NIGHTWORLD

05: Still Alive

“We're running out of daylight," Kadir said, without looking back. Jaro couldn't resist, looking back to the vampire's castle, looming in the distance. The Godhead's Lament stood silhouetted by the sun, flocks of dark ravens circling and flowing through its many spired towers. 

“Only a little further now," Jaro replied, putting the castle to his back.

“Assuming it really is a friendly village," Kadir grunted. “And not another vampire den."

“I thought that might go without saying…" 

They'd stuck close to the river since fleeing, following it down along several rocky outcroppings, the landscape dipping low into a modest valley. Small patches of trees dotted the hilly countryside, and as they drew closer towards the distant smoke, more and more signs of mortal life began to appear. 

The way beneath their feet was clearly once-trodden, but now long abandoned. Gravel and dirt was unsteady beneath his feet, long dried weed creepers reaching over the rough-hewn path. It was clear that few dared to tread towards the keep, and with good reason. 

Still, despite the vampire's unignorable presence, Jaro was proven right. A few kilometres deeper into the supple valley, the rocky patches gave way to toiled earth, and a dreary little hamlet built over the dead centre of the river.

The tallest building by far was the rising steeple, a wooden structure reinforced by grey bricks, with dusty stained glass windows on each side. It sat connected to what looked like a church based in the centre of town, and from there the rest of the village spread out – keeping to the river edge where possible. Even from this distance, Jaro saw how tired the structures appeared; many of them were sloped in on themselves and crafted with mismatched materials, old bricks laid upon old bricks. 

Beyond the buildings (which grew squatter the farther out the village went) laid large fields, some of cabbage and root vegetables, some of livestock, bleating and mooing away with the setting sun. At the corners of these fields – the very edges of town – Jaro saw tall, wicked spires. They resembled turrets or totems, ramshackle things overrun with dried wood formed into mystic symbols, sticking up from the soil like spears from a corpse. It reminded Jaro of old protection wards he'd seen self-proclaimed 'witchdoctors' string up during his tour of North Africa. If vampires were real, why couldn't these be as well?

Perhaps the mortals here weren't entirely defenceless after all.

Kadir took a moment to stop, breathing heavily and rubbing at his head wound. Jaro had washed and examined it earlier, and although it had stopped bleeding the caracal was clearly still in pain. 

“You right?" Jaro asked, leaning in to check the wound. It was beginning to swell, signs of purple bruising showing through Kadir's short tan fur. “Any dizziness or nausea? Bright flickering lights at the edge of your vision?" 

“I'm fine, wolf." Kadir pulled away, setting off once again along the river edge. “Let's just keep on, that village is our only hope of shelter. Pray there's someone kind or stupid enough to open their doors for us."

“I'm sure they'll help."

Kadir scoffed. “Living in a world like this, would you?" 

Jaro had no answer for that, sucking down more chilled air and following close. 

Down here on the more level plains the river opened wider, flowing naturally, hardly a rapid but not some weak drizzle either. Now that they were closer, Jaro could see the church he'd seen from afar was actually built halfway into the water, thick wooden struts reaching up from the shallows, moss and rot clinging to them. 

The village was built lengthways along the river, and it seemed the inhabitants made the best use of it they could. Boats bobbed along the edge, moored to both buildings and little piers, while large nets laid strung up across sections of the water catching fish. Bridges criss-crossed this way and that, forming a latticework of wood hovering a metre or so from the surface. Most of the buildings on dry land seemed to be made primarily of stone, though Jaro saw a fair share of wooden shacks and huts. 

Torchlight flickered within some of them, and as he and Kadir reached the cabbage fields, Jaro could see shadows and figures creeping about within the buildings. 

“Be on your guard, and keep that sickle down – but ready," Kadir instructed him, and Jaro nodded, trying to look as mortal-y as he could. 

They slowed their pace, trying to move predictably, moving past the fields and into the village proper. The ground crunched beneath their feet, and Jaro heard some of the wooden structures creaking in the wind. 

“Halt there, strangers!" Cried out a heavily accented voice, and Jaro instantly obeyed, reaching out to grab hold of Kadir. They waited as four haphazardly-armed guards spilled out from the alleyways, their gloved paws clutching axes and spears. Glancing behind, Jaro saw two more had cut off their retreat, iron blades flashing in the waning sunset light.

Please be friendly, he prayed. 

“Now! State your business in Cujac, or be on your way!" Cried the largest of the guards, stepping forward. Each of them were burly, draped in studded leather and patched up trousers. Their faces were hidden beneath steel helmets, a thin veil of chainmail draped across the snouts and ears. The one speaking hefted a large spear, and another held a crossbow. Two more had some kind of axe, and those behind held iron swords and faded wooden shields. 

“Jaro, what are they saying?" Kadir asked, glancing about furtively. His paws balled up into fists, a faint hiss sounding in his throat. “Friendly?" 

“They just wanna know why we're here," Jaro replied in English, before switching back to Hungarian, feeding in what little Romanian he could here and there – he couldn't recognise the guardsman's language exactly, but it made a sort of sense, so he was guessing. “Please! We only want shelter, and help! We are fleeing the castle!" He pointed back, where shadow and distance obscured the Godhead's Lament. A slight gasp echoed through the small crowd, murmurs passing between them.

“We mean no harm!" He said, hoping they could make out the language well enough. 

The spearman glanced between some of his friends, as if considering. He was a large fox beneath the armour, and it seemed he was in charge. 

“We're not one of those things, I promise." 

“Well that is plain as day!" The spearman laughed. “You are making it past our wards, and thralls haven't this command of speech."

Their laughter seemed to break some of the tension, and a woman wielding a crossbow stepped forward, lowering the weapon. “Oh hells, Vasile, if there's not too much fat in the way of yer eyes, maybe try looking at their clothes?" She too was an orange fox, though leaner than the spearman “They're with the other-worlders."

The spearman thought on this, staring deeply at Jaro and Kadir. “Does Ioana speak the truth? Do you come with the others?"  

“Jaro, what's going on…" Kadir hissed. 

“Calm down," he replied, “I think some of the others made it here." Turning back to the guards, he said, slowly; “Yes! We are with them, but we were attacked and separated. Are they here? Can we see them?" 

The group seemed unsettled by this. 

“Vasile…" The fox woman – Ioana – said.

“More mouths to feed, more blood to draw the Cortège's ire," Vasile replied, shifting uneasily. “That what you want?"  

“And what of your Martyrs? What would they say to this?" 

Vasile stuck up his nose. “Probably that outsiders bring death."

“Death comes with sickle and peace, there is no harmony without strife."

“Do not seek to throw my own faith at me like a knife, wench!" Vasile snapped. “This is dangerous. The Cortège won't stand for it."

Ioana sighed, raising her crossbow and slinging it over one shoulder, stepping past the wall of blades. “Then let them kneel. I won't have it said that the people of Cujac lived as cowards. You, strangers, let me a look at you then." 

Kadir braced himself as the fox approached, but Jaro settled him, allowing Ioana to give them a quick once over. She narrowed her eyes at his sickle and ammo-pouches, but otherwise said nothing. She peered into their eyes and glanced at their exposed fur, paying careful attention to Kadir's head wound. 

“Ioana…" Vasile warned, to which the fox waved him off. 

“It's a blunt wound, you oaf." Finally, she slapped Jaro on the shoulder. “Looks clean, neither of them are becoming thralls anytime soon." 

“I won't stand for this disrespect Ioana, we should discuss–" 

“Enough of your discussions!" She snapped, waving Jaro and Kadir forward. As they walked, all but Vasile parted for them, clearly intimidated by the crossbow-wielding fox. “Here they are at least safe from Dracula's eyes, put some trust in those wards you hold so dearly. If we'd it your way, Vasile, so much time would be spent talking we'd be long dead of old age before anything could be done."

“Hoof-headed woman!" Vasile grumbled, but made no effort to stop them going by.  

“Thank you," Jaro said, keeping in step with Ioana. She reached up to remove her mailed helmet, resting it on one hip. Her face was older than he'd expected, and scarred with experience. Once-vibrant orange fur was a murkier brown now, and a large chunk of flesh had been torn from her lip, permanently exposing the tips of some teeth. “We're very tired, and don't know this land. I'm not sure what we'd do if you turned us away." 

“I say you'd die out there." 

Jaro sucked his teeth. “Are you in charge of this village?" 

Ioana laughed, throwing her head back. “Oh, rivers and runaways no. That would be the duty of that slop-brained brother of mine, Vasile. The others are just more scared of me than they are of him. Plus Vasile knows when I'm serious."

“And our allies?" Jaro asked, almost afraid to hear the answer. “They're here too?"

“Aye, your sorry little lot came crawling in a few hours earlier, licking their wounds."

“How many?" 

“Five, in all. You are… expecting more?" 

“No, that's good." Jaro breathed a sigh of relief, turning to Kadir. “They're alive and here, all of them." 

“Thank fuck," the caracal muttered. “And her? I thought Europeans all spoke French… I can hardly make a word out, she said something about licking?" 

“I'm… not sure France exists here, Kadir. But as for Ioana, she's friendly… I think." 

“Through here, please," Ioana said, leading them towards the church Jaro had seen outside of town. As they marched through the narrow village streets, Jaro saw curious eyes peering out at them through slats and cracked doorways. The inhabitants were dressed like medieval peasants; donned in tunics and leather boots, small caps and wraps pulled tight atop their heads. “Don't hold his stupidity against Vasile, he's a good man. But these are very hard times, and peace between us and the Cortège is… tenuous." 

“Thank you for taking the risk. We won't do anything that puts your people in danger." 

“That remains to be seen, I say."

As they reached the church, Ioana heaved the two large doors open with a grunt. They creaked in protest, large and solid, opening up into a spacious and echoic hall. 

As the trio entered, Jaro felt the weight of the last few hours sliding off his shoulders. His stomach growled, a sudden rush of fatigue clawing at his muscles. 

The church interior was spacious, with several rows of pews pushed close together by the entrance. At the front of the room was a small podium and low stage, before which several makeshift beds had been set up, stacks of bags and military equipment piled amongst them. The rest of Team Two huddled there, a warm glow of electric lamplight hugging their frames.

Jaro barely knew them, and so he was surprised at how relieved he was to see them all unharmed. A part of him had already accepted the fact they were already dead. 

It was good to know they weren't alone out here.

Isla noticed them first, her pointed ears twitching.

“Kadir, Jaroslav!" The Doberman said, standing to greet them with wide eyes. “You're…" 

“Alive, just," Jaro finished for her, falling into a pew by her side. “Skin of our teeth." 

Isla looked back to Ioana, nodding simply.

“I'll leave you all to it," the fox said, bowing and skulking back out. 

Kadir took his place by Isla's side, accepting a bowl of something from Noah, the burly bear then shoving one towards Jaro. 

“Glad to see youse in one piece lad," he said, clapping Jaro on the shoulder. “Eat up now, but slowly now so's not to upset y'self." 

“Thank you," Jaro replied, lifting a spoon of the stew-like mix to his lips. It was bland and lukewarm, but his stomach welcomed it after so much adrenalin. “What happened to you after we were separated?" He asked, between mouthfuls. 

Noah slapped his knees, sighing. “It wasn't pretty aye, tell you that much." He turned, pointing to the snow leopard sniper – Devna – who had a thick layer of gauze wrapped around one leg. “Those things were nasty, we didn't get by unscathed." 

“It was a trap," Jaro said. “They know about the Source; the thralls were ready for us. The vampires were waiting." 

Noah whistled. “Well, they weren't ready for Frankie now, were they?" Jaro followed his gaze to where the muscle bound dingo rested, squatting in the shadows at the edge of the room. She was tinkering with some large weapon, a determined expression on her face.

“I suppose not. But still, we got fucking lucky man." 

The bear reached over, squeezing Jaro's thigh. “It's alright, Jaro. We made it out in one piece, now we take things one step at a time." 

“If you say so." Jaro paused, noticing Kristian waiting patiently, a few steps away. He nodded, waving his bowl about. “Thanks for the food, Noah. Or do you prefer Father?" 

The bear laughed, pushing to his feet. “Only if you're Catholic, lad. But… if you ever want to talk, I've got plenty of practice listening."

Jaro shook his head. “To be honest, after seeing all this… I don't know what to believe. But I appreciate that." 

Noah gave him another firm squeeze on the shoulder, before stepping past Kristian and rejoining the others. He seemed like a lovely man, and Jaro couldn't help feeling like he had to do right by the older bear. Noah was the kind of man he'd wished his father was, as a teenager.

But if he'd been different, then maybe so would I. 

Kristian took his seat next to Jaro, the marten watching him keenly. “It's good to see you aren't hurt. I was… we were worried about you."

“I was worried too." 

“Frankie was certain you were dead. But Isla never gave up hope."

Jaro snorted, looking over the Doberman, who was nodding intently at Kadir's story. “She didn't strike me as the optimistic type."

“I have learned that Isla will always surprise you. I wasn't so hopeful, to be honest.  With all those things… what happened to you two out there?" 

Jaro sighed, giving the marten an abridged version of their encounter with Romulus, Lord of Sanction. He covered the psychic control, leaving out the things the vampire had forced them to do. He explained the castle's system of canals, and how they'd used it to escape.

When he was done, Kristian stared in shock, whiskers twitching. “You went inside that castle? Not only inside it, but with one of their high ranking lords?" 

Jaro nodded. “They call it the Godhead's Lament." 

“Incredible. All of the documented vampire encounters in our world are with younger specimens. And of those, most discussions remain very short. To actually speak with one so ancient… this is something very few people from our world have ever experienced."

“Well, it gets better." Jaro began. “You're gonna laugh."

“Nothing about this is funny, Jaro."

“Alright, sure. But… right before they left… they mentioned their leader." Jaro sucked in a short breath, this was somehow the most unbelievable part. “They called him Dracula."

He expected Kristian to burst out laughing; if he wasn't so close to crying Jaro might have himself. Instead the pine marten shrugged, looking to Isla. “So she was right. Again." 

“What? I'm sorry? Kristian are you fucking serious right now?"

The marten shrugged once again. “We told you, the Source opens periodically, and has done so throughout history. Most of the common vampire myths we know about have seemed to come true; immortality, mind control, the consumption of blood and the weakness to sunlight. The myths of Dracula were always – at least partially – based on a real man, a Voivode of Wallachia. Vlad Tepes; the Impaler." 

“And you think…"

“Ah," Kristian wagged a finger. “We suspected. And after all, why not? Vampires have appeared in countless decades throughout history, is it so implausible that one of their ilk managed to become a king? Especially a violent one with such a mysterious history?" 

Jaro put his empty bowl aside, hanging his head in his paws. “Fucking hell. We've been here one day, and I'm already losing it man. How are we even supposed to get back? I mean… Dracula? Vampires? Those fucking thralls crawling everywhere? What is this?! How are we even supposed to get back home? We got the jump on them once, it ain't happening again." 

Kristian put a paw on Jaro's leg, gently patting him. “Calm down. Just breathe, you're probably exhausted." Jaro was. He tried to do as Kristian said, inhaling through his nose and letting it out through his teeth. 

“Fuck, man, I can't do this." 

“You can," the marten said, leaning in and squeezing his leg tighter. “We go task by task. Isla wants to find out what happened to Team One. Then we deal with the Source." 

“What's to stop them going through?" Jaro said, the thought tight in his stomach. “If this fucking Dracula really did go through once before, if they were waiting for us to come back out… what's to stop them turning our whole world into one giant killing floor?"

“I think we are safe on that front, at least for now," Kristian replied. “The vampire's greatest resource over us is time. They do not act impatiently, they wait, and stalk their prey. We're fighting spiders, not lions – monsters that thrive by building a web and letting its food walk right in. 

Second. For all that the Cortège knows, we discovered the secret to vampire annihilation decades ago. They're aware we have weapons more advanced than theirs, but you don't become centuries old by not being cautious. Those things waiting outside the Source, clearly they were meant to stop or kill us. You escaped their castle. They are not infallible.

“Lastly, Noah wired up the cave with C4. If anything immortal is to come through, anyone but us really, those project members on the other side will detonate, burying the Source deep underground." 

Jaro straightened up, nodding. It made sense. Romulus had spoken about the Cortège wanting answers. They had time. Time to figure out how to get back, and time to figure out how to kill those fucking things. 

He thought of his dad, lying sick in one of Isla's blacksite hospitals, vampire nerve toxin wreaking havoc through his ageing body. We might have some time, but does he? 

Jaro couldn't think of anything worse than his father dying, their last conversation about how his son had functionally abandoned him, then lied about it. 

There's still so much to say. 

“They're evil, man." Jaro looked to the marten. He thought about Romulus, forcing them to humiliate themselves for his own pleasure. “They're pure fucking evil. They think they're untouchable, but they're not."

“The whole point of Director Koch's program is to fight them. So we don't have to be afraid of them anymore." 

“I'm not scared, Kristian. I'm angry." Jaro curled his paw into a fist. He thought of the vampire crouched over his father, blood dripping from its fangs. He thought of the smug grin on Romulus's face. “I'm gonna watch them die. I want them to know we're more than just cattle to be eaten. I don't know how, but I'm gonna find a way to kill them. Fuck Roman. Fuck the Cortège." 

It took Kristian seizing his wrist for Jaro to realise he was shaking. He let out a breath, blinking slow.

“And your… condition?" Kristian asked next, looking down to Jaro's chest. “Any further symptoms?" Before he could answer, the marten leaned in, pressing his paw into Jaro's shirt, as if he could feel the vrykolakas parasite. The true vampire. 

After so much violence and fear, Jaro couldn't help feeling a small delight at the gentle touch. Kristian's fingers were slender and delicate, coated with black fur and soft paw-pads. He almost wished the doctor would hug him. 

Is this the only reason you came over here? To make sure I wasn't turning yet? 

“I'm fine," he said. “You can ask Kadir, he interrogates me about it often enough." 

“Oh, don't mind him," Kristian replied, turning away and retrieving his doctor's bag. He pulled a syringe out, quickly working to fill it with Helsing Serum. Jaro offered up his arm, wincing as Kristian pricked him. “Kadir is a hard-headed man, very intense. I… believe he has lost many close to him. But he gets things done." 

“He's an asshole." 

“He saved your life, no?" 

Jaro scowled, looking away as Kristian removed the needle from his arm. “Someone less charitable might say that's his job." 

“To abandon the others, just to save you? You think that is his job?" The marten tutted. “My, my, you must be an important young wolf." 

“Shut up. You know what I mean." 

Kristian stood. “I am not sure I do. Jaro… the people in this project… nearly every one of them has been touched by the vampire's blight, one way or another. Isla wants people that are personally invested. Many of them are broken or bruised, including yourself." 

“And you?" Jaro looked up, his brow furrowing. “What's your reason to be here?" 

The marten sighed, rising to his feet. “That is between me and God." He gave a little bow, snapping his bag shut. “Keep well, Jaro. Try to get some sleep." 

Across the small clearing, Jaro heard Kadir recounting their experience, with the same excisions as his own version. It had only been a few hours earlier, and yet it felt like it had happened to someone else. He'd lived it, and yet it felt hard to imagine his mind being dominated so completely. 

Jaro at the memories; Romulus clutching his waist from behind; Kadir on his knees and squeezing at Jaro's sheath; the sheer glee and joy the vampire had felt at their torment…

And worst of all, the simultaneous thrill and humiliation Jaro had squirming in his belly the entire time. 

Pausing in his story, Kadir glanced back at Jaro – setting the wolf's cheeks aflame as he blushed deeply, somehow embarrassed to be caught looking. 

When Jaro looked back, Kadir had already moved on. 

Fuck you man, he thought, shaking his head. 

An hour or two later Noah showed him where the bedrolls were, and Jaro bunked down, wrapping himself tight in the blankets the villagers had offered them. His muscles ached and his head throbbed, but he was alive. 

Despite everything that had happened so far, he was still alive. 

Right now, it was the best he could do. 

Jaro flinched awake, some forgotten nightmare clawing at his throat. He coughed up the sour taste on his tongue, momentarily disoriented in the darkness. His joints ached, and the veins where Kristian had injected him last night were swollen.

After a moment spent blinking in confusion, his memory returned. 

They were in Cujac, sleeping in what Jaro could only call a church – though what god these strange Nightworld denizens worshipped he couldn't say. Ioana had called it 'the martyrs'.

Still safe, still alive. 

He let out a sigh, wide awake despite the early hour. The thinnest of pale lights was beginning to hit the church windows, the familiar gloom of pre-dawn. Ioana had assigned a few guards to help keep the coast clear, but that hadn't stopped Devna; the lean snow leopard sat watching from atop a large pillar, wedged between two conjoining rafters. A lit cigarette hung in her lips, and Jaro could just make out the outline of her sniper rifle, resting in her lap.

Noting him, she gave a small twitch of her tail, and he nodded back. 

Leaving the others to snore away peacefully, Jaro climbed out from beneath his donated blankets, still dressed in the combat gear of yesterday. He retrieved a spare rifle from where Kadir had stacked them, slinging it over one shoulder and leaving the church. 

Outside the air was frigid, misting before his muzzle. It stung the tips of his ears and dried out his eyes, but even so Jaro found it almost refreshing, like stepping into the freezing ocean. 

Ioana hadn't been lying – near the edges of the church several village guards stood, lounging in the cold air, small torches burning by their side. It was a nice gesture, though Jaro couldn't be sure whether their true job was to watch for enemies coming or the new 'friends' going.

Either way, the guards let him by, nervously eyeing the rifle on his back. Jaro ignored them, following the village's central river path towards a middle market square, several empty stalls looming in the dim light. He let his feet take them where they would, examining the village as he went. Some of the inhabitants were up already, packing wagons or urging stubborn farm animals along, but most of the village slept quietly. 

The buildings were a few strides from ramshackle, but they were hardly tip-top either. Many were patchwork, constructed of crude rock and old wood, holes or damage fixed up with discoloured bandaids made of whatever the villagers could find. 

Between the narrow streets Jaro saw more religious symbols hanging from eaves and awnings. They reminded him of dreamcatchers, woven together from weeds and dried sticks, swinging in the faint breeze. Throughout it all the soft sound of running water ran, a soothing rhythm that bounced down the alleys.

It was like a time capsule, a town frozen in place hundreds of years ago. Jaro supposed it made sense, the mortals here were so busy fighting for their lives they never had the chance to organise technological advancements on a larger scale. 

“You're making my people nervous, outsider." 

Jaro flinched, turning to see Ioana approaching, her crossbow hanging loosely from one shoulder. His face flushed, and he gave her an apologetic shrug. 

“Sorry. Couldn't sleep." He offered her his paw. “I'm sorry, I didn't introduce myself earlier. My name is Jaroslav." 

“Welcome to Cujac, Jaroslav," Ioana replied, clasping his forearm and shaking. “Not all of our people are as open-minded about strangers as Vasile, and he wanted to hang your group when he first met them." 

Jaro looked down at himself, awkwardly trying to keep his rifle slung behind his back. It only occurred to him now how alien they must all look to what was functionally a village from the middle-ages. Densely patterned multi-fibre clothing, plastic-tipped shoelaces, and shiny, strange-smelling weaponry that clanked as it moved. “And you? What did you have to gain by bringing us in?" 

Ioana licked her teeth, stepping past and surveying the great darkness beyond them. They both knew the Godhead's Lament lay in its heart, though in the morning fog it was impossible to see. It was like a weight, a hunkered spider staring right back at them. 

“The fields out there are fertilised with blood and bone," she said. “It's not easy to live in their shadow, and with time many have come to believe that our isolation is what protects us." 

“And you think differently?" 

The fox shrugged again. “Perhaps, perhaps not. Us mortals have strength in numbers, but there's no number beneath the sky that means a fair fight against Dracula. It's a balance. Grow too big and they see us as unwieldy… but dwindle too small, and we're morsels to pick off." She whirled on him. “I think your group is dangerous. I think you're going to draw their attention, I think in fact you already have. But in my mind, is better to keep you here than let you run amok unsupervised." 

Jaro laughed, leaning back against the fence railing. “Well, now you're making sense. My father always warned me against deals that were too good to be true."

“I live in the real world, Jaroslav, there is no room for fantasies here." She reached back into her satchel. “Not forgetting, that harsh woman you all follow promised to show me how to use this." And Jaro flinched as she suddenly drew a handgun from her bag. 

“Shit, careful!" He ducked as she waved it at him, before reaching out and gingerly grabbing it by the barrel, the old fox frowning as she allowed him to take it. “Careful… it's dangerous without proper training." He racked the slide, breathing out a sigh of relief that it wasn't loaded. 

Feeling a little sheepish, he offered the gun back to Ioana, grip-first. She took it with a smirk. “And would you like to be helping me wipe my arse too, then?" 

He raised his paws. “Natural reaction, no disrespect intended." 

“Only some taken," Ioana replied, chuckling to herself before slipping the gun back into her satchel. “Tell me now. What has really brought you to my village?" 

Jaro groaned, sucking his teeth. How best to answer that without confusing or scaring her? Sorry, we're here to invade this land and make sure it can't hurt us. 

“That's a… difficult question. The place we're from, it doesn't have…" He waved back out at the fog, a lean haze blooming as the sun began to rise in the distant east. “All this. The vampires, thralls… you understand. We need to try and protect ourselves, to find–"

“Not quite what I am meaning," Ioana interrupted. “Your Lady Koch and that nervous ferret have said as much already. But you. Jaroslav. Tell me, why are you here?" 

“Ahhhhh…" Jaro cringed, unsure where to even begin. Did they have France here? Africa? Was she likely to want to lynch him, if he told her about Boz? He resisted the urge to put a paw over his heart, thinking of the dreaded parasite curled up within.

I need to find a cure to vampirism. Don't suppose you have that handy? 

“I let my father down," he said eventually. “I abandoned him, and then I lied about coming home. Before I could make things right, we were attacked. One of those monsters, from here, came to our world. He's still alive, but only just, and I guess I… want to find a way to help him. So I can make things right." 

It felt strange to say aloud. Even at home as a child, Jaro's family had never said things like that. Speaking directly about one's feelings was… awkward at best. Instead the Tamasi's had relied on grunts and acts of service in lieu of hugs and I-love-yous.

But Ioana was a stranger, one he'd likely never see again after a few days. Somehow, that made it easier. 

“A search for redemption, much like one of the martyrs," she said wistfully. “Hope you are not ending up like them. All I have to offer you is advice – unpleasant though it might be." Her expression darkened. “If your father dies from his wounds, burn his body as soon as you can. To die by a vampire's venom is to run the risk of returning to this world a thrall. You owe your father that much; no one deserves to be trapped as a mindless slave."

Jaro swallowed the lump in his throat, guilt stinging on his tongue. It seemed the more time passed, the more failures he managed to pile on. 

“My father was killed by one of the Cortège," Ioana said, facing back towards the great fog. “Lord Romulus, the Teardrinker. Dracula's hunting dog, sicced upon his enemies whenever the Great Lord feels disobeyed or disrespected." She spat into the soil. “He was torn to pieces only a short while from here, an example for the rest of us."

“I am… sorry to hear that." 

“Not your fault. There were so many things I hadn't said to him yet, I was still a child of course, but even so." She reached out, resting a paw on Jaro's arm. “There will never be a good time to lose those closest to us. All we can hope is that they know our true selves, and that anything we didn't get the opportunity to say… was never truly something they needed to hear."  

But that's the problem, isn't it? Jaro thought. I only told him the first failure. He never got a chance to learn my true self. 

“We'll see, I guess," he said. The more he spoke their strange language, the more it seemed to flow naturally. It was clear that Ioana didn't know all of his Hungarian words, and likewise he couldn't place all the pseudo-romanian ones that made up the Wallachian tongue. But with context and some guesswork, it made a sort of sense, and with every sentence he required a little less deliberation to translate. “But I'm starting to think it's hopeless. When we arrived, the thralls were waiting for us. That monster, the one you called the Teardrinker… he got Kadir and I alone." He laughed, shaking his head. “We were powerless. I mean, I don't have to tell you Ioana, he completely dominated us with just a thought. I… I don't know how to fight that."

“Pardon?" She asked, frowning deeply. “Am I understanding correctly? You were with him? He spoke to you, and you still draw breath?" 

Jaro nodded. “He wanted us as prisoners. Locked us in a cell in that fucking castle. I thought… I didn't think we'd make it out, but eventually another – Ashani, I think her name was – came along and distracted him. We managed to get out before they came back." 

“The Daybreaker," Ioana whispered, mouth hanging agape. “You stood in the presence of two members of the Vermilion Cortège, and you are still alive. This thing is impossible. Jaroslav, those creatures are Gods… undying kings of incredible power… you…" She shook her head fiercely, squeezing his shoulders. “Listen, do not tell anyone else in Cujac of this. Heed my words, I beg you. If Vasile or… one of the more ardent heard what you just said… they would never believe you. They would label you a vampire pawn, and burn you at the stake." 

“How civilised," Jaro muttered. He wondered how they'd react to the news he was infected with a vampire parasite. “I'm feeling more welcomed by the second."

“Do not talk down to me," Ioana snapped. “I am the only reason you and your people are still alive. If you were caught unprepared out there–" She pointed to the foggy fields. “You'd be slaughtered. You are from another land, you do not know our ways and you may not understand them, but I will thank you to respect them."

“I…" He glanced away, cheeks burning. “I'm sorry. You're right." 

Her voice fell, and she let out a breath. “Every creature in this land serves Dracula, one way or another. Even we, cowering here in his shadow. We are not permitted to leave or grow, and in exchange for our obedience our meagre little lives are tolerated. It is a life, but a difficult one. Some here become grateful to them, for allowing us to continue living. Not me." She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a hushed whisper. “The wards surrounding our village, you've seen them." 

“Since we're being honest, I'm mostly wondering if they actually work," Jaro said, jerking his chin out at a nearby effigy, which featured a skeletal figure carved into the wood, dried weeds wrapped about it like wire. 

“They work, though perhaps less than some might think," Ioana explained. “Against one of the Cortège… they'd be next to worthless. But it curbs their influence, and staves off the weaker creatures. Not all vampires are as powerful as they; they are to their kind what we are to cubs.

“Regardless, this knowledge of wards, it is coming from a druid living in the Deadland Marshes, to the south. Her name is Chevron, and she has done much for our people, and the other villages of the region. If anyone I know of can aid you in fighting these things… it is her." 

A druid. Jaro blanched, but Ioana had a point. He didn't know this world, and they did. All the guns and technology he could carry would be useless against an enemy that could control his mind. 

“Will you take us?" He asked, excitement building in his belly. This was a chance. A chance to be able to fight back, even in some small way. “Please, vouch for us, show us the way. You're right, I hate to admit it but you are… we don't know this land. But please, Ioana, I need a way to fight them." 

Ioanna hesitated, looking back over one shoulder, to where the village of Cujac was slowly coming to life, the bells of dawn ringing throughout the humble town. 

“It is not a good look," she said.

“I can trade," he explained. “I'm a medic, er, a healer for soldiers. I can show you how to cleanse an infection, and how to properly sew a wound. Think of how many of your people could be saved!" He sucked in a breath, hoping he wasn't offending her again. 

She paused, but seemed to be weighing it up. “I'm not sure…" 

“And, and!" He swung his rifle around to his front, pulling back the slide with an audible clang. “I'll show you how to use this." 

“Now, you are speaking my language," Ioanna said, offering her paw back to him. “You have yourself a deal, Jaroslav. You show me that, and I'll do my best not to get us all fucking killed."