The Empty (6 page)

“You are ill, my friend. What is wrong?” asked Oskar one brisk morning as he set Dolnaraq’s food dish aside and gazed in at his charge.

Dolnaraq’s heavy eyes fluttered open. He stared at the concerned face just five feet away and knew he had not the energy to traverse the space. “Essence,” he moaned in a hushed growl. “Essence.”

Oskar’s eyes widened. Dolnaraq had yet to speak since capture. “Why, you are full of surprises, aren’t you?” The man moved closer, right up against the cold metal bars, probably for the first time since Dolnaraq had swiped at him. “What is that you’re saying, now?”

“Essence,” moaned Dolnaraq. At the sound, the cat purred and leaned against the feeble reyaqc’s stomach as if to lend support.

“I’m sorry, my young friend. I do not understand,” said Oskar.

Dolnaraq didn’t know where the energy came from, perhaps sheer survival instinct alone, but in that moment he leapt forward catching the startled handler at the base of the skull, pulling him forward, and drawing deeply from him. Oskar stared questioningly into Dolnaraq’s vacant white eyes, a look of fear and perplexity creasing his genial features. The caretaker’s green eyes, normally so lively and bright, became dull and hazy. His jaw went slack. His form twitched then lurched. Dolnaraq released the limp figure, allowing the man to slump into a heap beside the cage. He then retreated into a corner, Oskar’s essence burning as it raced through his body, renewing, reshaping, rebuilding.

CHAPTER FIVE

The rabbit was deft, agile, swift of foot, and Tresset was burdened with an ever-depleted form. Several weeks now, and still he felt the effects of the tainted essence. No sores could be seen—none besides the self-inflicted scratches as Tresset continually scraped rocks against his skin in an effort to purge his system—but still, the taint remained. It had become a part of him, a piece of his makeup. And so Tresset had come to despair his existence.

The reyaqc require—first and foremost—human essence. Their form is essentially human, their internal organs similar, their intellect comparable. None are certain of the reyaqc’s origin; some say they are the product of unions between human females and demons, others claim they are a gross mutation; others, the next evolutionary step toward perfection. Regardless, it is safe to assume that there is some past human connection. But Tresset had forsaken human essence. He’d come to despise the need, to view it as inherently corrupt, and so refused to instill his system with this central component. Mountain cats, his sustaining species, were rare in this area and so he’d taken to infusing from simple house cats. The feline essence was similar enough that he had not suffered too greatly from incompatibility, but his body ached for the human component.

And so, as Tresset leaped at the rabbit, a simple feat, a near-mindless kill, his legs betrayed him. He fell far short of his mark as the frightened creature bolted from view, never to be found again. Tresset cursed and rolled onto his back. His stomach growled in protest. It had been six days since last he’d tasted meat. He thought again of Dolnaraq. Why had they not yet connected? Why was he not here in Tresset’s time of need?

The molt’s eyes fluttered in a vain attempt at focus. He sought to rise from his grassy bed, but found his limbs too weak. Better to rest. Later, food. Later, essence. Later, Dolnaraq.

* * * *

Tresset awoke to the smell of roasted boar over a crackling campfire. There were voices, laughter, the clanking of pots and pans, the mingled odors of both human and reyaqc.

Gypsies, or, Romani as they often liked to be called.

Tresset blinked.

The sky wavered.

Blink, blink. No, not the sky, canvass. A tent.

A lantern sat at the far end, its flame dancing about, creating spirit-like shadows upon the uneven fabric.

Now there was a face before him—young, female, dark of eyes and hair. Human. The young woman turned to her right. “He wakes,” she said with a suppressed giggle. The girl could not have seen more than seventeen winters.

Another form appeared beyond the girl. Male, nearly elderly. Clothed in colorful gypsy garb. His milk white eyes glowed eerily in the flickering lamplight. A reyaqc.

“I am called Jisch.” He spoke in the Russian tongue, one much more familiar to Tresset than German, though why this one did not utter the reyaqc’s own language, Tresset could only guess.

“Human…lover,” managed Tresset, though still he was weak from lack of food and essence. Even the simple act of forming syllables seemed an effort.

Jisch chuckled. “Perhaps. But this human lover is likely the sole reason you yet live.” The reyaqc moved closer as the young woman scooted slightly to her left. “You are well depleted, young one. Far too much animal essence. How long since last you drew from a human source?”

Tresset stared at him, contempt in his gaze. He remained silent.

Jisch sighed. “I suppose that is an unnecessary question. The point is, if you are to live, you must infuse. And this you must do quickly.” The senior reyaqc turned to his right, signaled to a young human male who had just entered the tent: tall, lean, a wry grin and intelligent eyes. “This is Carman. He is a willing giver.”

“No,” managed Tresset.

But Jisch paid him no mind. The young human stepped forward, kneeling beside Tresset. Jisch lifted Tresset’s right arm. The young molt struggled against him, but all strength had fled. He had no recourse. Jisch placed Tresset’s palm at the back of Carman’s neck. The process was instinctual. Tresset could not will the needlelike spines to remain hidden within his palm. Not when the need was so great. There was a surge of heat as the young gypsy’s essence flowed through Tresset’s hand, down his arm, and into his core. Tresset’s eyes went wide. His vision blurred. And unconsciousness took him yet again.

* * * *

The young human girl was there when he awoke. Her name was Lyuba, and she had volunteered to minister to the ailing reyaqc.

“It was I who discovered you,” she said with a playful smile. “You seemed as dead, but Jisch concluded you could yet be saved.” She dipped a rough cloth in a basin of water, withdrew it, and squeezed the excess fluid away. “Such a handsome one. It would have been a shame to lose you.”

“Dol…naraq,” muttered Tresset. “Have you found Dolnaraq?”

The girl seemed perplexed. “Dolnaraq? Is this another of your kind? Is he of your pack?”

“He is…my pack.”

Lyuba nodded and patted Tresset’s forehead with the damp cloth. “This one, we have not seen. Was he with you before you fell ill?”

Tresset shook his head. Already the human stench threatened to overcome him. “No. Have not seen in…long while. Lost. Separated.”

Lyuba pushed a wavy lock from before her deep brown eyes. “I will ask Jisch and the others of your kind. If there is word of this Dolnaraq, I will let you know.”

With that, she leaned forward, kissing him lightly on the forehead. Revulsion welled up within him as she rose, saying, “Now, rest, precious one. Rest and recover.”

* * * *

Lyuba became Tresset’s constant companion. Though her presence repulsed him, he found a certain comfort in her tender care, in her willingness to nurse him back to health. He was weak, much weaker than he first realized. And only after two weeks with the gypsy clan did he acknowledge how close to death he had come. The girl, though, concerned him at a deeper level. She was attracted to him. Tresset could tell this, not only by her constant and nonsensical attentions toward him, but also by the distinct odor of her sex as she became aroused. True, some reyaqc coupled with humans. The practice was not common, but neither was it forbidden. Offspring could not be produced, and for some reason this attracted certain human females. Still, Tresset wanted nothing of the humans, least of all further intimacies beyond the already degrading need for essence. And thus, he did his best to avoid the girl whenever he sensed the scent of her arousal on the evening breeze.

“You brood,” said Lyuba one day as she came upon Tresset sitting atop a large boulder and staring out over the green expanse.

Tresset nodded and grunted. He’d hoped to avoid her by venturing away from the camp.

“I’m not quite as agile as you. May I have a hand up?”

The girl stood at the base of the stone, smiling up at him as she extended her hand. Tresset silently cursed as he reached down to draw her up. Could he never be rid of this one?

Lyuba scrambled up the rock and then seated herself to Tresset’s right, nearly so close as to touch him, but not quite. “It’s a nice view,” she offered.

“I suppose,” agreed the reyaqc.

“I paint landscapes. I think I’ll paint this one. It’s pretty.”

Tresset did not respond.

“You’re a quiet one.”

Tresset glanced at her, still annoyed at the intrusion. “I have nothing to say.”

“I was engaged to be married, you know. But the boy’s family ran into problems with a town official. There was some trouble. It seemed best that they separate from the clan in order that suspicion not fall over our entire community.”

Tresset snorted. “Gypsies always have trouble with law. What’s so different about this one?”

Lyuba stiffened, perhaps taking some offence. “The
Romani
are good people, only misunderstood—like the reyaqc.”

“You are not like the reyaqc.”

The girl shrugged. “Maybe no. Maybe yes. And you, do you have a mate?”

“The reyaqc do not mate for life. It is…a different arrangement.”

“But, have you mated? Is there a reyaqc woman who bares you children?”

Tresset rose. He’d grown tired of the conversation. “No woman. No children. My pack was decimated when I was a pup. Only Dolnaraq and I remain.” With that he leaped from the stone and made his way into the brush, the scent of Lyuba’s arousal lingering in his nostrils.

* * * *

The rape occurred four weeks into Tresset’s stay with the gypsy clan.

Tresset could not say why he intervened. The human girl meant nothing to him. At best, he tolerated her, at worst she repulsed him. But despite his hatred of humans, Lyuba had been kind to him, had tended his needs, had even cleaned him when, in the first days, he’d fouled himself.

The clan had settled on the outskirts of a small German village where they would remain for five or six days, selling their wares, entertaining with song and dance, reading palms, and generally profiting from the townsfolk. Three young human males, each perhaps in his late teens or early twenties, found their way into the camp on the third evening. The air was brisk and clear, a three-quarter moon illuminated the ground. Lyuba, despite Tresset’s revulsion, was stunningly beautiful and habitually flirtatious.

They cornered her toward the eastern edge of the camp and, when she spurned their gross and overt advances, dragged her beyond the tree line. Tresset had just excused himself from the campfire where he’d discussed with Jisch and two young reyaqc females, the missing Dolnaraq. He was in a state of turmoil. His lifelong companion had seemingly vanished and here he sat among humans and human-loving reyaqc, both of which he despised. And yet they had each, human and reyaqc, shown him a kindness he’d never encountered among those more like himself. Worse, he’d come to realize that he could become complacent here, perhaps even comfortable. Tresset kicked the dusty ground. Cursed. Growled. He did not belong here, and yet he found himself unwilling to disappear into the night as he knew he should.

The scent assaulted him like boiling water splashed his face—adrenaline, testosterone, lust, fear. Lyuba’s cry was stifled, but Tresset’s catlike ears were keen. Instinctively, he loped toward the tree line.

Why?

She was a human. Miserable. Repulsive. By all logic he should let her be. What was she to him? Cattle. Nothing more.

But she had cared for him, nursed him back to health. She had stroked his face, brought him water. She’d shown him affection unlike any he’d yet known on this earth.

Foolish thoughts. She was human. Nothing more mattered.

Yet still, heedless of all logic, he moved to intervene.

Tresset found Lyuba pinned to the uneven ground, a dirty cloth shoved deep into her mouth, one assailant holding her arms, another her legs, her dress torn away, heaving breasts exposed, her legs spread wide to allow the third male access to her most private parts. Tresset extended his retractable claws, first pulling the lanky youth from between the girl’s quivering legs and castrating him with two deft swipes before opening his belly and turning to the dying lad’s startled companions. These, he disposed of with brutal finality.

In all, the strike lasted less than a minute. It took far longer to disengage the hysterical Lyuba as she clung to him, arms wrapped tightly about his neck, her face buried in his chest, her tears dripping onto his taut and bloodied belly.

“You came for me.” Her words were broken by sobs as her form shuddered in the aftermath of the horror. “You came.” She kissed him on the chest once, twice, pressing herself into him. Tresset sought to pull away—her human stench was near overpowering—but she clung to him all the more. At some point, he relented, hesitantly wrapping his arms about her shuddering form, attempting to comfort her. This was not affection, but rather a realization that only in this way could he calm her sufficiently that she would eventually release him.

“Tresset, Thank you. Thank you.”

Another kiss, this one on the cheek. Tresset suppressed the bile rising in his throat.

The gypsy clan was forced to pick up camp and move along quickly. They could not risk the village’s scrutiny once the three lads were discovered missing.

If Lyuba had pestered Tresset before, she now harassed him tirelessly. Her injuries had been minor, but the rape had been consummated. Tresset had saved her life but not her honor. The young reyaqc had never understood the human fixation with sexual protocol. Sex was the most basic of biological functions and necessary for the continuation of the species, and yet complex rules and traditions clouded the simple issue. As to the Romani, they value virginity in a young woman above all else. Lyuba was now marked. It was unlikely that any amongst the clan would allow a son to marry one so defiled. This, despite the fact that she was a healthy specimen from good stock, and likely capable of producing multiple offspring.