Swear Not by the Moon
by Miranda Hawkins
 
This piece began as a dream several years ago, which I can now only remember brief fragments of. I do plan to finish this one, but I'm not sure where my characters' loyalties lie, so to speak. I need to just sit down and write, then it should come to me, but at the moment I haven't the time. Well, here's whta I've got so far. ( WARNING - It's very apt to change!)

Moonlight flickered faintly through the trees as Eric raced with inhuman speed onward. Branches tangled in his long golden hair and whipped at his pale face leaving crimson streaks that welled up with blood. Body aching with exhaustion and eyes stinging with sweat, he knew that soon the Hunter would catch him and then there would be no escape; only pain and eventually. . . death. That knowledge and nothing else kept his legs moving when they might otherwise have given out.

Suddenly, sounds of swiftly rushing water reached his ears, and Eric barely managed to pull himself to a stop in time to keep from tumbling headlong into a formidable river that surged suddenly before him. He searched the bank in a panic, desperate for a way to cross the jagged streak of rapids, but found none. Realizing his wasted time, Eric made to resume his fearful flight only to be stopped by a menacing shadow, which rose towering above him and blocked his escape.

"Please!" he cried, "My name is Eric Montague; I came to you seeking help!" But the shadow stood silent and still.

Reaching for his dagger, Eric prepared to defend himself, but the figure attacked too swiftly. Howling like a rabid animal, the Hunter lunged, striking the dagger from the young man's grasp and knocking him to the ground, where he scrambled back, attempting to escape his inevitable fate.

"Please!" he tried again. "You're the only one who can help me. . . In the name of God!"

The Hunter paused, as a cruel smile crept mockingly across his lips. "God? What does the Clan know of God?"

The question cut through Eric like a sword, but refusing to be baited, he tried once again. "I beg you to help me! Listen. . . "

"Why would I ever help the likes of you?"

"Because. . . my sister bares the Mark of the Crescent."

The Hunter, in the midst of loading his lethal crossbow, jerked his head up and stared at Eric with piercing green eyes. ‘Where?" he whispered fiercely.

"On the nape of her neck;" Eric replied, "hidden by her hair." Taking the Hunter's silence as an excuse to continue, the young man did so. "She seems oblivious to its meaning, although our parents died keeping the birthmark a secret. After their deaths, I knew the only way to follow the Clan's movements was to become one of them; It was a choice I made willingly for my sister, Kathryn's, sake. So far I have been able to suppress the urges of my new nature, but not for much longer, which is why I sought you out. You're the only one who can protect her once I succumb. Please, will you help me?"

"How do I know this isn't some elaborate trap set for me by the Clan?"

Eric sighed. "I have no way to prove my words, and yet, still, I sought you out. You are my last hope, my sister's, too. If you won't help me then kill me now, because if you don't the Clan surely will."

Staring off into the distance, as if listening to an inner voice, the Hunter's stoicism changed slowly to determination and then, to grim acceptance. "Very well, come with me. But I warn you, if you betray me. . . " He trailed off leaving the rest to Eric's vivid imagination.

Traveling quickly through the moon-dappled forest, the odd pair made good time, but Eric couldn't shake the nagging feeling that they were being watched. Suddenly he stopped, expecting something, but not knowing what.

"I sense it also," the Hunter replied, seeing the young man's hesitation. "I believe we should. . . " but he never got to finish his words.

Long, dark figures leaped from the trees, attacking so swiftly they almost couldn't be seen.

"Traitor!" the Hunter bellowed, whirling on Eric.

"No!" Eric cried. ‘I knew nothing of this!"

But his words went unheard as both men were swept into the ensuing battle.

* * *

The night flew by as man fought monster in the shifting moonlight. Bodies fell one by one around the Hunter as he lashed out at his foes. During a brief pause between he was shocked to see that the boy was fighting by his side; perhaps his words were true after all. Then all thought disappeared as the Hunter once again became embroiled in the raging battle.

Over almost before it had started, only one stood amidst the carnage, surveying the littered ground. Blood ran dark and thick over the Hunter's tall, black boots, melting with the shifting shadows of the forest floor. Victory was his, but he'd lost track of his young companion in the onslaught. A low moan drew him to the outskirts of the silent battlefield where he found the lad strewn across the roots of a giant tree, blood pouring from a gaping chest wound.

"Eric Montague, do you live?" the Hunter asked gravely.

"Not for long," the young man replied, his voice faint and husky. "Now you must help my sister, otherwise all is lost. Take the locket from around my neck. Kathryn won't believe anything you say without it. Now go and please hurry. If the Clan knows about me, they'll soon know about her, if they don't already. You must promise me you'll watch over her and keep her safe. Promise!"

Nodding briskly, the Hunter replied, "You have my word, Eric Montague," but the young man did not hear him.

* * *

Kathryn awoke in a cold sweat, quaking with silent terror. Ever since her brother's disappearance several months ago, the nights plagued her with gruesome images of his possible fate, making her a virtual insomniac.

Rising softly, the bed sheets rustled as she pulled them from her clammy skin, and walked silently to the moonlit window, gazing hopelessly out into the darkness of the forest below her, as if that might somehow bring her brother home. With tears in her eyes, Kathryn turned away slowly, knowing there would be no more sleep for her that night. Then, she sat gently at her vanity, lit a small oil lamp, and stared forlornly into the looking glass, scrutinizing the pale, ghostly image that stared back at her.

She'd never been beautiful, simply fair, but the past few months had taken their toll, leaving her with gaunt, haggard features. Chagrined with the extent of her haphazard appearance, Kathryn picked up a well-worn comb and ran it gently through her long burnished hair as vagrant thoughts drifted slowly through her mind.

Eric's disappearance so soon after their parents' deaths had left her feeling ill-at-ease and very much alone. The nearest village was over five miles away and not known for their kindness to strangers; she wasn't exactly that, but Kathryn knew the rumors which surrounded her family's seclusion would keep the locals wary of her. For this reason, she remained in the simple cottage which had been her home now for the past seventeen years and prayed only for her brother's safe return.

Jolted from her reverie by someone pounding loudly on the downstairs door, Kathryn rose quickly, sweeping her wayward thoughts away as one might sweep cobwebs from a corner. Hoping for news of Eric and curious about who would be calling at such an odd hour, she wrapped a robe around her slight frame, picked up the oil lamp from the vanity, and proceeded downstairs to greet her unknown guest.

Kathryn opened the door on a man not much taller than herself. His complexion was dark with lean, handsome features, but his eyes were like sunlit amber. Bowing slightly, his movements smooth and graceful, the man asked, "Do I have the pleasure of addressing the Lady Kathryn?"

Caught off guard by the question, Kathryn paused. Her family had moved to the cottage when she was three; no one in these parts should have known of her family's noble status. Cautiously, she replied, "Perhaps. Please state your business."

"My lady," the man said, his voice deep and resonate. "I come on behalf of Lord Xavier Laucon. Your brother, Eric, has been his guest these past few months and has requested that you join him."

"Why did my brother not come himself?" Kathryn replied, suspicion immediately in her mind.

"He's very ill, my lady, and wishes to have you by his side; a carriage is waiting and can have us at Lord Laucon's estate in a matter of hours."

The messenger's words were silver, but hummed softly with falseness. She knew Eric wouldn't have sent anyone without something to prove their connection to him, but not knowing this man's true purpose Kathryn wasn't sure how far to push her questioning. "Forgive me, sir, but I must have proof of what you say."

"Proof, my lady?"

Kathryn smiled, but her voice grew cool. "A token from my brother to show that what you say is true."

Catching her changed demeanor the messenger joined it with his own. "As I've said, my lady, your brother is extremely sick. Perhaps under the circumstances he did not think it necessary."

Kathryn sighed; she despised playing games with people. "On the contrary, sir, he would have seen it as all the more necessary."

"But Lady Kathryn. . . "

"I'm sorry, but I'm having great difficulty believing anything you've said thus far. Now, remove yourself from these grounds before I'm forced to release my dogs.

Kathryn tried to close the door, but with a strength she hadn't thought possible, the man shoved it open and pushed her joltingly to the ground. The lamp tumbled from her hand, crashing to the wooden floor and hungry flames quickly began to consume the splattered oil.

"Game time is over, my lady!" The man whispered fiercely, grabbing Kathryn's wrist and pulling her roughly to her feet.

She struggled against him, but his grip was like iron and before she knew what was happening her attacker had pushed her into an unmarked carriage and bolted the doors. Kathryn heard him leap into the driver's seat, calling sharply to the horses, and as the carriage raced away she pulled back the curtains and looked on in horror as her childhood home went up in flames.

* * *

The Hunter smelled it before he saw it, thick acrid smoke billowing up into the moonlit sky. By the time he reached the fire only the smoldering framework of a small house remained. Cautiously he studied his surroundings, knowing this blaze could be no coincidence. There were carriage tracks in the dusty earth and two sets of prints, one of which had been dragged. No more than thirty minutes ago they'd been here and it would take him no time at all catch up.

* * *

The carriage lurched beneath her, tossing Kathryn from one side of the small compartment to the other. Within the first few moments of her imprisonment she had frantically searched for any means of escape, but found none. The windows were too small to fit through even if they could be broken and there was nothing within which would serve as a pick for the locked doors. She considered screaming for help, but knew that the likelyhood of anyone being out at this time of night who would be willing to help her was extremely slim. Now, all she could do was sit and wait.
 
Suddenly, Kathryn felt the carriage slow. It couldn't have been more than an hour since her capture. Had the man lied about the time to Lord Laucon's home? Did the lord even exist? Then she heard muffled voices from outside which rose steadily in volume although they became no more discernible. Pulling back the curtains, Kathryn tried to examine the darkness and perhaps signal for help from whoever had stopped her ride, but even though the full moon lit the night with it's pale glow she could determine nothing but the forested hills. All of a sudden the carriage lurched to life, throwing Kathryn roughly back against the seat. The driver was obviously attempting to turn in the opposite direction, but half-way through the maneuver he lost control and she felt her prison tilt sharply to the left. It seemed to hang there for longer than she would have thought possible, then it fell, plummeting end over end down what could only have been a rather large hill.
 
All poetry, stories, etc. ©2000 Miranda J. Hawkins. All rights reserved
 

 
 
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