Ocean of Blood

Humans, on the other hand, seemed to be interested in nothing else. Larten had seen much of the globe in the last twenty years. He had explored the continents of Europe, Africa, America and Asia. Wars raged everywhere as men found new, inventive ways to kill even more of their race. It was like a contest, the many tribes of mankind competing to see who could commit the worst atrocities.

Although mature vampires were not drawn to war, the Cubs were fascinated by it. To them it was a spectator sport, the same as boxing or wrestling. Many met at battlefields and cheered on the soldiers, laughed at the innocents trying to escape the crossfire, gambled on who would claim victory.

And of course they fed. By the gods, how they fed!

The war which Larten and his associates travelled to observe that night was a minor skirmish. Scholars might recall it in later decades, but it would not be marked as one of the important battles of its time. No vast chunks of land were at stake. History didn’t hang in the balance. There were no real profits to be made. It was just one more clash of men who felt driven to kill each other for reasons only their leaders knew. And sometimes not even their kings and generals could explain why they were fighting. They often went to war simply because they could think of nothing else to do.

The vampires arrived a few hours before dawn. Signs of fighting were everywhere — bloodstained fields, discarded swords and muskets, limbs that had been left to rot, even a few whole bodies. There was a foul stench and the animals and birds of the night were gorging themselves, picking flesh from bones and nibbling on guts, making the most of the unexpected feast.

Tanish studied a field of trampled crops. His sharp eyes picked out the corpse of a child among the broken stalks. The head of a soldier was half submerged in a rabbit hole. A bare foot was sticking up into the air — the four small toes had been chewed off, leaving only the big toe pointing oddly at the sky. Tanish ran his gaze over the blood and entrails, taking it all in.

Then he laughed.

“These look like an especially vicious lot,” Tanish said enthusiastically. “We should have an interesting day.”

“You don’t think we’ve missed all the fighting?” Zula asked.

“Not by a long shot,” Yebba said. “I smell human fear in the air. That way.” He pointed west. “And there.” East. “They mean to clash again and they know many more will die when they do.”

Although Larten could smell the soldiers, he wasn’t able to pinpoint the scent of fear. But Yebba was fifteen years older and had been blooded when he was only thirteen. A vampire’s senses improved for most of their first hundred years.

The sharp-nosed Yebba led the way as they homed in on their kin. Vampires were harder to track than humans. If Larten hadn’t known there were others present, he probably wouldn’t have noted the subtle traces of their smell in the air.

They found the war pack resting beneath a massive, leafy tree. There were eight of them, a couple younger than Larten, the rest the same age as him or older. Tanish was the eldest and he immediately acted as if he was the ranking vampire.

“On your feet, you lazy, good-for-nothing Cubs,” he snarled, standing just beyond the limbs of the tree, glaring like a General. “Is this any way to behave in front of your betters?”

“You’re no better than the pimples on my backside, Tanish,” a vampire drawled. Larten recognised him — Jordan Egin, one of three in the pack that he’d met before.

Jordan rose, slouched towards Tanish, sneered in his face, then laughed and hugged him hard. “Good to see you again, old friend.”

“And you,” Tanish beamed. “You’ll remember these two.”

“Larten and Wester,” Jordan nodded. “We feasted heartily last time, aye?”

The pair chuckled at the memory, although Wester looked somewhat ashamed. He had overindulged on that occasion and been violently sick afterwards.

“These are Yebba and Zula Pone,” Tanish said. “Yebba has a nose like a hound and Zula is a villain of the highest order. You’ll get on well.”

The vampires shook hands, then moved forward to greet the rest of the pack. It wasn’t long before they were guzzling ale and swapping tales of their adventures.

War packs were a relatively new phenomenon. Vampires had tended to stay out of the way of warring humans in the past, not drawing attention to themselves. But there were so many wars being fought now, on such a massive scale, that the night-walkers could mingle freely with human troops in most places. The Cubs had started frequenting battlefields several decades earlier and now it was a common part of their lives. A lone vampire could nearly always be assured of finding company in a war zone.

Larten listened happily to the stories of Jordan and the others, and told some of his own in return. There was much laughter when Tanish told them of the trick he had played the previous night, and Larten had to take off his jacket and shirt to show his sunburnt back. He had already recovered from the worst of the burning, but his skin was still sore to the touch and a few of the vampires slapped him and hooted when he screeched. He had to knock a couple of heads together before they left him alone, but it was all done in good spirits.

The next bout between the armies wasn’t due to start until late in the morning — both sides were waiting for fresh recruits. So the pack turned in when the sun rose and caught some sleep. When they were awakened by the sound of gunfire, they groaned, stretched, took umbrellas from a large sack and set off to find the battle.

Larten had felt foolish the first time he’d stood by a group of soldiers hellbent on killing one another, sheltered from the sun beneath an umbrella that would have suited a lady far better. But he had grown accustomed to it. He now felt the same way a huntsman did when he pulled on ridiculous-looking clothes before mounting his horse and riding out behind his hounds.

The Cubs found the soldiers massed in a large field. They were fighting hand to hand. Most were armed with swords or knives, which the vampires preferred. They disliked guns for a number of reasons, firstly because the clan frowned on the use of them — guns were the choice of cowards. There was also the fact that guns could be turned against the Cubs. Vampires were tougher than humans and much harder to kill, but a well-placed bullet could account for even the best of them. It was an embarrassing way to die, your brains blown out from a distance.

But mostly the Cubs disapproved of long-range warfare because it was boring. There wasn’t much fun in watching humans shoot each other. The delight came in observing them struggle to stay alive. In dirty scraps like this, dozens of duels were being fought, life-or-death dramas which the vampires could follow with ghoulish glee, then turn away from at the end and discuss like a play.

Some of the soldiers noticed the curious men with the umbrellas, but most were too focused on the business of staying alive. If they caught sight of the scarred, pale-skinned figures walking among them, they paused to assess whether or not the strangers posed a threat. When the soldiers saw that the observers meant them no harm, their attention returned to those who did.

The vampires were almost never challenged. Humans who spotted them didn’t always know who the spectators were – many had never heard the vampire myths – but they could tell that the guests were not of their own kind. They would watch the wan creatures gliding through their ranks, neatly stepping out of danger’s way whenever they got too close to the action. Sometimes the soldiers would cross themselves and mutter prayers. But the majority chose not to confront the spectral visitors and did their best to forget about them if they survived. There were things in the world that most people didn’t want to dwell on at any great length.

Larten had a fine time that day. As Tanish had predicted, the armies fought with a vengeance. Whatever they were warring over, the troops clearly hated their opponents and were determined to shed as much blood as possible before a truce was declared. They didn’t just stab one another and move on. When a soldier knocked down a foe, he paused to strike again, gutting his opponent, smashing his face to pieces, often maiming him even after he was dead. It was a savage, bloodthirsty display, very much to Larten’s liking.

Occasionally, when straddling corpses and wading through puddles of blood, Larten would remember that he had once been human. If his life hadn’t taken the turn it did, he might have wound up on a field like this, fighting to the death, killing because he had to. He’d wonder how he would have felt in that position if he had looked up and seen a vampire studying him like an insect.

Larten always pushed such thoughts swiftly from his head. One of the hardest things about being a vampire was separating yourself from your origins. You had to leave behind your old ways to truly fit into the clan. There was no room for pity if you wanted to become a vampire of good standing. You had to force yourself to see humans as a different, lesser species.

A young man was shot in the shoulder and spun around from the force of it. He fell against Larten, who steadied him with one hand, keeping his umbrella straight with the other. The man’s eyes widened with fear and wonder. Then the pain kicked in and he doubled over. Larten nearly bent to help him, but if he showed favouritism the soldiers of the other army might fire on him. Both sets ignored the vampires because they were neutral. If they interfered, they risked drawing fire. So Larten left the young man to writhe in the dirt, lonely and untended, and strolled along.

The battle lasted most of the afternoon. The war pack withdrew in the evening to rest. They debated the highlights, each reporting on what he had witnessed. A few had been cut or struck, and Jordan had been shot in his left arm. But the wounds weren’t serious and they laughed about them as they relaxed beneath a tree, comparing scratches.

The vampires dozed, letting the sun drop. When darkness had settled on the world, they returned to the killing zone. There were no smiles this time, or if there were, they were tight, vicious, inhuman sneers. No banter either. They proceeded smoothly and silently. The umbrellas were left behind and when they reached the edge of the battlefield they shed their coats, cloaks and boots. A couple even stripped naked, baring all beneath the moon.

For a minute they stood on the flanks, drinking in the sight of the corpses and mouthwatering pools of blood. No humans moved. Even those who’d never heard of vampires had sensed menace in the night air and withdrawn to the safety of camp. In the morning they would return to bury the bodies of their fallen allies and pick weapons, shoes and other items from the dead. But the night belonged to the Cubs.

When the vampires were satisfied that the field was theirs, they closed in. Each trod softly, barely trampling the grass as they advanced on the corpses. Their nostrils and eyes were wide. Drool dripped from the lips of many. Some trembled with expectation. Others growled softly.

They held as a pack until they were in the middle of the slaughter. Then all eyes settled on Tanish. Though they had scorned his claims of leadership earlier, in this situation they acknowledged his right to command. If he hesitated, they would ignore him and press on, but they gave him the chance to unleash them, as was the vampire way.

Tanish beamed wolfishly, then snapped his teeth and threw himself on to all fours. Around him the others did the same. Breaking away from one another, they dug into the bodies of the slain, slicing flesh from bone, gulping blood as it gushed into the air, wallowing in the thick, red liquid.

After a while they started to howl and beat the ground with bones which they had snapped loose. Some fought with each other, wrestling clumsily, but the fights didn’t last long. They could challenge one another for real any time. These ripe nights were reserved for pleasures more savage than battle.

Like the rest of his pack, Larten soon lost himself in the feeding frenzy. For an hour or more he was neither human nor vampire, just a howling, hungry creature of dark delights. At times he slithered across the cool, sticky bodies like a ravenous worm, cutting, chewing, drinking. And all he knew… all any of them knew… all that their world consisted of in that intense, vicious, darkly delicious time… was blood.

CHAPTER FIVE

The vampires slept late the following day. A couple rose to observe the fighting in the afternoon, but most had seen enough and preferred to rest, digest their feast and dream of future feeding frenzies.

“Wake up,” Tanish grunted in the evening, digging Larten in the ribs.

“Leave me alone,” Larten growled.

“You’ve slept enough,” Tanish said. “I’m bored. I want you to teach me some new tricks.”

“Have you mastered the ones I taught you last time?”

“Some of them.” Tanish laughed. “I’m quite good at those that I can use when playing poker.”

“You cheat when you gamble?” Larten frowned, sitting up.

“If I need money.” Tanish shrugged. “I don’t like to steal. I’d rather work for my ill-gotten gains.”

“You think cheating is work?”

“We’re only talking about humans,” Tanish said. “I’d never scheme against one of our own. Come on, Quicksilver, you love to show off. You’ve the fastest hands I’ve ever seen. Teach me, o wise and nimble-fingered one.”

Larten smiled and took a pack of cards from a small, leather bag. He shuffled for a couple of minutes to limber up, then taught Tanish a few new ways to make the cards do whatever he wished. He had to slow down his movements so that his friend could follow.

“You’re unnatural,” Tanish said admiringly. “Are you this fast in a fight?”

“You’ve seen me fight many times,” Larten said.

“Drunken skirmishes, yes, but never in a real battle. Have you ever fought to the death?”

Larten shook his head. “Not since I was blooded.”

“You mean you killed before?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh-ho! Quicksilver’s hiding a secret. Tell me. I won’t leave you in peace until you do.”

“This is not a topic for discussion,” Larten said softly, and although there was no menace in his tone, Tanish knew immediately that the orange-haired vampire was serious. He snorted as if he didn’t care, then focused on the cards.

As they played and the others stirred around them, a man approached across one of the fields of carnage. He was moving faster than a human, sheltered beneath a heavy cloak. Larten assumed it was another Cub coming to join the pack. The newcomer would be disappointed — by the diminished sounds of battle, it seemed that the soldiers had spent the worst of their anger. The war was winding down.

The man slowed when he spotted the vampires under the tree. He studied them, his face masked by the shadows cast by his cloak. Then he came forward. When he was at the edge of the tree’s reach, he let his cloak drop.

“By the black blood of Harnon Oan!” Wester roared, leaping to his feet, gawping at the stranger with disbelief.

The newcomer was no human, but he wasn’t a vampire either. He had light red hair and fingernails, a pair of burning red eyes, and his skin was a purplish shade.

“I am Randel Chayne of the vampaneze,” he said as the rest of the Cubs leapt up like the shocked Wester. “I come to seek a challenge.”

Nobody spoke. They were astonished. Challenges between the two tribes of the night were nothing new, but Cubs were normally ignored in favour of Generals. This was the first time most of them had seen one of their estranged blood-cousins.

Randel studied the dumbstruck vampires, his eyebrows arching. “If this is how vampires react in the face of a challenge, perhaps you are not worth fighting.”

“We’ll teach you about worth, you scum!” Wester screamed, lunging at the vampaneze, hands twisted into claws, hatred darkening his features.

Larten grabbed his friend and held him back. “No,” he snapped. “You’re not ready for this. He’ll kill you.”

“Let me go,” Wester snarled as Randel laughed cruelly. “You have no right to get in my way. I’ll rip his throat open, and if you try to stop me, I’ll–”

“He’ll break your neck before you can lay a hand on him,” Larten said coldly. “He’s not an assistant, you can tell by the dark colour of his skin. He’s a full vampaneze. He must be a vampire-hater or he wouldn’t have bothered with Cubs like us. He’s not looking for a challenge — he just wants to rack up an easy kill.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Larten shouted at the vampaneze. “You don’t dare face one of our Generals, so you hunt among the inexperienced Cubs. You’re a coward.”

Randel sneered. “I’ve fought and killed Generals, and one night I will fight and kill a Prince if the gods are good to me. I have nothing to prove and I don’t react to the insults of curs like you. But today, to pass the time, I want to face a Cub. I’ve been told you’re slow and soft. Can any of you prove me wrong?”

Wester’s eyes flashed and again he tried to strike. Larten blocked him and said without emotion, “If you fight, he’ll slay you and you’ll never be able to take revenge on the one who murdered your family.” Then he stood aside, letting Wester make the final decision, as was his right.

As Wester agonised – he wanted more than anything to kill the stranger, but he knew Larten spoke truly – Randel gazed with disgust at the war pack. “Surely you have a leader,” he teased. “Vampires love to be led. Will not even the mighty pack leader meet my challenge?”

All eyes turned to Tanish. He had demanded the right to rule and they’d granted it. If he didn’t meet this challenge, he would be disgraced. Any vampire of good standing in his position must step forward. Even the wayward Cubs had standards to uphold. The members of the pack expected Tanish to face this purple-skinned villain, put up a good fight and die with honour.

But Tanish didn’t move. His cheeks were burning and he stared at the ground as if he could never look up again. When they realised he wasn’t going to react, their faces hardened. Several puffed themselves up for battle – even the wounded Jordan struggled to his feet – but Zula Pone was the first to step forward.

“I will face you, Randel of the vampaneze,” Zula said, taking off the overcoat in which he had been sleeping. “And when I kill you, I will honour your corpse and say a prayer to the vampire gods to accept your wayward soul.”

Randel laughed, but the sneering tone was gone from his voice when he said, “I accept your challenge. But I’ll not ask for your name or make pleas on your behalf to the gods when this is over. That’s not our way. We simply kill or die. The glory lies in the battle, not what is said or done afterwards.”

Randel edged away from the shelter of the tree, into the deadly sunlight. Like vampires, he couldn’t comfortably stand exposure to the sun. But fights between children of the night seldom lasted more than a minute or two. One way or the other, he wouldn’t have to tolerate the irritation for long.

The squat, ugly Zula followed Randel into the clearing. He went calmly, eyes clear and steady, ready to accept whatever came his way. In that moment he was a true vampire, nobler than any of the Cubs watching him, and all of them felt humbled.

“What is your choice of weapon?” Zula asked as they squared up to each other.

“Hands are fine by me,” Randel said, flexing his fingers.

“As you wish.”

Zula lashed out, five sharp nails guaranteed to cut through almost any material on Earth, including the flesh of a vampaneze’s throat. But Randel blocked Zula’s arm and kicked him in the stomach. Zula grunted and fell back. Randel could have pressed after him, but he held his ground and waited for the vampire to attack again.

Flushed, Zula darted at his foe, then stopped and took a deep breath, regaining his composure. When he was in control of himself, he advanced slowly, studying Randel’s eyes for warning signs of what his intentions might be. Larten had thought that Zula was doomed when he accepted the challenge, but watching him now, he believed that maybe the Cub had a chance.

When Zula was within reach, Randel swung a fist at him. Zula blocked it and kicked at Randel’s shin. He connected and Randel went down. The vampires roared with excitement, but their cheers were shortlived. As Randel fell, he caught Zula and twisted him around and down. Zula realised too late that his opponent had anticipated his strike. Before he could adjust, he landed heavily on his back — and on the outstretched fingers of one of Randel’s hands, which the vampaneze had slyly slid beneath him.

Zula cried out as the vampaneze’s nails ripped into his lungs. Then he stiffened, his breath catching in his throat. His legs spasmed, but his arms were strangely still by his sides. He gulped a few times, blood exploding from his mouth, eyes widening, staring at the sun. He had always thought that he would die by the light of the moon. It seemed unfair that a child of the night should perish this way, before the sun had set. He wished Randel had come a few hours later, so he could at least have counted the stars one last time.

And then he wished no more.

Randel shoved the dead vampire away, wiped his hand clean on the grass and stood. He didn’t even glance at Zula, but he did cast an eye over the pale-faced vampires sheltering beneath the tree.

“You’re a disgrace to your masters,” Randel growled, then picked up his cloak, settled it over his head and moved on.

The Cubs stared after the departing vampaneze and watched in silence until he flitted out of sight. Then Larten and Jordan went to fetch the body of Zula Pone. They would burn it later or launch it down a river, depending on what the majority thought the ugly vampire would have preferred.

Tanish was sitting by himself when Larten returned. He had his back to the rest of the Cubs and nobody went near him. They ignored their fallen leader, treating him with the scorn he deserved. Larten felt sorry for his friend, but it couldn’t be helped. One of the first things Seba had taught him was that every man made his own decisions in life, and each must stand by the consequences of those choices.

As the sun set, Tanish stood and set off. He didn’t say goodbye and nobody asked where he was going. He took nothing, even dropping his expensive coat and discarding his silk shirt. Larten knew, as he watched the disgraced Tanish leave, that this was probably the last they’d see of him. Tanish Eul was no longer part of the clan. He wasn’t a traitor, but the Cubs would never mention his name again, and if anyone ever asked about him, they would respond with a simple, damning, “He walks with the humans now.”

PART TWO

“If the entire clan stood against her, we would fall.”

CHAPTER SIX

The American Civil War was the bloodiest waste of life Larten had yet to witness. Vampires had known about America long before Europeans discovered it. One of the clan had sailed with Leif Ericsson and thirty-four others early in the second millennium, and before Paris Skyle became a Prince he stayed Columbus’s hand when the human had lost hope and was on the verge of turning back. The elderly vampire would have been saddened to see what had become of the country, but not surprised. Why should these tribes be any different to those they had left behind? People might speak of it being a New World, but they were the same old humans.

Larten watched from a distance as thousands of young men clashed and went to an early grave. He, Wester and Seba had made camp on a hill out of the way of the fighting a few nights earlier. Since then they’d kept vigil, leaving only to hunt and stretch their legs.

The pair of Cubs had abandoned the war packs and returned to their master a few years after Tanish’s fall. They had never been able to lose themselves in warfare and other petty pursuits in quite the same way after that dark day. They felt shamed, and the Cubs they cavorted with were a constant reminder of what had happened.