The Saga of Larten Crepsley 1-4. Darren Shan
He could see that these people were distraught. Many were crying. Others were cursing and striding around like caged wolves, snapping at their neighbours or the empty air.
A group of men stood at the centre of the church, in front of the altar, huddled close together as if protecting something. A few women and children approached them, but were turned back with angry gestures. Larten found himself drawn to the group as if hypnotised. It wasn’t just curiosity. It was as if this church had been lying in wait for him, as if he had business here that couldn’t be avoided.
The men close to the altar stared suspiciously at Larten as he drew near. He could see them silently debating whether to let the stranger step among them or drive him back like the other youths. Larten straightened his shoulders and looked directly at the men, neither slowing nor speeding up. As he came level, a couple shrugged and stepped aside so that he could slip between them.
Larten found a boy beyond the men, his own age or a bit younger. The boy was kneeling in the middle of four bodies – a man, a woman and two children – that were laid out on the floor, arms crossed neatly over their chests. The boy was rocking backwards and forwards, moaning softly, his hands outstretched and bloodstained. One lay on the forehead of the man. The fingers of the other stroked the cheek of the woman.
The man, woman and children were dead, and Larten could see that they’d been murdered — their throats had been slashed open. He also saw, by the small amount of blood around their necks and the pale shade of their faces, that their killer had drunk from them. No, even worse than that — they had been drained.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Larten was horrified. This looked like the work of a vampire. But Seba had sworn to him that the children of the night did not kill. He’d said that the Generals quickly put an end to any vampire who slaughtered humans without just cause. This could be the work of a mad, rogue vampire… or maybe Larten’s master had lied to him.
The weeping boy was obviously related to the corpses — they shared the same build and facial features. The man and woman were his parents and the dead boy and girl were his brother and sister. Larten’s heart immediately went out to the orphan. He knew how painful it was to lose those that you loved.
Larten was nudged aside as a man with long, grey hair moved forward for a better look. The man cursed, but didn’t step back as others had. He wiped sweat from his cheeks, then cleared his throat.
“My Diana saw something pass our house this morning, just before daybreak.” A silence fell upon the men and all eyes focused on the newcomer. He looked nervous – he didn’t like the attention – but he went on. “She was out back. A shadow passed in the dark. She said it looked like a man, but at the same time it didn’t. She thought it was a monster. I told her not to be daft — kids are always imagining things in the dark. But when I heard about this…”
The man crossed himself. The boy was staring at the man now, his eyes starting to clear, fury filling the gap that grief left behind.
“Where did this monster go?” one of the other men asked.
“Towards Strasling’s,” the man said and a fearful sigh swept through the crowd.
The boy rose slowly, his gaze still fixed on the grey-haired man, who gulped and said, “Did you see anything, Wester?”
The boy shook his head. “I was sleeping in the shed. Jon had a cold and was snoring like a pig. I went to the shed to escape the noise.”
“We should go to Strasling’s,” a woman cried from behind them. “Take crosses and stakes and…”
She fell silent when others glared at her. Larten was surprised by their reaction. He’d assumed the villagers would be eager for revenge. But as he glanced around, he saw that most were looking at the floor with shame.
“We all know why this happened,” Wester said. He had a soft voice and there was a trembling edge to it, but he spoke clearly. “My da helped kill one of those beasts last year. We moved to a new home afterwards, in case any of its kin came seeking revenge, but they must have found us anyway. Ma tried to tell him we hadn’t gone far enough, but he wouldn’t…”
Tears welled in the boy’s eyes and he stalled. People blessed themselves and muttered words of consolation. But nobody slid forward to embrace Wester or pledge their support.
“I’ve got to go to Strasling’s,” Wester said, brushing away tears. “I know if any of you come with me, and we kill this monster, another might come looking for you and your folk, like this one came for my da and us. I won’t ask for help, but I’d appreciate it if anyone offers.”
Wester stood over the bodies of his dead family, head low, awaiting a response. When nobody said a word, he nodded sadly and picked up a bag lying to the left of his father. “I’d be grateful if you’d bury them, and me too if you find my bones.”
The boy strode through the ranks of men – they parted before him like a flock of sheep breaking ahead of a wolf – and marched up the aisle. He slipped out and closed the door softly behind him.
“We should help!” the woman who’d spoken earlier shouted. “If we don’t, we’re nothing but–”
“We know what we are!” one of the men roared. “You think any of us wants to let a child like that go off by himself? But Jess Flack interfered and look where it got him. If he’d left the monster alone when it came to his village, he’d be alive now, and his family too.”
“We’ll pray for him,” another man said, moving to the altar. Larten realised this was the priest. “Maybe he’ll find the strength to kill this thing and that will be the end of it.”
The other men looked dubious, but filed back to the pews, joining their wives and children. Soon Larten and the priest were the only two standing. The priest smiled uncertainly at the youthful stranger and waved for him to step down. In response, Larten spat at the priest’s feet. A shocked gasp ran through the church.
“You’re nothing but cowards,” Larten snarled, the words coming from a dark, angry place inside him. “I hope your animals die, your crops fail and that each one of you rots in the fires of hell.” He felt the same sort of cold fury he’d felt the day he killed Traz.
As the church members gawped at him, Larten considered adding a few curses, then decided against it and hurried down the aisle. Wester Flack had a head start. If he didn’t catch up with the boy quickly, he might lose him — unlike the rest of the people in the church, Larten didn’t know the way to Strasling’s.
A couple of minutes later, Larten drew alongside Wester. The boy frowned warily at the orange-haired stranger.
“I’m Larten Crepsley. I want to help if you’ll have me.”
“Why?” Wester asked. “I don’t know you. What business is this of yours?”
Larten didn’t want to confess to being worried that the murders might be the work of a vampire like his master, so he told Wester the other – equally truthful – reason for his interest.
“You remind me of myself. I once went up against a foul murderer and nobody helped me. I had to face him all on my own.”
“What happened?” Wester asked.
“I killed him.”
Wester gulped, then said, “This is no ordinary killer. It’s a monster. The beast is stronger and faster than us. I’ll most likely die, and if you come with me, you will too.”
“I’m not afraid of death,” Larten said quietly. “And I’ve no family to worry about, unlike those cowards back in that church.”
“It’s not their fault,” Wester sniffed. “The monsters don’t pass through here often and never kill many when they do. But if you anger them…”
“This isn’t the first time that it’s happened?” Larten asked and Wester shook