Destroyer from The Shadow ...Kane
May 31, 2018 20:04:19 GMT -5
Post by themirrorthief on May 31, 2018 20:04:19 GMT -5
Solomon Kane...Destroyer From the Shadows
DESTROYER FROM THE SHADOWS
the lonely raven watched
the sad little girl
who only sat and cried
she cried because
she was not loved
and soon would surely die
this in turn
caused the raven sorrow
thus, off he flew
high into the broad blue sky
he flew higher
and yet higher still
the raven didn't come down
until the day
after tomorrow
and then
long did he drink
from a clear running stream
he sighed and groaned
as a gentle autumn wind
ruffled his thick black feathers
that darkly gleamed
until at last
he swore an oath
to nevermore observe
little girls
nor to endure their crying...
Eastern Europe 1584
The eerie glow from the pale half moon was accentuated to great effect by a
freshly fallen snow. The hulking ruins of the ancient castle cared little, the stinging
chill of a long winter's night likewise produced only stoic indifference. Long past
were those days when hope and optimism brought forth their sweet fruit behind
the protection of once proud walls. Now only the wind and weeds were present to
pay their respects...along with the occasional creature of the night. One such
being lurked there even now, deep within the concealing shadow of rubble and
partially collapsed masonry. His was a figure quite tall, his face more pale than
the moon with features locked into a perpetual aspect of dark grimness. He was
a man named Solomon Kane.
As an instinctive hunter would do, Kane stood perfectly still, yet his steely gray
blue eyes were never at rest. Within the confines of very deep set sockets, cold
orbs darted first in one direction, then moved quickly toward another. His
scarred right hand rested upon the hilt of a long rapier, a lethal weapon and much
used. The left hand held fast the puritan's drab black cloak...lest any movement
created by the wind should betray his position. Kane was not dressed in
especially warm clothing but to him it mattered not. The Englishman's saxon
blood ran hot 'ere the season and truly could it be said that he possessed a
nearly inhuman tolerance for pain. Still, the wait had been a long one, in less
than two hours the new dawn would come calling. Kane had stubbornly held this
same position since shortly after dusk.
At last Solomon Kane bent to the weakness of the flesh. He momentarily released
the hilt of his deadly blade and brought forth a flask...all the while taking care to keep his worn cloak gathered about the shimmering green sash where the container had been secured along with a heavy pistol and well made dirk. The puritan forgave himself the vanity of the oriental sash but cautiously took pains to conceal the brightly colored object. The gaunt Englishman had long practiced the art of not revealing his whereabouts until that time he deemed it proper. Thus, he made no sudden moves whilst tipping the flask and drinking deeply of the burning fluid. Then he licked his lips in appreciation of good English brandy. Satisfied and refreshed, Kane put the flask away to continue his hidden vigilance as he had for the long hours previous. At no point during that freezing night had the puritan taken leave of his feet for even so much as a second. His powerful thews had withstood far more painful tortures than this...and would again.
Behind thin slits the piercing eyes of the hunter gazed out at a forlorn chapel yard.
Perhaps two dozen and a few more monuments, broken crypts, and stone figurines
dotted the final resting places of the departed nobles that had once called the old
estate home. A few miles away there was a peasant village where the descendants of the castle's servants and serfs slept off their Christmas dinners and the effects of over indulged strong spirits. On a night as harsh as this any ordinary man would've long since sought lodgings there in some cozy inn, but Solomon Kane was hardly an ordinary man. He lived his life for a purpose, thus he stood and watched.
The gaunt English swordsman was a landless wanderer, a mystery to all, if not himself. He was no stranger to making his bed beneath the majesty of the heavens...and he felt as near to home there as anyplace. At least for this one night he found himself here at this lonely and forgotten, once upon a time ruin. Kane was precisely where he deemed himself needed, and therefore was as close to home as ever he would be. The cold continued to bit at his thick black brow and sunken cheeks but he faltered not...nor would he. It was simply not in his nature to falter.
Still, the mere threat of disappointment served to draw the lines across his pallid
features all the more grim and profound. The puritan was more often right than not, but like any man there loomed the chance he had guessed wrong. Perhaps the fast approaching dawn would signal a momentary defeat...and a renewed, or even overwhelming urge to continue the quest with much greater vigor...albeit after a few hours repose and some scraps of food.
But hold! Was there something there? The deep set eyes glared behind slits
shrunk thin as hairs whilst Kane launched himself into a deep state of trance-like concentration. Few eyes would have taken note of anything unusual at that moment, and truly the gaunt swordsman had begun to doubt until...there again! The powerful heart within the deep chest pounded harder until it became not unlike the booming beat of a dark African drum calling the savage horde together for some obscene ritual. Primitive rites that Kane had himself witnessed, mesmerized by awe and first hand knowledge of strange jungle mysticism. The Englishman thought of the withered fetish man N'Longa. Would that he had the staff of Solomon within his grasp on this awful night...but no matter. He had come well prepared, and as always, entirely without fear.
Solomon Kane was a rare breed, a man not enslaved by the constricting effects of
fear or dread. He bowed to only one master, and he cared naught for the judgments of men.
Moving slowly amongst the scattering of trees in yon forest appeared something like a lantern...yet unlike any lantern the puritan had knowledge of. The apparition moved deliberately, almost seeming to drift, flickering seen then unseen as it passed behind great leafless oaks and sturdy maples. Although never appearing especially large, the thing did seem to grow as it moved, proof that it drew ever nearer...ever nearer its destination. Kane held no doubts as to where that destination might be, no doubt it was these same grounds on which he stood silent watch.
Continuing its meandering course, the light glowed more strangely. It appeared to
glide like a ship pushed by fair winds. It came on with a purpose, holding generally
true to a path. Solomon Kane drew the obvious conclusion that here was no lamp
carried by human hand to illuminate the way for human eyes. Rather it was an entity wholly unto itself...and entirely unnatural. Absolutely, it was so.
The pallid swordsman paid scarce heed to the whiteness in his knuckles from the
crushing grip he held upon the hilt of the long rapier. As for the blade, it waited
patiently like its master, motionless and silent. Here were two steadfast
companions of old.
The odd light emerged wholly from the wood and made towards the slumbering old
graveyard. It moved unhurried but paused not, not for fallen limb, not for the chance encounter with a hidden hare's den, nor for the obstruction of the heavy snow drifts. Kane observed the movement with a fixed stare, unblinking and unshaken. The wind increased with a tortured moan, blowing sheets of snow ahead. Then it died entirely and quite suddenly, carrying away all sound as it fled...save for the pounding heart of the puritan. There had been, of a time, a heavy iron gate that barred entrance into the ancient chapel yard but it had long since fallen. It now lay crumbling and imperceptibly rusting away there in the dirt. At last the eerily glowing thing passed over even this ancient gate and Kane struggled to steady his heaving chest, thus was the physical manifestation of his great anticipation. The whistling sound the chilled air made as he sucked it through his nostrils alarmed the watcher but the entity continued onwards,
paying no heed.
There was a somber stone box located some twenty yards or more from the very
location where the gaunt swordsman stood his hidden vigilance. The outline of
the old tomb was easily visible to Solomon Kane but the snow that had continued to fall heavily at various intervals throughout the night and settled in heaps thereon... concealing all that lay beneath. For the first time on that long night the puritan began to feel a bit of the depth of the harsh winter chill as he observed the supernatural object finally pausing, there at the farther end of the tomb.
Suddenly the light appeared to glow most brightly indeed. In fact, Kane felt compelled to thrust his arm over his gaunt face in an effort to block the effects of the painful glare lest he be blinded. Then, the awful brightness faded entirely. Solomon Kane took the precaution of squinting just the same as his gaze returned to the aforementioned grave. There he discovered no light, it had vanished without leaving a trace. But something was there...or someone!
Some other man, a lesser man, might have been shocked to the point of madness by this bizarre turn of events. Or he might have taken flight whilst howling like a banshee for fear of his life. Yet another might have fainted into blissful unconsciousness after invoking the name of the Father. Solomon Kane did none of this save mumble the name, only silently with lips that scarcely moved. The puritan was unlike other men. He was moved by the phenomena but his wits remained steady. During the course of unsettling events when another might panic, the gaunt Englishman only took on the aspect of increased calmness...a phenomena in its own right!
No...but there, bathed in the dripping paleness of winter moonlight reflecting off
snow, was the hazy form of a person where previously had been naught but a weird glow.
This person...or was it thing, stood draped in a long cape and heavy hood. And it
was hardly the garb of a commoner for Kane could see the silver and gold gilding
that glinted upon contact with slivers of bleeding moonlight. The Englishman quickly forgot these simple observations as the strange person began pacing about in an apparently distressed state of considerable consternation. This event was rapidly followed by by muted shrieking noises and then a remarkable growling not unlike the desperate uttering of an aroused beast. The thing jerked and swayed unsteadily, then commenced eliciting audible curses and oaths after the most foul fashion...some the puritan recognized from his long years at sea and others he was thankful that he didn't.
The well dressed phantom went to its knees, thrust its hands in the deep snow, and clawed at the earth with nothing save its fingers. At last, with its hands filled with dirt and rock, the apparition whirled about and angrily tossed the freshly dug soil onto the ancient tomb whilst continuing the vehement cursing broken only by interludes of insane growling. Kane watched fascinated as this remarkable activity finally concluded when the person or supernatural entity halted and commenced a deeply sad moaning as if something sorely prized had been lost or unfairly stolen. Perhaps this wailing could best be described as not entirely unlike the despairing pleas of a mother who had just suffered the misfortune of having lost a young child to a premature demise.
At last Solomon Kane choose to move from beyond the cloaking depth of shadows,
his striking frame creeping silently and as softly as the gentle bending of a single reed captured by a slow flowing autumn wind.
"Stand and face me ye beast from the pit of deepest hell." Kane's voice cut through the night, deep and demanding, with not the slightest hint of waver or indecisiveness.
In surprised response the entity jerked noticeably, but just as quickly gathered itself...this action it followed by what might have been a quick glance over its shoulder. Then, almost imperceptibly at first, it began to turn until finally the hunter and the hunted stood facing each other. Whomever played which of the assigned roles in this predawn drama was at yet to be determined.
Lightening never flashed more instantly than Solomon Kane did when he drew his
rapier and placed the keen point within an inch of the breast of the mysterious night prowler. "Reveal yourself to me minion of Satan." The Englishman continued to speak after an unhurried, steadfast fashion.
Following a very brief moment of seeming indecision the cape and hood were
raised over the head and shoulders of the creature and cast onto the snow. Kane found himself struggling to catch his breath for a moment. Then, for the first and only time, his hand trembled slightly when he heard a sound like the muffled sigh of a drowsy infant. And what great natural or unnatural force of nature or the netherworld could make a man with the strength and purpose of Solomon Kane quiver? Before the startled swordsman stood the very vision of inspired female loveliness...a girl no more than seventeen, with a gentle mass of long blond curls, perfectly clear complexion, and full red lips...truly an object of lustful desire beyond the realm of even a sailor's most well conceived fantasy. Her exquisitely sculpted bosom heaved and fell with each panting breath, only just concealed by the thin white gown that clung perilously and tenuously to the girl's truly bewitching form. The crowning jewels were two lovely pale green eyes that glowed
with a strange and unsettling fire. Solomon Kane had never seen the likes of them.
The puritan felt his very being tossed about by a sudden, very unexpected emotional upheaval. Still the sensation quickly passed and the puritan's more often noted grim yet calm disposition returned at once. The voice he then heard spoke as softly as a springtime flower petal floating in the air only to settle quietly on the cool waters of a sparkling old fountain. Indeed, very pleasing it was to the ear but the glistening point of the rapier did now lower...naught for the slightest fraction of an inch.
"And who might you be Sir, in this lonely and forsaken place, at such a strange hour?" The girl inquired gently before continuing, "I had thought that only lost souls should find themselves here in a place and time such as this...are you a lost soul Sir?" The eyes had somehow undergone a remarkable change even as the woman spoke. Now they reminded Kane of an unbroken blue sky pouring over the ocean horizon just after dawn. After long years at sea the puritan could recall such visions easily and for some unknown reason these memories vaguely irritated him. Still, he remained steadfast.
"My name is Solomon Kane and I know not who you are but rather what you are...a
vampyre...an undead fiend that feeds on the lives of the innocent. Those tiny red spots I see even now on your bodice is proof enough that you live because someone else died on this black night. Or, at the very least, were drained of their life's blood to the point of lying exhausted, collapsed near the portals to death. But no more I say, I've been sent here by a force far greater than any that dwell in the pit from whence ye came foul creature. Prepare your second descent to the very hell where your master no doubt awaits the return of one of his own!."
The face of the girl began to change in a most disconcerting way. The features were the same but they became twisted as pure evil and decadent decay took a fearsome hold thereon. The voice changed as well, no longer was it soothing and soft, but rather the tones were transformed to guttural and hate spawned growls. She spoke in this beastly, barely audible voice, "It was you foolish man of impotent faith...you are the one
guilty of trespassing here and tampering with my tomb! I cannot enter but little matter, there are other tombs aplenty hereabouts. I shall simply have to make do...and the dead certainly do not mind company. Still, I am thinking that perhaps a new companion might be just what I need on the 'morrow. Truly a great strapping lad as yourself in all your drab darkness might serve me well as a slumber partner. At the very least you could keep watch and drive off the rats that would gnaw at my tender toes. But first".....As she spoke the fiend thrust out her long tongue and gyrated it about in a manner speaking to the utmost in lustful depravity.
"Aye demon, 'twas I that doused holy water upon thy grave. It fell there and turned at once to ice, thus it remains to block your unholy entrance." Even as Kane spoke he raised the rapier high, poised to strike. Yet he hesitated most strangely. The why of it was damnably unclear. Again the thing's features had softened, appearing even more striking and attractive than before...if such a thing were possible. Kane had never beheld such an alluring form in all his wandering, nor a more splendid example of pure feminine perfection. He struggled to gather his thoughts but merely managed to stare wide-eyed as the tongue shot forth again to dance an intoxicating jig. The girl moved her slender hands over her lush body, grasping and releasing the abundant flesh that jiggled provocatively and swayed hypnotically. Finally she laughed triumphantly and the sound of her laughter pleased the gaunt swordsman!
Although it fit not to reason there was something inside him that was pleased by her happiness, and oddly, he yearned to please her as well. Inside the puritan's heart some force had given birth to powerful emotions that seemed poised to control his every actions, nay, his every thought, his judgment, and even his very senses! Kane had thought such a thing was not possible yet it was happening.
She spoke again but the words seemed to have strangely moved far away. To the
puritan everything seemed to almost be taking on the aspect of a hazy dream. Yet it was inhabited by the most beautiful creature in the world. He wanted desperately to be with her...what man wouldn't? And after all wasn't he only a man and nothing more?
"Holy water?" She asked. "I can't restrain myself from wondering...of what need does one who stands before me dressed as a puritan have of water blessed by a catholic priest? Forgive me if I find the irony of that rather amusing you pathetic pious fool." The girl laughed yet again, obviously enyoying her mocking of Solomon Kane. However, this time he did not find the laugh pleasing at all...rather it seemed to him to be a repulsive sort of cackle more fitting to some withered old witch delighting herself whilst practicing foul crafts of the most abhorrent sort. Just at the moment the thing came towards him with arms outstretched Kane struggled free of the spell that had seized him. The girl's face glowed with the very fires of unfiltered evil and her bosom rose in anticipation of the night's second blood feast. "Now cast down that sword you daft mortal. What a great fool you
were for coming here tonight. Even the most simple-minded, unknowing dolt could see that plain steel cannot slay one that is already long since dead."
"Of what need dost a puritan have of holy water thou ask? Of what use is life to the dead is what I would ask of the likes of ye?" The puritan spoke, having regained the ability to do so only seconds before. "Perchance good steel coated by the glaze of frozen holy water might yet win me through this ghastly night despite all your devilish powers over mortal men!"
For the most fleeting of instants their eyes met and Solomon Kane thought he
glimpsed a glint of fear in the eyes of the vampyre. It was, after all, a sight he had
witnessed countless times in the eyes of men that had challenged him to duels
only to soon realize they were hopelessly over matched by the puritan's thirsty blade.
The Englishman had thus far seen but little of the horrors this night held. His stunned eyes stared as the hands of the fiend suddenly sprouted long talons...razor sharp claws that were hurling themselves towards his unprotected throat. Only a man with reflexes like those of a wounded panther could have avoided having his jugular ripped to bloody shreds at that very instant. Solomon Kane was that kind of man, and instead of meeting certain doom, he lashed out with the rapier, striking with blinding speed and uncanny accuracy. The talons, as well as the very hands they sprouted from, were severed neatly at both wrists. A blackish, horrid smelling fluid spurted in all directions. The vampyre shrieked and raged with mad pain and unquenchable hate. Kane drifted back slightly to avoid the foul spray of vampire blood. His nostrils were assaulted by an horrific, nearly unbearable stench. It was the dank odor of death and things long
undead!
Solomon Kane's heart was scarcely fain to listening to curses that invoked the
names of demonic forces. The wounded fiend could have quite possibly fled
at that particular moment and saved herself but she was far to occupied with
hurling profanity at the Englishman and searching frantically about in the gore
and snow for her late hands. The puritan struck again with no less degree of
surgical preciseness, cleaving the girl's pretty head cleanly from its body. The
head fell into a snow drift and disappeared entirely save for the long blond curls
that remained barely visible. The body staggered and swayed insanely, then
somehow managed to take a step or two in the general direction of its frowning
slayer before slumping abruptly onto the frozen ground. There it lay twitching
and jerking as gushing vampyre blood drenched the nearby snow. The puritan
watched somberly as the dark black circle around the freshly beheaded thing
spread ever wider. At last Kane wiped his blade clean on the gilded cape before
guiding it carefully back into its simple leather scabbard. There was still much
work to be done before he would rest.
Kane cautiously kept one hand on the hilt of the rapier while making use of the
other to grasp the foot of the recently dispatched fiend. Effortlessly he dragged
the corpse to a location behind the ruined wall of the old castle, leaving a wake of
gore trailing behind in the virgin snow. Earlier that same day he had dug a fairly
deep pit and filled it with a large amount of good dry wood gathered from the
nearby forest. Kane used the dead Vampye's cape to brush away most of the
fresh snow that had accumulated during the night. Satisfied, he doused a
goodly portion of the wood with brandy...saving a hearty swallow for his own use.
The Puritan savored the warmth of the spirits before tossing a few more bits of
choice tinder atop the pile. Then he hoisted the body and dumped the repulsive
object as near to the center of the pyre as he could.
The gaunt Englishman felt in a pocket for steel and flint. Finally producing the fire
starting tools, he bent to the task of creating firey sparks. Thanks to the brandy
a blazing inferno soon reached high towards the disappearing stars and the first
shy tendrils of new dawn light. Solomon Kane was already deep into his musings
when he took pause long enough to warm his hands by the flickering flames. This
simple act suddenly gave cause to remind him that he'd foolishly neglected to
retrieve the hands and head of the vampyre. Kane immediately trudged back
through the bowels of the ruins and towards the snow cloaked chapel yard.
A torrent of heavy snowfall made the going difficult, nearly blinding Kane as he
struggled longer than he would have wished before finding all three of the grisly
trophies. He donned black gloves before lifting the bloody hands, the head he
gathered by its long blond locks. The grim puritan wasted no time returning to the
scene of the fire where he placed the hands alongside the smoking corpse.
"I told you that steel could not slay me!" The unexpected voice gave the puritan
quite a start despite his steel nerve. He dropped the head in the snow where it lay
face up, eyes blinking at snowflakes and lovely red lips moving most horribly.
Solomon Kane was truly taken aback, no decapitated head had ever mouthed
words in his presence. And he was a man who'd witnessed much more than
his share of such sights.
"Art thou not dead after all hellish monster?" He asked most astonished whilst
quickly freeing the rapier from its sheath yet again.
"No, as you can plainly hear," the head barely whispered this time, its tone a sad
one. "Though you have rendered me as near to true death as a vampyre can be
I will willingly admit. You are no ordinary man Solomon Kane...I had not guessed!
The thought that a mere mortal could break free from my powers, and as one
that has long practiced them...well, such a thing never crossed my mind. But live
long enough and witness all they say."
The last sentence had passed through lips that hinted of a smile...though truly a
melancholy one. Kane's cold hard eyes widened then as he saw what looked to
be very real tears flowing from the still lovely eyes of the girl.
"Did you know I was once a noblewoman Kane? It was all a very, very long time
ago. I am not certain I can quite say how many years have passed since that time."
The head continued to speak as the sobs became more obvious. "I was fair,
yes, even more fair by far than what you saw of me just minutes ago. Truly I was
a maiden whose life held great promise. In that time long ago these pathetic old
stones, now sadly crumbled, were a magnificent fortress. I do not lie, this ruin
was once the jeweled crown of a nation who's sons were great builders. Only the
most gifted craftsman worked to erect this once mighty bastion. And the grounds,
ah! They were beautiful, pruned to perfection by master gardeners. I was sent
here as a mere child of sixteen, a virgin. I was to be married to a wealthy prince,
the heir to the king who ruled these lands. He was a handsome man, always
laughing and first to the hunt. It was with great joy and hope that I arrived here
that faithful day." The head paused, Kane knew not why.
"And?" The gaunt Englishman asked, finding the story had piqued his interest.
"What great misfortune hath befell this house since then?"
The head teared up again but continued with effort, "the marriage ceremony
went very well indeed. Important nobles and other persons of great note attended
whilst wearing only their best finery. A tremendous feast was prepared and only
the most skilled of musicians were employed for the dancing. I cried then from
joy and not from despair as now. It was a great celebration and lasted until deep
into the night...that was my downfall you see! A guest arrived late, giving an
excuse of some sort. How was anyone to know he was in fact a creature of the
darkness, an unholy vampyre? Later that night, as I lay waiting for my husband
on my bridal bed, the vampyre came and took me as such beasts are wont to do.
That was the end of all happiness, but sadly not the end of my tale. Dark events
hundreds of years ago, yet I have remained, using my wiles and unholy powers
as one of the undead to survive...accomplishing that and nothing else. But now
this to has come to pass at last. Truly I should thank you Solomon Kane, and I do.
Therefore pardon me my foolish weepings for I shall never again haunt these
dank old ruins. There was a tiny wisp of light that remained in my heart all these
long years. I held on to the memories of what was and what might have been. It
was all I had you see. Again, I thank you strange puritan...it was nothing but an
act of pure mercy from a higher power that sent a man with your strength here to
ease me from these many long years of despair, loneliness, and suffering."
The surrounding snow was wet with tears when Kane lifted the head again...this
time with more than a small measure of gentleness. He hoisted her with both
hands, grasping the head by each rosy cheek before tossing the still sobbing
remains into the roaring flames.
A huge black cloud rolled over the sky at that moment, blacking out the dawn and
plunging the ancient ruins into darkness again, all save for the pyre. A massive
snowstorm was blowing in. Solomon Kane deposited the gilded cape onto the
pyre. Then he turned and disappeared into the blackness.
end
the lonely raven watched
the sad little girl
who only sat and cried
she cried because
she was not loved
and soon would surely die
this in turn
caused the raven sorrow
thus, off he flew
high into the broad blue sky
he flew higher
and yet higher still
the raven didn't come down
until the day
after tomorrow
and then
long did he drink
from a clear running stream
he sighed and groaned
as a gentle autumn wind
ruffled his thick black feathers
that darkly gleamed
until at last
he swore an oath
to nevermore observe
little girls
nor to endure their crying...
Eastern Europe 1584
The eerie glow from the pale half moon was accentuated to great effect by a
freshly fallen snow. The hulking ruins of the ancient castle cared little, the stinging
chill of a long winter's night likewise produced only stoic indifference. Long past
were those days when hope and optimism brought forth their sweet fruit behind
the protection of once proud walls. Now only the wind and weeds were present to
pay their respects...along with the occasional creature of the night. One such
being lurked there even now, deep within the concealing shadow of rubble and
partially collapsed masonry. His was a figure quite tall, his face more pale than
the moon with features locked into a perpetual aspect of dark grimness. He was
a man named Solomon Kane.
As an instinctive hunter would do, Kane stood perfectly still, yet his steely gray
blue eyes were never at rest. Within the confines of very deep set sockets, cold
orbs darted first in one direction, then moved quickly toward another. His
scarred right hand rested upon the hilt of a long rapier, a lethal weapon and much
used. The left hand held fast the puritan's drab black cloak...lest any movement
created by the wind should betray his position. Kane was not dressed in
especially warm clothing but to him it mattered not. The Englishman's saxon
blood ran hot 'ere the season and truly could it be said that he possessed a
nearly inhuman tolerance for pain. Still, the wait had been a long one, in less
than two hours the new dawn would come calling. Kane had stubbornly held this
same position since shortly after dusk.
At last Solomon Kane bent to the weakness of the flesh. He momentarily released
the hilt of his deadly blade and brought forth a flask...all the while taking care to keep his worn cloak gathered about the shimmering green sash where the container had been secured along with a heavy pistol and well made dirk. The puritan forgave himself the vanity of the oriental sash but cautiously took pains to conceal the brightly colored object. The gaunt Englishman had long practiced the art of not revealing his whereabouts until that time he deemed it proper. Thus, he made no sudden moves whilst tipping the flask and drinking deeply of the burning fluid. Then he licked his lips in appreciation of good English brandy. Satisfied and refreshed, Kane put the flask away to continue his hidden vigilance as he had for the long hours previous. At no point during that freezing night had the puritan taken leave of his feet for even so much as a second. His powerful thews had withstood far more painful tortures than this...and would again.
Behind thin slits the piercing eyes of the hunter gazed out at a forlorn chapel yard.
Perhaps two dozen and a few more monuments, broken crypts, and stone figurines
dotted the final resting places of the departed nobles that had once called the old
estate home. A few miles away there was a peasant village where the descendants of the castle's servants and serfs slept off their Christmas dinners and the effects of over indulged strong spirits. On a night as harsh as this any ordinary man would've long since sought lodgings there in some cozy inn, but Solomon Kane was hardly an ordinary man. He lived his life for a purpose, thus he stood and watched.
The gaunt English swordsman was a landless wanderer, a mystery to all, if not himself. He was no stranger to making his bed beneath the majesty of the heavens...and he felt as near to home there as anyplace. At least for this one night he found himself here at this lonely and forgotten, once upon a time ruin. Kane was precisely where he deemed himself needed, and therefore was as close to home as ever he would be. The cold continued to bit at his thick black brow and sunken cheeks but he faltered not...nor would he. It was simply not in his nature to falter.
Still, the mere threat of disappointment served to draw the lines across his pallid
features all the more grim and profound. The puritan was more often right than not, but like any man there loomed the chance he had guessed wrong. Perhaps the fast approaching dawn would signal a momentary defeat...and a renewed, or even overwhelming urge to continue the quest with much greater vigor...albeit after a few hours repose and some scraps of food.
But hold! Was there something there? The deep set eyes glared behind slits
shrunk thin as hairs whilst Kane launched himself into a deep state of trance-like concentration. Few eyes would have taken note of anything unusual at that moment, and truly the gaunt swordsman had begun to doubt until...there again! The powerful heart within the deep chest pounded harder until it became not unlike the booming beat of a dark African drum calling the savage horde together for some obscene ritual. Primitive rites that Kane had himself witnessed, mesmerized by awe and first hand knowledge of strange jungle mysticism. The Englishman thought of the withered fetish man N'Longa. Would that he had the staff of Solomon within his grasp on this awful night...but no matter. He had come well prepared, and as always, entirely without fear.
Solomon Kane was a rare breed, a man not enslaved by the constricting effects of
fear or dread. He bowed to only one master, and he cared naught for the judgments of men.
Moving slowly amongst the scattering of trees in yon forest appeared something like a lantern...yet unlike any lantern the puritan had knowledge of. The apparition moved deliberately, almost seeming to drift, flickering seen then unseen as it passed behind great leafless oaks and sturdy maples. Although never appearing especially large, the thing did seem to grow as it moved, proof that it drew ever nearer...ever nearer its destination. Kane held no doubts as to where that destination might be, no doubt it was these same grounds on which he stood silent watch.
Continuing its meandering course, the light glowed more strangely. It appeared to
glide like a ship pushed by fair winds. It came on with a purpose, holding generally
true to a path. Solomon Kane drew the obvious conclusion that here was no lamp
carried by human hand to illuminate the way for human eyes. Rather it was an entity wholly unto itself...and entirely unnatural. Absolutely, it was so.
The pallid swordsman paid scarce heed to the whiteness in his knuckles from the
crushing grip he held upon the hilt of the long rapier. As for the blade, it waited
patiently like its master, motionless and silent. Here were two steadfast
companions of old.
The odd light emerged wholly from the wood and made towards the slumbering old
graveyard. It moved unhurried but paused not, not for fallen limb, not for the chance encounter with a hidden hare's den, nor for the obstruction of the heavy snow drifts. Kane observed the movement with a fixed stare, unblinking and unshaken. The wind increased with a tortured moan, blowing sheets of snow ahead. Then it died entirely and quite suddenly, carrying away all sound as it fled...save for the pounding heart of the puritan. There had been, of a time, a heavy iron gate that barred entrance into the ancient chapel yard but it had long since fallen. It now lay crumbling and imperceptibly rusting away there in the dirt. At last the eerily glowing thing passed over even this ancient gate and Kane struggled to steady his heaving chest, thus was the physical manifestation of his great anticipation. The whistling sound the chilled air made as he sucked it through his nostrils alarmed the watcher but the entity continued onwards,
paying no heed.
There was a somber stone box located some twenty yards or more from the very
location where the gaunt swordsman stood his hidden vigilance. The outline of
the old tomb was easily visible to Solomon Kane but the snow that had continued to fall heavily at various intervals throughout the night and settled in heaps thereon... concealing all that lay beneath. For the first time on that long night the puritan began to feel a bit of the depth of the harsh winter chill as he observed the supernatural object finally pausing, there at the farther end of the tomb.
Suddenly the light appeared to glow most brightly indeed. In fact, Kane felt compelled to thrust his arm over his gaunt face in an effort to block the effects of the painful glare lest he be blinded. Then, the awful brightness faded entirely. Solomon Kane took the precaution of squinting just the same as his gaze returned to the aforementioned grave. There he discovered no light, it had vanished without leaving a trace. But something was there...or someone!
Some other man, a lesser man, might have been shocked to the point of madness by this bizarre turn of events. Or he might have taken flight whilst howling like a banshee for fear of his life. Yet another might have fainted into blissful unconsciousness after invoking the name of the Father. Solomon Kane did none of this save mumble the name, only silently with lips that scarcely moved. The puritan was unlike other men. He was moved by the phenomena but his wits remained steady. During the course of unsettling events when another might panic, the gaunt Englishman only took on the aspect of increased calmness...a phenomena in its own right!
No...but there, bathed in the dripping paleness of winter moonlight reflecting off
snow, was the hazy form of a person where previously had been naught but a weird glow.
This person...or was it thing, stood draped in a long cape and heavy hood. And it
was hardly the garb of a commoner for Kane could see the silver and gold gilding
that glinted upon contact with slivers of bleeding moonlight. The Englishman quickly forgot these simple observations as the strange person began pacing about in an apparently distressed state of considerable consternation. This event was rapidly followed by by muted shrieking noises and then a remarkable growling not unlike the desperate uttering of an aroused beast. The thing jerked and swayed unsteadily, then commenced eliciting audible curses and oaths after the most foul fashion...some the puritan recognized from his long years at sea and others he was thankful that he didn't.
The well dressed phantom went to its knees, thrust its hands in the deep snow, and clawed at the earth with nothing save its fingers. At last, with its hands filled with dirt and rock, the apparition whirled about and angrily tossed the freshly dug soil onto the ancient tomb whilst continuing the vehement cursing broken only by interludes of insane growling. Kane watched fascinated as this remarkable activity finally concluded when the person or supernatural entity halted and commenced a deeply sad moaning as if something sorely prized had been lost or unfairly stolen. Perhaps this wailing could best be described as not entirely unlike the despairing pleas of a mother who had just suffered the misfortune of having lost a young child to a premature demise.
At last Solomon Kane choose to move from beyond the cloaking depth of shadows,
his striking frame creeping silently and as softly as the gentle bending of a single reed captured by a slow flowing autumn wind.
"Stand and face me ye beast from the pit of deepest hell." Kane's voice cut through the night, deep and demanding, with not the slightest hint of waver or indecisiveness.
In surprised response the entity jerked noticeably, but just as quickly gathered itself...this action it followed by what might have been a quick glance over its shoulder. Then, almost imperceptibly at first, it began to turn until finally the hunter and the hunted stood facing each other. Whomever played which of the assigned roles in this predawn drama was at yet to be determined.
Lightening never flashed more instantly than Solomon Kane did when he drew his
rapier and placed the keen point within an inch of the breast of the mysterious night prowler. "Reveal yourself to me minion of Satan." The Englishman continued to speak after an unhurried, steadfast fashion.
Following a very brief moment of seeming indecision the cape and hood were
raised over the head and shoulders of the creature and cast onto the snow. Kane found himself struggling to catch his breath for a moment. Then, for the first and only time, his hand trembled slightly when he heard a sound like the muffled sigh of a drowsy infant. And what great natural or unnatural force of nature or the netherworld could make a man with the strength and purpose of Solomon Kane quiver? Before the startled swordsman stood the very vision of inspired female loveliness...a girl no more than seventeen, with a gentle mass of long blond curls, perfectly clear complexion, and full red lips...truly an object of lustful desire beyond the realm of even a sailor's most well conceived fantasy. Her exquisitely sculpted bosom heaved and fell with each panting breath, only just concealed by the thin white gown that clung perilously and tenuously to the girl's truly bewitching form. The crowning jewels were two lovely pale green eyes that glowed
with a strange and unsettling fire. Solomon Kane had never seen the likes of them.
The puritan felt his very being tossed about by a sudden, very unexpected emotional upheaval. Still the sensation quickly passed and the puritan's more often noted grim yet calm disposition returned at once. The voice he then heard spoke as softly as a springtime flower petal floating in the air only to settle quietly on the cool waters of a sparkling old fountain. Indeed, very pleasing it was to the ear but the glistening point of the rapier did now lower...naught for the slightest fraction of an inch.
"And who might you be Sir, in this lonely and forsaken place, at such a strange hour?" The girl inquired gently before continuing, "I had thought that only lost souls should find themselves here in a place and time such as this...are you a lost soul Sir?" The eyes had somehow undergone a remarkable change even as the woman spoke. Now they reminded Kane of an unbroken blue sky pouring over the ocean horizon just after dawn. After long years at sea the puritan could recall such visions easily and for some unknown reason these memories vaguely irritated him. Still, he remained steadfast.
"My name is Solomon Kane and I know not who you are but rather what you are...a
vampyre...an undead fiend that feeds on the lives of the innocent. Those tiny red spots I see even now on your bodice is proof enough that you live because someone else died on this black night. Or, at the very least, were drained of their life's blood to the point of lying exhausted, collapsed near the portals to death. But no more I say, I've been sent here by a force far greater than any that dwell in the pit from whence ye came foul creature. Prepare your second descent to the very hell where your master no doubt awaits the return of one of his own!."
The face of the girl began to change in a most disconcerting way. The features were the same but they became twisted as pure evil and decadent decay took a fearsome hold thereon. The voice changed as well, no longer was it soothing and soft, but rather the tones were transformed to guttural and hate spawned growls. She spoke in this beastly, barely audible voice, "It was you foolish man of impotent faith...you are the one
guilty of trespassing here and tampering with my tomb! I cannot enter but little matter, there are other tombs aplenty hereabouts. I shall simply have to make do...and the dead certainly do not mind company. Still, I am thinking that perhaps a new companion might be just what I need on the 'morrow. Truly a great strapping lad as yourself in all your drab darkness might serve me well as a slumber partner. At the very least you could keep watch and drive off the rats that would gnaw at my tender toes. But first".....As she spoke the fiend thrust out her long tongue and gyrated it about in a manner speaking to the utmost in lustful depravity.
"Aye demon, 'twas I that doused holy water upon thy grave. It fell there and turned at once to ice, thus it remains to block your unholy entrance." Even as Kane spoke he raised the rapier high, poised to strike. Yet he hesitated most strangely. The why of it was damnably unclear. Again the thing's features had softened, appearing even more striking and attractive than before...if such a thing were possible. Kane had never beheld such an alluring form in all his wandering, nor a more splendid example of pure feminine perfection. He struggled to gather his thoughts but merely managed to stare wide-eyed as the tongue shot forth again to dance an intoxicating jig. The girl moved her slender hands over her lush body, grasping and releasing the abundant flesh that jiggled provocatively and swayed hypnotically. Finally she laughed triumphantly and the sound of her laughter pleased the gaunt swordsman!
Although it fit not to reason there was something inside him that was pleased by her happiness, and oddly, he yearned to please her as well. Inside the puritan's heart some force had given birth to powerful emotions that seemed poised to control his every actions, nay, his every thought, his judgment, and even his very senses! Kane had thought such a thing was not possible yet it was happening.
She spoke again but the words seemed to have strangely moved far away. To the
puritan everything seemed to almost be taking on the aspect of a hazy dream. Yet it was inhabited by the most beautiful creature in the world. He wanted desperately to be with her...what man wouldn't? And after all wasn't he only a man and nothing more?
"Holy water?" She asked. "I can't restrain myself from wondering...of what need does one who stands before me dressed as a puritan have of water blessed by a catholic priest? Forgive me if I find the irony of that rather amusing you pathetic pious fool." The girl laughed yet again, obviously enyoying her mocking of Solomon Kane. However, this time he did not find the laugh pleasing at all...rather it seemed to him to be a repulsive sort of cackle more fitting to some withered old witch delighting herself whilst practicing foul crafts of the most abhorrent sort. Just at the moment the thing came towards him with arms outstretched Kane struggled free of the spell that had seized him. The girl's face glowed with the very fires of unfiltered evil and her bosom rose in anticipation of the night's second blood feast. "Now cast down that sword you daft mortal. What a great fool you
were for coming here tonight. Even the most simple-minded, unknowing dolt could see that plain steel cannot slay one that is already long since dead."
"Of what need dost a puritan have of holy water thou ask? Of what use is life to the dead is what I would ask of the likes of ye?" The puritan spoke, having regained the ability to do so only seconds before. "Perchance good steel coated by the glaze of frozen holy water might yet win me through this ghastly night despite all your devilish powers over mortal men!"
For the most fleeting of instants their eyes met and Solomon Kane thought he
glimpsed a glint of fear in the eyes of the vampyre. It was, after all, a sight he had
witnessed countless times in the eyes of men that had challenged him to duels
only to soon realize they were hopelessly over matched by the puritan's thirsty blade.
The Englishman had thus far seen but little of the horrors this night held. His stunned eyes stared as the hands of the fiend suddenly sprouted long talons...razor sharp claws that were hurling themselves towards his unprotected throat. Only a man with reflexes like those of a wounded panther could have avoided having his jugular ripped to bloody shreds at that very instant. Solomon Kane was that kind of man, and instead of meeting certain doom, he lashed out with the rapier, striking with blinding speed and uncanny accuracy. The talons, as well as the very hands they sprouted from, were severed neatly at both wrists. A blackish, horrid smelling fluid spurted in all directions. The vampyre shrieked and raged with mad pain and unquenchable hate. Kane drifted back slightly to avoid the foul spray of vampire blood. His nostrils were assaulted by an horrific, nearly unbearable stench. It was the dank odor of death and things long
undead!
Solomon Kane's heart was scarcely fain to listening to curses that invoked the
names of demonic forces. The wounded fiend could have quite possibly fled
at that particular moment and saved herself but she was far to occupied with
hurling profanity at the Englishman and searching frantically about in the gore
and snow for her late hands. The puritan struck again with no less degree of
surgical preciseness, cleaving the girl's pretty head cleanly from its body. The
head fell into a snow drift and disappeared entirely save for the long blond curls
that remained barely visible. The body staggered and swayed insanely, then
somehow managed to take a step or two in the general direction of its frowning
slayer before slumping abruptly onto the frozen ground. There it lay twitching
and jerking as gushing vampyre blood drenched the nearby snow. The puritan
watched somberly as the dark black circle around the freshly beheaded thing
spread ever wider. At last Kane wiped his blade clean on the gilded cape before
guiding it carefully back into its simple leather scabbard. There was still much
work to be done before he would rest.
Kane cautiously kept one hand on the hilt of the rapier while making use of the
other to grasp the foot of the recently dispatched fiend. Effortlessly he dragged
the corpse to a location behind the ruined wall of the old castle, leaving a wake of
gore trailing behind in the virgin snow. Earlier that same day he had dug a fairly
deep pit and filled it with a large amount of good dry wood gathered from the
nearby forest. Kane used the dead Vampye's cape to brush away most of the
fresh snow that had accumulated during the night. Satisfied, he doused a
goodly portion of the wood with brandy...saving a hearty swallow for his own use.
The Puritan savored the warmth of the spirits before tossing a few more bits of
choice tinder atop the pile. Then he hoisted the body and dumped the repulsive
object as near to the center of the pyre as he could.
The gaunt Englishman felt in a pocket for steel and flint. Finally producing the fire
starting tools, he bent to the task of creating firey sparks. Thanks to the brandy
a blazing inferno soon reached high towards the disappearing stars and the first
shy tendrils of new dawn light. Solomon Kane was already deep into his musings
when he took pause long enough to warm his hands by the flickering flames. This
simple act suddenly gave cause to remind him that he'd foolishly neglected to
retrieve the hands and head of the vampyre. Kane immediately trudged back
through the bowels of the ruins and towards the snow cloaked chapel yard.
A torrent of heavy snowfall made the going difficult, nearly blinding Kane as he
struggled longer than he would have wished before finding all three of the grisly
trophies. He donned black gloves before lifting the bloody hands, the head he
gathered by its long blond locks. The grim puritan wasted no time returning to the
scene of the fire where he placed the hands alongside the smoking corpse.
"I told you that steel could not slay me!" The unexpected voice gave the puritan
quite a start despite his steel nerve. He dropped the head in the snow where it lay
face up, eyes blinking at snowflakes and lovely red lips moving most horribly.
Solomon Kane was truly taken aback, no decapitated head had ever mouthed
words in his presence. And he was a man who'd witnessed much more than
his share of such sights.
"Art thou not dead after all hellish monster?" He asked most astonished whilst
quickly freeing the rapier from its sheath yet again.
"No, as you can plainly hear," the head barely whispered this time, its tone a sad
one. "Though you have rendered me as near to true death as a vampyre can be
I will willingly admit. You are no ordinary man Solomon Kane...I had not guessed!
The thought that a mere mortal could break free from my powers, and as one
that has long practiced them...well, such a thing never crossed my mind. But live
long enough and witness all they say."
The last sentence had passed through lips that hinted of a smile...though truly a
melancholy one. Kane's cold hard eyes widened then as he saw what looked to
be very real tears flowing from the still lovely eyes of the girl.
"Did you know I was once a noblewoman Kane? It was all a very, very long time
ago. I am not certain I can quite say how many years have passed since that time."
The head continued to speak as the sobs became more obvious. "I was fair,
yes, even more fair by far than what you saw of me just minutes ago. Truly I was
a maiden whose life held great promise. In that time long ago these pathetic old
stones, now sadly crumbled, were a magnificent fortress. I do not lie, this ruin
was once the jeweled crown of a nation who's sons were great builders. Only the
most gifted craftsman worked to erect this once mighty bastion. And the grounds,
ah! They were beautiful, pruned to perfection by master gardeners. I was sent
here as a mere child of sixteen, a virgin. I was to be married to a wealthy prince,
the heir to the king who ruled these lands. He was a handsome man, always
laughing and first to the hunt. It was with great joy and hope that I arrived here
that faithful day." The head paused, Kane knew not why.
"And?" The gaunt Englishman asked, finding the story had piqued his interest.
"What great misfortune hath befell this house since then?"
The head teared up again but continued with effort, "the marriage ceremony
went very well indeed. Important nobles and other persons of great note attended
whilst wearing only their best finery. A tremendous feast was prepared and only
the most skilled of musicians were employed for the dancing. I cried then from
joy and not from despair as now. It was a great celebration and lasted until deep
into the night...that was my downfall you see! A guest arrived late, giving an
excuse of some sort. How was anyone to know he was in fact a creature of the
darkness, an unholy vampyre? Later that night, as I lay waiting for my husband
on my bridal bed, the vampyre came and took me as such beasts are wont to do.
That was the end of all happiness, but sadly not the end of my tale. Dark events
hundreds of years ago, yet I have remained, using my wiles and unholy powers
as one of the undead to survive...accomplishing that and nothing else. But now
this to has come to pass at last. Truly I should thank you Solomon Kane, and I do.
Therefore pardon me my foolish weepings for I shall never again haunt these
dank old ruins. There was a tiny wisp of light that remained in my heart all these
long years. I held on to the memories of what was and what might have been. It
was all I had you see. Again, I thank you strange puritan...it was nothing but an
act of pure mercy from a higher power that sent a man with your strength here to
ease me from these many long years of despair, loneliness, and suffering."
The surrounding snow was wet with tears when Kane lifted the head again...this
time with more than a small measure of gentleness. He hoisted her with both
hands, grasping the head by each rosy cheek before tossing the still sobbing
remains into the roaring flames.
A huge black cloud rolled over the sky at that moment, blacking out the dawn and
plunging the ancient ruins into darkness again, all save for the pyre. A massive
snowstorm was blowing in. Solomon Kane deposited the gilded cape onto the
pyre. Then he turned and disappeared into the blackness.
end
