Vampire War Trilogy

“And you’re uglier than ever, Lady,” he grunted, gasping for breath.

“You’re only saying that to please me,” she giggled, then dropped him and turned to Mr Crepsley. “Larten,” she nodded politely.

“Evanna,” he replied, standing and bowing. Then, without warning, he kicked out at her. But, swift as he was, the witch was swifter. She grabbed his leg and twisted. He rolled over and collapsed flat on the ground. Before he could react, Evanna jumped on his back, grabbed his chin and pulled his head up sharply.

“Surrender?” she yelled.

“Yes!” he wheezed, face reddening – not with shame, but pain.

“Wise boy,” she laughed, and kissed his forehead quickly.

Then she stood and studied Harkat and me, running a curious green eye over Harkat and a brown one over me.

“Lady Evanna,” I said as warmly as I could, trying not to let my teeth chatter.

“It is good to meet you, Darren Shan,” she replied. “You are welcome.”

“Lady,” Harkat said, bowing politely. He wasn’t as nervous as me.

“Hello, Harkat,” she said, returning Harkat’s bow. “You are also welcome – as you were before.”

“Before?” he echoed.

“This is not your first visit,” she said. “You have changed in many ways, within and without, but I recognize you. I’m gifted that way. Appearances don’t deceive me for long.”

“You mean … you know who I was … before I became a Little Person?” Harkat asked, astonished. When Evanna nodded, he leant forward eagerly. “Who was I?”

The witch shook her head. “Can’t say. That’s for you to find out.”

Harkat wanted to push the matter, but before he could, she fixed her gaze on me and stepped forward to cup my chin between several cold, rough fingers. “So this is the boy Prince,” she murmured, turning my head left, then right. “I thought you would be younger.”

“He was struck by the purge as we travelled here,” Mr Crepsley informed her.

“That explains it.” She hadn’t let go of my face and still her eyes scanned me, as though probing for weakness.

“So,” I said, feeling as though I should speak, saying the first thing that popped into my head, “you’re a witch, are you?”

Mr Crepsley and Vancha groaned.

Evanna’s nostrils flared and her head shot forward so our faces were millimetres apart. “What did you call me?” she hissed.

“Um. Nothing. Sorry. I didn’t mean it. I – ”

“You two are to blame!” she roared, spinning away from me to face a wincing Mr Crepsley and Vancha March. “You told him I was a witch!”

“No, Evanna,” Vancha said quickly.

“We told him not to call you that,” Mr Crepsley assured her.

“I should gut the pair of you,” Evanna growled, cocking the little finger of her right hand at them. “I would, too, if Darren wasn’t here – but I’d hate to make a bad first impression.” Glowering hotly, she relaxed her little finger. Mr Crepsley and Vancha relaxed too. I could barely believe it. I’d seen Mr Crepsley face fully armed vampaneze without flinching, and was sure Vancha was every bit as composed in the face of great danger. Yet here they stood, trembling before a short, ugly woman with nothing more threatening than a couple of long fingernails!

I started to laugh at the vampires, but then Evanna whirled around and the laughter died on my lips. Her face had changed and she now looked more like an animal than a human, with a huge mouth and long fangs. I took a frightened step back. “Mind the frogs!” Harkat shouted, grabbing my arm to stop me stepping on one of the poisonous guards.

I glanced down to make sure I hadn’t trodden on any frogs. When I looked up again, Evanna’s face was back to normal. She was smiling. “Appearances, Darren,” she said. “Never let them fool you.” The air around her shimmered. When it cleared, she was tall, lithe and beautiful, with golden hair and a flowing white gown. My jaw dropped and I stared at her rudely, astonished by how pretty she was.

She clicked her fingers and was her original self again. “I’m a sorceress,” she said. “A wyrd sister. An enchantress. A priestess of the arcane. I am not–” she added, shooting a piercing look at Mr Crepsley and Vancha, “ – a witch. I’m a creature of many magical talents. These allow me to take any shape I choose – at least in the minds of those who see me.”

“Then why…” I started to say, before remembering my manners.

“…do I choose this ugly form?” she finished for me. Blushing, I nodded. “I feel comfortable this way. Beauty means nothing to me. Looks are the least important thing in my world. This is the shape I assumed when I first took human form, so it is the shape I return to most often.”

“I prefer you when you’re beautiful,” Vancha muttered, then coughed gruffly when he realized he’d spoken aloud.

“Be careful, Vancha,” Evanna chuckled, “or I’ll take my hand to you as I did to Larten all those years ago.” She cocked an eyebrow at me. “Did he ever tell you how he got that scar?”

I looked at the long scar running down the left side of Mr Crepsley’s face, and shook my head. The vampire was blushing a deep crimson colour. “Please, Lady,” he pleaded. “Do not speak of it. I was young and foolish.”

“You most certainly were,” Evanna agreed, and nudged me wickedly in the ribs. “I was wearing one of my beautiful faces. Larten got tipsy on wine and tried to kiss me. I gave him a little scratch to teach him some manners.”

I was stunned. I’d always thought he picked up the scar fighting vampaneze or some fierce animal of the wilds!

“You are cruel, Evanna,” Mr Crepsley moped, stroking his scar miserably.

Vancha was laughing so hard that snot was streaming from his nose. “Larten!” he howled. “Wait till I tell the others! I always wondered why you were so coy about that scar. Normally vampires boast about their wounds, but you–”

“Shut up!” Mr Crepsley snapped with uncharacteristic bluntness.

“I could have healed it,” Evanna said. “If it had been stitched immediately, it wouldn’t be half as noticeable as it is. But he took off like a kicked dog and didn’t return for thirty years.”

“I did not feel wanted,” Mr Crepsley said softly.

“Poor Larten,” she smirked. “You thought you were a real ladies’ man when you were a young vampire, but…” She pulled a face and cursed. “I knew I’d forgotten something. I meant to have them set up when you arrived, but I got distracted.” Muttering to herself, she turned to the frogs and made low, croaking noises.

“What’s she doing?” I asked Vancha.

“Talking to the frogs,” he said. He was still grinning about Mr Crepsley’s scar.

Harkat gasped and dropped to his knees. “Darren!” he called, pointing to a frog. Crouching beside him, I saw that on the back of the frog was an eerily accurate image of Paris Skyle, done in dark green and black.

“Weird,” I said, and gently touched the image, ready to whip my hand back if the frog opened its mouth. I frowned and traced the lines more firmly. “Hey,” I said, “this isn’t paint. I think it’s a birthmark”

“It can’t be,” Harkat said. “No birthmark could look that … much like a person, especially not one we – Hey! There’s another!”

I turned and looked where he was pointing. “That’s not Paris,” I said.

“No,” Harkat agreed, “but it’s a face. And there’s a third.” He pointed to a different frog.

“And a fourth,” I noted, standing and gazing around.

“They must be painted on,” Harkat said.

“They’re not,” Vancha said. Bending, he picked up a frog and held it out for us to examine. This close to it, aided by the strong light of the moon, we could see that the marks were actually underneath the frog’s uppermost layer of skin.

“I told you Evanna bred frogs,” Mr Crepsley reminded us. He took the frog from Vancha and traced the shape of the face, which was burly and bearded. “It is a mix of nature and magic. She finds frogs with strong natural markings, magically enhances them, and breeds them, producing faces. She is the only one in the world who can do it.”

“Here we are,” Evanna said, pushing Vancha and me aside, leading nine frogs over to Mr Crepsley. “I feel guilty for lumbering you with that scar, Larten. I shouldn’t have cut so deeply.”

“It is forgotten, Lady,” he smiled gently. “The scar is part of me now. I am proud of it – ” he glared at Vancha “ – even if others can only mock.”

“Still,” she said, “it irks me. I’ve presented you with gifts over the years – such as the collapsible pots and pans – but they haven’t satisfied me.”

“There is no need – ” Mr Crepsley began.

“Shut up and let me finish!” she growled. “I think at last I have a gift which will restore amends. It’s not something you can take, just a little … token.”

Mr Crepsley looked down at the frogs. “I hope you do not mean to give the frogs to me.”

“Not exactly.” She croaked an order to the frogs and they rearranged themselves. “I know Arra Sails was killed in the fighting with the vampaneze six years ago,” she said. Mr Crepsley’s face dropped at the mention of Arra’s name. He’d been very close to her and had taken her death hard.

“She died valiantly,” he said.

“I don’t suppose you kept anything of hers, did you?”

“Such as?”

“A lock of hair, a knife which was dear to her, a scrap of her clothes?”

“Vampires do not indulge in such foolishness,” he said gruffly.

“They should,” Evanna sighed. The frogs stopped moving, she looked down at them, nodded and stepped aside.

“What are–” Mr Crepsley began, then fell silent as his eyes took in the frogs and the huge face spread across their backs.

It was the face of Arra Sails, a section on each frog’s back. The face was perfect in every detail and boasted more colour than the faces on the other frogs – Evanna had worked in yellows, blues and reds, bringing life to its eyes, cheeks, lips and hair. Vampires can’t be photographed – their atoms bounce around in a bizarre way, impossible to capture on film – but this was as close to a photo of Arra Sails as was imaginable.

Mr Crepsley hadn’t moved. His mouth was a tight line across the lower half of his face, but his eyes were filled with warmth, sadness and … love.

“Thank you, Evanna,” he whispered.

“No need,” she smiled softly, then looked around at the rest of us. “I think we should leave him alone a while. Come into the cave.”

Wordlessly we followed her in. Even the normally raucous Vancha March was quiet, pausing only to clasp Mr Crepsley’s left shoulder and squeeze comfortingly. The frogs hopped along after us, except the nine with Arra’s features plastered across their backs. They stayed, held their shape and kept Mr Crepsley company as he gazed sorrowfully at the face of his one-time mate and dwelt at length upon the painful past.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EVANNA HAD prepared a feast for us, but it was all vegetables and fruit – she was a vegetarian and wouldn’t allow anyone to eat meat in her cave. Vancha teased her about it – “Still on the cow-food, Lady?” – but ate his share along with Harkat and me, though he only chose food which hadn’t been cooked.

“How can you eat that?” I asked, revolted, as he tucked into a raw turnip.

“All in the conditioning,” he winked, biting deeply into it. “Yum – a worm!”

Mr Crepsley joined us as we were finishing. He was in a sombre mood for the rest of the night, saying little, staring off into space.

The cave was far more luxurious than the caverns of Vampire Mountain. Evanna had made a real home of it, with soft feather beds, wonderful paintings on the walls and huge candle-lit lamps which cast a rosy glow over everything. There were couches to lie on, fans to cool us, exotic fruit and wine. After so many years of rough living, it seemed like a palace.

As we relaxed and digested the meal, Vancha cleared his throat and broached our reason for being here. “Evanna, we’ve come to discuss – ”

She silenced him with a quick wave of a hand. “We’ll have none of that tonight,” she insisted. “Official business can wait until tomorrow. This is a time for friendship and rest.”

“Very well, Lady. This is your domain and I bow to your wishes.” Lying back, Vancha burped loudly, then looked for somewhere to spit. Evanna tossed a small silver pot at him. “Ah!” he beamed. “A spittoon.” He leant over and spat forcefully into it. There was a slight ‘ping’ and Vancha grunted happily.

“I was cleaning up for days the last time he visited,” Evanna remarked to Harkat and me. “Pools of spit everywhere. Hopefully the spittoon will keep him in order. Now if only there was something for him to flick his nose-pickings into…”

“Are you complaining about me?” Vancha asked.

“Of course not, Sire,” she replied sarcastically. “What woman could object to a man invading her home and covering the floor with mucus?”

“I don’t think of you as a woman, Evanna,” he laughed.

“Oh?” There was ice in her tone. “What do you think of me as?”

“A witch,” he said innocently, then leapt from the couch and raced out of the cave before she cast a spell on him.

Later, when Evanna had regained her sense of humour, Vancha snuck back in to his couch, fluffed up a cushion, stretched out and chewed at a wart on his left palm.

“I thought you only slept on the floor,” I remarked.

“Ordinarily,” he agreed, “but it’d be impolite to refuse another’s hospitality, especially when your host is the Lady of the Wilds.”

I sat up curiously. “Why do you call her a Lady? Is she a princess?”

Vancha’s laughter echoed through the cave. “Do you hear that, Lady? The boy thinks you’re a princess!”

“What’s so strange about that?” she asked, stroking her moustache. “Don’t all princesses look like this?”

“Beneath Paradise, perhaps,” Vancha chuckled. Vampires believe that the souls of good vampires go beyond the stars to Paradise when they die. There isn’t such a thing as hell in vampire mythology – most believe the souls of bad vampires stay trapped on Earth – but occasionally one would refer to a ‘beneath Paradise’.

“No,” Vancha said seriously. “Evanna’s far more important and regal than any mere princess.”

“Why, Vancha,” she cooed, “that was almost flattering.”

“I can flatter when I want,” he said, then broke wind loudly. “And flutter too!”

“Disgusting,” Evanna sneered, but she had a hard time hiding a smile.

“Darren was asking about you on the way here,” Vancha said to Evanna. “We told him nothing of your past. Would you care to fill him in?”

Evanna shook her head. “You tell it, Vancha. I’m not in the mood for story-telling. But keep it short,” she added, as he opened his mouth to begin.

“I will,” he promised.

“And don’t be rude.”

“Lady Evanna!” he gasped. “Am I ever?” Grinning, he ran a hand through his green hair, thought a while, then began in a soft voice which I hadn’t heard him use before. “Heed, children,” he said, then cocked an eyebrow and said in his own voice, “That’s the way to begin a story. Humans start with ‘Once upon a time’, but what do humans know about – ”

“Vancha,” Evanna interrupted. “I said keep it short.”

Vancha grimaced, then started over, again in his soft voice. “Heed, children – we creatures of the night were not made to beget heirs. Our women can’t give birth and our men can’t sire children. This is the way it’s been since the first vampire walked by the light of the moon, and the way we thought it would always be.

“But seventeen hundred years ago, there lived a vampire by the name of Corza Jam. He was ordinary in all respects, making his way in the world, until he fell in love and mated with a vampiress called Sarfa Grall. They were happy, hunting and fighting side by side, and when the first term of their mating agreement elapsed, they agreed to mate again.”

That’s how vampire ‘marriages’ work. Vampires don’t agree to stay with one another for life, only for ten, fifteen or twenty years. Once that time is up, they can agree to another decade or two together, or go their separate ways.

“Midway through their second term,” Vancha continued, “Corza grew restless. He wished to have a baby with Sarfa and raise a child of his own. He refused to accept their natural limitations and went looking for the cure to vampire sterility. For decades he searched in vain, the loyal Sarfa by his side. A hundred years came and went. Two hundred. Sarfa died during the quest but this didn’t put Corza off – if anything, it made him search even harder for a solution. Finally, fourteen hundred years ago, his search led him to that meddler with the watch – Desmond Tiny.

“Now,” Vancha said gruffly, “it’s not known exactly how much power Mr Tiny wields over vampires. Some say he created us, others that he once was one of us, others still that he’s simply an interested observer. Corza Jam knew no more about Tiny’s true self than the rest, but he believed the magician could help, and followed him around the world, begging him to put an end to the barren curse of the vampire clan.

“For two centuries Mr Tiny laughed at Corza Jarn and waved his pleas away. He told the vampire – now old and feeble, close to death – to stop worrying. He said children weren’t meant for vampires. Corza wouldn’t accept this. He pestered Tiny and begged him to give the vampires hope. He offered his soul in exchange for a solution, but Mr Tiny sneered and said if he wanted Corza’s soul, he would simply take it.”

“I haven’t heard that part of the story before,” Evanna cut in.

Vancha shrugged. “Legends are flexible. I think it’s good to remind people of Tiny’s cruel nature, so I do, every chance I get.

“Eventually,” he returned to the story, “for reasons of his own, Tiny relented. He said he’d create a woman capable of bearing a vampire’s child, but added a catch – the woman and her children would either make the clan more powerful than ever … or destroy us completely!

“Corza was troubled by Tiny’s words, but he’d sought too long and hard to be dissuaded by the threat. He agreed to Tiny’s terms, and let him take some of his blood. Tiny mixed Corza’s blood with that of a pregnant wolf and worked strange charms on her. The wolf gave birth to four cubs. Two were stillborn and normal in shape, but the others were alive – and human in appearance! One was a boy, the other a girl.”

Vancha paused and looked at Evanna. Harkat and me looked too, our eyes wide. The witch grimaced, then stood and took a bow. “Yes,” she said, “I was that hairy little she-cub.”

“The children grew quickly,” Vancha went on. “Within a year they were adults and left their mother and Corza, to seek out their destiny in the wilds. The boy went first, without saying anything, and nobody knows what became of him.

“Before the girl left, she gave Corza a message to take to the clan. He was to tell them what had happened, and say that she took her duties very seriously. He was also to tell them that she was not ready for motherhood, and that no vampire should seek her out as a mate. She said there was much she had to consider, and it would be centuries – perhaps longer – before she made her choice.

“That was the last any vampire saw of her for four hundred years.”

He stopped, looked thoughtful for a moment, then picked up a banana and began to eat it, skin and all. “The end,” he mumbled.

“The end?” I shouted. “It can’t end there! What happened next? What did she do for those four centuries? Did she choose a mate when she came back?”

“She chose no mate,” Vancha said. “Still hasn’t. As for what she got up to…” He smiled. “Maybe you should ask her yourselves.”

Harkat and me turned to Evanna. “Well?” we asked together.

Evanna pursed her lips. “I chose a name,” she said.

I laughed. “You can’t have spent four hundred years picking a name!”

“That wasn’t all I got up to,” she agreed, “but I devoted much of that time to the choice. Names are vital to beings of destiny. I have a role to play in the future, not just of the vampire clan, but of every creature in the world. The name I chose would have a bearing on that role. I settled in the end for Evanna.” She paused. “I think it was a good choice.”

Rising, Evanna croaked something at her frogs, who set off for the mouth of the cave. “I must go,” she said. “We have spoken enough of the past. I will be absent most of the day. When I return, we shall discuss your quest and the part I am to take in it.” She departed after the frogs, and moments later had disappeared into the ripening rays of the dawn.

Harkat and me stared after her. Then Harkat asked Vancha if the legend he’d told was true. “As true as any legend can be,” Vancha replied cheerfully.

“What does that mean?” Harkat asked.

“Legends change in the telling,” Vancha said. “Seventeen hundred years is a long time, even by vampire standards. Did Corza Jarn really drag around the world after Desmond Tiny? Did that agent of chaos agree to help? Could Evanna and the boy have been born of a she-wolf?” He scratched an armpit, sniffed his fingers and sighed. “Only three people in the world know the truth – Desmond Tiny, the boy – if he still lives – and Lady Evanna.”

“Have you ever asked Evanna if it’s true?” Harkat enquired.

Vancha shook his head. “I’ve always preferred a stirring good legend to boring old facts.” With that, the Prince rolled over and dropped off to sleep, leaving Harkat and me to discuss the story quietly and wonder.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I AROSE with Vancha a couple of hours after midday and commenced my training in the shade near the cave entrance. Harkat watched us with interest, as did Mr Crepsley when he woke early that afternoon. Vancha started me off with a stick, saying it would be months before he tried me with real weapons. I spent the afternoon watching him flick and stab the stick at me. I didn’t have to do anything else, just observe the movements of the stick and learn to identify and anticipate the various ways an attacker had of using it.

We practised until Evanna returned, half an hour shy of sunset. She said nothing of where she’d been or what she’d been up to, and nobody enquired.

“Having fun?” she asked, entering the cave with her entourage of frogs.

“Heaps,” Vancha replied, throwing the stick away. “The boy wants to learn to fight with his hands.”

“Are swords too heavy for him?”

Vancha pulled a face. “Very funny.”

Evanna’s laughter brightened the cave. “I’m sorry. But fighting with hands – or swords – seems so childish. People should battle with their brains.”

I frowned. “How?”

Evanna glanced at me, and all of a sudden the strength went from my legs and I fell to the floor. “What’s happening?” I squealed, flopping about like a dying fish. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing,” Evanna said, and to my relief my legs returned to normal. “That’s how you fight with your brain,” she said as I gathered myself together. “Every part of the body connects to the brain. Nothing functions without it. Attack with your brain, and victory is all but assured.”

“Could I learn to do that?” I asked eagerly.

“Yes,” Evanna said. “But it would take a few hundred years and you would have to leave the vampires and become my assistant.” She smiled. “What do you think, Darren? Would it be worth it?”

“I’m not sure,” I muttered. I liked the idea of learning magic, but living with Evanna wasn’t appealing – with her quick temper, I doubted she’d make an understanding or forgiving teacher!

“Let me know if you change your mind,” she said. “It’s been a long time since I had an assistant, and none ever completed their studies – they all ran off after a few years, though I can’t imagine why.” Evanna brushed past us into the cave. Moments later she called us, and when we entered, we found another feast waiting.

“Did you use magic to get it ready so quickly?” I asked, sitting down to eat.

“No,” she replied. “I simply moved a little faster than normal. I can work at quite a speed when I wish.”