66. Prelude to War.
I stand by a window, eyeing the sky darkly. It's pouring. Can't say I look forward to fly and fight in this awful weather. Not that I can say I look forward to fight at all. Of all times to develop a conscience and doubt myself and my motives - is killing vampires, even those loyal to Ruthven, right? - this is definitely the best.
But I'll do it either way, regardless of my qualms. This is war; way surreal, but true. And if I don't kill them, they'll kill me. Perfect reasoning.
I was surprised when I woke up before the sun set. I hadn't expected to sleep at all. Like most people I spent parts of the day tossing and turning, desperately trying to sleep and not think about what we're going to.
My normal clothes are changed for all black combat attire. I'm almost sad to leave my comfy jeans behind, but then again, I kinda look like a ninja. Which, of course and despite the situation, is awesome.
Something falls out of the pile of clothes when I pick them up, and I realise I still have the things I took from the boy yesterday night. After finishing my tasks yesterday I scrubbed my hands clean of his blood. It was needed, I started to freak out about it.
Remembering my pants are bloodstained, I go outside and throw them in the closest dumpster. Unlike yesterday when I came here, the streets are empty. Looking up at the skies, I really hope the weather gets better. The bag of dope is discarded along with the other stuff. I hate the shit. It makes people into monsters.
Inside again, I nod to a few young ones I recognise. Some of them are warming up in the dojo-area, getting ready to fight. The anxious atmosphere was tense yesterday night. Now it's worse.
I frown, keeping my gaze on the floor. Though I try not to let it affect me, it's hard to ignore. And seeing as I'm one of those who can't show my fear, it's really bugging me. Feels almost like I'm weak for giving into my emotions.
Nobody else knows though. I think. I hope. The emotional shields help hide it.
Edouard is already in full armour. He sits crouched down beside a woman, trying to convince her things are going to be fine. From the looks of it he's not succeeding - she starts to cry. Ekaterina watches the pair from a distance, rolling her eyes at the weakling. I too can't help but despise the sobbing creature. Crying won't help in front of the enemy. Showing weakness is asking to die.
I slow down, wondering if poor Edouard needs help. He doesn't look comfortable. If I weren't worrying about the future, this would have been hilarious. Sure enough, the shocked expression of Edouard's face is priceless when the girl embraces him, sobbing into his chest. Ekaterina's eyes shoot daggers. Curious.
He sends me a panicked look and I pity him enough to come to his rescue. "Edouard, I need you to check up on the fledglings. I want them ready as soon as possible," I say, quickly giving him a random order.
"Yes, lady," he says, trying not to sound relieved to have an excuse to loosen the girl's hold around him. Dealing with crying people is the worst thing ever.
Realising someone actually has to check on the young ones, I ask Ekaterina to follow him. She glares angrily at Edouard and follow him, arms crossed. What's gotten into her, I wonder, before turning back to the girl I now recognise as one of my trainees.
I walk closer and, going against my own wishes, crouch down beside her. She looks up when I reach out and place a hand on hers. "You okay Sarina?"
Crying in front of me shames her, but she doesn't manage to stop. "We're gonna die, aren't we?"
Oh, so that's what she worries about. I don't see what her problem is, though. She wasn't my best student, but she did just fine during training. Then again, what good is the training? Andrej was the best and look what happened to him. There's a huge difference between sparring with someone and real life fighting. An enemy won't give you second chances. And she has realised that. No wonder she's scared.
Now is when I should say something encouraging. I rake my brain for things to say, thinking of the few movies I've seen. Maybe I could steal a quote, anything to make her feel better. And worse, she's frightening the others. I have to say something. But nothing comes up. I'll have to do this myself.
I clear my throat. "You're going to see horrible things today," I tell her calmly, going for the blunt truth. There's no way around it, so why sugar-coat it? She'll probably make her first kill today. Or be killed. "And if you don't want to die or be left behind here, I need you to pull yourself together so you can take care of yourself."
Unexpectedly, the tears stop falling, probably because of shock. She was probably expecting something sappy. I pat her shoulder awkwardly and try to smile, wishing for the ground to swallow me. I hate crying people. I've no idea how to handle them.
"I know, but..."
"It's okay to be scared," I interrupt her. "You're not sure what you're going to, it's only natural. I would have worried if you weren't."
She silences, then smiles, shaking her head slightly. "I don't understand how you can be so calm. It's--"
I never get to hear whatever it is. As on cue, Ekaterina comes back to tell me how the fledglings are preparing. When she spots Sarina, her eyes flash again. Her anger isn't even shielded. I straighten up, granting her my full attention. We are marching out soon. This is happening so fast.
I rise, slightly confused and walk to hear what she has to say. In the corner of my eye I watch Sarina dry her face. She might still be scared, but at least her tears have stopped now. I assume that is good.
After hearing Ekaterina out, while trying to figure out why she kept on sending Sarina dirty looks, I realise most other people around are dressed in full armour already. "Am I running late?" I ask, and thankfully Ekaterina shakes her head.
"You still have time. Lord Romanov isn't arriving yet. But you'll better hurry, the sun sets soon."
I mutter a quick "Thank you," and run off. Finally inside the tiny room they gave me, I sink down on the floor, unable to rid myself of the insecurity clinging to my insides. Hearing Sarina voice her fears only made mine stronger. I run a hand through my hair, remembering I'll have to braid it if I don't want it to be in my face while someone's trying to chop off my head, and sigh. Okay, pull yourself together. Nobody said this would be easy.
Edouard knocks twice on the door and I quickly regain my composure. I might be worried, but nobody is going to notice. As one of the leaders I'm supposedly fearless.
I can't wait for this to be over, so I can be normal again.
While Edouard passes on the message from Vladimir - he'll be here in about thirty minutes, bringing the older vampires who don't fry in the sun with him - I start slipping on my new armour. I'm already wearing the light Kevlar-vest, and normally our side wouldn't have worn secondary, metal armour, but since we're heading off into battle with a load of old-fashioned geezers, going without might have made them suspicious and that's the last thing we want. Even though it's old-fashioned and not really needed.
I curse under my breath when the front piece, whatever it's called, doesn't lock with the back. Just when I think I could have needed a second pair of hands - would have been handy - Edouard steps in to help. He continues talking while fastening it, but I'm only listening halfway to what he has to say. Normally I wouldn't have allowed myself to ignore information like this, but when Vladimir arrives, he will brief me on what we're doing.
"There, it's on," Edouard mumbles. I mutter a silent "Thanks," and flex my upper body to see how I move in the metal cage someone insisted we'd have to wear. It's... uncomfortable, but if it keeps me alive, I won't complain. Much.
Edouard watches me, and, seeing my frown, smiles. "You'll get used to it."
"Hope so." I frown, still not sure if I like it. Unusual, that's all. It's not that bad, I try to convince myself, still tugging at the upper part in hopes it can somehow not be so tight.
When he finally leaves I'm not certain whether I'm relieved or not. A tiny, silly part of me doesn't want to be left alone. My shields shatter. Putting up an act isn't easy. Wonder how Vlad does it? He has probably played the part of a ruthless vampire lord for so long it's probably a part of him. He surely had me convinced when I first met him. I don't want to end up like that. I want to be allowed to be afraid.
A noise behind me alerts me of someone's presence. I spin around, and realise Edouard didn't leave. Blood rushes to my face, colouring my cheeks red.
He understands, at least I think he does, because he comes over without a word. I smile weakly, lightly shaking my head at my own foolishness. Though the hand he places on my shoulder is meant to be reassuring, I can't get myself to allow for my gaze to leave the floor. Not long ago I had no patience with Sarina for showing weakness, and now look at me! I don't deserve to have him understand.
I'm such a hypocrite. And apparently I suck at keeping up appearances.
"Will you be alright?" he asks, forcing me to look up.
"Unless someone gets to me, yes," I comment with a hint of black humour. He nods, reassured I won't go and get myself killed because I was frightened and unable to concentrate. Even now, in the face of death, we get by. It's a good thing, even though it makes us sociopaths.
When he leaves, really leaves, I continue dressing, only occasionally cursing. I've never tried to put on armour before and it takes some time to figure it out.
Feeling the sun disappear beneath the horizon, I walk over to the window again. To my dismay, the rain hasn't stopped. I grumble inwardly, thinking it would have been handy if vampires could, like some legends say, control weather. I'm going to rust before we reach the battlefield.
As for the superfluous metal shiny I have to wear, I chose not to go with the whole ensemble. The shoulder guards restricted my movement. In addition to the metal armour, we're also sporting hardened leather guards protecting legs, arms and then especially wrists, and neck. Vampires don't say no to snack on others of their kind in battle. I'm surely not going for someone's jugular. Even I would have expected something better; with their talk of pride and loyalty they shouldn't be complete animals.
Before I leave the room I slip on a pair of gloves, fingerless ones so I can use my claws should it be needed. Hopefully I won't have to. I consider them my last defence, planning to use them only if I manage to lose every other weapon. Which isn’t bloody likely.
I bring a sword and assorted knives, much like what I used as a slayer, but decide to rely more on guns. If I can avoid getting close to those I have to kill, I choose that easier option. Also, they keep me out of harm's way. In theory of course. There is no way to ensure someone’s safety out in the middle of a battlefield from hell.
Outside the room, there is organized chaos, people stressing with the absolute last minute preparations. I'm happy I don't have anything to do yet, except make sure I remember everything. Leaving any weapons behind doesn't sound funny - I imagine I would find out it's missing at the worst possible time.
After checking my hair is tightly braided, kept out of my face, I sit down in a corner away from the worst commotion, taking my guns forth. I weigh them, taking a closer look at the ammo. These rounds are hollow-points, way deadlier than silver. It's almost scary to think about, but if I hadn't been turned into a vampire and gone through the change I've been through, I would have been excited about trying them out, looking forward to kill the first and best vampire to cross my path.
Sighing, I take my guns apart, cleaning them for the nth time. If they jam, I'm toast.
I'm about to participate, and maybe die, in a war. What would Jeremy have said if he saw me now? I can imagine he'd have told me to come to my senses and run. With so few slayers left, it was important to know when you didn't have a chance, and rather run for it than let your pride get the best of you. No matter how heroic you go, at the end of the day, you'd still be dead. Death is death, no matter what. I’m not the type of person to sacrifice myself for some noble cause.
It's almost been six months since this started. I had no idea I would end up here when Vladimir came swooping down to scare me. Had I known, the old me would have chosen to flee the continent. Go somewhere sunny, perhaps. Cowardly maybe, but sometimes the best way to solve a problem is to avoid it altogether. Believe me, I should know.
On the other hand I like being in the middle of the action. Unlike the slayers, I have a say in what goes on. And if I survive this, I have a chance of protecting them against other vampires, even though a majority of those morons don’t deserve it. But maybe, and it’s just a silly idea, but maybe we can convince them only to take down the vamps who’ve gone bad.
I don’t notice them coming in before the low conversations around me turn into a buzz of voices. Talk about being lost in thoughts. Quickly reassembling my guns, I rise to go and greet them. Vladimir and the others are here already. They are soaked, that much is clear.
I wait while they enter, letting Edouard talk to him first. No reason in embarrassing us both by not acting all formal. Look at me, conforming to the role randomly picked out for me. And Edouard probably has something more important to say.
The little crowd disperses quickly as people going to find friends or prepare themselves. There are still a couple of youngsters who haven’t put on their full armour yet. They have to hurry, now that Vladimir is here, we’re leaving soon.
Finishing the hushed conversation with Edouard, Vladimir looks towards me. I give him a little nod and smile, happy to see him. Strange as it is, his presence calms some of my fears. What could go wrong when he’s around? I mean, he’s a centuries old elder, possessing a heart. That’s enough to make me feel safe.
Then I frown, looking at his attire. Under the heavy wet cape, he’s wearing old-fashioned armour that makes mine featherweight in comparison. With the whole attire he looks like he just stepped out from some old painting.
“What are you wearing?” I exclaim, both in worry and disbelief. “You know that cloak is gonna snag on something in battle, right? And how are you able to move?”
“I am used to it,” he smiles, and, lowering his voice even more to ensure nobody else will hear, he whispers, “And it is just for show.”
Refusing to explain what that meant, he simply assures me the heavy armour won’t get him killed, and ask me how I’m doing. I answer, not completely truthfully of course, fully aware he is trying to avoid my question. And there’s probably a good reason behind it, I realise. Vlad isn’t the type to hold back something unless it’s crucial he does. Seeing as it has something to do with the battle, I trust he has his reasons.
“You sure?” he asks, doubting my confidence.
I barely raise an eyebrow in return. Typical, people have to ask how you’re feeling when they already know you’re about to throw up in fear. “How do you feel about this?” I counter.
“As good as can be expected, knowing lives will be wasted tonight,” he replies, well-articulated as always. Anyway, it’s good to know I’m not the only one dreading the thought of killing people.
We’re keeping our conversation low so no one will overhear. It works, since everybody else is busy, either running around to ensure we can get this operation running smoothly, or preoccupied in their own hushed conversations. These precious minutes might be the last they have with friends and loved ones. It’s only natural, wanting to say goodbye, I think and glance up at him. Maybe we are saying goodbye now. It’s not a jolly thought.
“You are going to be fine,” he says. I nod, though knowing I wouldn’t be able to stop worrying even if I tried. It takes me a moment to realise I’m fully shielded. Even when not reading my mind, he knows what I’m thinking. Is it that clear?
Either that, or he just said it out of the blue. Which would be weird.
He glances around us, worried someone’s listening in. I presume he’s weighing every word he says, carefully. Wanting him to be able to talk freely, I grab his hand and walk back into the room where I slept and dressed. Meeting his eyes, I challenge him to spill what he wanted to say. “Nobody’s listening now.”
“I have something for you,” he tells me, reaching for something inside the cloak. Once again, I worry about the long, ridiculous cape. It’s impractical and only made to impress. The moment we arrive at the battlefield I’m going to demand he takes it off.
All thoughts about what he wears, impractical or not, disappear when I see what the sword he holds out to me. Not just any sword – Claw.
“It was time to return it,” he comments, acting as if I didn’t impale and try to kill him with it last time he wanted me to have it.
The tears are not far behind. I’m reluctant to take it, remembering what I did.
“Thank you,” I mutter, trying to keep my voice from cracking, and wipe the few tears escaping my eyes away. When he hands Claw over to me, the first thing I notice is that it’s been taken good care of. The very weight of it is comforting. There’s a familiar heaviness to it that I’m used to. It has saved my life so many times – and taken others, I force myself to add and remember every life that I’ve taken. It didn’t matter they were undead, they were still human. Most of them – some deserved what was coming to them.
The feeling looms over me, that I should say something. After switching swords, sheathing Claw in place of the one Edouard got for me, I can’t stall any longer, and breathe in. Only, I can’t find the words, as usual.
“I understand,” he says, ever so freaking understanding.
In the spur of the moment, I embrace him, not caring for who might walk by the open door and see. He’s taken by surprise; it takes him a moment before he relaxes and puts his arms around me in return.
“So sorry, I shouldn’t have...” I choke out the words resting my face on the wet and utterly ridiculous cloak.
“I think you need to be reminded who you thought I was at the time,” he mutters. “I made many mistakes, among them thinking you would understand everything without an explanation from my side. I hope you can forgive me for that.”
This feels alright, safe. And that’s why I pull away, not wanting Mornia to take over my head when I’m headed out in battle. It’s almost as if he’s reluctant to let me go, but I’m sure it’s just all in my head.
“Don’t be silly,” I tell him. “You really think I haven’t forgiven you?”
After all he’s done, after all we’ve done for each other and been through together... and he still thinks I blame him?
“Forgive yourself, then.”
I’m not sure what to say or think. He smiles, but there’s still a lingering sadness in his eyes and I can’t help but think something’s off. Like why is he talking about this now? I answer my question immediately – just like everyone else we’re spending what might be the last night in our lives with someone we love. Because I do love him, in a manner. Platonic love doesn’t mean I don’t care about him.
Something catches his eye and he picks up the metal shoulder guards. “Aren’t you going to wear these?”
“No, couldn’t move my arms,” I explain, realising he’s going to convince me to put them on anyway. “I’d rather not wear something that restricts my movement,” I say, taking them from him. He can’t argue with that logic. It’s gonna be dangerous out there, and I really don’t need to add more disadvantages.
He notices how I’m holding them and asks me to try and put them on. I groan inwardly. When I do, he chuckles and I feel ridiculous. “They are the wrong way,” he laughs, helping me to put the other one on.
To my surprise it fits perfectly onto my shoulder. Needless to say I feel even sillier now. “Thanks,” I laugh, putting on my gloves again.
“Don’t mention it. You think I would let you go out there unprotected?”
Of course not. In fact, I’m surprised he hasn’t tried to convince me not to go. But keeping me from fighting would disgrace my honour, at least according to the anachronistic vampire morals. The other vampire lords would think I fled the responsibility. For once, that’s not a nuisance.
“We’re waiting for your signal.” We both look up when Edouard comes in, breaking up the light-hearted atmosphere. Vladimir nods, adopting his stoic mask again.
“Be careful,” he tells me, looking kind of sad. It puzzles me a little, but it’s too late to drag him back in here and ask about it.
