Fan Fiction ❯ Dhampir ❯ chapter 3 ( Chapter 3 )

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Chapter 3

Mud had seeped into every available opening in Magiere's armor and clothing. The grit against her skin, combined with the long walk hauling the body and her equipment deep into the woods, put her in an irritable mood. She stepped out of the trees into a small clearing and looked behind herself once more. It would be a shame to have to kill some foolish villager, but she saw no sign of anyone and could here nothing but the natural speech of the trees in the wind. She dropped her burdens.

A low rumble of a growl came from the bushes at the clearing's far side, and Magiere stiffened. Leaves shivered, and a huge dog stepped out into the open. Thought he was tall and wolfish in build and color, his grays were a little bluer and his whites a little brighter than any wolf's. Strange eyes of near silver-blue glittered back at Magiere. With a low grunt, the animal looked toward the bundle on the ground behind her.

"Oh, be quiet, Chap," she muttered. "After all this time you ought to know m sound."

Magiere's spine arched suddenly as she felt two feet slam into her back. Her eyelids snapped wide open in cold surprise and she slid across the clearing's wet mulch floor, thumping up against the base of a maple. She scrambled to her feet. Across the clearing, thrashing its way out of the canvas, stood the white figure with the stake through its heart.

"Damn you, Magiere! That hurt." He reached down to grip the butt of the stake. "You didn't oil it properly, did you?"

Magiere rushed across the clearing and kicked his feet out from under him. The slender figure dropped on his back wit ha grunt, and she was on top of him, pinning his arms to the ground with her knees. Both her hands wrapped tightly around the butt of the stake.

Anger swelled up inside her like a fever. Strands of muddy, rain-soaked hair clung to her face as she glared down at the white figure beneath her. She jerked the stake up.

"You irritating half-wit!" she snapped. "If you'd stuck the plan and not sent me rolling around in the muck, maybe the sheath wouldn't have jammed with grit."

Where there had once been a point on the stake, there was now nothing. The stake stopped at the bottom edge of the leather-wrapped butt. Magiere gave a quick glance into the hollow bottom of the stake, and then banged it against an exposed tree root. There came a sharp snap-knock at the pointed end sprang out of the hollow and back into place

"What were you doing back there?" she grabbed the front of his shirt. "You know better than that, Leesil. We do it the same way every time. No changes, no mistakes. Just what is your problem?"

Leesil's head dropped back to the ground. He stared u into the canopy of trees with a melancholy sigh that was far to exaggerated for Magiere taste.

"It's the same all the time," he wined. "I'm bored!"

"Oh. Get up," she snapped, and rolled off her companion. She tossed the stake down by her things and reached under a bush to pull out a second pack and a tin lantern. The lantern was still lit- by Leesil before he came into the village for their performance. She opened the shutter, turned the knob to extend the wick, and the light increased a small portion.

Leesil sat u and began opening the front of his ragged shirt. Below the neckline, the true color of his skin showed-not corps white but a warm tan. He itched at the white powder on his throat. Across his chest was strapped a burst leather sack still dripping with dark red die. It was caked with a mound of wax that had held the collapsed stake in place in his chest, giving the impression that he'd been impaled. He winced as he untied the twine holding the assemblage in lace.

"You're supposed to attack from the front, where I can see you." Magiere's voice rose slightly as she rolled up the stained canvas and rope she'd used to drag Leesil out of the village. "And where did you learn to skulk like that? I couldn't see you at all at first."

Look at this," Leesil answered in astonished disgust, wiping the die off himself with one hand. "I've got a big, red welt in the middle of my chest."

Chap, the large hound, strolled over to sit by Leesil. Sniffing at the white powder on his face, the dog let out a disgruntled whine.

"Serves you right," Magiere answered. She stuffed canvas, rope, and the brass urn into her pack, then lifted the bundle over her shoulder. "Now pick up the lantern and let's leave. I want to make the bend in the river before we camp. Were still to close to the village to stop for the night."

Chap barked and began fidgeting on all fours. Leesil patted him briefly.

"And keep him quiet," Magiere added, looking at the dog.

Leesil picked up his pack and lantern and started off after Magiere, with Chap ranging along beside, weaving his own way amongst the undergrowth.

It seemed to take them little time to cover the distance, and Magiere was relived when they approached the bend of the Vudrask River. They were now far enough from the village to safely settle fro the night and build a fire. She turned inward, away from the open bank of the river, and picked a clearing in the forest that was still well hidden by brush, out of plain view. Leesil immediately headed back to the river's edge to wash up, with Chap following along, and Magiere remained to build a small fire. When Leesil returned, he looked more himself, though not exactly normal by most standards. His appearance was something Magiere had grown accustomed to, even before he'd told her of his mother's heritage.

His skin was indeed a medium tan, rather than the white of the powder, and it made Magiere feel pale by comparison. But his hair was another matter-so blond as to seem pure white in the dark. There was little need to powder it for a village performance. Long tresses with a yellow-white sheen hung to his shoulders. And then there was the slight oblong shape of his ears, not quite pointed at the top, and the narrow suggestion of a slant to his amber-brown eyes beneath high, thin eyebrows the color of his hair.

Magiere had noted several times how much the lithe man was like a negative reflection of her own appearance. Most of the time Leesil his hair tied up out of sight in a scarf wrap that also hid the tops of his ears. His mother's people wee so rare in this part of the land that he and Magiere felt his mixed heritage might create undue attention-which would not be good considering his role in their profession.

Once settled around a comfortable fire and half-wrapped in a blanket, Leesil reached into his pack and pulled out a wineskin.

Magiere glanced at him. "I though you were out."

He smiled. "I picked up a few necessities in that town we passed through a day back."

"I hope you used your own money."

"Of course." Leesil paused. "Speaking of money, how did we do back there?"

Magiere opened the small bag and began counting out coins. She passed over two-fifths of the take to Leesil, keeping the lord's share for herself. Leesil never argued, since Magiere was the one who had to deal directly with all the villagers. He tucked his coins into a pouch on his belt, the tipped his head back for a long guzzle, squeezing the wine sack as he swallowed.

"Don't get drunk," Magiere warned. "It's not long until dawn, and I don't want you sleeping until noon when we should be moving."

The fire crackled and popped. Chap lay down close to Leesil. Magiere settled back, allowing some of the tension in her shoulders ebb away. In moments like this, she couldn't remember how many nights had passed since the first such evening. If she actually to count it out, they couldn't have been at the game for more than a few years. She rubbed an aching muscle in the back of her neck. This was a better life then the one she'd been born to-which would have consisted of a quick old age from being worked to death on the farm. Still, Leesil's unexpected change of strategy and his "playfulness" tonight seemed like an omen, leaving her fearful about her carefully planned future. A future she had not mentioned to him. It dawned on her that she was being foolishly superstitious as the peasants she scorned, but the uneasiness wouldn't fade. Perhaps it was just the way she had been raised.

Born in the nearby county of Droevinka, Magiere never knew her father, but throughout her childhood she had learned bits and pieces about him. As a transient noble vassal, her ruled the peasants for the lords and collected rents due on land plots, staying in one place for months or sometimes years, but eventually always moving onward wherever his higher lord sent him. Few had seen him except on early night collections, after daylight faded, and everyone could be found in their hovels and cottages, retired from labor. Her mother was just a young woman from a village near the barony house. The noblemen took her for his mistress, and she remained mostly out of sight for nearly a year.

Rumors of her mother's fate were whispered about the village, but the little known truth was all too mundane. Some told tales of glimpsing her on the manor grounds in the evening, pale and listless. It was during the latter half of her stay at the barony house that some noticed she was with child. She died giving birth to a girl child, and the nobleman was ordered onward to a new fife. Not wishing to be burdened with an illegitimate daughter, he gave the infant to her mother's sister and disappeared. It was this aunt who named her Magiere, after her mother, Magelia. None of the villagers even knew Magiere's father's name. The chasm between classes was wide. He had power. They did not. That was all anybody needed to know.

Aunt Bieja tried to be kind and treat her as family, but the other villagers were not so inclined. The fact that her father was noble and had simply take one of the village's few pretty young women-simply because he could-was cause enough for people to want someone, anyone, to punish. He was gone, and Magiere remained. And yet there was more to it than simple resentment.

Whispers, fearful stares, and rude calls were frequent whenever she walked past the other villagers. They would not let their children have anything to do with her. The only one who tried-Geshan, a goat herder's son-ended up with a severe beating and warnings to stay away from the "dark-begotten" child. Something about her father had frightened them, something more than just his position of dealing legal life and death. At first, she wanted to know everything, to know what had been so frightening about him and why they all shunned her so. Aunt Bieja once said with sympathy. "They feared your father was something unnatural," but that was as far as she'd go.

Finally, Magiere grew less curious about her parents, and she began to hate the villagers for their superstitions and their ignorance. With the passing of years, little enlightenment came and hostilities toward her increased. In the end, she cared nothing for her past and grew hard to those around her.

When she turned sixteen, Aunt Bieja took her aside, pulled a locked wooden box from under the bed, and presented it to her. Inside the box was a bundle, wrapped in oilcloth against the wet climate, which held a falchion, two strange amulets, and studded leather armor suitable for a young man. One of the amulets was a topaz stone set in pewter. It was simply hung on a leather string. The other amulet was a small half-oval with tin backing that held what seemed to be a chip of bone with unrecognizable writing carved carefully into it. Unlike the other, this one was strung on a chain that passed through the squared side of the amulet, so that its oval half hung down with the bone side always outward.

"I suppose he expected a son," Aunt Bieja said, referring to Magiere's mysterious father. "But you might be able to sell them for something."

Magiere lifted the falchion. It was exceptionally light for its look, and the blade gleamed even in the low candlelight of the room. A small glyph like letter-but from no language she knew-had been carved into the base of the hilt. The shining metal suggested that Aunt Bieja had kept it polished over the years, but there was a thick coating of dust over the box it had been stored in, which indicated the contents hadn't been disturbed in a long time. The blade might bring a good price at market, but Magiere's thoughts began to run a different course that night onward. It was a late spring night when she slipped out of the village, never once looking back.

There had to be something better in the world… something better than stepping outside each day to see faces filled with hatred, or people who pretended they didn't see her. She cared neither for her unknown past, nor any kind of future with such a wretched lot. Loneliness would be bearable if she were actually alone.

The following years had been hard, moving from town to town, working at anything to stay alive, and learning the things she wanted to know-how to fight, where to hunt for food, and how to turn coin from the foolish and unwary. There was little work for a young woman on the move, and she nearly starved to death twice. But she would not go home. She would never go back home.

Her hatred of superstition never faded. She became even more aware of how suppositious the people of the land were and how common from place to place. It was easy in the end to choose specific things to exploit. Most of all, people feared dark and death, and more so anything connected to both. The idea for "the game" didn't just come to her suddenly. It developed in stages as she began to realize she might make a living by playing on fear, the same kind of fear which had once ostracized her.

At first, she worked alone, convincing peasants that vampires were often spirit creatures that could be trapped and destroyed. The elaborate display of floating powders, fake charms and incantations made ignorant villagers actually believe she could trap undeads in the brass urn. She even worked out the trick of dye in the wineskin, so that she could terrify her customers with sudden bleeding wounds as she wrestled with invisible attackers. In the areas she traveled, she would set up a place in one town for messages, usually a well-patronized tavern rife with gossip, where her exploits would be assed quickly on a wave of whispers. Outside just such a place was where she'd met Leesil for the first time. He was very good at what he did, so good, she really shouldn't have caught him.

Walking away from a tavern in the evening, she felt a sudden trembling itch in the small of her back run u her sine and into her head. The whole night around her appeared to come alive as her senses heightened, and she heard rather than felt the hand digging in the cloth sack over her shoulder. When she turned and snatched the wrist, ready to deal whit the thief, there was a complete surprise on his face-a strange, tan face with glittering amber eyes beneath high, thin blond eyebrows.

Magiere couldn't remember exactly what they said to ease out of that tense moment. Perhaps it had been a mutual recognition of their special talents. Leesil's unusual appearance mingled with the schemes in her thoughts. She had never actually seen an elf before, as they were not known to travel and lived far to the north. The combination of his human and Elvin blood created and exotic look in face and form. They spent a wine-soaked evening of conversation, during which he took off his headscarf and allowed her to see his ears. The next morning, they left town together, along with the strange wolfish dog Leesil had with him. That was four years ago.

The fire crackled again. Chap lifted his head and whined, staring into the darkness.

"Stop it," Leesil slurred, halfway thorough his flask by this point, "there's nothing out there." He scratched the back of the fog's neck, and Chap turned to lick at his face until he had to push the animal's muzzle away.

Magiere leaned over and looked out into the forest. Chap didn't usually fuss about nothing, but still, he was a dog. More than likely he'd just heard a squirrel or a hare.

" I font see anything," she said and turned back to the fire. In the red light, she remembered the dimly lit common cottage and the two unexplainable oozing holes in the neck of Zupan Petre's son. Her head began to ache. She dreaded the discussion she'd planned to have with Leesil. For a month, she'd been putting it off, always waiting for a better time. But this last job made her wonder how much longer she could stall. She was getting tired of it all, and Leesil was getting careless. Thinge were becoming a little to unpredictable

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