young author nicole walter has an offering for shivering chaos......and she tells us that there are to be more parts to this....we shall have to wait and see. nicole will also soon be sending articles as well as her fiction to the fanzine so do please welcome her to the shivering chaos family


New Moon Rising
Nicole Walter

His face hung in the air for a moment, a faded photograph on a moonless night, then melted into the grey, moist shadows of the trees. Almost, almost, she followed, but fear struck her like a heavy blow to the chest, shoving her away from his empty shadow.

Some said dealing with the children of the night was madness, stupidity, and certain death, but Clara was careful, so for her, it was nothing short of complete wonder.

She had been Shalon’s lover for a long time, at least by her reckoning, anyway. To the nearly immortal vampyres, though, the seven years they had known each other, during three of which they were lovers, was almost nothing. A mere second in his life. "Which is probably the reason couples like us are so rare," she had remarked to him earlier that evening.

"I have only heard of it happening two times before in the last five hundred years, my love," he had replied, stooping down to place a delicate kiss on her lips. "And admit it- the superstitions your kind hold do not help matters any."
They both knew about the human fear and hatred of vampyres, Shalon much too well for his liking, as he often said. There had been much talk in the town of witch burnings and demon hunts of late, so Clara had to be more careful than usual when leaving to meet with Shalon. Which was why they always met late at night deep in the woods, where the chances of being seen were almost nonexistent, instead of accompanying her to the village and midnight Mass, as he so often did.
"They don’t know anything," she muttered into the empty air. "He doesn’t have horns or claws, doesn’t sleep in a coffin or turn to stone in sunlight. He is actually a gentleman, refuses to drink human blood, and looks almost human. He’s no more the Devil Incarnate than I am." But if they were seen together, it would mean the townspeople burning him at the stake as an evil spirit, and her hung from the gallows in the square as a witch. So it was for both their sakes that they told no one, and hid Shalon’s true nature from prying eyes. A rustle in the bushes startled her from her thoughts. She ran a few steps, stopped, and glanced back over her shoulder. A nervous titter escaped from her lips as she realized that no one was there. Perhaps I’m getting too jumpy, Clara thought to herself. "It’s late," she muttered as she walked through the city gates where the guards stood sleeping at their posts. "There’s no one about at this time. I only heard a bird or a squirrel. It was nothing."
Her footsteps faltered for a moment. But then again, what if it was? All through vespers, Clara sat with head bowed, pious as could be. Or rather, trying to look pious. It was all she could do to keep her mind on the prayers. Like all young women of the town, she was expected to spend at least a year in the cloister of Saint Regina’s cathedral, learning reading, writing, manners, virtues, and all the other things a good Christian woman of marriageable age should know. And indeed, she did learn, but the prayers day in and day out from sunrise till dusk were a bit much. She chafed at the restrictions of holy life like a prisoner in her bonds.
Tonight was the new moon, the only time Shalon could leave his homeland and meet with her in her world. It was no secret how much the planar travel taxed him, but it was a sacrifice he said that he would willingly undertake for her sake. He always came without fail, no matter what, to wait for her beneath the ancient oaks. That was how it had always been since she met him while walking in the forest so long ago. She was only twelve years old then. It was Midsummer, and she had snuck away from her home to catch fireflies and look for the fairies and woodland spirits that were supposed to come out to celebrate. She wandered around among the trees, aimlessly heading deeper and deeper into the forest. An hour later, she stumbled across a clearing of oak trees where, tired, hungry, and lost, she had sat down and cried, sure that she would never find her way back. Then, a tall man with strange eyes and oddly pointed teeth had knelt by her side and offered to take her back. As he led her through the forest, he had introduced himself as Shalon. After that, they had meet whenever they could. After a year, he told Clara what he really was and, to his vast surprise, found out that she wasn’t horrified at all, but accepting and even intrigued by what he told her. After that, their relationship blossomed into friends, then finally lover and beloved.
At long last, the prayers came to a close. Clara gratefully chanted out the last Dominus Christi, relieved that this nightly ordeal was finally and at last finished. Taking the offered tallow candle from one of the sisters, she left the chapel to plan her escape.
Almost midnight. Clara slowly opened her door, careful not to let it squeak. The ancient ash door slid open without a sound, and she glanced quickly up and down the hall. All was clear. Time to go. The cold stone seemed to vibrate in the absolute silence. She clutched a small taper near her breast, its flickering light casting tentative shadows over the faces of the marble saints that lined the passageway. Darkness fled before the flickering flame like a misty sea, only to converge back on her as she slipped through the shadows with near-perfect stillness.
Her booted feet scuffed slightly as she descended the steps of the cathedral and emerged into the star-spangled night. The chill November air bit into her slender shoulders- she pulled her midnight blue cloak closer to her shivering form.
"Nary a soul about," she whispered to herself with a satisfied smile. She could almost see the black moon, a circle of pale darkness against a background of endless ebony.
As she slipped among the tree trunks, a nasty melting feeling creeped out of nowhere and blanketed her in an ominous air. Someone, or more likely, many someones, had trampled a wide, ragged path through the undergrowth. Broken plants lay crushed into the mud, filling the area with a sharp, bittersweet smell that blended with the acrid scent of woodsmoke carried on the breeze. Clara licked her lips and tasted ashes in her mouth. The trail led in the direction of the oak trees, so she followed it, uncomfortably curious. Several feet from the clearing, the wind shifted, bringing the taste of sour-sweet fear sweat and copper blood. Alarmed, she raced down the beaten track like a frightened deer, oblivious to everything save her own panic.
Which was how she found him.
First, she tripped over something. It was thick and slightly soft, like a rotting limb. She fell facefirst over it, landing in a patch of muddy, blood-soaked ground. Pulling herself up to her knees, she was startled to find that the thing she had fallen over was a battered, moonstone-pale leg.
Shalon lay under a scarred oak tree, velvet jacket and silk shirt ripped to pieces, black breeches shredded and stained. His face resembled a cracked ice sculpture. Blood dripped from his shattered nose and mouth like strands of crimson beads. Filmy grey shadows covered his broken body like dirty bedsheets. He tried to speak, but the only sound that came from his bruised throat was a wheezing, rattling gasp. Clara twined her fingers through his ebon silk hair, now matted with filth. She kissed his alabaster forehead and bloody lips with the gentleness of a butterfly’s wing brushing the petals of a flower. Even so, he flinched in pain at her touch, yet made no move to stop her. Instead, he took hold of the ornate silver cross that hung from his neck and with one strong motion, tore it free from its chain. When Clara first asked about it years ago, he had murmured something about it being a good luck charm of sorts, then dropped the subject rather quickly. This he now thrust into the hands of the still-weeping Clara. She held it gingerly, unsure of what to do. But Shalon knew. Summoning the last of his strength, he caused the shadows behind her to draw together and soften into a quasi-living pearl-grey mass. Streamers of mist swirled around her wraithlike, pulling at Clara’s hair and clothing like tiny fingers, stroking, touching, grabbing. Startled, she leapt to her feet. While she was still off balance, Shalon pushed her through the portal, where she faded into nothingness. The first high note of her startled scream rang through the trees and filled Shalon’s ears as the last of his lifeblood drained out of his body. With his final heartbeat, he wished his beloved well.
No place.
No time.
The louder Clara screamed, the more the heavy air threatened to smother her. She felt suspended in a gigantic human heart- the place glowed a soft purple-red, colors flowing together so that it was impossible to get a sense of solidness or distance. The walls even seemed to press against her body in the rhythm of a beating heart-
Squeeze. Release. Squeeze. Release.
Then, the window opened and Clara found herself in a place she never imagined could exist.
She stood on a path of black marble so shiny that the reflected moonlight dazzled her eyes. Jasmine trees flanked it on either side, their white blossoms contrasting with the succulent black roses that that huddled at their base. Slowly, Clara raised her head to gaze upon the city in the distance.
Towers sent sharp glass and silver fangs spiraling up to the stars while bridges and archways dipped back down to the ground. In the busy streets, shadowy figures wandered here and there like living jewels in a gilded sliver coronet.
The clatter of hooves on stone came echoing down the path. Galloping toward her were a trio of riders clad in suede body wrappings painted with intricate crimson designs around the shoulders and over their chests. As they rode closer, she heard the screech of scraping steel being drawn from scabbards and the creak of leather as they leaned forward in their saddles to strike. Thinking quickly, Clara raised Shalon’s cross over her head, in hopes that the symbol would at least cause them to pause in their headlong rush.
Indeed, as they neared, the riders saw what she gripped tightly in white-knuckled hands. One of them called out, and was answered by the other two. Quickly, they reined in their horses, stopping only a foot from Clara’s face. The leader dismounted with a fluid grace and reached for the cross. Clara tucked her arm behind her back, hiding it from sight.
"Who are you, mortal, and why do you hold the emblem of House Hal’Fais? That symbol can only be given to one of your kind by the free will of its owner. At first we believed you to be one of the butchers humans call ‘vampyre hunters’ and were about to dispose of you properly. Few who invade our home world ever live. So again, I ask, what is your purpose here with us?"
Clara took a deep breath and stood upright. "I come in the name of Shalon. He was killed in the oak grove. I strongly suspect that the people of my village had a hand in his murder."
"Lord Shalon?" the female asked, violet shadows dripping from her mouth down crimson velvet lips, flowing across the smooth lines of a jaw made slack with horror and spreading up weblike wings over her sharp carved bone cheeks.
"The news was true," one of the men said in a dull, leaden voice. "Shalon had a mortal lover."
Clara was still stuck on the word ‘Lord’. "Shalon never told me he was a noble."
The first rider answered her. "No, he wouldn’t have, I’m sure. His clan is one of the most ancient. His family holds a seat on the ruling council, and Shalon himself was a favorite in the city. We always expected him to go far when he decides to claim his place in the affairs of the city. But now…" She sighed deeply.
At last, the third spoke up. "We have not the luxury of grief now. Let us take her before the Council, so they may decide what shall be done." Strong hands gripped Clara’s forearms in an iron grip. His long, silver painted nails dug lightly into her flesh as she was hoisted onto the back of a fine-boned black horse-like animal with tiny ears, cloven hooves, and an extra pair of legs growing from the middle of its chest. Noticing Clara’s stare, her escort answered, "Larni. Very loyal and obedient creatures. Strictly carnivorous, but they won’t eat anything larger than a rabbit." She nodded quickly.
With careless grace, they swung themselves into their saddles. Then, nudging their mounts lightly, Clara and her escorts galloped swiftly to the crystalline city as a rose-colored blush peeked through the spires, signaling the approach of dawn.
"The decision we hold before the council is that there can be no decision on this matter. It is not possible to refuse aid to a noble clan, yet if we do lead an attack on the mortals, we leave our world wide open to retaliation, a risk we can ill afford. The best solution is to keep to ourselves and refuse to entangle ourselves further in this conflict."
An anguished "No!" burst from Clara’s lips. Heads turned toward the place where she sat upright, indignant.
"Keep silence, mortal! These matters are none of your concern. We regret the death of your lover, but that is the consequence for falling in love with a human, as Lord Shalon has unfortunately discovered. If he had never meddled in the mortal world, he would still be alive today. Be glad, girl, that I am generous enough to take your story as truth, when I ought to have you hung for conspiring to kill Lord Shalon!" Head in hands, Clara sighed softly. She had already spent the entire week in combat-like debates, spending hour after hour in the Hall of Judgment listening to both sides argue back and forth. Dmitri, head of the Nartoh clan and Council leader, had been especially vehement in his questioning. They forced her to tell her story three times over, trying to find any inconsistencies in her statements. At first, her tale was received with angry suspicion, but with the help of the three guards who had brought her, the Council had calmed down enough to hear her out. With each retelling, she had fought back tears, remembering the anguished look in his face just before he shoved her through the portal. At first, it seemed as though her side would prevail. Now it appeared as though the council would do nothing. But she was still far from giving up. Not a day passed where she did not promise to avenge him herself, somehow, anyhow, someday, no matter what.