VROLOK (39 page)

“Get away from her,” Isabella shouted. The two Vampires looked up at Isabella, astounded that anyone was daring to tell them what to do. Isabella lunged at the demonic pair and dragged them both back by the hair. The two Vampires were clawing at Isabella trying to injure her. They felt Isabella’s strength and when she let go of them they ran from the house and back up to the castle. Nadezhda’s husband, who had heard the raucous and the baby crying from outside ran into his bedroom. Isabella was sitting beside Nadezhda, stunned by what had happened. Nadezhda’s husband lifted up his dying wife and looked at Isabella.

“Did you do this?” he screamed at Isabella.

“No, it was not Isabella,” Nadezhda said her breathing getting fainter, her life slowly ebbing away.

“I can save her,” Isabella stated in desperation.

“How?” Nadezhda’s husband asked.

“By making her… like me.” Nadezhda’s husband looked at his dying wife and she shook her head.

“No, she does not want that,” he said. Nadezhda let out one final gasp and shut her eyes forever. “No,” Nadezhda’s husband cried out. Isabella got up and left the room. As she was about to go out through the door Nadezhda’s husband asked.

“Where are you going?”

“To kill the Vampires who killed her,” Isabella said.

“I am coming with you.”

Isabella turned to face Nadezhda‘s distraught husband.

“No. I will not be able to protect you from them. Think of your child—who will look after him?”

“I don’t care; I have to avenge my wife. I can‘t just stay here and raise my son as if nothing has happened.”

“I will avenge her for you; none of them will live through this night. Stay here and raise your son.” Nadezhda’s husband took hold of Isabella’s hand before she could leave.

“You will show them no mercy?” he asked.

“I will show them no mercy. For mercy has a human heart.”

Isabella left the Nadezhda’s home. She ran up through the forest; as she grew close to the castle she heard voices, all female. Isabella ran through the courtyard and approached the solid wooden door. She threw out one fist against the door and it flew off its hinges, hitting the ground with a thud and then sliding across the stone floor until it came to an eventual stop.

The Vampires inside the castle all heard the door slamming down against the stone floor. They quickly gathered in the hall to face Isabella. There must have been twenty of them, all hissing at Isabella like frightened cats. Isabella ran to fetch her grandfather’s sword which was standing by the fire. And there on top of the fireplace was what remained of the Dhampir’s blood. Isabella smashed the top off the bottle and poured the blood over the blade of the sword.

The Vampires were circling her, they were not afraid yet. Isabella was ready for them. The Dhampir’s blood dripped off the edge of the blade. Isabella stood with her sword out in front of her.

“You cannot harm us,” one of them hissed at Isabella.

“We’ll see,” Isabella answered them. She spun round, and a few loose droplets of blood flew off the sword and hit some of the Vampires. It burnt their skin and they stepped back from Isabella; pain was a sensation they had not expected. One of them, a little braver than the others, tried to jump at Isabella. Isabella retaliated by striking out with the sword and she slashed through this Vampire from the waist to the shoulder and the body fell to the floor in two pieces.

The others looked at their dead sister and were amazed. They began to get frightened now and some of them tried to run, but Isabella was too fast for them. She swung the sword around above her head. Two of the Vampires’ heads fell to the ground. Isabella continued killing them with what seemed like little effort. The last one ran up the stairs and Isabella chased after her and caught her by the leg. The pursued Vampire fell to the ground and Isabella plunged the sword through her neck. She pulled the blade from the Vampire’s body with such a force that her head, now completely severed, rolled down the stairs.

The last of these creatures was dead. Isabella, drenched in blood and exhausted, heard someone move behind her. She spun round with the intention of cutting whoever it was to ribbons but she stopped inches before the blade could strike their skin. Isabella froze as she caught sight of Vlad Dracula.

“You hesitate. Believe me, I would not,” Vlad said.

Isabella just stared at him, thoughts racing through her mind. It was as if she had just seen a ghost from her past; a chill ran up her spine. She was tempted to kill him; she was tempted to end it. Isabella drew back the sword and Vlad closed his eyes fully expecting Isabella’s next lunge to kill him. A few moments passed. Vlad felt the rush of air as Isabella spun around again. But then he heard a clatter as the sword struck the floor.

He opened his eyes and saw she had gone. The sword with the Dhampir’s blood lay motionless on the stony floor. Vlad wiped the blade clean. There was no more blood to poison Vampires. No more Vampires could die; Isabella and Vlad were both safe from harm forever, or so he thought.

S’IL Y A DANS TOUT LE MONDE CELUI HISTOIRE EXAMINÉE ELLE EST CELLE DES VAMPIRES
IF THERE IS IN THE WORLD ONE ATTESTED STORY IT IS THAT OF THE VAMPIRES 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

After her confrontation with Vlad, Isabella left the Carpathians determined once again never to return. She started to travel again, always looking over her shoulder to see if Vlad or Leila was chasing her. She didn’t regret letting Vlad live but she suspected that he would follow her and when he caught up with her, he would not show her the same consideration that she had showed him. Isabella did not know who he was anymore; perhaps she never had, but she was now sure that she could not predict his actions and she had to be constantly on her guard.

Nadezhda’s death had hardened Isabella. She realised the truth about what she was, that she was a cold-blooded killer, a Vampire, a Vrolok. Even when she behaved, in her eyes without question she was still a danger to those around her. The only thing she could offer anyone was death. She would no longer try to appease her conscience by discriminating between those she killed or didn’t kill. What good did it do? Isabella willingly and quickly returned to her old ways, the altruistic period in her existence completely over, and once more she killed without feeling or conscience. She learned to enjoy it again.

Isabella travelled west, up through Hungary, through Switzerland and then to France. After a few years had passed she chose to live in Versailles. She had always influenced her way into court and the court in Versailles was no exception. She had with little effort become a regular attendee at the French palace. It was the most ostentatious court Isabella had ever seen, even more so than Elizabeth’s court in England, so many years before.

The hall of mirrors had been commissioned by the “Sun King” a century earlier. It was exquisite, stretching the length of the palace, and crystal chandeliers hung from the fresco covered ceiling. The east wall was veiled in mirrors. Each mirror was framed in marble and the marble was set in gold. It was a place that only the truly beautiful, or those who thought themselves truly beautiful, could appreciate; as they walked through seeing their reflection from all angles. It made Isabella slightly sad that she couldn’t see her likeness in such a place. Isabella only walked through it at night when no one else could see either her, or her lack of reflection. She sometimes would stare at the mirrors hoping for just glimpse of her own image, but it never appeared to her and she knew it never would.

Despite its beauty and elegance, the court of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette was very different from any she had been in before. Isabella had hardly been noticed at all. This place was concerned with much graver things than a beautiful stranger. There was a visible sense of uneasiness than ran throughout the court and it was obvious to any visitor. But Isabella could see deeper and lying beneath this uneasy surface there was a deep sense of fear. Every day, more and more people, were deserting this place. Kings and Queens loved to surround themselves with people but this palace was now nearly empty. Even the King’s own brother the Comte d’Artois, sensing the danger that everyone who belonged to the hereditary nobility felt, had fled.

Isabella, not finding enough victims within the court to quench her insatiable blood lust often ventured a little distance away, out into Parisian streets. The people of Paris were bitter and disaffected; Isabella heard resentful thoughts going through the minds of the people she came in contact with. Some thoughts were even murderous. Isabella knew that these thoughts were fueling and building hostility that would ultimately burst out into the open and show its malevolent face, and when it did thousands would die. This nefarious atmosphere convinced her to stay; what better place was there for a Vampire than a city that was about to erupt into mass slaughter.

France at this time was divided into three estates. The First Estate consisted of Nobles and the King, The Second Estate consisted of the Clergy and the rest which consisted of over nine-tenths of the population was included within the Third Estate. The Third Estate was not just the poor; it also consisted of the Bourgeoisie, a group that was quite wealthy and well-educated but who did not have the same rights as the First and Second Estates. The Bourgeoisie were extremely resentful of the privileges of the church and the nobility, as were the other people within the Third Estate. The poor were starving and this made them more than just resentful, it made them desperate. France was in a crisis like no other she had endured before. The King was not doing anything to appease the volatile political situation; rather, he was ignoring it. There had been various outbreaks of violence. Wives and mothers were robbing barges and wagons, stealing grain to feed their families, and some of these robberies were resulting in violence and death. The nobility had started to get frightened, but none of them were anywhere near frightened enough.

On the advice of Jacques Necker, the King’s Minister for Finance, the King called a meeting for representatives of all three estates in a last ditch attempt to stop the violence. The Estates General meeting took place at Versailles and did not go well. The Third Estate had been slighted all through the meeting, and when the King talked of the changes that he was going to put in place he did not address any of the demands of the Third Estate, still continuing to ignore them. These men were outraged and refused to be intimidated, they decided to form the National Assembly and do away with the feudal system of the three Estates. It was their turn to ignore the King. The King then refused to acknowledge the National Assembly, even though members of his own Estate had voted for it. This outraged members of the National Assembly and they confronted the King. Isabella had watched everything with relish, waiting for it to explode into violence, secretly longing for that to happen.

In early July 1789, Isabella’s wait was over. She was standing in court when the National Assembly gathered at Versailles to confront the King, Isabella was watching all of these events unfold. She could not wait; she was baying for blood. The King ordered that the National Assembly disperse, but one man called Mirabeau objected.

“We are here by the will of the people and we shall not be interspersed except at the point of Bayonets!”

Isabella looked out the window she saw thousands of people gathering outside in support of the National Assembly. The officers in charge were now starting to fear that a riot may break out and ordered the soldiers to open fire on the crowd. The soldiers hesitated; they dropped their bayonets and stood with the crowd.

The King, frightened and anxious, conceded. “Very well, you can stay…but I will send for foreign troops and they will show you no mercy.” The King’s words echoed through the crowd and quickly news spread of the King’s threat to France.

Isabella returned to court the next day and she was disappointed. The tension of the day before had somewhat dissipated and there would be no violence that day. The Queen, however, was just as edgy as she had been the day before. Isabella noticed her watching the Vampire, and soon she approached Isabella to confront her.

“Who are you?” she asked imperiously, for she was getting suspicious of every one who was not a relative.

“Lady Isabelle, my Lady.”

“Of where, I do not remember you in court before.”

“I have been in court my Lady every day for the past year,” Isabella answered.

“Nonsense, I would have remembered you,” Marie Antoinette retorted.

“I am not that memorable, Your Highness,” Isabella answered, trying to resolve the situation without an obvious display of violence.

“Now, that is a lie. Guards, march her to the Bastille!” Marie Antoinette shouted.

Isabella smiled at this dramatic statement. The Bastille was a good few miles away. This woman wanted no potential enemies in Versailles.

Isabella, of course, could have easily escaped, but as she was marched away. She realised coming back to court was not an option, so she would let these soldiers accompany her to Paris. The soldiers marched her out onto the streets of Versailles; they tied her hands and placed her on a horse with the intention of taking her to Paris. She was to have a public escort to the Bastille. When they arrived at the gates of Paris, the guards dismounted their horses and started to talk amongst themselves.

“Necker has been dismissed,” said one of the soldiers. Isabella said nothing, she simply listened.

“Dismissed, because he made public the King and Queen’s extravagance,” said another. All around Isabella could hear crowds gathering. She heard windows being broken in the distance and people shouting, phrases like “
Live Free or Die
,” and “
To the Bastille
.” Isabella sensed that what she had felt brewing was going to happen that day.

A horse and rider galloped up to the guards.

“Where are you going?” the horseman asked.

“And what business is it of yours where we, the King’s Imperial Guards, are going?”

Isabella could tell this man was not a native of France. His French was somewhat clumsy and disjointed. She took a chance and decided to talk to him in English.

“Sir,” she began, “please can you help me? These men are taking me to the Bastille!”

“You are English?” Isabella sensed that if she said she was English it would only discourage this man from helping her. Isabella through her travels had learned that anyone who despised the English was either likely to be French, Irish or Scottish. He was not French; she thought quickly and answered him.

“No sir, Irish,” Isabella responded.

“Irish, you say.” Isabella could sense he was suspicious of her but he was prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt. “Well, you can come with me, then.”

Isabella pulled apart her tethered hands with ease, took the Irishman’s arm and leaped from her horse on to the back of his. The guards tried to stop her but the Irishman unsheathed his sword and pressed the tip at the chin of the nearest soldier to him. “I would not touch her if I were you. Look around you, do you think if you drag a woman to the Bastille, this crowd will show any restraint?” The soldiers, frightened of the angry mobs that were gathering around them, let Isabella and the Irishman ride away.

“My name is Joseph, Joseph Kavanagh,” the Irishman said, introducing himself formally to Isabella. Isabella tried to remember any Irish names she had heard. She remembered a story about a warrior princess who was the mortal enemy of her sister. Aoife was her name and it meant beauty. It seemed the perfect name for Isabella.

“Aoife,” she said.

“Aoife! You must be Irish. No English woman would know that name.”

“Did you doubt me?” Isabella asked.

“I have to say I did. Well, Aoife, would you like to join me? I am on my way to fight and with a name like Aoife you should be able to look after yourself.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Isabella said with a smile.

“I am getting the feeling I do not need to.” As the pair rode through the crowd Joseph was shouting to the mobs that were gathering. “Foreign troops are at the gates of Paris.” He rode a little further and then again he shouted down to another group of people. “We need gunpowder; the Bastille is the only place in Paris with stores of it. Hurry! Prussian troops are approaching and they will kill us all.”

This man was lying, Isabella thought. When they were within walking distance of the Bastille he let Isabella down from his horse.

“Thank you for getting me away from the guards,” Isabella said with genuine gratitude.

“I have the feeling you needed no help.”

Isabella smiled; she liked Joseph, for he was perceptive and could not be fooled easily, even by a Vampire. “You may be right, but why did you lie to the crowds on the way here?” she asked out of curiosity. “There are no foreign troops at the gates of Paris.”

“I was given the task of stirring up the mob.” Joseph looked away from Isabella he wanted to survey the scenes of destruction that were going on around him. His mind’s eye chose to ignore the chaos, and his glance was captured by a child sitting on a doorstep shivering with cold. The little girl glimpsed a half-eaten rotten apple lying in the dirty street. She ran to it and started to eat. When she glanced up and made eye contact with Joseph, she smiled gleefully. Joseph returned her smile but his smile was not gleeful, it was poignant. “People are starving, It is worse than at home.”

Isabella sensing the change in mood, tried to divert the conversation back to something that would lighten his spirits again.

“Why were you given this task?” she asked. Joseph turned his gaze back to Isabella and smiled at her with relish.