NIGHTWORLD

10: What Remains

The wind nipped at Jaro's ears, and he shivered against the cold, wrapping his arms about his knees a little tighter. It was a few hours past sundown now, and he was perched at the edge of the river, sitting on a huge boulder that laid half-buried in the muddy soil.

The rest of Team Two had set up their camp a few metres back, far enough from the water's edge to try and keep warm, but not so far they couldn't flee to safety if the Daybreaker suddenly caught up with them. Oddly enough, however, since fleeing Cujac it seemed none of the vampire forces had followed. 

Jaro was too exhausted to wonder why. Ashani had arrived in Cujac only a few hours after they returned from the Deadlands, and he hadn't been spared a single moment to think since. Even his own memory was a blur, a whirling cacophony of violence and destruction, too much to be properly believed – if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes. Men being torn in two like they were nothing, entire buildings crumbled as the Daybreaker simply went through them… the useless attempt Ioana had put up, even with a gun she'd barely managed to slow the vampire lord, before Ashani crushed her. 

Jaro blinked through bleary eyes, rubbing painfully at chapped lids as he stared blindly across the dark water. 

The bend in the river was narrow here, and the current relatively gentle. The landscape was still that of the flat, tundra-ish plains like those surrounding Cujac, but the group had travelled several hours south now, and more trees were beginning to appear. On the horizon Jaro saw them, thin huddled copses silhouetted against the midnight sky. 

Between the trees, his eyes played tricks. They showed him figures, tall and lanky silhouettes. If his tired mind was to be believed, they were only watching him, swaying slightly but otherwise unmoving. Initially, he'd thought they were just… smaller trees, but the longer he looked, the more he made out the person-like shape. It sent a foreboding sense of dread creeping through his gut, some ancient internal instinct that was screaming wrong. There was something unsettling about the way they simply stood, waiting and watching. Staring at the strangers from somewhere far off. 

It's not real, he told himself, although the longer he stared, the less sure he became. Your mind is just trying to force details out of nothing.

Kristian had told him to get some rest, but how could he, after what they'd seen? Ashani, the Lord of Avarice, punching her arm clean through a man's chest. Her sword, nearly as long as Devna was tall, hurtling through the air like a missile. The wanton destruction and complete annihilation of an entire village, all over the matter of less than a half hour, at the claws of only one vampire. No matter how long, or how hard he tried to think of something else, eventually his mind returned to that moment.

And what if there'd been two? Jaro thought, looking down at Chevron's wards clutched in his paws, trying to help himself memorise them. How was he supposed to keep the Teardrinker at bay, if something like Ashani was there as well? Fuck, not like I could kill one anyway. 

“Need a smoke?" 

Jaro looked up and saw Frankie looming over his shoulder, a single cigarette aimed towards his face. After a moment of hesitation, he took it from her, accepting the lighter that followed. 

“Thanks,' he mumbled around the cigarette, before lighting it. He inhaled briefly, chuffing slightly. “They're singing, can you hear it?" 

“Huh, who?" 

“Listen." Jaro cocked his ear up, pausing. The Cujac refugees had made their camp almost a full kilometre away. They remained by the river, candles and lanterns raised up as the worried villagers tried to find some way to stave off the dark.

It was soft at first, but after a moment it became clear to the ears. A deep, rhythmic hymn. It might have been a requiem for those that died, or a song of hope to band the people together, Jaro couldn't tell. It was soothing, a constant, beating chant.

“They've been going at it for hours," Jaro added, shivering once again. 

“Struth, you're right." Frankie whistled, inhaling deep on her cigarette. “You gotta wonder, what the fuck exactly is it that keeps these people goin'?" 

“Right?" Jaro asked, laughing under his breath.

The moment passed easily, a comfortable silence settling between them. Jaro looked down, staring at the black river water bubbling by. It felt so paltry. All of their weapons, technology, and knowledge. The combined combat experience within Isla's team was exceptional and yet… 

Our best defence was a river. What if Ashani had followed them? She could have. She could easily have run alongside the bank, waiting for them to come ashore. Instead she watched them go. That was a message she sent. But why? 

He looked back at the refugee camp, still down there singing in the dark.

“I think we should put some distance," he said softly, jerking his chin towards what little remained of Cujac's people. “Between us and them, I mean. It's our fault their home was destroyed. I can't imagine they have much good will left towards us, especially with Ioana gone." 

“They got her too, huh?" Frankie whistled low. “Poor sod, she was a tough old sheila, huh? So you say we run, before they go and figure out it's us to blame?" 

“Well…" Jaro paused, shaking his head. “Sounds bad when you say it like that." 

“Nah, yeah I getcha mate." The dingo sighed, taking another deep drag, before flicking her butt out into the water. “Look, I'm wonderin' if maybe…" She bounced on her feet a moment, tsking. “If I wasn't a bit hard on ya, back in the marsh." 

Flicking his own butt after hers, Jaro sniffed, watching the small pinch of smoke as his cigarette was extinguished. “S'fine. I dunno how I would've taken news like that either." 

“You still ain't gonna bite me, yeah?" 

Jaro looked up at her, grinning as he reached up and pulled his upper lip back, flashing his ordinary wolf's teeth. “Not yet, anyway."

“Clown bastard," Frankie muttered, shoving her paws deep in her pockets as the wind picked up. Jaro looked back towards the trees on the horizon, searching for the figures he'd seen earlier.

There was no sign of them.

“I hate the dark here," Frankie admitted. “Never been much of a sook, but this place is… something ain't right about it."

“I know what you mean." The darkness in Nightworld felt different. It felt alive, like a tangible thing smothering the land. There was a shape to it, a feeling, one that made Jaro feel like he was drowning with no hope of escape. Was it just the knowledge of the vampires, and that the darkness was their realm? Or was it something more than that? 

“Hey, do you see that?" Frankie asked, craning forward. 

“Shit, what?" Jaro asked, scrambling to his feet, sidearm already in paw. He scanned the river banks, eyes peeled for enemies. 

Frankie clicked on her torch, aiming the beam into the middle of the river. “There." 

Jaro frowned as his vision adjusted, the sudden white light blinding in the darkness. Floating in the middle of the river was a small rowboat, one lone boot sticking up over the edge. “What the hell?"

“Oi, who's there?" Frankie cried, drawing her own pistol. Nothing came back from the boat. 

“A body?" Jaro asked, his unease growing. 

“Fuck it, take this," Frankie said, shoving the torch into Jaro's paws, scurrying back. She returned a moment later with a length of rope, quickly stringing a loop together before tossing it out at the boat. The rope missed on the first go, but after two more tries she managed to snag the notch along the front bow. 

“Gimme a paw mate," the dingo grunted, and Jaro stepped behind her, pulling the boat in. When it had nearly made it to shore they abandoned the tug, reaching forward and each seizing an edge, dragging it up onto the bank. They made sure it was clear of the water, and Frankie fetched her torch, shining it down inside. 

“Holy shit," Jaro said. 

“Said she was a tough old bitch," Frankie added, whistling. 

Unconscious and bloodstained, missing an arm that had been hastily bandaged up with torn clothing, but lying there in the boat and still alive, was Ioana.

Jaro stared in horror as the Cujac locals pressed a hot iron to Ioana's shoulder wound, the old fox crying incoherently as foul-smelling steam rose from her flesh. She tried to thrash against the iron, but several looped leather belts held her firm. 

“Now, the salves!" Barked one of the doctors, gesturing for a small gaggle of younger women to begin smearing colourful poultices over the mess of singed flesh and fur. Thankfully, Ioana was far from conscious, though she still continued to murmur and cry out against the aid.

“This isn't a good idea," Jaro mumbled to Noah, the big bear only watching with his arms crossed. “I should have treated her myself, they're gonna kill her."

“Gotta let them do it their way, son," Noah replied. “Imagine if we'd tried and she didn't make it anyway, how do you think they'd take that news?" 

After discovering Ioana in the boat on the riverbank, Frankie had run for the others while Jaro tried to keep the fox from getting any worse. Noah, Isla, and Jaro were the ones who spoke Wallachian best, and so the bear had bundled her up and they'd rushed her down to the village encampment as quickly as they could. 

Although the Cujac people were relieved to see one of their leaders alive, Jaro wasn't missing the sharp glances and empty faces looking their way. The people were still in shock, but he knew it was only a matter of time before that turned to rage. They'd want someone to blame sooner or later, and Jaro didn't think it was likely they'd go after the Cortège.

“Where is she!? Where is she?!" A broad voice cried, as Vasile burst into the large tent, wide-eyed and out of breath. He saw Ioana laying on the cot in the centre, and immediately shoved others from his way as he fell to his knees by her side, pressing his head to hers. “Ioana, oh, my sweet sister, I am thanking the Martyrs you live."

A chorus of small murmurs rippled through the tent, and even Ioana seemed to calm somewhat.

“A true miracle," 

“Salvation comes in the darkest places."

“Praise the Martyrs. August, Tyrin, Cluj."

“Forgive me, forgive me please sister," Vasile continued, seemingly oblivious to the others. “I should have been standing with you. My paws are yours, foolish they might be."

“She is not out of woods yet," Isla chimed in, helpfully. The Doberman sat to the edge of the tent, watching the scene with an expression approaching bemusement. “Vasile, you must move and let the others do their work." 

“Have you not done enough?" One of the guards snapped suddenly, stepping forward. Isla looked up at the man with a single cocked eyebrow. The guard was irate. “You people brought ruin and death to our home! Now you disrespect our leader?" 

“They also brought my sister home." A silence fell on the room as Vasile stood, gesturing for the medicine folk to continue their work. Next to him, Jaro felt Noah inhale deeply, quietly bracing. “Ioana would not have blamed our guests for the Cortège's wrath," the old fox leader went on. “The Daybreaker made no demands of us, she came only with Dracula's fury. We live on in penitence, and those we lost are Martyred."

“Vasile, they–"

“They nothing," Vasile hissed, silencing the dissenter. “Everybody out, let the medicine women work in peace." A beat passed. “OUT!"

The tent quickly cleared, even Isla standing to leave.  

“Slow down, other-worlder. I will be escorting you out of camp," Vasile said tersely, glancing about. Now that he stood closer, Jaro saw the old fox's eyes were bloodshot and puffy. 

Still hungover, he thought. 

“Come, come," Vasile said, pushing past and leading them out.

“Thank you," Noah added, as the group passed through the long rows of tents setup by the riverside. “You're very understanding, I'm not sure many others would be so patient with us." 

“I am only acting as Ioana would demand, were she with us now," the fox grunted back. “Were it up to me… who knows?" He shrugged. “But killing you will not bring back our homes. The rest of our people, they may not see things the way I do."

Jaro nodded, seeing mothers pulled their babies away, and families hurrying to crawl inside their tents in the group's wake. 

“I'm sorry, Vasile," he said. “We never meant for this to happen." 

“Of course. Nobody ever does. But people want meaning, when things like this happen they… are eager to blame. Do not be holding it against them, these are good people… but even the best of us can only take so much." 

“I've seen that before." 

“What will you be doing next?" Isla asked. 

Vasile shrugged. “Like the first Martyrs, we are what remains, and we shall do as they did. Find a new home, if we can. Hopefully, it is being far from this place." He stopped them at the edge of the Cujac encampment, staring into the cold night air. “I should have been there. I should have been fighting, protecting. Ioana bears my burden." 

An awkward moment passed, and Jaro found he didn't know what to say. 

“You," Vasile said suddenly, brushing Isla aside and turning on Jaro. The fox dwarfed him, both in height and width, and Jaro found himself tensing up. “Is it true? Chevron gave you a way to resist them?"

“I…" Jaro paused. He didn't want to give the man false hope, but surely they needed something. “She did, yes."

“And is it true you destroyed the Lady of the Deadlands? The Big House is empty?"

Jaro licked his lips, shifting in place. “We… we did, yes." 

Vasile relaxed, bowing slightly. “Martyr's preserve… this thing you have done, it is a great act for my people. The father of my father lived in fear of the Lady, and for decades so many have dreaded treading to the east. How Chevron has been surviving it, I know not. The vampires are keeping my people, even if Dracula would have allowed us, we could not be travelling or moving for fear of their territory. These actions are opening up an escape. If there is anything your people need from mine, you need only ask it." 

Isla pushed into the conversation then, looking between them. “There is. To the south there is another town, I am hearing it is called Brada. Tell me, what do you know of it?" 

A shadow fell over Vasile's face. He looked back at his camp of refugees, shivering even despite his thick fur coat. “I am telling you, only once… you must not travel to Brada."

“Why?" Noah asked, looking between Isla and the fox.

Vasile took a deep breath. “Brada is a mortal village, but not like Cujac. It is ruled by the Lambcatcher, and those that live in the town work in his factory, bleeding their own kind for Dracula's flesh pits. Brada has one rule; those who serve will not be food, so long as they make sure others are. The people will not help you, they will turn you over to the Lord of Blood, and he will feed you to his machine. Brada is an evil place, it is the great shame of all mortals in Wallachia, do not go."

“It's an abattoir," Jaro said to Isla. “We'll die there, and it will hurt the whole time we're dying." 

“Nothing is quick in the Steambreather," Vasile agreed. “The Lambcatcher's factory does not waste meat. They bleed the carcass for as long as they can." 

“Our people are in there," she said firmly, locking eyes with Jaro.

Vasile smiled wanly. “Then I tell you, if they went into the Steambreather, even if they are drawing breath as we speak? Your people are dead." He nodded, glancing back into his camp. “I must return to my own people. I wish you luck, but… I think it is best if you do not come back here, unless you absolutely must." 

“Thank you, for the help," Noah said. “Peace be with you and your people, truly, Vasile." 

“And may you walk in the Martyr's footsteps, but avoid their fate." 

Noah nudged Isla, and she shook her head. “My thanks for your helping. Good luck with your future."

Vasile gave them a slight bow, then turned his back on them, returning to what remained of Cujac. 

Noah, Isla, and Jaro began the trek back towards their own camp, a grim silence taking hold over the three of them. Jaro let himself plod along, trying to avoid the wettest patches of grass as they stuck close to the river. His mind continued to turn over what Vasile had said about the Steambreather. Vampires didn't simply kill for food, Jaro was beginning to understand that now. There was something they relished in the suffering. They craved the fear and pain of their prey. He shuddered, imagining what horrors had already befallen Team One.

“Are you still planning to take us to Brada, Isla?" He asked eventually, as they crossed a small rise. 

The Doberman paused for a moment, as if considering. Finally she said, “and I suppose you are thinking we should abandon our team?"  

“I mean, you heard what Vasile said. Brada is a death trap run by Dracula's head butcher. The whole town's built in the shadow of his factory, a factory which turns people into blood."

“You are believing their fairy tales then, Jaroslav? Have you not been paying attention? Nightworld craves myth – the vampire titles, these martyrs, all these stories are just another deterrent." 

“To be fair, I also think it's worth reconsidering our plans, Director," Noah added softly. “We shouldn't throw our lives away ignoring Vasile's warnings." 

The Doberman stopped suddenly, turning on them. “And if you were in there, Noah? Jaroslav, how about you? If it was you trapped inside a vampire meat grinder, under torture, with nothing but death in your future… would you want us to not even try to come for you?" 

Jaro sighed. “If it was me there instead of them, Isla, would you be so hellbent on going?"

“What the fuck is that supposing to mean?"

“It means I know that your husband was on Team One." 

“Kadir…" Isla shook her head, visibly struggling to keep her composure. She held up a finger, paw quivering. “There is a chain of command here, Jaro. This is a military operation, and I am the one making the tactical decisions, not you. Would you be giving up your chance of finding your cure, if Vasile told you it was dangerous?"

“Cure?" Noah asked, glancing between them. “First I'm hearing of a bloody cure."

“Jaro is infected with the vrykolakas parasite," Isla said, scoffing. “Are you sure you want to be trusting his judgement now, Father?"

“Jaro, lad… is that true?"

“Fuck you," Jaro snapped at Isla. 

“No, fuck you," she hissed, drawing closer. “You will listen to my command. Or you can go off by yourself, and see how far you'll be getting."

“Isla, this can be a conversation–" Noah started.

“You heard what they said about Brada, and about Steambreather!" Jaro tried. “Isla, please listen, Kadir and I saw the inside of the Godhead's Lament. We saw what these creatures can really do, and we saw just how many thralls and servants they have at their disposal. We're not an army, Isla. Our guns are barely more than useful here, you saw what Ashani did to Cujac, right? She wiped it off the face of the Earth in less than twenty minutes!"

“You killed the Lady, she was an ancient as well," Isla insisted. 

“Not like the others. Not like Romulus, not like Ashani."

“These people…" Isla gestured back at the Cujac camp. “They have spent centuries living under the control of these vampires. They are not knowing what it means to fight back. Think, Jaro. The Steambreather is an abattoir, it is the source of their power, their food. Do you know what happens to a hungry vampire?" 

“I remember the one that nearly killed my father," he replied. 

Noah raised his paws. “Just… take it easy now." He gave Jaro a soft look. “The one at your home, that thing was near death, it was dying. But Isla's not wrong, lad. When they grow hungry, they get desperate." 

“They are making mistakes," she added. “Because they are afraid. I love Fyodor, Jaro, but I won't send you to your death just for his sake. We need to rob the Cortège of their power, steal their resources, poison their wells." She snorted. “How are you thinking this mission ends? What do you think is the point where we say enough and go home?" 

“I…" He floundered. “I don't know, I guess. I thought it was… find a cure, establish a base…?" 

“We kill Dracula." Isla's eyes were firm, ice-cold. “There is no other way. He is their God, and the people from our home will not believe what exists here until it is too late. There is us and him. And I don't know a better way to hurt him than destroying that factory." 

Jaro turned away, putting his paws on his hips. She wasn't wrong, and he hated it.

“Fuck!" He cried, kicking a rock into the river. 

“Da. When you are done having tantrum, I will be back at camp," Isla said. “Make sure to rest. We make for Brada in the morning." And with that she left. 

Jaro dropped into a crouch, holding his head in his paws. “Fucking hell." Noah knelt behind him, laying one big paw on his shoulder and squeezing. 

“Come on laddie, it's alright now." 

“It isn't. We're all gonna die out here." 

“No one's dead yet, and we've faced two of the best they can throw at us."

“And lost both times." 

“Maybe," the big bear said. “But they lost too. You escaped Romulus, and we all survived Ashani."

“Why didn't she follow?" Jaro asked, breathing heavily. “What do they want?"

“Maybe they wanna see what we do next. We're as foreign to them as they are to us, don't let their propaganda start sinking in now, eh?" 

Jaro nodded, sucking his teeth. “I just wanted to tell my fucking Dad I was gay."

Beside him Noah paused, drawing in a tight breath. “Um… alright." He laughed. “I try to be ready for anything, you know, but I'm not sure I would have ever expected that." 

“I left home as soon as I could," Jaro explained. “Left Hungary, and signed up with the French Foreign Legion. Served as a medic in north Africa."

“You have been around… no wonder you're a trick with languages." When that vampire attacked, it was the first time in years we'd even been in the same room. And I never even got to the worst part." He sniffed, tears threatening behind his eyes. His cheeks suddenly burned as he realised how much he'd spilled. “Oh, Noah, I'm sorry. I didn't…" 

“Eh, it's fine," Noah said. “I've heard plenty of confessions in my time, son." 

Jaro laughed, wiping at his eyes. “Guess so."

“Don't worry." The bear squeezed harder. “We'll find your cure, and get you back to your Pa so you can make things right. But you need to trust Isla. She's a hard woman to take, I know, but she also knows what she's doing. Can you really blame her for hoping her husband is still alive?" 

“Yeah, I guess." Jaro sighed. “I still think we're gonna die down there." 

“Maybe, maybe not. We can't control that." 

Jaro inhaled deeply through his nose, closing his eyes as he slowly let the breath go. He could hear his own heartbeat, drumming in his ears. The night was still cold, prickling the edges of his tail. Out there, vampires walked. Even now people were probably being turned to mulch inside the Steambreather, watched on impassively by the Lambcatcher. 

Blood. Sanction. Avarice. Jaro counted them out. The Lambcatcher was the first, and Romulus the second. Ashani was the Lord of Avarice, whatever that meant. Did vampires have any use for gold? 

What was the last one? He tried to think back to the Deadlands, when they faced down the Lady in the Big House. She named four Dreadlords. 

It came back suddenly, as if he could see it on her thin scaled lips. Augury. None of the villagers had mentioned another Lord. It seemed impossible. Four creatures, each with the power of Ashani or Romulus? 

And Dracula. Their Emperor. He wanted to scream.

“Do you… you're a priest, right?" Jaro bit his tongue, already regretting it. “No, nevermind. This is stupid."

Noah laughed. “I was a priest, son, a lifetime ago. But I'm still a good listener, what's on your mind?" 

“Do you still believe in God, after coming here?" 

The bear's brows drew together. “Of course."

“How? I mean – doesn't Nightworld kinda throw a massive spanner into your whole theological concept of… everything?" Jaro shook his head. “One God and all that, so what? Was this made by a second God? Or did He make this place too? Like, why?"

“Maybe this is Hell, and we accidentally found the entrance." Noah smiled, the sarcasm clear. “Why does a loving God let bad things happen? You're asking questions that have been debated by theologians for hundreds of years. Why does Nightworld exist? I don't have these answers, Jaro, nobody does. But the way I see it, that's the faith part, isn't it? I don't need those answers to feel like God is with me."

“I'm starting to think I do," Jaro replied, staring out. “What a good Catholic I am." 

“It's not wrong to question," Noah said. “I believe faith is something that we must always strive to understand, even though we never really can. C'mon," he stood with a groan, offering a paw to Jaro, who let himself be helped to his feet. 

The two began to walk back towards the camp. Jaro couldn't decide if he agreed with Isla or not, but he supposed it didn't matter. She was in charge, so he'd just have to suck it up and trust her.

Kadir will be pleased. 

“I'm sure Kristian'll be looking for you again," Noah said, whistling as they reached the small cluster of tents. Devna, Kadir, and Frankie were sat around the small campfire in the centre, but Isla and Kristian had retreated off to their own devices. “Bloody infatuated ferret."

“Wh… the hell is that supposed to mean?" Jaro asked, blushing beneath his fur. “And I think he's a marten, not a ferret."

“Same thing." Noah shrugged. “All it means is that whenever I talk to the lad, it's always you he seems to be lookin' for." 

“That's… he's treating my… thing…"

Noah nodded slowly, clearly unconvinced. “Sure, if you say so."

“Goodnight, Noah."

“See you in the morning, Jaro."  

Well. Jaro thought, stealing a bag of rations from Kadir's pile, before making his way towards Kristian's tent. If it's me he's looking for…