If Morning Never Comes - Episode Twenty
In Which: Charles Goes Hunting and Learns Deep Lore
Editor’s Note:
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It was getting late as Charles saddled his horse. Herr Stryker insisted that he do mundane tasks like that himself these days. The old man leaned against the door to the little stable, thinking out loud.
“We’ll include more combat training for you from now on. You might not be as ready as I’d like, but things seem to be accelerating.”
Charles nodded respectfully, but he could not suppress a grin. Herr Stryker continued,
“You’ll need to keep up with your calisthenics of course. And you’re still not as fast as I’d like, but...” He folded his arms. Charles had heard of deep men stroking their mustaches as they thought. Stryker never did.
He tightened the final straps and walked his chestnut horse to the door. Stryker stepped out of the way, still lost in thought. Charles waited to mount.
“I think it would be best if you stayed here for a time, Charles. What do you say to that?”
Charles was unprepared to be asked his opinion. He began inauspiciously, “Sir?”
Stryker patted the horse’s neck absently. “You are right that we cannot just sit idly by, waiting for disaster. We need to step up your preparation. And I think it’s time we kept a closer eye on that mansion of his.”
“Whose?” asked Charles. “Mr. Raines?”
Stryker nodded. “Not the most elegant strategy perhaps, but it seems to be the only action we can take at the moment.”
Charles did not fully understand, but he liked the thought of spending more time training. He blustered through his agreement, “Absolutely, Herr Stryker! Of course, I agree, we should – Yes sir, I’d be honored to stay with you.”
Stryker nodded and shook Charles’ hand. He gave him his customary farewell: “No fear.”
“No fear,” Charles echoed. He mounted his horse. Herr Stryker strode towards the house. But before he’d gotten past the door, Charles had a thought. He turned around and called out to his teacher. Stryker turned to wait.
“Forgive me,” Charles rode up. “But aren’t I supposed to be observing Mr. Raines’ courtship with my sister? How will we know what’s going on?”
Stryker stepped closer. “I thought you said you weren’t learning much on that front?”
“No, not yet. But I still could, right?”
Stryker put a hand on the horse’s back and looked up at Charles, his eyes reflected in the moonlight. “Do you think there’s more you can do? Eleanor seems to keep to herself.”
He was not wrong. “She’s not very pleased with me lately,” said Charles.
Stryker’s eyes were fixed, “Frankly Charles, I think we know exactly what Raines is up to with your family.”
Charles swallowed. He took a moment to answer.
“Who will look after them?”
Stryker smiled with a corner of his mustache, “If Raines were to strike now, there’d be little you could do. Your training here will help to remedy that.”
Charles nodded. “Alright. It’s just,” he felt foolish, “I’d hate to find her – well, you know.”
Stryker shook his head quickly, “Oh no, that won’t happen to her. He’s playing a different game. And if your sister were to suddenly disappear, I’m sure the whole neighborhood would know before the hour was out.”
Charles laughed, “Mother.” He took up the reins. “Alright, Herr Stryker. I’ll be back in the morning.”
As he rode off, Stryker called out, “Make it the afternoon. Get plenty of rest. You’ll need it!”
Charles arrived in the early afternoon. He had had no trouble convincing his mother that a little time apart would be beneficial. He moved his trunk into the guest room and went looking for Herr Stryker. He found him in the workshop, tinkering with his chemistry set. That was the part of the hunt that held no interest for Charles. Leave the studying to the scholar, he would rather fire a bullet.
When he became too much of a bother, Herr Stryker sent him to the library. He had made a stack of books for Charles to read. Its size was intimidating. There was no obvious commonality to the selected titles, but perhaps that was part of the test. He picked the top volume and perused the first pages of Hematophagy in the Lower Mammals, a Comprehensive Study. As riveting as that sounded, Charles instead went to his room and retrieved the poetry book Herr Stryker had given him. As he saw it, this technically counted as an assignment.
When dusk fell, the hunters shared a hearty supper. Stryker lived a spartan life in many ways, but did not feel the need to deprive himself of good food. When the plates were clean and tankards empty, the sun had gone down over the wide horizon. Stryker flicked a few last crumbs off of the table.
“Well?” he said.
“Well?” asked Charles.
“Are you ready?”
“For what?”
“A long night. Get dressed, we’re going out.”
Less than an hour later, Herr Stryker was locking the door behind them, the bouquet of garlic still swinging. Charles wore tall boots and a dark jacket. His top hat Stryker had called “Ridiculous,” but it was all he had. The German was resplendent in his hunter’s garb, complete with three-cornered hat. He had buttoned the tall collar of his shirt to cover his mouth and nose. Only his eyes still lived. A sword and pistol hung at his side. Charles knew there were several smaller arms hidden on the man’s frame. Stryker carried a short rifle that he called a scattergun – something he had picked up from a friend in America, apparently.
“Ready?”
Charles nodded.
The night was a perfect shade of dark blue. The stars were out over the moor, lighting their way ever so gently. They lit no lamp and Stryker gave Charles instructions on how to walk soundlessly. Over the grass he was successful, but the barren patches hid many small rocks for him to crunch underfoot. The wind was still, every sound magnified. Stryker moved just ahead of Charles. If the younger man had not known he was there, he might have missed him in the darkness.
Midnight was upon them when Raines Manor finally rose into view. It sat at the bottom of the tall hill, at the foot of a rocky cliff. Charles followed Stryker to a point far to the left side of the ridge, overlooking the little valley. They found a growth of rocks jutting up out of the ground and stopped there. Herr Stryker crouched behind the rocks and waited. Charles followed.
Nothing happened for a minute. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Finally, Stryker relaxed and spoke,
“Alright, make yourself comfortable.”
Charles settled into a position that allowed him to look down at the house but kept him hidden from view. Stryker took a similar position facing the opposite direction.
“I’ll watch the moor,” he said, “Much more likely an ambush comes this way. You watch the house.”
“For what?”
“Anything.”
Raines Manor was a black blur amidst the surrounding night. The deep red colors of the house reflected no starlight. And Charles could not see a single lighted window. The towers rose high, twisting and disorganized. At that hour it looked like some monstrous creature from the depths of the earth come to terrorize the denizens of the overworld. He tried to shut down his imagination. Thoughts like that would be of little utility on a night like this.
Charles had to speak, “What are we looking for, Herr Stryker?”
“You’ve already asked me that.”
“I know, but...”
Charles didn’t continue. He adjusted the scabbard at his side and shifted his seat.
“Sorry,” he whispered.
Stryker did not turn around, but his voice was sympathetic, “No need to apologize, Charles. It’s not a friendly sight, is it?”
Charles shook his head and scoffed through his nose, “I never thought a house could look so menacing. How did we ever work up the courage to go inside?”
“People usually ignore their instincts if their eyes can’t see the danger,” said Stryker.
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
“The oldest stag in the forest is the one that listens to that inner voice, warning him to stay away from the meadow, even if he cannot see why.”
Charles smiled to himself, “Well I must say, for a stag who’s spent a long time looking for trouble, you’ve certainly managed to maintain your boyish good looks.”
Stryker’s back shook once with laughter, “Mind your tone, young buck.”
A few minutes passed. There was no need to rush the conversation.
“How old is the hunt?” Charles asked.
Stryker took a breath, “How old is evil?”
“Old,” said Charles.
“Ancient,” corrected Stryker. “Every civilization has its stories. Ours can be traced back at least to the Dark Ages.”
“That long?” asked Charles. “How has no one noticed?”
“They hide in the mountains, mostly,” said Stryker. “Caves and forests. Old ruins. Places where even the truth sounds like legend.”
Charles thought for a minute. “How many hunters are there?”
“Not many.”
“Don’t you know?”
“No. We rarely meet, except by accident. We have ways of making contact if we need to.”
“Why not concentrate your efforts? Work together?”
“Hmm,” mused Stryker, as if he’d considered this before, “It scares them off. The vampires will go to ground if they know we’ve got them outmatched. Better to chase the rumors alone.”
“Sounds lonely.”
“Yes.”
Another minute passed.
“How did you know to come here?” asked Charles.
Stryker laughed in his chest, “That is a very long story.”
“It’s a long night.”
Stryker reached behind and thumped Charles on the shoulder. “There will be time for that. Suffice it to say that I have been after this one for a long time.”
“How long?” Charles asked.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty.”
“Longer than that.”
Charles looked at the manor. Decades of this. Of stakeouts and speculation and careful calculation. A hunt lasting longer than Charles’ life – and the quarry lay so close.
“Have you ever fought him before?” asked Charles.
“Yes. Quiet now.”
The night wore on. It was not warm, and Charles was not moving. He was grateful for his coat. He pulled it tighter around himself. The house lay below, continuing to intimidate him no matter how long he stared at it. He felt his eyes grow heavy. How much longer would they be out here? Stryker seemed as rigid and vigilant as he had when they had first sat down, hours ago now. The moon was long gone. Charles yawned and worked his eyelids with a gloved hand.
He almost missed it. A brief flicker of orange light from the top of a tower. He sat up taller. His eyes were still focusing after he had rubbed them. He strained his sight, but the light did not reappear. He could not see anything, but that inner voice Stryker warned about would not let him relax. He tightened his grip on the pistol at his side, his eyes desperately roving the asymmetrical towers.
And then – there! The outline of one of the shorter towers wavered ever so slightly in the darkness, followed by a gentle sound, like a door or window being closed.
“Stryker!”
Herr Stryker turned around and silently dropped to a knee at Charles’ side, hands on the short scattergun. He leaned in close and whispered,
“What is it?”
“I don’t know,” Charles panted, “There was a light and a sound but – dear God, look!”
He pointed and Stryker followed with his eyes. The side of the tower seemed to be moving on one side. A shadow was descending the side of the manor. From this distance it looked as though a large insect were scuttling down.
Stryker put a hand on Charles’ back and eased him into a lower crouch. His voice was calm, muffled through his face covering. “Don’t move. Don’t make a sound.”
There was another distant noise, no more than an echo as the shadow dropped down onto the roof of the main house. It stood. In the pale starlight, the dark figure of Edgar Raines stood erect. He ran a hand through his hair as he walked to the edge of the roof, his long cloak billowing behind him. In lithe, feline movements he grabbed the ledge and swung down to the side of the house. He began to crawl down the sheer side headfirst, slithering and wriggling.
The two men leaned forward as he reached the ground. Raines dropped the last dozen feet and landed upright, his frame bending only slightly. Then, with a swirl of his cloak, he darted off into the shadows at an unbelievable pace. Charles was just able to follow his movement as he ascended the hill towards the main road until he was lost in the distance over the moor.
Neither of them moved nor spoke. Charles shivered, his breaths erratic and short. Stryker slid around behind him to keep his eyes on the open countryside. A long time passed, but Charles was too frightened to be impatient. It was Stryker who broke the silence.
“He’s gone.”
Charles swallowed and adjusted his grip on the blunderbuss, “How do you know?”
Stryker settled down into a sitting position and set the scattergun on his lap. “I don’t. But I do. Sit.”
Charles sat, leaning back against the old man. He took off his gloves and wiped his hands on his trousers one at a time; they were cold and damp. As the tension released, he felt the cold more keenly and started to shake. He tried to calm down. He could not. He felt like his soul was about to take flight, and that only frightened him more. He kept envisioning Edgar Raines standing with the torn throat of a deer in his hand, a devilish smirk on his face. His breaths vaporized in front of him. They stuttered and shook.
Stryker turned and looked at him. He unbuttoned his tall collar down to his neck, revealing his face. He shifted to lean back against the rock and put an arm around Charles. A small part of Charles’ brain was too proud to accept the comfort, but the rest of him won out. He too leaned against the rocks and sat close to his teacher.
Stryker spoke softly, “Deep breaths.”
Charles shook his head, “I can’t.”
Patient, Stryker responded, “Control your body and your mind will follow. Deep breaths.”
Charles took a faltering breath and held it for a moment. He let it out. He breathed deeply again. It got easier. Eventually he shifted his weight and Stryker removed his arm. Charles looked at the ground.
“I thought for sure he’d seen us.”
Stryker hummed deep in his chest and nodded.
Charles felt a lump in his throat, “I can’t do this.”
“Why not?” asked Stryker.
“When we were out hunting, I was afraid,” said Charles, “but not like this.”
“It’s always different when you can look your enemy in the face. And you’re cold and tired. That always makes it worse.”
The shock subsiding, Charles began to feel ashamed of himself. “Why can’t I be brave?”
Stryker turned to look at his young charge, “Are you not?”
Charles readjusted his posture and folded his arms, “All I’ve ever done is loll about. I don’t know how to do this,” he gestured around himself, “I don’t know what it’s like to hunt anything, let alone vampires!”
“Most don’t.”
“But I’m useless, Herr Stryker!” He felt his spirits sinking, but he could do nothing to stop it. “I’ve grown up, and now what? I’ve been waiting my whole life for something to happen to me, to prepare me for what I’ll need to do, and now – I’m not ready.”
Stryker was still calm. “You are doing everything you can to strengthen yourself to face the darkness, Charles.”
“But I should have been ready. Now I’m stuck trying to play catch up.” He leaned his head back against the rocks.
“We’re never ready,” came the calm, accented reply.
Charles harrumphed. “That’s easy for you to say, isn’t it?”
“And who am I, Charles?”
“Well, you’re a vampire hunter, aren’t you? I don’t even have to exaggerate.”
Stryker let the silence hang for a while. “You know,” he said, “When I first met you, I thought I needed to get past your sarcasm to really get to know you. But now I think that it’s when you are at your most sarcastic that I’m the closest to finding out who you really are.”
“Don’t make fun, Herr Stryker,” said Charles.
“I’m not.”
The moor was silent. No owls screeched, no mice rustled the grass. Charles avoided looking at the sprawling manor lurking below the ridge. He could only be grateful that there was no mist that night.
After what felt like a long time, Herr Stryker spoke,
“My wife and I had three children. We lived together in our little village in the forest.” Charles turned to listen. Stryker had not given him any details about his past since their first dinner together at Ashwood. “We were happy there.”
He paused for a long minute. Charles did not dare ask him to go on. Stryker chuckled to himself,
“I used to be a milkman.”
Charles tried to picture Herr Stryker carting milk to his neighbors around a quaint little town, children dancing around the maypole. He could not do it.
Stryker continued, “I think I knew they were coming. My morning route took me close to that overgrown path into the forest, and I could feel them watching me. I tried to dismiss it – after all, who would believe me? Then my daughter came crawling into our bed in the middle of the night. She said someone had been looking into her window. My wife held her close while I grabbed my gun. I opened the door to look out.” He stopped.
“Vampires,” breathed Charles.
“Vampires,” agreed Stryker. “Just like I had seen them as a boy. I had almost convinced myself that I had imagined what I saw in that castle, but there they were. Four of them in the town square. Standing still, like dark shadows.”
Stryker sighed and leaned back against the rocks. “The next morning a child was gone. A little boy. His family was so confused, but I knew. I knew and I said nothing.”
Charles looked at his teacher. He looked ancient in the night. Like a forgotten god of a once-proud people. There was sadness etched in every line on his face. His eyes looked up at the stars. The sky was clear of clouds.
“Of course, it didn’t stop there. Children started disappearing. More every night. Finally I had to speak up. By this time they were ready to listen.” He laughed softly and without mirth.
“We made a plan to storm the castle. We thought we were clever. We barricaded the houses and strode off into the forest at first light. We came to the overgrown fortress and forced open the squealing iron gate. We had torches and guns and enough righteous fury to propel us to all sorts of madness.”
He paused. Charles pressed him, “What happened?”
Stryker said nothing. He looked distant, as if he were reliving the fight all over again. “They were waiting for us. They laughed at us. And they killed us all. Every last one.”
“How did you get away?” asked Charles.
Stryker spoke slowly, “I ran. As soon as I saw what was about to happen, I ran. I had seen that castle once before and I was so afraid.
“I lit out for home, expecting to be torn open with every step. The dying screams of every friend I’d ever had followed me home. My wife and I stopped every crack, every crevice, even the chimney and stayed home all day. The sun was high, but we dared not leave.
That night, they came. I heard them mocking and taunting from the courtyard. Some couldn’t take it. They opened their doors, and I covered my children’s ears as one by one, the villagers fell.”
Stryker spoke quickly now. He spoke to no one really, although Charles sat close. He was struck dumb by the German’s confession.
“In the final hours of the night, they battered our house. They couldn’t get in, but they crawled on the roof and howled at the windows. My little girl cried all night.
The next morning we rose with the mist. We could not hide there. My wife begged us to stay, but what could we do? They would be back. And who knows how many of our friends had been carried off to become thralls of these monsters? We left. We did not even load a cart, we ran. I had my youngest boy on my shoulders, my wife held our daughter. My other son gripped my hand. We stuck to the road, but we were far from the next village.”
A single tear rolled into Stryker’s mustache.
“Sunset came, and I knew we’d never make it. We hid the children in the trees as best we could. My wife and I kept going. When darkness fell...” Stryker trailed off. His voice had a rough husk as he brought his story to a close. “We never stood a chance. I could hear them coming, leaping through the trees like apes. They were laughing. I can still hear them: ‘Kinder! Kinder!’ They’d taken my children.”
Stryker stopped. But Charles had to know.
“You escaped?”
The German’s chin was on his chest. “I did.”
“And your wife?”
A pause. “No.”
“They killed her too?”
Stryker looked at Charles with careworn sorrow. Charles returned his gaze. He had underestimated Herr Stryker. Again. He was not sure how this tale affected his perception of his teacher. But he did know that if there was anyone on earth who could stand a chance against these creatures, it was Georg Stryker.
“Did you ever go back?” Charles asked.
Stryker nodded.
Charles felt the moment pass. That was all he would hear tonight. He sat in the chill and thought about his own story. He was not acting out of reaction to a terrible tragedy, he was fighting to prevent one. Herr Stryker had lost his family, but he had the chance to save his. In that moment, Charles determined to overcome his fear. He would not allow his previous failures to keep him from doing what needed to be done. He might be the least-qualified candidate for this job, but his family and his home were his responsibility. As awful as life could be at Ashwood, he was their last line of defense. Their only defense. He would become whatever he needed to be to save them.
“Thank you, Herr Stryker,” said Charles.
Stryker answered, “I want you to know that I am truly grateful to have you by my side, Charles Ashley. You have a good heart. And one day you will be the greatest of us all.”
Charles clasped the old man’s knobbly hand. Stryker smiled under his mustache.
“Alright then. Time to go.”
