Lochan was pacing back and forth, his heavy boots thudding drearily against the floor. Harndall wished he would stop. It was difficult enough to concentrate on the scrawling, ancient text as it was. The book was swollen and musty, the pages bloated and blurred with smudged ink. It may have survived in the relative safety of the cracked wall but the mildewed covers had definitely been witness to the temperamental weather of Mhalwae. Harndall was surprised there was anything coherent left, but he had been able to make out scratches of wavering letters here and there.

(more…)

The King rose unsteadily to his feet with an expectant look on his face as they trudged through the door.

(more…)

”Get away from her you beast!” Lochan roared as they burst through the bushes into the clearing.

The other men ran ahead of him, their legs sure and sturdy, their swords glinting in the moonlight like fangs. Arran stumbled after them blindly, barely clutching the blunted length of the burning brand between his trembling hands. His ears were filled with the faint clank of links of rusty chainmail rubbing together, of heavy feet pounding tiny flowers into dust. The screaming had stopped.

(more…)

“Kelgar!!! Oh Kelgar! Where are yew bein’ my little honey bee?!”, Igrayne called out loudly, not quite able to suppress a snicker as she imagined Kelgar hidden further from the clearing, fuming at her cries. She did not know exactly where they were but she knew they were close enough to hear if she called out loudly.

(more…)

She awoke, carefully pushing herself up into a sitting position. She had heard her name called desperately, whispered entreatingly and finally she had stuggled upwards out of the fog that surrounded her. She looked around in confusion, the sounds in her ears muffled. Her body felt like it was burning from the inside, heat rising from her so that she could only peer dimly through the haze.

She thought she heard dully over the ringing, a sobbing, as though the person who was making the noise lay in the next room, so only the smallest sound reached her ears. She turned to gaze at a man, kneeling on the floor beside her bed, his face resting in his hands which were curled into tightly balled fists, the knuckles straining white. He was wearing a plain robe, his hair cut short and as her ears adjusted to the sound she realised he was weeping bitterly, the cries she had heard had only been the loudest.

Poor man, she thought gazing down at his trembling shoulders. She wondered why he cried so, for whom did he weep. Her heart reached out towards him, brushing at his pain with its fluttering fingers.

He looked up with a gasp, hiding behind his clenched fingers, as though afraid of what he saw.

“Valeriya!”, he cried, her name, and it flowed from his mouth like a cool liquid pouring over her flaming body.

She struggled to a sitting position as he clumsily found his feet, standing far above her so she looked up in wonder at his face. It was a face she knew well though it had changed much since she last saw it, slowly hollowed out as though time had scraped at it with his tools, chipping off pieces here and there that seemed unecessary to his artistic eye.

“Harndall”, she whispered, surprised to be able to find her voice at all.

She brought her face towards his, her whole body trembling. She could see tears forming in the corners of his eyes, pooling there and sliding down his face. She longed to feel the chill of those tears falling on her burning cheeks, relieving the aching pain that was consuming her body.

“Harndall”, she repeated, looking into his eyes, recalling that she had never called him this before, the addition of Father seeming somehow a barrier to folly. She was shocked at how easily the wall was broken, how purity and virtue could be stripped with the mere removal of a title.

He was looking at her intensely, his eyes hungry, his hands twitching like pinned insects at his side.

Then suddenly he fell to his knees at her feet his hands clasped in front of him, his eyes gazing up at her, entreating her to ease his suffering.

“Valeriya, I cannot, it is a sin. It is a sin to love you”.

His words plunged into her body like a sword, flaying her skin, scraping through bone and sinew to reach the burning centre of her, the cold steel sliding smoothly into her boiling heart.

She slowly reached out a hand, tentatively touching his own. His skin was achingly cool, the merest brush a relief to her scorched body.

She pryed open his fingers, taking his hands in her own and helping him to his feet.

He stood before her, his features written with grief, “Valeriya I cannot”.

He paused to take a deep sucking breath, “I cannot love you. I must not. It is wrong”.

The pain in her heart was so great now she thought it must combust in a fiery inferno, leaving nothing but a pile of blackened ash that would smoulder for a while until it finally grew cold. But that seemed a relief too, for a cold heart could not ache, could not feel.

“I understand”, she mumbled, the fire in her body cracking, sparks spiralling into the air, “But know this Harndall. I love you. With every fibre of my being, with every scrap of my ruined soul”.

The words poured out like flames from her mouth, great tongues of fire flaring out to brand Harndall’s heart claiming it for her own, “I love you”.

She turned to go, and suddenly felt his hand clasping at her arm, his fingertips pressing against her skin, chilling her through the flimsy fabric of her nightgown. His grip was firm and she turned back towards him, opening her mouth to tell him to leave.

She was silenced by his lips against hers, his arms wrapping around her body as the flames roared up inside her.

They fumbled with each others clothing until finally it was gone and she pressed up against him, feeling his cool skin against the length of her body. She was boiling inside while she shivered in his arms, her stomach churning, sickened by his kisses yet yearning for their searing pain.

He tipped her far backwards, so she hung above the bed, afraid to let go and fall into the waiting fire below. She clung desperately to his neck praying he would not let go and that if they fell it would a least be together as one, to be consumed forever in the torrid flames.

But they did not fall and he laid her gently on the bed, his body covering hers like a blanket so that her trembling subsided, and the fire starved of oxygen began to flicker to a soft glow. His kisses fell upon her face like soothing rain, his cool hands stroking her hair and her neck.

She turned achingly towards those soothing hands, but suddenly they were warm once more and the fire mounted in her again, moving through her body with a dull roar as she moaned in pain. The hands scraped roughly at her face, scalding her where they touched.

She opened her eyes to see Harndall’s face and with horror she saw that is was not him at all, but a massive form towered above her, his shadow falling over her burning body, the fire flaring up in glee at the dark.

She heard a muffled voice cry out far above her, a deep sound that made her teeth ache and her head throb.

“Varda! Varda! Get over here! I think she’s waking up!”.

She tried to cry out in terror but all that came from her mouth were a series of urgent animal groans. The flames were now almost unberable, the flesh curling back from her bones, agony blistering through her roasting body.

And try as she might weakly turning her head from them, she could not escape the dreadful grasping hands that pawed hotly at her screaming body.

Harndall shuffled slowly into the room as Varda carefully shut the door behind him. He stopped at the foot of the bed, unable to make his legs move, unable to walk the distance that separated him from her motionless body. A trembling began in his legs, shuddering its way through his thighs and groin, to throb in the base of his spine.

The blankets curled around her alabaster face like a shroud, protecting her frail body in their cocoon. Her lips were parted and he could hear the faint sound of her breath as it forced its way between them, the soft sigh of a breeze stirred in the musty depths of the crypt.

They were only a few steps and yet Harndall could not make his weak human legs walk them. He stood there, before her, frail flesh and bones, wrapped in the scratchy robes of his sin. The illness had taken its toll, his body wasted, the skin stretching taught and angular, his eyes sunken and hollow. His hair had fallen out in tangled clumps until Hepsie had finally cut it all off. It seemed fitting somehow, the crying of a young boy taken from his family, the rough hands of the monks as they pulled at his scalp, shearing away great clumps of hair and sin as it piled around his bare feet. Cutting away his youth, snipping until nothing was left but humility and obedience.

But he was still a man, despite the hymn in his ears, the prayer on his lips, and a man could walk across the room on the legs God had given him. He took a deep breath and stumbled to her side.

He looked down at her pale face, lying among the soft folds of her hair. Her hair had not fallen out like his, still pure it splayed out on the pillow like sheets of spun gold. Varda had carefully plaited it, twisting the strands solemnly between her skilful fingers, turning the lolling head to one side as she worked.

It was too much, to look at her lying there, the light of the candle flickering over her face like a funeral pyre.

“Valeriya”, he moaned his mouth open, his breath ragged between his teeth.

She groaned softly, her eyelids flickering only the whites visible and he thought he heard his name sighing softly from her mouth. Then she cried out, her teeth gritting in pain, her head thrashing on the pillow.

He leapt back from the bed in dismay, his hands flying up in defense, protecting his chest, his heart that pounded frantically, then slowly dropping to his sides in defeat.

A great sob welled up inside him, forcing its way out of his throat with a moan of despair. The blame for her illness was his and his alone to bear, Radomir was right when he said it. She had given herself, her life perhaps for his and he was not worthy by any stretch of the meaning. He was as sinful as the people he protected, if not more but who would hear his confession. He was weary and ill and alone and the world was a cold dark place with foul things lurking beyond the candlelight.

He bent his head in shame, shame for who he was, shame that he had never been different, despite his teachings he was just as guilty as the rest. Even more so for they looked to him for guidance, guidance he was not worthy to give.

His exhausted body crumpled at the side of the bed, rejoicing in the pain flaring in his knees hit the bare wooden boards of the floor.

He knelt there, clasping his hands desperately above the bedcover.

“Our father who art in heaven. Forgive us our sins…”, he began to mumble the Lord’s prayer softly to himself.

“Forgive us our sins… forgive us… forgive us our sins… forgive us”.

“Forgive us… oh Lord forgive me! Forgive me for what I have done, for the evil thoughts that have seeded in my heart!”.

“Please forgive me”, he sobbed between gritted teeth, “Don’t take her for what I have done, for the rotten sin that runs through my weak body!”.

“Don’t take her… please don’t take her. She has done no wrong”, he clenched his fists burying his face in the scratchy folds of his robe as he wept, his shoulders shaking with grief, hot tears rolling down his clenching jaw and spattering onto his hands.

“Please don’t take her. I am to blame. I am weak. I am… I am only man. I am only a man”, he sobbed wretchedly into his hands. His hands, the hands that clasped together many hours in prayer, the hands that tended the sick and comforted the weak, the hands that had trembled whenever she came near, the hands that had held hers rubbing her soft fingers between his own.

“I am only a man!”, he cried suddenly more forceful, finding strength in his grief.

“I am only a man Lord, but I am your servant here on Earth as you have chosen for me and I will continue to do your bidding. I offer you my confession here on my knees as a sinner, if you will hear it”, he raised his arms in submission, “I have been tempted by the flesh and my weak, corrupted body almost failed you. You have sent me here to protect these lost people and I have been callous and selfish. No more Lord, I ask for your forgiveness. I offer you myself once more, your humble and obedient servant, penitent on my knees before you”.

He knelt there beside her bed for a long time, until finally Varda came back in and helped him to his feet. He crossed himself, silently blessing her as the blood rushed back into his cramped legs and he walked from the room.

Steen was getting tired of sitting. He had been perched on this uncomfortable lump of wood that served for a chair for hours. He did not feel at ease sitting in this dark musty room, listening to the ragged breathing of the priest who lay tossing and turning in the bed beside him.

He gingerly stretched his shoulders upwards, trying to work out the uncomfortable kinks that had settled there from the long hours of sitting. He didn’t want to be here, confined in the unpleasant closeness of the sick room as the night passed by. He wished he were out searching for who, or what did this, rather than sitting here in the dark.

But he would do anything for Hepsie and he knew that this was the best way he could help her. He was worried about his little wife as she ran about, carrying the weight of everyone’s sorrows on her shoulders. They were strong shoulders, but so small to be bearing such a great burden. He would carry as much of the load for her as he could.

He cared about the Father too, and knew it was deeply important that he awoke. The people were in desperate need of guidance, and the priest provided that in his own gentle, tentative way. But in the back of Steen’s mind he could not help but think of the many times he had seen the priest with Valeriya. And there was a certain something that Steen could recognise in the man’s eyes when he gazed upon her lovely, pale face. Steen knew it because his expression must have been the same when he was looking at Hepsie.

Now as he looked down upon the man’s tortured face, as he gritted and gnashed his teeth, moaning in pain, he felt an overwhelming pity for him.

Steen was lucky, God had been kind to him and given him Hepsie, the only thing he truly wanted in this world. But it seemed to him the devil nipped at Harndall’s feet, while he struggled to stay on the path chosen for him. Steen was lucky. What if he had been born a priest. What then? Would he still have loved Hepsie? He knew it for sure. Whatever incarnation God has seen fit to assign to him, he would love her, whether he were a Prince on high, or a dog whining at her feet.

She was so beautiful her soft features, her infinitely kissable lips, the rosy blooms in her cheeks, her deep brown eyes that smiled even when she didn’t. He loved the way her curly hair cascaded down her shoulders when she loosed it at the end of the day. No one else saw it that way, they could only suspect from the tiny curls she neatly tucked behind her ears. Sometimes he liked to twine those thick strands between his fingers, or just bury his face in her hair and breath deep the comforting scent of hay and sandalwood.

He awoke with a start as the door clicked open softly.

“Well my luverly… looks like I’m catchin’ yew sleepin’ on the job eh?”, she smiled warmly at him but he could see the exhaustion hiding just beneath the surface. He knew how much effort it was for her to pretend and he wanted to take her in his arms and carry her to bed where she could sleep for as long as she wanted. He would stand guard at the door and turn the needy folks away. He would do it for her. But she would never want that.

He looked up at her beautiful, beloved face, as she gazed down at him, and his heart thumped painfully in his chest. He loved it when she looked down upon him like this, it was such a change from the usual way of things as he towered above her all day. In the night he loved to lay back and watch her as she moved above him. She would look down at him, her dark hair falling around her flushed face, her lips parted in a soft moan, as his body moved in rhythm with hers.

As he leant forward to push himself out of their chair his face almost brushed her pregnant belly. He paused for a moment to have word with the little creature growing inside.

“Well hello in there, how’re yew doin’ littl’ mite… bet yer gettin’ tired of yer ma runnin’ around like this and think she should be takin’ a bit of a rest now”, he nodded sagely pretending to listen to some unheard voice.

He stood up now looking down at Hepsie. He loved this too, the way her eyes raised up to him expectantly and he could see the inside of her lower lip when her mouth was slightly opened. Also it did give him an extremely good vantage point to gaze at the curves of her breasts peeking cheekily out the top of her dress.

“Littl’ mite in there’s bein’ sayin’ yew need to be goin’ ter get some rest now”, he grinned at her, “yew best be listenin’… I’d say that there babies got its ma’s smarts so it’s probably bein’ knowin’ best and all”.

He swooped her up into a gentle hug, rubbing her back with his great paws. He could feel how tense her muscles were, and her body fell forward wearily against his as she let him knead her back.

Suddenly he felt her body go stiff against him, and she gave a small gasp, the sound muffled by his shirt.

He heard a strangled sob behind him followed by a low moan of pain and a rustling of the blankets.

He turned to see Father Harndall sitting bolt upright in bed, staring at his surroundings in confusion.

“Wha…what?!… Mella… M… Mella…”, he groaned again, “Valeriya! Oh… oh God… oh”.

The panic-stricken man now tried to push the blankets off and stand up as Hepsie and Steen stared at him in shock. His legs collapsed underneath him and he slid to the floor in a crumbled heap with a low cry of pain.

This set Hepsie in action again, and within seconds she was kneeling on the floor beside Harndall. Steen fell to his knees too but was unsure what he should do. He would wait and follow Hepsie’s lead, she would know what to do.

And she did, in an instant her arms were wrapped around the frail priests shoulders and she was murmuring words of comfort as they sat in a heap together on the floor. He was weeping, muttering about Mella and Valeriya and something about someone’s eyes. Occasionally his sobs were interrupted by bout of hysterical, laughter followed by uncontrolled shivers that rampaged through his body.

Steen knew he had married the best of women as he watched his little wife, holding the priest in her gentle arms until the storm of sobbing finally subsided and his head drooped weakly towards his legs. She always knew exactly what to do, exactly what to say to make people feel better.

“Can you be helpin’ me be puttin’ this good Father back to his bed now luv… he’s bein’ needin’ a good deal more rest before he decidin’ it’s time to be gettin’ up and walkin’ round”.

He leapt to his feet first helping his little wife as she struggled to hers and then carefully lifting the Father back into his bed. He managed to send Hepsie to get some rest, after she had checked over the Father, who was now sleeping soundly, three times. Then he resumed his position on that dreadfully uncomfortable seat and began to entertain himself again with thoughts of his wife. It was going to be a long night.

“The sun is rising”, Cordell remarked unnecessarily.

The length of his sword was stained red by the eery morning light, as though it had already been rammed deep into the body of his enemies.

Garrick could see that the sun was bloody well rising. In fact he was entirely sick of Cordell’s incessant commentary on everything. And as for waving that ruddy sword around everywhere like he was some sort of ancient hero, it was really a bit much.

Garrick had been enjoying an extremely pleasant sleep indeed, free from the terrible nightmares that had haunted him for months on end. His best friend these days was a frothy tankard of ale. A few of these (well perhaps slightly more than a few) and no longer could she scamper through his dreams, tangling her tiny cold fingers in his beard. He was free.

Now he had been wrenched from his warm bed, dragged from the arms of his sleeping wife and made to tramp around in the cold for hours on end, when probably the good Father and the Countess were holed up in some warm corner of the ship, while he had to search about the whole blasted countryside for them.

He stole a quick glance at Radomir, though the sideways movement of his eyes in their sockets caused an intense flash of pain and nausea to ramble through his body.

The man’s craggy face was set in an impenetrable expression, although if one looked closer they could notice the tiny movement just above his massive jaw as he rapidly clenched and unclenched his teeth.

Garrick would never have believed it to be true, a priest! And the Countess who had always seemed to him to stand above them all, unreachable on her pedestal of purity, looking down in vague amusement as they clumsily stumbled through their dirty mortal lives.

He had not noticed anything strange between them, but Cindra with her sharp eyes had remarked that the kiss the Father had given her that night under the mistletoe was anything but pure.

Thinking of Cindra he realised that in fact she had not been sleeping when he left, but sitting in up in bed, her eyes red and bleary. When he had kissed her farewell her face had been warm and clammy, sweaty curls plastered to her forehead. Perhaps she had another nightmare, he mused. She seemed to be sleeping very badly these days. It was probably the baby, it was more restless with each new day, and he knew it would not be long till it came.

And here he was parading about in the early hours of the morning with a thumping head and a churning stomach. He sniffed with irritation.

“Ouch!”, he cried causing Steen to turn to him with an inquiring look on his honest face.

“I have icicles growing inside my nose it’s so damn cold out here!”, he exclaimed in annoyance.

Steen snorted, “Yes me ‘Lord, fer sure it’s bein’ terrible cold out here”.

He winked at Garrick conspiratorially, chuckling softly, “And I must be confessin’ I also have them nasty little bastards bein’ frozen up in this here nose of mine. Tis’ bein’ a most unpleasant experience. Not painful mind yew, but sort of prickly”.

“And my head Goodman, my poor aching head. Had I known we would be prancing about in the wee hours with swords and torches I would not have had so many tankards of ale last night”, he rubbed his head, scrunching his face into a grimace of pain for emphasis.

Steen nodded sagely, an expression suggesting that he was remembering the mornings he had awoken in a similar condition.

“Oh my God!”, they heard Cordell cry out further ahead and both he and Radomir broke into a frantic run.

Garrick’s sword was instantly from its sheath, the cold of weight of it reassuringly in his grip. His tender conditions forgotten he ran forward, his feet pounding into the soft snow beneath.

He saw what had drawn Cordell’s outburst lying up ahead, half sheltered from the snow by the folds of the worker’s tent. They were together, it was as he had expected.

It was strange that they hadn’t chosen a warmer rendezvous spot. It had been a bitterly cold night and Garrick knew from personal experience that there were plenty of hiding places throughout the ships. Cindra and he had explored quite a number of them.

Cordell and Radomir reached the huddled figures first, standing there for a moment. Garrick noticed Cordell’s sword drooping uselessly at his side. Then his addled brain realised how strange it was that the two had not responded to the men’s cries, how strange it was that they had lain there in the snow all through the night.

Radomir gave a strangled sob and fell to his knees beside one of the figures.

Reaching the others Garrick saw that he was crouched beside the unmoving figure of his wife.

Her skin had always been pale, but now it was completely bleached, the only colour leant by the cuts and bruises that covered it. Her soft golden hair was spread about her still-beautiful face. Her arm was entwined with that of the Priest’s whose face was also drained of colour, but there were no visible signs of violence on him. He looked peaceful, his features soft as though he were merely sleeping.

The whole scene was stained a bloody red by the pallid rays of the winter sun, struggling their way through the branches of the dead trees around.

“Oh God… Valeriya… what has he done to you?”, Radomir sobbed between his clenched teeth.

He had grabbed her limp bod, wrenching her arm from Harndall’s and pulling her against him.

Her head lolled away from the large body beside, back towards where Harndall lay and Garrick could see the large, wound on her throat.

“My poor darling… my poor Valeriya. He will pay… he will burn in hell for what he did!”, Radomir was muttering, his face twisted into an ugly grimace as he began to roughly stroke her body with his large clumsy hands.

Suddenly her eyes snapped opened, and she gazed directly up at Garrick in mute horror.

She moaned, recoiling from Radomir’s touch as he began to pull her closer to him.

“She’s alive… thank God she’s alive!”, Radomir cried yanking at her body as she lost conciousness again.

“We have to get her back to Goodwife Cade! She will know what to do. Come on you fool! Don’t just stand there like an idiot. Bring the torch this way!”, he growled to Steen who was standing nearby an expression of shock written across his features.

He pulled Valeriya roughly from the ground wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Didn’t you hear me! Move you imbecile… the Countess needs assistance immediately”, he roared at Steen, clutching tightly at his wife.

She began to whimper, struggling weakly away from his broad chest but he only clasped her to him with more force.

“Don’t worry darling… you’ll be alright. Your Radomir is here now and I will take good care of you. He can’t hurt you anymore. You are mine again now”, he murmured to the shivering girl in his arms.

Garrick had to suppress a shudder staring at the wildly, possessive and disturbingly jubilant look that stole across Radomir’s face.

“I trust you men can take care of his body”, he hissed, gazing with loathing at the forlorn crumpled figure of the priest.

“Come on, let’s go… you walk ahead so I can see where I am putting my feet!”, he ordered Steen and the they trudged off into the snow leaving Garrick and Cordell with the body of Harndall.

Garrick turned back towards Cordell who was still standing above Harndall, staring oddly at the corpse at his feet.

Suddenly he straightened up and shouted, “Garrick! He just moved… he’s alive too! Only his breathing is very shallow, I did not even see it before”.

He fell to his knees beside the priest, gently shaking his shoulders, “Father… Father, can you hear me?”.

There was no response, but Harndall’s hair slid away from his face a little and both men noticed the neat puncture marks in his neck.

“It looks like things aren’t exactly the way they seem here”, Cordell said, once again irritatingly stating the obvious.

He began to carefully put his hands beneath Harndall’s prostrate body.

“Come on Garrick… will you help me lift him?”.

Garrick sighed and bent down, on creaking knees to get a grip on the man’s body. It had definitely not been the morning he had expected.

Hi guys… just a quick warning. This one is a bit violent and gory so if you think that sort of thing would upset you don’t read on and I can fill you in, in the comments later (just ask). Most of it will become evident in the following story.

Harndall slid out of her arms and onto the ground as a small figure thumped into her. She was so surprised at the interruption that the other woman managed to push her away from the priest.

“Leave him alone”, the woman shouted, her voice muffled by the snow.

Merila turned to face her. Ah yes. She remembered this one, Valeriya. This one’s husband had tried to force himself upon her. Well, she would just have to suffer for his sins, not too mention her own. Merila had been enjoying the taste of Father Harndall very much and she did not like to be disturbed when she hadn’t finished her meal.

Valeriya was gazing up at her in terror, her mouth wide open with shock. She watched as Merila slowly licked her lips, tasting Harndall’s sweet blood that was drooling from the corner of her mouth. Valeriya gasped in horror.

“Mella?”, she asked tentatively.

Then Valeriya looked down at Harndall who was moaning on the ground, leaning against the bench.

Merila could taste the fear rising from her in waves. It was intoxicating, the power she held over this frightened being. She would make it painful for this one.

She threw Valeriya bodily to the ground, jerking her up again and slapping her face with on open palm. Liking the feeling off this, the thud as her hand collided with the delicate face, she repeated with her fist closed. This was better even still.

She was disappointed that the woman was not screaming or trying to fight back. No matter how hard she hit her, her body was limp as a ragdoll’s. The peasant woman had writhed and shrieked when Cebrien and she had feasted upon her body. Cebrien had left her to finish on her own. He didn’t like to hear them scream saying it offended his sensibilities. But she did, oh how she did.

Harndall was different. She remembered he had been kind to her in life, and some small part of her did not want to cause him pain. She was almost glad this one had arrived. Now she would have her fun.

She stopped, holding the young woman upright before her.

“Why aren’t you crying bitch?”, she snarled.

Valeriya didn’t answer, only stared at her defiantly, her entire body trembling.

“I asked you a question whore! Answer me!”, she grabbed a fistful of the woman’s long, golden hair, yanking Valeriya’s head close to her face.

She leant down and murmured into her ear, “You’re going to die Valeriya. Not only that but he is too and there is nothing you can do about it. And what’s more you’re going to burn in hell for all the dirty sinful things you’ve done”.

“Now cry”, she whispered, her teeth sinking into the soft skin of the girl’s earlobe, causing her to cry out in pain.

She stood up and watched as Valeriya crumbled, burying her face in her hands and shaking silently, the only thing holding her upright, Merila’s iron grip on her waist.

This would not do, damn her if she would not weep and sob and gnash her teeth. Merila would make her scream.

Grasping the other woman’s hair again she tilted Valeriya’s head far back, listening to her moan in terror. She tore at the supple flesh on Valeriya’s neck, sinking her teeth deep into the jugular, the thrill of the woman’s thumping heart rushing straight through her rotted veins.

A shriek of agony ripped from the woman’s throat as Merila fed on her.

But something was wrong, the blood tasted sour and she began to feel slightly ill as it pooled in her decaying stomach. She pulled back from the throat, feeling dizzy. Perhaps the woman’s blood was tainted somehow, or perhaps she had simply fed too much for one night.

She threw the limp body to the ground, watching with glee as the blood from Valeriya’s wounds stained the snow red. Merila could not stay to watch them die, her stomach was churning and she must get below ground before the sun rose. The men would be out looking.

Valeriya managed to crawl over to Harndall’s side. The young priest was staring up at the sky, his eyes glazed, a drowsy smile on his face.

She patted weakly at his face and croaked, “Harndall… Harn..”, before collapsing at his side.

Harndall was gazing at the sky. There were so many stars up there. How had he never noticed it before.

He gasped in wonder as one appeared to fall from the heavens, plummeting towards the ground with a bright flash.

“Valeriya!”, he mumured sleepily, “Did you see that my girl?”

She didn’t answer him. Perhaps she had already gone to sleep. He knew she had, had a hard day what with Morven giving birth and all.

He would just quickly wake her to tell her about the falling star. He wanted to shake her gently, but he found to his surprise he could not move his arms.

“Valeriya… Valeriya… wake up love… wake up”, but he was sleepy himself and he found himself dozing off, his face buried in the warmth of her soft, golden hair.

Harndall stared up in astonishment and blinked. It was Sister Mella but he barely recognised her. The last time he had seen her she had been crazed, covered in scratches from her own nails, naked and dirty, her black hair in tangled knots. Now it hung in a luscious black curtain over her shoulders, doing nothing to hide the indecency of the rich, burgundy gown she wore. Her skins was perfect, pale as the snow that lay around, only her eyes surrounded by dark circles. Her eyes though, there was something strange about them he couldn’t quite make out in the dim light cast by the moon above.

“Hello Harndall”, she said smiling cruelly at him.

This was strange too, he had never heard her speak except for the one time she had cried out in the church service. Now here she was, standing before him, speaking coherently, smiling, clothed in fine robes after having been missing for more than three months. It was all too much to comprehend.

She reached down and grasped his hands in her icy ones, pulling him to his feet with a strength he had not thought she possessed. She was gazing at him with an intense look. He would have almost said hungrily.

He couldn’t understand why she would have left them all terrified for her safety. They had searched for weeks, desperately looking for her and then trying to find her body so she could at least have a decent burial. They had come to the conclusion that she had thrown herself from the cliffs into the sea, her body crashing onto the rocks below, the sea sucking it down. Many nights he had lain awake thinking of how he had failed her, or awoken in horror after dreaming of her body being smashed to pulp on the rocks. He pushed her away angrily taking a step backward.

“Where have you been Sister?”, he asked his voice filled with confusion and barely suppressed fury, “We looked for you for so long… the people… they risked their lives to search for your body at the cliffs and here you are!”

His voice was becoming shrill with a rage he had never felt before, “Where have you been? Where have you been!?”

“Shhh Harndall… it’s alright”, she whispered, her velvet tone soothing him, “Everything is fine now. I am here”.

As she spoke she reached up her hand to gently touch his face. He gasped at the touch of her icy skin against his but as she stroked he began to feel more calm, his anger dissipating.

“See… there now. I told you it would be alright”, she purred.

Of course it would be alright now that she was here. Why had he ever doubted her. He looked into her eyes noticing how beautiful they were, how they glowed such a pretty colour of red in the moonlight.

She continued to caress his face smiling at him. She was so good to him, so he smiled back at her. He seemed to remember a long time ago there had been another woman who had touched his face like this, but these thoughts were melting away like the snow in springtime.

Then she pressed her body against his, wrapping her arms around his shivering figure and pressing her mouth to his. He choked slightly as the taste of blood filled his mouth and her tongue slithered against his. But she kissed him harder, biting his lips licking at the small cuts the sharp points of her teeth made there. He could hear her growling in the back of her throat, but it sounded distant and dull compared with the buzzing in his head.

Then he felt her tongue and teeth scraping against his neck as she leaned him back so far he thought he must fall. He felt the pressure as her teeth slid into his veins, but there was no pain only ecstasy so intense he thought he would die in her arms.

Tiny flakes of snow floated down from above and settled on his face, achingly cold against the inferno that was raging through his body. He dimly recalled that it had stopped snowing when Valeriya had been there with him. But that had been such a long time ago and he was weary of the world now. All he really wanted was to be allowed to sleep, away from the pain, and the suffering. To lie his head down on her soft shoulder and bury his face in her long golden hair.

She was so very beautiful. The last thing he saw was her exquisite face before him as the blackness began to close in around the edges of his vision