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Sound of the Fiddle	By : Gwyndolyn Category: Twilight Series > General Views: 4517 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or make any money from this story.

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Failure; It was sickening.

Not as sickening as the sounds of men dying, of blood splattering the ground in torrents, of being totally incapable of coming to the aid of any of his hunters—his friends.

As sickening as the terrible sounds of death which rent the air was the deathly cold that spread through Carlisle’s body. The darkness of the alley way pervaded his vision until he could see nothing but the darkness and the faint glimmer of one blood red eye glaring into his own clouded blue depths. The blood raging within the glaring pupil became all that Carlisle could see, consuming his thought. It was the gaze of death glaring into his mind.

Icy cold hands pressed him to the ground, the hard cobble stones grinding into his shoulders as he kicked violently at the form looming over him—as dark and black as the night that surrounded it. Time after time, though Carlisle knew it would do no good, he thrust the heel of his boot into the side of the vampire who, leaning over him upon the street, strangled the life from him. Upon the heel of Carlisle’s boot was a blade that had proven useful before, but now it did no good, for the vampire’s side was as hard as stone and after what seemed like hours of bludgeoning the alabaster flesh of the creature, the weapon eventually became so dull and bent crooked that it would not kill a human. Carlisle’s vision eventually gave out along with the strength in his legs, and his back finally fell limp upon the ground. The jabbing cobblestones had done their work and drawn from beneath his flesh pools of blood where his skin had been ripped open in shallow, stinging wounds.

The icy hands wrapped around his throat tightened until the young man could only faintly hear the sound of one of his men screaming. He could hear no low noise, nor see aught besides the still brightly glowing blood in the vampire’s eyes.

“Your death shall be slow.” There came a hissing whisper near to Carlisle’s ear and as he faded into unconsciousness, he felt the icy breath upon his neck and it sent chills through his numbing body. “This, old foe, gets your blood flowing and your heart pounding in your chest.”

Carlisle could not make out discernable words through the sound of blood pounding in his ears, but he heard the piercing hiss of the vampire’s whisper and again the deathly cold chill of the creature’s breath sent chills through his body. Vaguely, he could feel himself lift his arm up, and faintly he could feel his fist—or palm, he did not know which—strike the vampire with what he thought was great force, but this did nothing but increase the speed of his beating heart.

For a split second he could feel the warm night air replace the cold breath of the vampire, but as quickly as that small comfort had come in Carlisle’s panic, it was overwhelmed with a searing pain that shot through his shoulder and into his head, his clouded vision clearing for an instant; long enough to see that the vampire had sunk its teeth into the soft flesh of his neck. With the searing pain came a fire that burned the young man’s veins as it spread throughout his trembling form, his numb, dying body alive for one moment longer—only long enough to realize pain as its last sensation.

Chewing, gnawing, sucking, licking, consuming all life from Carlisle’s veins, the vampire pulled his prey closer, pressing his lips to the tender flesh as his victim convulsed beneath him. Such sweet victory! The hunter slain by the hunted, and how the hunted reveled in his defeat. The warm blood trickled from a growing wound on the young man’s shoulder, and the vampire could not get enough of the delectable nectar, made only sweeter by the knowledge of victory on his part.

All sounds faded into nothing. All that could be heard was the still beating heart of the Hunter Carlisle.

Then, like a rush of wind there approached two other vampires who commanded softly, with tongues so swift only they could hear each other speak, that they should go before anyone else confronted them. They could not have all of London in a panic.

“Set fire to those. They have nothing left within them.” The other hunters lay pale and lifeless a stone’s throw away.

“Silence!” Carlisle’s attacker hissed, reeling around, blood trickling from the corner of his pale lips. “I have not eaten in weeks! This bastard has kept us at bay for too long. Suffer me to enjoy what fate has befallen him, and that it was I who brought it upon him.”

There was an intense silence. If one had been watching from one of the windows on the backsides of the buildings in the alley, one would have seen the figures in black cloaks seeming to twitch, so swift and elusive were their gestures and movements. They darted about in the span of a few feet, appearing and reappearing without the slightest movement. Finally, the one who was still feeding rose to his feet and though they stood silently and still together for a half of a moment, in a flash they were gone, a bon fire begun yards from where they had been standing. If one had been paying close attention for long enough, one would have seen the figures of five men burning amid the flames. When the morning’s light came, there would only be a pile of ash and bones to announce where it was they had spent their last, terrifying moments.
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I winced, holding myself in as much as possible as my grandmother unlaced my bodice to inspect the bruises I had tried not to protest outwardly. She had seen the tire in my eyes and when Dulal had entered our campsite with those grave wounds striped across his face, blacking out one of his eyes so that it was swelled up to the size of an over ripened plum, she knew that something had gone terribly amiss. Dulal was tended to immediately, while I waited outside of my grandmother’s wagon to hear what she would say. I could hear faintly through the door her old voice grumbling to Dulal in our tongue, nagging in the most affectionate way for him to stay away from the city like she had told him to so many times before.

“Robbers and thieves…” She grumbled.

“We can’t beware robbers and thieves, old mother,” I heard Dulal chuckle, and I knew by the tone of his voice that he was rolling his eyes. “When it is believed that we are those.” Clearly, he had not told her that our attackers were anything but human robbers. Could he remember? I rose to my knees with a slight wince as my torso contracted momentarily before stretching up to peek my head through the window of the wagon. Inside, Dulal was laying on my bed with a thick, brown salve on his swollen eye, and his tunic had been removed to give my old grandmother better access to what I had already heard her say were bruises caused by broken ribs beneath the flesh. Dulal’s poor body was badly beaten and he had turned several colors in various places, but his face was the worst. His lip was torn in two down the middle seam, and his nose was broken. His left brow was gashed open, blood spilling from it as if it had been freshly reopened.

Grandmother turned to a table standing behind her and reached for a bottle of the thick brown salve she had smeared across his eye. When she turned, she saw me and hissed, telling me to mind my own business. I decided I was better off not seeing any more of the extent of Dulal’s dire wounds—they had sent a sickening chill into my stomach already—and sat down once more on the steps leading up to the green wooden door of the wagon.

When Dulal had been treated, nearly two hours had passed and the moon was hanging very high and white over head. The crickets were singing, and thankfully the rest of the campsite was dead asleep so that Dulal and I did not draw attention when we returned. Grandmother opened the green door and stood in the doorway, looking down at me with a questioning look in her old grey eyes.

“He is asleep and he will live, despite what he told me.” She said quietly, motioning over her shoulder with her wrinkled thumb. She paused for a moment as I turned and briefly caught her gaze before turning away silently. I wanted to tell her everything that had happened that day, but something in me dreaded speaking of any of it.

“I’m bruised, I think, grandmother, here.” I lightly touched my waist on either side. She began to unlace my bodice—as I had said before—and I saw her shake her head.

“Disgusts me what ruffians would beat a young girl like you, dear.” I heard her whisper, and I shook my head, my heart sinking.

Her old fingers poked and prodded, causing me to wince or tell her that there was no pain. She concluded that the soreness and bruising were worst nearest my chest, and my shoulders, she saw, were bruised. When she pulled my hair back from my face, she saw the massive red and black bruise that I knew would be there from the creature holding so tight to my neck. But for some reason, I dreaded to tell her anything of it. And Dulal obviously did not remember or his outspoken nature would have allowed him to tell her what had caused our plight. “Were you stealing, love?” She asked, and I shook my head, smiling involuntarily. “Then what caused such inflictions as these?” She referred to the massive bruise on my neck. “Did he, or they…” She peered round to look at me, the look in her eyes quite obvious what she wanted to ask but could not bring herself to say it.

“No, grandmother.” I said, shaking my head with as warm of a grin as I could muster. “Nothing like that happened. I would be on that bed inside, not Dulal.”

“You would tell me, darling one, if anything like that happened to you, wouldn’t you dear?” Grandmother persisted, and I nodded my head somewhat irritably.

“Yes, grandmother!” I whispered exasperatedly. She smiled, and her black eyes looked to the ground.

“I don’t want to know what happened to Dulal and yourself tonight.” She finally said after a moment of silence, and I agreed, because I did not want to tell her. “All I can say is: After lookin’ in your pretty eyes, what human could harm you?”

I shivered, backing away toward the door of the wagon. “I don’t think the eyes looking into mine were those of any man.” And without a word more on the matter, or even how to dress my bruises for the night, I entered the wagon and lay down on the mat grandmother had placed at the foot of the bed Dulal was sleeping upon. I lay down as gingerly as I could, but a searing pain shot through my entire body as I shifted on the floor. “Dulal, you’re lucky you were hurt worse than I.” I remember mumbling to Dulal’s sleeping foot as it dangled over me. “Or you’d be sleeping on this hard floor right now, and not me.”
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There was fire that followed him everywhere, fire burning in his veins and searing his blood with the most agonizing, wretched pain, seeming to melt the marrow in his very bones. As he struggled to open his eyes through the burning nerves in his face, Carlisle saw that he was surrounded by darkness. There was nothing but the black of night, the silence that surrounded him was deafening in itself.

But Carlisle was frightened to close his eyes, and through the darkness that surrounded him, there was a small alley of light that cut across the black spans of his vision, only the width of a hair: within this cut of light were stars shining. Oh, that he would die! He coughed, but venom rose in his throat and suffocated him. There was nothing he could compare this pain to in his mind, and he had hardly the consciousness to think of anything else—it was the most horrifying, sickening pain he had ever felt, a pain more terrible than any human had ever warranted.

In the midst of this torment, Carlisle had a mind sound enough to think to hide while this uninvited transformation wreaked havoc through his fragile human form, and beneath a stinking pile of rotting potatoes and garbage, the young man hid while his change overcame him. All the while, images of the creatures he and his father had hunted for so long danced through his incoherent mind.

His mind could not find peace in the pain he felt.

Carlisle inhaled deeply, taking in the reeking stench of the garbage that covered him in an attempt to distract his mind from the pain and taunting condemnation which took on his own father’s voice. The stench of the rotting filth was not enough to sojourn his racing thoughts. The smell of the disgusting vile rotting around him did cause him to vomit, for his senses were already becoming keener and the foul smell was made all the more foul with new acuteness. When the sickness was gone from his belly, Carlisle lay as still as possible, willing himself not to move as the fire scorched his bones. If he moved, he would be found. If he moaned or screamed as he desperately longed to do, he would be found. He would be dealt the same punishment as any of the other creatures he had captured. He would be given no more mercy than he had given them in the past.

How ironic that now he would become what he hated most and though he wished to kill himself, now he would not be able to die!

“Dear Lord, forgive me!” Carlisle murmured through gritted teeth. His fingernails dug into the stones of the street; already his strength was inhuman for he did not bleed. He had never seen one of his prey bleed. Would he be so lost from his humanity that he would have no blood left within him? No, it was boiling away now! “Agh!” Carlisle suffered a small moan to escape his pallid lips.

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After what seemed like days had passed, Carlisle still lay beneath the rotting pile of garbage, for he had been so quiet during his change that no one had found him.

There came a moment as he lay stiff in endless torment that Carlisle felt a great sigh shudder through his body—a brief moment of relief from pain as a deathly chill passed over his body. There was a half moment of calm that eased his mind out of agony and before his eyes was again a small ribbon of light. But before he could blink, that ribbon of light dispersed into nothingness and the clam that had overcome him in the form of a relieving sigh was gone. Once more pain and torment overtook him and the shock of its return was so harsh that Carlisle screamed, and he heard a dog bark from far away at the volume of his release. He breathed deeply, but it brought no solace to his empty lungs. He stopped breathing and did not suffer any more from it than he was already suffering. He knew then that his life had left him, and he was human no more.

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Carlisle blinked, resting his hand over his face. There was a strange calm. He moved his body slightly and did not suffer any pain. He cleared his throat of the burning venom pooling at the base of his tongue and pried his fingers through the garbage piled atop him until he felt cool air on his fingertips. He withdrew his hand. The stench of the garbage was not sickening to him anymore, for he did not need to breathe and could ignore the smell quite easily. Carlisle listened for a moment to the sound of a bird singing in the distance. It was a sparrow. He had not heard anything but the sound of blood pulsing in his ears for what seemed like so long, his eyes watered at the beautiful sound of the tiny creature singing to the daylight.

Sunshine crept in through tiny crevices and holes in the nearly solid mass of rot lying atop the young man. He could hear from far, far away the sound of women’s voices singing: the voices of nuns in an abbey, singing ancient hymns. How befitting! A monster was what Carlisle saw himself as, and on the day of his wretched new birth the first sounds he heard were those of a bird’s song and of nuns’ prayers.

Carlisle did not know whether to leave his shelter of rot and stink or go out into the sun. Would it welcome him? Silencing his fears, the new vampire rose from the garbage heap and shook himself clean. His clothes were torn, but it was not the appearance of his clothes that sent horror through his new body, it was the appearance of his skin. When he looked at his familiar hands, he did not see them as the ones he was used to. Instead they were translucent pale and shone as if they were covered with diamonds. Light emitted from every bit of flesh showing beneath his torn clothes, and it was so bright that it rebounded off of the wall of a building across the alley from him.

The young man’s heart sank, and he leaned his back against the wall of the nearest house. He was a full vampire now, a well-fashioned… killing… monster! If Carlisle could have wept he would have, but he could not. So he leaned against the cold stone and sat in utter disgust and misery.
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Sound of the Fiddle