By David B. Corder
The black owl spoke into Vjun’s ear. “Are you sure you can do this?”
The vampire hunter rolled his eyes. “For the hundredth time, yes, I’m sure.”
He crept up a hill through dark trees, making his way by moonlight, Aryana perched on his shoulder. He held a crossbow, already loaded with a bolt dipped in fae blood. They crested the top of the hill where Vjun stopped and gazed below. Spread out before him was the Arlman graveyard. Cracked, faded tombstones spread out at least half a mile, and in the center was a squat building topped with a domed roof—a temple of Nepdes, the god of death, its sides engraved with images of skeletons bowed in worship.
Aryana ruffled her feathers, her amber eyes piercing the night. “This vampire has been keeping the graveyard from being used for a century. Its legend is so widespread that they talk about it down in Teclar. She slaughters anyone who enters the grounds, and they say the bones of a thousand vampire hunters litter the dirt. There’s a reason the bounty is so high, you know. You say you can kill her, Vjun, but the last time you tried to hunt a vampire, you were so enamored with her beauty that you nearly ended up dead.”
“I had the situation under control,” Vjun muttered in annoyance as his eyes scanned the shadowy stones.
“You were chained to a statue and she bit you! You’re lucky you didn’t turn!”
“Not going to lie, I liked that part.”
“Vjun!”
“All right! Now be quiet so we can find this thing. If we fail, I’ll have to sell my mother’s ring so we can eat.”
“You mean so you can eat,” the owl commented. “I live off rodents.”
“Shut up! I see something.” He crouched down behind a fallen tree. Among the graves below, a figure stepped into a bright patch of moonlight. A woman in a flowing white dress, her hair gray in the silver light. Vjun readied his crossbow, then took a deep breath, Aryana tensing on his shoulder. He breathed out and pulled the trigger. The crossbow bolt tore through the dark and pierced through the woman’s chest.
“Whoo!” he shouted. “Did you see that shot?”
“Vjun, you fool, look!”
The woman was still standing and staring directly at Vjun.
His heart sank. “The bolt. Where…”
“It passed right through her. Vjun, this isn’t a vampire. The legends were wrong.”
The woman screamed. A horrible wail that chilled Vjun’s blood and made his fingers go slack against his weapon. She rose before him, lifted by a cold wind. She was silhouetted by the moonlight as she flew through skeleton-like trees, her face contorted into a grotesque snarl. She descended upon the vampire hunter like a white angel of death.
“Look out!” Aryana’s wings flapped in Vjun’s ears as he felt her talons yank at his ponytail, dragging him away in his frozen terror. None too soon as the ghost raked razor-sharp nails across the fallen tree where Vjun had been crouched, leaving a blanket of frost.
Aryana flew to the safety of a naked tree. “Your sword! Draw your sword!”
Snapping to his senses, Vjun drew his blade, its silver gleaming. At the sight of the weapon the ghost hissed, her eyes flashing with hellish light.
“Ah, you don’t like this, do you?” he said, regaining confidence. “Ghosties, like vampires, don’t like silver.”
The apparition evaporated. Vjun started, dropping his guard in confusion.
“Vjun! Behind you!”
He turned just in time to see the ghost coming out of the dark, her jaws open wider than humanly possible, displaying rows of bloody, needle teeth. Vjun rolled away, lashing out with his sword and clipping her leg. Smoke rose from the wound as the ghost screamed, the agonized music of pain rising from her jaws into the night. Vjun dove forward with his blade to thrust it through her chest, but again she disappeared.
“How am I supposed to kill this thing when she keeps vanishing?” Vjun turned, his blade brought up into a guard in case the ghost leaped from the shadows. “Aryana, any advice?”
“Don’t die,” the owl screeched.
“Stupid bird.”
A cold chill kissed the back of Vjun’s neck. He turned, swinging his sword only to have his throat clasped in an icy, iron grip. The ghost lifted him in the air and his sword slipped from his grasp. Fiery eyes pierced him, hair hanging about her face like a mossy gray curtain.
“You will die,” she hissed. “You will die like all the others and join my kingdom of the dead.”
“Don’t count on it,” Vjun gasped. He grabbed hold of her wrist, locking it into an iron grip. She howled as smoke poured off of her and she dropped him. He fell to the ground but held on to her wrist.
She struggled to get away, her dissonant cries echoing through the night. “Let go!”
Vjun reached for his sword in the grass. Taking hold of it, he swung it down in an arc, slicing her torso. With a final scream, the ghost dissolved in a cloud of smoke.
Vjun collapsed to his knees, breathing hard.
Aryana landed next to him. “How did you do that?” she asked, eyes even wider than usual.
He grinned despite himself, holding up his right hand where his mother’s ring glimmered. “Silver. Kept her from vanishing.”
“Good thing your mother gave you that,” Aryana said. “Otherwise, you’d be dead. I suppose even a mother’s love can protect a fool like you.”
Vjun ignored her, looking at the puddle of grayish goo before him—the remains of the ghost. “It’s not a severed head, but let’s gather some up to show we killed the thing.”
Aryana gave a quick nip at her feathers. “I’m surprised you didn’t flirt with her. Even if she was a monster.”
Vjun smirked, pulling a vial from his pocket. “Not my type. She wouldn’t stick around.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
This story had me from the first paragraph. I really enjoyed the action! Great job!
Nice action! Good description! Loved the owl.