McCann, James - Kith - part 02

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“IF EVERYONE’S EVIL IS UNIQUE, HOW CAN ANYONE CLAIM TO

HAVE BEEN HARD DONE BY?”

Kith - 1

Trent found pleasure in many tastes, but none were quite as delectable as the night

air. It had texture; soft and tender. Over the past few nights he had grown to love it more

and more, and when night ended the craving began.

On the other hand, sunrise frightened him. He didn’t understand why, but it did.

Dawn’s piercing rays struck him like shards of glass, pilfering his power like blood

gushing from an open wound. Trent breathed the night air, shuddering at his last thought.

He wondered where exactly Keelin was taking him, and what was going to happen

once they got there. He knew they were in Banff, headed west toward British Columbia.

They had slept under the open sky since leaving Minnow Creek, but for Trent it was

becoming increasingly difficult to sleep at night. Perhaps it was the closeness the

mountain range brought, as compared to the freedom of the prairies. Snow capped

mounts glowed blue beneath the moon and a nearby lake reflected every star. But for

Trent, beneath the encroaching trees and surrounding stone walls it still felt like a prison

closing in.

He watched Keelin dream, tucked inside a warm sleeping bag. She hadn’t said a word

since they left, and whenever he prompted her with questions she’d say only, “Wait till

we get to the Circle.” Trent suddenly felt insignificant beneath the vast sky.

“Hey kid,” Keelin startled him, “if you don’t quit that pathetic sighing neither of us

will get any sleep.”

“I’d apologise, but I don’t want you to think I’m weak.”

“Is that a spine I hear in your voice?” She sat up, her eyebrows sitting high atop her

forehead and a graceful smile caressing the tension between them.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound rude...”

“Be rude! I’m starting to respect you.”

“Enough to call me `Trent` and not ‘kid’? I hate being called that.”

“Don’t push it kid,” the emphasis she put on ‘kid’ let him know she was being

sarcastic, “siblings aren’t supposed to get along.”

“Is that what we are? Brother and sister?”

“Yep.”

“And old man Whittaker’s our father?”

“Technically.”

“Why do you keep saying that? What did he do to you that was so unforgivable? I

have a lot of respect for him.”

She cocked an eyebrow.

“Well, until he bit me.”

“And his bringing you over shows he’s as self-serving as he always was. You didn’t

deserve this. No one does.”

“Good job avoiding the question, but I still want to know what he did that was so

unforgivable. Even I can forgive him....”

“Of course you can!” She rose, casting the sleeping bag aside. “He bit you out of

respect and insured you wouldn’t be taken by Cimmeria.” Closing her eyes Keelin took a

Kith - 2

few steady breaths. Sitting by Trent she opened them and said, “I’ll tell you what

happened, but only because you’re my brother.”

“I’ll keep it a secret. I prom...” Trent was cut short by Keelin placing her hand on his

lips.

“First lesson: Don’t make promises.”

“Why?”

Keelin smiled. “Trust is gained through action, not words. ‘I promise’ guarantees

nothing. You don’t know what the future holds, so don’t vow it’ll turn out a certain way.”

“But I won’t tell anyone.”

“Then you will earn my trust through action.”

“How were you Begotten?”

“I was sixteen, promised to a man I didn’t love, and cock-sure I knew all there was to

know...”

Keelin always felt safe when she rode Thunder. He was the fastest steed in all Ireland,

and the toughest to train. Sitting upon his back proudly, enveloped by the moor’s thick fog

as though held by a Blacksmith’s glove, she listened to the hunting hounds bark as they

drew near. She had hoped to lose her pursuers in the thick woodlands, but as Thunder

crept forward at a snail’s pace she knew they would soon catch her. Had it not been for the

smith’s glove she would have kicked her stallion and turned his gallop into a storm! But as

the barks grew ever louder, Keelin knew that where blindness encumbered her scent aided

them.

Her greatest foe this night was not the howling from within the mist, but a more

terrifying enemy that followed. One that transformed gnarly branches into sinewy fingers

and every shimmer of light eyes that studied her every step. The cold air reminded her that

as autumn passed the world would soon die, covered in a death-blanket made from an

Angel’s frozen tears. And, Keelin knew, death begot death.

She listened to the hounds’ barks grow louder. Closing her eyes she felt glad that

Thunder knew the way, for her imagination fooled her less when she shut her eyes. Or, at

least it seemed that way until her horse stopped.

Keelin opened her eyes reluctantly, expecting to see her Father and the men he’d hired

to hunt for her. Her heart pumped heated blood to her head as she looked upon the men

and hounds who stood in her way. The quick wisps of smoky air leaping from her throat

stopped. She hadn’t opened her eyes to look upon her Father, hunters, and hounds, but

six strangers and six wolves.

The barking hounds, separated from her by the smith’s glove, howled as if they knew

they had lost their prey.

Keelin noticed a seventh man draw from the mist before her as if crafted by the woods

itself. He donned a long, midnight cape clasped at the neck by golden hooks, and a collar

that rose above his head like a mouth poised to scream. From within the silent bellow two

icy blue eyes glowed above pursed lips that sat relaxed in an ebony grin. The mist parted

into a dome around them, as if his glee were a command for it to abscond, and though

Keelin found it in herself to scream her voice was lost in the echo of the dead woods.

The stranger threw his cape over one shoulder and crossed his arms, bellowing a laugh

so dire that Keelin’s echoing scream died.

Kith - 3

“What would bring such a fair maiden out on a night such as this?” The stranger made

an odd gesture with his hand, and Thunder closed his eyes. Then he bowed, saying, “I am

called Naztar.”

Keelin tried to respond, with what she wasn’t sure, but it mattered not for her voice

was lost upon the figure as he rose from his bow. He had fangs, and the material on his

cape opened as if it were wings. Rising from the ground he hovered waiting to feast.

“Child,” he said, his soft voice comforting like a mother’s caress. “You need not be

afraid. I am going to release you from your bondage.”

As Naztar enveloped her, the cold air turned warm and his moist breath calmed her

terror. Keelin looked deep into his icy blue stare and saw forever; an end to the life she so

detested. Her heart pumped rhythmically as if to keep time for the wolves that had begun

to sing. Tipping her head back to expose a pulsing arterial vein, she offered herself to the

demon heart, mind and soul. There was something intoxicating in his stare that stole her

fear of death and of that she was thankful.

But a voice, resounding beside Thunder, woke her from this daze: “Naztar! Find her

hunters to feast upon. Her life belongs to me.”

Naztar spread his cape to create a barrier between the vampires and this challenger. He

stood tall, bearing a snarl that told he was a man unaccustomed to challenge. Keelin’s heart

pounded and she shivered, but craning her head she saw who had claimed her.

He was a boy her own years, gallant and proud. His complexion reminded her of men

who had died recently, but his long blonde hair, tussled to the side, made him appear quite

handsome. His physique looked as if he were bred for war, but his smile said he never had

to fight. He wore well-tailored grey dress: a velvet tunic, cotton breaches, and tights. He

stood with one foot propped upon a fallen tree and the other rested firmly upon the

ground. He crossed his arms and pivoted his body as if ready to leap to her aid. He glared

at Naztar with the same icy stare and did not flinch when the larger Kith breathed so low

he growled: “Rafgard, you have no right to this feast.”

The challenger laughed gaily as if he’d just recalled a funny joke, and drawing near he

said, “I have not welcomed you to my abode, friend. You will give me this woman, or your

riches will end. Perhaps you feel you can steal enough gold from the overtaxed villagers to

bring you Pleasure?” Rafgard laughed, each one of his bellows stabbing Naztar like a knife.

“You will pay for this Dragon Slayer,” Naztar’s lips curled, and in a soft thump he

disappeared. The wolves and vampires followed, leaving Keelin alone with Rafgard.

He walked around Thunder to stand in front of the beast. The stallion breathed puffs

of smoke the same hue as the fog surrounding them, each one a frightened wish to end his

paralysis. Rafgard reached out and caressed the steed, meeting the animal eye to eye.

“Sleep, stallion. Sleep and dream of pleasant pastures.”

Thunder’s eyes closed, and gently the beast collapsed onto the damp sod, rolling onto

its side. Keelin leapt from her seat to avoid being crushed and nearly ran, but when she

met Rafgard’s pleasant smile she felt drawn to him. It was as if he had reached into her

soul and stolen part of it so that she would only feel whole when with him. He reached out

to her like one would to a drowning friend, “Invite me to you, Keelin. Come to me and I

will give you Forever.”

Kith - 4

As she walked to him she took each stride like a babe taking its first steps. When she

was near enough he reached out with both hands and she took them, leaning on his

strength for support. He embraced her tightly, sending goose-bumps around her neck

where his hot breath lay. With a gentle stroke of his hand he brushed away her long hair

while caressing her spine with his other. Keelin felt drunk by his power and asked, “Are

you going to bite and drink?”

“Nay,” he whispered, the word caressing her lips. He had moved so their eyes met and

their lips brushed, continuing the gentle caress on her spine. “I shall bite but not drink.

But first...”

“But first,” she repeated.

“Pleasure.” Rafgard pressed his lips over hers and directed her to the ground. She felt

his one hand open her blouse, and the other undo her dress. A sober part of her begged

for help, but the rest that drank on the vampire’s power gave in freely.

“I had no idea old man Whittaker was like that,” Trent said, reaching out to grasp

Keelin’s shoulder. She trembled and looked at the ignited sky, as one who had seen one

too many sunsets.

“Does knowledge of his past change how you knew him?” Then she whispered, “He

isn’t like that.” She reached for her sleeping bag and draped it over her shoulders. “At

least not when he bit you. He had a lot of contempt for evil, mostly as a result from what

he saw in himself.”

“How can you defend him, and yet not forgive him?”

“I was there when he tried to change, when he started the Circle. I saw what it was for

him to turn against vampirism, and, I didn’t exactly live a perfect life myself.”

Peter trudged through the fog, holding his arms out before him. His hounds barked

ahead; each one possessed with the scent of their prey. He had veered away from the other

hunters and chose to search a path they had dubbed as treacherous. Wolves lived in this

part of the Greenwood, and with such a shortage of food humans had become welcome

fare. Surely if Keelin had taken this route he would find her dead.

Peter took out his pipe and packed it with tobacco. The reward for the girl was dead or

alive, so it mattered not to him how he found her. But it mattered, at least to the other

hunters, the shape in which they found themselves. Should the wolves attack, no hunter or

hound would escape alive. That was why this path lay untread.

But unlike the other hunters, Peter dared risk the hungry wolves to seek his prey. He

dared, because it was not only the wolves whose food supply was low.

He listened to his hounds’; Black’s low, rumbling bark, Night’s high-pitched yap, and

Sunrise’s that sounded like a bridge between the two. He only missed Barnaby, the oldest

and best hound he owned. It was a sore day when that hound lost its sight. As he lit his

pipe he took comfort in knowing that each dog was safe, since if they were safe then so was

he.

And then he heard it … a shrill yelp, followed by silence.

The silence killed his confidence as true as a knife plunged into the back of an

unsuspecting merchant. The yelp drove away the barks, leaving Peter to find his way in the

Kith - 5

dark. He stopped and listened. Nothing. He heard nothing. Drawing his sword he yelled,

“Who goes there?”

“Just a dream,” a woman’s voice whispered in the fog.

“Keelin? Is that you?” Peter said, listening intently for any noise that might lead him to

his dogs. “Don’t be afraid young lady, I have been hired by your father.”

“I know,” the voice whispered as a patch of fog parted to create a tunnel before him. At

the tunnel’s end Peter saw a woman’s silhouette, sending his heart fluctuating. It was as

though someone stood on his chest when he breathed, and where he once felt warm he

suddenly turned cold; yet he perspired. He had found his prey and had won the prize, but

as he stared into her crimson eyes he wondered who was the hunted.

“K-Keelin?” Peter choked, his sword trembling in his grasp.

She advanced toward him, swaying her hips and rubbing her hands along her body.

“Do you want me Peter? Is it reward you seek or virtue?”

Peter stared deeply into her hypnotic gaze. His head grew tingly and his vision blurred,

much as if he had partaken in too much spirit. His tongue was all twisted and he could not

speak, not even when she pressed her body against his nor when her hands slipped into his

breaches. The sword he held fell from his hands, and the thump it made as it hit the hard

ground echoed like a dream. Keelin leaned in with her lips to his mouth, and as her hot

breath caressed his he became hard in her grasp. He knew his hands had moved onto her

breasts and had begun to massage, but it wasn’t until she had begun stroking his hard flesh

that he felt completely taken by her enchantment.

But when he heard a voice from behind say, “Intoxicating, isn’t she?” Peter snapped

back to reality.

“What manner ‘o demon are you?” Peter whispered, pushing Keelin away and

knocking her to the ground.

“Demon?” the man’s voice whispered around him as a gust of wind rose to envelop

him. Peter dashed for his sword, but just when he grasped its hilt a man grabbed his wrist.

Peter looked at him, dropped his sword, and stood. The man let Peter’s wrist free, smiling

as gently as the cool nip in the air. “Do you think a sword will save you from this hellish

spawn?”

“Nay,” Peter said, reaching into his belt purse. “But this cross will!”

Peter brandished the crucifix before him, recoiling the two vampires away. But the man

began bellowing laughter, and walking right up to the cross he wrapped his fingers around

it. Then he said, “Foolish man. You do not know its meaning! This is no more than a

symbol to you.”

“Having cancelled the written code, with its regulations, that was against us and that

stood opposed to us; he took it away, nailing it to the cross!1”

The vampire’s hand burst into flame. He yelled and buried it into his cape, staring at

the crucifix with wide eyes. “Why does that thing hold so much power?”

“You don’t understand its meaning, do you?” Peter asked.

1 Col 2:14 (NIV)

Kith - 6

“Nay! I care not for mythology.” The Kith waved his cape and closed the tunnel. After

he’d disappeared inside the fog Peter sighed, his racing heart slowing as he heard a wolf

howl somewhere close.

“But you didn’t kill him, right?” Trent asked, waving his hand over Keelin’s eyes.

“No, not then.”

“What d’you mean, ‘not then’?”

Keelin rose and walked to her bike. Checking the saddlebags as if she suddenly

wanted to start packing up, she wiped a tear from her cheek. Trent waited for her to

answer, and when she didn’t he asked, “Keelin?”

“You’d best get some sleep if you’ve been awake all night.” She turned to face him,

“Dawn will be here soon.”

Trent shuddered.

“It works fast, doesn’t it?”

“What?”

“The vampirism. One minute dawn represents love and security, and the next it’s the

most frightening thing in the world.”

“Why is that?”

“Because our power is diminished during daylight. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to

it.”

“Why does the Circle stay out during the day?”

“Because being Christian means learning not to use power. Think of the might Jesus

had. He could have brought Jerusalem to their knees, but instead he surrendered to them

His life.”

“How is that the same as mine?”

“You have the ability to bring any mortal to his knees.” She turned and looked right

at him, the blue in her eyes growing misty like a brewing storm. “What will you do with

it?”

“What did you do?”

Peter sat in his “thinking” chair, smoking his pipe and tapping his hands on the arm

rest. His feet lay on a wooden stool he’d crafted from a simple stump, and a warm fire, as it

burned the rest of the tree, caressed him with a crimson glow. He missed the company of

his hounds, but at least he had Barnaby. The oldest of his canines, the dog had turned

blind long ago. It curled itself on his lap and slept, giving Peter an easy mind.

A clove of garlic lay on the front door and a wooden cross over each window. Beside

the chair he kept a wooden stake and a vial of holy water. Across the room, resting tenderly

upon a torn pillow, was his Bible open to the book of John. Peter closed his eyes and

considered going to sleep, but a tap on the door as light as the first few raindrops before a

storm woke him.

“Peter,” a woman whispered, her husky voice brushing the flames of the fire into a rage.

“Leave, demon. You have no power here.”

“Haven’t I? Then why do you cower in your home? Why do you not come to the window for a

look?”

Kith - 7

Peter took a long drag of his pipe before waking Barnaby. The hound sniffed and

stared up with two grey eyes at its Master, while licking the hand that scooped it to the

ground. Barnaby walked to where its blanket was usually set by the fire, found it and

settled into it. Sighing, the beast fell back into a deep slumber.

But Peter knew the beast outside would not give up as easily.

“Come, Peter. Invite me in,” she said.

“Nay, I shan’t. Begone and leave me be.” Peter followed each word with a puff of his

pipe. The hound by the fire yawned and rolled onto its back.

“Do you have such little faith in your god? Will He not protect you should you let me in?”

Peter closed his eyes and pulled a blanket over the spot where Barnaby had laid. “‘Tis

not right to test God. It is He who tests us.”

“Are you afraid He will fail a test?”

Peter laughed and opened his eyes. Walking to the window he said, “Me pride is not

toyed with so easily. Go find a child to play with.”

But outside, amidst the eerie wind and fog, Peter saw the vampyress holding a tiny

child. The boy was no more than five with sandy hair and blue eyes that could melt a

winter away.

“You beast ... how could you...”

“Give your life for the child and we won’t,” said a man’s voice. Peter recognised it as the

same one he had repelled earlier. “Do you believe in Eternity? Invite me in...”

Peter bowed his head and ignored Barnaby’s snoring. “You will release the child if I

do?”

“Aye, that we will. Invite me in, and invite Keelin to you.”

“That I do, damn thee!”

The wooden doors to the cabin slowly creaked as the rusted hinges moved. Peter

looked to the entryway and saw the male demon standing with the same glint in his eyes as

his own when he looked upon a prized skin caught in a trap. The demon entered and

walked to him, saying, “You best go outside, Peter. T’would be a shame to kill the child in

hunger.”

Peter tried speaking but a lump caught in his throat. Silently he walked outside and

stood before Keelin, opening his arms wide.

“Let the child go,” he said with the last of his voice.

“As you wish, Master.” Keelin released the child, whose eyes turned ablaze. Long fangs

grew in a mouth that once looked innocent and claws lashed out as the child saw Peter.

The only sound that night louder than the hunter’s screams was the laughter from the

vampyress.

Trent listened, hypnotised by Keelin’s story. She looked at him while smiling, and

lying back on the ground in her sleeping bag she closed her eyes.

“Bet you wish you never asked, huh kid?”

“No ... I’m glad I did. It’s just...”

She propped herself onto one elbow and opened her eyes. She stared at him. “You

thought I always denied Cimmeria?”

“Yes.”

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KKKIIITTTHHHPPPAAARRRTTTTTTWWWOOO“IFEVERYONE’SEVILISUNIQUE,HOWCANANYONECLAIMTOHAVEBEENHARDDONEBY?”Kith-1CCCppphhhaaattteeerrrOOOnnneeeTrentfoundpleasureinmanytastes,butnonewerequiteasdelectableasthenightair.Ithadtexture;softandtender.Overthepastfewnightshehadgrowntoloveitmoreandmore,andwhennightende...

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McCann, James - Kith - part 02

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