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[Ember Cawood]

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Britain was quiet, as usual. Strangers lurked on the perimeter of the city, occasionally screaming in terror and running at the slightest sound. Ember had grown accustomed to their absurd screeches and wails. She slipped through their encampments, bare feet padding softly against the snow and leaves, in an attempt to raise as little alarm as possible.

Ember hid herself behind a sapling as a couple passed by, both looking around, wary and wide-eyed with fear. A cold shiver overtook her, forcing her to exhale. Her breath made a whooshing grey ghost in the shimmering twilight, and the couple froze as they watched it rise and dissipate. A frenzy suddenly ensued as the two ran into one another in their horrified rush.

“Aah! Get away from me!” the man shouted as he shoved his companion to the ground and stepped on her in his desperation to escape. Ember watched helplessly as the man lost his footing and fell on the poor woman, who also panicked and heaved futilely against the man’s scrambling form. Just then, Ember’s stomach growled loudly, igniting a whole new round of hysteria from every direction. Ember shook her head and sighed, emerging from her hiding place to continue her trek into Britian as still more lunacy erupted around her.

The acrid smell of smoke and metal from the forge was a heavy gloom hanging over the streets, but Ember knew there were better smells ahead. She half-ran, her calloused feet spatting against cobblestones still wet with melting snow. A few of the merchants glared at her through dingy shop windows, but at least no one came out to give chase. Ember turned a corner, sniffing deeply, trying to detect the aroma of bread from the bakery. Joanne would be tossing out the day-old rolls any moment now, and the thought sped her feet and lifted her spirits. Her stomach growled again.

Except the smell that met her was not what she expected. Instantly, Ember froze in place. The southerly wind carried an altogether new scent. She wasn’t sure whether it intrigued or revolted her. A wave of nausea passed through her body, and all thoughts of food abandoned her. Somewhere deep inside, a tiny instinctive voice screamed at her to run as fast as her skinny legs could carry her. The wind tousled her auburn hair, blowing it across her face, along with another wave of this new smell. She pulled her long red hair back into a ponytail, smoothing it the best she could with her trembling fingers. It was then that she saw them.

Eight dark figures, or maybe ten, she supposed. Dark horses arranged in ranks, and dark riders with even darker eyes. They were intently staring at the castle gates. They all looked the same: pale, with armour the colour of charcoal in a winter fire bucket. Something about them made her intensely uneasy, despite the fact that they took no notice of her whatsoever.

The wind shifted briefly, carrying with it the heavenly scent of the Good Eats bakery. It cleared Ember’s head long enough to remind her of where she was headed. She did a quick about-face and doubled back half a block to take a side street, in a dead sprint toward the bakery. She splashed in puddles, reaching down to rinse the dust from her feet and legs in mid-stride. But she was too late. Joanne had closed up the shop, and the rolls lay in a sodden pile in the street. Ember shooed away the birds and rats to pick out a few of the least soggy pieces, eating them hungrily. She stuffed a couple more into her pack and skulked down the side of the building again toward the castle with a new hunger: a deep-rooted desire to learn what the presence of the dark riders could possibly mean.

[Ember Cawood]

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The exact spot stood empty, without any sign of the dark riders who had stood, rank and file, just half an hour before. Their smell lingered, reminding Ember faintly of honey left in the sun, sugar-crusted over and soured. Sweet, and yet still offputting, as it evoked a pang of fear deep in her gut.

There was shouting inside the castle gates. Ember couldn’t make out what was being said, but the words sounded angry and harsh. She balked at crossing the bridge, but Henry was tied up behind the castle stables, and she couldn’t bear the idea of leaving him unprotected. She slunk across the bridge, wiping her hands nervously on her apron.

In the center of the shouting circle stood a man wearing what looked to be a skull, bleached pure white. His mount took a jittery step forward, unsure of the command. Ember released the rope tying Henry to the stables and crept out into the fray. Standing before the skull-clad man was a small group of the dark riders. Her breath caught in her throat, and Henry wandered out to stand behind the one in the skull. As he did, the men behind him began to utter oaths and words that Ember didn’t understand. Sparkles rose up around them and they seemed to glow, radiant, after the words were spoken. Just as quickly, the dark riders did likewise, and the air was electrified with the energy between the two groups.

“‘Enry!!” Ember screamed frantically. “C’mon ‘Enry!! It’s dang’rous ‘ere!!” The horse turned its head, eyes wide and nervous, and bolted toward Ember. She ran quickly for the bridge, but as she did, three more dark riders sauntered easily through the gate. Their smell engulfed her, and she spun on her heel, almost running into her horse.

“Get outta th’ way ‘Enry!! Foller me!!” Ember dove into the stables as somewhere behind her, a woman screamed. Ember looked back for only a moment to see a beautiful woman in pale purple slumped forward over her mount. At this, the dark riders sprang to life, scattering the guards and nobles who faced them down. Ember curled up in the corner of a stall, scooting piles of hay away from her to provide an escape route if the stable were to go up in flames. She hugged her knees and trembled as the sounds of explosions, crashes and screams filled the air outside. The smell of burning flesh mixed with the copper taste of fear on her tongue, and the nausea was overwhelming. Her stomach churned, and she wretched, losing what little she had eaten just half an hour earlier.

Henry watched her, then lowered his head and nuzzled her forehead, damp with cold sweat. The sounds of fighting faded, and a calm descended upon Ember as her eyes closed.

When she opened her eyes again, only silence remained. Drifting wisps of smoke brought Ember back to the reality of her situation. She stood shakily and tried to sound confident.

“C’mon ‘Enry. It’s o’er.” Henry followed cautiously behind her. Outside lay the wounded of the battle. The dark riders stood again, rank and file, on the path ahead of her. And again, they all seemed oblivious to her presence, except for one, who turned automatically to look at her as if she had called his name. For a brief moment, his gaze bored into her coldly. Then, just as suddenly, as if he found nothing of interest in Ember’s eyes, he returned to looking straight ahead. Ember shivered as the dark riders departed. The wounded made their way inside the castle. Ember followed quietly, still unsure of what had just happened.

Inside, the wounded were cloistered into a large hall. Strong men, guards she supposed, stood outside the door, allowing the others to pass inside. Ember made her way toward them with Henry in tow.

“Wot was all that?” Ember looked from one guard to the next. “Who was them pale ones? The dark riders?”

One of the guards eyed her warily. “Vampires,” he answered matter-of-factly.

Ember burst out laughing, the comedy of his answer mixing with relief at the battle’s end. She laughed until her sides hurt, wrapping her arms around herself to quell the aching muscles. But as her laughter faded, she noted that she was the only one laughing.

“Vampires?” she asked. “In’t no such thing. Ne’er heard anythin’ so silly in all me life.”

“Vampires,” another guard restated. “So ye better watch your pretty little neck.”

Ember’s expression fell. Her mind couldn’t wrap around the possibility. Surely they were joking, or at least mistaken. Vampires are legends, old stories told to scare children. How could they possibly believe…?

The guards eyed her suspiciously as they continued the conversation. They returned again and again to the ludicrous word: Vampire. Now and again one would look her up and down, seeming to note the dirt on her feet and legs, her tattered kilt, or her grubby fingernails.

“Ah gots me a grand ‘ouse back ‘ome, Ah do. Ye cain’t judge a book by its dusty ol’ cover now, kin ye?” The guards looked unconvinced.

At long last, Ember had enough. She gave her farewells and an awkward curtsy. “Learnt that at charm school, ah did. Me mum an’ pa ‘ad so much money they sent me teh all kin’s o’ schools.”

One guard chortled. “Sure.”

Ember pouted slightly and beckoned her horse. “C’mon ‘Enry.” Together they walked down the hall toward the castle exit. “Vampires,” she repeated, chuckling softly, but with some trepidation. “Ne’er ‘eard such from grown men in me life.”

She dug into her pack and pulled out her last pear, greatly bruised from her dive into the stables. She bit off the bruised part and ate it eagerly, then gave the unbruised portion to Henry. Outside, the clouds poured down rain, cleansing the blood from the cobblestones.

Contemplating the night’s events, Ember led Henry through the rain and down into the Britain sewers for shelter. There she waited out the storm, and the night, with only the songs of the bullfrogs and that one ridiculous word still ringing in her ears.