Chapter 283 - Last Rites part 14

"They are very close now," I said excitedly. "Be on your guard, Justus!"

Before he could respond, Madame Damilan leapt at us from the cover of some tangled undergrowth. She sprang from the bushes with a cat-like hiss, fingers curled into claws, jaws agape. Her flesh was white as dough, her eyes like black coals pressed into a snowman's face.

Justus howled in terror, but I had sensed her long before we drew near. Without missing a step, I unsheathed my sword and cleaved her neatly in two, cutting her diagonally from her right shoulder to the bottom of her left rib cage. The two pieces fell to the muddy bank, arms and legs thrashing.

"Foul thing," I snarled, and then I doubled back and struck her head from her neck.

The smell was unbearable.

Justus, eyes squeezed tightly shut, was praying feverishly. It was the Lord's Prayer. "… And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."

Too late for that, I thought. On either account.

I raced on.

The creek widened. It curved smoothly around to the east and then to the north again. We continued on, unaccosted, until we came upon a large, abandoned mill.

The structure had been gutted by fire ages ago. A pine jutted from the blackened roof like a church spire. The water wheel was encased in moss and green forest growth. The building was more a part of the landscape now than an artifice of man. The scent of the ghouls was strong here. They had made the forsaken watermill their home. I was certain of it.

Without slowing, I leapt from the creek bed to a stone jetty. I raced up a flight of rough-hewn steps, hopped a rusty iron railing and bashed in the heavy oak door of the watermill with my free arm.

Inside, the degenerate ones crouched over the tattered body of Signor Fa, the fruit peddler. There were ten of them, more than I expected. Their hands and faces were covered in tacky blood, like wolves gathered around a kill.

So the citizens of Getvar were not the only ones who had fallen victim to the scourge! I would have to stay in Croatia longer than I had expected, range out further in my hunting to make sure all the corrupt ones were exterminated.

Even as I thought that, I leapt upon the vile creatures.

They were fast, but I was faster. My sword whistled through the air as the ghouls scattered in all directions. I cut down two with my first swipe, but had to pursue the rest around the mill.

Snarling, a degenerate child leapt into the crumbling rafters.

I sprang after the poor lad, and halved him through the middle.

Dropping back to the ground, I saw another climbing through a hole in the wall and flew after it. I grabbed the creature by the ankle and swung it violently around. It's head struck the ground with explosive force, and I cast the twitching remains aside.

Before I could choose my next adversary, one of the foul creatures smashed into my left shoulder. It had chosen, in desperation, to go on the offensive.

It struck me with enough force to knock me off my feet—and send Justus rolling across the floor.

I leapt immediately to my feet as the ghoul, a large male with a long mane of wild black hair, closed in on me, teeth snapping. Snarling back at him, I lopped his forearms off with my sword. An instant later, his head went twirling away.

I checked Justus. He had rolled toward the entrance of the mill. He struggled to his hands and knees, shook his head, rattled but unharmed.

One of the degenerate ones flashed toward my mortal companion, hissing and baring its fangs. I put myself between them and caught the fiend by the neck.

"Not that one," I grunted as I struggled with the brute.

It snarled and spit in my face, its eyes devoid of human thought. It had been a handsome young man once, with curly dark hair and finely molded features. Kadija Damilan, perhaps? It no longer mattered. This soulless creature was no longer human. What mortal soul it once possessed had fled its debased flesh.

It raked my face with its dirty nails, trying to get past me, and I tore its head from its shoulders.

Two more attacked, then a third, but they all fell to my sword.

One left, I thought, and then I went after the creature. A child. One of the boys from Getvar.

The poor devil was crouched in the corner of the room, paralyzed with terror. Black tears dribbled down its cheeks from a pair of wide, glinting blue eyes. It reached out to me, a supplicant, wordlessly pleading for its life.

I must have no pity for it, I thought, raising my sword to strike. It is not a child, though it might have the form of one. It is just a diseased thing.

"Desino!" a voice cried out behind me.

I wheeled around, sword still held aloft.

Desino. It was Latin for "halt".

A wizened blood drinker stood in the doorway of the watermill. It was male, with hair and beard like a silver bird's nest. It had been made a vampire in its mortal twilight, and had only a pair wicked eyeteeth protruding from ruby gums. Its flesh was crenelated like the bark of an oak tree. Old when it was made, ancient now in this second life. It held Justus in its arms, the black nails of its knuckled fingers poised at the friar's throat.

"Spare my little one, or I will kill your mortal pet," the vampire wheezed in Latin.

Justus reached out to me, eyes bulging in terror. "Gyozo!" he choked.

The ancient blood drinker shook him, tightening its grip. "Silence, mortal!"

I lowered my blade, eyes narrowing. "Who are you?" I asked, turning more fully toward the thing.

"I am Papa," it said with a lunatic's grin. "Why do you murder my children? They've done no harm to you."

"Your children?" I replied, aghast. "Your children are diseased filth, mindless beasts who will bring the world to ruin if not destroyed!"

The ancient blood drinker snarled in reply. It inclined its head, pressing the tips of its teeth into the friar's neck.

"No, wait!" I cried.

"I care nothing for the world," the old vampire said. "I care only for my babies. They love me, and I love them. Leave now and I will let this one live. Harm the little one and this juicy morsel dies."

I did not know the ancient the blood drinker, but he was obviously mad, and his blood was tainted. Though he was clever, unlike his corrupt offspring, I could not let him live. I could not let his "children" live, and I could not let him live to make more of them.

Moving at full speed, hoping I was fast enough to kill the old maker before he could harm Justus, I sprang forward and lopped the ancient vampire's head from his shoulders. My sword, honed to razor sharpness, sliced through air and flesh with hardly a sound, stopping a fingernail's thickness from the friar's stubbled skin.

The old vampire's eyes widened, and then his head tumbled from the spouting stump of his neck. Before his head struck the ground, I doubled back and put his sobbing offspring out of its misery.

Eyes wide with shock and despair, Papa's head thumped to the ground and rolled away. It came to a stop and fell to dust, even as his arthritic fingers spasmed, sinking into Justus's larynx.

Not fast enough!

The ancient vampire's fingers clenched, tearing through the friar's tender flesh. Justus fell to his knees, choking on his own blood. Behind him, Papa's withered frame rapidly decayed.

"No!" I wailed. I dropped to my knees beside my beautiful mortal lover. Justus clutched at my doublet with scarlet slickened fingers. The smell of his blood was maddening. His throat was a ragged hole. He was fast bleeding out.

"I can save you, but I must give you the Strix," I said, holding him upright.

He looked at me in horror and shook his head.

"Yes, Justus," I insisted. "I don't want you to die!"

He shook his head again, lips squeezed tightly together.

His body sagged and I lowered him to the ground. I laid him down on cinders and filth.

"I'm sorry," I said, tightening my stomach muscles. "I cannot let you go."

I pried his mouth open and brought forth the living blood.