Darren Shan - 02 Ocean of Blood

Larten and Wester laughed weakly, then trailed Seba back to the tent, all three silent and immersed in thought.

The tent had been dismantled when they returned. Evanna’s apprentices were standing behind a cart, glumly preparing to push. There was no way everything from inside the tent could fit onto the cart — the canvas itself would have required a wagon — but Larten wasn’t surprised. The Lady of the Wilds could work many wonders.

“Time to be off,” Evanna said cheerfully. “I’ve had fewer visitors than normal. The clan must be losing interest in me.”

“Have you far to travel, Lady?” Seba asked, kissing her cheeks.

“You know very wel that I go to greet my other admirers nearby,” Evanna said.

Seba smiled. “Aye, but I would rather not admit it.”

“Foolish children,” Evanna snapped. “Why don’t you put your squabbles behind you and reunite? Life would be much easier if you did.”

“It is not that simple,” Seba sighed. “We are bound by strings of destiny.”

“We’re all bound by those,” Evanna said hol owly, a sad look crossing her face. Then she shook her head and picked up Vancha, who had stayed behind while the others hunted. “Farewell, my little baby.”

“Let me go!” he roared, clubbing her ears.

She laughed and kissed his nose. As he struggled and swore, she kissed his lips. His arms and legs relaxed and he was smiling shyly when she set him down again.

Evanna turned to Wester and Larten. The witch was no fairer than she had been when he first saw her, but Larten no longer noticed her ugliness.

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” she said.

“It was our honor, my Lady,” Wester replied, bowing.

“An honor,” Larten echoed, then knelt on one knee and took her dirty hand. “I would like to visit you again sometime, if you can find it in your heart to grant me permission.”

“He’s bold, this one,” Evanna chuckled. She slipped her hand out of Larten’s and gripped his chin. Tilting his head back, she gazed down at him. He thought for a moment that her eyes had traded places — hadn’t the blue one been on the right before? — but then she spoke and he lost interest in such trivialities.

“My home is my refuge from the world. I invite only a select handful of my closest friends to visit me there.

Why should I welcome a snip of a vampire like you?” He had the feeling that if he gave the wrong answer, he would never see the Lady of the Wilds again.

Trying not to worry about that, he grinned shakily and said, “I am good with a flannel. If you ever cared to take a bath, I could scrub your back.” Evanna blinked slowly. Larten could see her pondering whether to laugh or rip his head off.

Fortunately for the young vampire, she chose to see the funny side of his proposition.

“Bold as a monkey,” Evanna chortled, releasing Larten’s chin and thumbing his nose. “A strange choice of assistant, Seba, but I like him. Aye, Larten Crepsley, you may visit anytime the fancy takes you.” She pressed a finger to his forehead and he felt something buzz deep inside his brain. “You willbe able to find me whenever you wish.”

Evanna nodded at Wester politely, and although he couldn’t suppress a stab of jealousy, he managed a genuine smile. This confirmed what he had always thought — Larten was in some way superior to him, destined for greater things. Wester would have liked to be a vampire of import, but the world needed its secondary players too. There was no point wishing he could be more than he was. He was happy to make the most of whatever life had set aside for him.

Then the witch was off, slouching away, looking like a crazy woman who had escaped from bedlam. Arra Sails and the other apprentices shuffled after her, groaning as they pushed the cart. Arra rolled her eyes at Larten and he smiled sympathetically.

“Very wel, gentlemen,” Seba exclaimed before the women had moved out of sight. “We have wasted enough years. It is time to return to more pressing matters. Grab your belongings and prepare for a hard trek. We make for Vampire Mountain immediately.”

It was time for another Council at Vampire Mountain. Vampires traveled from all over the world to meet old friends, challenge one another, debate laws, tel tall tales and have a grand time. Larten and Wester were kept busy in advance, helping out in the gaming halls, preparing the rooms for the chaos of the Festival of the Undead.

The pair had been permanent fixtures in the mountain for the past few years. Both had passed their Trials of Initiation — five perilous tasks that all vampires had to overcome — not long after they’d returned with Seba. Larten took his Trials several months before Wester and sailed through, but Wester almost failed. In his second trial he’d faced two wild boars that had been driven insane with vampire blood. He managed to kill them, but one speared him with its tusks before it died and he had struggled to complete his last three trials.

Seba had visited Wester before his third trial and asked if he’d made peace with the vampire gods. Death was nothing to be afraid of as long as one was ready for it. Wester had nodded soberly and said he could die with no regrets if that was his fate.

Wester had summoned Larten a while later and told him what their master had said. Then, in a soft voice, he’d said, “I lied. I want you to make me a promise. It’s a lot to ask, and I’ll understand if you refuse, but if I die, I want you to track down and kill Murlough for me.”

Larten had almost made the promise — even though the vampaneze had spared their lives when they were his to take — but something in Wester’s expression stopped him. The Trials of Initiation were as much a mental as a physical obstacle. If you lost belief in yourself, it could prove as fatal as losing an arm or leg.

“Murlough is your nemesis, not mine,” Larten had said icily. “If you die, I will not pursue him on your behalf. I would not ask you to take my enemies as your own, and you should not ask it of me.”

Wester had been surprised and hurt, but he’d accepted Larten’s decision and grimly battled through the rest of his Trials, spurred on by his desire to survive and gain revenge for the slaughter of his family.

The pair had been studying hard under Seba and others since then, taking the first steps on the long road to becoming vampire Generals. Much of their time was spent learning the intricacies of combat.

They would often pass entire nights in a gaming hall, sparring with each other, overseen by a tutor.

One of their tutors now bellowed at them to empty a chest full of axes. “What are you waiting for? The last vampire arrived three hours ago. The Festival starts at sunset. Perhaps you want them to hunt for the axes, to make a game of it?”

“Sorry, Vanez!” they roared, speeding up even though they had been working fast already.

Vanez Blane glared at the assistants, then moved on. He was in a foul mood. This was his first time working in the gaming Halls ahead of Council. The guards normally took care of such matters, but they’d been understaffed this year and he had volunteered to help. He regretted his offer now. So much to think about and take care of. He was determined not to fall into this trap again. As soon as Council finished he’d be off, and he would make sure he never got caught for duty like this a second time. He belonged in the wilds, not cooped up inside a mountain!

As busy and stressed as he was, Larten was looking forward to Council. The last few years had been dull and strenuous. While he didn’t regret his choice to join Seba again and devote himself to his studies, he missed the outside world, the travel, the nights spent drinking, gambling and flattering ladies, the thrill of warfare.