Chapter 338 - Irema part 4

Irema fled south after liberating me from the wall. She fled without respite to the shore of the Black Sea, then followed its gentle sweep eastwards until she came to the little grotto where she had stopped at last to rest. We continued east for several hours that night, after Tapas joined us and my granddaughter had taken nourishment. We followed the shore until dawn brushed the horizon with gaudy shades of orange and pink and purple. I allowed the rhythmic whoosh and hiss of the incoming waves to lull me to sleep as my liberators ran. Now that Tapas had rejoined my granddaughter, he didn't leave her side. Neither of them spoke as they put ever more distance between Uroboros and us. There were just the waves, the patter of their feet on the Black Sea's pebbly shore and the keening of the gulls. Finally, when the coastline began to veer to the south, they turned their backs to the restive tides and headed northeast, toward the Ural Mountains.

It is 2,500 kilometers from the Black Sea to the Ural Mountains. Even for a vampire that is a very long journey. Travelling at full speed, it would take at least a week to make the crossing, but that is seven days of non-stop running, and that just wasn't practical-- or pleasant—for any creature, living or undead.

We stopped shortly after daybreak, sheltering in another cave. This cave was much smaller and far more unpleasant, with a cold squelching mud floor and bare tree roots dangling from the roof. But beggars can't be choosers, and we made the best of it. While Irema spread out their cloaks and got a fire started, Tapas went out to hunt, the only time he left her side. He returned shortly with a badger and a fat old bobcat slung across his shoulders. They fed, shared a little of the blood with me, and then we all lay down to sleep away the daylight hours.

Even I slept.

With Tapas at our side, with his size and strength at our disposal, I felt I could lower my guard and take some solace in an hour or two of unconsciousness.

I dreamed that morning, a thing that I do not always do when I sleep. I dreamed of the season I had spent among the Tanti, my mortal descendants. I dreamed I was fishing at the lake with Irema's grandfather. In my dream, Valas, my irascible mortal friend, regaled me with one bawdy tale after another—he loved to talk about sex-- while I laughed and laughed. We didn't catch any fish but I had a grand time. When I awoke, night had swallowed up the world and Irema was stuffing my head into her sack. And none too gently, I might add.

"I'm sorry, grandfather," she hissed. "There are blood drinkers nearby. We do not know who they are!"

Her eyes flashed in the gloom. Anxiety had carved sharp edges into her features.

Out into the dark we ran, my head bounding up and down against her spine. Within minutes we heard those unseen blood drinkers take pursuit. They howled as they raced after us. They yapped like dogs, seemed to find the whole thing laughable. They had not, I imagine, caught sight of Tapas yet.

The fools!

Branches snapped underfoot as Irema flew through the forest. She took to the treetops from time to time, splashed through rills of water in an attempt to throw them off her trail. I could only ride helplessly along, listening with mounting concern as the God King's men narrowed the gap between us. Someone rushed by, very near to us, and Irema let out a startled cry. She zigged and zagged, smashing through the tangled underbrush, and then someone tackled my granddaughter from behind.

The force of the collision knocked Irema sprawling. My head flew from her rucksack and smacked against the bole of a tree. I struck the oak hard enough to rattle my brains, bounced a couple times and rolled to a stop on my left cheek. I blinked my eyes, trying to clear my doubled vision. Irema clambered to her hands and knees a few yards away, leaves in her hair, and began to search the ground for me. As she raked her hands through the forest litter, calling out my name, one of the God King's warriors came flying from the darkness, a long-bladed staff angled back over his head.

I shouted in dismay. Or tried to shout, at least. I had forgotten that I was missing half of my vocal chords. And all of my lungs.

The warrior was tall and slimly muscular, with long braided hair and cruel features. He was naked but for a loincloth, and his bare flesh was painted with mystic symbols. He would have cleaved my granddaughter in half but at the last moment he let out a triumphant warcry. Irema heard his shout and ducked the killing stroke. She rolled out of the way of a second downward chop, then leapt back from a third horizontal sweep. The blade hissed past her exposed belly and embedded itself in a tree trunk. The blood drinker tugged on the bladed staff a few times but could not work it free. With a frustrated snarl, he released the staff and leapt at Irema, fingers hooked into claws.

Irema twisted out of his way with impressive speed, body blurring, then turned on him, fangs bared, and prepared to engage her adversary. Before the Uroboran could lay hands on her, however, Tapas came flying from the darkness and struck the T'Sukuru's head from his shoulders.

Tapas hit the man barehanded, but there was enough force in the blow to tear his head completely off his shoulders. The T'Sukuru's head went sailing away into darkness, twirling end over end, mouth a perfect O of shocked disbelief. The vampire's body dropped to its knees, and, being a very ancient blood drinker, flew rapidly to dust, his bones clattering down at the giant's feet.

Another blood drinker came shrieking out of the treetops. Tapas was checking on my granddaughter and didn't see him. Irema shouted a warning, but not quickly enough, and the fiend ran the giant through with his halberd. Tapas grunted, going to one knee, then twisted around and seized the blood drinker by the shoulders. As the giant held the squirming, snapping T'Sukuru, Irema leapt forward with a cry and shoved the bladed staff through her husband's body. The blade plunged into their adversary's chest and burst out the back of him, gouting black blood.

The T'Sukuru shook his head violently, denying his fate, but he was not strong enough a blood drinker to withstand such a terrible injury. His flesh began to fall away, eyes sinking into his skull.

Tapas threw the decomposing figure aside, then grabbed onto a tree branch and commanded Irema to pull the weapon out of his torso.

It came out with a gruesome squelching sound.

"Tapas?" Irema said, still clutching the bladed staff.

"I'll live," he said, holding onto his injury. Already the wound was beginning to close up, the Living Blood stitching the edges together. "There was one more," he panted, "but I believe he has withdrawn."

I strained out with my senses. Tapas was correct. A solitary blood drinker was racing away through the woods. He was headed west, in the direction of Uroboros. He probably meant to inform the God King of our location.

Let him go, I thought. It would take him days to reach the city. By then we would be safely in Asharoth.

"Are you all right, grandfather?" Irema asked, lifting me from the ground.

I blinked my eyes for yes.

She brushed some fallen leaves from my hair and then handed me to Tapas so he could put me in the rucksack. "Back in, then," she said. "We need to keep running."

We ran.