Voracious - Alice Henderson [55]
My mind cannot grasp the scope of this journal.
Even as I was hunting the creature, so was this poor soul, this man who had turned into a creature after ingesting the beast’s blood.
My heart pounds. I myself have noticed my increased healing speed, my energy and power growing daily. Could it be that I myself somehow ingested the creature’s blood? Could the blood that entered my mouth when I kissed Anna’s hand actually been that of the beast’s from when she stabbed him?
I am terrified.
Will I end up as this poor soul did? Murdered centuries from now in some lonely crevice in the high country, failing in my one mission to bring justice?
Eternal life … even just a few months ago, the thought would have enticed me, seduced me. To be young forever, to feel that powerful, that invulnerable … would have been a blessing indeed.
But now, like this? To endure this eternity without Anna? To be a monster? The thought revolts and terrifies me.
What am I to do?
July 23, 1763
Mountains above Vienna
After a great deal of consideration, I have decided to persist. I will take the mysterious metal stake and fashion a knife out of it at the next town.
All yesterday I searched in circles for any sign of the direction which the creature has taken, but to no avail. The terrain up here consists exclusively of rocks, with no soil to leave tracks. And I know almost nothing of the art of tracking.
Tomorrow I will head down and find a town where a smith can fashion a sharp weapon for me of this metal.
If still I have found no trace of the creature, I will use the scribe’s journal to hunt for other clues. Perhaps the creature has some sort of pattern it follows when choosing victims.
Perhaps I will be able to guess its next move and stop it before it kills again.
July 25, 1763
Mountains above Vienna
I think I am finished. As I was breaking camp yesterday, a small rain of pebbles landed on me from above, where a tremendous granite cliff rose. No sooner had I rolled up my tent canvas than the rain became a torrent, pounding me with ever larger boulders. I lost my footing in the rockslide and careened down the mountain in the wake of it, landing harshly against a stunted tree, my legs devastated by the rocks.
I have lost the use of them. I fear they are badly broken, so swollen and black and blue.
I have lost all my camping supplies, and have only the metal spike, this journal, and my pencil left, which happened to be in the breast pocket of my waistcoat. The remainder of my food is now lost among the sharp-edged rocks.
At least there is water in the form of snow this high up, and a few trickling streams. I shall not want for water. But I cannot drag myself very far. The pain in my legs is great indeed.
Night draws on. I shall have to make myself as comfortable as possible, perhaps in a large crevice in the rock to keep the wind off.
Tomorrow I shall think of some plan of action.
July 26, 1763
Mountains above Vienna
I am stunned. It is a miracle. My legs, broken just two days before, have healed. I have only bruises where once torn flesh and broken bones resided.
I can walk, run, even jump on legs that yesterday were spelling my doom.
I shall start for town immediately.
August 12, 1763
Vienna
I returned to Vienna and to my home to regain strength. I have eaten till I gorged myself, drinking down ale and beefsteak, savoring the delicious flavor of both.
I have been reading the journal left by the scribe, and it has put me in a good state of fright, I assure you. This man, Ffyllon, was but a normal, average man before he ingested the creature’s blood. Over time, he developed certain abilities, including, as I wrote before, the ability to heal quickly.
This must be why my legs rejuvenated themselves so. I now fear