CHARLIE
Ihiked south along the coast… and I hiked, and I hiked, and I hiked.
The Olam sea stretched away to my right, its waters the deep lapis of a late evening sky.
The moors spread out to my left, autumn grasses dotted with wildflowers and flitting birds.
In the distance, the brooding silhouettes of the Yrdam Mountains rose, faint against a faded blue sky.
Bo and Kitty were probably already getting into the foothills—unless they’d gotten tired and stopped.
Or unless some golenae had already slaughtered them.
All I could do for them now was hope. I had my own path to tread.
For a while, I walked atop a cliff high above the sea. But as afternoon waned to evening, the land sloped downward and the cliffs gave way to a marshy shoreline that had me veering at least a mile inland before I could find solid ground to continue south again.
I’d flown over this land plenty of times searching for Essa, but traversing it on foot was different.
I was struck again by the natural beauty of Maethalia.
Every square foot of earth seemed to hum with life.
Bees. Skittering mice. Even the occasional flitting pixie, darting shyly out of my path as I approached.
I didn’t know much about Maethalian religion, but I did know that they believed in an Earth Mother who nurtured all things.
Every stone and stream, every plant and creature was her child, and in the reckoning of the Maethalians, each possessed its own spirit.
Though I’d never been a religious person, here in this vast, glorious wilderness, I could almost feel the presence their religion talked about, filling all the world—and me—with life.
Once, far off in the sea, I glimpsed a humped shape, a flash of teal fin rising and falling among the swells.
It was a great sea dragon. In all my years flying over that ocean, I’d never seen one, and I stood in awe, watching as the majestic beast raised its glistening head, gave a call that sounded like the blast of a trumpet, then ducked again below the waves.
I resumed walking again immediately, the thought of Essa tugging me ever onward.
But the sight of that sea creature got me thinking of Parthar—my little dragon.
Although I tried not to, the truth was I’d thought of him every day since we’d parted.
His big, innocent orange eyes. His guileless love as he snuggled against me—every bit a baby, despite his knife teeth and razor claws.
I missed him. When we were together, we were able to communicate via the Skrathan power of simnal.
It had been uncanny being so closely connected with another creature, almost like having a conjoined twin that could read your thoughts and share your emotions.
When I was back in Ironberg and he was left behind in Maethalia, I could no longer communicate with him, but I still sensed his presence, at moments.
Faint, faint, feelings that at least encouraged me he was still alive.
I’d secretly hoped when I was back in Maethalia, I’d be able to connect with him again.
But when I tried now, I didn’t feel him at all.
Did that mean he was dead? Or that he’d gone away, out of reach of the simnal?
I couldn’t face the idea that he was dead.
It would open up a chasm of grief in me, and I had no time for mourning.
I preferred to think that he'd just forgotten about me, that he’d wandered off, putting so much distance between us that the simnal connection snapped.
That thought filled me with sadness, too, but at least it allowed me to go on.
There was another possibility—that my becoming a vampyre had somehow prevented the simnal from functioning.
Either way, it was a blow. If I still had simnal, I could have reached out to Essa. Let her know I was coming. As it was, we were out of touch, and the pain of disconnection—from her and from Parthar—filled me with an aching loneliness. I used it as motivation to walk even faster.
In the late afternoon, I crested a low rise and came upon a grisly sight.
A human body lay at the bottom of a ravine.
It was old enough that flies no longer swarmed it, but I could see that it had been a gruesome death.
Limbs were strewn far and wide. The poor soul’s clothes were shredded.
A golenae attack, I guessed. Or else it might have been the great Maethalian wolves, some of which supposedly grew as large as a taxicab.
I drew my pistol and picked my way down the rise.
About twenty yards from the body, I found a large backpack. It was stuffed with goods. Beaded necklaces, knives, clothes, trinkets, wooden cups. The man had been a traveling peddler, I guessed.
I took a smooth, cream-colored Maethalian glow stone and a brand-new, dark gray cloak, which would somewhat disguise my flight jacket. It would help me blend in with the locals—and also keep me warm at night.
“Thanks, fella,” I told the corpse as I passed. “Sorry about your luck.”
And on I marched.
My long slumber should have rendered me weak and slow.
Instead, the vampyre strength made me feel like my legs were made of steel springs, like I could walk forever without stopping.
A few times, while climbing steep hills, my scarred lungs rebelled and I had to pause for a coughing fit.
But otherwise, I was able to push forward at a tireless pace.
That is, until the blood hunger set in. It came as a hiss of static in my ears, a pounding in my head, a boiling in my veins.
And I looked around desperately for something, anything that might sate my hunger.
A deer. A rabbit. The desire was all-consuming.
I’d have drunk a rat if I could have gotten my hands on one.
If I’d have happened across a traveler, I shuddered to think what I might do to them.
But I passed no one and nothing with the blood to satisfy my thirst.
When the blood hunger became unbearable, I stopped walking, thinking rest might help.
I ate some crackers I’d packed. A handful of dried fruit.
But food only made it worse. I felt so restless I could tear off my own skin or smash my head against a rock to stop the clamor of wanting inside me.
The restlessness made me feel half a breath away from insanity.
So I stood again and walked on in a red haze of desire.
As the hunger rose, my eyes seemed to grow more sensitive to the light, to the point where I was walking along with my eyes nearly squinted shut—and I came to understand why most times when I saw Langford’s spooks, they were wearing sunglasses.
Fortunately, I still had Bo’s old aviators in my flight bag. I put them on to fend off the low-slanting sun and stalked on, my fangs long with desire and aching like a hard-on.
All along the way, even amid the cloud of blood thirst, I thought of Essa. Where she might be. What she might be doing.
I imagined her in danger, and I burned with a desire to protect her.
I imagined her with another man, and I burned with jealousy.
I imagined her depressed and despondent at having lost me, and I burned with a need to take her in my arms and comfort her.
Each thought spurred me on faster, until at times I was jogging across the moor, my tireless, undead legs bearing me inexorably onward.
Twilight came at last. It was a mercy on my eyes, which now ached from spending so much time out during the day.
But night held other misfortunes. Kitty had explained to me that vampyres had heightened senses, and I’d already noticed it a bit back in Ironberg.
I could hear snatches of conversations happening three floors up in Auggie’s apartment building, or feel the vibrations in the earth a full minute before a streetcar came into view.
But here, in the stillness of nature, my new senses brought the world to life in a way that was unsettling.
I passed a massive oak tree, and its aura seemed to reach out to me, touching me probingly—the way a shopper at a market might test the ripeness of a fruit.
Another time, I passed an old stump and sensed many eyes inside, watching.
Not ants or termites, either. I sensed minds.
Whispered conversations. I tried to think back on the varieties of magical residents Essa had told me about in Maethalia.
Could they be pixies? Knockers? I had no idea.
But I didn’t want to wait around and find out. I hurried ahead, breaking into a run.
I’d run for perhaps half a mile when I crested a hill.
What I saw in the valley below made me stop short, dropping to my hands and knees in the grass.
Carefully, I lifted my head and looked again.
On the plain below me, glowing red dots and hulking gray shapes shifted in the starlight—golenae, a whole herd of them. Too many to count. Too many to fight.
I had two choices—wait here for them to depart or go around. But they didn’t seem to be moving. I wasn’t sure if these monsters ever slept, but they certainly didn’t seem to be making any move to leave. Most likely, they were bedding down for the night.
I sighed in frustration, assessing my options.
To my right, the land sloped down to a beach, sand and waves silver in the moonlight.
To my left, the terrain rose into a series of low hills and boulders.
It didn’t look like an easy path; it would slow me down.
But the way along the sea offered no cover, and going forward through a field of a hundred golenae certainly wasn’t an option.
Neither was waiting for them to leave. Though part of me knew I should be tired, now that I was this close to Essa, I felt nothing but an overwhelming, restless desire to forge ahead and reach her.
So I headed to my left, east and away from the sea, giving the golenae a wide berth.