Hunters of the Dusk (The Saga of Darren Shan 7)

Chapter NINETEEN

FOR Along time nothing was said. Harkat, Mr. Crepsley and me stared at Vancha, whose eyes were fixed on the ground. Overhead the moon had vanished behind thick banks of cloud. When they finally parted, Vancha began to talk, as though prompted by the moonbeams.

"My real name's Vancha Harst," he said. "I changed it when I became a vampire. Gannen's a year or two younger than me - or is it the other way round? It's been so long, I can't remember. We were very close growing up. We did everything together - including joining the vampaneze.

"The vampaneze who blooded us was an honest man and a good teacher. He told us exactly what our lives would be like. He explained their ways and beliefs, how they looked upon themselves as the guardians of history by keeping alive the memories of those they drank from." (If a vampire or vampaneze drains a person's blood, he absorbs part of their spirit and memories.) "He said vampaneze killed when they drank, but did it swiftly and painlessly."

"That makes it OK?" I snorted.

"To the vampaneze, yes," Vancha said.

"How can you-" I started to explode.

Mr. Crepsley stopped me with a soft wave of his hand. "This is not the time for a moral debate. Let Vancha talk."

"There's not a whole lot more to tell," Vancha said. "Gannen and I were blooded as half-vampaneze. We served together for a few years as assistants. I couldn't accustom myself to the killing. So I quit."

"As simply as that?" Mr. Crepsley asked sceptically.

"No," Vancha said. "The vampaneze normally don't permit assistants to live if they choose to part company with the clan. No vampaneze will kill one of his own, but that law doesn't apply to a half-vampaneze. My master should have killed me when I said I wanted out.

"Gannen saved me. He pleaded for my life. When that failed, he said our master would have to kill him also. In the end my life was spared, but I was warned to avoid all vampaneze in future, including Gannen, whom I never saw again until tonight.

"For several years I lived miserably. I tried feeding as vampires do, not killing those I fed upon, but vampaneze blood exerts a powerful hold. I'd lose control when I fed, and kill in spite of myself. In the end I made up my mind not to feed at all, and die. It was then that I met Paris Skyle, who took me under his wing."

"Paris blooded you?" Mr. Crepsley asked.

"Yes."

"Even though he knew what you were?"

Vancha nodded.

"But how can you blood someone as a vampire if he's already been blooded as a vampaneze?" I asked.

"It is possible for those who are not fully blooded," Mr. Crepsley said. "A half-vampire can become a vampaneze, and vice versa, but it is dangerous and rarely attempted. I know of only three other cases - and twice it ended in death, for both the blooder and the blooded."

"Paris knew the risks," Vancha said, "but didn't tell me about them until afterwards. I wouldn't have gone through with it if I'd known his life was in danger."

"What did he have to do?" Harkat asked.

"Take my blood and give me his, the same as any ordinary blooding," Vancha said. "The only difference was, half my blood was vampaneze, which is poisonous to vampires. Paris took my tainted blood, and his body's natural defences broke it down and rendered it harmless. But it could have easily killed him, just as his blood could have killed me. But the luck of the vampires was with us - we both survived, though our agonies were great.

"With my vampaneze blood transformed by Paris's blood, I was able to control my feeding urges. I studied under Paris and in time trained to be a General. My vampaneze links were revealed to no one except the other Princes."

"They approved of your blooding?" Mr. Crepsley asked.

"After I'd proven myself many times - yes. They worried about Gannen - they were afraid my loyalties would be divided if I met him again, as they have been tonight - but they accepted me and vowed to keep my true history a secret."

"Why wasn't I told about you?" I asked.

"Had I come to Vampire Mountain while you were there, you would have been told. But it's impolite to speak of one when he's absent."

"This is damned frustrating," Mr. Crepsley grunted. "I understand why you did not speak of it before, but if we had known, I could have gone after your brother and left you to take care of that giant in the trees."

"How was I to know?" Vancha smiled weakly. "I didn't see his face until I was moving in for the kill. He was the last person I expected to run into."

Behind us, Evanna emerged from between the trees. Her hands were red with the blood of dead vampaneze. She was carrying something. As she got closer, I realized it was my missing thumb. "Found this," she said, tossing it to me. "Thought you might like it back."

I caught the thumb, then looked down at the stump where it had been cut off. I hadn't been aware of the pain while listening to Vancha talk, but now the throbbing intensified. "Can we stitch it back on?" I winced.

"Possibly," Mr. Crepsley said, examining the stump and thumb. "Lady Evanna - you have the power to connect it immediately and effortlessly, do you not?"

"I do," Evanna agreed, "but I won't. Snoops don't deserve special favours." She wagged a finger at me. "You should have been a spy, Darren." It was hard to tell whether she was annoyed or amused.

Vancha had string and a needle made from fish bone, and while Mr. Crepsley held my thumb in place, the Prince stitched it back on, even though his thoughts were elsewhere. It hurt tremendously, but I just had to look away and grit my teeth. The stitching completed, the vampires rubbed their spit around the join, to quicken the healing process, strapped the thumb tight to my fingers so that the bones could fuse, then let me be.

"That is the best we can do," Mr. Crepsley said. "If it gets infected, we will chop it off again and you will have to make do without."

"That's right," I growled. "Look on the bright side."

"It's my head you should be chopping off," Vancha said bitterly. "I should have put duty before kinship. I don't deserve to live."

"Nonsense!" Mr. Crepsley huffed. "Any man who would strike a brother is no man at all. You did what any of us would have done. It is unfortunate that you ran into him now, but we have not been harmed by your slip, and I think-"

He stopped at a sudden burst of laughter from Evanna. The witch was giggling wildly, as if he'd cracked a great joke.

"Did I say something funny?" Mr. Crepsley asked, bemused.

"Oh, Larten, if only you knew!" she squealed.

He raised an eyebrow at Vancha, Harkat and me. "What is she laughing at?"

None of us knew.

"Never mind why she's laughing," Vancha said, stepping forward to confront the witch. "I want to know what she was doing here in the first place, and why she was consorting with the enemy while pretending to be our ally."

Evanna stopped laughing and faced Vancha. She grew magically, until she was towering over him like a coiled cobra, but the Prince didn't flinch. Gradually the menace drained out of her and she resorted to her standard shape. "I never claimed to be your ally, Vancha," she said. "I travelled with you, and broke bread with you - but I never said I was on your side."

"Does that mean you're on theirs!" he snarled.

"I take nobody's side," she replied coolly. "The divide between vampires and vampaneze is of no interest to me. I look upon you as silly, warring boys, who will one night come to their senses and stop spitting angrily at one another."

"An interesting view," Mr. Crepsley remarked ironically.

"I don't understand," I said. "If you aren't on their side, what were you doing with them?"

"Conversing," she said. "Taking their measure, as I did with you. I've sat with the hunters and studied them. Now I've done likewise with the hunted. Whichever way the War of the Scars goes, I'll have to deal with the victors. It's good to know in advance the calibre of those to whom your future is tied."

"Can anyone make sense of this?" Vancha asked.

Evanna smirked, delighted by our confusion. "Do you fine, fighting gentlemen read mystery novels?" she asked. We stared at her blankly. "If you did, you'd have guessed by now what's going on."

"Have you ever hit a woman?" Vancha asked Mr. Crepsley.

"No," he said.

"I have," Vancha grunted.

"Temper," the witch giggled, then grew serious. "If you have something that is precious, and others are looking for it, where is the best place to hide it?"

"If this rubbish continues..."Vancha warned.

"It's not rubbish," Evanna said. "Even humans know the answer to this one."

We thought about it in silence. Then I raised a hand, as though in school, and said, "Out in the open, in front of everyone?"

"Exactly," Evanna applauded. "People searching - or hunting - rarely find what they seek if it's placed directly before them. It's common to overlook that which is most obvious."

"What does any of this have to do with-" Mr. Crepsley began.

"The man in the robes... was no servant," Harkat interrupted grimly. Our heads turned questioningly. "That's what we overlooked... wasn't it?"

"Precisely," the witch said, and now there was a touch of sympathy to her tone. "By dressing and treating him as a servant - as they have since they took to the road - the vampaneze knew he'd be the last target anyone would focus on in the event of an attack." Holding up four fingers, Evanna slowly bent the index one over, and said, "Your brother didn't run because he was afraid, Vancha. He fled to save the life of the man he was protecting - the fake servant - the Lord of the Vampaneze!"

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