Blood Trials

Dane watched the senior sun students walk into their exam venue, scrambling calmly through their notes and textbooks. Marie was on her haunches, next to him, with her head buried in her textbook. Her wavy brown bob cut blew in the morning breeze. "The point of being on patrol is to completely invest in watching the perimeter," Dane pointed out. Marie shrugged nonchalantly without looking from her study material. "If this is about Ridley--" Marie scoffed but continued reading. "You were the one who wanted to keep this casual." Marie didn't reply. Dane exhaled. "How's your day going?"

"Better than yours, apparently." Dane looked from the rooftop, around the quad that was slowly emptying. "A blind man could see you're shouldering something more than the infamous Scary Axel." Marie stood up, shutting her textbook. "I'm not five-years-old, pretty boy. I know what I was getting myself into. Plus, you have no idea how many Hunter Olympics, I've seen you gawk at her. Whether you were both on the archery pitch, or just her."

"That obvious, huh?"

Marie deflected, "what's going on? What's really going on? Your patrol ended thirty minutes ago." Dane looked down the length of the roof where they stood and shrugged. "Are you failing?"

"Somewhat," Dane answered.

"Need a tutor?" Her playful chuckle made him turn back to her. "No subtext," she added with her hands raised in surrender.

"Not that type of failing," Dane stated. "I should be out there, with her, on that mission. Making moves equally as big as hers, watching that team's back. Protecting the peace. Instead, here I am, on top of the school hall doing the most basic job in our job description. After everything our Guardian Unit has been through, I'm..."

"You mean squaring off with Mother Axel," Marie interjected. "I read the reports, before my transfer was approved. You lost your uncle in that time?"

"I can't help but think he would've expected more from me at this point of my life."

"Sorensen, you have Olympic medals; multiple awards and acclaims; and you're one of very few hunters I know who haven't let it go to your head. What more do you want when the average hunter's life expectancy is, what, twenty/twenty-five?"

"I'm a one-hit-wonder. One mission and it was on campus. Ridley went to France and singlehandedly took down a goldblood supremacy faction. Now she's back to take down..."

Marie inclined her head quizzically. "Now she's back to what?"

"It's classified," Dane replied then slumped his shoulders. "The just of it is, this mission, it doesn't just affect Dunon. It affects the whole world, probably."

"So," Marie argued. Dane scrunched his eyebrows at her but before he could rebuttal, Marie went on, "we've got five hundred years ahead us, pretty boy. High school isn't going anywhere. You want to be kicking whoever's butt, get your butt out there do some kicking. I mean, yeah, you've got a few more days worth of school and exams and shit, but you've got loads of time to graduate. Get your butt to your girlfriend's side and go kick names and take ass."

"I can't."

Marie groaned and rolled her eyes! She spun away and turned back to her perch on the roof, to return to watch the quieting quad. Dane watched her short brown hair sway in the wind with her back towards him. She didn't look back or say anything more. Dane slumped his shoulders the started walking away. Careful of the tiles on the roof and the loud clatter they made. He looked over his shoulder at Marie one last time. Nothing. He left for good this time.

The hunter collected his belongings on the balcony before meandering through the boarding school. He made straight for the main gates. Intricate wrought iron that had devil's forking on the top. The double gates shrieked when they opened, and led the way down the fortified hill that the town and the fort-turned-school were named after. The downhill street, la Fortifiée Boulevard, curved about before it joined to Main Street.

The town was less active during exam season with the boarding school, public high school, and the primary school rife with angst. Despite that, a few sun students - those who weren't writing - were out and bout preparing for their matric farewell. Be it a trip to the salons, or collecting their apparel, or last-minute accessory shopping. The one place all of Dunon Academy's students enjoyed - sun and moon students alike - was the Barnyard.

The Barnyard was a damp dimly-lit bar that looked like it was inches from caving in on the inside. The music was always too loud and there were always groups of people smoking so the interior was cloudy. The smell of burning firewood outside overtook the otherwise sweaty odour. The interior was trying too hard to like an American western. The wooden stools, the wooden tables, the ceiling frames, the faded wall decor of cowboys, the light shades that had Native Americans on them and even the bartenders dressed like cowboys.

The bar was probably the only exception to the cowboy theme. The counter was black granite and the black steel framed wall unit that house the alcohol had glass shelving with blue LEDs. Next to the lengthy shelf was the door leading into the kitchen. Passed that, were more sitting areas but those chairs were higher up. Beyond, by the door, were pool tables, the deejay’s station and the blood bank. Even when the whole of Dunon Academy was once cramped into the space, there was plenty of room to maneuver.

Dane parked himself at the bar, pointing to the blood bank but ordering bane. Bane brew is a caramel-coloured carbonated soft drink. It has been the signature drink of the Barnyard since 1712, when the Barnyard first opened. The drink, obviously, has been adapted over the years but was still a local favourite. The locals describe the flavour as rosy vanilla.

The Barnyard even had their own glass bottles to serve bane brew in; a type of brown beer bottle with a shorter neck and wider body. There was even a label on the bottle! The Barnyard’s Bane Brew, it said. Underneath it was simply captioned not for p*ssies!. Ironically even children enjoyed bane brew.

The bar maiden set a half empty bottle of bane brew in front of him. The rest of the bottle she filled with blood then winked at him before going off to other patrons. Dane watched droplets run down the bottle pensively. He laced his fingers around the bottom of the bottle and sighed. From the droplets, his eyes shifted to the blood dissolving into the brownish-black liquid.

"Penny for your thoughts, Junior," the man who had slid into the seat next to him asked. Without looking away from his bottle, Dane shook his head. A bartender came to the man. "Your finest pint of AB-," the man began, showing his accent.

Dane scoffed. "Expensive stuff."

"I'll take a whole pint," the man added to the bartender. "A glass for me, and the rest for my son, Viggo." Dane spun his head to see none other than Viggo Wolfensøn alongside him. "Hello, Junior." Dane lowered his hand for his gun. "Don't bother," the goldblood purred, holding up the handgun. "Slight-of-hand is something I picked up during the early years of the Renaissance. So many rich scholars, so many pockets of valuables."

"I could still take your head off your shoulders."

"Then why haven't you," Viggo mocked. Dane took in the face identical to his, clenching a fist. The exception was Viggo's mohawk of braids and dreadlocks, and facial hair. The same muscular build - one in the Dunon Academy school uniform and one in a tailored suit - and the same pointed face, although Viggo's had more age to his. "I'm not here to fight you, son."

"I'm not your son."

Viggo looked to the mirror behind the shelves of bottles. "I beg to differ." Dane looked too and scowled. "I just want to talk."

"Ridley told me what you're doing. Even if she didn't, I want nothing from the man who got my mother killed and tried to kill my uncle, my girlfriend and me."

"Your uncle," Viggo chuckled. "How is Jakob?" Dane arched his chin. "Don't answer that, I saw the headstone in Hunters' Hectare." Dane seethed an exhale, looking over Viggo. "He was a clever man, a profoundly good hunter. I'll always have a great respect for him in that regard. But taking my son, changing your name, hiding you in the worst possible country for a vampire? I hope he's thanking God for whoever killed him before I could."

"Jakob was more my father that you were; than you'll ever be."

"How would you know? I was never given a chance to be a father to you."

"I'm sure my mother had valid reasons for keeping us apart."

Viggo gave a weak laugh. "Alexa was a beautiful woman. A good, nurturing woman. I really did love her. The company I kept, though, were not fanatical about mixing bloods, and my wife..."

"I'm sure your wife loved her too, and that's why she killed her."

"Viggo..."

"That's not my name."

"Dane, then. I know I can't bring her back, but I want to get to know my son. Don't you want to see where we come from? Be a true Scandanavian? The stories of your ancestors' conquests and lucrative slave trading; how to induce your Berserker state; the histories of the Vargr tribe." Viggo whipped his long hair over his shoulder, holding up a cluster of dreadlocks and braids. "Do you not want to know the significance of each braid, each plait, each knot?"

"No," Dane stated firmly. "I don't want anything from you." Viggo looked down at the scarred and of Dane Sorensen. The knife slashes and the faded burns. He looked back into his son's eyes with a defeated nod. He dug for his wallet and set far too many purple notes on the counter. He downed his glass of AB- then started to leave. "That's it?"

Viggo shrugged in reply. "I suppose," he said casually. He smiled genuinely then nodded. "Despite the circumstances, I am glad that we got to meet once." Viggo squeezed his shoulder. "Until we meet again, min guldklump."

"Wait," Dane called, grabbing Viggo's sleeve. Viggo raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Why are you doing this?" Before the Viking could answer, Dane went on, "I know why, but why are you doing it?"

Viggo inhale sharply then shrugged a single shoulder. "My father is a great legend. Not just Denmark, all over Scandanavia. It was a great honour to be a Wolfensøn. All I ever wanted was to pass on the same honour. But the vampires exterminated my people and those legends with them. I will rebuild the colonies, my people will be returned, but above all, restore my tribe and father’s greatness."

"Must be nice to have a father."

"You do have a father."

"He's dead. Buried in Hunters' Hectare next to Ridley's grandfather."

Viggo sighed then readied himself to leave. "I'm sorry you feel that way, my son. I genuinely am." He stretched his hand out. Dane rolled his eyes softly before steeling himself to shake his father's hand. "That's a firm handshake, you've got there." Viggo forced himself to let go then took in Dane a final time. "I suppose it goes without saying that the next time we meet, one of us might die."

"One of us definitely will die. And Ridley's going to enjoy taking your head."

Viggo looked down to his leather shoes and shook his head. "I guess I'm grateful that you have the decency not to raise a hand to your father." The Viking cupped the grade twelve's shoulder. He turned to go again. "Take care of yourself."

Dane watched Viggo walk away from the bar, in almost a strut. When the Viking past the pool tables, he looked back and gave a curt nod. Dane turned back to his bottle of bane brew and the pint of AB-. He sighed then looked at the bartender. "Mind putting a few shots of your hardest liquor in there," he requested, pointing to the blood pint.

Dane - after unlocking his dorm room door - stumbled inside, with his jacket over one arm and his tie in the other. Marcus turned from his books to his roommate. Dane's eye blinked out of synch with that wriggled grin. Marcus stood up slowly, watching Dane bob drowsily into their room. He hummed drunkenly before falling face first on to his single bed. One shoe toppled off on the way.

"Are you drunk or did your seed sprinkler get sprinkled?"

"My father..." he slurred. Dane sighed then rolled onto his back. "He, he, he."

"I'll take that as a 'no' to entering a lady's thatched cottage."

"Th-thatched coo... coo, coochie."

Markus sighed then put his studying on hold then spun his chair to face Dane. "What happened?"

Dane sat up soberly then combed his hair back sloppily. "I may or may not feel emasculated by my girlfriend, and I don't know how I feel about meeting my father for the first time."

"Ms Axel aside because this is a norm, at this point. What do you mean you met your father for the first time?"

"It was bittersweet. He's ambitious, he's mellow, and we look exactly the same." Dane groaned the slammed his face into his bed. "Please kill me," he begged but the words were muffled from his covers. He sighed then felt Markus sit on his bed. "You're a few centuries old, right?"

"Understatement, sir."

"Do you ever get smarter with dealing with shit?"

"Nothing beats a sound glass of authentic English wine," the Englishman stated. "Although you've invested one too many throat-scorchers." Dane sighed then looked to their ceiling. "Might I suggest drowning your sorrows in a warm, thick vein? Perhaps that of a voluminous wench with no prospects of marriage?"

"With diabetes?"

"And some time from her last insulin shot," Markus added, patting his shoulder. "Let's hope that sugar rush will cancel the alcohol."

"You were married, right?"

"Twice, sir. Why?"

"D-do you think Ridley and I are compatible?"

Markus sighed then hunched forward, leaning on an arm. "Young man, the criteria for courting in this age is vastly different from my day. Back then, you all you needed was a woman with a wealthy father, no opinions, wide hips and - if you're lucky - some well-shaped ankles. Then it was a woman who cooks and cleans and child-rears. Now...? Good Lord, now she has to be a queen but a whore; beautiful but not vain; driven but she mustn't earn more. By God, my brain is spinning."

"I just want someone to be me with," Dane lamented. "Someone who's not going to freak out when I walk in covered blood; whose interests are like mine but also very different; someone I can appreciate with time; low maintenance, like no makeup and nails and all that; and the longer we're together, the lower the IQ of the room gets."

"You are awfully sagacious for an intoxicated youth." Dane only looked down to the blue camouflage bedspread. "And your model broad sounds a great deal like Ms Axel." Dane perked up slightly. "Although, I would say a room's Intelligence Quotient would only go up. Look how exceptional you are together; hunters, social partners. You were certainly the aesthetic of the evening at the Christmas Ball, if I do say so."

"Do you think she thinks that?"

"I have been married for a combined time of two hundred and seventeen years, sir. Despite that, I cannot tell you the inner workings of a woman's mind. Let alone one as brazen, equanimous, and as unfathomably unbothered as Ms Axel. I can tell you that you should take a dibble of your own advice and exercise those expert communication skills you've developed as a hunter. I am holding thumbs for... Daneley."

Dane's dejected form shrivelled on his bed. "I must be the most pathetic person in school right now. I'm drunk, I should be studying, I just realised my girlfriend is perfect, and my father is a kind of cool Viking."

"Come along, Mr Sorensen. Let's go you find a lonely spinster to drain."