by David Wood
“What happens next is up to you. As to what is going on...I’ll need to tell you some more history. But first...will you please get into the bath. I don’t want you falling on me when the sleep takes you.”
Brian stepped into the bath and sat down.
As the other man began to speak Brian felt himself slipping into darkness, so that he was no longer sure if he was listening or dreaming.
“Legend has it that Shoa is one of the Eldren, a creature molded directly from the blood of Yoriah the first Brother in the days before mankind.
“Another legend says that he was once a man and he was corrupted by an ancient evil in the wildwood before the ice came.
“Whichever of them has the truth, and I don’t know the answer, there is no denying that he is old and that he wields great power.
“I was under his spell for many years, and in that time I did his bidding. If you don’t mind I won’t dwell on the abominations I was forced to take part in.
“He has been awake three times since Amro banished him...three times in more than four thousand years.
“The first was during the Crusades.
“The Knights of St John were seekers after power, and they woke him from his sleep there in the desert near Sinai. I don’t know how they found him, but I suspect that even as he slept he worked his spells and charms. You have seen that he is capable...the owner of that house would never have put in the mosaic otherwise.
“When Shoa appeared before them the Knights were like children, excited that their primitive conjurations had yielded such results, but they couldn’t control him...no son of Adam has that power.
“He grew in strength quickly that time, gathering disciples to him like moths to a flame. But he was rash.
“He saw that the works of men had grown great, works of stone and timber that had been inconceivable at his last awakening, and he coveted them, for the Eldren had never learned the arts of building and creating.
“Men of power and rank were drawn to him, noblemen of the great houses of Europe kneeling in homage. He began to amass an army, a dark legion that would wash over the earth like a wave.
“But his ambition outgrew his strength, and he came to the attention of the Brothers of the Temple.
“And the Redeemer herself came out of the fastness in the north with many of her followers.
They fought, tooth and nail, and the blood ran like a river in the desert.
“And finally there was only Rokar and Shoa remaining there on the sand.
“Rokar called down the old power with words and signs, and she reduced Shoa back to the blood from whence he had come.
“But she was not strong enough to completely destroy the old one, she used all that was in her in bringing him down, and her withered, torn body was found in the desert sands. And there in her hands she held all that was left of Shoa.
“The Redeemer was taken back to the fastness in the north, where her body is laid in a room at the top of the temple. It is said that she will come again when she is needed.
“The remains of Shoa were buried deep under the sands of the desert away from the sight of man.
“But there were those among the Knights of St John who remembered, and in remembering they kept part of the old one alive.
“That was the first time.
“The second time began with my sojourn in the desert...that much you already know.
“After my change he kept me with him for long years. He was cunning this time, building his strength quietly, and in secret, for he could see that the sons of Adam were stronger, and they had weapons that might be able to damage even him.
“His rage was redoubled and he hated the sons of Adam greatly. But even more he hated our kind, the ones who have turned our backs on the old ways of the Eldren.
“He hunted, far and wide across the world. And where he went, I went with him. And many were those of Rokar’s followers who fell forever before us.”
The man paused, and his breathing was so quiet that Brian thought he must be sleeping, but soon the voice resumed...quieter now, more subdued.
“It was in my twenty-seventh year with him that we first called up the Serpent.
“I don’t know what the Serpent is, so don’t ask me, but I know it is old, and it has power, power that it lends to those who bow down before it.
“It was evil. I felt it. It wanted more than my obedience. It wanted me completely, soul and all.
“Shoa wanted me to pay it homage. But, even after those long years of servitude, even after the innocent blood that I had spilled, still I found that I had a small spark of defiance in me.
“He punished me for that, and I believe that he might have given me to the sun if the stranger hadn’t come.
“I have never seen anyone with the strength, the conviction that the stranger possessed as he held Shoa in his gaze. Even the old one seemed in awe of him.
“He brushed Shoa aside as if he were no more than a child and he sent the Serpent back to whatever deep place it had come from.
“Like I did to you, he gave me a choice. I chose freedom, and I helped him put Shoa down into a grave in the earth, binding him with the sword and the old words.
“Over the years since I have watched over this place, ensuring that the old one stayed sleeping. I have learned spells and sorcery to help me in my task, and I have learned, and even written, the legends of our kind. Back near the beginning I even put a copy of the book in the grave with him, along with the spells we used to put him there in the first place.
“I would have retrieved them tonight, but your need was the greater, so tomorrow we have to go back to the house and put him down again.
“I’ve spent centuries preparing for this day, but if you ask me if I’m ready, I’d have to say that I don’t know.
“Maybe tomorrow we’ll find out.”
The voice faded to a quiet drone and Brian slept, dreaming of temples and serpents.
Margaret and Tony stared at each other as the clock ticked loudly in the otherwise quiet room, neither wanting to be the first to break the silence.
“Maybe we should go and see what’s going on?” Tony said quietly, as if a whisper was all he could manage.
Margaret shook her head. “I’ve wandered about in the dark enough for one night. Besides,” she said, staring at the last mouthful of whiskey in her glass, “I expect Bill and the policeman have sorted it out by now.”
They hadn’t heard any sound for several minutes, either from the church or from the graveyard outside. Margaret was worried, and her body was psyched up for flight but she tried not to let any tremor escape in her voice as she spoke.
“I’ll go and see what’s happened to them,” she said with more bravery than she felt, pushing herself off the chair at the same time. It took more effort than she hoped, and she only just managed to stand upright. It seemed that all her blood had suddenly rushed to her head and the room threatened to spin…first left, then right. She had to force her legs to lock out, otherwise her knees would have buckled, and if she fell back in the chair again she wouldn’t get out of it for a long time.
She felt a small hand press itself into her good one and she looked down to see Tony looking up at her.
“I’m coming with you,” he said. She saw the determination in his young face. The knuckles of his other hand were white where they gripped the poker.
“Okay,” she said. She was too tired to argue and in truth she felt grateful for the company...even if it was only a boy.
She could walk...easier than she would have thought possible, and by the time she got out of the room and out in the hall she felt almost human.
She opened the front door gingerly, half expecting to be attacked as soon as she stepped outside. She was surprised to see that the sky was a wash of pink and that far off to her left the sun was already half way over the horizon.
“Bill?” She shouted. “What’s going on?”
Her voice carried far in the still morning
and a small flight of crows dispatched themselves from the trees in the churchyard, but there was no other answer.
The church door was half-open and she approached it slowly. Tony gripped her hand tightly as she swung the door fully open and stared into the darkness of the church.
“Don’t go in,” he said. “Please don’t. Something bad has happened.”
She gave him an answering squeeze.
“We’ve got to,” she said. “I’ve run away from too much already...it’s time I faced up to it.”
She stood there for long seconds, letting her eyes get accustomed to the gloom before stepping over the threshold.
“Bill?” she called again.
She grimaced as her voice echoed back at her.
The church was quiet, but there was something about the silence that made her think that a great deal of activity had just taken place, noise and movement and, yes, violence, that had been cut short as soon as she’d called.
She remembered feeling the same thing once before, at the scene of a car crash, just seconds after an accident, that quiet stillness, like a pause between events, a time when you were waiting to see what happened next.
She stepped further into the church and her foot hit something that slid noisily away from her. She looked down.
Psalm books and hymnals were strewn over the floor, and as her eyes became fully adjusted she could see other, larger shapes in the shadows.
The church pews had been overturned and pushed out of their regular rows into a hotchpotch disarray and the font had been knocked over, the water slowly spreading among the scattered paper. The pulpit leaned at an angle, looking like it was ready to fall over at any minute, and several of the huge organ pipes and been bent and twisted out of line.
“Hello?” she said, but she didn’t want to raise her voice to more than a loud whisper.
“There’s nobody here,” Tony whispered. “Come on. Let’s get out. I don’t like it here.”
“I know what you mean,” she said. “It doesn’t feel like a church anymore.”
They walked out of the church backward, keeping their eyes on the shadows, but there was no movement, no sound. Margaret’s spine crawled, and she was convinced that there was something waiting in the shadows by the door...something with bloodied fangs that would pounce just when they relaxed.
She tensed as they approached the door, but there was nothing there but shadows. She closed the door quietly behind them as they left.
The sky was brighter now, and it looked like it would be a fine morning, but Margaret had a chill inside her that no end of sun would dispel.
When she turned away from the church she noticed for the first time the brightly colored ribbon that marked the police scene of a crime.
“The policeman and Bill Reid, both gone?” she muttered. She took a step forward, at the same time as Tony let go of her hand.
“The old man,” he said, “He’s over there.”
He pointed with the poker, and Margaret saw the metal bar tremble violently before the boy lowered it to his side.
She bent down to look him in the eye.
“Listen...I’m just going to have a look...just to see if the others are over that way. You stay here and don’t move. Okay?”
The boy nodded, his grip on the poker tightening even further.
“And shout, loud, if anything happens,” Margaret said.
She didn’t want to go anywhere near any body...particularly one of someone she knew, but there was something she had to do if she was to make herself believe in all that was happening.
She stepped nimbly over the gaudy tape and approached the amorphous tarpaulin on the ground. She had one look back at Tony but the boy was standing in the doorway of the Manse, his gaze fixed hard on the door of the church.
A large stone at each corner steadied the tarpaulin. She moved one aside and lifted up the edge of the sheet, drawing it back from the body.
Old Sandy looked like he hadn’t died easy, and Margaret felt gorge rise in her throat as she looked at the crossbow bolt protruding from his chest and the massive, gaping bloodless, wound at his neck. She didn’t realize that she was rubbing hard at the bandage on her wrist, hard enough for a spreading patch of red to form just beneath the knuckle.
She bent over the body and grabbed hold of the quarrel, just beneath the feathers.
“I have to know,” she whispered to herself. “I have to.”
She closed her eyes and started to pull.
At first she thought that she wasn’t going to able to move the bolt, then it started to give, slowly at first, grating against a rib as it came, inch by inch.
She stopped, suddenly dizzy, and breathed gulps of air deep into her lungs.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she whispered to herself. Things had taken a turn into the Twilight Zone again. She was about to interfere with the scene of a murder, just to verify whether vampires existed or not.
She stood over the body, and for a second considered leaving it be...just replacing the tarpaulin and walking away. But then she might never know. She bent down to the body once more, gave one last yank on the bolt and suddenly it was free.
Margaret held her breath, studying the old man’s face, but there was no movement. She considered drawing back his lips to check his teeth, but that way lay madness.
She dropped the quarrel on the ground by the body and turned towards the Manse. Tension drained out of her.
Too much stress and strain, she said to herself. And not enough sleep.
She was about to call out to Tony when there was a cough behind her, and she turned back just in time to see Old Sandy sit up and spit a garlic clove from his mouth.
Thin tendrils of smoke rose like mist from his face and hands. He opened his mouth to scream and only smoke came out...thick, black, greasy smoke that caught in the back of Margaret’s throat and made her gag violently.
The old man’s eyes snapped open, and he looked straight at Margaret. He reached out his arms towards her, whether in attack or in a plea for comfort she would never know as the rising smoke got thicker and blue flame burst over the body, a flame so hot that Margaret had to step back as the skin of her face tightened.
The body on the ground thrashed, left and right, heels drumming on the ground and suddenly withered hands clutched frantically at the air as the flame spread and the flesh began to spit and hiss, like a basted chicken on a barbecue spit.
It was over in seconds. For the space of one heartbeat she could still make out the old man in the flame. But then he fell apart, like a collapsing bonfire, until all that was left was the burning remnants of his clothes and the thick black smoke already dispersing in the light morning breeze.
Margaret bent double and threw up several large whiskeys on the grass at her feet.
Brian sat upright in the bathtub.
Deep in the pit of his stomach a fire raged, a cold fire that demanded attention. He felt it as a hunger, so deep he knew he would starve if it weren’t assuaged.
He stood and stepped out of the tub, studying the sleeping form on the floor. The man had an aura...an emerald and gold glow that stood out for more than three inches all around his body, an aura that pulsed and flowed in time with the man’s deep breathing. And down inside that aura Brian could smell something that threatened to drive him mad. He knew it would be red, and hot, and that it would quell the hunger inside him.
He had been transported into a nightmare, one from which there was no return.
His memory of the past hours was hazy. He remembered the meal with Margaret, and he remembered being driven here by the tall man with the expensive car, but the rest of the night was blurred and confused, like a half remembered dream.
And the man’s stories made little sense...full of barbarous sounding names and hints of ancient evils...raising more questions than answers.
He wanted his old life back. He wanted to make passionate love to Margaret Brodie, he wanted to go for a pint with Tom, and he wan
ted to beat Bill Reid at chess. But most of all he wanted to wake up in his bed and find that this was all a bad dream.
Somewhere in his mind he knew that he’d never do any of these things...that life...if that were what he now had...would never be the same again. He felt like he should cry, but when he touched his eyes they were dry and cold.
He caught a movement in his peripheral vision and turned. He was looking in the mirror.
That was another of the myths he’d have to forget about.
He scarcely recognized himself.
His lips had thinned until they were little more than slim crescents of pale pink skin, and his teeth, previously stained and brown from smoking, were white and straight. But it was something in his eyes that made him shudder...they had become deep pools of blackness, almost no white visible.
And then he noticed his beard. There was no gray in it and his fine hair shone with a vibrancy it had never, ever possessed. Before tonight Brian would have done almost anything to get a beard like this one, but now he thought that the price might have been just a little too high.
He opened his mouth and prodded at his canine teeth with his index finger, just as the hunger flared once more inside him.
Fangs slid out of his gums with a sudden burst of warm pain. He tasted salty blood in his mouth and his stomach turned, but it didn’t put out the fire. He grimaced at his image in the mirror as the fangs protruded over his lower lip.
The demanding hunger suddenly got worse, doubling him up over the small sink. He looked up and saw the fiery red burning in the reflected eyes. He groaned and turned away from the mirror.
And found that he was face to face with Donald Allan.
“You must fight it,” the other man said.
“But I need,” Brian said, a fresh bolt of pain hitting him, causing him to grip his lower stomach and almost fall.
“I know. And you will keep needing it.”
Brian saw the compassion in the other man’s eyes.
“It is part of what we are, but it is not all that we are,” the man said, and to Brian it sounded like a quotation. “It will get easier as time passes, but it will never go completely.”