Vampire War Trilogy. Darren Shan
of the moon, and the way we thought it would always be.
“But seventeen hundred years ago, there lived a vampire by the name of Corza Jam. He was ordinary in all respects, making his way in the world, until he fell in love and mated with a vampiress called Sarfa Grall. They were happy, hunting and fighting side by side, and when the first term of their mating agreement elapsed, they agreed to mate again.”
That’s how vampire ‘marriages’ work. Vampires don’t agree to stay with one another for life, only for ten, fifteen or twenty years. Once that time is up, they can agree to another decade or two together, or go their separate ways.
“Midway through their second term,” Vancha continued, “Corza grew restless. He wished to have a baby with Sarfa and raise a child of his own. He refused to accept their natural limitations and went looking for the cure to vampire sterility. For decades he searched in vain, the loyal Sarfa by his side. A hundred years came and went. Two hundred. Sarfa died during the quest but this didn’t put Corza off – if anything, it made him search even harder for a solution. Finally, fourteen hundred years ago, his search led him to that meddler with the watch – Desmond Tiny.
“Now,” Vancha said gruffly, “it’s not known exactly how much power Mr Tiny wields over vampires. Some say he created us, others that he once was one of us, others still that he’s simply an interested observer. Corza Jam knew no more about Tiny’s true self than the rest, but he believed the magician could help, and followed him around the world, begging him to put an end to the barren curse of the vampire clan.
“For two centuries Mr Tiny laughed at Corza Jarn and waved his pleas away. He told the vampire – now old and feeble, close to death – to stop worrying. He said children weren’t meant for vampires. Corza wouldn’t accept this. He pestered Tiny and begged him to give the vampires hope. He offered his soul in exchange for a solution, but Mr Tiny sneered and said if he wanted Corza’s soul, he would simply take it.”
“I haven’t heard that part of the story before,” Evanna cut in.
Vancha shrugged. “Legends are flexible. I think it’s good to remind people of Tiny’s cruel nature, so I do, every chance I get.
“Eventually,” he returned to the story, “for reasons of his own, Tiny relented. He said he’d create a woman capable of bearing a vampire’s child, but added a catch – the woman and her children would either make the clan more powerful than ever … or destroy us completely!
“Corza was troubled by Tiny’s words, but he’d sought too long and hard to be dissuaded by the threat. He agreed to Tiny’s terms, and let him take some of his blood. Tiny mixed Corza’s blood with that of a pregnant wolf and worked strange charms on her. The wolf gave birth to four cubs. Two were stillborn and normal in shape, but the others were alive – and human in appearance! One was a boy, the other a girl.”
Vancha paused and looked at Evanna. Harkat and me looked too, our eyes wide. The witch grimaced, then stood and took a bow. “Yes,” she said, “I was that hairy little she-cub.”
“The children grew quickly,” Vancha went on. “Within a year they were adults and left their mother and Corza, to seek out their destiny in the wilds. The boy went first, without saying anything, and nobody knows what became of him.
“Before the girl left, she gave Corza a message to take to the clan. He was to tell them what had happened, and say that she took her duties very seriously. He was also to tell them that she was not ready for motherhood, and that no vampire should seek her out as a mate. She said there was much she had to consider, and it would be centuries – perhaps longer – before she made her choice.
“That was the last any vampire saw of her for four hundred years.”
He stopped, looked thoughtful for a moment, then picked up a banana and began to eat it, skin and all. “The end,” he mumbled.
“The end?” I shouted. “It can’t end there! What happened next? What did she do for those four centuries? Did she choose a mate when she came back?”
“She chose no mate,” Vancha said. “Still hasn’t. As for what she got up to…” He smiled. “Maybe you should ask her yourselves.”
Harkat and me turned to Evanna. “Well?” we asked together.
Evanna pursed her lips. “I chose a name,” she said.
I laughed. “You can’t have spent four hundred years picking a name!”
“That wasn’t all I got up to,” she agreed, “but I devoted much of that time to the choice. Names are vital to beings of destiny. I have a role to play in the future, not just of the vampire clan, but of every creature in the world. The name I chose would have a bearing on that role. I settled in the end for Evanna.” She paused. “I think it was a good choice.”
Rising, Evanna croaked something at her frogs, who set off for the mouth of the cave. “I must go,” she said. “We have spoken enough of the past. I will be absent most of the day. When I return, we shall discuss your quest and the part I am to take in it.” She departed after the frogs, and moments later had disappeared into the ripening rays of the dawn.
Harkat and me stared after her. Then Harkat asked Vancha if the legend he’d told was true. “As true as any legend can be,” Vancha replied cheerfully.
“What does that mean?” Harkat asked.
“Legends change in the telling,” Vancha said. “Seventeen hundred years is a long time, even by vampire standards. Did Corza Jarn really drag around the world after Desmond Tiny? Did that agent of chaos agree to help? Could Evanna and the boy have been born of a she-wolf?” He scratched an armpit, sniffed his fingers and sighed. “Only three people in the world know the truth – Desmond Tiny, the boy – if he still lives – and Lady Evanna.”
“Have you ever asked Evanna if it’s true?” Harkat enquired.
Vancha shook his head. “I’ve always preferred a stirring good legend to boring old facts.” With that, the Prince rolled over and dropped off to sleep, leaving Harkat and me to discuss the story quietly and wonder.
I AROSE with Vancha a couple of hours after midday and commenced my training in the shade near the cave entrance. Harkat watched us with interest, as did Mr Crepsley when he woke early that afternoon. Vancha started me off with a stick, saying it would be months before he tried me with real weapons. I spent the afternoon watching him flick and stab the stick at me. I didn’t have to do anything else, just observe the movements of the stick and learn to identify and anticipate the various ways an attacker had of using it.
We practised until Evanna returned, half an hour shy of sunset. She said nothing of where she’d been or what she’d been up to, and nobody enquired.
“Having fun?” she asked, entering the cave with her entourage of frogs.
“Heaps,” Vancha replied, throwing the stick away. “The boy wants to learn to fight with his hands.”
“Are swords too heavy for him?”
Vancha pulled a face. “Very funny.”
Evanna’s laughter brightened the cave. “I’m sorry. But fighting with hands – or swords – seems so childish. People should battle with their brains.”
I frowned. “How?”
Evanna glanced at me, and all of a sudden the strength went from my legs and I fell to the floor. “What’s happening?” I squealed, flopping about like a dying fish. “What’s wrong with me?”
“Nothing,” Evanna said, and to my relief my legs returned to normal. “That’s how you fight with your brain,” she said as I gathered myself together. “Every part of the body connects to the brain. Nothing functions without it.