by Aderyn Wood
“Michael, what’s wrong?” I manage to ask.
He breathes hard. “Amynta. She has paid another visit.”
Michael was right, of course. Attempting to make our way across the desert during the daylight was a foolish notion. We no longer had access to the riding gear of Amynta’s that had protected me when we fled from Greece, riding in the dawn to the ferry. It hadn’t taken much for Michael to convince me to wait for the sunset. But the pull within me continued to cause pain, and my hunger grew with each renewed tug. With nothing else to do we spent the afternoon making love. It helped to keep the strange tug at bay, to stop the rising urge to leave the boat and race inland to an unknown place and whatever it was that awaited me.
Once again our passions were desperate, and we made love over and again in the dim cabin. I fed on Michael's blood of course. It has quickly become a habit that neither of us can resist. I know it is wrong, that it will only lead to pain – or death for Michael – we know this from Nathaniel’s diary and the other ancient texts we’ve read, but still it is impossible to resist the temptation to feel the ecstasy of the act.
“Which way, Emma?” Michael has stopped walking and looks at me.
I pause my reverie to survey the surrounds. The stars above shine bright through a scattering of cloud. The moon is a half one and rises toward its apex, the cloud creating a halo around it. We’ve been walking at a quick pace, so quick I’ve been expecting Michael to tire. But we’ve been travelling for over four hours now and he has not hesitated once. His breath is regular, and his essence is strong. Once again, I am surprised by his vigour. The loss of blood has had no apparent effect on him and it buoys my hope for his constitution.
“Emma?” he asks again and steam flows from his mouth.
I concentrate, and the pull returns like a punch in the gut; I double over with the pain.
“Emma?” Michael races to me and holds my shoulders. “Does it hurt?”
“It’s fine,” I croak. “Straight ahead. Keep going,” I say as I stand and take a stumbling step forward.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. We must keep going. The pain will fade. Let’s go.”
Michael nods, but gives me one more lingering glance before continuing our trek through the desert.
I tear my eyes from the golden aura that surrounds him in pulsating light and return to wrap my mind in thought.
After our lovemaking, we both slept for an hour or so, and more dreams of Asha filled my mind. The dreams are not entirely coherent, but I believe I still grasp the main thread. The old hag – the wise woman from Asha’s tribe saved the pharaoh. I can only think of her whispering and her odd movements over the cauldron that bubbled above the flames as some strange spell. And indeed such magic didn’t come cost-free.
“The gods require tribute, too,” the old woman had uttered over the flames; the shadows danced a giddy movement on her face, making her wrinkles deeper, and sinister.
And Asha had agreed to all her demands, promising her soul to a hungry power. The pharaoh was healed, and the people praised Asha, calling her ‘gifted one’. She was elevated to Hathor’s first priestess.
A shout breaks my reverie. I narrow my eyes and gaze ahead. Two shadowy figures lurch toward Michael.
“Who are you?” I hear Michael shout, and the fear in his voice is unmistakeable.
Without thought, I run then leap to fly through the air and land by the first shadow – a vampire, even younger than me by the whiff of fresh death on his skin. He has fully transformed and his fangs glint in the moonlight.
“And here she is.” His voice gravelly.
“She must die.” The other is also a young vampire, also transformed.
“You take him, I’ll take her,” the first vampire growls back.
Anger boils in my blood and my own transformation takes mere seconds to complete. The veins in my arm and hand bulge like purple threads, my speed is so quick I barely see the punch I throw. When it connects with the vampire’s head, the noise is like quick thunder in an angry sky – it cracks and rolls forever. The vampire is thrown back, and his scream joins the thunder. But Michael’s fear is my lone concern and I turn and rush to his rescue.
High in the air, I arc toward the moon and notice something shift across its face. A wisp of cloud perhaps, or mist, before I lurch back to the earth toward Michael. He crouches over the young vamp, holding him in place with his foot. Even in my rage I have the soundness of mind to wonder at the possibility. How is it that Michael, a mortal, has the physical strength to hold a vampire in place? As I land and prepare to lunge at the vampire and tear out his throat, I recoil.
Michael plunges a wooden stake in the vampire. The vamp explodes in a rush of blood and dust, just as Vincent had in Greece.
My mouth opens. “Again?”
“Again,” Michael says before he looks beyond my shoulder.
I turn; the second vampire is fading into the distance.
“Get him,” Michael says.
I don’t waste a second and sprint toward the Young One, and smell his fear.
I grab the vampire’s shoulders and spin him round. To my surprise Michael is right behind me. He is nearly as fast as me it seems, and again I take a moment to wonder at the impossibility of such a thing.
“Hold him there,” Michael says as he grips the stake before him. The tip is dripping in blood.
Michael turns his face to the vampire who wrestles against my hold. But I am too strong for him. He is too young, and I am at least tenfold stronger. This must be how Nathaniel feels with all his strength. All his power.
“Who sent you?” Michael asks.
The vampire’s eyes are black voids. His fangs remain fully extended and the talons in his fingers are black and long. He growls, what is meant to be a laugh, and says only. “You were supposed to guard your heart. Now it is too late for that.”
Michael frowns and scowls back at the vampire. “Who sent you?”
Again the vampire laughs. “You may as well kill me. For you’ll never get that information, Priest.”
Michael flicks his gaze to me. “Emma, can you read him?”
“I don’t know. Can a vampire read another’s mind?”
“Try.”
With a nod, I grip the vamp’s shoulders tight and close my eyes, reaching my thoughts toward him. All at once I sense a multitude of things. Emotions raw and disordered assault my mind. I dig deeper, searching for the source of this one's seeking. And then I see it. Or rather, I see him. Standing there with that condescending look on his craggy face.
I open my eyes.
Michael watches me. “Well?”
“The monk sent him. Sent them both to kill us.”
Michael nods then with a quick movement the stake flashes in his hand and he stabs the vampire in the chest. Blood and dust explode once more, and I stand there clutching the air.
“Gerold?” I stutter. “What does he want?”
“I don’t know,” Michael says. “But I don’t think it’s good.”
A rolling boom echoes in the distance, and a splotch of something wet hits my cheek.
“Did you feel that?”
“Yes,” Michael said, his voice uneasy. “Rain in the desert. What next?”
Chapter 21
Hieroglyphs from a secret cave west of Thebes
Michael tried to think as they walked the desert, but the tingling in his hands had become sharp pin pricks that assaulted his entire being and made thinking difficult. The rain came faster, making their approach more slippery. Those vampires were sent by Gerold to stop them, kill them. Michael recalled the message from the demon’s possession of Kallum, “You must go back the way you have come. Go no further if you want to live.”
It was too coincidental. Gerold was somehow deeply involved in what was about to play out. The thought sent a chill through him. The monk had powers, but would he use them for good or evil?
Above, the clouds streamed in the sky, casting the
halfmoon, seen now and then through the breaks in cloud, in a golden halo of light. Thunder rumbled at odd intervals as rain fell evenly around them. Michael had thought Emma would stop them at the tomb of the Pharaoh Mentuhotep in the famous Theban Necropolis. Emma’s dreams had given her the pharaoh’s name, Asha’s lover. But Emma had virtually ignored the magnificent temples that seemed carved into the very cliffs beyond, and they climbed on, into the desert.
They soon found another opening into a long-forgotten cave.
Michael adjusted his glasses as they hurried through the narrow passageway, though the slick rocks made hurrying difficult. They entered the dark tunnel, the entrance of what he suspected was another ancient tomb. They’d come across this cave mere minutes after dusting themselves off from the scuffle with the two vampires, Emma declaring they were close.
Lightning struck nearby and cast blue light on the rocky passage that now opened up into a vast cavern-like chamber. Two oil lanterns burned along the back wall highlighting the cave drawings and Michael’s fingers pricked with renewed vigour. Someone had been here. Someone waited for them.
“Where are we?” he whispered to Emma and his voice echoed quietly back to him.
“A tomb I think.”
“Is this the end?”
Emma’s eyes were wide as she clutched her stomach. “Yes. This is where I must be.” She strode the short distance to the flickering sconces and placed a hand on the ancient artwork on the wall.
“My god,” Emma whispered. “These are old.”
Michael followed her lead and stepped over to gain a closer look at the images – ancient symbols and hieroglyphs seemed to tell a story. “Who lit these lanterns?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” Emma didn’t seem to care either. Her face was mere inches from the wall, following the line of the illustrations.
Michael took a step back to better see the work as a whole. It was a strange scene. A man, no, a corpse lay at the centre while a woman stood by, her hands cast in the air, as though weaving some strange magic above the prostrate body.
“This is amazing.” Emma’s mouth hung open as she stepped with superhuman swiftness to every part of the drawings. She’d grown more interested in the world around her, Michael noted, since she had been feeding on him. More like her human self, or so it seemed.
Michael stepped beside her, his hands buzzing ever more intensely as he too studied the walls. “These images, they seem to be telling some kind of story.”
“It’s a spell,” Emma whispered.
“Spell?”
“For the pharaoh who would have been entombed here. In the afterlife he would have awoken to these images, meant for his eyes only and he would need to put the messages together so that his soul could carry forth to beyond.”
“These people, they’re like angels,” Michael said, tracing a shaking finger along the outline of one of the golden figures. “It reminds me of some biblical themes.”
“Yes, the archangels.” Emma frowned as she pointed a finger. “Or something else? They seem to be killing these people, not saving them.”
The prickling in Michael’s hands intensified. “You’re right. In Gavius’ book he spoke of a reckoning and something about Seth.”
“Seth,” Emma muttered. “God of Chaos.”
Michael opened his mouth to ask what it could mean when he felt another presence, dark and distinct in the chamber. He sucked in his breath and turned with a start to face whoever now entered. Sure enough another lurked by the entrance. Michael’s lips curled into a snarl and he took a protective step toward Emma. “What are you doing here?”
A low, almost guttural laugh emanated from the monk and mingled with the rumble of thunder. He seemed at once taller, older, darker than before. And in the chamber’s dim light his eyes glowed a distinct dark red.
“You wish to know more about these? These read ‘Ashayet’.” Gerold threw a hand toward the hieroglyphs below a flickering lamp. The thin smile on his lined face made Michael’s stomach churn. There was evil in that smile. “You’re quite right. They are significant, more so than you could know. Some have tried to comprehend the clues, such as these, passed down to mortals.” The monk shrugged. “There’ve been many tales told with different threads of colour, but the story is the same. These drawings represent a prophecy, alluded to in the bible, and many other texts throughout mortal history, though no one has interpreted it accurately. These figures,” Gerold had stepped along the wall and pointed. “They are not angels, but something we know as angelspawn.”
A bolt of electricity sparked through Michael’s entire being and he let go a gasp.
“You know of what I speak? Perhaps you’ve heard the word before from certain sources?”
Michael’s eyes narrowed on the monk. “What is angelspawn?”
“With good fortune, you will find out directly, though it will be to your detriment.”
Noises echoed through the passage and Michael turned to the entryway. Shadows formed before six figures entered and stood before them in the flickering lantern light.
“Colleagues,” Gerold said with his hand extended. “Enter, our work is about to come to fruition.”
A hiss sounded by Michael’s side. Emma lurched toward the newly arrived, her mouth curled in a snarl.
The big man, Victor snarled back and took a threatening step closer.
Laughter emanated and Amynta, her hair even redder in the dim lantern light, strode toward them, a silver net strung over her arms. “You have brought her. Well done, priest.”
Emma hissed and scowled once more, and Michael put his arms up. “No, don’t do this.”
Then everything happened at once. Schleck came out from the shadows and aimed a gun at Emma, it fired and she fell to the ground and Amynta threw the silver netting over Emma, her flesh singeing instantly.
“What are you doing?” Michael screamed. “Leave her alone.”
But Victor had snuck up and held Michael’s buzzing arms behind him. Try as he might, there was no coming away from the strong grip of the new vampire.
“Don’t touch her!” Michael shouted in vain.
“Shhhh,” Amynta soothed. “It is done. You have played your part perfectly, priest.” She nodded toward Emma and her red hair gleamed. “She will be used along with the others for the ritual that is to play out.”
“What ritual?”
“The prophecy,” Gerold stepped forward holding something in his hands – an object that glinted dully in the light. “And this is the beginning. Tonight you shall help us destroy an ancient foe.” He stood an inch away from Michael, their gaze level. The monk had grown taller somehow. The lines in his craggy face were deeper, darker. He raised his arms and put a chain over Michael’s head. The pendant that hung on the chain was some kind of metal circle, with concentric patterns. An ancient relic of some kind.
“What is it?” Michael asked as he eyed the thing that now hung about his neck.
“A talisman,” Gerold answered, his dark eyes glinting. “I must neutralise your gift.”
Michael grew aware of his body then. The prickling had disappeared. His link with the cosmos shut down. He suddenly felt his exhaustion in full. This trinket had cut him off. He tugged his arms, but with his gift shut down, Victor’s grip felt even stronger than before. “What will you do with her?”
Amynta’s laughter was grating. “There’s the rub, my poor innocent priest. You see, it wasn’t Emma we were after.” She stepped toward him to take Gerold’s place. The smirk on her face did nothing to assuage the frustration that filled him. “It was you I needed here all along. You have the blood of the Sanguis Sicarri, my friend, and as much as it pains me to abuse a fellow slayer, I’m afraid I must consider the greater good. You will be sacrificed, Michael, but know that in doing so you will save the lives of thousands, millions in fact.”
Michael’s heart pounded hard, and he wished desperately to access his gift.
“We need you to help us kill Asha.
Once we trap her, we will have access to the vial of blood around her throat. If she swallows it, her darkness will be destroyed, as too will all the shadows of that darkness. In short, every single vampire she has ever made shall return to their mortal forms and fade away.”
“Why do you need me for that?”
“Sanguis Sicarii hold a taint in our blood that is at once irresistible and lethal to vampires. Drink enough, and the Dark One will experience unrestrained power for a short time, but in the end, they will die. Asha will be here soon. She believes she is about to watch a certain prophecy play out, in which her long lost lover…” Amynta waved toward an altar of some kind near the back of the circular cavern. “The Pharaoh Mentuhotep, will arise to walk the Earth once more, with her forever at his side. We will offer you as his first feed, and he will be so desirous of blood he will not stop until you are nearly spent, and having fed so enthusiastically from a Sanguis Sicarri, his own death will quickly follow. Asha will be so caught up in her grief we will easily restrain her and force feed her that vial at her throat, and then, my dear priest, Asha and every vampire she ever made will die.”
Michael gaped. Amynta, Gerold and Schleck all wore looks of self-satisfaction on their smug faces. Beyond them stood a handful of vampires, all dressed in a black kind of militia uniform. “These vampires you have, they’re under your control?”
A shadow of doubt seemed to cross Amynta’s face for once as she glanced at Schleck.
“They are,” Schleck spoke. “I have perfected the technique and they are loyal to us.”
Michael returned his gaze to Amynta. “If you’re Sanguis Sicarri, why don’t you offer yourself as sacrifice?”
That shadow returned to Amynta’s eyes.
“She can’t,” a whisper from the floor answered. Emma was visibly in pain under that netting, but she turned her head now to look at Amynta. “She’s been drinking vampire blood. They all have, I can smell it.”