“Good Lord!” the abbot cried out. “What is wrong with you men?”
“It is this that ails us!” one of the boyars snarled.
He grabbed the abbot by his smock and threw him down. The abbot fell on the steps near to Dracula. He gazed at his voivode and saw he was slowly bleeding to death.
“Get on your knees when in the presence of your sovereign,” the boyar warned.
The abbot had known Dracula for many years and felt genuine worry. “My Liege,” he said, crawling on all fours to be at his side. “I did not know you were here.”
Dracula opened his eyes for a brief moment. Every breath became a struggle for him. The arrow that remained embedded in his chest had filled his left lung with blood. It had also caused a tear to one of the arteries near his heart. His wounds already looked badly infected and proved the theory of his men about the possible use of poison.
The abbot began to administer the Last Rites. Dracula barely heard the words spoken over him. He did not notice the efforts of the others to comfort him in his last moments. Some of them wept openly, as hardened as they were. He may not have had the love of his people, but he had it from his most trusted men.
A heavy rain fell on those waiting outside. Above it, the dark clouds sucked the last light out of the day. Many of them knelt down in the freezing mud, miserable from the cold and the wet. Yet they prayed in the hope that God might spare their master on this day. Those who had seen him carried into the chapel knew better.
The first cries rang out from those farthest away. Men drew their swords and turned to look for the cause of the noise. At first, they saw nothing. And then it came. A thick black mist began to move from the darkness towards them. Those who did not move out of its path found themselves tossed down to the ground on either side. The air around it was colder than ice and it drove the people back farther. Many clawed at the mud with numbed fingers in their attempts to get away.
A large group of men stood firm in its path. The air grew thick and stale and turned so cold that not one of them could hold a sword any longer. Some even cried out as the iciness bit into their exposed fingers. Before the mist reached them, they had all moved aside. They could do no more than stand and watch it pass them by. An aura of darkest evil emanated from it so strong that they could feel it, one and all.
All of a sudden, the same icy chill engulfed the men inside the chapel. A strong wind blew in from the door and travelled the short distance to the altar. It ruffled the hair of each of the boyars present. They looked to the door to see the black mist creep slowly along the mosaic floor towards them.
The abbot was the first to see the dark figure that stood at the entrance. He stopped in mid-sentence, his raised hand falling against his thigh. The boyars watched him bless himself several times. They wondered what he had seen that had so evidently frightened him. The blood drained from his face when the figure began to walk slowly towards the altar.
Dracula sensed the presence of the mysterious figure, though he had not seen it. A faint smile escaped his lips as he knew Death had come for him at last. So many times he had cheated it, but this was the time; his time. In his heart, he knew there were no angels coming to this place. It was what he had expected, and he was not afraid. In that moment, he welcomed Death’s arrival.
The boyars turned in the hope they might see what had caught the abbot’s eye. They saw only the black mist creeping towards them. The figure remained invisible to their eye and stopped right where they stood. The air grew stale all around, and a foul stench caused them to gag and fight for breath.
Terror filled the abbot. His mouth went dry and a cold sweat formed on his brow. Instinct told him the identity of the stranger. He did not want to believe it and fought the thoughts filling his mind. But the fear of the reality facing him paralysed his every muscle.
The figure stood over Dracula. “Tell them to leave us!” it said in a deep, gravelly voice that was not from any human throat.
Dracula opened his eyes. When the boyars saw this, they crowded around him. “Go,” he told them, barely above a whisper. “Leave me in peace to die.”
He found it a real effort to speak now. His men knew he was very close to death and did not want to leave his side. “Go,” he said again. “It is what I command.”
They adhered to his wish and took their leave. The abbot left also, along with his monks. He had no desire to confront the stranger, his fear suddenly far outweighing the power of his faith.
The door of the chapel closed tight behind them. The boyars turned in shock, aware there was no one inside who could have closed it. They rushed over and pushed against it as one, but it would not budge. Some of them shouted and resorted to beating at it with their fists. It did them no good, as the door stood firm.
Knowing he and the stranger were alone, Dracula looked up at the towering figure that loomed over him. The stranger pulled back the shroud that obscured his face, to reveal himself.
Despite his fragile state, Dracula gasped in shock at the image that met his eyes. Standing well over seven feet, the stranger glared down at him. His black eyes looked right into Dracula’s soul. Fathomless, they hinted at an expression of real malignancy and menace. It filled Dracula with dread, a sense of terror he had never felt before. This was not how Death should appear to those who welcomed him.
The shock of seeing such an image was so great that Dracula could not breathe. He rolled onto his side and clawed at the marble steps, his face turning from deathly white to a murky blue.
The stranger clicked his fingers, and Dracula was able to breathe once more. He stayed on his side, not daring to look up.
“Look at me!” the stranger ordered him.
The voice itself was enough to put fear into the staunchest heart. Dracula fell on his back again and looked up. Only then did he see the face of the stranger properly. A full black beard covered his jaw. He had long raven-black hair that dropped to his shoulders. His skin looked tough and scorched. What caught Dracula’s eye the most were the two strong horns that extended upwards from the stranger’s forehead.
“Did you think by coming here you could escape me?” the stranger asked, though the question was more of a growl.
Dracula did not answer. He closed his eyes in the hope this might all go away.
“Look at me!” the stranger ordered again, with real menace in his voice. “I can make you wish you never had eyes. If you close them once more, I shall make good my threat.”
He did as the stranger said and opened his eyes to look up at him.
“You are mine,” the stranger advised, looking Dracula straight in the eye. “You have always been mine.”
The voivode no longer felt afraid. The pain in his body was such that he no longer cared. “How do you come by that notion?” he gasped, through bloodied lips.
“Oh, Vlad, are you so naïve? I have been with you enough times over the years.”
Dracula was not sure what he meant at first. He thought back over his life. Then it struck him. The one who had nurtured him from such a young age. The one who had protected him from harm. The one who had guided him through so many troubled times. The one who had manipulated and threatened him when he wanted to follow his own path. But that was a woman he had known. “Lucy?”
The stranger laughed. “Yes, indeed.”
It had been clear for a long time that Lucy was not human. Dracula had, for a long time, thought of her as a messenger from some archaic deity. Perhaps he had always known the truth, but never wanted to believe it. “You are she?”
“I told you I would come for you in your moment of death. That time is upon you at last.”
Dracula closed his eyes again. He should have known. So many things made perfect sense to him now. He realised why God had sent nobody to claim his soul. All his life, the Devil had courted him. He knew it meant an eternity of damnation.
“This place is no haven for one such as you,” Lucifer advised him. “God does not want you. He turned his b
ack on you a long time past.”
He paced about the area for a moment. While his quarry continued to groan with pain, he eyed the lavishly decorated interior of the chapel. Dracula, as patron of the monastery, had funded it all. Lucifer chuckled at the irony of that. Men like him spent small fortunes on these holy relics to buy an indulgence or two into Heaven. A man could buy no such thing.
“All your miserable life you have carried His banner. You led the fight against the spread of Islam. In that time, you believed you were doing His work. But, in truth, you were always doing mine.”
Dracula groaned again. He coughed so hard that he left a small pool of blood on the marble surface beneath him. The reality of his life pained him as much as the injuries that would soon bring his death. He knew it was the truth. In light of that, he accepted it, not that the Devil spoke the truth often.
“This day has been a profitable one for me. So many more souls to add to my number. I must commend you on that. You have exceeded even your own bloody standards. And there are few that could ever match you.”
“What do you want from me?”
Lucifer grinned. “Yes, we should speak of that.”
Dracula coughed again. Lucifer waited patiently until he seemed fit to speak. “For all the time you invested in me, there must have been good reason.”
“Usually, I would have sent another in my place. But not for you, Vlad Dracula. I was always going to come myself on this occasion.”
“You often said I was your special one.”
“Yes,” Lucifer said, his tone easing, though a little excited in pitch. “You have always been the one most special. It is true to say I look on you as I would a son. That is why I want to offer you an alternative to eternal damnation.”
“You want to strike a deal with me?” Dracula gasped. He clutched at his side. “In exchange for what? My soul?”
“No, you fool,” Lucifer said. “That already belongs to me. Believe me when I tell you this. If God had wanted you in this, your hour of death, then someone other than I would be here with you. God has forsaken you, my son. You belong to me! You have always belonged to me.”
He paused to allow the reality of his words to sink in. Dracula’s calmness surprised him. On any other occasion he had claimed a soul, its owner would always cower with terror or plead for mercy. This was not the case here. Once Dracula had overcome the shock of seeing his face, he became his usual self. It was one of the qualities that, indeed, made him the one most special.
“How do I know you are who I think you are?”
“Oh, Vlad, do not dishonour me so. I am not a mirage. You know me well, as I know you.” For a brief moment, Lucifer transformed into Lucy, and then back again. “You were expecting me, as much as you are loath to admit it.”
“Very well,” Dracula conceded. “What is it you want with me?”
“I want you to carry on my work.”
Dracula could sense the excitement in Lucifer’s voice. “You are retiring?”
Lucifer ignored the comment. “Be my general in the world of men. In return, I shall grant you the chance to avenge yourself against God. The same God you thought you had served so faithfully, and for so long.”
Dracula stayed with the conversation even though he was finding it increasingly difficult to do so. “A deal would imply both parties benefit. What do I gain from this?”
“For your service to me, I shall give you eternal life.”
Chapter 3
WALLACHIA. THE CHAPEL OF
THE MONASTERY AT SNAGOV.
DECEMBER 11, 1476. AFTER SUNSET.
Before Dracula could respond, Lucifer lifted him up by both arms, and raised his protégé high into the air. The pain was intolerable, but it paled in comparison to that which he felt when the Devil bit hard into his neck.
The pain was more concentrated than the blade or arrowheads that had left him near death. Lucifer’s breath was like fire upon his skin. His eyes bulged from their sockets, and he fought hard to breathe. As his throat muscles tightened, he felt like his face was about to melt.
He managed one loud scream. Inside his body, he felt the little blood he had left emptying from his veins. The sound alerted the boyars. Their efforts to force open the door of the chapel finally paid dividends. They burst into the chapel and made for the altar to see what ailed their master so.
The sight that met their eyes left them both horrified and stunned. They saw Dracula suspended two feet above the ground. A vicious wound showed on his neck. They could see blood there, but it did not trickle down.
The boyars ran up to their voivode. They drew their swords and cried out to him for direction, not knowing what to do. Lucifer continued to drink. At the same time, he absorbed the fear of the men around him. When he had drunk enough, he discarded Dracula on the steps below the altar.
He licked his lips, satisfied at the taste. Human blood was good, and he took a moment to savour it, and the smell. He smiled, having wanted to do this for such a long time.
The boyars felt a presence as he walked among them. They tried to put it out of their minds. The sight of their master on the floor concerned them more. They attempted to resuscitate him, but there was no need. He was not yet dead.
Dracula clutched at his stomach with both hands. The movement was so sudden it scared the men half out of their wits. He emitted a cry that was almost inhuman.
His men stepped away from him as the presence amongst them grew more apparent. They turned their focus to it and scanned the empty air around them in an attempt to locate it.
Their master’s body shook violently on the steps, and his arms and legs flailed wildly. Foam and vomit streamed from the corners of his mouth, and his eyes rolled up inside his head. They watched until only the whites of the orbs showed.
A second animal-like cry filled the chapel and echoed off the walls around them. Outside, the abbot dropped to his knees in prayer. Every other man and the women from the entourage who had not done so, did so now. Lightning raged across the darkening skies. The thunder bellowed after it, as a prelude to the downpour that followed.
Lucifer began to tire of the game inside the chapel. He selected the first of the men to join their dead compatriots from the battlefield. His focus fell on the largest of the six. Hans Kruschner had served Dracula for over twenty years. He stepped up behind the mighty Saxon. Kruschner choked at the strong arm that gripped him around the neck. The invisible force lifted him from the floor, and snapped his spine before tossing him down again.
The boyars watched on in horror. What could have lifted and killed our friend with such ease? They looked on as the invisible entity seized the dead man’s sword from its scabbard.
Lucifer held it there so they could all see it. He felt their fear and thrived on it, the kind of fear that alerts every one of the senses.
Terror-stricken, their instincts told them to run. Death surely awaited any man who remained. Despite this, they sensed this entity was a threat to their voivode, and their code of honour demanded they stay. It was their duty to stand firm and defend him, even if it meant they lost their own lives.
Lucifer laughed out loud, allowing them to hear him. It was his intention to mock their bravery and erode their resolve still further. He engaged the five men still standing. They knew he was toying with them, but stood firm to meet the threat. He decided to up the ante. With speed none of them could match, he ran the sword through the mouth of Petru Galcea. Like Kruschner, Galcea had been with Dracula over twenty years.
The sword passed right through and exited beneath the base of Galcea’s skull. When Lucifer withdrew the weapon, it sliced Galcea’s tongue and lower lip in two.
The others watched in horror. They could not believe that Galcea was dead too. Their friend dropped to his knees before falling flat on his face. Lucifer took full advantage of this and, in the blink of an eye, he beheaded a man to either side.
Now only two remained, one of whom made a run for the door. The other droppe
d his sword in surrender. Lucifer eyed the man who had fled. Almost at once, a bolt of lightning crashed through one of the stained glass windows above. It struck the fleeing boyar in the centre of his chest.
The lightning bolt lifted him off his feet and propelled him backwards, impaling him on a railing to the left of the altar. A hole the size of his head burned through his breastbone. His clothing smouldered and burned around the edges of the wound. The smell of his charred flesh filled the chapel.
The last of the boyars dropped to his knees and broke into a tearful plea for his life. Adrian Gabrul was the last of those who had served Dracula from the beginning. He was a very capable and respected soldier, but the events in the chapel had reduced him to a shivering wreck.
It was then that Lucifer revealed himself, and Gabrul saw his true form. It only served to further deteriorate his mental state. He trembled like a child who had awoken from a nightmare, though this was far worse.
He watched Lucifer lick the blood from the sword. Then the Beast ran the blade across his own wrist, where he opened a deep gash. His blood flowed fast from the wound and down his clawed hand.
The scent of it aroused the convulsing Dracula. He glanced across at Gabrul with eyes that did not see. The boyar stared back at him, transfixed by the white orbs. The very sight of them made his stomach churn. Dracula forgot him in a moment; and when Gabrul vomited, he did not even notice.
The voivode crawled across the floor on his hands and knees to the small pool of blood that lay on the marble surface in front of him. He stooped down and licked it up. More drops of blood from Lucifer’s wrist fell down onto the side of his face.
Although blind, he cocked his head sharply. The scent of the blood guided him, and no more hit the floor. Dracula caught every last drop in his mouth. He found the dangling limb and pressed his lips against it.
The blood oozed onto his tongue, and he found the taste intoxicating. With his mouth clamped against Lucifer’s wrist, his thirst became ravenous. His master held it there for him to drink, and drink.
The Shadow Box: Paranormal Suspense and Dark Fantasy Thriller Novels Page 144