Blood Red Moon Prologue: Moon Rise
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters portrayed in this work
of fiction, nor do I wish to receive credit for their creation or usage
beyond what happens in this fic. Comments, quips, insults, flames and death
threats should be sent to Platinum_Dragon@usinternt.com
This is based on the OVA characters in the TenchiVerse, and on
Castlevania64 - NOT Legacy of Darkness.
*****
On a high tower, stabbing far into the night sky under a full, blood
red moon like some titanic, bloody dagger, there rose a wind. That wind
swept down, flying around the tower, and into an ancient, and dark castle.
Not dark, in the sense that it lacked light, though to be sure there were no
lights here, but dark in the sense of a chill that could freeze the soul
just feeling it. Dark, in the way that it pressed in on a person, until
they found themselves wondering how they were still able to breath, how
their heart still managed to beat. Down, the wind blew, through long
abandoned halls and passages stale with age. Down, until it reached a long
unused drawbridge, and gusted out, the scent of the long forgotten castle
strong on its breath.
The wind blew on, through a forest that was nearly as old as the castle
it surrounded, and, in some ways, nearly as dark. Trees that had stood
watch over the land for centuries creaked slightly in the breeze; no animals
played here, no sane human, truly, few insane humans stepped within its
outer limits, and certainly none that did ever left. Tree trunks that were
twisted and knarled as though some giant hand had reached down and broken
them, then repaired them, and broke them again offered no places for young
lovers to hide in their joy, no peaceful places where one might sit to read
or simply think. Only silence screamed within this forest, yet for as dead
as it was, there was a powerful presence that loomed over it all, one that
watched. The wind, as though feeling that eyeless gaze, hurried on its way.
Far across the land it flew, pulling with it a taste of the castle that
grew weaker the farther it went, but never quite died away. Finally, far,
far away from where it had been born, the wind reached a hilltop just as two
figures crested it. One of the pair was tall, a blond haired and roughly
handsome man. He wore a thick, fur lined coat, with a woolen shirt
underneath it, and sturdy pants of the same material. At his right side,
there hung a long leather whip, a whip that bore with it an age as old as
the castle. On his left hip, a short sword forged of silver hung, silver
that had been blessed by the great priests of the land, and quenched in holy
water. Tied about his neck was a scarlet scarf that flapped gently in the
breeze; a gift to him from the woman that he loved.
Beside him was a young girl, at best only twelve or thirteen years of
age; at first glance, one wondered if she was even old enough to be away
from home. But a closer look revealed that, though her body was young, she
seemed the older of the pair by far. Her skin was so pale that her golden
eyes and silvery-cyan hair were a startling contrast, especially with the
light of that bloody red moon gleaming off of them. A gray and blue dress
rustled a little as the wind gusted past them, and she shivered, though not
from any chill that the wind carried with it, but rather the faint stale,
evil scent she could barely smell.
Reinhart Schneider, twenty four year old vampire hunter, and heir to
the Belmont family's power, looked to his companion, Carrie Fernandez. She
was the only survivor of her family, who had been slaughtered by a pack of
werewolves when she was only six years old. For one so young, she was an
extremely powerful mage, and though she was only twelve, he would have
trusted her to cover her back before any man twice her age. He could think
of no one that he'd rather have at his side in his mission, as he lightly
touched the scarf, resettling it after it had been blow out of place. A
long, deep tolling rolled across the land, the sound soft, and yet, somehow,
terrifying all the same.
They looked in the direction the wind had come from, to where the very
top of a light-stained tower could be seen, the tip piercing the orb of the
red moon. That was their destination; the tip of that very tower. The
tower of the evil Castlevania, and there, the chamber where He slept. Only
days before, it had risen from its lake once again, as it did every one
hundred years, and that, Reinhart knew, could only mean one thing; that
soon, Count Vlad Tepes Dracula would soon awaken. When the moon next rose
bloody and full in the night, and shown its light into that very tower, the
Master of Evil would awaken. They began to pick their way down the hill,
toward a nearby village.
Dracula's foul touch could already be seen in the land, as werewolves
and vampires began to become more bold, striking out against travelers in
greater numbers than they had for almost a hundred years. Indeed, they had
already fought their way through one such group; his side still throbbed
where one werewolf had managed to get past his defenses. That was why they
moved quickly now, to reach that village, for they did not wish to tempt
Death again just yet. Soon, they had reached the town, surrounded by its
high wall. Light streamed through a window high up on the wall, next to the
gate, creating a bright pool that they gladly stepped into.
"Hello! We ask admittance to the village and protection from the evils
of the night!" called Reinhart. For a long moment, voices drifted down to
them, too soft to make out; then slowly, a man poked his head out the
window.
"State your names, and why you are out in this godforsaken night!" he
shouted.
"My name is Reinhart Schneider, and my companion is Carrie Fernandez;
we were told in the last village that we could reach this place in a day if
we left with the dawn; they neglected to mention that we had to be riding
horses as well. We'd have been here sooner, but we ran into a group of
werewolves on our way," he replied. The gate master glared at them.
"What proof can you offer that you are not merely vampires in disguise,
waiting to be invited in?" he growled. Reinhart shook his head.
"None, sir, but our own assurances that we merely wish the safety of a
village to spend our night in," he said. "I know it is late, friend, but it
is the best we can offer." The gate master looked at them for a few moments
more, and then disappeared from the window. After a minute, the huge gate
slowly swung open, until it was just wide enough for them to squeeze
through. The gate master met them near the base of the wall, one hand never
straying from his sword. "Can you tell us of a decent inn that would take
in travelers at this late hour, sir?" The man squinted at them in the dim
light, and then nodded.
"Go straight up this road; The Morning's Light is the only inn still
open at this ungodly hour," he replied. Reinhart thanked him, and pressed
three fat golden crowns into his hand.
"Our apologies for rousing you so late at night, friend; thank you for
believing us," he told him. The gate master grinned for a moment,
pleasantly surprised, and then waved them on; Reinhart and Carrie walked
down the street.
"Fool," muttered Carrie. "He was so certain that his window would
protect him, his gate keep him safe. A single demon could slice that gate
to pieces." Reinhart gave her a fond smile.
"Be at ease, Carrie," he said, waving about the street. It was
completely empty; nothing moved at all. They heard a stray dog howling at
that baleful moon, but even that was a tentative sound. "Men and women
huddle within their homes at night, hoping that the village will be enough
to keep them safe; it is all they have to keep their hope alive." She shook
her head.
"They stick their heads in the sand, too afraid to breath for
themselves; is it a wonder that Dracula keeps coming back here?" she said.
Reinhart shook his head. He knew that she was right, of course; in many
villages, indeed, in many of the larger cities, vampires and wolf-men both
walked the streets at night.
"Perhaps... But that is why we are around, is it not?" he said,
smiling. Carrie gave him a dry look, but said no more as they reached the
doorway of the inn. A sign hung above the entrance, of the sun rising over
the horizon; the Morning's Light, indeed. Reinhart pushed the door open,
and let Carrie through before following her in. Even for this late hour,
there were still a few people in the common room; people that, Reinhart was
sure, did not wish to walk out in the dark night. The innkeep, a short,
lithe man with a somewhat grimy towel half stuffed into a pocket looked at
them, raising an eyebrow.
"Welcome to the Morning's Light, Master, Mistress. Rooms for the
night?" he asked, in a soft tenor. Pulling out his coin purse, Reinhart
asked the price for two rooms and what ever it was he could smell cooking,
not bothering to try bartering it down. It was a fair price. A serving
wench brought out the bowls of thick, steaming stew; she tried
half-heartedly to flirt with Reinhart, but left when she saw that he wasn't
paying attention. Carrie shook her head, very faintly grinning. After
finishing their meal in relative silence, they each retired to their rooms.
Reinhart shrugged his way out of his pack, and tossed it on the bed
before pulling off the heavy coat. It was actually a touch warmer than he
needed, but as he saw the large blood stain on the shirt under it, he was
glad that he'd warn it; had the coat been any thinner, the werewolf would
have likely lain his entire side open rather than just slicing up the shirt
and coat. Carrie had healed the wound itself, after making sure that he
wasn't infected.
Sighing, Reinhart pulled the shirt over his head, and tossed it into
the fireplace, where it smoldered a minute before abruptly bursting into
thick, oily smoke that slowly made its way up and out of the smoke stack.
No, he hadn't been infected with Lycanthropy - his bloodline almost
precluded that - but it was better to be safe than sorry. Digging through
his pack produced only two more shirts. One was tattered nearly to rags; he
saved that to use for cleaning his sword. The other was decently
serviceable, and he lay it over the chair, making a mental note to stop at a
tailor shop before they moved on the next day.
Setting his pack aside, Reinhart lay down on the bed, and placed his
whip on the night stand beside him. He had no fears that it might be
stolen; the holy whip of the Belmonts could not be touched by evil. A
slight, prideful smile touched his lips, and then the darkness of sleep
stole over him.
Reinhart grinned, as he stepped into the bustling town square, and
looked around excitedly. Aarin, his instructor, had given him a whole week
off of training, while he took some of the older students on a training
mission to the south, where a vampire had been terrorizing one of the
smaller villages recently. Reinhart would have loved to go with them, but
still, this was a treat; it was just in time for the birthday of one of the
greatest heroes of Romania, Simon Belmont. Not once, but four times had the
legendary man battled Count Dracula, and forced him back into his hundred
year slumber.
All ready, the square was bustling with activity in preparation for the
festivities that night. People rushed back and forth, getting buying this
or that, or carrying gifts that would be handed out later. Delicious smells
of roast pig and lamb wafted through the air on a light breeze,
mouth-watering hints of what the evening would bring with it. Reinhart
grinned again; he couldn't wait.
Slowly, he picked his way through the throng, occasionally looking at
the various wares displayed by the hawkers. Mostly, he was looking for
something to wear that evening. As an apprentice vampire hunter, most of
his clothing was made for functionality rather than formality. He needed
something that didn't all but shout that he was a vampire hunter, but none
the less, he found himself pausing at every table displaying swords and
other such blades, now and then picking one up to inspect it.
As he straightened from one such stand, Reinhart accidentally backed
into a young lady, whose arms were filled to bursting with tied packages.
With a startled gasp, she stumbled backwards, the packages flying in all
directions, and her foot caught on a partly over turned stone. Before she
could really start to fall, though, Reinhart reached out to catch her,
reflexes made for fighting creatures that could move faster than the eye
spurring him into motion almost before she'd begun to go down.
Pulling her back up to her feet, Reinhart gave her an apologetic smile,
and finally got a good look at her. The girl was about his age, and wore a
simple enough red dress, with just a tiny bit of lace at the ends of her
sleeves and about her neck. Her skin was a tanned alabaster, though now it
began flushing red with embarrassment. She had a rosebud of a mouth, a
pert, slightly upturned nose, and deep blue eyes. Her hair was gathered
into a tight bun at the back of her head, and held in place with two pearl
tipped pins. Now it was Reinhart who felt he was falling; he noticed that
she was a little less than a head shorter than himself.
"I'm sorry," he told her, once she was steady on her feet again. "I
honestly didn't realize that you were behind me miss; perhaps I was blinded
by your beauty." She blushed again, and shook her head.
"No, no - I should have been paying more attention to where I was
going," she said. "It was my fault, not yours." She bent, and started
gathering the packages that she'd dropped when he'd run into her; with a
jerk, he started moving, picking them up quickly. She looked up at him in
surprise.
"Please, let me help. It was my fault, miss, and would be the least
that I could do after being so clumsy," he told her, smiling again.
"You really don't have to-" she began. He shook his head.
"I insist. Please," he repeated. Blushing scarlet to her hair line,
she finally gave in and nodded to him. Standing, with his arms now brimming
with the packages, he let her lead him through the square, and into the
town.
"I should like to know your name, so that I may properly thank you once
we arrive," she said quietly, once her blush had faded. He looked at her
over the packages.
"Reinhart Schneider, at your service. May I ask the same, miss?" he
asked She looked up at him, and smiled just a trifle.
"I am Rosa," she replied. "Please, tell me a little about the
gentleman that has come to my rescue," she said. Reinhart found himself
almost missing a step, and had to move fast to keep the packages from going
flying again; Rosa giggled quietly. Inwardly, he groaned; if Aarin heard
that all it took to set him off balance was a simple question, his teacher
would have his hide.
"There really isn't all that much to tell. I was born to a small, but
proud family in the eastern province, and two years ago I was bundled up and
sent to Aarin's school without so much as a goodbye kiss from my mother," he
said slowly. Rosa stopped, and stared at him in surprise.
"You're one of those that train with Aarin? Gee... My brothers have
always wanted to go there, but Father forbids it. He thinks that its
nonsense, to teach young men how to fight vampires, and that it should be
left to the elders. Tell me what you do there," she said. Reinhart grinned
in spite of himself.
"Mostly we train. Learning how not to stab ourselves in the foot with
a sword, or to keep a vampire from hypnotizing us," he replied. She smiled
at him, and Reinhart almost tripped again.
"That sounds interesting. I'm sure that my brothers would love it,"
she told him. He shook his head.
"It isn't a profession to be taken lightly. One of the older students
learned that when a vampire handed him his own head on one of the more
recent training missions," he told her. The somber comment brought them to
an uneasy silence. Rosa led him a ways farther down the road, to a tall,
old house. Reinhart found himself tilting his head back just to try and see
the top.
"This is where we must part, I'm afraid," she told him, smiling again.
Reinhart carefully set the packages down on the porch for her, and then
bowed to her, suddenly wondering if she would be going to the dance that
evening. Almost as if she was reading his thoughts, she spoke as he
straightened. "Are you by any chance going to the dance this evening?" He
looked at her in surprise, and she blushed a little.
"I more than likely will be, though I am going alone. Aarin gave
myself and a few of the other apprentices the week off, while he and some of
the other more advanced students went south to take care of the vampire
that's been showing up there," he replied. "Are you, if I may ask?" She
gave him a wide smile.
"No, though I would very much like to. Father said that none of my
sisters and I could go without an escort. He took us all long ago, but now
he just doesn't get the chance. His position on the town council sees to
that," she sighed. "I wish that he would stop treating us all like we were
breakable porcelain. She looked at him a moment, and then, suddenly seeming
to realize that she'd spoken her last thought aloud, blushed scarlet once
again. Inspiration struck him, and Reinhart smiled.
"Well, if you would have me, I would be glad to escort you," he told
her. She looked at him in surprise, and then smiled broadly, laughing.
"It seems that you'll be coming to my rescue again," she said. "I
would love to have you as an escort, Reinhart. Don't worry about Father - I
can talk him into almost anything," she finished, with a mischievous grin.
Reinhart suddenly found himself wondering if she had purposely lead the
conversation in this direction, so that he would... No, that had to be just
his own ego talking.
"Is seven o'clock a good time to come back for you?" he asked her. She
nodded, and then, to his great surprise, stood up on her tiptoes and gave
him a quick peck on the cheek. Then she spun, not giving him a chance to
respond, and snatched up the packages, disappearing into the house faster
than he could follow, leaving a very bewildered Reinhart to stare after her.
That had just been an accident, when he'd bumped into her, wasn't it? No...
That had to just be his imagination.
Turning, Reinhart headed back toward the square, to get his formal wear
for that evening. After all, he didn't want to look like he'd just rolled
out of a haystack, if he was going to be escorting the most beautiful woman
that he'd ever met to the dance. Grinning as that started to sink in,
Reinhart began to hum a quick tune.
Later that evening, Reinhart approached the house again as the sun
began to slide low beneath the horizon, its light glaring off the windows
that covered the house's front. On the other side of the sky, the moon was
starting a slow climb into the oncoming night, large and full, and seeming
as bright as the sun in its own way. He could hear the festival, already in
full swing, even this far from the town square, and grinned again in
anticipation.
The new coat and pants that he had finally bought felt rather gaudy,
compared to what he was used to. Black pants, a white shirt that clung a
little uncomfortably about his neck, and a formal coat with thread-of-gold
embroidered sleeves; frowning, he squirmed inside them a little in a wasted
effort to get them settled a little more comfortably. At his side hung his
silver short sword - a gift Aarin gave to all of his students the day that
they enrolled - tied with a thin blue ribbon to show that he intended no
violence with it. Aarin always had said that he should always have at least
one solid weapon with him at all times, even if he was just poking his head
out the door for a breath of fresh air. Sighing, and straightening the
carnation that he'd pinned to his collar slightly, Reinhart moved up the
steps, and knocked lightly on the door.
It was opened by a man that was head and shoulders and then some taller
than Reinhart was. He was old; his scalp was covered with steel gray hair,
and his thick mustache and beard had only a peppering of black among the
gray. Dark, dark blue eyes gazed at Reinhart with an intensity that
strongly reminded him of a vampire's gaze, but no vampire could possibly
root him to the spot as well as this man was. He wasn't sure that he could
have moved had he seen a pack of werewolves coming for him.
"You must be the young man that Rosa is so interested in," he said in a
deep voice, looking Reinhart up and down. He frowned slightly at the short
sword, but what ever his impression, he didn't seem interested in sharing
with Reinhart. "I'll tell you now, and I'll tell you simply, boy. I think
that that Vampire Hunter's schooling is foolish business. Children trying
to do what should be left to their elders. But I never could refuse Rosa
anything, so I'll give you your chance, but so help me, if you hurt her..."
He trailed off, and let the threat hang implied in the air; much to
Reinhart's relief; he had few doubts that the man could carry it out.
Turning, he entered the house; when he realized that Reinhart wasn't
following him, he looked back at the young vampire hunter sourly. "Well?
Are you just going to stand there looking a fool, or are you going to come
in?" Reinhart jerked into motion, and came through the door, closing it
carefully behind him. The older man - Rosa's father, he was sure -
disappeared into another room, signaling him to wait there. Reinhart
nodded, and paused in the entryway. After a few moments, he returned, Rosa
walking just ahead of him.
Reinhart had to struggle hard to keep from gasping in amazement. She'd
changed out of the simple red dress that she had been wearing earlier, and
into a blue silk dress. Frothy white lace surrounded her neck, and spilled
down to follow the neckline of the dress, which plunged just low enough to
catch the eye, but not be too revealing; more lace adorned the sleeves. The
material hugged lightly to the natural curves of her chest and waist, and
then flared out over her hips, reaching nearly to the ground. A slit
reached up each side of the dress nearly to her thighs, so she could move
freely.
Her golden hair, which had been tucked into a bun before, was now
undone and spilled down to her waist, swaying freely in time with her
movements. A touch of rouge colored her cheeks; her lips had been painted a
light crimson. Around her neck was a thin golden chain, which supported a
small sapphire set in silver. She smiled at him softly, and then blushed as
he continued to stare at her, speechless. The silence began to stretch out
slightly, and then was snapped in two, as her father spoke.
"I expect that Rosa will be back by midnight. Beyond that, you are to
enjoy yourselves," he said, before turning to face his daughter. "Have a
good evening, Rosa." He kissed her on the cheek, and then gave Reinhart one
last, firm look, leaving absolutely no doubt what would happen if she didn'
t. Then he turned on his heel, and disappeared back into the study. Rosa
came towards him.
"I hope that he wasn't too hard on you. As I said before, he treats us
as if we were all porcelain," she said softly, in that musical tone of hers.
He smiled, and shook his head.
"No, not at all. Just a few words to the wise," he replied, offering
her his arm. She smiled, and accepted it, and they stepped into the
evening. Music drifted toward them as they made their way toward the town
square; laughing and shouting filled the air. Reinhart couldn't help but
notice that, while he felt like a nervous wreck, she appeared to be crystal
calm. With an effort, he forced himself to at least attempt to mirror her
serenity; she noticed him trying out of the corner of her eye, and smiled
slightly.
They reached the town square, where a large platform had been erected
to dance upon. Already, though the night was only just beginning, dozens of
people were on it, turning and swinging about in pairs, although the stage
wasn't nearly full as of yet. A band was playing an old march that Reinhart
thought he recognized, and beside them a small orchestra was getting ready
to join in. Dozens of multicolored tents had sprung up with games inside to
play, or food could be served, and well away from the stage, a huge bonfire
had just been lit, burning away the night. Rosa looked at him, grinning,
and then pulled Reinhart toward the stage.
It was just as they reached the stage that Reinhart finally remembered
that he'd been born with two left feet, as far as dancing went. Aarin
always said that he couldn't make heads or tails of it for the life of him;
how could a man practice the sword so fluidly, and be so incredibly clumsy
when he tried to dance. It was as though his boot laces had been tied
together. Praying silently, he let Rosa take the lead.
Much to his surprise, he found that for once, he actually managed to
keep from tripping, stumbling, or toppling down. They danced through a few
songs, and then Rosa nodded toward an empty bench. Reinhart was surprised
to look up at the moon, and see that it was now high into the sky. It
wasn't to its high point yet, luckily, but still, it was much later than
he'd been thinking it was. Rosa's face was flushed, as they made their way
off the stage, and sat down, and a faint sheen of sweat shone faintly on her
forehead. She laughed, though, and smiled at him.
"You're a very good dancer," she told him. He grinned weakly.
"Actually, I'm just having a run of terribly good luck," he replied.
"I'm usually a terrible dancer; half the time we were up there I was afraid
I'd end up tripping and bring you down with me." She laughed, and grinned.
"You're too modest. I thought I was the one that didn't know how to
dance," she told him; they both shared a laugh, as the orchestra played the
first few notes of a waltz, and then paused. Rosa looked at him and smiled,
and they went back up on the stage. For a moment, Reinhart had to fumble
through his mind for the proper way to hold a woman in a waltz; then Rosa
guided his left hand to her side, and placed her hand on his shoulder, while
taking his right hand in hers. Smiling, they began to move in time with the
music. Reinhart would turn, and she would follow; then she would spin, her
hair floating out to brush lightly against his chest through the shirt. He
found himself growing more and more aware of the feel of her body against
his, and the way that the moonlight touched on her face, making it seem
almost angelic. Slowly, he bent down somewhat.
Just as his lips were about to brush against hers, a blood curdling
scream of terror shattered the moment, and the night, a scream that was
quickly followed by a howl of rage that Reinhart recognized all too well.
Seeing a flicker of movement to his side, Reinhart reacted automatically,
pulling Rosa with him, and a werewolf hurtled through the space they had
just been in. Landing, it spun to face them. Reinhart snapped the ribbon
holding his short sword, and drew it as the wolfman leapt at them again.
Sidestepping with Rosa, he held the sword out where he'd been. Too late,
the werewolf tried to check his flight, but still impaled himself on the
silver blade. With a spasm, it died. Yanking the sword out of the corpse,
Reinhart looked at Rosa.
"Run, quickly, get the City Watch! I'll do what I can!" he said,
giving her a little push in that direction. She took off as fast as she
could, hoisting the trailing dress as she ran. Reinhart turned back toward
the center of the stage, where a dozen werewolves were, along with the
remains of several villagers. A couple of the men had grabbed weapons, and
were trying to hold them off, but even as he saw them, one was torn to
ribbons by a pair of the weres. Yanking off his coat, Reinhart rushed at
them, and caught them by surprise, his sword biting deeply into the neck of
one before they'd even realized that he was there. Pulling his blade from
the were's throat, Reinhart spun, catching the attack of one wolfman on the
sword, and then pivoted to block another. Flipping his grip on the sword,
he pivoted again and drove it home into the gut of the first werewolf;
gurgling, he fell to the ground as Reinhart leapt backwards to avoid the
swipe of another's claws.
Three of the creatures approached him now, watching him warily,
seemingly having learned that he wasn't a normal villager. One of the trio
looked a little behind him, and Reinhart dropped to the ground, feeling a
brush of fur as the werewolf that had been coming up behind him flew over
and crashed into the one before him. Rolling frantically, Reinhart just
barely dodged as the two remaining wolves slammed their claws into the
stage. Leaping up, he introduced his boot to the stomach of the closer one,
and then drove his sword through the wolfman's heart while he was stunned.
Yanking the weapon free, he dove aside, and then slashed at an approaching
were. The beast howled in pain as his blade drew a deep line across his
chest, and leapt away to lick his wounds.
Reinhart turned, ready to face another, and then grimaced in pain as a
werewolf whipped his claws across Reinhart's chest and shoulder, leaving
behind deep gashes. Reflexively, he thrust forward with his short sword,
and impaled the were through his throat. Fighting back a slight gnawing
sensation that had started at the back of his head, Reinhart turned, looking
for another opponent to battle.
With a start, he realized that they were retreating, running into the
night; turning again, he saw a large force to the City Watch coming toward
them, with Rosa in the lead. He grinned, and then looked down in surprise
at the bloody gashes across his chest and shoulder as they began throbbing
dully. Funny, he thought, he was certain that he should do something about
that, but for the life of him he couldn't think what it was. In fact, he
realized, it was difficult to think at all with the buzzing in his head.
Rosa came onto the stage as the short sword slipped, forgotten, from his
grasp; he barely even noticed the clatter.
"You'll have to excuse me, my dear, but I seem to have made a bit of a
mess of myself," he said apologetically, wondering why she had such a
worried expression on her face. Slowly, he tried taking a step toward her,
but when his foot landed, he found himself toppling forward, to land flat on
his face. For a moment, he struggled to get back up, but then settled for
rolling over to face the night sky. Rosa was at his side suddenly.
"Reinhart, just rest there. The City Watch has called the doctor, he's
on his way," she told him. He blinked up at her in curiosity.
"I don't know why, you look to be perfectly fine. Just give me a
moment, and I'll be back up; I think that I misplaced my balance for a
moment there. I told you that I wasn't a very good dancer," he said. There
was a loud ringing in his ears, and darkness was starting to wash in from
the edges of his vision, but he smiled. With the moon shining down from
above her, she really did look beautiful, ringed in an aura of silver light.
"Has anybody ever told you that you are the most beautiful woman on earth?"
he asked slowly, the words feeling a little thick on his tongue. No, wait a
moment, he suddenly thought, he shouldn't have done that, it was much too
forward a thing for an escort to say. Rosa blushed crimson, but the worry
in her eyes just wouldn't leave.
"No, nobody but you, thank you. I think you are very handsome, and
brave, but for the moment, please just rest. The doctor will be here soon,"
she told him. He smiled again, glad that she hadn't taken offense to his
comment.
"Hmmm... Rest... Yes, I do feel a little tired... Would you mind...
staying... awake... while... I..." He trailed off, as he lost
consciousness.
"...blood he lost, he shouldn't even be alive."
"Is he going to survive?" That soft, musical voice... It seemed
familiar, even with the fear that danced just beneath it, yet for some
reason he couldn't see who it was... Why? His head was hazy; he felt like
he was trying to think through a dense fog.
"He's just sleeping now. I've sewn the wounds up - it's amazing that
he didn't catch Lycanthropy. I'd say that he's out of danger," came the
first voice again. Who were they talking about? He tried to open his eyes,
but they felt as though leaden weights were attached to them; he couldn't
budge his eyelids.
"Good," came that musical voice. "I was certain that he would die,
when he went unconscious." Unconscious? Slowly, he started to notice a
dull throbbing in his chest and shoulder. Could they be talking about him?
"You needn't worry, child; he seems to be quite a solid young fellow.
I know that you don't particularly like Aarin and his little school, Atrus,
but even you have to admit that if this boy is an indication of what he's
teaching, then just maybe it isn't a wasted effort after all," replied the
first voice. "I'd say that he's out of danger."
"Perhaps, Doctor. In any case, thank you; we will tell you if there is
a change." This voice was new, deep and gruff. "Rosa would have been...
unhappy, had he passed away, and I will be glad to have the chance to thank
him for saving her life." After a moment, his mind made the connection -
Rosa; that musical voice. With that thought on his mind, the mantle of
sleep passed over him once again.
"Hey..." croaked Reinhart, after opening his eyes to see Rosa's back to
him, "What's a guy gotta do.... to get a drink... of water around here..."
She turned, surprise on her face, and then smiled in relief as she saw him
awake. He found that he was in a large bed, under several thick coverlets;
he slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, and they fell down to
reveal his chest, which was wrapped heavilly in bandages. He blinked a few
times, trying to push through the last bits of haze in his mind, and
remember how he'd gotten there.
Rosa poured a glass of water out of a pitcher that had been sitting on
a night stand, , and handed it to him. Gulping it down, and breathing a
sigh of relief as it wet down his parched throat, he slowly looked around in
curiosity. He was in a fairly large room, adorned with a tall dresser,
wardrobe, and hundreds of dolls crammed into just about every nook, cranny,
and corner.
"Thank you," he said weakly, as she took the empty glass back. "Where
am I, and how did I end up here?" Rosa sat down next to him on the bed,
sighing as she touched a moist cloth to his forehead.
"Werewolves attacked, remember? You sent me to get the watch, while
you fought them off. They counted ten bodies, and the guard captain said
that he'd never seen anybody survive more than four attacking at once, much
less killing ten at a time," she told him. He grinned slightly.
"Aarin would call that breakfast," he said dryly, before shaking his
head - and immediately regretting it, as a throb of pain blasted through it.
"I still don't know where here is, though, or how I ended up here. Aarin
might call that breakfast, but I'm not quite egotistical enough to think the
same." She smiled.
"One of the werewolves managed to get you pretty badly. The doctor
sewed up the wounds; and you're in my home, and, at the moment, in my room,"
she told him, blushing a little. Reinhart swallowed the quip that he'd been
considering about all the dolls. Instead, he set about getting up; just
before he started to push away the rest of the covers, he abruptly realized
that he'd been stripped down to his breaches. Rosa lightly laid a hand on
his chest.
"Doctor Flemming said that you should stay in bed for a couple of
days," she told him firmly. He gave her a slightly flat look.
"I really need to be up and back to the school, or Aarin will have my
hide," he told her. Rosa looked at him for a long moment, and then got a
mischievous glint in her eye.
"All right, fine. If you can get up and get dressed without falling
flat on your face, you can try and convince Father to let you leave," she
told him, grinning. Then she stood up, crossed her arms under her breasts,
and stared at him quite intently, with a faint smile on her face.
"That's not a very difficult choice," he told her, throwing back the
sheets. "Werewolves don't frighten me much. Neither do vampires. The
thought of your father catching me traipsing about half naked in your room
makes me shiver a bit, but Aarin scares the living daylights out of me," he
told her, as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. She shrugged, and
just kept watching. Frowning, Reinhart carefully slid off the bed, and
slowly stood. His legs wobbled threateningly at first, but through an
effort of sheer willpower, he kept them locked. He gave her a triumphant
look.
"You still have to get dressed," she pointed out. His expression fell
a little.
"No chance that you'll actually tell me where my clothing is, I
suppose," he asked hopefully; she shook her head.
"Nope, that would be too easy. Besides, I kinda like this view," she
told him. He raised his eyebrow at her, blinking in surprise, but slowly
began to look around the room. He found his boots first, tucked under a
chair. Next came his sword belt, complete with silver short sword, which he
noticed had been cleaned of the werewolf's blood.
"Well, at least I'll be able to defend myself," he muttered, and then
winced as he felt his muscles groan at the thought of doing anything more
strenuous than breathing. "Maybe not." Tucked half behind a pair of dolls,
he found his socks, and sat down on the bed long enough to pull them on -
trying hard to ignore how good it felt to sit again - and then looked at her
as she chuckled softly.
"Ready to give up?" she asked him. He looked at her - and then at the
chair right behind her, upon which his pants, a fresh shirt, and a light
coat had been neatly folded. He raised his eyebrow at her again, and she
sighed in frustration, but moved aside so that he could get to them. As he
got dressed, she sat down on the bed.
"Do you do this to all the men that save your life?" he asked dryly.
She laughed.
"Only the stubborn ones," she told him. "Of course, considering that
you're the only one who's ever had to save my life, then yes, I suppose that
I do," she laughed. He winced, as he pushed his injured arm through the
sleeve of the shirt, and then looked at her. She was looking at him
entirely innocently, and quite suddenly he remembered what he'd told her,
just before he'd fallen unconscious. He blushed furiously, and she suddenly
broke into laughter as he went crimson to the hairline. Gah! How did she
do that to him?
"There, I'm dressed. May I leave now, before I manage to make an even
bigger fool of myself?" he asked her. Rosa looked at him thoughtfully for a
moment, and then shook her head. Instead, she stood, and guided him to a
seat on the bed, and then sat down next to him.
"We... I was very worried, when you fell. It was my fault that you
were there," she said quietly. He gave her a confused look.
"What do you mean? I was glad to take you," he said. She smiled at
him.
"So innocent... I have a confession. It wasn't exactly an accident
that I bumped into you yesterday. I... wanted to meet you," she said,
starting to blush. "So, you... shouldn't have been hurt. It... was my
fault, and I'm sorry," she said, before looking away. He stared at her a
moment, and then gently put a finger under her chin, lifting her face to
look into her eyes.
"Don't blame yourself for me getting hurt. I would have been there
anyway, and I would have done the same thing. It's just a question as to if
I would have come out so well. I can think of no better reason to have been
hurt, then in your defense," he told her. She blinked, and looked at him in
surprise.
"But..."
"Listen," he said, smiling. "Did you enjoy the evening, before the
werewolves attacked?" he asked her. She nodded. Slowly, and he smiled
again. "Then I consider this little scratch well paid for," he finished.
For a moment, she stared at him, understanding in her eyes, and then slowly,
they began to lean together, as they had the night before. Just as their
lips met, though, there was a loud clearing of a throat, and they both
jumped in surprise, turning to see Rosa's father.
"Oh, don't mind me, I don't mean to interrupt," he said mildly, as they
both blushed.
"Did you ever get the feeling that somebody was watching just so that
they could find some way to interrupt..." she murmured; he nodded just
slightly, as he stood. Rosa's father came fully into the room, and then
smiled slightly, extending his hand toward Reinhart.
"I wish to thank you, young man. Perhaps I was quick, in my thoughts
that vampire hunting should be left to the elders; you seem to have handled
yourself amiably. You kept my daughter safe, and are welcome under my
roof," he said, as Reinhart shook his hand. Then he turned to leave,
pausing just on the brink of exiting the room, and glancing at Rosa. "You
have my permission, Rosa," he said, and then left, leaving a very confused
Reinhart and a suddenly ecstatic Rosa. He turned to her.
"Permission?" he asked. She grinned, and walked up to him.
"To see you," she explained. It took a moment for her words to sink
in, but he did finally manage to grasp her meaning. Reinhart grinned, as
she embraced him, and their lips finally met in the kiss they'd been
interrupted in so many times.
"Rosa, is - Oh, I see that he is awake. Quite awake." They looked up
to see two girls standing in the doorway; Rosa sighed, and accidentally
leaned up against his injured shoulder. He gasped in pain, and she backed
up, face going crimson; her sisters started giggling, and Rosa purposefully
walked over, and calmly shut the door in their faces. The laughter faded
slowly, as he pressed his hand to his shoulder in an effort to get it to
stop throbbing. She grinned at him weakly.
"Sorry, I forgot," she said apologetically. He chuckled slightly.
" I had better get back to the school. At least there, I see the
accidents coming," he said dryly. She blinked, and then laughed too, as she
realized that he was only joking. Then she crossed the room, and retrieved
a long, bright red scarf.
"Here. Something to help keep me on your mind while you're training,"
she said, as she wrapped it around his neck. He smiled, and kissed her
lightly on the cheek.
"No troubles with that," he told her, grinning. Rosa chuckled, and
then showed him the way down to the door. Reinhart hurried back to the
school, and arrived just in time to see Aarin and the others getting back.
"I hear that you were quite the hero during the festival," he said;
Reinhart grinned slightly.
"I don't know that I would say hero, really, but-"
"You will be chopping wood and cleaning the mess for the next month,
child. That werewolf should have never come close to you. Perhaps some
extra chores will teach you to pay more attention to the battle?" he
suggested, cutting Reinhart off. He groaned, and stumbled back to his
quarters, the scarlet scarf flapping in the wind as though it was laughing.
"Oh, and Reinhart!" called Aarin, just before he reached his quarters.
"Good job in town. Ten werewolves isn't bad, even if they did nearly hand
you your head, boy. At least you remembered to keep your sword with you, if
not how to duck!"
Shaking his head, Reinhart collapsed onto the bed, sincerely wishing
that he had of taken Rosa's advice, and just stayed in bed.
Carrie Fernandez sighed, as she entered her room, and slowly pulled her
pack off. Gently pacing it on the small table, she stretched out, and
winced as she heard her spine pop loudly a few times. Shucking out of her
dress, she pulled a clean shift over her head, and then looked at the bed in
envy. Instead of laying down, though, she sat down on the chair, after
retrieving her spellbook from the pack. Opening the ancient tome, she
smiled wearily as she heard a loud snoring from the next room. At least one
of them would get some sleep tonight.
The spellbook that she began to read from had been the heirloom of the
Fernandez family for decades, and before that the Belnades, going all the
way back to Sypha Belnades. Sypha Belnades, the beautiful sorceress who,
along with Grant Dynasty, Alucard, and Trevor Belmont, had placed Dracula
back into his hundred year sleep. Carrie smiled slightly; this had been her
spell book, and had been penned entirely by her own hand.
Now, though, Dracula's evil was wakening again, and she and Reinhart,
heir to the Belmont bloodline, went to do battle with the dark lord. Though
she was only twelve, she knew that her duty lay in stopping the ancient
vampire once again, or to die trying. That old tome, laying open in her
lap, was one of her only weapons in that quest; she'd had it for six years
now, and was still only barely a quarter of the way through. Still, the
magic that she had gleaned from its pages had already been a great help in
her journey, and had indeed saved her life more then a few times.
There had been a price, of course. Her hair, once black, had become a
light silvery cyan, her eyes gone from shining blue to glittering gold. Her
skin had become so pale that she looked like death walking, and though she
was indeed death to those that followed the ways of evil, she herself was as
alive in body as she could be. Yet, for the warmth that her body held, she
knew that her soul had long since been shattered beyond repair. Perhaps her
heart did beat, but she was certain that it would never truly hold warmth
for another in the way that it should.
For a moment, she looked up from the spellbook, and thought back to
that terrible time. She'd only been a child then - not just in age, but in
mind as well, and had been returning home from playing with her friends.
She'd found the twisted and burned bodies of werewolves by the dozens
surrounding her home, and the door had been turned to splinters. Carrie had
rushed inside without thinking, and found her mother, surrounded by dead
wolf-men, lying in a pool of her own blood.
Perhaps it had just been shock, or maybe she just hadn't been able to
understand the meaning of the crimson blood that her mother had already
lost, but she tried to save her. Her mother, the woman who had just that
year begun to teach her the ways of the Art, who had always seemed
invincible. But her mother had stopped her, and told her to save her
strength. And then, she had told her the secret that her parents had never
intended to tell her. She'd told Carrie that she, the woman who had raised
her, who she loved very much, was not her true mother. That she'd met
Carrie's father five years earlier, and that he'd been carrying her with
him.
She had listened, at first hardly able to believe what she was hearing,
but slowly, she'd begun to understand the truth. After finishing with the
story, her mother had told her of where to find the book, the heirloom of
her family. Then, whispering words of love, she'd passed away. In a
stupor, Carrie had mechanically gone to find the book, and opened it up. At
first, she hadn't been able to understand the words, hard as she'd tried.
Then , almost as though the book wanted to be read, the words had started
shifting, changing, until they made sense. It had almost been as though the
words had been reading themselves to her. Slowly, she'd come to understand
the spells; the power of the spellbook, and her role in the coming battle as
Dracula woke once more. On the front cover had been a note from Sypha to
her descendants, saying that in order to truly fight Dracula, she would have
to find the holy whip of the Belmont clan, for it was the only weapon which
could place him back into his hundred year slumber.
And so, after searching fruitlessly for the body of her father, she'd
begun her six year long journey to find the whip. She'd crossed one side of
Romania to the other, alone, always, always alone. She'd started at the
birthplace of the first Belmont to battle Dracula, Sonia Belmont, and had
followed a path that, while giving her time to refine her control of the
Art, also forced her to grow up before her time, as if the death of her
parents hadn't already killed her soul. Finally, in an ancient church in
southern Romania, five and a half years after she'd begun, she had found the
tomb of Grant Dynasty. Inscribed on the door was the message, 'The
Belmont's Holy Light shall ever shine within their final rest.'
She had set off for the province of Walachia, where the tomb of the
Belmonts had watched over a sleepy burg not far west of where Castlevania
appeared every hundred years. Try as she might, though, she hadn't been
able to budge the door to mausoleum, which legend said, 'would only open to
the blood of the holy line.' And, conveniently enough, it had been there
that she'd met Reinhart for the first time. He'd explained that he had been
told he was the descendant of Richter Belmont, last of the Belmont line.
Carrie hadn't really believed him at first, but where she had tried
practically every spell she knew to force the doors open, when he had
approached, they had opened before him as if welcoming him. He'd claimed
the whip, and they had decided to join forces. Carrie smiled slightly. No,
she didn't mind the company. After being alone for so long, it was nice to
have somebody other then herself to talk to.
Sighing, she returned her attention to the spellbook, and sighed as the
words on the pages floated around a little lazily, never quite coming
together enough for her to read them. Carrie grinned in spite of herself.
There were powerful magics cast over this book, not to mention all the
spells it carried within; over the centuries it had developed a sort of
consciousness that sometimes showed itself at the most irritating times.
The thing never would let her study if she needed sleep. Which, she had to
admit, was likely a good thing; a tired mind could make deadly mistakes,
especially where it came to the Art.
"You win, I'll get some sleep," she said dryly. The pages rippled
slightly. Smiling again, she set the book aside, and then climbed into the
bed. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.
"We have another long day ahead of us, Carrie. Let's get going, with
any luck we'll reach the next town before nightfall this time," chuckled
Reinhart. She nodded, and they set off once again, the sun low in the sky.
"You know, I had a dream last night, Reinhart. I think that it was the
first one I've had in a long, long time," she said quietly. Reinhart smiled
at her sadly.
"There can be pain in dreams, Carrie. There can be pain, and there can
be joy. I hope you had one of the latter, my friend," he said solemnly.
Carrie nodded, as they hurried onward.
---
The Platinum Dragon
"Mother is the name for God on the lips and hearts of children all over the
world." Eric Draven/The Crow
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