Birth of a Killer

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“Aren’t you a monster?” Larten frowned, eyeing the man suspiciously.

“I would not describe myself as one,” the man chuckled, “although there are many who would.”

To Larten’s surprise, the man extended a hand. Larten’s heart was pounding, but it would be rude to refuse this gesture of friendship. Sticking out a trembling hand of his own, he accepted the man’s offer of a handshake. The man’s grip was loose, but Larten sensed immense strength in the fingers.

“My name is Seba Nile,” the man said, “and this is my home for the night. You are more than welcome to share it with me if you wish.”

“Thank you,” Larten said weakly, feeling like he was in a dream. “My name’s Larten Crepsley.”

“I bid you welcome, Larten,” Seba said warmly, and without releasing the boy’s hand, he led him back into the shadows of the crypt.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Seba Nile sat on the floor, brushed away dust, then produced an apple from within the long red cloak he was wearing. He split the apple in two with his sharp but clean fingernails and offered half to the boy. Larten wolfed down the fruit. When Seba saw how ravenous the child was, he gave him the second half of the apple too. Taking it with a brief nod of thanks, Larten sat crosslegged like Seba and munched down to the core, chewing the pips and all.

“I am guessing that you have not eaten in a while,” Seba noted drily. “I would give you more if I had any, but I do not. You can hunt with me later, or I can bring food back for you if you prefer to remain where it is warm and dry.”

Larten grunted and picked the remains of a pip from between two of his teeth. Squinting at Seba, he said suspiciously, “What do you want?”

“I do not want anything,” Seba replied.

“Then why are you helping me? Why let me stay here and give me food?”

Seba smiled. “I am simply being hospitable.”

“I don’t believe you,” Larten sniffed.

“You should never call a man a liar unless you are sure,” Seba said coldly.

“You’re living in a crypt,” Larten said. “You can’t be up to any good if you’re staying in a place like this.”

Seba raised an eyebrow. “I could say the same about you, young pup!”

Larten chuckled weakly. “I suppose you could.”

“Why are you here?” Seba asked. When Larten’s lips drew thin, he added, “You do not have to tell me, but you look troubled. I think you will rest easier if you are open with me.”

Larten shook his head. “You first. What are you doing here?”

“I often stay in places like this,” Seba said.

“You sleep in crypts?” Larten asked.

“Usually.”

“Why?”

“Because I am a vampire.”

Larten frowned. “What’s a vampire?”

Seba was surprised. “You have not heard the tales? I thought, in this part of the world… Have you perhaps heard of the living dead? The walkers of the night?”

“Do you mean ghosts?”

“No. Vampires are…” Seba considered his words.

“Hold on,” Larten said, a memory sparking somewhere inside his head. “You’re not a bloodsucker, are you?”

“Now you have it,” Seba beamed.

“I remember Vur telling me…” What? Larten only had a dim recollection. Vur had told lots of tales. It was something about creatures who drank blood and lived forever.

“There are many legends about vampires,” Seba said. “Most are unreliable. We do drink blood to survive, but we are not killers. We do no harm to those from whom we feed.”

“A monster who doesn’t kill?” Larten was sceptical.

“Not monsters,” Seba corrected him. “Just people with extraordinary powers. Or weaknesses, depending on how one looks at it.”

Seba uncrossed his legs and stretched. “I cannot recall my exact age, but I am more than five hundred years old.”

Larten grinned — he thought it was a joke. Then he saw Seba’s expression and his smile faded.

“All vampires start life as humans,” Seba continued. “We turn from the path of humanity when another vampire bloods us.” He held up his hands and Larten saw small scars at the tip of each finger. “My master cut my fingertips, then his own, and pumped his blood into me. That is how I became a vampire.”

“Why did he do it?” Larten asked.

“I wanted him to.” Seba explained how vampires aged at one-tenth the human rate, meaning they could live for several hundred years. He told Larten of their great strength and speed, the codes of honour by which they lived. He explained about the hardships, the way humans feared and hunted them, how sunlight killed them after a few hours, their inability to have children.

Larten listened, entranced. Like most of his friends, he believed fully in a world of ghosts and magic, demons and witches. But this was the first time he had been exposed to the reality of that world, and it was far different than he’d imagined.

Seba told Larten some of the many myths about vampires. Crosses were meant to frighten them. Holy water could burn them. You had to drive a stake through a vampire’s heart, then cut off his head and bury him at the centre of a crossroads to stop him rising again. They could change shape and turn into bats or rats.

“All rot!” Seba snorted. “The hysterical rantings of superstitious fools.”

Larten had heard some of the tales before, but in relation to other monsters. He asked Seba if they were also real — demons, witches and the rest.

“Ghosts, yes,” Seba said seriously. “And witches. As for demons and the like… Well, in five hundred years, I have not seen any.”

He told Larten how he had been blooded as a child, and spoke of some of the countries he’d visited, and a few of the famous people he’d met. Larten didn’t recognise most of the names, but he didn’t admit that, not wanting to appear ignorant.

Finally, when Seba felt the boy had learnt enough about the world of vampires for one night, he reversed the question. “And you?” he asked gently. “Why are you here, so far from home and other humans?”

Larten’s first instinct was to make up a story – he didn’t want to confess to his terrible crime – but Seba had been honest with him and Larten didn’t want to lie in return.

“I killed a man,” Larten said hollowly, then told Seba the whole sorry tale. He cried while telling it. This was the first chance he’d had to think about what he’d lost, not just his best friend, but his parents, his brothers and sisters, his entire way of life. But he didn’t let the tears overwhelm him. He kept talking, even when it hurt to speak.

Seba nodded slowly when Larten had finished. “From what you say, that wretch of a man deserved to be killed. Aye, and long before you struck the fatal blow. But murder always hurts. It is right that we grieve when we kill. If we did not feel pain, we would kill more freely, and what would the world be like then?”