When Tears and Blood Wash Away\ The Writing Fool

 

The sun was red as it slowly sunk beyond the horizon, a few more minutes of light before the night's darkness will fill the streets with its relaxing silence. The shops just turned their "open" sign to show the apologizing "closed", in the street markets the merchants put their goods away, nicely stocked in a wagon or inside a sack while a few late shoppers jump on the few stands that has not yet closed. All around were the sounds of barging, last calls and friendly greetings, with a promise for another market day at dawn.

This calm, ordinary evening was disturbed by the sound of footsteps, or better say-foot stomps. Both the shoppers and the merchants raised their gazes from the goods, barrows or person they were talking to, to gaze on Samwell Kenth as he stomped his way down the streets.

"Fresh bread, Mr. Kenth?" Elysa, the baker's fat wife, clad in a dress of plain cream-white fabric, and a red apron to her wide waist, called after Sam. She had her long graying-brown hair tight at the back of her head and her smile was wide on her fleshy red cheeks.

Was it any other day, Sam might have kindly refused her, with a polite smile and a polite question of her children and sick mother. Perhaps he would even have bought a loaf or two for the next morning's breakfast. Unfortunately for the old lady, today Mr. Samwell Kenth was in no mood to kindly refuse. Sam turned his olive-green eyes towards Elysa, growled and stomped on his way, leaving the poor lady murmuring "what rudeness" behind him, and getting back to her loaves of day-old bread.

  "My, my, Samy… providing you will be in need for bread soon, I'd recommend that you won't growl at your baker's wife." A smug voice from his right; Sam bitterly looked at the man leaning on the tavern's wall, eating a freshly-bought apple.

Trason Smith had a nice mane of black hair and shining brown eyes, which always reminded Sam of those little traces of mud your boots leave on the living room's floor after a rainy day. He wore a simple shirt of brown fabric and rough breeches tightened with a leather belt. He had the look of a stable-owner, which of course he was.

"I'm in no mood for your wits, Smith." Grumbled Sam. He stopped his stomping for a moment, in a simple gesture of old friendship. Trason gave him a smug smile in return.

The two had been friends since they both hardly learned to walk, and remained friends and neighbors over the years. As time passed, they grew older and Sam had become a bitter old man, the kind he never wished to be, while Trason has remained a cheerful, smug lad, only twenty years older. They were both in their thirties by now, each with his aging wife and a stock of noisy little children which seemed to grow by the year. They had nothing in common anymore, the stable-owner and the bitter fisherman, but they kept firm to their friendship, holding the fading scent of long-gone childhood.

"You seem especially bitter today Samy." Said Trason and took a mouthful of red apple.

"Strange, you seem over pleased with yourself in just the exact amount as ever." Replied Sam and gave the man an annoyed glance. It was dark by now, and he hoped to be home before dark. Now he will get his dinner cold and his wife asleep. This made him even bitterer.

"No luck with the fish today?" asked Trason, almost kindly. He offered Sam a bite of his half eaten apple, and Sam refused with a simple hand gesture.

"Only small ones… And that damned Jhonson's net almost overflowed with big fat fish, glittering in the sun, mocking my poor luck."

"You are being overly dramatic, I'm sure you'll have your luck tomorrow." 

Sam sighed, "I suppose you are right… it just has been an awfully poor week." He moved his hand through his receding brown hair and sighed once more.

"Care to share?" smiled Trason as he tossed the heart of his apple to the street.

"Care to hear?" Trason nodded in reply and Sam sighed once more and started describing his awfully poor week. The week had started as every week; with his wife kissing him morning and making him hot tea. So far, it was a nice week, but just then his wife tripped and spilled the hot tea all over his shirt, and by the time he changed and ran off to work, with no morning tea, he had discovered that every good spot in the lake was taken, so he had to settle for a lousy spot, in which he caught only two worthy fish, which used him to feed his family, and he had nothing left to sell. In fact, he had no good catch the whole week, and his little daughter had decided to make his life even more miserable by taking in some stray dog with three legs, and the creature reeks more than any creature should, and at the first notion that perhaps it should be kept outside, his daughter burst into tears and his wife scolded him for being mean to the girl who only wanted some pet. Not that alone, but his son has been chasing that horrible daughter of the butcher, and the butcher had threatened to cut his penis off if it ever comes near his daughter. And also…

"I see your point, friend, but I think you're over reacting… so it's a lousy week, everyone has them…" Trason shrugged as he hurried to stop the story when his friend almost burst into tears himself.

"I tell you," said Sam, "it is as if the whole world is trying to depress me." he sat on a little barrel near the road, he already missed his wife and meal, a few more moments won't change a thing by now. Trason gave him a look of pity, "Then you shouldn't let it. Move on and forget about this one lousy week."

Sam sighed again, "Sometimes I wish I could die and get myself some peace."

"Hey! Don't you say that! Now go home have some rest and I'll see you tomorrow."

"I suppose, goodbye."

"Goodbye"

The two men parted and each went on his way, to his home, his aging wife and his stock of children.

Sam went on up the streets now, his gaze lowered as he complained to himself. This week better be over quickly, or he might lose his mind. There was this fisherman who got mad and drowned himself in the lake; one of his companions caught him in his net the day after. What a commotion it had caused.

"That stinking dog is probably still there…" he murmured, "maybe I could kill it while everyone's asleep, tell the little one he was hit by a cart." He smiled at the thought, if he could only run over the butcher with a cart it could be almost perfect… and if he finds fish inside the butcher…

His thoughts were interrupted by a pair of leather boots on the road. Or perhaps should say that there was a person attached to those boots, only Sam saw the boots first since he was staring at the ground.

Slowly, Samwell Kenth looked up, and from the pair of expensive looking leather boots rose wide breeches, with crimson strings in them, a black belt tightened them around narrow waist and a shirt of dark red velvet with leather jacket decorated with silver studs and shining crimson strings. Then came the face, smooth and youthful, the face of a young rich man, with a fall of deep black hair. The hair… dreadfully long, and with strings of red braided in it. The young man smiled, and shiver ran down Sam's spine, although he couldn't quite say why.

"Good evening, Mr. Samwell Kenth." Said the young man with a pleasant smile, he had the smooth tone of a young gentleman, and he seemed high class. Sam wondered why a rich boy would visit in such a place, a simple decent village with not so much as excitement for the lad. Regardless, Sam had decided to be nice to the rich lad, in hope that he might reward him. Only after he was done considering the above, Sam had noticed the odd fact that the lad addressed him by his name. That had erased every other thought from his mind.

"You know my name." he pointed out.

"Yes. I do." The lad smiled, "I suppose it will be polite to give you mine in exchange. Knowing my name can do no harm considering the fact that within minutes from now you will cease to exist."  The lad offered velvet gloved hand with another elegant smile, "I am Gabrielle Bloodshade, nice to meet you."

Sam stared at the young lad, who spoke so calmly it took him a few moments to fully comprehend what he was saying. "C… cease to exist?" he asked, and right there, his instincts told him to run. It is a shame that humans got used to ignore their instincts.

"Just like I said," The man, Gabrielle, smiled calmly. "You are a prey, and I was sent to kill you. You may feel yourself honored that a Head Brunch son is here to kill you, not many win this privilege. So, are you ready to die?"

Sam had decided that at this point it would be best if he ran, and so he turned away from the young, confusing man and ran away, hoping to get somehow home.

"Now… prey, you want to play?" he heard the voice awfully close to him. He looked back but there was no one chasing him. Sam put his eyes back on the road as Gabrielle emerged from around the corner, a sword in his hand. How could he not notice that the lad's eyes were as red as blood?

"Hello." Smiled the young man and charged, blade blazing in the moonlight. Sam had no time to think, he stepped back and the blade missed him by an inch.

"Now, troublesome prey, sit still and let me kill you!" the lad's eyes shone crimson and he charged again. Sam stepped back again, "what do you want from me? What have I done?" he cried out miserably, and a sarcastic voice in the back of his head told him 'and you thought this week can't get any worse'.

"You've done nothing, foolish prey." Said the lad and charged once more, Sam ducked and started to run. "You were simply chosen to pay the blood price." 

"Whose blood price?" tears of panic emerged in Samwell's eyes, he simply wanted to get home, to his cold meal and sleeping wife. The road was long and for a second, a lightening flashed through the sky, dying them white. Rain… the last thing he could ask for. A thunder came short after with the weird jingle of a bell, coming from nowhere and everywhere at once.

"How I love rainy days…" said a soft voice in his ear, "when tears and blood both wash away…" a white grin in his right, Sam fell just as a shining blade almost beheaded him, he landed on the ground together with the first s of rain.

"Be kind prey, I'd hate to get wet." Said Gabrielle and swung his blade once more. Sam rolled away and stumbled to his feet, running, his footsteps echoing the sound of rain. The night was dark, the moon a thin crescent. Not enough to light the way, and the rain blurring his sight. To get home… home and he'll be safe…

The jingle of a bell sent shivers down Sam's spine, but it was the red glow in the distance that made him run faster. He ran, praying and crying, it can't be… oh please, god, no.

But it was, and as he got to his house, he glimpsed the last of it catching flames. His whole house burning… his stuff… his life… his family! The rain was not enough to put down the flames, and the black smoke rose heavy into the cloudy skies, becoming one of them.

"How beautiful…" a voice admired besides him. Sam turned quickly to see Gabrielle standing besides him. "Marvelous… you don't get see these sights every day." The lad smiled and Sam could feel his anger pushing his fear aside.

"You freak! You monster! What have you done with my family?!" he caught the man by his collar. Gabrielle smiled. "Why, I haven't done anything with them. In fact, I believe they are still sound asleep in their bed…" a sickening smile spread on his young, handsome face, "… forever." He threw back his head and burst into hysterical laugh, which echoed in the rainy night. "You humans are so funny!" he said and with a sharp move he released his collar from Sam's grip.

"Your oh-so-precious lives… with your family and friends," He laughed again, "your lives are so short… so meaningless… what is there for you to cherish?" the man pulled his hair back with a single gloved finger and sighed. "That's enough… hand me your life and be over with it."

"No!" Sam saw a stick lying on the ground and took it quickly in his hand. Fast as he could, he stabbed Gabrielle in the eye and fled, as fast as his legs could carry him. The young man screamed behind him, his screams ripping through the night's skies.

Shelter… he needed help… someone that could save him. His legs led him straight to Trason's house. He was his only true friend, Sam was certain that he could rely on him to help. He could not face this evil demon who took human form.

He knocked on the door desperately. "Trason! Open up! I beg you… I need help!"

There was the sound of foot steps, and another sound of a key turning in its lock. Slowly, the door opened and Trason's face picked on him.

"Oh, Trason! You've got to help me… I'm being chased by a monster…" and then he stopped, there was something odd about his friend's face. He did not blink, his mouth was slightly ajar and his eyes seemed so… distance. Sam pushed the door open, and saw that the head had no body, or more likely to say, its body was lying bleeding on the floor. The head was held by a velvet gloved hand…

Gabrielle smiled at him, "Surprise!"

"You…!" Sam could no longer think of names for that creature before him. He just charged in with bare fists. "Where is his family?!" he asked, his fist addressing Gabrielle's face. Gabrielle smiled and put Trason's dead head to take the hit. "I nailed them to the roof." he claimed with wide, smug grin. The smile reminded Sam of Trason, and tears filled his eyes once more.

"Why…?" was all he could ask, "Why would you do such things?" he tried to hit the young man, but Gabrielle only blocked his hits with Trason's head. "I have already told you," said Gabrielle calmly. "You humans are such miserable creatures, with your short, meaningless life. The Bloodshade family was once human, until it had discovered the secret to everlasting life." Gabrielle smiled and caught Sam's wrist. 

"You can… with a special method, take people's lives and make them your own, by that you extend your years by the number of years of an average mortal. Make it hundred of mortals, make it thousands of them… and you have all the life you could care to have!" Gabrielle smiled and pushed Sam to his knees. "The Bloodshade family keeps every generation living for hundreds of years.  But in order to do that, we must kill." The young man leaned so his eyes were in a line with Sam's. "You, poor mortal, were chosen, and I never give up on my preys." A grin, the jingle of a bell and a blade blazing in the air; Sam felt a pain in his chest. And warm blood running down his body. There was nothing left for him to fight for; not his friends, not his family. A human's life truly is meaningless.

His vision blurred, and the handsome young man became a fog of black and red. One last thought crossed Samwell Kenth's mind as he sank to his death: what a lousy week.

בפעם הבאה: "גאוניותו של מוח צבאי" [פורסם בבלוג הרגיל]