by Jasper Kent
The motion was slow, but determined, heading for the hem of the dress at a point somewhere between me and Nikolai. In seconds it would emerge, and its form would be revealed. I felt the urge to anticipate the moment, to reach forward and flick the cloth aside with the tip of my sword, but I could not move. For a moment I wondered whether the decision was now Iuda’s and not mine to take, but I realized that my immobility was down to simple terror.
Now the thing had almost completed its journey. The bulge in the material was only an inch from its hem. Now when it rose the edge itself lifted, revealing a dark black archway from which something currently hidden would soon emerge.
It was a hand that came first, but not the crawling hand of my imagination. This hand was tiny – malformed, with fingers that could scarcely move independently. It was no bigger than the tip of my thumb. A second hand appeared alongside it, and both pulled against the smooth parquet, the minuscule fingers spread wide to get the best grip, like the feet of a frog climbing across a rock.
With one more heave the head appeared. It was bald and wrinkled. The colour of the whole thing was a deep pink – like scalded skin. The head rose up. Its eyelids were closed, but then they opened wide to reveal its eyes – black, as though consisting only of a pupil. Immediately it recoiled, agonized, and lowered its head to stare at the floor, its only motion the regular pulse of its shallow breathing. It was still only half out of the white cloth, and so we could not see its legs.
It looked up again, scanning the room, curving its head in a single slow arc. Then it opened its mouth.
The teeth were monstrous. There were only two of them, long, white and sharp, aligned side by side at the centre of the upper jaw, still stained red with the last drink it had taken of its mother’s blood. It inhaled deeply. I could see a tongue flicker behind those two awful fangs, as if it were smelling the air like a snake does. Like a serpent does.
It lowered its head and began to move again, now at a slightly different angle, and with more purpose. The rest of its body and then its legs were revealed, all of that same tender pinkness. The legs were even less well formed than the hands; they pushed along behind the creature, but the vast majority of its strength and movement came from its arms.
Even so, it was moving quicker now. I looked along the line that it was travelling, and saw its goal: the ring – Zmyeevich’s golden dragon ring. The glittering emerald eyes were not the same as the black of the creature that crawled towards it; the creature’s tongue was not forked and red like that of the dragon, but in some disconnected way the one was a representation of the other. Zmyeevich had had the ring made as an image of the monster whose blood had made him what he was. And now this awful, half-formed being was once again carrying the life force of what should have been long dead. Whether it was the reincarnation of Zmyeevich or of the dragon, or some chimera formed of the two, I did not know. I did not know if there was even a distinction between those entities. The dragon had lived again in Zmyeevich; the dragon lived again in this … this tiny, vulnerable, unborn child.
It was close now, close to the object of its desire. It stopped, exhausted, and hung its head, breathing deeply. Then it looked up, and reached out with one hand, desperate to touch the golden serpent, not a ring from its perspective, but something large – large enough to be a crown.
I brought my sword down swiftly. It was an easier kill than Susanna had been. There was little sinew to get through, little bone. I crushed its neck rather than severing it, but the action was just as effective. The head rolled to one side, the body to the other, proving that they were no longer connected. A little blood began to seep from the broken neck. I regarded it as a merciful killing – too good for the soulless monster that occupied that little body, a blessing for the human being, however incomplete, that it had once been.
‘No!’
There were two voices, shouting the same word at the same time. One was Dmitry, the other myself. But I had more to say.
‘My son!’ This time I could barely manage a whisper.
It had been more than a century since his conception, and in all that time I had never regarded him beyond the nuisance that he caused me by his very existence. I had not even bothered to consider whether the child was a boy or a girl, but now as he lay dead in front of me, the nascent evidence was plain to see. I had certainly never thought of him as alive – not when I’d suspected that Susanna had survived her encounter with Honoré, not even when I’d seen her face to face once again in Petrograd. It was only when she had begun to describe how he was no longer a part of her, how he fed from her, that I began to have any sense of him as a being.
I could only thank the fates for Danilov’s cold-hearted hatred. He had managed to throw off all sentimentality, first in killing the mother and then the child. He was right. It was a blessing, but it was a sacrifice too – a worthwhile sacrifice to make the world safe from Zmyeevich, and more importantly to make me safe.
But as I looked down I could only wonder what real harm even Zmyeevich’s formidable mind could have done in so puny a body. I doubted whether he was yet developed enough to command the power of speech. But I was a scientist, and my mind teemed with possibilities. Even so feeble a creature had blood – blood that could be extracted and stored. And then the whole thing could begin again, just as it had done in the Church on Spilled Blood, with the body of a chosen one, a Romanov, who was better formed to carry Zmyeevich’s soul.
It was an ingenious idea, but I was not going to suggest it to Dmitry. I doubted he had the imagination to arrive at it for himself.
The worst of it was that the body was still there, still in its two separated parts. Its mother had decayed instantly, but the child’s remnants lay there, just like any other lifeless human flesh. I tried to make sense of it. When a voordalak dies, the forces that hold off death evaporate. If the creature was decades old, then it would decay in seconds to the state of a decades-old corpse – to dust. This then was newly born as a vampire, or to be precise newly born as Zmyeevich, created only in the instant that Ascalon had entered its heart.
‘You’ll pay for this.’
I looked up. Dmitry’s face was ablaze with anger. His fangs were bared. I raised my sword a little, shaking it, reminding him of what I could do with it, but he was beyond fear. And I knew that in a face-to-face fight I’d be able to do him little damage. I’d do better to flee.
I turned and ran across the room to the broken window. I took one last glance at Nikolai. He stood bewildered, unable to comprehend the events that had taken place around him, unable to control them. It was an apt summary of his reign.
I jumped through and landed on top of the portico. It was still dark outside, though dawn could not be far away. It seemed no one had discovered the two dead guards, nor been awakened by the commotion. I threw the sword down on to the snow below, then lowered myself over the edge. It was easy enough to shin down one of the pillars that supported the overblown structure. It took me only two steps to reach my sword, but as I grasped it I heard a noise. I looked behind me. Dmitry was at the door. He had chosen not to follow me directly, but had taken the stairs in the hope of overtaking me. It had almost worked.
I ran blindly. After only a few paces I slipped and found myself sprawling in the snow, but still moving, sliding across it. I was on my feet in an instant. Coming in we had climbed over the fence, but I had no time for that. The gate at the end of the path was open and I made for it. At random I turned left on to the road. I looked around me, trying to work out where I was, and took the only street that seemed familiar. I was scarcely more than walking now. My legs were weak. Dmitry would easily catch me. I risked a look over my shoulder. He wasn’t running at all, just striding boldly. Even so, he’d soon be on me. He had a sword in his hand – the twin of the one I carried.
I pressed on down the snowy street.
CHAPTER XXVIII
I WAS AGAIN in command of my body, but I continued to run. I knew I’d have to stop soon. T
he frozen river stretched out in front of us. Iuda had looked for landmarks that he recognized and we’d found ourselves back where we’d started. A little way upstream was the wreckage of the plane. The fire had burned itself out, but I could still see what was left of the fuselage, floating now in the water rather than sitting on the ice. The fire had easily melted the frozen river in a wide circle, centred on where we had crashed. A small crowd had gathered round it, but even as I watched, two or three of them turned and left.
I stopped. I knew that I could make this easy for myself. I turned round. Dmitry was only a few feet away from me. He came to a halt. He was scarcely short of breath. I was almost at the point of collapse. I held my arms open at my sides, my sword hanging limply in my hand.
‘I don’t know why I’m running, Dmitry. I’ve nothing more to run from. I don’t pretend to understand you, but I asked you a favour, only a couple of days ago, on the train. I’m going to ask you again. Kill me and kill Iuda too. I can’t escape him, and if he lives he’ll find a way to make us into a vampire, and that would be worse than death for me. Whatever feeling you have, Dmitry, whether you do it out of love for your family, or hatred of me, just end it for me, now.’
‘How do I know who I’m talking to? Is it Mihail or is it Iuda?’
‘It’s Mihail, believe me.’
‘Prove it,’ he shouted. ‘Tell me this. What happened in Khodynka Field in 1896? Come on, tell me.’
I hid my laughter. He’d been right that the system would fail eventually, that before long Iuda would have learned too much. It was pure coincidence that Dmitry had hit upon that one event – he couldn’t know how we’d got here. But there was no point in confusing the issue.
‘There was a stampede at the celebrations of Nikolai’s accession. Thousands died.’
‘So you are Mihail. And tell me, Mihail, who was it that killed Zmyeevich? Who slaughtered that innocent child?’
I could have lied, but again I thought my purpose was better served by telling the truth. If he would not kill me out of pity, then perhaps he would do it out of hatred.
‘I killed him, Dmitry. I deprived him of his last chance of life. I denied you the resurrection of the one you love. Isn’t that reason enough to kill me? And you’ll be killing Iuda too.’
Dmitry approached. I let my arms hang a little limper, and pushed my chest out towards him. He raised his sword, ready to strike. I hoped he might grant me a quick death, but if his desire was for revenge, then something slow and painful might be more to his liking. A wound to the gut. It would take me hours to die. But I was prepared. He pressed the point of his sabre against my belly and pushed. I felt the sharpness of its point against me, but I knew it was nothing compared with the pain I would endure once my flesh was pierced. He pushed harder, causing my stomach to dent inwards. It reminded me of Ascalon pressing against Susanna. Perhaps Dmitry was reminded of it too.
‘No,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘If you want to die, Mihail Konstantinovich, then I want you to live. I want you to live with Iuda inside your skull, with you every day of your life. I want you to know that you can never go back to Nadya, never again touch her, for fear of what Iuda might make you do. You will be like King Midas. Unable to touch anything that you love. Unable to be with anything you love. Not Nadya, not even that stupid dog. You’ll never be able to have anything to love. And maybe one day Iuda will persuade someone to make you into a vampire, and then perhaps we’ll meet again. And you’ll tell me what you are, and I’ll be able to tell you why you’re like that, and remind you of what you did to deserve it. I’ll look forward to it.’
He turned and walked away. I had no time to waste. I raised my sword and brought it down hard on his shoulder. Perhaps if I’d wanted to I could have killed him, but that wasn’t the plan. The blade bit deep through his overcoat and drew blood. He turned back to me.
‘If you won’t kill me out of choice,’ I said, ‘I’ll make you do it. I’ll make you fight.’
I slashed at him, catching his cheek and drawing blood. He did nothing. Next I went for a more direct attack: a classic lunge. My sword went straight through his heart. Still he did nothing to defend himself. I had to be more of a threat. I raised the sword high. It was a terrible ploy, leaving my entire torso open to attack, but I was not fighting to win. I brought the blade down, this time genuinely aiming for his neck. He sensed I was in earnest and parried. Now the fight began for real.
I continued my assault, each strike now aiming to decapitate him, and always leaving myself open to a riposte that never came. He parried every blow, but never counter-attacked. Even so, with his greater strength and height he began to push me back. Soon we were out on the ice. I had winter boots on, so could gain some purchase, but it was difficult to manoeuvre. I made a lunge for his stomach, but he twisted to one side and caught my blade with his, almost knocking it from my hand. But in the process he lost his balance. He slipped on the ice and fell to one side, rolling right over to end up on his back. His sword was still grasped firmly in his hand, pointing upwards.
I took the opportunity. I ran forward and threw myself into the air; threw myself on to the tip of his sabre, praying that he would not have time to move it.
I had only a fraction of a second as our feet left the ground to alter our trajectory, but it was enough. Dmitry had no time to lower the sword, but it didn’t matter. The tip sliced through the side of my coat, but missed me by almost an inch. It had been worth a try, but Danilov should have known it would fail. Long ago in our relationship we’d established that he could take no step so monumental as suicide. We both knew that at the very moment of the act, my mind would win out and I would be able to step back from the brink.
I landed on my back and we lay side by side for a few moments, both breathing deeply, but whereas his breaths sounded slow and strong, mine were quick, harsh and rasping.
‘Dmitry,’ I panted. ‘It’s me now, Iuda. Listen to me. If you really want to have your revenge on Danilov, then you can. Do what you said, but do it yourself. Make me into a vampire. You know better than any that the victim has to be willing. Well I am willing. I am at least, but there may not be much time. Drink my blood. Let me drink yours. Then kill me and send Danilov into everlasting torment.’
‘And what torment would you suffer, Iuda?’
‘I wouldn’t. But who do you hate more right now: the man who sent Raisa mad or the man who killed Zmyeevich?’
It was a desperate chance; my best – my only hope of being free of Danilov, and it was out of my hands. Dmitry would decide. He thought about it, but not for long. I’d judged him well. Soon he was up on his knees. He unbuttoned his leather coat, and the jacket underneath, and finally his shirt. He pulled them all open. ‘Cut me then,’ he said. ‘Cut me and drink. I’ll do the rest.’
I lifted up the sword, holding it by the grip, but also by the blade so that I could guide the tip precisely. I pressed it against his skin and then drew it sideways.
A line of blood followed as I cut.
I rammed the sabre forwards with all my strength. It twisted and slipped between his ribs; I felt it emerge from his back. He screamed and brought the pommel of his own sword down on the side of my head. That might have been a fatal blow in itself, but he’d pulled it, realizing that he still did not want me dead. Seconds later we were both on our feet. I rained a hail of blows down on him, each of which he deflected with instinctive parries of his sword. Now, though, it seemed that he was on the back foot; it was he who retreated with every stroke of my blade and I who advanced.
Behind him the burned-out wreckage of the Lebed loomed larger. The crowd who had been looking out at it had seen us now. I could hear them shouting, but could not make out their words. It sounded like some kind of warning, but what they might be warning us about, given that we were so obviously fighting to the death, I could not guess.
I was feeling weak now. I paused, still holding my sword out in front of me, but not using i
t. I watched its tip swaying from side to side.
‘What’s the point, Mihail?’ Dmitry asked. ‘I’m not going to kill you, and you don’t have a chance of killing me. Just accept it. You’re going to live. And every day that you live, you’ll have Iuda beside you.’
I began my attack again, and he continued to defend, but with utmost self-control. His blade never once so much as scratched me.
‘Oh, Dmitry,’ I said, ‘you are going to kill me. And it was you that told me how you were going to do it.’
‘You’re bluffing, Mihail. I won’t kill you. And I’ve told you nothing that’s going to help you.’
‘Haven’t you? What about that ballet you love so much – The Rite of Spring? What about the Chosen One?’
We fought on for a few seconds more, but I could see in his eyes that he was thinking about it. Then realization hit him. He lowered his sword, then threw it aside, watching it as it skidded across the ice.
‘I won’t help you,’ he said.
He turned around and walked away from me. I started to run after him, but moments later he vanished.
It took me a second to understand what had happened. We were close to the aeroplane now, and to the gap in the ice that the fire had caused. The water was beginning to refreeze and there were chunks of ice bobbing about, but it wasn’t stable. Dmitry had fallen through. Already I could see his head as he floated up to the surface again. I threw myself on to my back, but continued to slide along. I dug my sword into the ice, sending a flurry of white powder into the air. Eventually I came to a stop. Perhaps I should have let myself plunge into the freezing water to drown, but I knew now that I did not need to. The pain in my chest and lungs told me that.
I felt arms around me, pulling me back. The men on the bank had seen what had happened and had come over to rescue us. Two of them dragged me a little further away, to where the ice was solid. I had no strength to move. One man propped me up and I lay back against him. Ahead I could see the attempts to rescue Dmitry. Three of them were lying flat out, face down on the ice, each clutching the ankles of the man in front of him. The one closest to Dmitry had a rope with a loop tied in it. He threw it out to Dmitry, who grabbed it. He put it over his head and under his arms. He could have dived down and swum away, but it would be many versts before the next hole in the ice appeared. Freezing could not kill a vampire, but he would fall into a slumber, trapped until spring. He could have climbed out on to the ice by himself, but there was no sense in rejecting help if it was offered.