The Epic of Lawrence Grave: Chapter One

I remember it was my one hundred and seventh November. The air was biting with cold and the trees were shaking and bare. The ground had frozen over, making it slightly harder to pick my way through the forest, but the moon was new, and provided no light to spot me by. These were the most thrilling nights to hunt by, when the only warning to my prey was the crunch of leaves beneath my feet. These were the nights that I killed for.

Granted, I would be more successful in a more populated area, such as a city, or even an accomplished town, but I preferred the silence of the forest. It was familiar, sharper, and in its own way, comforting. I was accustomed to solitude, and solitude, in many ways, was accustomed to me. We suited each other with immeasurable compatibility. I was sure that, if he were a person, we would be mirror images of each other. Both deathly pale, and appearing young, even though we were as old as time itself. His face would be grimly hardened through years of existence, and his eyes, our only difference, would be as black as ink. He, too, would feel comfortably unwelcome in such an empty forest. He, too, would be a hunter.
My thoughts, by this time, had abated to an absent musing when I had found my target: in stark contrast to the rest of the forest, a single hill—the term "hill" was a very generous title—rose up, hosting a gray-walled cottage at its highest point. The sides of the hill were carpeted in a strange, grassy plant that I did not recognize. It was short, green, and even, consisting of a single, folded blade. I did not know that such a plant existed, especially in the wintertime. I leaned down to touch it, but drew back at the taste of cloaked magic. Surprised that I hadn't scented it yet, I glanced behind me to see if I had missed anything else. At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but upon closer inspection, I found that the darkness had camouflaged hundreds upon thousands of magic circles, all carved into the surrounding trees. Even the air was heavy with magic, expertly covered to keep even the most experienced hunter fooled. I was impressed; few people had the patience, or skill, for that matter, to complete so many runes. She would be worthy prey. I followed a dirt path up the hill, looking for some invitation to enter. When my eyes landed on the door, I grimaced. No mat. I changed my approach, instead keeping to the walls. Finally, I came across a glassless window with the shutters thrown open. Perfect.

It was almost too small for me to fit through, but I managed, landing soundlessly on the stone floor. Looking around, I saw a small fireplace on the wall to my right, which sent dancing shadows across the room, brushing against the covers of books strewn across the floor. Some of them lay open, some covered in magic circles, others appearing to be science journals. All were written in the same flourishing hand, and increased in number, creating a trail toward two long, thick desks. The table opposite to the fireplace was stacked with more journals and several pieces of glass equipment, vials, test tubes, and flasks, some filled with colorful liquids, others with swirling gases, and all etched with pentagrams. Over the desk adjacent was crouched a blonde-haired woman. Empty inkwells were scattered around her, tipped over where she had shoved them aside. Her quill was reduced to a nub, and she was frantically scratching something.

"Not yet," she whispered. "Not yet."

Interested, I stepped forward, trying to get close enough to make out her writing without alerting her, but I could only make out her hunched shoulders and pointed ears. I moved closer, accidentally knocking a stray flask with my foot.

It rang.

I froze.

She flinched, but kept writing. Keeping her back turned to me, she said, "I was told that I would die tonight." Although she sounded confident, her frame was tensed and her heart was racing. Her quill was still moving.

Composing myself as well, I spoke. "By whom?"

Scratch scratch, went her quill. "A trustworthy source."

"Ah, so they do still exist."

Scratch scratch scratch. "I have a niece. A brother. People who still need my help."

I chuckled.

Scritch. "I suppose that wouldn't move you." Her voice was bitter this time, and her heart started to slow.

"If I was moved by my prey, I would starve. Every life has its price, and I value mine more than yours."

Considering this, the elf nodded. "Do you hear screams at night? Before you sleep, I mean?"

Scratch scratch.

"No."

Scratch scratch. Dot.

Her heart sped. "You're a good hunter, I didn't even hear you when you came. How did you get in?"

"Your window was open," I disclosed freely. "If you had drawn the curtains, though, even halfway, I would not have been able to enter." Stepping forward, I continued. "But enough pleasantries."

The elf woman stood and turned, smashing a clear flask on the ground as she did so. I evaded the glass with ease and snapped her neck, regretting only slightly that I had lost my partner in conversation. Perhaps, if I were still mortal, we could have been better acquaintances. Not one to dwell on impossible possibilities, I sank my teeth into her neck, draining her of blood. It was a well-known fact that female's blood tasted far better than a male's, and even more so if the woman was beautiful. It had been far too long since I had had such a satisfying feed, and it could probably last me a couple weeks.

I licked away the last of the blood (some vampires have the revolting habit of leaving a small stream trickling down the victim's neck, but I can't stand the waste) and stood up, sitting her down and looking around the room again. At some point, the fire had gone out, but the room was still glowing with the light of the woman's terracotta lamp. Not bothering to move the chair, I leaned over the woman to see what she had been writing. To my surprise, I found that the handwriting of this and the rest of the books on the floor were the same.

Had she written all of these? I mused, picking up the journal and flipping through the pages. Or did she merely transcribe them? In this volume, every page was crammed with writing about the properties of plants, metals, and minerals, both magical and scientific. There were only a couple pages that had a personal thought on them, such as "I want science to grow, to flourish. Casting is determined by birth, but numbers and nature can be harnessed by any individual with a desire to know. One should not be punished by lineage, but blessed by individuality. However, until my dream is realized, science must have the crutch of magic."

What an idealist, I chuckled, tucking the book into my cloak. I guess the woman wrote it after all. Turning back to the woman, the laugh died on my lips.

She was smiling.

There were few victims that smiled. Those were the ones that accepted death; acknowledged that their time on earth was done. Most of these people were highly religious, believing that some benevolent being was waiting for them in the afterlife. Their smiles invoked a polite interest in me, and made me feel slightly better about ending their lives. Not this one. Her smile was not one of acceptance, but of full-blown victory. She looked so smug that I became unnerved, and had me racing out of the cottage despite myself.

Why was she smiling like that? Why was she smiling at all? What had possessed her to leave existence with such an expression? Was she doing that just to alarm me, or had she thought that she'd had some sort of failsafe? I doubted the latter—I had pumped her so full of vampire venom that even an ox would have been put under.

Was she a vampire hunter? In large quantities, vampire venom was lethal. However, in a smaller dose, such as a small bite or a temporary feed, it produced a much-sought-after preserving agent. Vampire hunters had developed a method of draining and treating vampire blood to separate it from the venom, and would then sell to the highest bidder. There were very few successful hunters in the world, but those who were successful were extremely successful. Had she thought she stumbled upon an easy catch? I hadn't seen too many female hunters, but she seemed confident. Perhaps that cottage was a lure for unwary predators.  Perhaps there were other hunters in the wings, or perhaps she poisoned me on her own. Perhaps she believed that her companions would be able to track me somehow, and expected me to lead them to a larger society.

But what was I fearing? She couldn't have inflicted anything on me while I was feeding, and she did not notice me until I had knocked that flask. She did not even touch me. More rational now, I reflected on my reflections. I was worried over nothing, after all. I might as well enjoy this beautiful night.

Plop!

Perhaps not, I thought, glancing up at the sky. I was rewarded by getting hit in the eye with another raindrop. Jerking my head down, I blinked a few times. I did not hate the rain; when the clouds were thick enough, they allowed vampires to go out during the day. However, it dulled my senses, and my ears felt half-clogged, my eyes were near-sighted, and it could get to the point where I could only smell the things in my immediate proximity. Sighing, I continued walking. At least it was just a small shower.

Plop plop plop!

Perhaps not, I thought. The rain had picked up its pace and seemed to stabilize at a heavy, frigid downpour. It was not like I hated heavy rain, but it was troublesome to walk in. At least I could still walk in it.

Fsssh…

Perhaps… not, I thought, squinting up at the sudden onslaught of clouds. The wind had picked up, too, freezing the rain so that it struck like needles. I believed that could I walk for a moment or two, but I would definitely need—

Thunk!

"Ouch!" I looked around for what had struck me. On the ground lay a chunk of ice with twice the diameter of my second knuckle. Picking it up, I rolled it between my fingers. It was a hailstone. The biggest, possibly, that I had ever seen. As I wondered whether it had really come from the sky, another one hit me. And another one.

Pulling up the hood to my cloak, I continued on, albeit a little more quickly than before. Thankfully, the stones only came occasionally, but the sheets of rain had transformed into a maelstrom, shaking the trees and fighting with me in my efforts to gain ground. Lightning cracked through the sky with a sound like the earth splitting. It took me at least an hour to find a tree large enough to shield me from the worst of the hailstones. Somewhere to my right, I could vaguely hear running water. It was abnormally fast for a forest river, but I asked no questions; if it had been any slower, I would still be aimlessly wandering. With this, I could at least follow it until I reached its source. The forest was backed by mountains, which must have somewhere for me to go. Even if the raining nightmare abated by then, the mountains could serve as a guide for my travels. Running north to south, they divided the continent into Criminon and Alusa. As I was now in the more prosperous nation of Alusa, the south meant plentiful food and trading ports. I could indulge myself, which, even after a feed, did not sound unwelcome. Especially after putting up with such miserable weather.

As if it had heard my complaint, the sky gave three more cracks. Against all possible, logical, measurable odds, the third bolt struck great oak I was beneath. I was close enough that I felt the heat against my skin. All the hair on my arms jumped, as did I. The bolt had sliced the tree in two, and the half closest to me was falling. Forgetting my near-lost sight, I ran as fast as my legs would carry me. When I heard the definitive smash of wood on dirt, I turned, stopping to admire the disaster I had avoided. Resuming my search for a suitable shelter, I stepped back, and the ground disappeared from under me. My feet scrambled for a hold, but slipped on wet topsoil. Then the ground disappeared from over me, too, when I hit the water. Too late, I realized that I had wretchedly misjudged the distance of the river.

I had never minded rivers until I became a vampire. Once vampire, they were troublesome—we, like other undead, could not cross running water unless at the flow or ebb of the tide. Pureblooded vampires couldn't even touch running water, but with some effort, Halfbloods like myself could submerge ourselves with the price of pain. Not that we would ever do so—water of any sort, like rain, for instance, impeded our physical ability. When we were underwater, it was almost impossible to return to the surface. Our strength would be sapped, and along with the difficulty of moving and the inability to sense anything but light, attempting to swim was futile, at best.

A cold, shocking pain laced through my body as I panicked. I couldn't move. I couldn't see. I couldn't even breathe; the rare times when I broke the surface and gasped for air filled my lungs with more water than oxygen. My heavy cloak dragged me to the bottom of the river, bruising me against the debris that had been swept along with me. Everything was filled with water—my ears, my eyes, my nose, and my mouth were all choked with pain. The rain was irritating, but the rapids were freezing, burning, and numbing all at the same time. My blurred vision exploded with spots and blackened when my limp form slammed into what felt like a boulder. Any air I had, left me.

It was as I was closing my eyes that the river sped up and I felt a rush of air. I tried to breathe in, but coughed instead when my body fell onto something long and rough, like an outstretched wooden pole, only to bounce off and fall again, crashing through other, less sturdy poles until I heard one final crack! and I made a surprisingly welcome, full-body acquaintanceship with the ground. Although my lower half had landed again in water, I was too tired and too heavy to pull it out. It took all of my energy to raise myself onto my elbows and cough out the water in my lungs. My eyesight was steadily improving, but I couldn't hear anything aside from the sound of my gagging wheezes.

I think I changed my mind about "not minding" rivers.

Shaking with exhaustion, I rolled over to see what I had crashed into. Above me was a roaring waterfall—That is why I couldn't hear anything, I groggily noted—that emptied into the lake in which my legs had disappeared. My body felt the weight, so I assumed they were still attached, but had gone numb with pain. A few trees were warily stretched into the waterfall, while other smaller trees huddled along the banks. They must have broken my fall, I realized. Trying to sit up, I grimaced, And have probably broken my ribs.

After a few unproductive moments of staring at the sky, I pulled my legs out of the lake and managed to stand on my third try. On my fifth try, I could walk from one tree to another with minimum support. I even managed to cough out a sardonic chuckle. Progress. Painful, but still progress. And, once I found the mountains, things could only get better.

"Do you really think we'll catch anything in weather like this?"

I stilled upon hearing the voice, gripping the trunk of my current tree of support. Ahead of me was a small group. I couldn't see them through the rain, but their voices reached me, as if they were on the opposite side of a wall.

"Now's the time to take 'em out. Don't hear nothin', don't see nothin', they won't even smell us comin'."

"But the weather's horrid, even for us. It's pouring sleet," a third one said.

"Shut up. Barr knows what he's doing," a fourth cut in.

"S'right. I knows best. Yew just hold yer cute little book out and I'll bleed the thing."

"The Bible is not a 'cute little book!' And it's getting soaked!"

"But yew got faith whether'r not it gits wet, right? It dun work none without faith."

"You question my devotion? I, Christopher Matthaeus the Fourth—"

My body flattened against the tree. Hunters normally appeared after the winter solstice, when nights were longer and more promising. What were they doing here, now? The only ones that started early were the rash and the successful. It was easy enough to guess that the priest was new, but this "Barr" could be dangerous. Regardless, I probably would not be able to take on a child in my state, so it did not matter whether someone was new or seasoned. As I was, being caught was an inconvenience I could not afford.

Fade, I willed my body, wrapping my dark, sopping cloak around me. Treading carefully, I tried to step where mud would not suck at my boots.

"Barr, we'll scare away everything if he keeps running on like that," the fourth one spoke again. Personally, I would not have been too upset had "Matthaeus" kept talking.

"Well," said the second pleasantly, "we left the cliffs behind us. Not much to find for another mile or two."

"…and my great-grandfather was a parish priest in—ouch! You dare lay a hand on one of the servants of the church?"

"A tap that light don't count fer nothin', ya li'l whiner."

They were quiet after that, and I circled them warily. They said that the cliffs were behind them. Once I was out of this rain, my aches and pains would fade significantly, and I could continue on my way, undisturbed. As long as I was not seen, nothing would happen.

"It's too bad that Na'im couldn't make it," the second laughed. "He could spot a vampire at—hold up." His words were quickly followed by a twanging sound.

The world flashed white and I bit back a curse as an arrow landed solidly in my thigh. Blessed iron. They were professionals—few people took the care to bless their arrowheads. Even fewer managed to land such an incredibly lucky shot, like the gentleman who had relieved me the use of my quadriceps.

With a silent sigh, I leaned against the tree again, bunching up my cloak around the arrow. Forget running—I couldn't even walk without agitating my injury. If they found me, my pitifully short life of one-hundred and seven years was over. Bleeding all over the place would be inconvenient.

"Did you see something?" the fourth spoke.

"I thought I did. Go check it out, Matthaeus."

"Me? Why?" Matthaeus's voice shook so fiercely that even I could hear it.

"Because," the fourth snarled. "You're the priest. Vampires can't get within three feet of Father Pratt, so if you're half as good as he is, then you'll have a good eighteen inches of safety. Now move your scrawny, cardinal arse or you'll be singing soprano in next Sunday's service."

That seemed to shut him up, and a few moments later, I could hear his clumsy, trembling steps walk towards me, and a pathetic individual appeared in my sight, twenty feet to my left, holding an oil-rag-covered block—likely the Bible—in front of him at arm's length. I wrapped the cloak tighter around myself, fading deeper. His robes were a dark red, ruined by the downpour, and his skin clung sickly to his skinny frame.

"See anythin'?" the man named Barr yelled.

"N-no," he called, glancing back.

"Look harder!" the fourth shouted, and in a few moments, another figure appeared—this one an absolute Amazon. Even in the rain, I could see that her features were strong and defined, with broad shoulders and obscenely short hair for a young woman of her age. Daggers lined her belt, and she stepped forward with a contained grace. She looked to be over six feet, and perhaps even taller than I was. Wiping her black bangs out of her eyes, she glanced around with a squint. After a thorough check of the surroundings, her eyes brushed past me and stopped. She squinted harder, stepping forward. When she was a few feet away from me, she dropped to examine something. Following her line of sight, I found an odd pattern in the mud. It was what the rain hadn't washed away of my dragging footsteps. Drawing her finger along the mark, she slowly looked up.

"D-did you find anything?"

She glanced over her shoulder sharply. "Would you shut up, for once? You'll alert every vamp from Ash to Caldea, at this rate!" Unable to regain her concentration, she glanced back at my trail, past myself, and shrugged off whatever thought she had entertained earlier.

"Nothing," she turned back to the group, knocking Matthaeus over the head as she strode past him.

"I am a servant of the church!" he called out, scrambling after her.

"Any luck?" the second asked.

"No, I couldn't find the arrow, either."

The second laughed again at her tone of disappointment. "Too bad, kiddo. It was one of my favorites." Their talking began to fade back into the rain.

"Fancy that," the first growled. "Shootin' blind wastes arrows."

"Did you hear me? I am a servant…"

I let go of my cloak, clenching and unclenching my fists. My fingers felt sore, but they were all there. Allowing myself a touch of pride, I began to make my way in the direction opposite to the hunting party with a spring in my limp. It looked like I would soon be finding shelter and a new feed in Faire Port. What could possibly go wrong?

Q. Do vampires need to breathe?

A. Technically, yes. One of the oldest ways of determining whether or not a previously buried corpse was a vampire was to put a glass to its nose or mouth. If the glass fogged due to the corpse's breath, they were undead and deemed a vampire. This method of testing also disregards the belief that vampires are naturally ice-cold. Yes, they are far cooler than a human, but that is because they can function on lower activation energies for their processes. Vampirism is simply a method of efficiency.

Q. So if vampires need to breathe, can they drown?

A. Once again, yes, but it would be remarkably hard to drown one. However, they simply go into a comatose state until they are fished out. It is impossible to kill a vampire by drowning. As a general rule, vampires avoid water of any sort, and Purebloods cannot even enter running water unless at the flow or ebb of the tide. This restriction can be overcome by being carried over the water source. For the more creative of the species, this opens the possibility of simply riding a boat. Unfortunately, bridges do not apply, but this can be overcome by hiring a carriage.