Succubus

Chapter 17: Tales from Psykov

Peter finished his dinner alone in the kitchen. Sausage, potatoes, and carrots all fried together in oil. Steam drifted off the pan while it cooled down.

The bedroom door opened and Peter turned as someone entered the kitchen. One of the identical old Russian ladies from the church was putting her coat on. She held an empty tupperware container. Peter felt relieved that his mother was eating.

"She is okay. You let her sleep," the old woman mumbled before heading out the door. Peter watched as her hunched over figure disappeared down the block.

Upstairs Peter put on sweats, zipped up his track jacket, and slung his gym bag over one shoulder. On the way out he stopped by his mother's room. Her breathing sounded soft and even. Peter did not want to wake her so he did not tell her that he was going out. She would know he had his phone with him.

Once the sun went down most people in Bridgeton stayed inside. Peter's hat did its best to keep his head warm as he sped down hills on his bike. His eyes watered until tears streaked back into his hair. He felt glad that no one could see him.

The river was alive with white caps as the wind howled toward the shore. Peter left his bike up by the road and followed the riverbank until he was sure no one was around. He unzipped his gym bag and took out Daumantas's sword.

The sword had become another thing to practice. It was the same as basketball or school work. A stretch of time each day was dedicated to it. Always after dark when most people would be asleep.

Daumantas stepped out from behind a tree and watched while Peter moved through the routines the old warrior had given him. He gave out corrections liberally for even the smallest mistakes. Peter didn't complain. It was the mark of a good coach.

"Will they try and fight back?" Peter asked.

"Probably not. They are not fighters, they must find other ways to ensnare prey. But it cannot hurt to be prepared," Daumantas said.

"I've kept my eyes open at school. But I haven't seen anyone like you described."

"They will not often be apparent. My brother by marriage Mindaugas was one such creature. Him and his sons. I may have missed them if they hadn't been family."

"When did you finally realize?"

Daumantas sat underneath the tree and motioned for Peter to keep practicing. Peter had to strain to hear him over the wind as Daumantas told his story.

***

There were not so many lights back then. In this time a man may walk at night and still see, but in my time the day ended with sunset. The Grand Duchy of Lithuania was trapped between Christians: Teutonics and the Tsar. It was a kingdom of pagans under Mindaugas.

The only reason I was out that night was because of my wife. Her sister, Queen Morta, had died in her sleep a week earlier. The King decided that he would have his wife's sister as replacement. Now she too was fading. The physicians could find nothing wrong with her, save a severe exhaustion.

I slipped out from the alley between two cottages. One hand rested on the cold stones to keep me from falling over something unseen. The only light was a single torch burning outside the church. I hurried toward the light then took a sharp turn and followed the wall of the church to a small graveyard.

I counted three gravestones then leaned over and hissed, "Treniota."

I heard something move behind the stone, but I could see nothing. The halo of the torch still burned in my eyes.

"Down here Daumantas," a voice said.

We sat side by side under the headstone. We were like boys hiding from our parents.