls the beast, like blood," she shouted. "It can't resist." She lowered herself to a crouch, braid falling forward over her left shoulder, and stared up the path where she knew the creature would come.

A pale flicker darted between the buildings.

Her finger pointed to a decrepit hovel ten paces down the path ahead of her. "There! See, it comes!"

With the fingertips of her hand, she flipped the lid off the brass urn and grabbed another bottle of red powder, flinging the contents into the air around her.

Without warning, something solid collided with her back, knocking her forward with enough force to daze her. Behind her, Anna screamed. Magiere spit out mud and spun on the ground out of the attackers way. She scrambled back to a crouch, turning in all directions to see what had hit her. The path lay empty.

For long moments she turned from side to side, watching between the huts of the village for any signs of movement. The zupan had backed up against the common cottage door, eyes wide, but remained outside watching.

"What in-"

It hit again from the side, itching her back down. Water soaked through her leggings and washed over her armor as she skidded across the mud, until her shoulder struck the haft of one torch stuck in the ground. The torch toppled and sizzled out.

Magiere was up again, searching. The shadows around her deepened with only one torch still burning.

She could hear window shutters slamming closed amid shouts and wails as the villagers panicked. A passing glimpse as she spun about showed that even Petre had now stepped inside the door, ready to slam it shut if need be. The zupan shouted, "there, to your left!"

A blur appeared in the corner of her sight, and she ducked a swinging arm. She made a grab for it as it passed. "No more games," she hissed under her breath.

Her hands closed over woolen material, and she jerked back.

Their came a sharp tear as her own force strained against that of her attacker, but the fabric held. Unable to keep her balance, her body twisted to the side as she and her opponent both spun about when she refused to let go of its garment. They hit the ground together, each scrambling in the mud for a foothold. She turned on one knee to face it and readied the stake. Its head lifted in the torchlight.

Thin and filthy, its flesh glowed as white as the first of her floating powders. Silver-blond swung in muddied tendrils around a narrow, dirt splattered face with slanted amber eyes and slightly pointed ears. The cape she had managed to grasp hung in rotted tatters around its shoulders.

Magiere scuttled back two steps, still griping the leather-handled stake, and tried to find better footing without taking her eyes off the white figure.

It charged again, moving fast. A claw hand slipped inside her guard and snatched the tail of her braid. They were both soaked in rain and mud, making all movements slick and desperate. She fell on the ground, on purpose this time, and rolled. When their tumble finished, Magiere came u on to and rammed downward with her stake, holding it as tightly as possible.

Blood sprayed upward from its chest as it thrashed on the ground, screaming its keening wail. Magiere bit down on her own tongue by accident in an effort to hold the thing down, stake securely in its heart.

The creature thrashed wildly, clawing at the stake. Its torso arched, half lifting Magiere off the ground, and a guttural scream came u from deep in its throat. Then its body went slack and splashed back down into the mud.

Magiere held on until the creature was completely still, then quickly scrambled to the brass urn. Picking it up, she snatched the mallet and swung it hard against the container's side.

A piercing clang reverberated in the air. Magiere dashed around to the far side of the body, striking the container again and again. Standing in the cottage doorway, the zupan clapped his hands over his ears against the painful clamor. As the last clang faded, Magiere slapped the lid tightly over the brass jar, sealing it. She stood there, the village quiet except for her own panting.

Zupan Petre started to rush forward, perhaps to see the monster close up, or to offer some assistance, but she held out her hand to keep him back.

"No," she gasped, weaving back and forth in exhaustion. "Stay where you are. Even slain, they can be dangerous."

"Hunter…" Petre searched for words, his expression a mix of emotions. "Have you ever seen such a beast?"

Looking at the blood soaked figure on the muddy ground, Magiere shook her head. "No Zupan, I have not."

As the zupan watched in stunned silence, Magiere pulled a rope and a dusty canvas out of her pack. She wrapped the corps in it, tying a rope loop around he ankles of the bundled body. Then she quickly gathered her equipment into the pack and slung it over her shoulder. The sealed brass jar was cradled under her arm.

"Do you need help?" Petre Evanko seemed hesitant to ask, but would not let his fear hold him back.

"I must be alone for this," she answered bluntly, making her answer a command to be obeyed. "The spirit will not go willingly. It will fight to live again-fight harder than what you have seen here-and should their be another body nearby to take for its own, all my efforts will be wasted. No one enters the woods until morning, or I wont be responsible for what happens. If all goes well, we will not see each other again."

Petre nodded his understanding. "Our thanks, Hunter."

Magiere said nothing more as she headed into the woods, dragging the corps behind her.