“This time, my dear student, I want to introduce you to my latest creation: the Ice Wave.
[Star: Red
Number of rays: 5
School: Combat/Elemental
Element: Water-Ice
Maximum rune combinations: area/height/density/speed]”
Ardi turned the page and began to study the seal with great focus. These strange symbols, which he had first encountered nearly four years ago in a barn, were called magical seals. These intricate geometric patterns, embedded with runes and other symbols, were more like recipes than anything inherently magical or mysterious.
Influencing reality with Star Magic, in theory, didn’t require much: one had to “draw” energy from their own Star and “insert” it into the emanations of the Ley Lines. But taking this literally and just “pouring” energy outward would either result in nothing happening at best or, at worst, the mage could suffer severe consequences — and if they were lucky, only physical ones.
The seal indicated precisely how to weave the threads of Star energy, and the runes clarified some nuances. Taken from the language of the Fae, the runes served, as Anna’s brother might have said, as toggles, switches, pointers, and — put simply — regulators. They ensured that the spell pattern didn’t just explode with energy but took on distinct forms in every sense of the word. However, Ardi had no idea about the principles behind their placement, appearance within the overall pattern, or anything else, so he learned through trial and error.
“Five red rays,” Ardi read above the seal, muttering to himself afterward. “Almost the peak of the second triad… and how does he expect me to copy this?”
Ardi was looking at a six-pointed star with several circles inscribed within it, which formed something like a snowflake pattern, and around it, there was a wide belt consisting of a torn white oval with dozens of runes. All the seals in the stranger’s textbook were recorded exclusively in colored ink. Ardi didn’t know if this was the norm for such magical works because he simply had nothing to compare it to.
image [https://i.imgur.com/yGkgDhz.png]
With a heavy sigh, he moved the textbook to a neighboring table and, snapping his fingers over the magical candle, smiled at the familiar dance of the flame. The flame was not being fed by a Ley crystal or by a carved seal that would directly absorb the energy of the Ley Lines. The stranger called such artifacts the creations of the Aean’Hane. The magical words spoken over this candle had made it what it was now. Snap your fingers — it lights up, snap them again — it extinguishes.
How did Ardi discover this? Oh, that was a long, boring, and rather tragic story, detailing his attempt to kiss Anna and the slap that had taken the place of her maiden lips. Neviy had disagreed with him, calling it, “the funniest thing he’d seen that year.”
Ardi dipped his pen in ink and began to carefully trace the seal’s pattern in his notebook. The same notebook his father had left him as a gift almost eleven years ago. Having already learned from bitter experience, he did not attempt to bring the seal into reality immediately. When he’d tried that with the first spell he’d learned from the book’s author — a simple “Spark” requiring just one ray from a Red Star — he’d almost found himself on the paths of his ancestors.
Back then, Ardi hadn’t known that, before summoning a seal, you either needed to memorize it so well that you could draw it blindfolded without a single mistake, or you had to be able to see it in front of you and follow the “recipe.”
And apparently, the strange author had suspected that this might happen, because immediately after, in the very next chapter, he had begun to explain the need to copy the spell into one’s grimoire — or its prototype — or carve it onto a staff. However, both methods had their strengths and weaknesses.
The staff, though capable of containing a significant number of seals, had a small catch — it served as a conduit for Star Magic. The mage would draw energy from within themselves, then channel it through the staff, which would then compress, twist, and weave it into a tight thread. It was much easier to create a seal with this thread than with an uncontrolled outpouring of energy.
Now, imagine you’ve made a pipe through which you’re pushing a substantial flow of water. Then, on the surface of this very pipe, you start carving symbols and patterns. Sooner or later, you’ll wear down the pipe’s strength, and a burst will occur. And that was an easy-to-understand analogy from everyday life. Here, however, since you’d be dealing with magic, the nuances of these processes were much more ephemeral.
The stranger strongly recommended not drawing any spells on the staff, except those that were absolutely necessary to have at hand at any given moment. So, the staff standing by Ardan’s bed had remained as pristine as ever over the years.
His grimoire, however, was another matter entirely. It was a book where every page was meant to be a spell. It could, of course, contain as many seals as the mage could bind into it. But even here, there was a catch.
A seal wasn’t just made up of its pattern, it also had numerous parameters. The fundamental difference between the art of the Aean’Hane and Star Magic was that the Speakers could summon and control their power using their own will, while Star Mages could only create a tool, and once it was brought into the world, they could no longer influence it.
Take, for example, the simple, training spell known as Spark. It could fly upwards — that was one rune, or it could fly straight — that was another; diagonally, left, right, sideways… It could have different shapes. Different speeds. Densities. And so on. And while the seal’s pattern remained unchanged, the runes within it changed on the fly.
Memorizing them wasn’t too challenging for someone who had been studying the Sidhe language since childhood, but the placement of the runes was another story — it required calculating not only the number of runes but also their arrangement within the pattern itself.
Not to mention the fact that each spell could only accommodate a certain number of runes, but more on that later…
So, the stranger had advised his would-be “student” not to limit themselves when copying things into their grimoire, but to immediately add a few seals with altered runes — this would make future experimentation easier.
The downside of the grimoire approach was that if you didn’t bother studying, and weren’t constantly memorizing dozens of runes and hundreds, or even thousands of their variations, even the Spark seal could take up half a thick book. And then, at the crucial moment, a mage might spend a good quarter of an hour searching for the one they needed in that particular situation.
“Speed runes,” Ardi muttered under his breath, filling in the outer circle. Again, he wasn’t sure that the runes he called “speed,” “density,” “direction,” “shape,” and so on were exactly what they represented, but many experiments had led him to these conclusions. “As many as four of them. And eight density runes. No wonder the spell requires five rays… This isn’t an ice wave, it’s practically an ice wall…”
In nearly four years of studying Star Magic from the stranger’s textbook, he had encountered only three spells that… if one could even put it that way, might have been useful in a difficult situation where someone intended to harm the mage.
And all of them consumed an enormous amount of energy. Even the simplest of these — Ice Arrow — required three rays of the first star. Ardi could cast two of those and, say, one Spark, and then he would be drained.
When Ardi had first experienced this, he’d spent nearly a week on his recovery, devoting six hours each day to focusing his mind and extracting the needed red threads from the tangled Ley Lines. Drop by drop, ray by ray, he’d restored his Star.
Of course, if he’d had a beast crystal or a piece of ore with Ley energy, he could have reduced his recovery time from a week to a few hours. And if he’d drained a capacitor, it would’ve been even better. It might’ve only taken him a few seconds to a few minutes, depending on the energy it held.
But all of that cost money, and Ardi couldn’t boast a particularly thick wallet. Yes, when he’d turned sixteen and received his certificate of adulthood from the mayor, Polskih had been forced to raise his pay from three exes to the minimum allowed in their district for Firstborn and hybrids — five exes and sixty-five kso. Of that, in a good month, Ardi managed to save anywhere from forty kso to an ex, while the cheapest one-ray Red Star capacitor from “Bri-&-Man” cost three and a quarter exes.
Not to mention the fact that you couldn’t buy them in Evergale and would have to hire a courier service to Delpas, which wasn’t cheap either.
And so, simply restoring seven rays would require nearly three dozen exes. It would be less wasteful to start heating the stove by burning money directly than to spend it on that. And as for affording it… Ardi’s total savings amounted to fifteen exes, which he’d set aside for…
“Later,” Ardi chastised himself for letting his mind wander, continuing to inscribe the base seal of the Ice Wave in his grimoire.
After nearly four hours, Ardan began to check his work. If he’d made even a single tiny mistake in the copying process and his replica had diverged from the original, such carelessness could lead to the most terrifying of consequences. Like the time he’d incorrectly recorded the number of runes in the Ice Arrow spell and had instead ended up with an ice bubble that had nearly broken his toes when it had popped out from the top of his staff.
If that failed experiment hadn’t required four rays to cast, perhaps Ardi wouldn’t have torn the page from his grimoire and would’ve instead dedicated his time to a few dozen more experiments and just as many hours of approximate calculations.
Another hour and a half was spent carefully checking the seal, and only then did Ardi, satisfied with his work, close his grimoire and resume reading the stranger’s notes.
“Today, I wanted to focus on studying seals related to ice and water. I don’t yet understand the magical principle behind such nuances, but Star Magic seems to resonate with my Aean’Hane path. I possess two True Names, and each time I invoke Star Magic of the element whose name I know, the seals are far more powerful than the number of rays I invest in them.
This both fascinates and excites me, yet it also makes me ponder. If this is not mere coincidence, but truly a property of magic’s unique echo, then perhaps I’ve found evidence for my theory that the division of magic into two schools is rather pointless. Perhaps it truly is… though I’ll ponder that later.
I don’t know if I’ll be able to finish this work, my dear student. The country is on the brink of civil war. At least, that’s what the Firstborn rebels say. They welcome their Dark Lord as a liberator and equalizer. As for me, I’m less concerned with that than with the study of magic, which has delighted me ever since I was crawling under the blackberry bushes in my parents’ meadow.
If you ever find yourself there — in my native mountains — be sure to visit…”
At this point, the neat handwriting abruptly ended, and the next paragraph returned to musings about runes, the properties of seals, artifacts, and other matters. Whoever the author had been, they hadn’t been lying when they’d warned that they weren’t skilled at writing textbooks and would often get sidetracked.
“A True Name, huh?” Ardi whispered.
He could summon a name — not a true one, of course, just a simple one — of ice, but he couldn’t maintain his concentration for long. And as for putting power into that word… It wasn’t like he couldn’t, he simply didn’t know how. The she-wolf had never had time to teach him how to invest power into words. So, the most Ardan could manage when it came to the skills of a Speaker and the art of the Aean’Hane was to create a snowball or a small ice shard in his hand. Which, of course, had come in quite handy during childhood snowball fights.
“It’s probably not a coincidence,” Ardi shook his head.
He had also noticed that his ice spells were much stronger than they should be, but there was nothing to really compare them to. Except for Spark and a couple of other seals that were hard to gauge in terms of power, all the others Ardi had recorded and studied up to this point were related to ice and water.
Perhaps the stranger had unknowingly been recording and studying mostly seals related to his preferred elements?
“Well, that’s enough theory for today,” Ardi put down his pen, closed the ink bottle, extinguished the candle, and, wrapping both books in cloths, hid them under the bed. It wasn’t the safest place, but who would be rummaging through his room anyway?
He glanced at his staff and sighed heavily.
“Sorry, buddy, not today,” he ran his hand over the wood. “Polskih asked me to come to the farm early. And in the evening, there’s the fair. And then, as you know, we’ve got plans.”
Ardi looked at his worn-out wallet lying on the table with the large bills tucked inside of it. If Faruh had kept his word and really arranged for the courier service, then…
“Ardi?” There was a knock at the door.
“Yeah?”
“Can I borrow your certificate?” Erti asked after a brief pause.
“What for?” Ardan asked, clearly surprised.
“To show the guys. They don’t believe me.”
Ardan pulled out the drawer of his table and found among the other papers the blue cover of his diploma from the “17th Rural School of the Western Foothills Province, Evergale.” To get the black cover — the one that indicated a perfect score with impeccable grades — he had been missing just one thing:
“That damned music,” he hissed, looking at the neatly aligned row of tens marred by a four in musical arts.
But what could he do about the fact that, due to his peculiar upbringing, Ardi had never fully mastered fine motor skills? Even now, when he sat down to eat dinner, he would massage his fingers for a while first; otherwise, he risked accidentally spilling the contents of his fork or spoon onto his lap at any moment.
Rising from the table, Ardan approached the door, turned the brass handle, and opened it. From the threshold, a pair of warm eyes looked up at him, belonging to a boy who could now be called a young man. It was amazing how the Matabar blood in Erti remained dormant, like a tired lumberjack after a long shift, but only when it came to magic or particularly delicate, sacred matters.
But otherwise…
At twelve years old, Erti had shot up to nearly a meter eighty, though he was still quite narrow-shouldered. So much so, in fact, that their mother sometimes joked about how, along with the scarecrow’s rags, she could also sew two seasonal outfits for her younger son as well. And if you added in his pale skin and the ever-unhealthy gleam in his eyes caused by his anemia, it was no wonder that sometimes the other kids tried to tease Erti about being a “living corpse.”
As for Ardan, at seventeen, he had stopped growing at just shy of two meters, with shoulders only slightly broader than Kelly’s, who wasn’t exactly known for having an especially amazing build. But that build was still impressive enough that Ardan never had any trouble with cowboys or other workers at the saloons and farms. When words ran out, they weren’t eager to resort to physical arguments.
“Here,” Ardan handed over the certificate. “Bring it back at the festival.”
Erti grabbed the certificate and immediately tucked it into the breast pocket of his shirt.
“Are you going?” Erti asked, surprised. “You usually skip them.”
“Not this time,” Ardan winked. “By the way, how’s Kena?”
Erti squinted, clearly having his own thoughts on what he’d just heard, but said nothing.
“Mom took her to Mrs. Efrosiya’s for a fitting,” he answered after a short pause. “Dad’s on patrol.”
Ardan raised an eyebrow slightly.
“The railroad again?”
Erti nodded.
“They supposedly caught Talon’s gang at the beginning of the season,” Ardi mused.
“They say that they didn’t get all of them,” Erti shrugged. “Anyway, last month, the sawmill in Сrooked Boron burned down. They suspect that they didn’t finish them off, and now the remaining ones are taking revenge on the province.”
Ardi just shook his head. In recent years, he had spent so much time studying Star Magic that he’d paid little attention to the events of the outside world. After graduating from school and passing his final exams, Ardi had discovered several unexpectedly freed-up hours in his schedule. His work routine on Polskih’s farm had long been established, but as for his future…
“Grandpa’s calling you,” Erti brought his brother back to the here and now.
“How is he?”
“The same,” his younger brother sighed. “Worse.”
Ardan whispered a curse in the Fae language. Everyone in Kelly’s household, including the sheriff himself, knew perfectly well that with each passing day, Grandpa was getting closer to the moment when he would go to his “Lady.” He was literally shrinking before their very eyes, withering away, and even the once steadfast gaze of his crystal-clear orbs, the eyes of a once mighty and wise hunter, had softened and dimmed.
Ardi ruffled his brother’s thick mop of hair and, closing the door behind him, headed downstairs.
“Half is mine,” he tossed out over his shoulder.
“What?”
“Half, Erti,” Ardan repeated, then flashed a brief smile and added, “of the money you win from those poor souls.”
Erti scowled and scratched his head.
“Sometimes, that knack of yours for catching every detail really gets on my nerves,” his younger brother grumbled.
Truth be told, Ardan sometimes found this trait, instilled in him from childhood, just as annoying. It caused more problems than it solved. Take, for instance, that time they’d been let out early after their first lesson, and he’d had to spend an hour coming up with various ways to distract Neviy and Kevin so they wouldn’t come home early and catch their mother with the postman.
Ardi waved goodbye to his brother, grabbed his jacket, and stepped onto the porch. His lungs immediately filled with fresh, still spring-chilled, slightly damp air, which had been carried there from the blooming prairies. The scent of hundreds of wildflowers nearly made the hunter’s head spin… or maybe he was an aspiring wizard now?
The sun had already reached its zenith, and the streets of Evergale greeted the townspeople with an unusual buzz and chatter. Today, on festival day, even the most miserly of bosses had given their workers the day off, not to mention the fact that people were flocking to the town from the surrounding areas, and even from Delpas.
As a result, the streets of Evergale were so crowded that there was hardly enough room to move, and on festival day, the saloons and taverns earned as much as they sometimes did in an entire season.
“Reminds me of home,” came a creaky voice, like the groan of dead wood during particularly bad weather. “I’m not sure why, but it does.”
Grandpa was speaking in the Fae language, and Ardi… Ardi tried not to look in his direction. It was too painful to see the man he had always considered an unbending oak as he was now: a shriveled, bald old man with parchment-like, translucent skin covered in ugly warts and black spots. His claws had long since broken off, his teeth had fallen out, and his ears drooped like a dog’s.
Several blankets and a quilt covered Grandpa. For nearly half a year, he had refused to return indoors. He just sat on the porch, rocking in his chair. He would eat if fed, drink if offered, and he only spoke rarely. His gaze was fixed somewhere to the northeast. At first, Ardi had thought he was looking toward the Alkadian peaks, but then he realized Grandpa was looking farther — beyond the snow-capped summits and stately clouds. He was looking toward something only he knew about.
“It reminds you of Old Alcade?” Ardan asked in Fae.
Grandpa smacked his cracked, swollen lips.
“That too, Son. That too…” He whispered faintly, then closed his eyes and smiled. In recent months, Grandpa had constantly confused Ardi with Hector and had started calling him Son instead of Grandson. “It reminds me of the white domes gleaming with the golden symbols of our gods and the Sleeping Spirits. The wide streets where children’s laughter never ceases. The taverns where minstrels sing and currant ale flows like a river. The debates with scholars, battles with knights, and how I, as a boy, would climb the towers of the wise, searching for knowledge that the naked eye couldn’t see and only the heart could feel. All of it, like an old dream, is now coming back to me, Son.”
If you compared these words to what Grandpa had said over the past month, this monologue was longer than all their previous conversations combined. But… but Grandpa wasn’t talking about the Alcade and the Matabar settlements, but about Ectassus. The ancient kingdom of the Firstborn. And six centuries had passed since its fall. Matabar, like most of the Firstborn, lived much longer than humans, but not as long as elves and dwarves, or the near-immortal Sidhe.
From Atta’nha’s library, Ardan had learned that those who reached two centuries were considered long-lived among the Matabar. On average, they withered away by the time they got to be one hundred and seventy years old, making them only slightly longer-lived than orcs, whose elders lived to one hundred and eighty, sometimes to one hundred and ninety years at most.
So, of all the Firstborn, only the elves, who could easily live half a millennium even in bad conditions, and didn’t truly age until their seventh century, with their elders even approaching a thousand years at times, could have witnessed Ectassus. Though, after the Dark Lord’s uprising, it seemed like none of them had survived, and the oldest living elf — Duke Abrailaal, one of the four Firstborn occupying seats in the Upper Parliament — had celebrated his six hundred and nineteenth birthday this year.
Ardi knew all of this thanks to Molinier’s newspapers, which Neviy used as wrapping for his buns and sandwiches.
“Of course, Grandpa,” Ardan didn’t argue with him.
“Yes…” The old man drawled, smacking his lips. “Go, Son. Go. I need to prepare.”
A slight twinge in his heart made Ardi pause on the stairs and look back at the last of the First Hunters. Shriveled and bony, now even shorter than Faruh, and practically embedded in his chair, he still, for a moment, reminded Ardi of his former self.
“Prepare… for what, Grandpa?”
“For the hunt, of course, Son,” the old man’s toothless grin twisted his lips. “All the traps are set, the wind is in our favor, the prey has no idea it’s doomed… It will be a good hunt, Son. Our tribe will leave its mark on the Mountain of Memory, and we will sing songs to our children for many journeys of the Spirit of the Night.”
Ardi just sighed sadly and shook his head. His grandpa’s mind was gradually slipping away, and mixing together his memories, countless tales, and fragments of reality.
“Of course, Grandpa,” Ardi barely managed to keep a lump from rising in his throat.
“Go, Son. Go.”
As he had done every day for the past year, Ardi struck his chest with his fist, then placed the back of his hand to his forehead.
It had been their secret gesture during his childhood. And now Ardan repeated it every time he said goodbye to Grandpa. Just in case… this farewell turned out to be their last.
But Grandpa didn’t see it — he only had eyes for somewhere beyond the horizon. He was sinking deeper into the labyrinths of his tired, weary mind.
Closing the gate behind him, Ardi stretched and, steadying his breath, ran toward the farm. Kelly, and even farmer Polskih himself when the rare good mood descended upon him, had both suggested that Ardan should get a horse.
But first of all, a good horse meant for riding cost at least a dozen exes, and second, what kind of hunter would he be if he didn’t love to run?
Taking off his sturdy work boots, Ardi tied the laces in a knot and slung them over his shoulder before running along the road. He ran through the hills, past the meadows, occasionally encountering a fellow traveler, and he enjoyed the way his leg-paws easily pushed off the soft, still cool earth and propelled his body upwards, giving him a fleeting sense of flight.
Breathing in the scents of grasses, and sometimes even catching notes of aromas brought in by the winds from the mountain forests, Ardi would occasionally switch from running to walking to delay the moment when he’d have to reach the farm. It wasn’t that he disliked work, it was just that Anna’s father suffered from a common human ailment — stinginess.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
If you didn’t negotiate for overtime in advance, you could forget about extra pay, even if you arrived an hour early and left a day later. Timofey Polskih would find a thousand excuses and even more reasons to legally, completely by the book, not pay you.
There had even been cases where cheated cowboys had traveled to Delpas to see the arbitrator, but even he’d only been able to shrug at them helplessly.
“Ard!”
The hunter nearly stumbled mid-run. What was it with people around him barging into his thoughts like this? But after he took just one look at the lathered horse and its pale rider, who was about twenty-five years old, with two rifles strapped to his saddle, his desire to argue about it disappeared.
“What happened, Latis?” Ardan asked seriously.
“Our men saw wolf tracks,” the cowboy turned in the saddle and pointed toward the mountain, then shifted his finger slightly eastward, to the hilly pastures. “They left with nine men this morning to check on the herd, but only six came back able to ride.”
“And what-”
“They were mauled,” Latis interrupted him. “Two are dead, and another is unlikely to survive the night.”
Ardi couldn’t help but curse.
It was sad, of course, but it wasn’t the first time, and it would be far from the last, that hunters who were either too foolish or not strong enough to hunt in the forest flows would come down into the valley to pursue easier prey. Why was Latis so worried?
“Your fath-”
“My father’s been drinking himself into a stupor since this morning,” Latis interrupted him again. “I’m heading to town for reinforcements. We need to gather everyone who isn’t with the sheriff on patrol.”
Latis was about to spur his horse when Ardi grabbed the reins.
“Can you explain what’s going on?” The hunter demanded. “Why the rush? And why do you need everyone else?”
“Eternal Angels, Ard!” Latis shouted. “Anna and her cousins got separated from our men and are headed toward the ridge! Toward the water!”
Ardi’s heart skipped a beat. Herds always came to the water to drink, and any forest hunter knew that the best place for a hungry hunt was right there.
“And you couldn’t say that right away?” Ardi almost screamed and, spinning toward the hills, broke into a run.
“Take a rifle!” Latis’ voice echoed behind him, but Ardi didn’t even think to stop.
So that was why he’d felt uneasy all morning. His hunter’s instincts hadn’t failed him, but he hadn’t been able to interpret them correctly.
Damn it…
Damn it!
Ardan ran as fast as he could. He leaped over streams, hills stretched into long strips of green under his feet, and ponds turned into mere puddles. The hunter resisted the urge to listen to the wind and cut across the Fae paths, knowing it could backfire on him — or worse, on Anna. Twice, he had already ventured uninvited into the outskirts of the City on the Hill, and they wouldn’t forgive him a third transgression.
He was trying to convince himself that Anna was no fool, that after growing up on a farm, she knew how to handle such situations, but if Latis wasn’t exaggerating, then these weren’t ordinary wolves.
“Faster,” the wild thought pulsed in Ardi’s mind, making his heart race. “Faster!”
***
With the ease of an experienced dancer — those etiquette lessons had never come easily to him — Ardi moved through the dense forest, his keen, not entirely human eyes catching the slightest details.
Flattened grass, bent branches, leaves torn from bushes, depressions in the damp earth — he read these tracks as easily as a manuscript.
The wind whispered something to him, carrying the scent of fir trees and danger. His heart pounded so fast that it made his chest tremble, not because, for the first time in almost five years, Ardi was back on the hunting trails, but because this time, it was entirely different. He wasn’t hunting by the laws of the forests, mountains, and rivers. He was about to break those very laws to…
The hunter froze. The sun was setting, and long shadows outlined the curve of a line of words in the forest’s book.
Ardi crouched down and ran his fingers through the soft, black soil, still remembering the sharp claws and thick fur. The wolf tracks he had been following for the last few hours abruptly veered eastward.
“Spirits…” Ardan whispered.
Latis had been wrong. Under normal circumstances, forest predators, especially those living near humans, had little interest in them. Hunting two-legged prey was usually more trouble than a full belly was worth.
The only reason they might have deviated from their course and chosen human flesh over beef grazing on the northwestern slopes was Ley poisoning.
Ardi’s heart skipped a beat, but he didn’t even notice. He forced himself to run even faster. He ran so fast that his muscles groaned, and his sinews hummed like guitar strings. He ran, barely touching the ground with his feet, as if for a moment, he had become a creature born of the winds and forest shadows.
Finally, a stream appeared ahead. Not the one where the herds drank, but another, nestled between flower-covered hills, lulled by the melodious murmur of waves, and boasting only a single, sprawling tree where someone had once built a swing. Young people often came here for dates, or even whole groups would gather to relax.
All you needed to do was cross the narrow ford formed by a line of wide stones. And there, on the opposite bank, Ardi saw Anna. Her golden hair shone in the fading light of the weary Spirit of the Day like a beacon. Her numerous cousins, both male and female, and their friends, were either having fun chasing each other around, or sitting on blankets and watching the sunset. They were so carefree, with no inkling of the approaching danger.
The sharp crack of branches and the rustling of leaves signaled that there was almost no time left. In his mind’s eye, Ardan could already see the ghostly figures moving through the underbrush, their eyes glinting with the menacing light of Hunger.
Taking a deep breath, the hunter shouted at the top of his lungs:
“Anna! Run! Wolves!” His voice echoed over the water, but even then, it carried unmistakable seriousness.
Hearing her name, Anna turned away from her cousins and met Ardi’s gaze. For a brief moment, fear flickered in her eyes, but then she began speaking rapidly and urgently to the others. They hesitated at first, then started to argue, but a farmer’s daughter who had spent her entire life alongside cowboys was not the same as these boys and girls who had come to the festival from bigger towns, or even Delpas.
A sharp slap to the most stubborn one’s head ended the dispute.
Ardi, drawing a simple workman’s knife, took a stand between the forest and the stream. He stood motionless, his eyes fixed on the trees. And there, among the shadows clawing at the trunks and gnawing at the leaves, red eyes flared. His heart suddenly calmed, and the hunter’s breathing steadied.
No matter how many years had passed since then, he still remembered the lessons of his friends and mentors. And though, as before, he had no chance of standing alone against a hunting pack of fang-bearers, that didn’t bother him. Oh, if only he had his staff with him…
“This is a familiar scent,” a voice like the growl from a forgotten nightmare interrupted Ardi’s thoughts.
From the thicket emerged a massive wolf. It was far bigger than even the largest of its kind. Its eyes burned with an unnatural, red light, surrounded by a web of crimson cracks, and its mouth gleamed with two rows of yellow, crooked fangs.
Following their leader, two more wolves stepped into the light. They were slightly smaller, without the web of red cracks, and with a normal number of fangs in their mouths, but Ardi recognized them too.
Just under ten years ago, they had tried to bring down a pregnant doe, and they would have succeeded if not for Shali and Guta.
“You’ve grown, pup,” the leader growled, starting to circle the hunter. Ardi’s body tensed like a bowstring.
“And I see there are fewer of you now,” came his quick reply.
Ardi tried to appear unafraid, but that was far from the truth. When they had last met, the wolf had already been at least eight years old, and ten more had passed since then — the leader should have long since not just died, but turned into a worm-eaten skeleton. And yet, there he was. Scarred, but alive and well, and even seeming a bit younger somehow.
Along with their leader, the other Ley-Poisoned wolves also began circling Ardi, moving around him on the invisible boundary of a half-circle. The hunter had deliberately positioned himself by the stream, so the predators wouldn’t be able to get behind him.
“Where are your forest friends, two-legged one?” The leader barked, his flaming eyes gleaming sadistically. “Or are you alone this time?”
“And where’s your tracker? Or is it because she’s gone that you’ve confused humans with prey?”
The wolf snarled and lowered his muzzle to the ground, spreading his legs and tucking his tail in.
“My younger brother fell to a bear’s claws, and his mate didn’t survive the night after a lynx’s claws got to her.”
Ardi realized he had said something foolish, and as if to confirm that, all three shadows leaped at him at once. The hunter’s instincts reacted faster than his mind. The lessons that had literally been etched into his skin with claws and fangs over the years made his body lunge to the side.
A massive maw snapped shut just inches from his left side, and Ardi, rising to his full height and raising his clenched fists, crashed down on the back of the wolf that had missed him. There was a sickening crunch as his knife’s hilt met the beast’s spine, and using the momentum of his attack, Ardan tumbled along with the yelping predator. He slipped under the feet of the leader while claws slid past the hunter’s back, tearing through his jacket and sending streams of wet warmth trickling down his skin.
Ardi growled no less fiercely than Guta had, and, tossing aside the wolf that had started to recover, he rolled over his head, leaped away, and landed in a ready stance. His bent legs served as his hind paws and his left hand gripped the ground firmly for support while his right hand held a long fang.
Out of the corner of his eye, Ardi spotted the same wolf that had just slashed his back — he was preparing to pounce him from behind, but he’d miscalculated and ended up within the hunter’s field of vision.
He was clearly no match for Shali’s skills.
The hunter leaped aside again, simultaneously slashing with his knife. He had calculated everything correctly and should have cut the predator’s belly open, but the wolf somehow found an anchor point, twisting mid-air in order to land off to the side and dodge his blade.
Ardi, once again dropping to the ground, stilled. As Ergar had taught him, he sought balance between patience and action. The hunter’s gaze never left his two remaining opponents. The third one, with his spine broken, lay drenched in pink foam, suffering his final agony.
And when Ardi briefly glanced at him, the leader immediately reacted. He practically dissolved into a swift leap, aiming straight for the two-legged’s throat. But Ardan had known this would happen —the leader had fallen into a trap set for him.
At the last moment, Ardi jerked to the side, switched his knife to an overhand grip and, like a stinger, aimed it straight at the wolf’s throat. By all the laws of the universe, the wolf should have been skewered on his steel like cooked meat, but the leader merely arched his neck, and instead of cutting flesh, the knife struck something that felt as hard as a wall, barely scratching his skin and tearing away a few tufts of fur.
Ardi tried to hold on to the hilt of his knife, but the resistance was so great that his fingers involuntarily loosened, and his fang flew off to the side, but before it could even hit the ground, the hunter was there.
Knocked off his feet by the leader, he fell onto his back. The air was immediately driven from his lungs, and Ardi wheezed as the massive wolf, tearing at his chest with his claws, snapped his maw near his throat. Ardan tried to keep the powerful teeth of his opponent at bay, pushing back against his heavy neck, but with each passing moment, the beast’s fangs drew closer and closer to his throat.
“Tasty,” the wolf’s saliva drenched Ardi’s face. “Tasty pup. I’ll devour-”
A thunderous roar drowned out the wolf’s words, and the beast was thrown aside. Whimpering in pain, bleeding onto the ground, the leader looked somewhere above Ardi, and as the hunter twisted away, he saw Anna standing on the other side of the stream. Outlining her, the sun was setting behind the mountains, and she held a rifle firmly in her hands. Not a trace of fear or doubt could be seen on her face.
image [https://i.imgur.com/bz2jD77.png]
Without a second’s hesitation, she raised the rifle to her shoulder and, with practiced precision, fired again.
The wolf leaped to the side, and the bullet sliced through his other flank — Anna had been aiming to hit the leader’s eyes. And then, as she worked the lever action, the shots merged into a continuous roar. The leader, casting one final glance full of pain and primal fury at Ardi, dashed toward the forest, leading the last of his pack with him.
Anna, slinging the rifle over her shoulder, drew a revolver from its holster and, deftly hopping across the stones, approached Ardi. The pain, which had been muted due to the battle’s adrenaline, made him clench his teeth and groan. The danger was gone, and the adrenaline that had fueled him all this time had left with it.
“Ardi,” Anna knelt beside him, her voice full of concern and genuine care. “Face of Light! You’re covered in blood!”
She was dressed in her usual attire — a dress with a high neckline and a wide belt. The bottom of her skirt had been cut and hemmed, revealing sturdy trousers tucked into high work boots. A wide-brimmed hat shaded her face from the sun, but her golden hair made it seem as though she herself was the sun.
She picked up the knife Ardan had dropped and began tearing her skirt into strips and rolling them into makeshift bandages, which she then pressed against his wounds. And Ardan couldn’t take his eyes off her.
Her face, with its soft features, thick eyebrows, and crimson lips, was slightly flushed along the cheeks. Her appearance always made Ardi hold his breath for just a moment longer.
“Don’t move,” she said, reaching out to him but then pulling her hand back, as if she were afraid of causing him more pain. “I sent the others back to the town. Help will come soon. You’ll be fine.”
“I’m fine already,” Ardi rasped, then looked directly into her eyes. “Thank you, Anna.”
She just nodded.
“I wanted to ask you to go with me to the festival, and-”
“Quiet, Ardi,” Anna interrupted him gently, but the quiver in her voice betrayed her more than any other sign ever could. “You’ll ask me, for sure. And I’ll sing for you.”
“Really?”
“Of course.”
Anna could sing beautifully, even though she rarely did it. Every festival, people would ask her to sing or play, but as far as Ardi could remember, she had only agreed once, and that had been for her father, whom she loved very much. Yes, Timofey Polskih evoked mixed feelings in everyone who knew him, but one thing no one could deny was the stingy farmer’s boundless love for his daughter.
“And if…” Ardi faltered, “If I…”
“No ‘ifs!’” Anna shook her head so vigorously that her hat slipped off.
“I would like to hear…”
She looked into his eyes. They were so beautiful and so distant…
“All right.”
The sun had almost disappeared behind the horizon, sending its last, most passionate rays flying across the sky. The gentle ripple of the stream became her piano, and the reflection of the sun in her eyes was the light of the fires already burning on the meadow where the townsfolk were celebrating.
As soon as she began to sing, her voice surrounded him like a comforting blanket, enveloping him in her warm and tender embrace. The melody of the song was simple and unobtrusive, providing true solace for his troubled mind.
Mountains high, where whispers lie
A tribe so wise, beneath the sky
Hunters free, in nature’s grace
Roamed the wild, in a sacred space
But iron roads, with roaring might
Brought the trains, and took the light
The hunters’ life was no longer true
As the world they knew was torn in two.
Ardi closed his eyes, allowing the song to wash away everything that had happened to him in the past few days, even years. All those thoughts, all those yearnings of a heart torn between two legacies, all his worries and troubles… They drifted away with the waves of the stream that were moving farther from the shore.
Lands once pure, now overrun
By progress made, and by changes undone
Traditions lost, culture torn apart
Leaving such tired, such worn out hearts
But iron roads, with thunderous roar
Brought the change, forevermore
The hunters’ way was left behind
As the wheels of time began to grind
The trees by the grove seemed to lean closer, as if to listen to the song as well, and their leaves rustled in time with the melody. The fading light sparkled along the surface of the stream, creating an image of ephemeral beauty that could never fully capture the charm of Anna’s song.
Yet in their hearts, the memories burn
Of days alive, for which they still yearn
Forced to change, yet still they strive
Their legacy will always survive
The hunters are gone, but not erased
Their story held, in hearts embraced
Their wisdom deep and courage strong
A time when the wild was where they belonged.
As the final notes gradually faded into the twilight, Ardi opened his eyes and met Anna’s gaze. Their fingers brushed against each other by accident, but to Ardan, it felt like he had touched her not just with his skin, but with his heart.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “That was beautiful.”
She smiled warmly and gently.
“I’m glad you liked it. I borrowed the first lines from a poem and… Well, you probably wouldn’t find it all that interesting.”
They looked into each other’s eyes, and in the east, the black velvet of the sky had already lit its first stars, their lights burning away the weight of the day, leaving only the magic of the song and the connection of two hearts to linger.
“Ardi, I-”
Ardan didn’t know if he was doing the right thing or what would happen next, how his life would turn out, but at that moment, none of it mattered. He shrugged off the makeshift bandages from his now nearly-healed wounds, ignoring Anna’s protests at his theatrics, and pulled her familiar face close, pressing his lips to hers. He did so clumsily, messily, and with as much hesitation as a fledgling making its first fluttering attempts at flight.
At first, Anna tried to pull away, but a moment later, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and together, they sank into the grass.
They didn’t think about cowboys possibly showing up, nor were they worried about the wolves returning. Their only frustration was with the overly-complicated fastenings on their clothes, their too-tight belts, and the way they accidentally bit each other, only to laugh and try even harder to press their bodies together, no longer just friends.
And the night’s darkness covered them with a cool blanket, hiding them from any unwanted eyes or witnesses. This evening belonged only to them and no one else.
At least that’s what they thought.
***
“See you tomorrow?”
She stood surrounded by several cowboys, while the rest were already galloping across the farm to the Polskih house, eager to bring back the joyful news that Anna was safe. Ardan looked at her face, searching her eyes, and for the first time since his early childhood, he felt something that he had no words to describe.
“We should go, Anna,” the oldest of the farmhands urged her.
They had come across the riders about an hour after… after they had left the stream and headed back to town. And the entire way from the ridge to the farm, they hadn’t been able to say a word. They’d only managed to exchange furtive glances and barely hide their foolish smiles.
“Huh?” Anna started, then answered. “Yes, of course, Garry. Let’s go.”
Garry turned his horse, and they began to move away on the other side of the fence. Anna turned to him, and Ardan grinned broadly.
‘Of course we’ll see each other,’ he mouthed.
Anna smiled too. She gave him a small nod before disappearing over the hill.
Ardi stood there for a moment longer, then turned and started walking home. In the distance, the festival lights still burned, and laughter, cheerful shouts, songs, and the echo of dances could still be heard. People were celebrating the end of the season, and with it, the coming of age of their children who had graduated from school this year and were now being sent off into a new life. Out of ten graduates, only five usually stayed in the town — the rest went off to seek their fortune.
Within the year, two would return. Another one would come back after five years of wandering, and the penultimate one of those who’d left would start a family in a bigger town, or maybe even in Delpas itself. And the last of the five adventurers would eventually stop sending word of their life, leaving their parents to boast about their success — more to comfort themselves than to show off.
How strange that Ardi was thinking about this now…
He walked along the moonlit path leading to the outskirts of Evergale, and his heart wanted to dance, drunk on the euphoria gifted to him by the hour he’d spent on the stream’s shore. The crisp night air, tinged with the sweet scent of wild lilacs, caressed his face as he walked along the path.
The world around him seemed more alive than ever before, its colors vibrant. It was as if the night, in some magical way, had bathed in the same light that was filling Ardan’s soul at that moment.
Accompanied by the quiet echo of his footsteps, which reverberated in the stillness, Ardi’s thoughts swirled like a whirlwind of autumn leaves scattered by the wind. Anna’s touch still lingered on his skin, and her laughter resonated in his ears like the mysterious songs of the Fae.
If Skusty had been here, he would’ve surely said something about the “spring rut” and “the season of animal weddings.”
A wedding…
With every step that brought Ardi closer to home, threads of worry began to weave themselves into the joyful tapestry of his thoughts. No matter how many textbooks claimed that there was equality between all races in the Empire, that simply wasn’t true. On the surface and in everyday city life, maybe. But here, on the country’s very edge, in a backwater, a very different law ruled.
And the thought that their barely budding relationship could be crushed by a cold and indifferent system caused his teeth to grind and his fists to clench. Ardan immediately recalled countless legends and songs his grandfather had shared with him, tales of lovers torn apart by fate and circumstances, and how their stories had often ended in heartache and sorrow.
Suddenly, Ardi froze.
Sniffing the air, he wrinkled his nose. The air was thick with a pungent smell that was clawing at his throat. The smell of smoke, charred wood, and shredded memories.
As the hunter approached his home, his heart began to pound faster and faster.
The arrogant, swirling glow of a hungry fire rising above the courtyard cast mocking shadows along the fences and walls of the deserted houses, and their ghostly whispers foretold nothing good.
Ardi practically flew to the gate, tearing it off its hinges with a single pull.
His heart stopped.
A dozen unfamiliar figures, wearing matching leather coats, stood in the flickering light of the burning barn. Their faces were hidden under wide-brimmed hats, and their high boots gleamed with spurs that threw off the same steel sparks as the rifles slung across their backs and the revolvers in their holsters.
But what truly had icy fingers of terror squeezing Ardi’s heart was the sight of the people kneeling on the ground before the strangers, bound and gagged.
His people.
Kelly, in his undergarments and a housecoat, was cradling a crying Kena who clung desperately to her toy bear. Erti was struggling against the hand on his shoulder and his mother, the gray-haired, wrinkled Shai, was quietly weeping.
And in the middle of this nightmare, this scene bordering on a grotesque parody of life, stood his grandfather. He was bony, hunched, withered, and he leaned on his cane, looking as frail as the stick he held. Only his eyes, freed from the haze of confusion, once again burned with a fierce storm that could overshadow even Ergar’s roar in its fury.
The weight of the scene that unfolded before Ardan crashed down on his consciousness like an avalanche, plunging him into a churning sea of dark chaos. Just like so long ago, during his encounter with the mountain troll, something treacherously whispered to him:
“Run… Go through the lands of the Fae… They won’t find you there…”
And that disgusting, cruel laughter, along with those icy claws, was pulling him away, out of there. But Ardan, feeling more disgusted by the fact that he had, even for a moment, given into it than by the fear itself, took a step forward.
And in that instant, just as he was about to throw himself at the nearest of the strangers, his grandfather turned to him. His eyes gleamed with an otherworldly light, and heavy words came from his lips:
“Ardan. Stand still,” was spoken in the Fae language, binding the hunter tighter than any ropes, chains, or cords ever could.
Ardi couldn’t scream or even move. Not even the tip of a finger was his to command, and he couldn’t so much as blink — his body was entirely beyond his control, his heart beating only because the shackles of his True Name allowed it.
His grandfather stood there, in the center of the dancing shadows. The one who had summoned Ergar. The one who had broken the laws of the Matabar. The one who knew the language of the Fae. And now — the one who used the magic of words with the ease with which Ardi used Star Magic.
The she-wolf had told him stories of the Speakers and the Aean’Hane, but in none of those legends or tales did Ardi remember anyone possessing such power. So, if his grandfather, even at the end of his life, could wield such mighty magic, then surely this would end quickly. Yes, of course. He would say the word, and these creatures would regret ever setting foot here…
“Is that all?” His grandfather’s voice creaked.
“That’s all, old man,” replied the tall man standing before him. He was a man judging by his voice, anyways. “Those are the terms of the deal. We spare this brood. Moreover, the sheriff will receive a position as an instructor in the Delpas Cadet Corps, and your daughter-in-law will receive a good pension for the loss of her first husband. The boy will be examined by the best doctors in the province, and the little one has already secured a place in an excellent school for noble girls. As for the eldest,” the stranger nodded in Ardi’s direction, “it’s all up to you. You pull any tricks, and I’ll pretend I didn’t receive these,” the man waved several envelopes at him, “and I just happened to shoot him in the knees… And then the stomach. And he died slowly and painfully. Or we can, as it says here, deliver him safe and sound to the Metropolis.”
Ardi struggled against the bonds. He had to help them. Save them. They were his family. His responsibility. He-
“Is that all?” His grandfather repeated.
“Are you deaf, old man, or-”
“Cassara,” his grandfather interrupted, as if not noticing the speaker at all, and turned his head slightly toward the figure holding the saber. “Do I have your word?”
For a moment, the courtyard was plunged into silence, broken only by Kena’s sobs and the crackling of the burning barn.
“You’ve aged,” a melodious, female voice suddenly spoke.
Its owner stepped into the light, and if Ardi had not been bound, he would have thrown all laws and rules to the wind. He would have opened the paths to the City on the Hill and, Sleeping Spirits help him, he would have spoken the forbidden words he had glimpsed in the she-wolf’s ancient scroll, summoning monsters and spirits… even if it cost him his life.
She was as graceful as a cat and more beautiful than even Sidhe and elves. Her skin was as pale as porcelain and her hair whiter than snow. She was dressed in a light blouse with a plunging neckline, almost fully exposing her chest, which was barely covered by a bra. Her tight pants, belted with a holster, were tucked into leather boots that reached almost to the tops of her thighs.
She tilted her hat slightly, its brim so wide it reached past her shoulders. The firelight revealed her delicate facial features, resembling those of a doll rather than a living being. Well, a living being she was not, at least not in the traditional sense of the word. She had red eyes, cloudy as a corpse’s, and a pair of long fangs peeking out from under her upper lip.
image [https://i.imgur.com/ceTdyuH.png]
A vampire.
“And you are still as beautiful as ever, Cassara,” his grandfather said with great difficulty, leaning on his staff, his hands trembling like the branches of a withered tree as he bowed. “No, even more beautiful than the day I first met you.”
“And tried to kill me?”
“You cannot kill what is already dead, Cassara.”
A short, venomous laugh rang out.
“You may have aged, but your tongue is as sharp as ever,” she said with a smile, revealing fangs sharper and longer than any predator’s.
“Thank you, Cass-”
“Are you done?” The same stranger from before interrupted, the one who had been talking about the family’s future. Apparently, he was the leader of these bastards. “Or perhaps you’d like some time to catch up? We can wait until the locals start coming back from the festival, and then the deal’s off. And the witnesses will be off, too,” the man turned to the family, then to the festival fires, “any witnesses.”
But his grandfather still ignored him, as if the man was of no importance.
“I need your word, Cassara,” his grandfather said firmly, coughing and wiping blood from his mouth.
The vampire silently stared at him, and after a few moments, she inclined her head slightly.
“As always, my friend, my word is yours.”
His grandfather nodded, then, with a groan, straightened up. It was clearly difficult for him to manage even that much. He was visibly trembling, but he still held his back straight, his gaze fixed strictly to the north — toward the familiar mountains. For a brief moment, with another flicker of the shadows, he appeared to Ardi not as a frail, withered old man, but as a mighty hunter, two and a half meters tall, with shoulders as wide as a wagon axle, strong claws, and steel fangs.
A man who commanded True Names and spoke the language of secrets and magic. A man wielding a staff that looked like a young tree and a sword that looked more like a gigantic slab of metal plucked straight from the nearby train tracks than a blade.
But the vision vanished, leaving behind only some familiar artifacts. The ones Ardi had once found in the barn on the mountain: a rusty sword and a nearly-rotted staff. Somehow, they had ended up in his grandfather’s hands.
“Don’t be foolish, old man!” The stranger shouted, simultaneously drawing a revolver and clutching a medallion around his neck.
The others followed suit, drawing their revolvers and aiming them at Ardi’s family while clutching their own medallions.
But his grandfather didn’t seem to care at all.
He turned to Ardan and smiled. Just like he had in his childhood, when he’d told him stories of great wizards and knights of the past. Of Ectassus. The land where people like them — non-humans — had been able to live freely and openly. He smiled with his eyes alone. Eyes full of warmth and care.
Cracking and bleeding, his dry lips moved, pronouncing words in the Fae language. And as his lips moved, his left hand, holding the rusty sword, did so as well. The blade met no resistance as it slid all the way in to the hilt, piercing the heart of the last of the Matabar.
His body began to fall to the ground, but before it could touch the grass, a winter wind blew past. It instantly extinguished the blazing barn and forced the strangers to shield themselves from the blizzard that suddenly swept through the early summer night. And when it all subsided, there was a shriveled body on the ground. Bones, seemingly stripped of their flesh, were barely covered in places by translucent skin. The rusty shards of the shattered sword and hundreds of splinters from the broken staff had been scattered all over.
The stranger approached the body, pulled out a knife from his belt, and leaned over his grandfather’s neck. He was about to strike when the vampire’s saber was placed on his shoulder.
“One more move, Ivan, and I’ll take your head.”
Instantly, ten revolvers cocked their hammers back and were pointed straight at Cassara.
And everything fell silent again.
“Ivan was my father’s name, vampire,” the stranger replied. He sheathed his knife, then straightened up and stepped back from the body. “My name is Yonatan. After all these years we’ve known each other, you could’ve at least remembered that much.”
Cassara lowered her blade, and the others holstered their revolvers. The vampire then walked past Yonatan and, standing over the body of Ardi’s grandfather, did something that finally broke him.
She raised her fist, struck it against her chest, then placed the back of her hand to her forehead and bowed deeply.
And at that moment, everything lost its meaning. Ardi didn’t understand what was happening. He didn’t understand where he was. Who all these people were. Everything was tangled. Confused. Just an hour ago, he had been holding the girl he loved in his arms, and now he was looking at the body of the last person who’d connected him to his ancestors. To the entire Matabar people.
His family was being held captive. Enemies had invaded his land.
And he could only stand there and watch.
Like a helpless kitten.
Just like ten years ago when the orcs had come to their home and taken his father from him. And now others had taken his grandfather.
The bonds gradually loosened around Ardi, and as their power waned, Ardan’s consciousness began to open. Colors became multi-dimensional, sounds took on defined shapes, and the world around him began to feel like malleable clay. The sensation of the recent winter wind hadn’t completely disappeared from the summer night, and Ardi reached out for it. For that small remnant still floating in the air, resisting the encroaching foreign kingdom.
And that was enough.
Ardan grasped it and fanned it into a flame with his will.
“What…”
“What’s happening…”
The voices of alarmed enemies reached his ears, but Ardan didn’t listen to them. All he heard was the whisper of winter and its eternal companion — darkness. He reached out to their voices. He took them in his hands and filled them with his will.
They would all pay for what they had done.
This was his land.
And they would all-
“It’s not yet time, little one,” a hot whisper caressed his ear, and something heavy struck the back of Ardan’s head.
As he fell to the ground, losing control of the words, he caught fleeting glimpses of what was happening. His mother was screaming. His brother and sister were crying. Kelly was shoving one of the strangers aside and rushing toward him. And he also noted that, a moment earlier, the vampire had been on the other side of the courtyard, but now, for some reason, she was looming over him. And then came the darkness, bringing with it the distant voice of Anna:
“See you tomorrow?”