In the Name of Justice: Chapter II
One of the differences between this version and the old one is that I've changed Judas' name to Julius. The Biblical reference was too much of a slap in the face for me. I've also fleshed out his character a whole lot more from 'stock bad guy', and honestly I'm a lot happier with the changes.
Link to old Chapter II
Chapter II
Living in the Dark
“That's correct,” said Dreizehn. “I did.”
Kranz's eyes widened as he waited for some sort of elaboration. When none came, he said, “But why?”
“I'm not sure. Maybe I just wanted to know what it felt like again.” Dreizehn turned towards the steps again, looked out at the castle gardens and the forests beyond, lit by the low quarter moon. Another breeze embraced him, lifting the folds of his cloak and the hair that fell across his face. Black upon black upon black, just like the nocturnal kingdom he ruled.
Kranz took a step forward. “With all due respect, Your Highness, you could have been killed.”
“Would that really be so bad?”
---
The journey to Rockwood took Justice down into the valley and through the many orchards that bordered the River Ousa. It was a pleasant enough walk, and one that allowed him to breathe in the scents of fresh apples in the late summer and, if he was lucky, pass one of the wading birds that occasionally stalked the shallows of the river in search of fish.
With a population of just over five hundred, Rockwood was far from being classified as a social hub, although the weekly market did draw in its fair share of buyers and traders from the nearby hamlets along the valley. Every Saturday, the town square was transformed into a cluster of stalls, filled with vendors selling everything from fruit, vegetables and meat to jewellery, books, clothes, herbal elixirs and, of course, fresh apple juice from the orchards - many of the vendors claiming them to be so fresh they'd been bottled just hours before.
The sun was just beginning to rise as Justice entered the market place. Many stalls were still being set up, whereas others were up and running, ready to catch the first visitors of the day. He ambled slowly between the stalls, peering idly at what was soon to be on offer.
In the distance, someone called his name.
He looked up to see a woman waving cheerfully at him from three rows away. Justice returned the gesture and cut across to her.
“Seems to me like you get here earlier every week.” Irina was in her middle ages, with heavy jowls and a head of straw-coloured hair tied into a bun on top of her head.
“Call it my natural body clock.”
Irina flashed him the smile that seemed an almost permanent feature of her face. She and her husband were anglers, usually operating their trade from their shop about a mile along the valley, where the river flowed through a trio of small lakes. Their stall had been a mainstay at the market for as long as Justice could remember, and they were always one of the first to set up - often because they ended up selling out by lunchtime.
Justice looked over the collection of silvery fins and blank eyes staring up at him. Trout and bream and even a pike at the back, lines of jagged teeth in a long mouth. It all smelt fresh now, but Justice suspected that wouldn't be the case after a few hours in the sun.
“If I may,” said Irina, and ran through her recommendations, explaining which fish were caught when and offering him discounts and special deals as a long-time customer. Justice ended up walking away with a pair of trout that had apparently been caught that morning.
“And you take care of yourself, love,” shouted the woman after him. “You never know what's lurking in those forests.”
It was always like this. Justice would drift from vendor to vendor, making light conversation here and there and picking up a thing or two. Then he would wander around the village for a little while. The most important thing was that he was seen.
The sound of children's voices made him look around. A boy and a girl, neither older than ten, were kicking a ball to one another outside a nearby house. The boy booted the ball so hard it bounced against the side of the house and flew towards Justice, rolling to a halt in front of him.
The boy looked at him expectantly. Smiling, Justice picked it up and walked it over to them.
“Thanks, Sir,” said the boy, taking it from him.
The door of the house swung open and out walked an angular woman in an apron. She snapped the boy's name like someone calling a dog and stared at Justice with narrow eyes. The boy looked from Justice to who could only be his mum and back again, hung his head and ran back into the house, the girl following after him.
Justice stood in the street, feeling like he'd just handed the boy a knife instead of his ball. The woman's eyes didn't leave him until she'd bustled her children back into the safety of her house and slammed the door shut.
*
“I wouldn't worry about it. You know how some people can be, especially when children are involved.”
Justice's last stop of the morning was at Hebborn's, the village smithy, owned by Arthur Hebborn and his two teenage sons. Arthur was well into his sixties, but years of swinging a hammer from dawn to dusk every day meant he still had the physique of someone half his age.
Right now, they were stood just inside the workshop. Arthur was bent shirtless over his anvil, polishing it with an old grey rag. Even from here, Justice could feel the heat of the furnace on the side of his face. He could imagine how unbearable it must be to work around it all day.
“I don't know,” said Justice. “She just seemed so... scared. Like I was about to hurt her son.”
“Were you?”
“Of course not.”
Arthur straightened up, sniffed loudly and turned to the man. “Look, I shouldn't really be telling you this. Just promise you'll keep it to yourself.”
Justice nodded, the irony of being asked to keep a secret by someone as they spilt it not lost on him.
Leaning in, Arthur muttered, “There was a week ago. A poacher was found dead in the forest about two miles west along the valley, throat slashed. Looked like he'd been robbed. Only - and this is the part you don't repeat - he'd been drained of blood.”
“You think an animal might have done it?” said Justice, eyebrows raising in shock.
“If you can name me an animal that neatly cuts its prey's throat then drains 'em of blood, I'd like to hear it,” snapped Arthur. He gestured with his finger. “My friend found the body. That's how I know. Apparently, the poor bastard was still warm. 'Course, people had to know about the murder, but the blood part we're keeping silent. Don't want to cause a panic.”
Justice paused before murmuring, “A vampire.”
“I only have the information I'm told.” Arthur shrugged. “But if word has somehow gotten out, people have a right to be suspicious of their neighbours. You know how the stories go. Vampires, witches, imps. The world's full of bastards out to get you.”
Justice snorted. “You believe in all that?”
“You don't?”
The look Arthur gave him was so penetrating that Justice had to look away. “Of course I do.” He shouldered his bag.
Seeing that Justice was about to leave, Arthur dropped his rag onto the anvil and pulled him into a short hug. “People like to fear what they don't see.” He slapped Justice hard across the back, knocking the air out of him. “Take care of yourself. You never know what's waiting for you in those woodlands.”
*
The sun was creeping gradually up into the sky as Justice made his way out of town, boots crunching against the dirt. Over his shoulder hung his bag with the fish and some fresh fruit and spices he'd picked up after.
The path home continued for about another half a mile along the valley floor before turning right into the forest. From there, Justice had to follow a mile of increasingly steep switchbacks before arriving at his house. Altogether, the journey from town took him about forty minutes. He didn't mind: the walk took him past Lera's farm at the base of the slopes, and no journey to Rockwood was complete without one of the free-roaming sheep coming up to him to solicit treats and scratches behind the ear.
A gust of wind slept along the valley, whipping black hair into Justice's face. He raised his hand to catch the loose strands, when something made him stop in his tracks.
He peered closely at the back of his hand. The skin was pink and blotchy, as if it had just come into contact with hot metal.
His heart sprung in alarm. He had to get to shelter now.
Not caring to check if anyone was watching him, Justice leapt into a sprint. His face had begun to tingle, and he knew that, like his hand, it would be starting to turn pink. He had minutes, if that, to reach his home before it ended.
When he reached the turning, he abandoned the path altogether and headed into the forest. It was a steep climb, the endless and roots and brambles that made up the floor meaning he had to constantly watch where he put his feet. The thick canopy provided some cover against the sun's rays, but it wasn't enough. His face was burning. His hands felt like they'd been dipped into boiling water.
Eventually, Justice rejoined the path. There, between the distant trees, sat his home. He sprinted towards it, pushing his legs onwards despite the pain that racked his body. He vaulted the wall, stumbled through the garden and threw himself at the door.
Locked. He cursed himself. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out the key and forced it into the lock with shaking hands. The door swung open.
Justice hit the ground on his side. With his last ounce of effort, he dragged himself forwards a few feet, hooked his boot around the edge of the door and slammed it shut, plunging the room into darkness.
The sound of his own shallow breaths was all Justice could hear for a minute. He tried to concentrate on the passage of air in and out of his lungs, but even that was agony.
After what felt like hours but was more likely a few minutes, Justice tried moving a leg. His skin felt brittle, like one fast movement would tear it open. Gasping, he tilted his head back and looked around the room before his eyes settled on the loose floorboard nearby. He reached out for it, trying not to look for too long at his hands, which even in the darkness were alarmingly red. Hooking his fingers underneath the floorboard, he pulled it aside and fumbled around inside the small hidden compartment until he found what he was looking for.
The bottle was about the length of a finger, half full of a thin milky liquid with a sandy sediment at the bottom. From the looks of it, he'd taken the same dose he always did. Half a bottle was normally enough to shield him from the sun's effects for up to four hours. Had he brewed it wrong? Missed out one of the ingredients? No, he would never make that kind of mistake, especially when the consequences were so dire. He'd barely escaped with his life today. Another few minutes in the sun and the situation would have been very, very different.
Unless, he thought with a shiver, he was becoming more resistant to the elixir.
The darkness was like cold water, soothing Justice's scalded skin with smooth fingers. It would be a while until the pain ended. A flesh wound like the one Julius had given him earlier that evening took minutes to heal. Justice estimated his burns would take days to heal. Weeks, even. He pushed the thought from his mind. At the moment, all he cared about was making the pain stop.
Clutching the bottle to his chest, Justice closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift into black.
*
Seven hours later, a fire blazed in the hearth and Justice knelt in front of it. He stared into the flames, so still that from the outside, he probably looked more like a statue than a man. A piece of charred wood collapsed in two, spitting out embers that drifted down onto the stone hearth and fizzled out into nothing.
He'd almost died today. Over and over, his mind revisited the moment he'd first noticed his skin reacting to the sun's rays, so much so it no longer seemed real to him. What if he'd been further away from home? What if someone had been around to see him? For all he knew, he had been spotted by one of the villagers as he ran for cover, and an angry mob was due at his house anytime soon.
For once in his life, that seemed like the least of his worries.
The bag he'd taken into the village sat by his side. Justice reached into it and took out the first of the fish Irina had sold him. The skin had turned a little slimy, the smell more overpowering than ever in the confined space. He stared into its glassy eyes for a moment, then dumped it onto the fire. The flames rose up to claim it.
Not like he had any use for it anyway.
He examined his hands by the light of the fire. Raw pink bubbles ran across the backs and up his wrists, many of them burst open. He poked one with a finger, then quickly wished he hadn't. His face, too, felt horrifically blistered, as if he'd been scalded with hot water. At some point in the daylight hours, he'd managed to drag himself from the floor to his bed, though he couldn't remember doing so. The time had passed in a fever of nightmares and cold sweat. Several times he'd woken up with wet eyes, helpless against the pain. At least, he realised, it took his mind off Julius' visit a day ago.
Justice threw the second fish onto the fire and followed it up with a couple of oranges. The combination of smells would likely have repulsed human noses, but Justice was used to this ritual. Of course, he kept some items back for the rare occasions when he received visitors, but most of the food he bought ended up like this. It was a simple but effective front, and one that disguised his true nature perfectly.
Well, almost perfectly.
He'd been careless with the poacher. Leaving a body in the woodland was just about the worst mistake his kind could make, especially so close to home. Usually he disposed of his prey, but he'd been interrupted and nearly seen by the man he now knew to be Arthur's friend. He'd considered killing him too, but unlike others of his kind, Justice knew only to take what he needed. After all, one death could so easily lead to another, and it was hard enough having one body on your hands, let alone five.
He remembered Arthur hugging him. For a moment, Justice had been pressed up against him, his face just inches from his throat where the blood flowed so close to the skin. Even for such a brief embrace, the desire to rip into him had been maddening.
Usually, Justice was able to survive off animals - a deer here, a few rabbits there. The blood itself was bland, much like he suspected eating grass must be like for humans, but it did the trick. After a few weeks, though, the craving for human blood always grew too much for him to bear. He allowed himself one kill a month. Mostly he went after murderers and violent criminals, people the world would do better without. Other times, it was wanderers and travellers. The poacher had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Red eyes glowed in the darkness, reflecting the light of the fire.
It was time to hunt again.
Next chapter→
Link to old Chapter II
Chapter II
Living in the Dark
“That's correct,” said Dreizehn. “I did.”
Kranz's eyes widened as he waited for some sort of elaboration. When none came, he said, “But why?”
“I'm not sure. Maybe I just wanted to know what it felt like again.” Dreizehn turned towards the steps again, looked out at the castle gardens and the forests beyond, lit by the low quarter moon. Another breeze embraced him, lifting the folds of his cloak and the hair that fell across his face. Black upon black upon black, just like the nocturnal kingdom he ruled.
Kranz took a step forward. “With all due respect, Your Highness, you could have been killed.”
“Would that really be so bad?”
---
The journey to Rockwood took Justice down into the valley and through the many orchards that bordered the River Ousa. It was a pleasant enough walk, and one that allowed him to breathe in the scents of fresh apples in the late summer and, if he was lucky, pass one of the wading birds that occasionally stalked the shallows of the river in search of fish.
With a population of just over five hundred, Rockwood was far from being classified as a social hub, although the weekly market did draw in its fair share of buyers and traders from the nearby hamlets along the valley. Every Saturday, the town square was transformed into a cluster of stalls, filled with vendors selling everything from fruit, vegetables and meat to jewellery, books, clothes, herbal elixirs and, of course, fresh apple juice from the orchards - many of the vendors claiming them to be so fresh they'd been bottled just hours before.
The sun was just beginning to rise as Justice entered the market place. Many stalls were still being set up, whereas others were up and running, ready to catch the first visitors of the day. He ambled slowly between the stalls, peering idly at what was soon to be on offer.
In the distance, someone called his name.
He looked up to see a woman waving cheerfully at him from three rows away. Justice returned the gesture and cut across to her.
“Seems to me like you get here earlier every week.” Irina was in her middle ages, with heavy jowls and a head of straw-coloured hair tied into a bun on top of her head.
“Call it my natural body clock.”
Irina flashed him the smile that seemed an almost permanent feature of her face. She and her husband were anglers, usually operating their trade from their shop about a mile along the valley, where the river flowed through a trio of small lakes. Their stall had been a mainstay at the market for as long as Justice could remember, and they were always one of the first to set up - often because they ended up selling out by lunchtime.
Justice looked over the collection of silvery fins and blank eyes staring up at him. Trout and bream and even a pike at the back, lines of jagged teeth in a long mouth. It all smelt fresh now, but Justice suspected that wouldn't be the case after a few hours in the sun.
“If I may,” said Irina, and ran through her recommendations, explaining which fish were caught when and offering him discounts and special deals as a long-time customer. Justice ended up walking away with a pair of trout that had apparently been caught that morning.
“And you take care of yourself, love,” shouted the woman after him. “You never know what's lurking in those forests.”
It was always like this. Justice would drift from vendor to vendor, making light conversation here and there and picking up a thing or two. Then he would wander around the village for a little while. The most important thing was that he was seen.
The sound of children's voices made him look around. A boy and a girl, neither older than ten, were kicking a ball to one another outside a nearby house. The boy booted the ball so hard it bounced against the side of the house and flew towards Justice, rolling to a halt in front of him.
The boy looked at him expectantly. Smiling, Justice picked it up and walked it over to them.
“Thanks, Sir,” said the boy, taking it from him.
The door of the house swung open and out walked an angular woman in an apron. She snapped the boy's name like someone calling a dog and stared at Justice with narrow eyes. The boy looked from Justice to who could only be his mum and back again, hung his head and ran back into the house, the girl following after him.
Justice stood in the street, feeling like he'd just handed the boy a knife instead of his ball. The woman's eyes didn't leave him until she'd bustled her children back into the safety of her house and slammed the door shut.
*
“I wouldn't worry about it. You know how some people can be, especially when children are involved.”
Justice's last stop of the morning was at Hebborn's, the village smithy, owned by Arthur Hebborn and his two teenage sons. Arthur was well into his sixties, but years of swinging a hammer from dawn to dusk every day meant he still had the physique of someone half his age.
Right now, they were stood just inside the workshop. Arthur was bent shirtless over his anvil, polishing it with an old grey rag. Even from here, Justice could feel the heat of the furnace on the side of his face. He could imagine how unbearable it must be to work around it all day.
“I don't know,” said Justice. “She just seemed so... scared. Like I was about to hurt her son.”
“Were you?”
“Of course not.”
Arthur straightened up, sniffed loudly and turned to the man. “Look, I shouldn't really be telling you this. Just promise you'll keep it to yourself.”
Justice nodded, the irony of being asked to keep a secret by someone as they spilt it not lost on him.
Leaning in, Arthur muttered, “There was a week ago. A poacher was found dead in the forest about two miles west along the valley, throat slashed. Looked like he'd been robbed. Only - and this is the part you don't repeat - he'd been drained of blood.”
“You think an animal might have done it?” said Justice, eyebrows raising in shock.
“If you can name me an animal that neatly cuts its prey's throat then drains 'em of blood, I'd like to hear it,” snapped Arthur. He gestured with his finger. “My friend found the body. That's how I know. Apparently, the poor bastard was still warm. 'Course, people had to know about the murder, but the blood part we're keeping silent. Don't want to cause a panic.”
Justice paused before murmuring, “A vampire.”
“I only have the information I'm told.” Arthur shrugged. “But if word has somehow gotten out, people have a right to be suspicious of their neighbours. You know how the stories go. Vampires, witches, imps. The world's full of bastards out to get you.”
Justice snorted. “You believe in all that?”
“You don't?”
The look Arthur gave him was so penetrating that Justice had to look away. “Of course I do.” He shouldered his bag.
Seeing that Justice was about to leave, Arthur dropped his rag onto the anvil and pulled him into a short hug. “People like to fear what they don't see.” He slapped Justice hard across the back, knocking the air out of him. “Take care of yourself. You never know what's waiting for you in those woodlands.”
*
The sun was creeping gradually up into the sky as Justice made his way out of town, boots crunching against the dirt. Over his shoulder hung his bag with the fish and some fresh fruit and spices he'd picked up after.
The path home continued for about another half a mile along the valley floor before turning right into the forest. From there, Justice had to follow a mile of increasingly steep switchbacks before arriving at his house. Altogether, the journey from town took him about forty minutes. He didn't mind: the walk took him past Lera's farm at the base of the slopes, and no journey to Rockwood was complete without one of the free-roaming sheep coming up to him to solicit treats and scratches behind the ear.
A gust of wind slept along the valley, whipping black hair into Justice's face. He raised his hand to catch the loose strands, when something made him stop in his tracks.
He peered closely at the back of his hand. The skin was pink and blotchy, as if it had just come into contact with hot metal.
His heart sprung in alarm. He had to get to shelter now.
Not caring to check if anyone was watching him, Justice leapt into a sprint. His face had begun to tingle, and he knew that, like his hand, it would be starting to turn pink. He had minutes, if that, to reach his home before it ended.
When he reached the turning, he abandoned the path altogether and headed into the forest. It was a steep climb, the endless and roots and brambles that made up the floor meaning he had to constantly watch where he put his feet. The thick canopy provided some cover against the sun's rays, but it wasn't enough. His face was burning. His hands felt like they'd been dipped into boiling water.
Eventually, Justice rejoined the path. There, between the distant trees, sat his home. He sprinted towards it, pushing his legs onwards despite the pain that racked his body. He vaulted the wall, stumbled through the garden and threw himself at the door.
Locked. He cursed himself. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out the key and forced it into the lock with shaking hands. The door swung open.
Justice hit the ground on his side. With his last ounce of effort, he dragged himself forwards a few feet, hooked his boot around the edge of the door and slammed it shut, plunging the room into darkness.
The sound of his own shallow breaths was all Justice could hear for a minute. He tried to concentrate on the passage of air in and out of his lungs, but even that was agony.
After what felt like hours but was more likely a few minutes, Justice tried moving a leg. His skin felt brittle, like one fast movement would tear it open. Gasping, he tilted his head back and looked around the room before his eyes settled on the loose floorboard nearby. He reached out for it, trying not to look for too long at his hands, which even in the darkness were alarmingly red. Hooking his fingers underneath the floorboard, he pulled it aside and fumbled around inside the small hidden compartment until he found what he was looking for.
The bottle was about the length of a finger, half full of a thin milky liquid with a sandy sediment at the bottom. From the looks of it, he'd taken the same dose he always did. Half a bottle was normally enough to shield him from the sun's effects for up to four hours. Had he brewed it wrong? Missed out one of the ingredients? No, he would never make that kind of mistake, especially when the consequences were so dire. He'd barely escaped with his life today. Another few minutes in the sun and the situation would have been very, very different.
Unless, he thought with a shiver, he was becoming more resistant to the elixir.
The darkness was like cold water, soothing Justice's scalded skin with smooth fingers. It would be a while until the pain ended. A flesh wound like the one Julius had given him earlier that evening took minutes to heal. Justice estimated his burns would take days to heal. Weeks, even. He pushed the thought from his mind. At the moment, all he cared about was making the pain stop.
Clutching the bottle to his chest, Justice closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift into black.
*
Seven hours later, a fire blazed in the hearth and Justice knelt in front of it. He stared into the flames, so still that from the outside, he probably looked more like a statue than a man. A piece of charred wood collapsed in two, spitting out embers that drifted down onto the stone hearth and fizzled out into nothing.
He'd almost died today. Over and over, his mind revisited the moment he'd first noticed his skin reacting to the sun's rays, so much so it no longer seemed real to him. What if he'd been further away from home? What if someone had been around to see him? For all he knew, he had been spotted by one of the villagers as he ran for cover, and an angry mob was due at his house anytime soon.
For once in his life, that seemed like the least of his worries.
The bag he'd taken into the village sat by his side. Justice reached into it and took out the first of the fish Irina had sold him. The skin had turned a little slimy, the smell more overpowering than ever in the confined space. He stared into its glassy eyes for a moment, then dumped it onto the fire. The flames rose up to claim it.
Not like he had any use for it anyway.
He examined his hands by the light of the fire. Raw pink bubbles ran across the backs and up his wrists, many of them burst open. He poked one with a finger, then quickly wished he hadn't. His face, too, felt horrifically blistered, as if he'd been scalded with hot water. At some point in the daylight hours, he'd managed to drag himself from the floor to his bed, though he couldn't remember doing so. The time had passed in a fever of nightmares and cold sweat. Several times he'd woken up with wet eyes, helpless against the pain. At least, he realised, it took his mind off Julius' visit a day ago.
Justice threw the second fish onto the fire and followed it up with a couple of oranges. The combination of smells would likely have repulsed human noses, but Justice was used to this ritual. Of course, he kept some items back for the rare occasions when he received visitors, but most of the food he bought ended up like this. It was a simple but effective front, and one that disguised his true nature perfectly.
Well, almost perfectly.
He'd been careless with the poacher. Leaving a body in the woodland was just about the worst mistake his kind could make, especially so close to home. Usually he disposed of his prey, but he'd been interrupted and nearly seen by the man he now knew to be Arthur's friend. He'd considered killing him too, but unlike others of his kind, Justice knew only to take what he needed. After all, one death could so easily lead to another, and it was hard enough having one body on your hands, let alone five.
He remembered Arthur hugging him. For a moment, Justice had been pressed up against him, his face just inches from his throat where the blood flowed so close to the skin. Even for such a brief embrace, the desire to rip into him had been maddening.
Usually, Justice was able to survive off animals - a deer here, a few rabbits there. The blood itself was bland, much like he suspected eating grass must be like for humans, but it did the trick. After a few weeks, though, the craving for human blood always grew too much for him to bear. He allowed himself one kill a month. Mostly he went after murderers and violent criminals, people the world would do better without. Other times, it was wanderers and travellers. The poacher had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Red eyes glowed in the darkness, reflecting the light of the fire.
It was time to hunt again.
Next chapter→