Clawed My Way Through Six Feet of Earth

They didn't talk about that night ever again. Although the memory of that stolen kiss hung over Rosamund's thoughts like a ghost, they mostly acted as if it had never happened.

The weeks that followed were unremarkable, but Ivar made a conscious effort to talk to her in a friendly manner—about her parents, the few friends she had in Valtara, the novels she had read, distant locations she had heard about, and her aunt and uncle's farm. She couldn't help but observe how determined he appeared to be to talk about her, possibly in an attempt to calm her. She felt uneasy because of the way his intense gaze was continually on her, yet she was moved by his seeming interest.

After a while, he also started talking more openly around her. He talked about how Viktor had taught his son to read and speak Greek and Latin, read the works of Homer and Aristotle, and play the harpsichord; how the powerful warlord had beaten back invaders; and how his beautiful wife Caterina had killed herself rather than face a world without her love. Rosamund found his conversations fascinating. He also talked about his father's reign as Count, when Viktor had coerced the wealthy Saxon merchants into paying him yearly tribute.

She was enthralled with the stories and felt that they were understanding each other better the more they conversed.

Why, she thought to herself, maybe we are friends, almost.

With the arrival of another full moon, Ivar and Rosamund followed the silvery light and went into the deep woods to find food. Her throat hurt; when she was this thirsty, it was difficult to focus on anything. Her cloak swept over the dead-leaf carpet with an odd rustling sound.

He reassured her, "Probably just a little bit farther," but his steps were growing impatient as well.

The path had long since vanished, and they were well into the forest, with thick, moss-covered trees.

Rosamund whispered, "I really hope you remember how to get back."

"Don't worry. "I never forget," he remarked.

He didn't appear to notice when she arched an eyebrow at his indifference.

Ivar stopped abruptly, his expression hard.

"Are you able to spot anything?" Whispering, she looked around the trees for another elk or stag.

He steered her behind a big oak and said, "Shh." "Remain extremely silent."

His face was serious and harsh, but she scowled at him inquisitively. He appeared ready for battle; his fists were clenched, and he kept a wary eye on a certain pine wood. Rosamund peered anxiously at the same location.

A man in tattered, dirty peasant clothing emerged from the bushes, but Rosamund gaped at him when she saw his unusually pale face. A leer stretched across his face, exposing sharp teeth, and his ravenous eyes were locked on the two of them. He licked his lips as he approached them, spittle horribly dripping from his mouth.

"Stranger, why have you come to this area of the forest?" Ivar yelled. "I have made it clear that newcomers are not welcome here; this is my territory."

In order to protect Rosamund from the stranger's stare, he gently pushed her behind his back while he spoke.

"Who made you the valley's law enforcement, huh?" The stranger's tone was full of derision as he sneered. "Some wolves I encountered saw that you had slain some of their pack. They were a little irritable. His tone was tinged with malice as he laughed bitterly. "So, in order to replace the members they lost, they have made the decision to create a new one for themselves!"

Ivar spit out, his voice shaking with barely controlled rage, "I know all about their vicious 'initiation' last week." "And I'm telling you this: I'll be forced to stop you if you don't want to leave this area and keep attacking Valtara."

Ivar took a step forward and gave the vampire a stare that seemed to burn. The intensity in his gaze, a fire that flared with righteous rage, made Rosamund shudder. But the vampire seemed unconcerned; in fact, he laughed, a hollow, icy sound that rang through the silence.

His voice was teasing and silky as he replied, "But see, we don't want to leave." "You're keeping this valley for yourself, not even sharing the benefit of all that blood, nice and close by," we say.

Ivar hissed, his voice low and menacing, "do not approach Valtara, and do not approach us." With her heart racing, Rosamund drew back behind Ivar, trying to hide from the threatening vampire.

Why don't you make me do it? The stranger's tone was abrasive and aggressive as he jeered.

Ivar pulled a little wooden cross out from behind his coat. Despite his best efforts, the untamed vampire's confidence crumbled like ash when Ivar put the cross in front of him, causing the creature's visage to tremble in fear.

Ivar started the chant by murmuring, "Pater noster," in a steady voice, "qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum."

As though the words were an intense source of agony, the vampire covered his ears with his hands. His face twisted in pain as he forced his eyes tight.

Ivar went on, his voice rising with determination, "Adveniat regnum tuum, sicut in caelo et in terra, fiat voluntas tua."

With his face so warped that he looked like a demon in his agony, the vampire screamed, a guttural, animalistic sound.

While the vampire screamed in excruciating pain and clawed at his ears as if he would sooner pull them off than listen to the holy words, Ivar continued, his voice firm, "Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie." "Nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut."

The scene was horrifying: Ivar's incantation stabbed the wild vampire like a thousand swords, causing him to writhe on the ground in anguish and scream.

"Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo!" Ivar said the last words with firm determination, almost faltering.

As the sentences ended, the vampire, panting and wide-eyed like a hunted beast, stopped writhing, his body shaking from the aftershocks of the experience.

"Go," Ivar ordered in a stern, uncompromising voice.

With a desperate yelp, the vampire clambered to his feet and ran into the trees, disappearing into the darkness without needing to be reminded twice.

For a minute, the air was heavy with the weight of what had just happened, and everything fell silent.

"What were you saying there?" Rosamund's voice was hardly audible above a whisper. "A spell of some kind?"

Ivar turned to her and snorted, his voice rough. "Hardly." It was the Latin phrase for "Our Father." Since stakes are very heavy to carry around all the time, I didn't have one with me.

Rosamund realized, in the midst of her fear, that she had been holding on to Ivar, her fingers still ironically gripping his shirt. She relaxed her hold and cleared her throat gradually, feeling the strain leave her body as she composed herself again.

Ivar's gaze softened with comprehension as if he too had suddenly realized.

With a glimmer of wonder on his face, he murmured softly, "You... came to me." "You came to me because you were afraid."

Rosamund crossed her arms over her chest in a defensive position and turned her face away, her cheeks flaming with shame.

"What if I did?" Her voice was shrill with defiance as she responded, her teeth clenched.

"Do you now trust me?" Ivar put his hands on her shoulders, his touch comforting and warm, and inquired in a calm, kind voice.

Rosamund looked at the ground, her determination faltering. Her voice was hardly audible above a whisper as she muttered, "I guess I do."

Ivar's eyes glowed with emotion as he laughed breathlessly, not in amusement but in real surprise.

"Come, my dear," he whispered pleasantly as he placed a reassuringly strong hand beneath her elbow. "How about we find something to eat?"