7 Hazine

MYRAL’S JOURNEY PROVED as slow as she’d imagined, the mountains to the west no closer by the third night than when she’d set out. It had been a relief to find true solitude, and her journey beneath the palm groves outside of the city had been pleasant. She had rested there the first night, supplementing her food from the olive and vegetable gardens.

Since she’d lost her magic – an ability to transfer her soul into birds, mice, kecci, dogs, whatever creature she’d chosen since she was five – escape from the world had become impossible. Since she’d wandered east, and decided to disappear, she’d felt a gap within her soul where her gift had been.

I still haven’t forgiven him for it, she thought, feeling a welling of anger as she trudged across the barren landscape in the failing light. I never trusted him, but to steal the one thing I treasured most ... to trap me in this body for all time with no escape, well, not even Seth had managed to do that.

Presently, she stumbled over some rocks or bleached bone in the twilight, cursing for all her worth. The palm groves were far behind now, and there was a sporadic growth of small shrubs and trees. She shifted the small leather pack on her back. It wasn’t near as heavy as she’d have liked, the food she’d been able to gather back in Keen perhaps enough for a few days. Oh, I’ll find him for you Adal, don’t you worry for I’ve a bone to pick with the thieving bastard.

During the third day, she’d hidden from the heat in a shallow cave system she’d been lucky to come across. As dusk descended and she’d abandoned the cave, she had begun to worry however. This night, something felt wrong, and Myral’s instincts weren’t to be ignored.

It was her intention to walk at night and shelter from the sun by day, although she wasn’t certain she could always find shelter. The previous day, it had been under the overhang of a large rock. Unable to sleep, she’d watched for any sign of someone following. She had no hide tents like the nomads of this land, and was dependent on her limited knowledge.

There had been no hope of acquiring a camel, but she’d managed to steal a decent pair of sandals, a water skin, and some food. Myral Azarm, who had slit the throats of the innocent, held no qualms about theft if she didn’t get caught. All such pious notions were for idiots.

There were rumours of a terrible darkness within those mountains, creatures of air that devoured unwary travellers. She’d heard every variation of the legend in Keen. There was a route west, which had once been used for trade, though few braved it now. Even the hill bandits had moved their business elsewhere according to local traders.

I should have seen it. She recalled not believing the local tales when she’d first heard them. I knew they’d have to go somewhere, but why did they need to follow me? Or had she followed them? An unnerving idea. She hoped she was just paranoid.

Within half an hour, it became so dark she could no longer see. Her mind conjured images and sounds, which made her stumble and whirl. This wasn’t a natural darkness. The previous two nights she’d seen quite well by moonlight. There had been no cloud cover either. Something wasn’t right.

She spotted a chink of light she took for a house, though she could barely make it out, and decided to walk towards it. Maybe they might let her stay. She had some of the local coin to pay.

When she was much closer, she again spotted a faint yellow glow, coming from the corner of a window. She assumed the dwelling might belong to a goat herder, until she spotted a young woman stepping outside, a faint yellow nimbus surrounding her. The girl was armed with a spear, which gave Myral pause. Well, I suppose if I lived all the way out here, I’d have a spear too. Several spears and a decent sword.

The girl held the weapon in both hands, and was staring intently at Myral. ‘Who are you?’ she called out in Keenish.

‘My name is Myral Azarm. I’m travelling west to the mountains, but I need a place to,’ - damn it, what was the word? Keenish was such a difficult language – ‘to lay down for a while? It has gotten too dark to keep going. Is this your family’s home?’ Remembering Keenish customs, she added, ‘Is your father home? May I speak to him?’

The girl winced. ‘No one goes west into the mountains. You are either a spirit or mad, and I’d rather have neither in here with me.’

Myral risked getting a bit closer, close enough the spear could reach her with ease. The girl was lean, bordering on unhealthy, skin filthy, face bruised and scratched. ‘I have my reasons for going that way. Are you alone?’

‘What business is it of yours, foreigner?’ Her grip on the spear was white knuckled and the young woman was shaking all over.

Myral winced. Keenish folk were never trusting of other peoples, for reasons she’d never found out. Perhaps it went back to some ancient trauma, but if so, no citizen of Keen spoke of it. ‘If you insist, I will keep going. You do look like you could use some company, though. Yes, I’m a foreigner, but I’ve noticed the women of this land do not have it easy.’ She saw the girl’s chin tremble and her eyes glisten.

‘I told you my name,’ added Myral in as kind a voice as she could manage. ‘Is it not customary for you to offer yours?’

‘It’s, it’s Hazine though most people just call me Hazi.’ She gestured with the spear. ‘You had better get inside, I guess.’ She looked off in the direction of the mountains. ‘They could come back.’

Once inside, the girl shut the stout wooden door, and Myral helped her lift the heavy crossbar into the bronze brackets on either side. She then pulled a curtain across it. A two-wick lamp sat on a stone table, but Hazine set about lighting a second one, giving the room a stronger golden glow.

The interior wasn’t large with one stone chair, clothing and rubbish strewn everywhere. Another heavy curtain divided the room, with a space on the opposite side where Myral assumed the girl slept. ‘You said something about someone coming here? Who were you talking about?’

Hazine frowned, tears welling, as though she fought to remain in control of herself. Myral realised this girl had seen or experienced something terrible. There was pain in her eyes and fear. Lots of fear.

‘They ... they came seven nights back. They took everyone.’ Tears spilled free, though she managed to control her voice with effort. ‘My father and mother, my two older brothers. All gone. They even took the goats.’ She looked up at Myral, and the pain in her eyes was almost too much to witness. ‘My father hid me, and then afterwards, I ran.’

Myral reached out and took her hands, loosening her grip on the spear, before setting it aside. ‘I am sorry, Hazi. Is it okay if I call you that?’

The girl wiped her eyes, nodding, unable to look up. ‘I ran all the way to the city, but the soldiers beat me. Then, one of them raped me for daring to complain about the beating. I was beseeching them for help!’ She sobbed. ‘Instead, they attacked me. I had nowhere to go, so I just came back here. I should never have run away.’

Myral drew the girl into her arms and held her, feeling fear clutch her gut. ‘Your father saved you. It wasn’t your fault.’ It must have been bandits from the mountains. The soldiers in the city were like most men of this land, contemptuous of women at best, brutal at worst.

When Hazine’s tears ceased, she withdrew from Myral and turned away, hugging herself. ‘I am sorry,’ was all she mumbled, and Myral didn’t know if she was speaking to her or her missing family.

‘Hazi, who took your family? Who came?’

‘The undead.’ She spoke the words in a whisper, and at first Myral thought she might have misheard until Hazi added, ‘I saw them. I saw them coming, moving fast. I saw them. They were not alive; not like you and I are. They were strong, and vicious, and hungry.’

‘Vampires,’ hissed Myral. Part of her had hoped Adal had been wrong. There were no other undead she could think of who would fit the description, or that would do something this terrible.

‘Wait, you know of them? Then, you believe me?’

Myral decided to sit on a stone chair covered with hides, which proved more comfortable than she would’ve suspected. The hides were thick and cushioning. ‘They are the reason for my going west. There is a man in those mountains whom I must find. A man who can control them.’

Hazine took the spear up again, clutching it to her breast. ‘There is no such man. I’ve seen these vampires and they are not like other undead.’

Myral looked up in surprise at the girl’s knowledge. ‘You’ve seen virals? I mean, other kinds?’

She nodded. ‘There is a place north of here where the last of the undead have gathered. Most people pretend it’s a leper colony, but it’s not. Keen folk like to say the purges destroyed them, but they’re wrong. Some survived. I know, because these ones are very old. I used to visit them when I was young. My father wasn’t afraid of them, you see. He told me the undead would be our salvation. Then they came and killed him.’

‘Your father wasn’t wrong,’ said Myral. ‘And you’re right, the vampires who attacked your family are a different sort of undead. Please believe me, I do not lie to you about this; there is a man who can stop them, but I need to reach him. Something has gone wrong if they are—’

A thundering sound outside, growing louder. Hundreds of feet rushed past the house. Hazine stared at Myral, wide-eyed. ‘Quickly,’ she whispered, gesturing for Myral to get up and help. With effort, they shoved the stone chair aside and revealed a trapdoor. Lifting it, she gestured with the spear. ‘Get in, get in.’

‘What?’

The terror in Hazine’s face was primal, and she almost failed to get the words out. ‘They are back. The vampires. They’ve come back!’