Virgin Sacrifice - Van Helsing Fanfiction

1 - Transylvania Beckons

Gabriel van Helsing appraised the dramatic landscape from upon the desolate, treed pass with the familiar grasp of business-like, emotionless detachment that he always felt before he killed someone. There prowled only one thought in his mind: where are you? 

The piercing cold gnawed at his bones, yet he remained crouched on the boulder for hours in search of his target. A muscle prickled painfully in his shoulder, but he dared not move - you never knew when the beasts would reveal themselves. Even standing on the edge of the aquiline precipice, he felt detached: as if he wasn't really there and, in a way, he wasn't. 

In his mind, he remained in the temporary safety of the Vatican City; basking in the sun-baked streets, strolling down cobbled walkways and glancing in amusement at the artistic figures of proud angles wielding venerated weapons, preparing to battle the grimacing faces of evil. The hollow echoes of the fountains as they were scintillating with light.

The bitter chill stabbed him again, shattering his nostalgia. Not Vatican City. Transylvania. A perilous landscape of skeletal trees, consuming snow and brittle shards of ice-impaled fields. Though the casual observer would be fooled, he sensed the danger: he was surrounded by a landscape that was just as dangerous as the creatures he had been sent to face. The wind was almost a soothing presence as its chilled fingers caressed his face, breaking through his shaggy mane of brown hair that rippled down his shoulders, concealed somewhat beneath the weatherworn hat that had kept him company on so many of his previous endeavours. The solitude was bearable, only sometimes painful, and he reminded himself that this was the kind of company he preferred: a stony silence that only vaguely gave notice of its existence. 

"Van Helsing!" 

The man grimaced. No tact. 

He knew it was Carl before he straightened out and turned around, observing the robed friar as he hunched beside the carriage for a moment, looking faintly ill-at-ease, as his sandy blonde hair was touselled by the wind. The friar sniffed uncomfortably, not as accustomed to this mountainous chill as van Helsing was himself. The mottled brown robe of his trade billowed loosely at his ankles and, as he paced towards him with his shuffling sort of gait, Carl fretted with his frayed sleeve. Once he was near the other man, he spoke in his softer, more timid way. 

"Van Helsing," Carl greeted, his voice as soft as the snow crunching beneath their feet, "Do you think the trail is safe?"

"Yes," Van Helsing replied simply.

That was not necessarily true: although, while there were no obvious signs of creatures that stalked the perilous woods, not of the ancient creatures that plagued the night, but that did not mean that the trail was not strewn with other unseen dangers. Carl only nodded absently, his gaze gliding over the lofty, snow-dusted crags in the distance and the vast expanse of trees that veiled it all. The friar shuddered, clutching his hands in an effort to warm them. 

"Go back to the carriage, Carl." Van Helsing instructed, noticing his companion's shivers.

"I'm frozen," Carl sputtered, his lips faintly blue, "I'm miserable. Dejected and positively morose, but if you send me back into that carriage, I will shave my ears off and feed them to the vampires."

Despite himself, van Helsing smiled.

"She's not that bad," He replied.

"Of course you wouldn't think so!" Carl fumed quietly, "You've been prattling with the girl, feeding her minor obsession."

"The Vatican thought her knowledge would come in handy," Van Helsing replied, his lip curled.

Carl sniffed dubiously, "They wanted to get rid of her for a while - or indefinitely. They keep hoping she'll settle down, move down to some quiet little village someplace far from Vatican City. Then they'll be forced to let her go." The friar cursed at his cold nose and rubbed it viciously. "Too bad she's so fickle."