He perused the sky, figuring what the weather was likely to bring him. Then, using a stick to dig into the ground, he rolled up balls of light gray mud and stripped off his shirt to carry them. When he at last rose and resumed his hike, it didn’t take him long to reach the first series of rocks and gorges. The red mountain range was laid out almost like a toy stone castle, kicked over by a giant petulant child. The hills into which the station had been built were an elevated, rolling plain, followed by another series of rocky red hillocks, some grouped together, some separated by shrub and sand. There were jagged pillars and rounded marble formations scattered throughout the terrain. Once he moved into the shaded side of one such grouping, which concealed him from the station, now a small block in the distance, he took a deep breath, cleared his mind and considered what was facing him.
Laying down the shirt, he spread it out to reveal the balls of mud. One rolled out and trundled into a crevice between another cluster of rocks. He noted cracked pieces, sheared off by wind and weather, perhaps even by the odd ricochet of a bullet when the men went hunting.
Picking up one of the clay balls, Dev closed his hand on the coolness, felt the pastelike consistency. Fifteen years he’d spent with the tribe who had shared his raising with his mum and dad. A tribe that walked this land still, in even more remote regions than this.
He knew how to find water and food, so that wasn’t a concern. His challenge was going to be that pack of vampire children, with their superhuman ability to track, scent and find him. If he cut across the thick wire grass he saw stretching between him and the eastern series of rock hills, the tracking part at least would be more difficult, because it would spring back up as if he’d never been through.
Charles liked his sport, so Dev suspected he was being given the light of this day to get enough of a head start to provide a minor challenge. But after that, if Dev eluded him, Charles’s sense of fair play, weak at best, would dissipate. He’d use those heavily armed blokes to track him during the day, the children to keep him on the run at night, leave him exhausted.
It was time to work on not leaving a trail. Or rather, leaving a deceptive one. Squatting, he began to work the ball of mud into his flesh. His face, his chest and shoulders, a sun covering and also a way to blend. As he performed the task, he studied those broken rocks, their shape. Lifting his gaze to the ranges, he considered the types of trees he’d find there.
After the war, he’d walked with the clan again, for a time. The Elders had told him he had to let the world back into his soul . . . he had to feel the earth beneath him, the weight of the sky and fire of sun above. The movement of winds, however slight. To know the world provided. The world understood. There were some things that could not be explained, but the world was an ancient being that understood all pain, was fertilized with tears. He had to know that, accept it. He had to heal, or he would become a tool of demons.
He couldn’t explain to that tribesman, perhaps was ashamed to, that he’d polluted his own soul. He’d taken all the blood and pain, jammed it in there over the top of that young, fun-loving bloke he’d once been. He’d buried him alive, screaming, beneath the weight of everything that used to be his life. That Devlin, his soul, was buried in a sealed casket he couldn’t open.
A simple idiot who’d loved a girl with long sable hair, courted her in the simple, sweet ways, and been blessed with a fine son with his green eyes and Tina’s sweet mouth. He’d taken them to the picnic races that the remote stations occasionally arranged to give them all a chance to be a community. Working the sheep, he’d stopped as often as he could manage during the day for a drink of lemonade from Tina’s hand, to see what young Rob had created out of rocks and sticks, small fortresses with soldiers and a pennant of a dry leaf.
What you will not do, the world will force upon you. That is its way, as well. He recalled the Elder’s words, right before Dev chose to leave their company.
It’s already done its worst to me. It knows where to find me when it wants to have another round.
It figured it would take its next shot through the cruel but irresistible touch of a blond vampire with blue eyes. Shaking his head, he rose, picking up several of the rock shards he’d studied. They’d make good spear points, and he’d find branches or sturdy stalks up ahead for the shafts. Charles had insisted he keep his large hunting knife in a spirit of fair play, but of course his stockmen had known that for the joke it was. When he’d made it clear he expected his weapons and pack in the same order when he returned, they’d had a good laugh, though it was the mocking kind. Mockery usually covered the fear, however slight, that he might be back to reclaim it.
Count on it, mates.
A tool for demons might be exactly what was needed here. While the Elder had given him the switch for that murderous rage within him, the meditative stillness to keep it from bursting free, Dev knew how to let the rage forth when he needed it. Since he was likely going to die in the next couple days, the ability to rein it in, reclaim a civilized sense of himself, wasn’t all that important, right?
Shouldering the bundle of clothes, he proceeded toward the mountains, a darkly tanned man with red hair, now na**d but for the smear of gray-white mud on him. At a distance he looked remarkably like one of the aboriginal dwellers of the area. The ones that had sent him away, sensing there was something broken in him that wasn’t safe to be near, not if the right trigger was pressed.
At dusk, he was well into the steep gorges, craggy peaks and varied forest terrain of the low mountains, which were good for wild horses, sheep and cattle. By the time the red gorges and peaks started turning purple, evidence of the impending sundown, he’d made himself several spears, using torn strips from his shirt and grasses to position the tips. Planting the weapons at key points he scoped out for his first night’s strategy, he moved swiftly, mindful of Danny’s words about the speed of vampires. He’d disseminated his scent here and there, down into a gorge, up through a thicket of trees.
A sharp crack. Gunfire. He dropped low and froze, close to a low patch of scrub. An exuberant starting gun, perhaps? Danny would do wise to dismiss most of this lot, send them off to other places once all this was resolved. Men needed things to do to keep them out of mischief, and these had had the scent of blood in their noses too long. ’Course, she’d indicated Ian was an overlord. What did an overlord do? Probably like a feudal landowner, she’d resolve squabbles, take tithes . . .
He smiled inside, but remained motionless. At least until the rabbit wandered into his reach, missing his presence due to his stillness and wind direction. He caught the creature by ears and mid-body, avoiding teeth and sharp claws. Running his hand over the soft fur, he gave thanks and an apology at once. “You don’t deserve this, mate.” In a quick motion, he snapped the creature’s neck, making it painless and quick, but he couldn’t look as the life died out of the brown gaze.
The aborigines believed that everything was meant to be, that if an animal spirit arrived in time to fulfill a need, it was a gift offered willingly. While Dev had great respect for his clansmen, a part of him wondered if it was a story made up by a parent to make a child feel better about his dinner. The reality was that the hapless victim was in the right place during the wrong bloody time.
Love? You out there?
He didn’t know why he did it, but something about the warm, soft body in his hands, the cloudiness closing in on that gaze . . .
Her response was surprisingly clear for the miles between them. Dev. He’s going to send his stockmen after you during daylight. He figured out the third mark, and said I gave you an unfair advantage.
Don’t fret, love. He likely already planned to send his hands out after me. The point is to win, right?
Taking up the lifeless body and his knife, he rose, prepared to move again.
You’re right. I should have thought of that. He’s trying to see how upset he can make me about you. It bothers him.
Well, it’s not like you had me pleasure you in front of him and poor old Ian last night so you could thumb your nose at them. Tell them that anything they could do for you, your mongrel could do better.
Don’t call yourself that.
He winced at the sharpness of her tone. Jesus, love. You didn’t tell me you could come through like a fishwife. Don’t do that without warning. You might get me shot.
Where are you? What’s happening now?
I’m just getting ready for them. Reaching a lower position, he cut the rabbit’s stomach open, and removed some of the insides, leaving them in a crevice of rock, draining the still-warm blood down the other side of it. Moving through the trees, he disseminated organs, blood and bone, sinew, on a circular path. Finally, he laid the creature to rest beneath a bush, to feed the other animals who would come and find it, before he headed back toward higher ground.
He’s made his point, love. I’m not saying I agree to it, for myself, but in your world you probably should think of me that way. Or he’s going to keep using me against you, no matter what happens.
She went silent again. He didn’t know if he’d offended her or not, but he had other matters to address now. The sound of the men was closer, so he found another tree, took one of his spears and worked his way up into the branches. He noted clouds were moving so at times darkness was total, then the shapes of the landscape would briefly illuminate, as the moon made an appearance.
Dev, is there nothing you want for yourself? Even pride?
Pride is a vengeful thing, love. Will stab you in the back every time you think you’re entitled to something you most likely don’t deserve. Hush, now. I’ve got a bet to win. They’re coming.
Plus, a man who’d closed down his soul was like a closed pub. There wasn’t anything to want from it, or to give to it, anymore. He got a sense she’d received that thought, but didn’t have time to regret it.
The mob didn’t run like a pack of hounds, full of crashing movement, baying and yipping. He counted himself fortunate that his first evidence of them was at a distance. From his perch in the large tree, he detected five of them tracking together, fanned out over the ground, slipping through the trees and rocks like noiseless shadows. Moving as fast as snakes on the hunt.