Page 13 of Immortal Bastard (The Order of Vampires)

He didn’t belong in that world anymore. And he’d been on the farm for so many years he didn’t trust his memories of how life used to be. The mind had a way of glorifying what it couldn’t have. Life was no easier out there than it was in here, surrounded by a bunch of bloodthirsty Amish immortals he’d never fully trust.

If he stared hard enough, just past the line of forest trees and countless acres of plain Amish homes, he’d see hints of modern civilization. While he couldn’t quite make out the smokestacks, there was always a smudge of pollution dirtying the sky in the far east where the refineries were located.

The Order was one of the oldest and, while their numbers were not as impressive as some, the land was large. Not much had changed since the farm was founded in the mid-seventeen-hundreds, as was the case with many Amish farms. But unlike those other orders, where members lived, worked, and died, the faces here never changed.

He walked quickly, cutting through the meadow where a waterwheel pumped steadily. Teams of horses dragged plows, kicking up dust in the distance as small groups of women busied themselves with tasks for the day ahead.

Always in groups. Children traveled in packs of three or more and the women tended to huddle over their work with cheery smiles and dispositions as they spoke on subjects that interested them. The men labored in the fields, steering horses all day and making repairs, while the females prepared meals and refreshments in between chores, to see to their needs.

No one cared about Dane’s needs. Like the reclusive, roaming rooster he sometimes spotted wandering the farm, he was alone.

Maggie helped curb the endless isolation that often choked him awake at night. She scratched an itch and gave him someone to talk to besides the Hartzlers or his half-crazed sister, but she would never be the one he wanted to close his days beside.

Passing the one-room schoolhouse, he knew the desks were full by the abandoned boots and metal lunch pails gathered in the shade of the front porch. Mornings on the farm passed in a whirlwind of busy activities. Laundry already hung from the lines and quilts dried over railings.

Unlike the others, he did not spend his life following the Bible and a plow, so he didn’t wake with the dawn. Dane sometimes helped with harvesting tobacco, but he mostly worked at the market in town, selling cakes, pies, meats, and other Amish wares to the English.

Having grown up in the modern world, he didn’t mind the noise and startling pace as much as the others, but the longer he lived within the quiet tranquility of the farm, the more draining he found modern society. Many shunned the English, but Dane liked having an excuse to travel back and forth. It reminded him of who he was and assured he’d never get too comfortable in a place he didn’t belong. But lately, after working the market, he found himself anxious to return to the peaceful quiet of the farm.

The bishop had suggested he work the market as a way of bringing in money. Dane had no family, so his only possessions were the clothes on his back and whatever gifts he accumulated through the generosity of others. He appreciated the pay and it felt good to have a purpose.

As he passed the seed mill, sacks of grain filled the beds of several wagons, but no one hooked the grain or hoisted the sacks. While women gathered around tables, picking beans and mending clothes, all the male equipment sat abandoned.

Whenever meetings took place, an eerie emptiness overwhelmed the farm. Within the orderly confines of the wide open land, beyond the idyllic impression stolen at first glance, there hid an oppressive truth. Time turned with every season, as life was reborn, again and again, but the reality hardly changed.

Unaltered by modernization or society’s progressive views, oppression thrived in The Order. Conformity was total and orderliness was demanded and upheld by strict tradition. Those who disobeyed faced consequences. But unlike other Amish sects, members were rarely shunned. Those that wished to live a different life could leave, but those who stayed were required to obey. Anyone who violated The Order’s laws would suffer. Some were punished, while the worst of them were executed.

He didn’t know much about such things, but he’d heard whispers and knew that it happened. Immortals were sturdy, age-defying creatures without the limitations of disease or deterioration, but they could die. And Dane was on his way to discovering how.

“Good morning, Brother Dane!” Sister Abigail appeared from under the shade of an outbuilding carrying a wooden peel used for lifting fresh bread in and out of the Dutch oven.

“Morning, Abby.”

“It’s a beautiful day.” She smiled, adding to the pleasantness.