The Fangs of Gondwolin

I.

It was the 368th night, and what should have been a peaceful Sunday erupted into utter chaos when the eastern wall of Auverine exploded, raining boulders and bricks down upon its citizens. Ennis Redstone had been standing watch on top of one of the palace domes when the bright orange explosion rocked him, sending a shower of gray dust and debris that roared deafeningly loud.

In a way, they have been expecting this. The greybacks had been profuse with their veiled threats lately, poisoned by their paranoia that Lord Valadir had anything to do with the bone dry chalice currently sitting in the temple vacated by their common goddess. It had now been one year and three days since they last had their drink—their blood ritual that kept them immortal. Now, those with weak bodies were slowly being consumed by this insatiable thirst, no mercy in sight. Their goddess has left them, and the shadows that plagued them have seemingly gotten darker.

There were screams from below. And howling. A horde of greybacks charged through the hole in the wall, baring their teeth and snarling. The angered and equally desperate Auverinites stood their ground, their fangs bared and their nails sharp.

And then blood splattered across the streets.

Werewolves and vampires lunged at each other—clawing, biting, ripping. The anguished cries of pain and wrath tore through every alley as walls crumbled, roofs caved in, and glass shattered. Ennis rushed down, jumping on rooftops as fast as he could. In the distance, he saw a massive werewolf charging through the chaos howling not in anger, but in a desperate plea. This greyback had a circular patch of silver fur around its neck. It was Prince Halrykk.

Ennis landed on the cobblestone road as a werewolf twice his size brought its paw down to attack a raging female vampire. Ennis caught its paw just as the vampire lunged with her claw. The highly trained kingsman spun around, kicking the vampire off-balance while he pushed the werewolf to the other side.

He has not even caught his breath when another werewolf plowed through the fighting crowd, aiming for Ennis who saw this attack coming from a mile away. Bracing himself by punching a hole through the ground, Ennis used his arm as an anchor and his back as a shield to trip and abruptly halt the werewolf's run. The monster was caught off guard, its face a look of surprise as it tumbled head over paws away.

Prince Halrykk was doing the same thing from the other side. Pulling off werewolves and vampires from each other while avoiding their claws and their teeth.

But it was too much. Only Ennis and Prince Halrykk sought to put an end to this violence. And they were starting to tire out. Ennis had just gotten scratched across the back, tearing his clothes open and all of Prince Halrykk's limbs were bleeding.

Ennis ran over to Halrykk. "We can't do it," he said, every harsh breath that he took felt like fire in his throat.

Halrykk nodded, severely out of breath. (I am out of ideas, Ennis. If we don't stop them we may have an entire city and a tribe of werewolves dead here by daylight.)

Ennis heard Halrykk's thought through the spiritual bond that they shared. Ennis nodded. "My sister."

Halrykk perked up. (You are seriously not fucking thinking of bringing her here.)

"She's the only one who can help us. She's a Weaver. Have you forgotten?"

(Do you even know where she is?)

But before Ennis could answer they both saw a white figure standing atop the same dome where Ennis was standing earlier. A young woman, in what looked like a white hooded silken robe, raised her hands and prayed to a dim moon that no longer shone. With what power she could draw from it, thin threads of light sprung forth from her fingers. With a wave of her hands, she cast the threads upon the commotion below, each one landing on the fighters, all of whom were oblivious to the magic that was being cast. And then the young woman pulled her hands up, pulling the threads taut. One by one the warring vampire and werewolves dropped like flies, plunged abruptly into a dreamless sleep. As the werewolves started snoring they changed slowly into their human form.

Halrykk himself was turning back, his magnificent fur receding into his back until they were gone. His snout and limbs shortening as his bones snapped back into place as a human.

The two men collapsed on the sidewalk, cradling their wounded limbs and body parts. On a normal night they would not have broken a sweat over something like this. Over six hundred years ago, when the rebel sorceress Failuza threatened to steal the chalice, both the werewolves and the vampires banded together to help destroy her army of the undead. The battle went on for months, with both Halrykk and Ennis only starting to feel the exhaustion after fighting for five days straight. But that felt like a memory from an entirely different world. Back then, the goddess nourished them and gave them strength. Back then, they could still drink human blood. Now, they feel abandoned. And hungry. So very hungry.

"How did... Elledine know... we... were here," Halrykk asked, almost passing out.

"Weaver. I... told you."

"Right."

Elledine took her time climbing down. Like the two men, she was exhausted. The magic took its toll upon her. She cast a pained look at the sky where the vague shape of the moon was hiding in the clouds and said an angry prayer to the goddess that wasn't there.

She approached the men. Halrykk's nakedness was covered only by a small shredded piece of cloth that he managed to snag earlier.

"We need to let Lord Valadir and King Ymladd know of this," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "How did you find out they were attacking tonight?" Elledine asked Halrykk.

"The crows of Asdenath," Halrykk said. Asdenath was a spirit that resided in the forests of Ardyggmaen, the kingdom of the werewolves. "I have never before seen them in such a panicked state."

"Are you okay?" Ennis asked his younger sister.

"Don't worry about me."

"Thank you, Ellie," Halrykk spoke. "Our men would have died tonight."

"Do not thank me yet. I have done nothing but delay the inevitable. In the days and nights that will come, who's to say there won't be any more of this happening?"

Halrykk knew the truth in Elledine's words. The tribe that attacked tonight was the one from the southern swamplands called the yellowsnouts that lived far away from their kingdom. They were led by a madman named Fyngrik whose mind was one step away from completely losing reason, and The Drought had only gotten him that much closer to insanity. King Ymladd's advisors had warned him about this, and while Halrykk fully admitted hat his father harbored deadly suspicions about the vampire lord he still sought to have Fyngrik contained. A war erupting during such a dire time would spell the end for all of them.

Speaking of Fyngrik...

Halrykk stood up, wincing in pain as his wounds smarted. Nowadays his wounds took days to heal, just like any normal human's would. "Where the hell is that son of a bitch?"

He raised his nose in the air, trying to locate the scent of the tribe chief.

Ennis knew who Halrykk was looking for and so he stood up as well and scanned the horizon. All around them were vampires and werewolves of all sexes and ages, sleeping on the ground, on the roofs, halfway out a window, and so on. The werewolves, who had now turned human, were completely naked, sprawled out where they fell. What piece of clothing remained appeared to be tanned leather or fur from the bears they hunted down for sport. The vampires' clothes were all torn, their beautifully coifed hair now raked out of place and sticking out. The Auverinite clans were a classy folk—even in desperate times they kept up their appearance. None of them were in anything less than the finest silk in all of Rounarde, the vampire country.

The two warring groups may look every bit as different as could be, save for the unhealthy pallor their skin color has turned into. They have neither had the blessed blood for over a year now nor their regular consumption of human blood. They've been getting by consuming the forest animals, but it's not the same. It would have been no different from a human subsisting only on one glass of water every day, and only one small piece of bread every week, for the rest of their life.

Everybody's hungry. And everybody's angry.

"I can't find him, Halrykk."

"Of course. That fucking bastard sent everybody to die for him." Halrykk took one more look around them and then turned to Elledine. "How long will they be out?"

"It depends, but looking at how weak they all are it may take longer than usual. Perhaps tomorrow, or the next day."

Halrykk nodded. "I will send for some soldiers to carry them out."

"And Fyngrik?" Ennis asked.

Halrykk growled at the back of his throat. "I will behead that yellowsnout myself."

With that, the prince ran off into the night, back towards home that was suddenly plunged into a pit of chaos. Lord Valadir was not a forgiving creature, and this breach of his territory would certainly mean retaliation. What worried Halrykk was the fact that his own father would not back down from such a threat. He knew that King Ymladd would fight back with a ferocity that even he was afraid to witness.

"Dear Gondwolin, have mercy on us." Halrykk whispered into the cold night air.

II.

The study was quiet, so eerily quiet. Ennis could hear the beating of his heart in his ears. He clenched his jaw, unsure of what to expect now that he has told Lord Valadir of what had happened.

The aging vampire stood in front of a long picturesque window that overlooked the ocean in the distance. He was in his sleeping robe, but it was no less elegant than the attire he wore every day. His white hair had been slicked back, his hands were clasped behind him, and the air around him seemed to get colder as the seconds wore on.

Ennis fought against himself as he wanted to break the silence. He wanted to ask the man if he had heard everything he said. But to rush Lord Valadir was to ask for your throat to be cut. So Ennis pursed his lips and waited.

There was no moonlight that shone in. The grand study of the vampire lord was dimly lit only by a single candle that burned on his desk. If not for their vampire eyes, they would have struggled greatly with the shadows that danced in the walls.

"And you say that it... surprised you?" Lord Valadir asked, his voice a scratchy whisper.

"Yes, my lord."

Lord Valadir turned towards Ennis who reflexively felt his muscles freeze in response when the lord's eyes laid upon him. Lord Valadir was both handsome and terrifying to behold. He alone among all the vampires had reddish golden eyes, a testament to his unfathomably long life. Only those who have subsisted on human blood for over five thousand years get to have this.

"That is not something I want to hear, if I may be honest. What is the use of our patrols if our walls could be breached with such ease?"

Ennis swallowed, "Forgive us, my lord. Our men are in pain from starvation and the truth of the abandonment by our goddess. Still, they do their best every day."

"And this... is the best... that my men could give me."

Ennis knew better than to respond.

"Child, how old are you?"

"Seven hundred and thirteen, my lord."

"Hmm. Yes. I remember. You fought Failuza, the Hag. Tell me, did you feel desperation during that war?"

Ennis waited a second, thinking if this was a trap question. "No, my lord."

"And why is that?"

"Our lady Gondwolin was there fighting with us in spirit. I felt her in my bones, in my blood. She lent me her strength and courage."

Lord Valadir smiled—a cold, dark smile that never quite reached the eyes. "That is all beautiful and sentimental, child, but I think you forget one crucial thing about the events that transpired. Failuza managed to steal the chalice. It was in her hand when I struck her down and Ymladd tore her one of arms off."

Ennis stood still, feeling the tension that had suddenly built up. Of course he knew this. In fact, he never forgot. When they learned that the chalice had been successfully stolen from the temple, all werewolves and vampire fought as if their lives depended on it which was, after all, the whole truth.

"I apologize, my lord, but I do not understand."

"Then I will make you: with the chalice in the thief's possession, away from the temple and the dais made for it, the line between us and the goddess was effectively severed. Child, you were fighting alone in that battlefield. There was no Gondwolin to guide your strikes true.

Now, if the men patrolling the walls are too young to remember the war against the Hag, let them know that you fought in it and survived it without aid from all the realms where the gods exist. And if this should ever happen again, the last they would need to worry about is a pack of rabid wolves tearing them apart because I will do it myself.

Do you understand, Ennis Redstone?"

Ennis' fists were visibly shaking, but he fought to keep himself under control. "Understood, my lord."

"You may leave. I want all the Auverinites returned to their beds. At this stage of their health, the sun will burn them. Go."

Ennis did not need to be told twice.

III.

It was afternoon by the time they laid the last sleeping Auverinite in their bed. Ennis was tired and he felt the heat cooking his insides as both the sun and the long-sleeved suit that he wore to cover his skin fried him. He found a shade under a tree and took off the suit. He stayed there panting for a while, leaning forward on his knees.

He was worried. So goddamn worried. The Auverine Lady, Madame Vannelten, being away overseas was the only good thing he saw in the carnage. The madame belonged to a type of vampire called Prowlers, meaning that she could transform into a four-legged creature as big as Halrykk, but unlike him the madame was extremely prejudiced against anything or anyone that was not her kind. If she had been present when the fighting began, the scales would have tipped heavily in favor of the Auverinites. She especially abhorred werewolves and thought them beneath her.

Still, there would be hell to pay when she returned, but that was a worry for another day.

"Are you okay?"

Ennis turned to see his sister walking up to him. More than anything, it pained him to see her suffer.

"I'm gonna live. Unfortunately."

"Stop that," she said, as she plopped down right beside him. She also took off the veil she wore over herself to keep her skin from the sun. "Two more had burned today."

Ennis nodded solemnly as he sat down beside his sister. When vampires "burned" this meant that they willingly committed suicide by walking into sunlight without any clothes on.

"Margris and Alfeln. I used to sew with their mother."

The silence stretched out between them. There, in the afternoon sun, the Redstone siblings pondered if there were still to be a favorable end for everyone.

"How do we make the goddess come back?" Ennis asked.

"How do we even talk to her at all with the chalice sitting empty?"

"You know, Lord Valadir told me something very interesting. He said that when Failuza took the chalice off the dais, the line between us and Gondwolin was severed. So, there was actually a time back then when we were living without her."

"Yes, but we brought the chalice back just in time for the ritual. We never really had to technically live without her blessings. That's the difference."

"But if you pay close attention, the lord said the line was cut only after the chalice was taken off the dais. Where is the chalice now?"

Elledine blinked. There was a hint of hope on her face. "It's still there. It's always been there."

Ennis asked Elledine because she was a Weaver. Like Prowlers, they were a different kind of vampire with a specific skill that the others didn't have. Weavers worked like priests and priestesses, able to wield the thread that connected each and every vampire to one another, mostly to heal. It was the Weavers who were tasked to care for the inner sanctum where the chalice was kept.

"What are you saying, Ennis? We can... we can talk to the goddess? We can pray to her?"

The look of pure hope and joy on his sister's face brightened the gloom in Ennis' mind, but he didn't want to lie her. "I don't know yet, Ellie. But... there's something that I want to do to confirm what I've been thinking. I honestly don't know if I should go on with it. It's dangerous."

"Ennis, we're all dying at a much faster rate now. Do you not feel a war coming? If there is anything at all that we could do to solve even half of the problems that we have, I think it's worth the risk."

Ennis pursed his lips, thinking heavily about this idea of his.

"What are you thinking about? Tell me."

"Do you remember that story mother told us about Harran?"

"Yes, the one I insisted was not real."

"Well, I guess parts of it weren't, but you know how some giant folklore stories started from a mustard seed of truth.

Anyway, do you remember how Harran was turned?"

Harran was the first vampire in recorded history, having been turned by no other than Gondwolin herself who came down from her realm to rescue the man from certain death. It was said in the story that Harran braved the wilderness outside of their small town, even in the dead of night, to look for a red flower that would heal his dying wife. He ultimately ran across a pack of giant wolves and would have surely been torn to pieces had the goddess not swooped in just in time.

The story took a dark turn when Gondwolin, like all powerful beings were wont to do, decided to play with Harran's sense of morality as payment for her aid. She bit him in the neck and transferred through her saliva a portion of her strength, speed, immortality, and most importantly, her godlike healing speed. She then told Harran that he now had the capability to save his wife but the cost of which was immeasurably high. If he decided to save her, she would be cursed to feel hunger only for the blood of a human, just like he now was.

"And he decided to save her," Elledine whispered.

"Love can drive us to insanity."

"So what are you trying to say, Ennis?"

"The vampires didn't have their own fangs until after the tenth generation which meant that like Harran, they had to have used another method to turn somebody."

"Yes... I remember. Gondwolin's fangs."

Ennis nodded. "In the story, Gondwolin broke off her fangs from her mouth and gave them to Harran, along with the chalice. Do you now see what I am trying to get at, Ellie?"

It took Ellie a while as her eyes searched her brother's face. And then she nodded, "You're thinking the fangs may have the same effect as a full chalice?"

"It's worth a shot."

"Wait a minute, if you are right then why hasn't Lord Valadir thought of this?"

An answer tried to push itself into the space in Ennis' mind where the things he willingly accepted stayed. It was not something he was willing to even acknowledge yet, but he had asked himself this question before and he did not like the only sensible answer that popped up. Maybe, Lord Valadir knew. Why then had he not mobilized his kingsmen to retrieve these fangs? Why would he be keeping it a secret? Ennis didn't like the fact that the answer his mind came up with was so horrible that he never dwelled on it.

"I don't know, Ellie, but I do know that they exist. They're real. But unfortunately for all of us, only one person right now knows where they are."

Understanding dawned on Elledine's face. Now she realized why Ennis said this would be dangerous.

"Please, no. Don't tell me. It's—"

Ennis nodded. "It's Failuza."