Treastise on the Ethics of Vampires - nine

nine

Adventure is not how I would choose to describe the voyage from England to France. I stayed in the foul cabin, upon a mildewed bunk, and tried not retch my innards out from the mal de mer. Tincture of Mint did not work. Rowan would leave periodically to empty the bucket I kept refilling with the contents of my stomach and to tend the horses, escaping the stink.

We landed in Hareflot just before dusk. The streets were still busy with people attending their business. Women with trays of long loaves of bread upon their heads called out, selling their wares. The smell of salty air, various victuals and the stench of unwashed bodies, refuse strewn in the street, animals and contents of slop jars tossed out windows above beat my senses to putty. I felt incredibly ill once we set foot upon land, that it was with a measure of relief when I climbed atop Jubal once again. The horse's motion gently echoed the rolling sea.

Rowan spoke as we hitched the horses to the wagon and rolled past the docks toward the town center. “It's always hardest to find one's land legs after their first sail. I know that was my own experience.”

Rowan and I navigated through congested streets to the countryside on our way south. My mind, when not trying to quell nausea, pondered what Lonbec would be like. Would I love my new home? Would the French people who serve my husband accept an Englishwoman as their chatelaine?

We stopped long enough to pick up two skins of wine, a loaf of bread and large wedge of cheese. As an afterthought, Rowan bought a long, skinny sausage and a small basket of apples. Then we headed south and reached an inn. I thought we would stop for the night, yet Rowan rode on, into the darkening forest.

“When do we rest?”

Rowan answered, “We will make camp up here a ways. I have no desire to bed down in a den of thieves. That inn is notorious as a place spies frequent to exchange information. They would steal any knowledge available, and sell it to the highest bidder. Have your blade handy? Two-legged wolves have been known to live in the woods here.”

“Will I need it?” Fright rippled through me at the thought of men attacking us.

“I do not know, but it cannot hurt to be ready should something arise.” He turned the horses off the road and toward the trees. Deep into the woods, we went. Rowan must have camped here before, because he led us to a small meadow. I heard the sound of trickling water before spotting the small creek tumbling over stone.

Rowan unhitched the horses from the wagon and brushed them down. I gathered wood to make a fire, only to be stopped by my husband's words of warning. “Do not light a fire, it will call the critters from yonder forest.” He nodded in the direction of the inn. “No hot meals until we reach Lonbec, I'm afraid.”

I frowned. A crackling fire, roasted sausages, and toasted cheese on bread, then a crisp apple... Alas, not tonight. “As you will.”

He unlatched the back of his wagon and dug around the inside in search of something. Rowan pulled out a bundle of fur and material, unfolding it in the air before he settled it on the ground near the wagon's back wheels. “Here, sit on something that does not move.” Darkness now fully engulfed us as night settled down to stay.

We were about to eat when Rowan turned his head to the side, as if in search of something lurking in the forest. Then, a finger to his lips, warning me to silence.

My heart pounded in my chest and up to my throat. A wolf? A man? Bear? Something neared, I knew it did because Rowan gestured for me to get under the wagon while he stood up, a sentinel against the interloper. I lay on my belly and scooted backward, hoping whatever lurked out there saw not my movements.

He stood for a minute or two before taking off at a sprint. A moment later, a very human-sounding yelp. Then a thud. My hand went for the blade at my side and I unsheathed it. The horses danced in nervousness, neighing and snorting. Another yelp and thud. I could hear footsteps coming my way. Tried seeing who it was, but with no light, it was impossible.

“Rowan?”

“Aye.”

“What was that?” I began to climb from beneath the wagon. As I stood, I asked him, “Are you hurt?”

“Two-legged wolf and no. I am fine.”

I could see Rowan's silhouette if I squinted hard enough. My knife not yet sheathed, felt warm in my hand. I readied myself with a deep breath. Then I threw the blade as hard as I could.

It flew over Rowan's shoulder and buried itself into the chest of a red-eyed beast which stood behind my husband. I thought no one could be so fast, but Rowan whirled and watched the blade fly past. As the steel embedded itself into the beast, Rowan pounced. He used a ferocity I never witnessed before and pulled the knife out then used it to decapitate the beast in one fell swoop. In that moment, a flash of fire and smoke enveloped the dead body. As soon as it flared, it disappeared. No ashes, even. Just a stench of rotted eggs and spoiled meat. The heat from the brief flash felt immense, as if I stood next to a roaring fire.

Although what I just witnessed frightened me, it was no match for the disembodied voice floating through the trees.

“Elazaaaar...... You destroyed my meal and my mate, oh ye of Kition.” Harsh and low, the voice made all the hair on my body stand on end.

“Be gone! Tell your mistress to seek me no longer.” Rowan spoke clearly and evenly.

A chuckle rumbled around us. “My mistress sends a message. She says to stay in your bower. Hunt not, lest ye be hunted.”

“Tell your mistress I accept her orders, provided she follows them herself with the addendum of creating no more followers. Hypocrisy cannot be allowed.”

“Tis your death, Eleazar.”

“Death scares me not. Worms nor fire nor carrion birds will touch my flesh. Be gone.”

Laughter, the likes I never heard, circled around us like a whirlwind. “I will take her your words, ye of Kition. I will suckle the blood from your companion and bathe in her entrails. That is a promise.”

The whirlwind stopped and the night quieted.

My heart beat so fast I thought I would lose consciousness and faint. Instead, I slowly backed up to the wagon and slid down the side. I looked up at Rowan's outline and said, “I think I am due some answers, husband.”

I heard footsteps near. Rowan sank beside me. “Aye, I think you are. And after I tell you all, we head to Lonbec. We won't stop.”

“But the horses? That will kill them!”

“Nay, they have heart. I have faith in my horseflesh. I would not risk the animals if I didn’t think they could do it.”

I heaved a deep sigh and asked, “Who is Zamora?”

“She is a nightmare made flesh.”

Sharply, I turned my head to look at Rowan. “A nightmare? Things suddenly bursting into flame instead of bleeding to death is nightmare, husband.”

“If you wish me to explain it all, I cannot start by discussing Zamora. There is much more to it than her part.” Rowan heaved a deep sigh. “Do you recall the gift I said I would bestow upon you?”

“Aye, of course.” My curiosity burned brighter now that he mentioned the gift.

“You have two choices my dear. Take the gift and then the explanation, or I divulge all and you think me mad until I prove otherwise. Please be predictable, and save your salve and healing touch for others.”

“I want to know what the gift is. Now.”

Rowan paused a moment before saying, “Immortally and a relationship closer to God than you could ever conceive.”

Frustration seemed to seep up from the ground and infuse me with a biting tongue. “What exactly is the gift? No prose, no poetry. Just spit it out.”

That brought him up short, as if he actually thought I understood the full context of his statement and expected me to be his definition of predictable, whatever that was.

“Very well,” he said. “The main points would include some bloodletting and then a possibly objectionable act with said blood.” He snapped his mouth shut and nodded. “Yes, that about covers it.”

“Whose blood?” I tried to modulate my shriek, hoping it wasn't my blood to be spilled. There is no problem when it came to dealing with others blood and gore, but when it came to my own, such as a cut, well, that makes me light headed and utterly useless. But to staunch a wound is different as day is to night when it comes to a possibly objectionable act.

“First yours, then mine.”

“I am not understanding, at all, Rowan.” Why did he need blood, let alone blood from both of us? I liked not the idea of bleeding. Most especially if it involves copious amounts of said blood.

“Can I show you something? It will illustrate what this gift can do.”

“I suppose...” Curiosity coursed around inside my mind. Finally, some answers!

Rowan pulled out his own dagger and asked for my hand. “I need but a single drop of your blood, Lisbet. Can you cut? Or prick your fingertip?”

“I can do better. Sheath your blade.” I raised my hand up and picked at the scab on my thumb. It still had yet to fully heal, for I did terrible damage to it when I caught it in the gate the night Rowan's life entwined with mine. Blood welled up and I could feel it sliding down my hand. I closed my eyes and tried not to think of my wee wound. Could already feel the wooziness wrap around me.

Rowan swiped a finger over the mess and then put that finger into his mouth. His breathing changed, quickened. I cannot ever forget his next words.

“You fear that you will be an outcast in your new home. You wish your half-sisters could have been true sisters to you, instead of disdaining your presence. When you were five, you saw your father futtering a woman-- not your mother, when you went to see him in the forge. And come your next birthday, we will dance before the fire like years past, to celebrate as your parents did.”

My heart stopped, I'm sure it did. I rolled away from this man who knew too much. “What is this witchcraft you work? How do you know all that?”

“Tis the gift. The gift of truth. Zamora received the gift, but had not the strength of character to withstand its power. She became corrupted. She passed her corruption on to her followers. They taint the truth, preferring power and greed.”

“It is magic you speak of, witchcraft and the Devil.” I didn't fear the man, but the consequences of what he spoke could not be ignored.

“Magic of a sort, but I assure you, it comes not from Satan.” He tried using his eyes in that way which captures my complete obedience. My upset staunched that avenue.

“Matters not! Do you not fear being burned at the stake for witchcraft?”

“I cannot burn. I am protected. As long as I fulfill my obligations, I am untouchable.”

Still, I was wary. Witchcraft doesn't have to involve the Devil to be considered unchristian. After leaving my hometown lest I be accused and killed, the thought of marrying a man who indulged in such practices did not sit well. “How do I know you are telling the truth?”

“If you would allow me to give you the gift, you could taste the truth in my blood, as I have done of you.”

My mind whirled. Did I wish to know such things? “What if the gift taints me as it did Zamora?”

“It will not taint you, for you have not the ambition nor inclination to rampage as she. When disappointed, you do not seek to hurt those responsible. You choose a different path. I was foolish, and did not taste the truth in her blood before giving her something she neither earned nor deserved. The price I must pay is to right my wrong.”

I wanted to think longer about receiving the gift, needed to buy some time. “Rowan, will you please tell me who you are? How you came about getting the gift? I must know more. You say it doesn't involve Satan, but such things... I am scared. ''Tis worse than treason against King and Country.”

Rowan heaved a deep sigh and patted the fur beside him. “Come wife, listen to my tale which I admit is better suited for daytime telling.”

It took a long minute before I crawled toward him and reached his side. “You will not lie to me.” I sat down and crossed my legs.

“Nay. Lies build false foundations, and I have no want of those. I know my secrets are safe with you. Here, lay your head in my lap and cover up. The night has a chill to it. You need rest, still.”

“Will you not be cold?”

“Nay, my cloak is warm enough. When I am done speaking, I would like for you to sleep. T'will be the best rest you will get for the next few nights.”

I did as he asked and rested my head on his leg, while he drew the furs around my form. He smelled of horse and cedar wood. I liked the scent.

“Rowan, if after your tale I choose not to receive the gift, will you hold it against me?”

“Not at all, but I suspect after I have spoken, you will want the gift and what it represents.”

So sure of himself, Rowan's voice was soft and lulling. I eagerly awaited his tale, for although I married the man to escape my past, I knew whatever the future would hold for me is due to Rowan and his invisible magic.