Vampire War Trilogy. Darren Shan
Before leaving town, I found a pharmacy and bought several anti-itching powders and lotions, which I rubbed into my flesh. The powders and lotions brought no relief. Nothing stopped the itching, and I scratched myself irritably as we journeyed to the cave of Lady Evanna.
Mr Crepsley wouldn’t say much about the woman we were going to meet, where she lived, whether she was a vampire or human, and why we were going to see her.
“You should tell me these things,” I grumbled one morning as we made camp. “What if something happens to you? How would Harkat and me find her?”
Mr Crepsley stroked the long scar running down the left side of his face – after all our years together, I still didn’t know how he got it – and nodded thoughtfully. “You are right. I will draw a map before nightfall.”
“And tell us who she is?”
He hesitated. “That is harder to explain. It might be best coming from her own lips. Evanna tells different people different things. She might not object to you knowing the truth – but then again, she might.”
“Is she an inventor?” I pressed. Mr Crepsley owned a collection of pots and pans which folded up into tiny bundles, making them easier to carry. He’d told me that Evanna had made them.
“She sometimes invents,” he said. “She is a woman of many talents. Much of her time is spent breeding frogs.”
“Excuse me?” I blinked.
“It is her hobby. Some people breed horses, dogs or cats. Evanna breeds frogs.”
“How can she breed frogs?” I snorted sceptically.
“You will find out.” Then he leant forward and tapped my knee. “Whatever you say, do not call her a witch.”
“Why would I call her a witch?” I asked.
“Because she is one – sort of”
“We’re going to meet a witch?” Harkat snapped worriedly.
“That troubles you?” Mr Crepsley asked.
“Sometimes in my dreams … there’s a witch. I’ve never seen her face – not clearly – and I’m not sure … if she’s good or bad. There are times when I run to her for help, and times … when I run away, afraid.”
“You haven’t mentioned that before,” I said.
Harkat’s smile was shaky. “With all the dragons, stakes and shadow men … what’s one little witch?”
The mention of dragons reminded me of something he’d said when we met Mr Tiny. He’d called him ‘the dragon master’. I asked Harkat about this but he couldn’t remember saying it. “Although,” he mused, “I sometimes see Mr Tiny in my dreams, riding the … backs of dragons. Once he tore the brain out of one and … tossed it at me. I reached to catch it but … woke before I could.”
We thought about that image a long time. Vampires place a lot of importance on dreams. Many believe that dreams act as links to the past or future, and that much can be learnt from them. But Harkat’s dreams didn’t seem to have any bearing on reality, and in the end Mr Crepsley and me dismissed them, rolled over and slept. Harkat didn’t – he stayed awake, green eyes glowing faintly, putting off sleep as long as he could, avoiding the dragons, stakes, witches and other perils of his troubled nightmares.
ONE DUSK I awoke with a feeling of absolute comfort. As I stared up at a red, darkening sky, I tried putting my finger on why I felt so good. Then I realized – the itching had stopped. I lay still a few minutes, afraid it would return if I moved, but when I finally got to my feet, there wasn’t the slightest prickling sensation. Grinning, I headed for a small pond we’d camped by, to wet my throat.
I lowered my face into the cool, clear water of the pond and drank deeply. As I was rising, I noticed an unfamiliar face in the reflecting surface of the water – a long-haired, bearded man. It was directly in front of me, which meant he must be standing right behind me – but I hadn’t heard anyone approach.
Swivelling swiftly, my hand shot to the sword which I’d brought from Vampire Mountain. I had it halfway out of its scabbard before stopping, confused.
There was no one there.
I looked around for the shabby, bearded man, but he was nowhere to be seen. There were no nearby trees or rocks he could have ducked behind, and not even a vampire could have moved quickly enough to disappear so swiftly.
I turned back towards the pond and looked into the water again. There he was! As clear and hairy as before, scowling up at me.
I gave a yelp and jumped back from the water’s edge. Was the bearded man in the pond? If so, how was he breathing?
Stepping forward, I locked gazes with the hairy man – he looked like a caveman – for the third time and smiled. He smiled back. “Hello,” I said. His lips moved when mine did, but silently. “My name’s Darren Shan.” Again his lips moved in time with mine. I was getting annoyed – was he mocking me? – when realization struck – it was me!
I could see my eyes and the shape of my mouth now that I looked closely, and the small triangular scar just above my right eye, which had become as much a part of me as my nose or ears. It was my face, no doubt about that – but where had all the hair come from?
I felt around my chin and discovered a thick bushy beard. Running my right hand over my head – which should have been smooth – I was stunned to feel long, thick locks of hair. My thumb, which stuck out at an angle, caught in several of the strands, and I winced as I tugged it free, pulling some hair out with it.
What in Khledon Lurt’s name had happened to me?
I checked further. Ripping off my T-shirt revealed a chest and stomach covered in hair. Huge balls of hair had also formed under my armpits and over my shoulders. I was hairy all over!
“Charna’s guts!” I roared, then ran to wake my friends.
Mr Crepsley and Harkat were breaking camp when I rushed up, panting and shouting. The vampire took one look at my hairy figure, whipped out a knife and roared at me to stop. Harkat stepped up beside him, a grim expression on his face. As I halted, gasping for breath, I saw they didn’t recognize me. Raising my hands to show they were empty, I croaked, “Don’t … attack! It’s … me!”
Mr Crepsley’s eyes widened. “Darren?”
“It can’t be,” Harkat growled. “This is an impostor.”
“No!” I moaned. “I woke up, went to the pond to drink, and found … found…” I shook my hairy arms at them.
Mr Crepsley stepped forward, sheathed his knife, and studied my face incredulously. Then he groaned. “The purge!” he muttered.
“The what?” I shouted.
“Sit down, Darren,” Mr Crepsley said seriously. “We have a lot of talking to do. Harkat – go fill our canteens and fix a new fire.”
When Mr Crepsley had gathered his thoughts, he explained to Harkat and me what was happening. “You know that half-vampires become full-vampires when more vampire blood is pumped into them. What we have never discussed – since I did not anticipate it so soon – is the other way in which one’s blood can turn.
“Basically, if one remains a half-vampire for an extremely long period of time – the average is forty years – one’s vampire cells eventually attack the human cells and convert them, resulting in fuII-vampirism. We call this the purge.”
“You mean I’ve become a full-vampire?” I asked quietly, both intrigued and frightened by the notion. Intrigued because it would mean extra strength, the ability to flit and communicate telepathically. Frightened