Authors: Jonah Hewitt
The performance earned Wallach the usual sycophantic laughter but not nearly as much as before. In fact, the half-hearted giggles were soon overtaken by panicked whispers and speculation.
The same thoughts were running through Miles’ head. “The Father of All Vampires?! Could it be true?” Miles blanched a little and desperately wanted to take a close look at Hokharty again, but his eyes remained riveted to Wallach as instructed.
Hokharty spoke again, and again he negated the room’s agitation into silence. “Every master has a master…” he began.
Wallach interrupted him, “YES, yes, we know…until finally there is one who is master of them all.” Wallach faked a yawn that he covered with the back of his hand, but he was annoyed. “Yes, we all know the prophecies.”
“Do they?” thought Miles, “How come I don’t know? Is there a bloody manual or something?”
Wallach went on. “We all learned the legends of how the first vampire will unite all the dark hunters into a great and glorious orgy of never-ending bloodletting. Blah, blah, blah. Your knowledge of vampire lore is very impressive…” Wallach raised the glass of blood to his lips and paused, “and
tedious
.” He drained the rest of the glass in one swallow. He held out the glass to be picked up by the boy with the silver tray, but the boy was lost in thought like everyone else. Eventually he caught his master’s fitful eye and ran over to fetch the glass. Wallach glared at him but said nothing and plopped down on his divan.
“You’re not the first one to claim to be the first vampire, y’know. There have been dozens of frauds who’ve have pretended to be the first vampire in a vain bid to cow others into submission. But it won’t work. I can smell your bluff. You don’t have that ancient scent. You’re a fresh corpse not three days old. You’re not some ancient vampire from beyond, and I will not bow to you.” The room trembled again, but Hokharty didn’t negate it this time. He just let it reverberate slowly into silence.
Miles didn’t know what to think. This whole prophecy thing was totally new to him, and it bothered him to no end that everyone seemed to know about it except him. What had Tim said? That Hokharty had been a dead corpse not five hours ago?! If that was true, then Wallach was right. Whatever this “Father of All Vampires” was supposed to be, it couldn’t possibly be him, could it? Yet, he had never seen anyone stand up to Wallach for this long. Why was Wallach holding back? He watched him on his overstuffed divan, the waifish entourage behind him, the archaic costumes and elaborate set piece that was the ballroom at Rivenden. Then it struck him – it was all an act! Wallach was scared.
Miles was beginning to realize that this whole vampire shtick was just that, a performance. In reality, Wallach wasn’t all that different than Sky. Oh, he was better at it by far, but it was a performance just the same. It was all bluff and bravado and raw showmanship, cribbed from the pages of dozens of gothic novels or late-night B movies. And this lot, this pathetic crowd, this
clan
, they were just a ruddy pantomime troop, a bunch of second-rate street performers aping all the affectations and nervous ticks of the head of the acting company and biggest
prima don’
of them all, Wallach.
No wonder Miles was a lousy vampire. It had never occurred to him to try to fake it. Miles was who he was and that was all – a dumb mick who had stumbled into a fight. Miles sighed. He guessed this meant he’d never be a good vampire. He just wasn’t that good an actor. Then he shot a quick glance at Hokharty out of the corner of his eye before returning to Wallach. Hokharty wasn’t acting. He didn’t need the costumes or the entourage, and he wasn’t bluffing either. He was probably wearing the first clothes he had found that fit him. He stood there in complete mastery of the situation. Even though he was a fresh corpse, he really was the Father of All Vampires, wasn’t he? Whatever
that
meant.
Hokharty took a step forward and spoke quietly, “Wallach, you are far from your home. How old were you? Seventeen? You were the favorite of your Romanian mother. She doted on you constantly, but your German father had no expectations, did he? As the second son, you had money but no responsibilities. But what were
your
expectations? You had none. You were raised in privilege, bored with life – you only wished to die. So you came here to die as a mercenary. You did die, of course, but you never left. Who was it? Ah yes, a woman. There were lots of promises made in the beginning – an eternity together – but they never came true did they? And you moved on. You turned your anger outward and inflicted yourself on others. A lifetime of cruelty must have held a certain appeal for you, yet you are still bored and unsatisfied. How much longer do you intend to follow this path?”
Wallach only widened his eyes slightly at this, but Miles could tell this was hitting close to home. Was Wallach really just a spoiled brat and a jilted lover? It seemed a petty answer to a lifetime of cruelty. Could Hokharty do this to any vampire or just Wallach? Could he do it to him?! Miles didn’t want to know.
After a long pause, and a lot of nervous twittering by the others in the background, Wallach spoke, “Well…it has been a long time since we have had such an amusing…
diversion
.” Wallach was idly cleaning his fingernails, or at least he was pretending to. “Despite your young age, you obviously have talent, or you wouldn’t have made it this far.” Miles wasn’t certain, but he thought Wallach shot an ugly, sideward glance to Ulami and Forzgrim.
Wallach stopped his preening and slapped his thighs with both hands. “I’ll tell you what. Abandon this foolish pretense. It’s been a good show we all warrant. Yes?” Wallach made a pantomime of clapping and some nervous forced applause echoed around the room from the others. “But it’s time to give it up. Join us. We can use some new recruits with your manifest innate skills. Keep your...
servant
…if you must, but let’s dispense with this charade.”
Hokharty remained motionless.
Wallach went on with his bargaining, “To show your loyalty, turn
this
one,” he pointed the riding crop at Miles, “over to me, and I will
dispense
with him as I see fit.” Miles gulped but kept his watch on Wallach. “Only then can I be certain of your devotion.
Refuse
…” Wallach eyed Hokharty and then looked sideward to Ulami and Forzgrim as if issuing silent orders, “Refuse and you and your hulking companion back there will be destroyed.” Wallach paused and took a long rattling breath. “What say you?”
Hokharty simply placed a hand on Miles’ shoulder. “This one is under my protection.” Then he turned and walked over to Sky. This so unnerved Ulami, she jumped back without even confirming her actions with Wallach. Hokharty pulled up Sky by his armpit, walked him back to the center of the room and stood him by Miles. “As is this one.” Schuyler acted like he didn’t know if this was a good thing or not.
“Welcome back to the team, you bloody turncoat,” Miles muttered under his breath to him. For once Sky said nothing.
“AS ARE YOU ALL!” This time it was Hokharty’s voice that shook the ballroom. Hokharty was done talking to Wallach. He spoke forcefully to the crowd and turned to address them directly, ignoring Wallach. “I have not come here to fight you or destroy you. You, all of you, were made for a purpose, but you are not now what you were meant to be.
I
made you, but I did not make you to be
this
. I made you to be hunters, seekers, killers yes, but not monsters. You are the hounds of vengeance and justice, crying for the blood of the unjust and murderous, but you have become as feral dogs not knowing your master, or worse, feral pigs, that never get up from their own filth. It is time you knew your purpose and served it, rather than serving yourselves. None need be destroyed. The world is at a perilous time. There are many who need to be cleansed, and the time is almost at hand. All are needed. Join me and serve your true master.”
It was delivered with the same aplomb as a mechanic reading back your itemized bill. So much for labor, so much for parts…oh, and by the way, I am the Father of all Vampires and I’m you’re new master, and you better check those brakes in 3,000 miles. It was a lot different than the typical vampire melodrama, and that’s what made it all the more unnerving. In the hall that was little more than an affirmation choir for Wallach, Miles could see vampires looking at their hands and shuffling their feet. Some were looking for the exits, but everyone was evaluating the current situation. Things had changed, and they were seriously thinking over Hokharty’s offer but not yet convinced. Miles had another sudden insight while watching them. They hated Wallach too! They all hated him just like he did only they played along for favors or better positions. Miles wasn’t really all that different from them – he was just more artless at hiding it.
All during this monologue Wallach was fuming, bubbling under a slow boil until it finally overcame him. “Join you? YOU?!! You who dare come into MY HOUSE and issue threats and insults?!!”
“I came to speak reason, but I see now that there is none to be had.”
“FRAUD!! You are NOT the Father of All Vampires!!”
“It is not given to you to deny or decide. I am your master. I am the master of you all.”
“I will NOT submit to you!!”
“No, I see that you will not, which is why I issue the challenge.”
There were gasps and whispers in the hall. Some inched closer to those exits they were eyeing earlier. Forzgrim and Ulami drew up stoically behind Wallach to show support, the rest stayed put.
This was another one of those pieces of vampire lore that Miles knew almost nothing about, but he had heard rumors. Vampire wars for succession were ugly free-for-alls, but a vampire could avoid that by making a direct one-on-one challenge to the master of the clan. No one had challenged Wallach in Miles’ lifetime as far as he knew, but he had heard that in the past, challenging Wallach was the most convenient way to separate your head from your body. Killing was a boring, casual affair for Wallach that he usually assigned to underlings, but he wasn’t feeling casual now.
“You have no rights here. You are not a member of this clan.” Was Wallach actually trying to wriggle out of a challenge based on technicalities? Hokharty wasn’t having any of it.
He stepped forward and spoke, “I am the founder of
every
clan.” Wallach couldn’t think of any way to trump that, so he stood silent. The two exchanged tense looks. Miles suspected the challenge had already begun, at least psychically. Everything went still. Even the dust from the perpetually crumbling plaster seemed to fall more slowly. Hokharty whispered back over his shoulder.
“Miles?”
“A-Aye?”
“Remember what I told you.” It was a command, not a question. Miles swallowed and tried hard to stare Wallach down. It wasn’t easy. His head hurt and his eyes were watering, his gut twisting in knots. He wasn’t sure if Wallach was doing that or if he was just scared senseless. Wallach’s eyes left Hokharty for a mere moment and shot a glance to Miles. It felt like a hot poker was shoved into his right eye. Miles fought the urge to slap his hand over it and kept staring.
Wallach looked back to Hokharty and spoke. The pain ebbed a bit. “You are not who you say you are. You have no rights here.”
Hokharty took two steps forward. His voice was like ice. “You keep saying that. One wonders, if you believe it so much why don’t you try to prove it.” That was one insult too far.
Wallach flew across the room. Not jumped, but actually flew, as if propelled by some unseen force faster than a bullet. Hokharty didn’t move but took the full force of the impact and was sent careening towards Miles like a canon ball. Miles was so scared and was concentrating so hard on staring at Wallach he didn’t think to move, but someone grabbed him and threw him down out of the way and landed on top of him. It wasn’t Graber this time – it was Schuyler.
Miles had lost sight of Wallach or Hokharty and quickly scanned the room. Graber had pulled Tim out of the way who was screaming like a madman. The vampires in the room had fled to the far corners, some were crawling up the walls like cockroaches, and several had already left the old hall. Antique furniture lay smashed and scattered around the room, and even Ulami and Forzgrim had backed up a step or two. The fight was on and raging. Where was Wallach?!! He struggled to turn around to look at the sound of the fight but couldn’t because Schuyler was holding him down.
“Geroff!” Miles struggled to throw Schuyler off.
“Stay down, ya stupid mick! You’re gonna get us killed!! You’re welcome, by the way!”
“Welcome for what?!”
“Saving your life!!”
“Ugh! GET OFF!! I ‘ave to help Hokharty!”
“Dude, nothing can help him now.”
“GET YA BLOODY ARSE OFFA ME!!” Miles threw all his weight up at once and Schuyler rolled off.
“Fine!!” yelled Sky, “Get yourself killed!!”
Miles stood up and scanned the situation. Wallach was thrashing Hokharty at the back of the hall. He was dragging his limp body back and forth over the wainscoting, sending splinters of wooden shrapnel everywhere. He then stood him up at the back of the hall and gave him a vicious backhand, and then a forward slash, and then another backhand, and then another forward slash, again and again. He was like an animal; his hand had even grown long black claws. Hokharty’s borrowed leather jacket was in shreds. Miles was certain he was already dead, but then Hokharty caught Miles’ eye and smiled. Wallach turned to see what Hokharty was looking at, and Hokharty used the distraction to his advantage. He struck Wallach in the stomach hard enough to make him fly across the room. He landed so hard he broke the French divan in half when he collided with it.