Dracula
I had been taking things easily over the past few days. However, there was something that kept ringing in my head.
I had magic. The thought was as fascinating as it was intriguing. Perhaps if I were in the body of another, I might have been squealing for joy with a little dance on the side. Instead, I sat in my study, my right hand cupping my jaw and my left outstretched, holding up a little animal.
My red eyes regarded the black bat with profound curiosity. I didn't know where the raven had gone, and I found myself surprisingly unconcerned. I could feel the slightest thread of connection to it, some remnant of my magic clinging to its essence, which made it clear that warging opened a door that could never truly be closed. That was how I interpreted it, at least: an open portal calling to me, one I could return to with sufficient focus and will.
"Bats are not native to the north, especially not this far north," I mused aloud, studying the little chirping creature hanging from my limb without the slightest worry or fear.
I felt an intense, almost overwhelming urge to slip into its skin. The sensation was so powerful I was certain it originated from Dracula himself, that innate compulsion to experiment, to push boundaries, to learn more. Bloodraven had been surprised by how easily I had taken to skin changing, attributing it to the sheer magical potency Dracula possessed. But I harbored a different theory entirely.
I had consumed enough fiction to understand that vampires possessed a natural affinity for mental arts. From Bram Stoker's original Dracula to modern interpretations in Twilight and The Vampire Diaries, compulsion and hypnosis were fundamental vampire abilities.
How much of a stretch was it, really, to link such inherent traits to skin changing? Not much, in my considered opinion.
"So where did you come from, my little friend?"
The bat chirped in response, a sound reminiscent of a baby chick calling for its mother. Then it spread its wings and took to the air, hovering with the furious beat of delicate membranes. That was when the sensation struck me like a physical force.
It wasn't words as humans understood them, not speech in any conventional sense. It was similar to what I had experienced during warging, projecting myself into the bird, sensing its consciousness. But this was fundamentally different. The bat was the one doing the projecting, sending out thoughts, emotions, and primal feelings in waves that crashed against my awareness.
I didn't waste time wondering about the mechanics. The answer was obvious enough. Dracula was a creature of the night, and no other beings were as intrinsically linked to vampires as bats. There existed a connection between us, one so profound it transcended mere blood and magic, something primordial and unbreakable.
It took only moments to decipher the emotions and primitive thoughts the bat was transmitting. As an animal, its mind operated on entirely different principles, yet some instinctive part of me translated the chirping and emotional resonance into a single, unmistakable concept: Follow.
I surveyed my study with measured consideration. Nothing urgent demanded my immediate attention, so without overthinking the decision, I rose to my feet. The bat thrilled with obvious delight at my acquiescence, spinning gracefully before beginning to fly away, leading me to follow at the relaxed, controlled pace that Dracula favored. To run or rush through his own halls would have been undignified.
The bat guided me past ornate doorways and moving staircases, beyond rich drapes, ceremonial armor, elegantly decorated statues, and monuments to bygone eras. Castlevania responded to my will with fluid precision, stairs manifested precisely when needed, and doorways opened the instant my gaze fell upon them.
It didn't take long to realize we were descending steadily. Down into sections of the castle where my footsteps met layers of accumulated dust. Here, the drapes and tapestries showed fading and wear. The ceremonial armor and steel-bearing guards displayed the faintest patina of rust. Even the electrical hum that permeated the castle's walls seemed muted, evidenced by the intermittent flickering of light bulbs.
Finally, we arrived at an amusing contraption: an elevator.
I might have laughed at the sight of the primitive yet ornately designed machine, might have turned away to seek a more dependable method of descending further into the castle's depths if the elevator doors hadn't opened with perfect timing. Flickering lights stabilized inside as the bat made its way in and suspended itself upside down, dark eyes fixed upon me with unmistakable expectation.
"If this is an assassination attempt, I must say I'm thoroughly unimpressed."
Castlevania seemed to find my dry observation amusing, because the flickering bulbs suddenly increased in intensity before stabilizing into a steady, low hum. I interpreted this as the castle allocating additional power to this neglected section, hardly surprising, given the circumstances.
The castle was enormous, I was rapidly discovering, as I stepped into the elevator. The doors sealed behind me with a resonant clang, followed by the groaning and whirring of gears and machinery as the archaic pulley system transported me steadily downward.
I couldn't determine if Castlevania was literally larger inside than outside, some impossible dimensional anomaly, but I was beginning to understand that it was drastically more expansive than any conventional castle should be.
The descent took longer than anticipated, but eventually the elevator began to decelerate before coming to a complete stop. The doors parted with mechanical precision. The bat shot out of what I had mentally dubbed the metal death trap vaguely disguised as an elevator, and I followed at a more languid pace, an unhurried approach that allowed me to properly appreciate the extraordinary scene before me.
I stood within a cavern. A vast, dark cavern barely illuminated by the light spilling from the open elevator. Not that I required artificial illumination, even in absolute darkness, my vision remained crystal clear. Here was an actual cave system, deep within the heart of the castle. Genuine rock formations of actual stone, I confirmed as I knelt and selected a specimen.
My pale hand closed over the black stone, gripping it with controlled force. When I opened my palm, sand drifted from the pulverized rock before settling on the cavern floor.
That was when I heard it, my enhanced hearing detecting multiple sources of low-level chittering. I rose to my full height and peered into the darkness, where I was immediately greeted by familiar sounds. The little black bat that had guided me here had returned, flying in excited circles around my head before finally landing on my shoulder.
My hand moved instinctively upward, fingers gently stroking the top of its small head in a soothing gesture. Like so many obvious truths, I didn't question my sudden, profound affection for these creatures. Instead, I turned to face the darkness once more and was instantly confronted by a pair of eyes staring back at me. Eyes that gleamed with the same sharp crimson as my own.
Before I could fully process this sight, another pair materialized, then another, then dozens more. Hundreds of red eyes regarded me from the shadows, an undulating mass of tiny, furred bodies suspended upside down in perfect formation.
Then they called to me, and I answered without hesitation.
This time, when I attempted to lip into their skin, there was no resistance from either side. It was complete, instantaneous acceptance. I didn't merely open a door, as I had with the raven, I possessed a key. A key that fit so perfectly I could almost hear the metaphysical click of tumblers falling into place.
It didn't matter that I was connecting with over a hundred individual bodies. When I projected my consciousness outward, I dispersed seamlessly into the collective. I became the swarm, and the swarm became me. We released a synchronized chitter that echoed through the cavern as we moved with singular purpose, hundreds of bodies operating as one unified entity.
Echolocation required only moments to master. Echolocation employed by hundreds of bats manipulated by a single consciousness operated exponentially beyond its normal parameters. What should have been limited sound waves now bounced and interfaced with each other, granting me perception far superior to even my enhanced low-light vision.
We moved as one organism. Flight came as naturally as breathing. I hadn't crushed the individual wills of the bats, I simply maintained a guiding hand on the collective steering mechanism. When I nudged us toward the dozens of ventilation shafts my echolocation had revealed, we responded instantly, moving through the passages in a chittering wave before bursting through carefully concealed exits and into the night sky.
A swarm of bats that darkened the heavens themselves, moving with purpose and terrible beauty under the cold northern stars.
x
Ygritte
Night was rapidly falling. Ygritte pulled her furs tighter around her shoulders as she stood on the branches of a massive tree, close to its peak. Her spot allowed her to see incoming threats easily, especially considering how the slope of the Frostfangs. It allowed her to watch the last streaks of orange disappear behind the jagged peaks of the mountain range, and even a somewhat clear view of the wall on good days.
Good days that are happening less and less. The cold bit at her exposed cheeks this high, but she barely noticed anymore. Up here, cold was a constant companion, one you either made peace with or died cursing. Her eyes drifted to the black castle lit up by weird light. Burning with heat that was not fire.
"You may stay. You may go. It matters little to me."
Ygritte was not stupid. She might not have the fancy education of some southern lordling, but she had something more valuable, common sense and the hard-earned wisdom that came from surviving beyond the Wall for twenty-odd years.
Those two things made it clear as the ice on her breath why they hadn't encountered any of the rumored Others and their wights as the rest of the free folk had. It wasn't luck, and it sure as hell wasn't because they were better fighters than Mance's growing army or the dozens of villages that had disappeared overnight.
It was because of him. The strange, tall, pale stranger who spoke like everything in the world was beneath his notice and looked at them with those unsettling red eyes that seemed to see straight through them. Lord Dracula, Hector had called him, though what kind of lord left the soft green lands and came to the frost fangs to build a castle in the middle of nowhere was beyond her understanding.
She had made the choice to remain in the Frostfangs under his vaguely given protection. It hadn't been an easy decision, and it sure as hell hadn't been popular with everyone. But when you were staring down two unknowns, there was little you could do but pick the one you were at least a bit familiar with.
The days that followed that meeting outside the castle gates had been a blur of activity. She had been consolidating the conquered and assimilated clans, a delicate process that required more diplomacy than she was comfortable with.
The free folk didn't kneel, but they could be convinced to work together when the alternative was death. The plan was also accomplished with the aid of the soft spoken and surprisingly persuasive old crone that even now, Ygritte could see walking among the group.
Mother Mole. A strange crone and woods witch that had gathered brought her flock to join their group instead of the much bigger group that followed the king beyond the wall. Ygritte lost sight of her shortly after she mixed with another group, so she refocused on their journey so far.
Slowly and carefully, they had begun to migrate further up the mountain, closer to the strange castle that had appeared overnight.
They had finally settled about two miles from the structure, giving the tower a fair bit of distance out of respect and, if she was being honest, a healthy dose of fear. The black castle was still within eye range, looming over their new settlement like a watchful guardian if you were being charitable, or a monster if you were not.
However, it was close enough that if trouble came calling, they could reach its giant gates before anything caught them in the open.
The work had been backbreaking. They had begun constructing new homes and structures designed to survive whatever the Others might throw at them when they finally decided to come calling. And they would come. Ygritte had no illusions about holding them off forever simply with the strange figure's presence.
The question wasn't if, but when. If they were somehow lucky enough to escape that, she didn't put it past a bigger group like Mance's or the Crows to come knocking.
Her eyes picked up Hector in the crowd. A strange object he called a book in his hands as he pointed around directing their construction efforts. The dark-skinned man was easy to spot, especially with his strange accent highlighting how foreign he was, and his unique and beautiful clothes.
The strange man had come with stranger knowledge and had proven to be a master of architecture. Under his guidance, they had plans to build solid stone structures as well as the beginning stages of a wall by mining the mountain, an act that was already ongoing.
Yarla had taken to following Hector around like a lost puppy, hanging on his every word as he explained the principles of whatever he was doing. The details skipped her, but Yarla was made of sharper stuff.
The girl was smart and a fast learner, which was good, because she was horrible with a spear, an axe, a bow, and only marginally better with a staff because it was quite difficult to miss hitting something with a length of wood.
The younger red-haired girl hoped to learn from him, and Hector seemed willing enough to teach. It was probably the closest thing to an education any of them would ever get. Not that they needed it. They were free folks, not bloody kneelers.
She refused to consider Tormund's reaction whenever he finally caught up to them. If the man had cared enough he wouldn't have dumped them on her lap and run off. Fuck him. If Yarla wanted to learn how to fish, she would find the best teacher for her too.
"The walls must be thick enough to absorb the impact of siege weapons," she heard Hector begin to explain as he walked underneath the tree she perched upon. A cadre of weathered men following after him as he explained.
"But not so thick that we cannot construct them quickly. Balance would..." His voice trailed off and was lost in the wind as he walked further away. Already she could see people lighting the campfires in multiple places. Most of them still resided in tents but Hector had promised that would change soon, especially since they had managed to set up something of a perimeter made of stakes and long lengths of twine with little things that tingled and made a ruckus if anyone crossed the perimeter. Hector had called them bells.
The settlement was beginning to take shape already, she could see how things would be positioned better from above. They had food stored away, weapons slowly transitioning, and a perimeter guard to alert them of anything. It was a comfort at least, it would've remained so if Ygritte didn't notice it.
Her position so high up meant she was one of the first to notice it, but not the only one to notice the writhing, chittering mass that erupted from the highest tower of the black castle like smoke.
A massive swarm of bats burst out of the castle in a coordinated wave that defied the little she thought she knew about any flying creature.
Hundreds of them, maybe thousands, moving with a singular purpose that was both beautiful and terrifying. They moved through the air like a living river, their collective wingbeats creating a sound like distant thunder.
The settlement fell silent as everyone stopped what they were doing to stare at the spectacle. Children pointed and whispered, while the adults exchanged nervous glances. Even the dogs had gone quiet, ears pressed flat against their heads as they watched the unnatural display.
Ygritte made her way down the tree in a hurry, before finally landing with a muted thump.
"What in the name of the old gods is that?" An old man muttered, his weathered face pale in the growing darkness. Ygritte remembered him as an aged hunter who had grown too frail to hunt and had resorted to helping make bows instead.
"The one sent to us by the Old Gods." Mother Mole replied, her eyes wide and unfocused on her wrinkled face, her smile wide and open exposing a gumless mouth with her lips stained red. Was she drinking the red sap that the weirwood trees produced?
Ygritte turned away from them, ignoring the old man's worries and the crone's rambling. Instead, she focused on the doubt that had been gnawing at her as it suddenly roared to life with renewed vigor. What had they gotten themselves into?
The swarm passed overhead, blotting out the early stars as it swept toward the north. Toward the Lands of Always Winter. The sound of their passage was like nothing she had ever heard, a combination of wingbeats and high-pitched chittering that seemed to vibrate in her bones.
As quickly as they had appeared, they were gone, disappearing into the darkness beyond the peaks. The normal sounds of evening gradually returned, the crackle of fires, the murmur of conversation, the distant howl of wind through the mountain passes.
"Ygritte," Yarla appeared at her elbow, voice barely above a whisper. "What do you think that was?" She looked down at the girl, barely seventeen, with the kind of smarts that usually got you killed beyond the Wall if you weren't careful.
"I don't know," she admitted, which was both the truth and probably not what Yarla wanted to hear. "But whatever it was, it came from his castle." They stood in silence for a moment, watching the dark silhouette of the structure against the star-filled sky.
"Do you think we made the right choice?" Yarla asked.
It was an unfair question. The girl had been one of the people to argue for it, especially since the strange man had saved her once. However, the scene they had just witnessed had no doubt shaken her. Nonetheless, it was too late for take backs.
They had thrown their lot in with a being who commanded swarms of bats and lived in a castle that had appeared from nowhere. Was this truly the right choice? Then Ygritte thought about the alternative. She thought about Mance's gathering warband always on the move, with a futile plan to take down the wall. She thought about the rumors of other free folk settlements, stories of entire villages found empty. She thought about the Long Night that was coming, whether they were ready for it or not.
"I think," she said slowly, choosing her words carefully, "that we're still alive. And that's more than a lot of folk can say these days."
It wasn't much of an answer, but it was honest. They had made their choice, and now they would have to live with the consequences, whatever they might be.