OK, this is a little something that I wrote for my English Language A Level. It is the short story of how Issac Baruti, an emissary travelling between Egypt and Yemen was attacked and ended up a vampire.

Born Of Blood

The road ahead was a long one, well travelled by my own feet. It was not a hard one by any means, and I knew every curve, and every safe spot to sleep. It was rare that I travelled the road alone, however, I was the only emissary willing to travel in such dangerous times. A decision that I was beginning to regret as night drew near.

The part of the road that I was on was dark. There were too many twists and turns, and nowhere that could be considered safe to stop for the night. I had little choice. The time of unrest that we were facing had been caused by the disappearance of my country’s last emissary. He had disappeared whilst carrying the ornate metalwork that had been meant to secure our future.

I was carrying its replacement.

The item of jewellery that had been forged was one of the finest that I had ever seen. The intricate gold weaving and the glass stones, all forged by my country’s master craftsmen, were a true thing of beauty. I had seen the necklace only briefly as it was being wrapped and secured for my journey.

Stopping for the night was a matter of certainty. I had neither the sight nor senses to continue my path in the dark. As dangerous as it was to stop on this particular stretch or road at night, it would be more so for me to continue. The sharp, jagged cliffs a few miles further along would kill a man if a wrong step were taken. The narrow, crumbling path was hard enough to navigate during the day. At night it would kill you.

Setting up camp for the night, I was on my guard. The road before the cliffs was rife with muggers and thieves. Any of the lengthening shadows could have hidden them from my view.

Fortunately the days were long and the nights were warm. A fire would have drawn unnecessary attention, and the winter nights could be harsh in this region. Winter was the time when even I refused to travel these roads without an armed escort.

Basic defensive training was provided for all emissaries travelling between the countries. It was not for our own protection, however. It was for the protection of the wares that we were carrying.

As night drew in close around me, I wished I had my horse for company. The beautiful beast had to be left on the other side of the short ocean stretch, which I had crossed only a day previous. He could not handle the choppy waters in the substandard vessel that I had been provided with. Nor would he be waiting for me upon my return. His company would have brought me great solace in the growing darkness.

His instincts would also have served as some kind of warning when the first attack came.

The first fist came out of nowhere. No sound preceded its arrival. No whistle of wind reached my ears before the first blow landed, sharply on the back of my head. My mother had always told me that I had a thick skull; it had to be thick to keep all of my knowledge inside. It was a blessing as a second, harder blow was struck to the side of my head.

Dazed and confused, it took me a moment to realise that I was under attack. Twisting around, I could make out three shapes against the cloudless sky. They weren’t of fighting size, but their blows were hard, and I caught sight of a third aimed straight for me.

By some miracle of God, my defensive training kicked in, throwing my body to the side just in time to avoid the blow. My head was spinning from the previous attacks, and the action made me retch.

“Two in a month,” one of them spoke. He was using a foreign language, but one I was familiar with. “Lucky, lucky, lucky.”

“Unlucky for him,” the second one said, laughing as he circled me.

With my head spinning, and each move I made making me stumble and flail, I was going nowhere. When another blow was aimed at my stomach, I could do nothing to avoid it. As the blow hit home I felt the sharp blade of a knife slice through my skin. The pain bloomed through me, and I heard the splashing of my own blood pooling on the ground.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

With a concerted effort, I lifted my head from the ground, my throbbing eyes straining against the darkness.

“These are dangerous times, pretty lady. What has you roaming the night?” the first one asked, sounding almost concerned.

“Leave… her alone,” I gasped, trying to stand.

“The man has a point,” the woman said, her voice like a thousand whispers, gentle and caressing. “I am not the kind of women you are accustomed to taking advantage of.”

“We’ll see,” one of the men muttered, taking a step towards her.

“No!” I cried out, lurching forward.

As I lurched forward, grabbing for the man’s ankle in an effort to trip him, the wound in my stomach tore open, blinding me with pain. My failed attempt to save the woman had left me sprawled on the hard ground, gasping for breath.

A violent hiss broke through the air, and for a second I thought that I was making the sound. The hiss that pierced the air hadn’t been from me in reaction to the consuming pain, it had been the woman. Whatever she did to cause that sound had the muggers scrambling and tripping over their own feet to get away from her.

For what felt like hours, I lay on the cold floor, bleeding. My life was coming to an end, and I was disappointed in myself. I had failed in my duty to my country, and a war would ensue because of it.

Sometime near the end, as I struggled to breathe, there was a nudge to my shoulder, turning me over. My eyes were playing tricks on me. Above me stood the woman, looking at me as though I was the strangest thing in the world.

“You tried to save me. Why?” she demanded, kneeling at my side.

“Did… not… deserve,” I whispered, my voice failing.

I think I must have passed out when I finished speaking. When I opened my eyes again, I was sitting up, against something warmer than I.

“Drink,” a whisper soft voice commanded me, placing something wet against my lips.

In the delirium of losing my life, I did as I was asked, swallowing the sweet liquid in great gulps. It wasn’t until I had drank a great amount that I realised I was still dying. Whatever I was drinking was ending my life, not saving it.

It wasn’t a quick death. It wasn’t a slow death. It was a constant death, never ending. With all of the languages that I knew, I did not know a word deep enough to describe the feeling.

I was dying, but I was not. Which was why it was a constant death. A quick death came to an end. A slow death ground steadily to a halt. A constant death kept on killing you. It kept you alive, bringing you back a little piece at a time just so that it could kill you all over again.

Yet, even a constant death had to come to an end. Every death came to an end. How else could you die if it was never over?

When I was finally able to take a new breath, deep and refreshing, everything felt different. When I opened my eyes I stared in wonder at the sky. I had never seen it so bright, as though day had washed over the land, yet left the stars in their rightful places, empowered by the sun’s rays.

“Tell me your name,” a familiar voice asked.

“Issac Baruti,” I answered, automatically looking for the source of the female voice.

“Well, Issac Baruti, welcome to your new life,” she answered.

Following the sound of her answer, I saw that she was as beautiful as the whisper soft voice implied. She was regarding me with what appeared to be curiosity, as though she had never seen the likes of me before.

“Tell me, Issac Baruti, what kind of man are you?” What a strange question.

“I am an emissary for my country, and a scholar,” I answered, taking in her appearance.

Her deep brown eyes narrowed as she shook her head. The waves of sienna hair framed her face as she smiled. “Tell me then, Issac Baruti, do you know what you are?”

The question made no sense. I was what I had always been. A man. A scholar. An emissary. Those were not the answers that she was seeking. She sought to know why I felt different after suffering such an unforgiving death.

“I am not dead,” I stated.

“You are as I am, and I have a gift for you.”

She rose to her feet in one smooth, elegant move, offering me her hand. It was against my nature to take help from a woman, but I was unsure if I could move after my ordeal. Taking the extended hand, I found that it was not needed. My moves were as hers, smooth and effortless.

“What are you?”

“I am Poppy,” she told me. “I am your saviour, your queen, but above all, I am a vampire.”

I had heard of the mythical beings. Immortal creatures that roamed the night, preying on anyone who dared to venture from their homes after dark. There were legends of them. Feared predators. Indestructible beasts. The stories that I had heard said nothing of them being beautiful women saving lives.

“Your gift,” Poppy informed me.

We had come to a stop mere feet from where I had camped. Huddled on the ground, bound by feet and wrist, were the men who had attacked me. Killed me. I couldn’t comprehend how they could be a gift to me.

“You must feed, Issac,” Poppy whispered, her lips brushing my ear. “Take their lives, as they took yours.”

“No,” I answered.

They may have taken my life, but I still stood. I could feel the truth of Poppy’s words, and I knew that I was what she claimed to be. As soon as she told me to feed I felt the aching in my jaw. There was no doubt that she was telling the absolute truth.

“You will not take my gift?” she asked, confused.

“They took my life, but I will not take theirs in return,” I informed her.

“You must feed, Issac. You will go mad if you do not.”

“Then I will feed without taking life where possible,” I vowed.

“The only power that we may gain is through taking a life,” she hissed, seemingly frustrated with me.

“Power is not everything.”

“It is in our world.”

“Then our world is flawed.”

We stared at each other for an endless time. She seemed to be searching for something in me. Whether she found what she was looking for or not, I did not know. After a time she looked away, sighing.

“Let me introduce you to my world,” she offered. “Then we shall see if your view on power wanes.”

“I must finish my mission first,” I answered.

I could not let my duties go untended because of what had happened. War would surely break out if the item I was carrying did not make it to Yemen. Families would suffer and my country would be torn apart. I would not let that happen when I could easily prevent it.

“You are a strange man, Issac Baruti. A strange man indeed. You and I will finish your task. Then I shall introduce you to this new world of ours.”

Let me know what you think. It is a little on the short side, but that is the whole point of a short story :)

Chelle