Cold Wind
by RavenoftheBlack
Status: Public
Word Count: 3803

Blood splattered everywhere, falling in drops of deep crimson like the light of the Aurora and staining the virgin snow of Lania red. The scent of blood was thick, and the screams of the dying and the already dead shattered the silence of the frozen wastes. The wind was blowing hard, as it always did, pushing snow and blood from the ground and the air alike into the faces of those struggling to understand what was happening. But even above the howling of the wind, they could hear the blood-maddened screech of the ferals bearing down on them.

Salkhi shook his vulpine head, trying to clear the visceral memory as he pressed onward through the wind and the snow. Memories were like the snow; they piled up in frigid mounds and made moving forward that much harder. And they always came when they were least desired. Forcing himself to push onward, Salkhi bent his head against the oncoming wind. The wind was strong and hard, moving against the fox as he bent his body low to lessen the impact. The wind ripped the snow from the ground and threw it in Salkhi’s face, cold and abrasive against his matted silver fur. He could just see the outskirts of some town or another in the distance. The sight made the fox snarl.

Every time he came into a town, he could expect the same thing. The people, especially the other foxes, would stare, and point, and whisper, thinking their murmurs wouldn’t be carried by the wind. But Salkhi didn’t care. He didn’t have the time to care. The fox’s ears bent down at the thought. There was always more to do, always more that needed to be done. And if those hypocritical whisperers and murmurers wouldn’t grab a weapon and help him do it, he would do it himself, just like he always did. The rest could cower in a ball and embrace their own tails.

The wind shifted slightly, and a strong gust caught Salkhi alongside his face, slapping him with the snow and the cold. He turned his snout away, his memory flaring again to when he had turned his head away in disgust after seeing the aftermath of the vampires’ attack. Most of his family had been in that hunting party, and although his uncle had spent years readying them, during that attack, they had been thoroughly unprepared. Only he, his uncle, and three of his cousins had survived. It had been a small consolation that none of the ferals had walked away.

Salkhi could sense the reactions of the townsfolk as he entered the small village, and although his fur bristled at the sounds, he paid little attention to them. They were not his focus. It had been some time since the last Aurora, and the people were fidgeting and casting nervous glances in every direction. Their murmurs were expected. All Salkhi cared about, though, was reaching his destination. In most towns, it was fairly simple, but this village seemed to have been building up slightly, and so what was once its edge of town no longer was. Once again, Salkhi snarled.

Finally, after walking farther than he had hoped to, Salkhi spotted the sign of a general goods store flapping against the harsh Lania winds. The fox immediately altered his path to intercept the door, and in doing so, almost knocked two foxes out of the way. The female of the pair gasped in horror when she saw Salkhi, dropping low as the fur around her neck bristled as if to reflect Salkhi’s own. The male simply stared in shock. Salkhi ignored them both and moved to the entrance of the general store. Without a moment’s hesitation, he pushed the door open and stepped up to the counter, slinging his pack around his shoulder and down.

“I need supplies,” he said simply.

Supplies had been dangerously low. Though there were far fewer of them to feed since the attack, most of the food had been soiled or destroyed by the assault. Normally, they would have secured their supplies in a safe place, bundled up to prevent damage, but there had been no time. The Aurora had just come shortly before, which always drove the ferals under-ice. The problem was, it was impossible to know where they torpored, and luck had not been with the party. The vampires broke from the ice beneath and around them, and there had been no time. They lost nearly everything to that attack, including the majority of their protective coverings, and food was running low for the few survivors. They were forced to make do with what few supplies remained, eat what they could, and wear whatever scraps of cloth they had to.

“What do you think you’re doing, wearing that?” A voice sounded from behind Salkhi as the storekeep was moving over to help him. Salkhi glanced over his shoulder, his ears falling flat against his vulpine head to see the male from the pair who had been in his way, pointing at the silver fur pelt Salkhi always wore. The fox pelt.

He exhaled sharply through his snout, and even inside the relatively warm shop, his breath fogged as it left his body. A growl started to form deep in Salkhi’s throat, but he forced himself to suppress it. He hadn’t come here to fight, or to argue, or even to talk. The other fox was standing sideways, rather than facing him straight on, which told Salkhi everything he needed to know about the boisterous fool. Salkhi closed his eyes, forcing himself to focus on his task, on his duty. There was no time for anything else.

Salkhi opened his eyes suddenly, knowing that something was wrong. He immediately scanned the poor excuse for a camp he and his remaining family had used, and spotted it instantly. His uncle was missing. The older fox had been acting strangely ever since the feral attack. Salkhi had assumed it was some sort of misplaced sense of guilt. It had, after all, been his uncle who had led the hunting party, and trained them to destroy the vampires in the first place. It had been his uncle who had taught them of the Vulpine’s Duty, the eradication of the vampiric curse.

Salkhi left his bedroll and shook himself free of the snow that had blown over him, and then tried to rouse his cousins to go in search of their uncle, but they stayed stubbornly in their own bedrolls. As Salkhi got more aggressive in his attempts to wake them, he discovered why. All three of them were dead, their throats slashed as they slept. The fox was horrified, but not nearly so much as when he discovered his uncle’s tracks in the snow next to each of them, and no other tracks but their own. Sickened, he examined his own bedroll. His uncle’s scent and tracks were there, too. He had stood over him as he slept, as well, but something must have stayed his hand. And now that scent and those tracks led off into the frozen wastes, leaving Salkhi alone. Those tracks were clearly Vulpine, and yet clearly something else entirely. He looked around the bare and lifeless camp, trying to decide what he could afford to bring.

“I need food, mostly,” Salkhi said. “Travelling food. Salted meat and especially fish, anything that keeps. I need new flints, and patches of canvas for my tent.” He dumped out his pack in front of the shopkeep, full of furs, many looking larger and warmer than the one he wore. “I’ll trade you all of this.”

“Hey!” The other fox yelled as the shopkeep set to work. “I’m talking to you, kin-killer.”

Salkhi turned to face the other Vulpine, who was just a bit taller than he was, and significantly wider. The fox was still standing sideways, trying to measure Salkhi’s strength and ability. Salkhi snarled.

“If talking is all you are good for, then keep doing it. If not, grab a blade and do your duty. Either way, I do not have the time to discuss my clothing with you.”

Salkhi moved quickly. Speed was of the essence, as it so often was. He did not have time to rest. His uncle’s tracks were ragged and uneven, but his uncle must have been moving with haste, nonetheless. The tracks were leading toward the mountains, which meant he was looking for a cave. And that could only mean one of three things, depending on how much of his uncle was left. And none of them were particularly good.

It was possible his uncle was merely searching for shelter from the cold, which meant he was still his uncle. But it made the murder of his cousins an unforgiveable sin. It was also possible that his uncle was hoping to stumble on an Ogre’s cave. The Ogres were notoriously protective of their caves, and would tear him apart, like a vampire in the Aurora. The third possibility, though, was the most disturbing. Demons were also known to make homes in the frigid ice caves at the foot of the mountains. And if his uncle were actively seeking a demon…it was a thought Salkhi didn’t even want to entertain. There was only one question on the young fox’s mind.

“You walk into our town, wearing that, and you have the gall to lecture me on duty?”

Salkhi turned his back on the man as the shopkeeper finished gathering up everything he was willing to trade for the Yeti furs. “I didn’t come here to lecture a fox who goes to sleep every night full and warm while vampires still stalk the wastes.”

Carefully but quickly, Salkhi gathered up his new supplies. They would hopefully last him for long enough, and the fish would make for good trading with the Yeti, provided it kept properly. They Yeti were always interested in fish, and they made for strong allies in the frozen wastes, far stronger and more willing than other foxes seemed to be, even in the foxes’ own duty. As Salkhi was growling to himself, his right paw momentarily snagged on his pack’s latch. The fox immediately licked the spot, knowing he had no desire to venture into the wastes with a flowing wound, even a miniscule one. But the latch had only caught his fur, and as Salkhi licked the minor discomfort away, he stared into the opening of his pack, hoping his meager trades would keep him alive.

Salkhi stared into the gaping opening for a long time, ignoring the sound that was washing over him from behind. The harsh wind was at his back, blowing against the stone of the mountains. His uncle’s tracks led directly into the mouth of the ice cave, which descended into total darkness within only a few short steps. Salkhi closed his eyes, imagined the soft, flickering flame of a lantern, and then called on the magic of the foxfire. A small, white flame sparked into existence, which he held in his left paw as he stepped into the opening. The snow had only blown a short distance into the cave, and so his uncle’s tracks stopped soon after Salkhi had entered, but his scent, now both familiar and foreign, led straight on. The cave was narrow and, as it turned out, not particularly deep, and so the fox’s journey was a short one.

Salkhi found his uncle in a small, enclosed ice cavern at the end of the cave tunnel. The older fox was huddled in the shadows between two vertical shelves of ice. He was shaking, his eyes were wild and red, and his long, silver tail was curled shamefully between his legs. The rest of him looked much like it always had, his face and fur not yet changed to whatever horrible visage they were destined to become. There were streaks of red blood staining his fur around the mouth. He seemed to visibly shy away from Salkhi’s light. The younger fox looked at his uncle with a mixture of shock, pity, and revulsion.

“What have you done?”

Salkhi pushed past the other fox, but the man followed him even as Salkhi made his way back toward the edge of town. By now, a crowd was gathering, the rumors of Salkhi’s arrival having blown through town like a fierce wind. Most of those gathering were Vulpine, but some were human, as well. Salkhi assumed that his arrival was the most noteworthy event in the town in several cycles. Salkhi’s fur bristled again and he snarled at the thought.

“I asked you a question, kin-killer!” The fox repeated. “What did you do, kill your whole family for their pelts? How can you walk around here like that?”

There were murmurs of agreement from the crowd, but Salkhi ignored them and continued walking. His ears were low and he could feel the muscles in his hind legs tense, as if readying to spring, but he forced himself to stay cold. He had his duty to see to, and unlike the Vulpine of this town, and many towns like it, Salkhi wasn’t about to shirk it. He, at least, would remain strong, and push forward. It didn’t matter what the others said. Salkhi didn’t have the time to let it matter. The vampire’s hunger never rested, and neither could he.

“I couldn’t stop.”

The words made Salkhi shudder as his back arched slightly. His uncle was staring at him, his eyes reflecting hunger and despair. The younger fox shook his head. “They were your own children, Uncle.”

The red eyes closed. “I know. But the smell… it was too much… and they were so close.” The red eyes shot open, finding Salkhi’s black ones. “The bloodlust took me. I recovered… just as I was coming for you. I killed the others… so that they wouldn’t turn.” The red eyes began to form tears. “I would never… wish this on them. Or you.”

For a long moment, Salkhi couldn’t speak. When he found his voice, it was barely above a whisper. “Why did you come here?”

“I hoped to find…” he began, then stopped, shaking his head. “You need to end it.”

Salkhi knew he needed to put an end to this. The crowd was growing angry, and he did not have the time to deal with it with the subtleties of townsfolk. So, instead, he simply shook his head and picked up his pace. He was coming up on the edge of town now, and he could be free of it in just a few short moments. But then, he caught the scent, and he froze in his tracks. The fox who had been berating him failed to notice in time and ran straight into him, but Salkhi’s practiced hunter’s stance allowed him to stay standing while the larger man fell to the snow-covered ground.

“What the…” the larger fox began, before Salkhi cut him off.

“Quiet!” the vampire hunter said, listening to the wind as the crowd died down in surprise. Suddenly, his ear twitched. He glanced over at the other fox. “How long has it been since a vampire attack’s been reported around here?”

“What?” the larger fox stammered. “No vampires around here in moons.”

Then the blood-curdling shriek cut through the icy air.

Salkhi cringed at the sound as his uncle screeched in the cave, stepping out from the shadows. He was hunched over as if in pain, or as if at any moment he would drop to all four limbs like a wild beast. He faced his nephew head on, his posture aggressive even in the dull light of Salkhi’s flame. He looked up at Salkhi, and seemed to struggle to form words through the primal impulse to produce less complicated sounds.

“You have a duty. All Vulpine do. The angels themselves named us their champions, to destroy the vampiric blight. Never rest in that duty. Never.” He stopped speaking, bending low and glaring upward. For a moment, he began to growl a deep, throaty, dangerous sound, but he seemed to fight himself. Finally, he continued, his voice ragged. “You must be like the wind: strong, hard, always moving, always pushing, and, most importantly, eternally cold. No true Vulpine can rest until this curse has been culled.”

And then Salkhi’s uncle convulsed, screamed, and finally charged at his nephew. Salkhi willed his fire to flare up, blinding his opponent, and then dropped his pack. He released his foxfire to float near the ceiling of the cave and drew weapons with both paws, a throwing knife with his left and his silver kukri with the other. His uncle, undoubtedly by instinct, leapt to the side as the knife sliced through the air, but Salkhi was ready when the older fox charged at him.

With a silver kukri through the heart, the vampire fell to the ground, dead.

The townsfolk stared at Salkhi in awe, but he withdrew his blade and looked around, sniffing the air. More would be coming. This one was simply the quickest of the bunch. Many in the crowd ran, hoping their homes might protect them from the blood-starved pack of ferals descending upon them. Others drew weapons and moved to stand with Salkhi. Among them was the fox who had been berating Salkhi, who had been mere feet from the vampire when the vampire hunter had killed it.

Then, suddenly, the ferals were everywhere, moving with supernatural speed, striking at anything with a beating heart. The ferals were a foul and terrible sight. They were pale as the snow, barely more than skeleton and sinew and death. Their skin looked as though it was too small for their ragged frames, stretched taut over their desiccated bodies. Their hands were contorted into skeletal claws like some long-dead predator that still fought on even after death had claimed it. And the scent of death was heavy on them. It wafted over the town like a plague, and even the frozen wind and the driven snow did little to mask it. They moved quickly and with a single, united purpose. Blood.

Salkhi’s fur bristled, and for just a moment, even his breath caught. There were too many of them. They were fast, and Salkhi didn’t know if he could be fast enough. The second one reached him, and Salkhi pounced, landing on the creature’s back and wrapping his kukri around its throat. But the next feral was there instantly, and Salkhi was forced to throw himself down into the snow to avoid becoming prey. Even before that feral could turn around, another had arrived, and Salkhi was fighting for his life, a fight that a few of the townsfolk had already lost. The vampire hunter’s heart was beating fast as a third feral entered the fray, with a fourth coming up behind it. If Salkhi didn’t move quickly, this was going to turn into a bloodbath.

The ferals might have had Salkhi trapped if they had been clever enough to surround him. But they were so enthralled by their maddened bloodlust that they were simply rushing at anything living, and practically clawing through and over one another to get to their victims. This allowed Salkhi to gather his magic and steady himself. The flat, wide wastes were an unforgiving, inhospitable, deadly place. They were also his home. They were his strength. As he thought of the power the wastes held, his fur bristled all the way down his tail. He felt the warmth of the foxfire ignite all around him. In the next instant, he launched the magic at his enemies in a flare of celestial light. Many were consumed, others were blinded. But a few still came on.

The townsfolk were huddled together, their numbers granting some small protection from the ferals’ rabid hunger. Salkhi knew he had to finish off this menace, and so he willed himself to move with a speed that matched, or perhaps exceeded, his foes. And as he fought, he was strong, and hard, always moving, always pushing, and completely, eternally, cold. When one of the townsfolk fell, Salkhi did not react. When a horrid, twisted feral roared up before him, Salkhi did not fear it. He simply moved and struck, knives flying like snowflakes and cutting like frostbite, his icy kukri piercing one cursed heart after another, cutting one blood-starved throat before finding the next, until finally, the last of the vile creatures fell.

Salkhi looked down at the body he had just slain, pitying the poor creature. Using every skill his uncle had taught him, he set about making sure that his uncle was truly dead. Once he was satisfied, he stared at the body for a long time, so long, in fact, that his magical light began to fade, and he was forced to summon the flame again. He had learned much from his uncle, and he knew that he would need it. He had his duty to do, even if the rest of his race chose to ignore it more often than not. If their duty was nothing to them, then they were nothing to him.

Suddenly, Salkhi made up his mind. Carefully and coldly, Salkhi set about his task. Gruesome though he knew it was, he never once balked as he skinned his uncle. His people, the Vulpine, would never understand what he was doing any more than they would understand how they themselves were forsaking the Vulpine duty. It was their sacred task to hold the destruction of the vampires above all else, above comfort, above society, even above family. Salkhi would wear his uncle’s fur until the moment he died, or until the last remnants of the vampiric curse was forever wiped from Lania.

Salkhi cleaned off his weapons and returned them to his sheaths, then adjusted his pelt and stood up, slinging his pack over his shoulder. He sighed heavily, then spoke. “There are more out there, you know. Is anyone coming with me to stop them?”

No one in the crowd spoke. None even looked the vampire hunter in the eyes. Salkhi shook his head. “I thought not.”

He turned around and walked out of town, the wind at his back. As he was leaving, the sky suddenly seemed to catch fire as the Aurora began, lighting and warming the town, the wastes, and Salkhi himself. Salkhi snarled. He loved the Aurora, and wished he could enjoy it as those in town undoubtedly were. But Salkhi didn’t have time to enjoy the celestial light. He had to be strong. He had to be hard. He had to keep moving, keep pushing. And on Lania, even when the Aurora warmed the sky, there was always a cold wind blowing.