Snow Mountains

Chapter 1

Too tired to care about being seen, she descended from the sky.

Softly, she landed a few feet from the entrance. The thick layer of snow crunched under her heels, as she walked, quickly, to the door of the shack.

From the air, she sensed that it was a café the locals visited, even though it looked like an old condemned building.

She kicked off caked-on snow from her boots, and pulled back the door.

The patrons all looked up, as she walked to the bar. She could see why, too: She stuck out greatly with her jet black hair and clothes.

In the rural parts of Scandinavia, many people were fair, not to mention dressed very plainly.

She slipped off her shearling coat, hung it on the back of a bar stool, and scooted in.

Her sunglasses had practically frozen to her face. Despite knowing that she could keep them on, she removed them.

Keeping her eyes down, she asked the bartender for a beer, stew, and sandwich.

She rubbed her cold hands on her face.

It had been several months since she’d left Lake George. The decision wasn’t hard to make because she thought the images an old vampire planted in her mind would be enough to guide her to Valhol, but she was wrong.

Instead, she’d been searching for months, trying to tell her inner demon to use its instinct to find the old peak. Her senses continued to lead her between the half dozen countries; one day she’d fly to Norway, then to Finland, and the next: Sweden, or some other place.

As it was, she didn’t even know what country she sat in, at the moment.

She just didn’t understand it.

Valhol was on a Scandinavian mountain peak. Sestin, the old vampire, showed it to her before she killed him.

But why did she sense the city of Valhol in nearly every Scandinavian country?

“Here you go, Miss,” said the man.

“Thank you,” said Starr, as she greedily started drinking down the hot liquid.

Never in her life had she appreciated the taste and feel of hot soup so much. Not that her kind ever felt cold anymore – or at least not in the human aggravating sense, but it did suck to be wet and moist all the time; not to mention stiff jointed.

Since she’d died, her sense of hot and cold had become skewed, somewhat. The only way she knew when temperature was a problem was when her joints and muscles got extremely stiff. For a human, this would be called advanced hypothermia.

Thankfully, the stew helped considerably. She sighed as the warm liquid bled down her throat, and into her stomach. From there, like coals in a fire, the warmth

spread to her heart and traveled up and down her back.

“Anything else, Miss?” asked the barkeep.

“A room?” she asked plainly.

“Yeah, you’re gonna go down the road a bit, and, hey Miss, you’re gonna wanna look at me.”

Starr put her sunglasses on and looked up.

The man stared at her, like she was weird, and then proceeded to use his hands to point and charade.

She tried to pay the man with the little prepaid card she’d picked up before she left the United States. After all, she was only seventeen.

Not that she could get a credit card even if she was older, for most of the banks in the world still

weren’t working. This meant the half million dollars she owned was stuck. As it was, the money she had, she’d stolen from the penthouse of a rich dead man in NYC.

“We don’t take that. We’re just a small establishment.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” she said annoyed. “I only have U.S. dollars.”

She slapped a ten dollar bill onto the counter.

The man bitched about her to his buddy in some language.

As a vampire, her kind inherited a certain form of telepathy; one that enabled them to understand people who spoke other languages. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean they knew how to respond.

Starr was too tired to care, anyway.

Just as she was about to walk out of the door, the man said to her, “Hey, Miss! This won’t cover the exchange fees. We need another five.”

But Starr could tell the man was manipulating her. He was simply annoyed at having to deal with a foreigner. However, Starr was in no mood to humor him. In fact, when she was groggy and tired, she, her self, became feistier.

She turned around and said, “You think I don’t know that you’re messing with me. You don’t need another five dollars, and you’re certainly not gonna get it. But, if you’d like, you can come and try.”

“You watch your mouth, Miss, or I just might,” the man said, as he

threw his pencil down on the counter.

“Come on, then!” she said, beckoning him with her fingers. “I’ve had a crappy past couple of days. Kicking your ass might just be the sort of release I need.”

When he just stood there, silently, she shrugged her shoulders and opened the door.

“Don’t come back,” he shouted.

She turned her head back and said, “Don’t tell me what to do.”

As she made to exit the bar, a man in a grey baseball cap said, “Hello, Miss.”

Starr ignored him and walked on.

She stood for a moment and stared over the miles of snowy

plain. The sun glared down, crisply, making her skin tingle.

Normally, she was okay in the city or at the Lake. The sun didn’t bother her, much, there; perhaps because of all the shadows of the buildings, trees, and mountains that obscured the sun’s direct rays.

When it did bother her, a little sunscreen was all she needed, but ever since she’d arrived in Scandinavia, like a 3rd degree burn, her skin constantly, painfully, tingled.

The fables would have you believe that vampires just simply went poof because of ultra violet, but it wasn’t so. When one dies, so does the body’s natural ability to produce secretions.

It was the skin’s production of natural vitamins’, melanin and sweat that kept the living protected,

and when they died, so did those defenses which took eons to evolve.

She pulled a small bottle from her pocket and smeared the sun protectant all over her face, neck and hands.

Starr walked left, down the road. Several trucks drove by, blowing up brown slushy-snow around her.

She turned left at the sign and walked under a short over pass.

The small hotel was a few miles down, in the center of a tiny strip. It was wedged between another restaurant and a large building.

The white haired lady checked her in without much fuss.

She set her bag on the lumpy bed. Immediately, she pulled her clothes off and hung them about the room to dry.

Into the hot shower she went. It was nice to feel her muscles and joints expand and relax.

As she toweled her skin dry, she couldn’t help but notice the way her eyes showed up on the cloudy mirror, when even her blue-black hair couldn’t hold up against the steam.

The redness was the result of the Primordial blood she drank, several months ago. That was the reason she kept her glasses on at all times.

She did try contact lenses, but flying through the air at those temperatures kept freezing them. It was very painful to peel them from

her eye ball, as they broke down into little tiny shards in her socket.

Eagerly, she climbed onto the bed and dug in her bag.

Her cell phone still didn’t get reception there. It was nice to know that there were still places in the world not connected. She just hoped the kids, and her friends, were okay.

She flipped on the television. Not that there were any good channels that far away from major cities; just a few news and information channels. Sometimes, there were shows from other parts of Europe though.

She settled back on the mattress and closed her eyes.

Cry Out

Chapter 2

For months, she’d been getting these visions, but she didn’t know what to make of them. The only thing she was certain of was Credenza needed to be stopped.

This was also the reason she’d set out to find Valhol, and hence Lucenzo. He was the only person who would answer her questions, like if Credenza really was the one behind the attempted vampire apocalypse? Or if she really told Lucenzo to move into the clinic so as to keep tabs on her?

She sat on the edge of her bed, rubbing her aching head.

Normally, visions weren’t painful. Plenty of vampires had them, but this was different. This

was a psychic cry out; a connection to all the unliving: It was a warning of danger.

That night, her vision was of some town in Italy.

Credenza meandered through the streets of an entirely vampire town. People dropped dead, one by one, as she walked by.

She’s coming! was the message, over and over, through the psychic wave lengths.

Vampires were scared, and they were going into hiding anywhere they could. Shane, Marla, and Mica – her best friends and fellow vampires, begged her not to leave the Lake.

She did anyway, because she was the only one who could possibly stop Credenza. Sestin knew that

when he chose her to end his life, and take his power into herself.

Besides, Starr was certain that Credenza wouldn’t go after her friends, or, at least, not yet.

In her mind, she saw Credenza walking through a dark neighborhood. Her amber eyes danced in the light of the fires that people had set, in the streets, in their attempts to kill her.

She was too strong to be contained. Like walking through a sand storm, she simply covered her face with her hands, as she walked through rings of fire.

Wondering if any of this had hit the news, she turned the television back on.

The only newscast was a woman in a bright white shirt, who

talked of some up and coming Danish holiday.

Starr flinched.

Did she just say Danish?

After months of so much flying around, and following the scent of Valhol, she began to forget to keep track of the countries she’d landed in, from day to day.

Not once, did Starr consider that she should have searched Denmark. She just assumed Valhol was further north.

She picked up her room phone and dialed Shane’s cell number.

“Hey, Starr,” answered Becky, a girl they rescued from the street, back in NYC. “Let me get Shane.

She’s been wanting to talk to you; she’s been really upset.”

A moment later, her voice came on. She said, “Hey, how are you?”

“I had another vision. Hundreds more are dead. Did you see it?”

“We all saw it. Marla is doing okay, but Mica is another story. Hearing the cries of dying vampires, day and night, isn’t doing her any good. She’s locked herself in her room, and won’t come out.”

Upon being turned, a person experienced an increase in their natural abilities. For Mica, this meant a supernatural ability to hear things from far away.

“When are you coming home?” she asked. “We’re scared.”

“I know, but don’t worry. You’ll be fine. No one will touch you, I promise. Credenza’s wants me to trust her, and she can’t get that by killing the people closest to me.”

“Where are you now?”

“Denmark, actually. That’s why I’m calling. Can you put Mot on the phone? I have a question.”

“Look, maybe it’s time to accept that Valhalla doesn’t exist.”

“Put Mot on the phone, please.”

A moment later, his husky voice came through the speaker.

“Yeah?”

“I have a question. It’s strange, but I want you to answer anyway. What can you tell me about Valhol?”

“Well, it’s the hall for warriors, but that’s about all. It’s just some myth about heaven.”

“Hypothetically, if a person were to claim it were a lost territory, where do you think it would be?”

“Uh, everywhere, I think.”

Starr was stunned for a moment.

“What?” she asked annoyed. “Look, just answer the question. I don’t have time for games.”

“Hello, I did answer you. It’s not my fault if you’ve got a thick skull. That region has only recently been calm. But back then, there were a lot of changes to the Earth.”

Silence ensued a moment.

Slowly, she began to understand what Mot meant. It

certainly made sense, as to why she’d been following a trail that led her aimlessly everywhere.

“Okay, I get it, now. What if a person wanted to locate the largest chunk of Valhol?”

“What a ridiculous question,” he said. “I don’t know. You’d have to ask a historian or something.”

A few hours later, she packed her bag and flew to Copenhagen.

By ten ‘o’ clock she touched down on the upper level of a parking garage. She walked down several flights, and then checked into the adjoining hotel.

The city was just as cold as the north, except misty with salt-tasting air.

After dropping her bag off, in the room, she chanced another pair of blue contact lenses, and then walked down to the lobby and got directions to the Royal Library.

When she first entered the Met sized building, she stood about, wondering where to start.

From the ceiling hung many signs, but unlike other countries she’d been to the last few months, she was unable to decipher these words. It was known that these languages shared their roots with English, but Danish must have had other influences over the millenniums.

Her confusion must have shown on her face, for a friendly guy in a blue suit approached.

“You’re not from here, I can tell. Can I help you?” he asked in nearly perfect English.

He looked familiar to her.

“Have we met before?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Briefly, she told him she was looking for maps.

She followed him to a large section of laminated rung up books.

“What kind of map are you looking for?”

Quickly, she made up a story about doing a research paper about the theoretical location of Valhol for class.

“An exchange student who doesn’t speak the language? Hmm…”

He browsed up and down the aisles; Starr followed.

After a few minutes, he stopped in a section with

particularly large laminations. He pulled down a green one and tilted his head, signaling her to follow him.

They walked over to a large table, where he pulled back the pages. He looked at the keys a second, and then flipped the pages a couple more times.

Finally, he said, “Ahh! So, in that time, Valhol was the center of the world – before we knew better. The peak where Valhol was located was a large part of Europe,” he said as he circled a large area with his finger. ”But then the Earthquakes happened, breaking off a large part of Scandinavia.” He made slashing movements to the coastline of Denmark. “Some parts of it drifted and others parts crushed in together. Pieces of this place could be everywhere.”

He looked up at her, and said, “Hypothetically, for your homework assignment, if I were you, I’d look more to central Europe. If it were real, most of it was on its own plate; even if it were on a fault line, it would be nearly impossible for it to divide, without a volcanic surface.”

Old Acquaintances

Chapter 3

It felt much nicer to be in the lower latitude. The air was still deathly cold, there, but the sun was less direct.

She’d been circling central Europe for hours. When she passed a large mountain peak that had a strangely familiar scent, she decided to take a break.

Starr landed on a low incline. From there, she walked into what appeared to be a ski town. She passed by a lift carrying a lot of people further up the mountain.

She looked down the hill and saw a tall dark lodge. It sat in the middle of a snowy strip.

Carefully, she walked down the jagged snowy incline.

The town was tiny. To her left, a number of homes were scattered throughout the mountainous plain. When she looked right, all she saw was miles of gray sky that touched the ground.

She stepped onto what would have been a sidewalk, if it weren’t covered with a foot of snow.

Starr inhaled deeply; the air was fragrant with burning wood from various fireplaces in people’s homes.

A large plow slowly rode up the street. As she looked into the shops with her mind, she saw many busy people. Some were buying souvenirs, while others rented snow gear and ate meals.

In a bar at the end of a street, locals smoked and drank vodka as they watched some sports program.

At the opposite end of the street of where she stood was a row of wood cabins. Inside, she sensed families spending time together – and even caught the faint aroma of hot chocolate being served in one of them.

She walked left, to the lodge.

As she pulled back the door, the warm air, from inside, rushed at her face, making her skin buzz.

The log walled lobby was lit with a warm yellow light. Across the room, an enormous fire crackled in a five foot high fireplace.

Scattered throughout, people read newspapers and books, as they sipped mugs of coffee and other drinks the lodge staff brought out to them. All across the walls hung horned animal heads and family portraits of the locals.

Deciding she liked the feel of the cozy mountain town, she decided to check in.

The room re emanated the spirit of the rest of the lodge. With log walls and a fake deer head mounted above the head of the firm, comforted bed.

She dropped her bag on the bed, pulled out a change of clothes, and then returned to the lobby.

Starr smelled food cooking in the back. She followed the scent to the lodge restaurant.

Inside, its mahogany walls were dimly lit by soft lamp lights. She picked the emptiest section of the bar, and ordered a chicken soup and a coffee.

The warmth, after being in the stone cold all morning, made her extremely drowsy. Her cold hands throbbed as she wrapped them

around the hot mug, and lifted it to her mouth.

Just when she thought she’d fall asleep while sitting up, someone came and plopped down next to her.

“Starr, what the hell are you doing here?”

With heavy eyes, she looked right, and said, “Emil? What are you doing here?”

“Me? I live here. What are you doing here,” he asked with a smile.

“Wow. Uh, to be honest, I don’t know.” She bent over and whispered, “I was flying and the cold was getting to me, so I decided to stop for the night.”

He lifted his chin and mouthed the word ‘Oh,’ silently.

“You’re in Grindewald, my hometown in Switzerland. Remember? I invited you. Now, I’m sad because I thought maybe you were here to see me.”

Starr didn’t know what to say. She sensed something familiar about the place; it must have been him.

“Why do you wear sunglasses inside?” he asked. “It’s so rude.”

Her eyes still very cold, she hadn’t bothered with a new pair of contacts. She leant over and looked at him over the top of her glasses.

“V’hat happened to your eyes?” he asked.

When she wouldn’t say, he urged her to sit in a booth, where they could talk privately. Once seated, she told him, briefly, about her mission to find Valhol.

“So, what now?”

“Well, I gotta keep looking. I just know that I need to find it. It’s what Lucenzo is trying to tell me,” she stood and stretched. “Well, I’m gonna call it an evening. I’m gonna head out early tomorrow.”

“Well, no! You just got here,” he said in a high pitch voice. “Tomorrow night is my family’s annual snow barge. You must stay; it will be fun.”

Although she knew she should have refused, she really wanted a day off.