LF Shorts - William's story (Patreon)

The sun was rising, and while William could remain in the sunlight, for a while at least, it was exceedingly unpleasant, and he preferred to avoid it when possible. It wasn’t so much the blistering of his undead flesh that he minded, but rather the memories it provoked. Absently, he rubbed at the shiny yellow ring of scar tissue encircling his left wrist. Vampires weren’t supposed to change after undeath, but centuries of pain and imprisonment left their mark, even on immortals.

As William entered the caverns beneath Refuge, he shifted into his Mist form. Now that there were more buildings above ground, fewer people lingered in the dark tunnels of the subterranean Goblin capital, but there would still be a few wandering the halls. It had been over a week since any of the newcomers had attempted to kill him, and he preferred not to be the cause of anyone else getting in trouble for doing something that any rational being would.

He drifted slowly through the air, wafting higher and higher until the carefully crafted ventilation system pulled his incorporeal form into one of the narrow shafts at the top of the walls. After that, the natural flow of air blew him swiftly from one area to the next, until the last puff of breeze from high pressure to low left him hovering outside his own home.

His personal space was deep within the maze of tunnels, homes, and spacious caverns. It was next to impossible to find, and even more difficult to reach. He had nearly drained his mana pool dry when compressing the walls around it, hardening them until a seasoned warrior with a magical weapon would find it difficult to make their way in.

The only entrance was a thin tube, too small even for Silus, the little bat who was his partner in seeking out the best way beneath the Whispering Mountains. The little creature was probably as close to a true friend as he had now, in spite of the fact he could not understand her speech. The children were his favorites, of course, but he dared not get close to them, since their parents were understandably concerned when they associated with a vampire. He missed the time before Aspen had returned, when the little princess had run nearly wild, and he had been able to play at tea with her and the unicorns on particularly cloudy days.

He exerted his will, moving in the slow way of the mist form. If he had had to solely use this form of locomotion to reach his home, instead of riding the air currents, it could easily have taken all night. Fortunately, his home was filled with the cool breeze blown in from the nearby river, and air from any other part of the complex tunnel system eventually made its way here, carrying his ethereal body along. It was only here, where the path narrowed to a size barely large enough to fit a large man’s thumb, that William had to nudge himself along.

As soon as William was fully within his home, he reformed into his solid shape. Lydia looked up from where she was preparing a meal, her face creasing into the warm smile she kept especially for him. “William, dear! You’re home early. How was work today?” She opened her arms, and he stepped into them, ignoring the unnatural hardness of her limbs as he leaned into her embrace, kissing her gently on her cheek.

“It went well,” he said, shrugging off the cloak he wore more out of habit than necessity. “I believe the tunnel will be complete by late summer or early fall, so Refuge won’t be cut off from Quarternell next winter.”

She smiled again. “That’s wonderful to hear. I know you prefer it when there are fewer people around, but not everyone is an old hermit, like you.”

He chuckled hoarsely, feeling a pang at what remained unsaid. She, too, would undoubtedly prefer to be among other people, but instead she was forced to remain here, in their home. He glanced around, seeing a silent figure sitting at the dining table near the kitchen.

Roger’s head jerked a bit as William turned his attention to the lad, but he smiled. “Heyo, Uncle Will! I was in the area on a mission, and just thought I’d check on you and see how you and Auntie Lydia are doing.”

William nodded to the young man. Roger was William’s sister, Hilde’s, only child. She and her husband had passed away when the boy was barely old enough to be on his own, but Lydia had insisted that seventeen was still too young to be alone, and Roger had lived with them until he was nearly twenty. He’d never been particularly good at anything except hitting things hard, and when he’d run off to join the guard, it hadn’t been much of a shock. Still, it was nice that he visited his old aunt and uncle often, and sometimes he even brought his little daughters, Ana and Mila. Lydia had always wanted children,and it broke her heart when they had none, and she took to the role of grandmother as if born to it.

William glanced around. “Did the girls come?”

Roger shook his head regretfully. “Duty calls, Uncle Will. The girls stayed home with Patty. We thought we might visit for your birthday, though.”

William glanced at the small holes that let in carefully corralled trickles of sunlight, as well as the fresh river breeze. What month was it? Spring, yes, but was it already so late?

Lydia’s tinkling laugh broke into his contemplation of the drifting motes of dust dancing in the thin sunbeams. “Did you forget again, William? You need to pay attention! Birthdays are an opportunity for those who love you to celebrate the fact that they’ve had another year with you, and to wish for many more.”

He closed his eyes. How many times had he heard her laugh like that, and say those words? A hundred? More? Enough so it still burned bright in his memory, even half a millennium later. Roger, though…

He turned back to face the two animated statues occupying the room. It, and they, were lovingly crafted replicas of the house and family he had lost five centuries before. He was certain that Lydia was perfect. He had been fortunate enough to spend forty-three years watching her age from a vibrant, joyful young woman into a wise, cheerful old lady. He knew every crease on her face, the way that curl of hair refused to stay in her steel-gray bun, and how the dimple in her right cheek danced in and out of sight when she laughed.

Roger wasn’t quite as good. There was something in the shape of his eyes that wasn’t quite right, and William couldn’t remember if the boy had been taller or shorter than himself. Taller, he thought, and with a swirl of mana, the seated figure grew a subtle few centimeters.

He wished he remembered the girls better. They took after their mother, though they had their father’s swarthy complexion, and while they were certainly prettier than they would have been if they looked more like Roger, he barely had any memory of Patty at all. She hadn’t liked leaving the city, and had usually sent her husband and children off to visit William and Lydia while she stayed behind to enjoy some time without the demands of family.

He turned to the two small, silent statues in the corner, half hidden by the china cabinet he had lovingly reproduced, along with the dozens of dishes and knick knacks that Lydia had stored there. Their shape and proportions were those of children, and he knew they both had long falls of dark hair, though Mila liked to wear hers in a braid, while Ana preferred to just let it fall, and would only brush it when an adult made her do so.

Their faces, though… No matter what he did, they ended up looking like Juniper, or one of the other children who now lived in Refuge. Had Ana’s eyes been ever so slightly tilted up at the outer corners? Had Mila’s eyebrows arched, or were they level and serious?

William stood, silent in the middle of the room, watching the dust motes drift. Finally, he let a hint of his power flow back into the Lydia-statue. “Remind me,” he told her. “Remind me, my love.”

When she stepped back into his field of vision, she was as he had last seen her; ravaged by the pox that took her life, but still the most beautiful woman ever to walk the earth. She reached up and touched his gaunt, pale face. “Live, husband,” she murmured, voice hoarse from fever. “Don’t you dare follow me before your time. Live, and take care of Roger, and the girls, and yourself.” Her lips twitched into a shadow of her teasing smile.

“If I see you in the Chaos Pool a day before you were meant to be there, I’ll be terribly angry. You know I will.” The smile faded, to be replaced with a stare that bored into whatever soul he had left. She lifted a hand, pinky extended in a gesture they had first used as children, growing up together. “Promise me. Promise you’ll live as long as you can. I know you’re going to want to do… something terrible, when I’m gone. Promise me you won’t.”

Slowly, he lifted a trembling hand, hooking his pinky through hers. “I swear,” he whispered. When he lowered his hand, he left her in place, hand raised, face settled into the expression of contented acceptance that she had worn in the moment Atae came to take her to the Chaos Pool.

Lifting his face, he stepped into the nearest beam of sunlight, not even flinching as it seared his skin. It would take almost an hour of direct exposure to do more than blister, and this thin, weak light posed no real danger to him. As the burn intensified, he wondered what Lydia would have said if she knew the vow he made to her would keep him alive for centuries after her own death. Had her soul been born and died a dozen times since then? Would any part of her still remember him, when some accident finally brought him to her side? Would she hold him as he told her of his years of imprisonment, and cry because their promise had bound him to a life that had long since ceased to be worth living? Or unliving, as the case may be.

Slowly, he stepped back out of the light, eyes going to the pile of fruits on the table. His body craved sustenance, but he denied its demands without difficulty. One of Jezerey’s favorite torments had been to leave food just out of his reach until he gave in and did whatever she demanded of him. He was long used to hunger, and by now it was just another part of the lingering suffering that was his existence.

Though, he thought as he glanced back at Lydia’s silent statue, Lydia would not have approved. He had always been prone to melancholy, and she had always known just how to tease him out of one of his dark moods. She would have reminded him that he was, at least, in a safe place, finally helping people again. He could never make up for all the ones he had hurt, however indirectly, when he was with Jezerey, but at least he was trying.

He picked up a juicy apple and buried his fangs in it, drawing its juice into his own body. Energy filled him, and he dropped the withered husk onto the table. Two pawpaws and twenty-seven blackberries later, he slowed, and bowed his head.

In life, he had been a follower of Minetra, the Goddess of craftsmen. While his craft was, perhaps, rather abstruse, he had been a devout adherent, as had Lydia, who was a tailor, though she had never truly made a career of it.

One of his multitude of regrets regarding becoming a vampire was that she would no longer accept him. The undead were anathema to most of the Gods, other than Apofis and a few other, even darker deities, and William refused to swear his unlife to any of them.

He had tried praying to Atae, the unwilling donor of the blood that had made him vampire, but he had received a message from Her saying that if he continued, he would have to immediately return to the Chaos Pool. The urge to accept had been nearly overpowering, and only the memory of Lydia had kept him from following through. Still, there was the possibility that she would consider this just another way to escape his promise, and he had forced himself to reject the offer.

As he lifted a Meta fruit to his lips, he thought of Gina. Gina, the Goddess of Life, and the Patron God of Refuge. The Meta tree was a gift from her, and as far as he knew, he was the only one who could eat as much of its fruit as he wished. While others gained a random skill upon eating their first piece, and all subsequent attempts led to greater and greeter debuffs, William got nothing. Nothing except delicious-tasting fruit.

Lips quirking in a rare moment of humor, he muttered, “I thank you for this meal, Gina.”

The next moment, a young woman was sitting on his table. Her moss green eyes shimmered, and her brown hair flowed around her bare shoulders, brushing the leaves that seemed to grow out of her gauzy green gown. A long train puddled on the granite table behind her, draping over the drained fruits he had dropped there, and, one by one, they returned to their original, fresh state.

The woman rolled her eyes at William. “I swear, it took you long enough!”

The half-depleted Meta fruit dropped from William’s nerveless fingers, and then he dropped to his knees, pressing his forehead against the cold stone floor. “Gina,” he gasped, “great Goddess! Forgive me for daring to speak Your Name! I only…”

With two quiet taps, little green slippers appeared at the edge of William’s vision. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out any further visions of divinity, and so he missed the hand that was extended down to him. Gina finally tapped him on the shoulder.

“Look, could you get up? I mean, no offense, and I know you’re a vampire, so you’re fine, but you look like you’re going to get stuck like that.” Gina’s voice was teasing, and had a strange lack of formality, for a Goddess, so William cracked one eye open, peering upwards.

Gina wriggled her fingers invitingly. “Come on, you can do it. Back on your feet, now.”

William drew back in horror at the thought of touching the Goddess, but he did stand, as she commanded. She rolled her eyes again, and he flinched. Patting him on the shoulder, Gina sighed. “Bridge made you guys all so angsty, I swear. She’s not allowed to code when she’s sad any more.”

Tapping her chin with one finger, Gina’s eyes flickered, for all the world as if she was reading. Finally, she smiled. “Ah ha! Okay, so, according to the Master Vampire Rules,” she glanced at him, grimacing apologetically, “that’s you, since you were made with a Blood Dagger, sorry. Anyway, Apofis wrote this to keep you guys all tied to him, because that’s the kind of jerk he is, and he made sure you were Anathema to basically anybody you’d actually want to follow.”

Her eyes flickered again, and she nodded in satisfaction. Her green eyes gleamed with holy power as she looked at him again, and she smiled. “Just because you’re Anathema doesn’t mean we can accept you, as you discovered with Atae, but it does mean we have to hit you with some serious… um, curses? I guess? So, really, all you have to do is find a curse you can live with.” She hesitated. “Die with? I mean, what do you prefer? I don’t want to insult you or anything.”

William simply bowed his head, “Anything, great Goddess. I am but the dust beneath your-”

She put a warm finger over his cold lips, and he shuddered. Everything but the sun had been cold for over five hundred years. The opportunity to feel simple human warmth after such a long time was, itself, a boon he could never repay.

She pulled the finger back, and tucked her hands behind her back. She seemed to be muttering to herself as she said, “Um, yeah, okay, so there’s that. Bridge, you are so finicky about making things realistic. Seriously, this poor guy!” She took a step, walking around William, eyeing him up and down. When she circled back to her starting place, she nodded.

“Yep, we can do this. Okay.” She drew herself up straight, and a golden light began to emanate from her body, popping into sparks like a fire feeding on fresh pine sap. “William the Fructipire, I, the Goddess Gina, am willing to accept you as a follower, but as an Undead, you must also accept My Curse. First,” she held up a forefinger, “that you shall no longer be immortal. At the time you were made into a vampire, you had only nine years left of your natural lifespan. Though I cannot return your humanity, I can give you back your mortality. Nine years were all you had, and shall have, and at the end of those nine, you will return to the Chaos Pool, as intended.”

William’s chest contracted, tightening around a heart that hadn’t pumped in centuries. Throat too constricted to speak, he simply nodded.

Another finger joined the first. “Second, a ghost shall haunt you for the rest of your days. She will never leave your side, and you must suffer her presence without complaint.” Lowering her hand, Gina spread her arms wide, and the light around her grew so bright that it was painful. “Do you, William d’Arville, accept My Curse, and choose to become one of My followers?”

Silently, William nodded again, and the light blinked out, leaving Gina standing in his home, looking like nothing more than a guest come for tea. “Well then,” she said, smiling, “I’ll leave you two alone, then. But feel free to pray to me whenever you like. I do enjoy hearing from my friends.” With that, she vanished as abruptly as she had appeared, leaving William wondering if he had imagined it all.

Then two warm arms circled his waist from behind, and he froze as a voice he had never forgotten whispered his name. “William.”

He spun, gathering his Lydia into his arms, weeping sweet tears as she stroked his pale, thin hair. “William,” she said, smiling through her own tears. “Oh. My sweet William. I missed you.”