The Saga of Larten Crepsley 1-4. Darren Shan
that mean I’m evil?”
“No,” Seba said. “There is an underlying sweetness, but it is not overwhelming. I would say you are strong-willed, easily enraged, perhaps bent towards violence more than most, prepared to do bad things if provoked. Of course we already knew that, given how you acted today. But I do not think the evil strain is dominant. You will need to tread cautiously through life and guard your emotions carefully if you wish to master them. But in my opinion, you can choose good.”
Larten was relieved but troubled. After today’s violent explosion, he wasn’t sure he could make those good choices. He recalled the way he had licked his lips, the disappointment that the dark part of him had felt when he stopped short of stabbing out Traz’s eyes.
“I will leave you now,” Seba said, rising.
“Where are you going?” Larten asked. He felt panic at the thought of being left alone in the crypt. It wasn’t fear of the dead, but fear that Seba might not return.
“I must hunt,” Seba said.
“For blood?”
“No. I drank last night. A vampire only needs to drink a couple of times a week. Less, in fact, but we prefer to drink small amounts often, rather than large amounts rarely. We can control our urges more easily that way. I go to find food now — like all creatures, we need to eat.”
“You’ll come back?” Larten asked, trying not to sound desperate.
“This is my room for the night,” Seba said evenly. “If I did not care to share it with you, I would ask you to leave. Only a fool puts himself out of his own home.”
Larten smiled and shivered. “Could you start a fire before you go?”
“No.” Seba squatted by the boy. “We light fires on occasion, but we do not rely on them. A vampire must be willing to endure discomfort. If you wish to be my assistant, you will need to accept that. You can take off your damp clothes, but ask no more of me than that.”
“Wait a minute,” Larten snapped. “Who said anything about me being your assistant? I don’t want to become a vampire.”
“Really?” Seba purred. “Then answer me this — where else will you go? Who will accept one of the damned other than a family of the cursed? Where will a creature of darkness hide if not in the shadows of the night?”
“Damned?” Larten echoed faintly. “I thought you said I wasn’t…”
“I use the term poetically,” Seba said. “In human terms, any killer is one of the damned. But vampires learnt long ago that we could find nobility in the depths of damnation.”
Seba rose smoothly and surveyed the boy from a height. “I will not force you. It does not work that way. Each person must choose freely, although not all of those who yearn to join are accepted.
“If you wish to chance the waters of vampirism, it will be many years before you can be blooded. First you will serve as my human assistant, travel with me, hunt for me, guard me by day, learn from me by night. In time, if you serve well, we can talk about blooding. We do not take anyone under our wing unless both parties are entirely sure that this is what the apprentice wants from life.
“But you must make your first decision tonight,” Seba concluded. “If you wish to learn more about our ways, stay. If you think your path lies elsewhere, move on. I will be gone some hours. If you are here when I return, so be it.”
He turned to leave, then paused and without looking back said, “You do not have to be alone. The world never inflicts loneliness upon us. That is something we choose or reject by ourselves.”
With that, the ancient vampire slipped away.
Larten stared at the doorway long after Seba had departed, thinking of all he had been told. The day had seemed to stretch on forever and he was almost too tired to focus. But he forced himself to concentrate. He could tell that this was a moment of destiny. If he made the wrong choice, he would regret it, probably sooner rather than later.
Seba had said that Larten would have years in which to choose. He wouldn’t be blooded until both of them were sure that this was the right thing for him. But Larten knew in his heart that the choice he made tonight would be binding. If he turned his back on humanity now, it would be forever.
Larten considered his future, thinking with wonder of all the things he would see and learn as a vampire’s assistant, thinking with fear of all that he would leave behind. At first he worried about his other options. If he rejected the vampire, where would he go? How would he survive?
But as he thought on it more, he realised that didn’t matter. This was all about choosing or not choosing one particular path. He needed to decide if this was the way for him. If it wasn’t, he should leave the crypt immediately. Better not to start down a wrong path at all than head down it in the hope of making a detour when something better came along.
Larten wrestled with the problem some more, before ultimately deciding that he should go with what his heart was telling him. When he was satisfied with his choice, Larten shrugged off his clothes and sat in the darkness. His teeth chattered and he shivered wildly, but after a few minutes he figured that wasn’t the way a vampire’s assistant should behave. Straightening his back, he fought off the shakes and goosebumps and sat to attention, steady and calm, patiently waiting for Seba – his master – to return.
PART TWO
“Ladies and gentlemen — observe!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Wildcat sensed danger, looked around suspiciously and hissed. When there was no response, it lowered its head and tore into the remains of the rat on which it had been feasting. The Wildcat was a loner. Unlike ordinary cats, its kind had nothing to do with humans, preferring the open hunt of the countryside to the wretched scavenge of a town or village.
As the animal feasted, a shadowy figure moved up behind it. The predator slid along quietly, creeping ever closer.
The Wildcat’s sense of danger kicked in again and it whirled. But it had reacted too late. The figure leapt and tackled the cat, grabbing it by the neck and twisting its head. As the doomed creature yelped and thrashed, its attacker pinned its neck with a knee, then jammed two hands into the beast’s mouth. The Wildcat tried to chew the fingers, but it was in a hopeless situation. It resisted for a few seconds, then its jaw and snout were torn apart and it was all over.
Larten Crepsley knelt beside his kill and wiped his hands clean on the grass. He regarded the Wildcat with grim satisfaction. Vampires could not drink the blood of cats, but once fully bled and cooked, the carcass would provide a fine meal. Larten might struggle with the tough meat, but Seba’s sharp teeth would easily tear through it.
Knocking the rat away, Larten hoisted the Wildcat on to his shoulder. It was heavy, but he walked without a stagger, whistling as he made his way back to the ruined castle where his master was sleeping.
It had been nearly five years since Larten first spotted Seba on the wall of the crypt. Larten had grown by several inches, and although he hadn’t thickened out much, he was muscular beneath his dull brown shirt. Most youths his age would have struggled with the cat, but Larten had carried heavier in his time, always without complaint.
It was a cloudy but mild evening. It would be dusk soon and Seba would rise an hour or so later. The elderly vampire enjoyed a lie-in. He often remarked to Larten that when you’d lived for five hundred years, there was little in the world that seemed worth getting up early for.
They had made base in the ruins of an old castle three nights ago. Seba had not said why they were stopping here, many miles from the nearest village, and Larten hadn’t asked. He’d learnt never to casually question the ways of his master. Seba had no time for lazy enquiries. He expected Larten to observe and learn, and query him only when an answer was worth seeking. Needless questions more often than not earned Larten a cuff around the ears.
Larten