She takes my face in her claws. “Good servant. You’re weak but,” she says, “there’s much to do yet.” She almost feeds, but pulls back. “There’s going to be some important people coming, to investigate what happened at the morgue the night I marked you. I’m going to need you to make sure the vampires among them feed on you. Will you be strong enough?” She’s dug the claws on her hands into the skin of my wrist and neck, purging the other vampire’s scent from my system.
“Of course,” I say, trying to keep conscious. I’m stronger, but my body’s still adapting to the changes.
“We need to know who made this virus, and why it changed me the way it did,” she says. “We need to know if the humans are stronger than we have previously thought, or if the pathetic vampires who call themselves leaders took some initiative in controlling the human masses.” She chuckles. I doubt it’ll matter much.
I wonder if any other vampires have tried to feed on someone infected with Kyoli-4. She can’t be the only one. I look over at the two vampires as they slowly emerge up to the roof. They’re just as compelled as I am.
My master gets up, and runs her claws through their hair. “It worked.”
“What…?” Damien asks, kneeling before her.
“Lower forms, too long have our kind been living among the humans. We have forgotten the old truths. You will help my servant remind the others like you know the proper order of things, yes?” She digs her claws into their flesh, drawing out their blood, and her bony wings extend to the night sky as the lesser vampires crumple before this eater of the dead.
SUNRISE AT THE PORTARA
by
Adrian Chamberlin
“Hades enriches himself with our sighs and tears.” -Sophocles
The Portara of Naxos. A doorway that leads to nowhere, Steve had remarked to Julie on first seeing the sole remains of the abandoned Temple of Apollo. His disappearance proved that it led to somewhere. It had taken Julie a full year of research and waiting, but she now had the answer.
She also had company. The old man who stood in exactly the same spot from where Steve had vanished confirmed her theory. He reached for his walking stick and slowly made his way down the narrow, rubble-strewn pathway to meet her, methodically brushing off the marble dust and sand that lightly dusted his grey trousers.
Julie smiled grimly. Every step the old man took clearly pained him, but he moved with purpose and determination.
Going to try to stop me, aren’t you, old man?
She could see that in the grim set of his protruding jaw, the unwelcoming glare that was as steel-grey as his eyes.
She looked over her shoulder, back to the causeway that joined the islet with the Chora of Naxos. The dawn sunlight kissed the old battlements of the Venetian Kastro and the tiny white sugar cube blocks of the more recent houses and apartment buildings. She saw the yachts and fishing boats lying at anchor in the harbour, moving languidly in the still waters. She smelled the harsh tang of salt water and the faded odours of last night’s gyros kebabs and stone-baked pizzas from the restaurant at the tip of the causeway. Apart from the low flying gulls, there were no signs of life on the island of Naxos. And on the islet of Palatia, where the Portara stood, she and the old man were alone.
He came closer, no longer dwarfed by the massive marble structure behind him. The topmost section of the Portara - the ‘Great Door’ - began to turn to a rich, buttery gold with the rays of the rising sun. Behind it, the white caps of the Aegean sea sparkled like the diamond on her engagement ring.
She unconsciously fingered the polished stone on her ring finger and caressed the smooth band of gold, the ring she hadn’t taken off for over a year. She choked back a sob at the memory of Steve placing it on her finger, the thunderous applause and cheering from their fellow holidaymakers deafening her and adding to the dizzying sense of intoxication and happiness.
One year ago, at the same place she stood now. One year since Steve had made his vow to her, on bended knee as the skies above the Portara turned from daylight blue to hazy bands of red, orange and indigo. Then the memory of their lovemaking under the stars and the imposing archway of the Portara as their companions headed off over the causeway and away from the islet, into the Chora of Naxos town to the tavernas and tiny nightclubs.
Then the memory of waking to glaring light and a rumble of thunder. A cry from Steve, her eyes opening and blinking in the harsh glare of sunrise, to discover she was alone.
“Kala meira,” the old man said with a surprisingly gentle voice. The rising sun cast a golden glow on his tanned skin and brightened the shock of tangled grey hair that trailed down past the neck of his fisherman’s pullover. Like his hair, his thin grey beard sparkled like silver in the Greek sunlight.
“I know why you are here,” he continued. “It will do no good. You must leave things as they are.”
Her jaw dropped. She took a step forward, but checked herself when he raised his stick to her. He stood tall and erect, all trace of pain and weariness in his body vanished in an instant. His eyes travelled the length of her tall body, from her toned calves and muscular arms - the benefits of being in the first eight in the university’s rowing team – to her clear blue eyes and the shock of untamed blonde hair. But there was nothing lascivious in his gaze. He was appraising her, assessing her strengths and weaknesses in one look, his eyes boring through hers and seeing what lay beyond.
He stood with purpose and authority, no longer a weakened old man but a guardian. A doorkeeper.
“My name is Manos. You are Julie, are you not? And your man’s was Stephen…”
Was?
His eyes softened. “I am sorry for your loss. But you must know it is for reason. Console yourself knowing it was destiny…like Ariadne abandoned by Theseus, it is for greater purpose. Now, leave things be.”
“How can I?” Anger coursed through her, hotter than the rising Greek sun. “What right have you to say that?”
“I have the right. The same right as those who have lost loved ones before their time was due.” The steel returned to his eyes, filled with a vitality and a strength that spoke of a dark past.
“Your generation – you think you know of loss? Pah! Have you seen an entire village burned to the ground by the occupiers? Its women and children riddled with machine-gun fire as retaliation for the brave actions of the partisans? To see whole generations of your countrymen wiped out before your eyes, and see others carted off to the mainland to ride the trains to the Death Camps?”
“I know that Naxos suffered under the Nazis,” she replied coolly. “I’m not ignorant of Greece’s recent past. But it’s what happened to my fiancée last year that’s of more concern to me.”
This was met with a dry chuckle.
“So, Julie. You returned, exactly a year later to the day. What did you expect to find?” His eyes were narrowed, a hand held to his brow to shade them from the sun. But there was no doubting the continued shrewd appraisal of her. The same look she had received from the Greek police when she told them exactly where – and when – Steve had vanished.
You know very well why I’m here, Manos. He must have known that she would have sought answers to her fiancée’s disappearance. The research and her extra sessions at the university gym, honing her physical strength and burning off the anxiety and frustration, had been the only things that had kept her going, at the expense of her scheduled academic studies.
“No-one comes here to view the sunrise, do they?” she said. “It’s always sunset that draws the crowds. Odd, when you consider the legend. That if you stand in the doorway of the Portara at sunrise on the morning of the summer solstice – the longest day of sunshine - and make a wish, you’ll feel the power of Apollo working through you and make your wish come true.”
Manos waved a dismissive hand. “A charming local legend. The Portara faces towards Delos, the sun god’s birthplace, so the theory that the temple was dedicated to Apollo - ”
“Is complete and utter c
rap!” The venom in her words was so powerful Manos took a step backwards, as though he’d been spat in the face. A rumble of what sounded like thunder rolled in her ears. The air was thick and heavy, charged with the power of an imminent thunderstorm.
The blue sky was cloudless.
“Steve told me a lot about the Portara before he vanished. Some scholars believed it to be dedicated to Apollo, others to Dionysus.
“But he knew what it was really dedicated to, and why today’s date of midsummer is so special. Why, if the temple was dedicated to Apollo, does the Portara frame sunset rather than sunrise? Why is the approach of night more significant than the rising of the sun?”
As the second rumble reached their ears, Manos looked nervous. The ground beneath their feet trembled. Pieces of marble and shale rattled on the paved pathway like spent cartridge casings from a machine gun.
“Yes, I know now what the temple was dedicated to, and why it was really abandoned. And why the Nazi occupiers paid such close attention to the site. As do you, Manos!”
The Portara shivered, as though viewed through a heat haze. The golden hued marble darkened momentarily.
“After the solstice, the nights grow shorter - light giving way to darkness! But in that intervening period, the two powers are equal. That’s when the magic can happen.
“That’s why I’m back, Manos. Not to commemorate the first anniversary of my fiancée’s death. I’m going back to prevent it. He’s coming back with me.”
“You do not understand, Julie. It does not work that way - ” A third rumble of thunder cut him off. She ignored his beseeching eyes.
Through the archway she could no longer see the blue sky and sparkling waters of the Aegean that filled the Portara.
While the morning sun warmed her back, in front of her a second Greek sun sank rapidly below the seaward horizon. The bronze waters were tinged with crimson that bled from the dying sun and the rocks of the islet glowed malevolently.
Two men in grey army uniform flanked a violently struggling man. The setting sun cast a chilling red glow to their steel coal scuttle helmets and the barrels of their sub-machine guns.
Despite his muscular build, his biceps bulging through his dirty grey shirt as he fought against the steel grip of the soldiers, they were stronger. One of the soldiers raised his weapon and brought the stock crashing down on his head.
The captive’s eyes glazed and he sank to the ground. His eyes remained open, staring at Julie. Recognition flickered in them, and his mouth opened to shout a warning.
“Steve!” she screamed. Another rumble of thunder echoed around the Portara and the golden marble shimmered again. Still the scene remained, perfectly clear and unsullied by the shimmering. She ran past Manos, nimbly jumping over the walking stick he thrust at her feet, her trainers sending up clouds of dry sand and marble dust as she pounded up the remaining few metres to the doorway that led to nowhere.
“Julie! No!” Manos’ cry was as loud as the thunder, and mirrored the words mouthed silently by her boyfriend, now hauled roughly to his feet by his captors. The sight didn’t deter her. If the German soldiers mowed her down, so be it. At least she and Steve would be together.
“It is destiny, Julie! Please, you must not interfere – the will of the Gods…”
The Portara was only five metres away. Manos’ cries faded as her running grew faster and more determined. She gritted her teeth, ignoring the sharp digging of the shale and marble rubble into her feet, running for the gap in the bisected base of the pillars. The glaring skies of the Greek daylight drew back from her, now nothing more than patches of blue in her peripheral vision. As the twilight scene filled her immediate vision, the Portara towered above her, seemingly greater than its eight metre height as she made her wish. Then it was behind her.
There was a sizzling sound, like that of gyros meat frying on a kebab shop’s hotplate, but the smell was different. Something her racing mind couldn’t take in fully. The scent of freshly spilled blood and burning flesh.
The chill of the twilight air was a shock to her system after the heat of the Greek sunrise that made her gasp. Her breath misted and icy fingers caressed her bare legs. Through her thin vest top her nipples stiffened in protest at the sudden cold, a chill that had not been present the last time she had visited the Portara at night.
She didn’t have time to ponder this. The two soldiers were frozen in shock by the vision of this statuesque blonde woman tearing from the Portara, her blonde tresses flying through the chill night air like the snakes of Medusa’s hair. An avenging Fury, tearing through the doors of time and destiny to take back the man who had been stolen from her.
She was less than twenty metres from them.
The one on Steve’s left was taller but more slightly built than his comrade. He released Steve and side-stepped to the left, giving him ample room to raise his firearm. His rotund partner was still frozen in shock.
Fifteen metres. She could see the marble dust on their uniform tunics and jackboots, the blonde stubble on the tall soldier’s cheeks, his heavy lidded eyes narrowing in professional appraisal of the threat. She saw the greasy sweat on the fat soldier’s cheeks, beading the thick lips that quivered in fear.
She saw the blood dripping from the gash on Steve’s forehead, the bruises on his arms where the Nazi soldiers had dragged him upright and she snarled in fury.
The taller soldier raised his sub-machine gun to waist height. Ten metres, and he would not miss at this distance. She would be cut in half. The trigger finger curled inwards.
The muzzle flash lit up the darkening sky, a blaze of fire that echoed deafeningly around the western side of the islet. Bullets thudded into the uprights of the Portara, sending shards of marble flying into the night. Others flew into the daylight scene framed by the doorway, disappearing into the sunlight.
Julie felt angry hornets whip past her head as she hit the ground and advanced in a perfect forward roll. She crashed into the soldier who still had his finger on the trigger. Ignoring the pain of gravel and marble chips digging into her back she reached upwards to wrench the weapon from him.
More gunfire, this time travelling straight upwards to the heavens. A challenge to the Gods, she thought to herself with a wry smile. The soldier’s blue-eyed glare was unflinching and hate-filled. His breath was rank, reeking of stale beer, tobacco and rancid meat.
She smiled again as she brought her knee up into his crotch. He howled in pain and his grip on the weapon loosened slightly. Just enough for her to push his arms away, downwards. Just as the trigger finger curled again.
The sub-machine gun spat more fire, and this time it drew blood and cries of pain. The soldier to Steve’s right jerked in a spasmodic dance as the bullets punched holes in his fat torso. He collapsed in a heaving pile of blood, his twitching boot heels beating a violent tattoo on the rubble strewn ground.
Her opponent snarled in fury, turning his head briefly to see the fate of his comrade. A dispassionate glance and then he turned back to her.
That brief moment was all she needed. Her fist flashed forwards, aiming for his eye. The power of the blow was insufficient to cause much damage. But the stone on her engagement ring more than made up for it.
She felt something burst and dribble gelatinously down her knuckles. The cry he made was inhuman, a cross between a mewling cat and a newborn baby. He staggered backwards, both hands clutching his ruined face. His weapon fell to the ground.
Steve raced into action. He pushed the soldier out of his way and lunged for the machine gun. Hefting it in hands that looked disturbingly well-experienced in weaponry, he turned and faced his captor. There was a look of grim satisfaction on his face as he opened the soldier’s chest with a long burst that emptied the magazine.
The stench of cordite mingled with warm blood and torn flesh and hung sickeningly in the air. Steve threw the spent weapon down and turned to face Julie.
The smile that broke on his tanned features was the most beautiful
thing she had ever seen. She ran to his arms and embraced him. The stubble on his cheeks scratched her face when she kissed him, and his hair reeked of sweat and cordite, but it was the most wonderful sensation. He was alive!
“Thavmassios!” he said in a strangely accented voice.
She laughed. “Wonderful, indeed! I see you’ve finally learned the language…”
They parted slowly. Steve ran a hand through her thick mane of hair, beaming with happiness. That was when she saw the change in him. His arms were thickly muscled, his frame lean and taut, all trace of his former beer belly and flabbiness gone. There were flecks of grey in the temples, wrinkles on a face that had been tanned olive by the Greek sun. No trace of his former paleness from a year ago remained.
A year ago…Jesus, he’s been here for a year!
She was speechless. Surely she would have come back to the exact night he’d vanished? That was the wish she’d made to Apollo as she raced through the Portara.
Instead, a full twelve months passed, the time lines concurrent. She carrying on with her studies and her physical training, he living in a foreign country, under enemy occupation.
“Yes, Jules,” he grinned. “Every archaeology student’s dream. I’ve been living history rather than studying it! Wonder what grades I’ll get for this…”
The scene within the pillars of the Portara showed the bright blue Aegean sky with the sun almost at its zenith, but the sunshine didn’t advance past its marble frame. Where she and Steve stood, night had fallen. The waters of the sea around the islet were ink-black and strangely lifeless. She had to strain to hear the sound of breakers on the headland, but that might have been due to the ringing in her ears from the machine gun fire. And yet…
The sky above was cloudless, yet she could see no stars, nor the moon. This wasn’t just night, this was something else. Something unnatural.
Anthology of Ichor III: Gears of Damnation Page 27