Nosferatu was impressed by what he heard. Tutored by Aristotle, who was held in great esteem among the intelligentsia in Athens, Alexander was now king of Macedonia to the north of Greece as a result of the assassination of his father the previous summer. In one short year, surrounded by enemies in his own kingdom and those surrounding him, Alexander had brutally exerted his will, executing any who stood in his way.
His power was so great that a Greek congress of states gathering at Corinth had elected him commander of their latest campaign against the Persians, during which he had attacked to the east as far as the Danube River, a fact that certainly intrigued Nosferatu. While conducting that campaign, Alexander had been brought close to disaster at home when Thebes revolted. Yet he’d returned from defeating the Persians and in one week razed the city of Thebes to the ground and sold its population into slavery, an action that caught the attention of the rest of the Greek states not yet allied with him.
The previous year Alexander had gone after the Persians once more, crossing the Hellespont, the water barrier dividing east and west Anatolia, to the east.
Alexander attacked a superior force of over 40,000 mercenaries and, according to the tales, totally defeated it while losing only 110 men.
Alexander was currently camped across the Hellespont and the rumor was that he was preparing a further expedition to the east against the Persian main army under King Darius III. With a letter of introduction from Aspasia’s Shadow, Nosferatu took leave of the city of Athens and headed north to link up with Alexander and his army.
Beyond all the legends that were growing up about the boy-king, Nosferatu also knew something none of the Greeks and Macedonians who followed him did: He was a Guide, programmed by Aspasia’s Shadow using the Guardian computer inside of Mount Sinai.
• • •
It took only the letter from Aspasia’s Shadow with the proper code word that had been imprinted in Alexander for Nosferatu to gain access to Alexander’s court. However, to work his way into the inner circle of advisers took two years. There were many who did not trust him, a man whom they only saw at night, but Alexander the King was not only programmed to accept him, but learned to appreciate Nosferatu’s counsel. Nosferatu knew patience, a trait he found many mortals did not appreciate. Most important, though, were his forays, when he would disappear for weeks at a time, ranging ahead of the army, hiding during the day, and scouting at night, moving like a ghost and seeing what others couldn’t. He would return to the king’s tent and brief the king and his staff on the terrain and enemy ahead with an accuracy that astounded all.
Nosferatu knew he could travel more quickly on his own, but he stayed with Alexander because he saw great possibilities and because he knew Aspasia’s Shadow was right. The king had his sights set high, much higher than any around him realized, except for Nosferatu, to whom he would confide his dreams of conquest late at night. That those dreams had been implanted, Alexander had no clue, nor did Nosferatu see any reason to enlighten him.
The Persian king, Darius, had retreated to Babylon while Alexander continued to the east and south. Nosferatu cautioned the king that he was leaving his left flank open, but Alexander was more concerned with liberating all the towns along the coast of the Mediterranean and bringing them into the Greek fold. Nosferatu realized that even though Aspasia’s Shadow had imprinted a strong desire into Alexander, the young man still retained a large degree of freedom in his decision making. More of the game, Nosferatu mused.
Thus it was that in September of 333, Darius made a bold move from Babylon, marched hard to the west into the rear of the Greek army, and cut Alexander’s supply line along the coast. The first notice of this disaster they had was when those hospital cases they’d left behind appeared, wandering up the supply road, their hands amputated, the wounds sealed with pitch, babbling of the mighty Persian army they’d been given a tour of after having their appendages removed.
This was when Nosferatu saw the unique nature of the man, which he had sensed from their first meeting as Aspasia’s Shadow obviously had also, expand to take control over an army. Cut off, exhausted from hard marching, drenched by torrential rains, and greatly outnumbered by the Persians to their rear, somehow Alexander managed to infuse his fighters with a sense of optimism.
Alexander personally led the charge against the Persian lines, heading straight for Darius’s golden chariot. The Greeks and Macedonians broke through and Darius fled, so frightened that he left his mother, wife, and children behind to be taken hostage.
While his generals urged him to pursue Darius and finish off the Persians once and for all, Nosferatu had different advice, given the new state of affairs. Thus, Alexander marched south, capturing Tyre after a siege, then into Gaza to take advantage of the sudden power vacuum in Egypt. In short order, Alexander controlled the entire Mediterranean seacoast from Greece around to Egypt.
• • •
The night of the army’s triumphant entry into Egypt, Nosferatu went to the Giza Plateau in the darkness. Alexander and his army remained at the mouth of the Nile, where he was to found the city named after him.
There was panic in nearby Cairo over the defeat of the Persians and the lack of any Pharaoh to fill the void. Nosferatu cared nothing for that. He went to the bank of the Nile, to the same hut he had visited so many years before. How better to learn what was new than to ask those whose job it was to watch?
When he kicked the door open, Nosferatu was not surprised to see a wizened old man sitting on a straw mat, whittling away at a stick. The man looked up at the sudden intrusion, but didn’t stop whittling.
“You are a Watcher, a Wedjat?” Nosferatu demanded.
“I am of the order,” the man affirmed. “I am a Watcher. And I am not involved in your war.”
“Your name?”
“Does it matter?”
“No. But your name anyway.” “Kajik.”
“Do you know who I am?”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “You appear to be a One Who Waits. As I said, I only watch. You have no reason to do me harm.”
Nosferatu laughed. “I am not one of them. My name is Nosferatu.”
Kajik nodded, still without any sign of panic or fear. “I have heard of you. From my father. The Undead one who killed a God. Who came here and took his love away many years ago.”
“You do not seem surprised to see me.”
“Much has happened in my life,” Kajik said. “It would take a lot to surprise me. I have seen the rule of two Pharaohs and three Persian kings. I have had six of my seven sons forced into armies—the army of whoever was ruling at the time— and die in battles against foes whom they had no reason to fight. I have seen my wife die of grief.”
“And the seventh son?” Nosferatu asked. “The next Watcher of Giza?”
“Hidden away. I have taught him what he needs to know and when I am gone he will take over. But for now, I am the Watcher of Giza. I do not fear you nor do I fear death, for I have done my duty.”
“I have not come here to kill you, old man.”
Kajik shrugged. “So you say. Do you know some of my order now hunt your kind?” “What do you mean?”
“There are those in my order who see your kind as an abomination that should not be allowed to walk the Earth. So they hunt you.”
“I thought you were just supposed to watch?”
“That is our mandate, but some have grown weary of just watching. They search things out.”
Nosferatu laughed. “It would be most unfortunate for any of these Watcher-Hunters to find me. For them, not me.”
“Perhaps that is what Vampyr thought until Tyrn, what you call a Watcher-Hunter, found him in Greece.”
Nosferatu leaned forward. “What of Vampyr? What happened?”
“He fought among the Spartans for many years. Rumors of a very strange man among the Greeks began to grow and were passed on by members of my orders to our headquarters. Then Tyrn began the long search. He caught up to Vampyr in
Greece while the Spartans were conducting a campaign against another city and convinced the Spartans to turn on him.”
“Vampyr’s dead?” Nosferatu could not believe such a thing after so many years. He remembered Aspasia’s Shadow speaking of Vampyr fighting to the south.
“The Spartans would not allow Tyrn to kill him. But they cut off his hands and set him off into the wilderness with no clothing or supplies. That was years ago. I think he would have died by now.”
Not Vampyr, Nosferatu thought. “His hatred is too strong for him to die.” Kajik shrugged once more. “I tell you only what I know. There is much in the world I do not know.”
“Vampyr killed the four remaining Airlia Gods here?” Kajik nodded while continuing to whittle.
“Tell me something, Watcher.”
Kajik stopped whittling and waited.
“You know what happened to Vampyr. Your order exists around the world.” “My order has people in many places,” Kajik confirmed.
“What of the other Airlia Gods?” Nosferatu asked. “Where are they?”
Kajik carefully put the stick on the floor, then looked up at Nosferatu. “Why do you want to know?”
“You don’t serve them, correct?”
“We will never serve them,” Kajik said.
“Then what is the purpose of your order?”
There was a long silence in the hut, before Kajik spoke once more. “It is our mandate to watch.”
“Who gave the mandate?”
“At the First Gathering, after the fall of Atlantis, those who were there gave it.”
“Men. Like you?”
“Yes. Priests who had escaped Atlantis and who would not serve the Gods ever again after the great betrayal.”
Nosferatu thought back to his childhood and the First Age. “Those at that First Gathering had been abandoned by the Gods. Other priests were chosen, many brought here to serve. Maybe to other places. But not those who formed your order. Have you ever considered that?”
“What difference does it make?”
“It means your order was founded out of bitterness.”
“So?”
“What is born in hatred is doomed to fail.”
“Who are you to say that?” Kajik demanded. “Why do you think those like Tyrn hunt you? Are you any better than the Gods?”
Nosferatu squatted so he was at eye level with the man. “Yes. Because over the years I have learned much. I just want to be able to live in peace. And have my love live. That is all most people ask, isn’t it? But as long as the Gods exist, that can never be.
“So I ask you once again, Watcher, what is the purpose of your order?”
Nosferatu did not wait for an answer. “I will tell you why you only watch. Fear. Your ancestors—those who founded your order—knew they could not fight the Airlia Gods, so they decided only to watch. It was a decision based on fear. They should have decided to fight them.”
Kajik’s dark eyes stared at Nosferatu, whatever thoughts he had to what he was hearing hidden behind them. “Fight and die?” “This”—Nosferatu waved his hand about the hut—“is living? I have been here before. Nothing has changed here. But the world out there”—he pointed out the door of the hut—“is changing.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I have been told that some of the Airlia—those led by Artad, along with him—sleep in a place called China. Is this so?” “Yes.”
“Do you know where exactly? I was told a place called Qian-Ling but that means nothing to me.”
“He sleeps underneath a mountain made by men.”
“Like the pyramid?” “That I do not know.”
“What else do you know about Artad’s sleeping place?”
“A Watcher-Hunter passed through here during the time of my grandfather. He was looking for more information on you and others like you. He told my grandfather there is rumor of Undead near where Artad sleeps.”
Nosferatu had never considered that there would be others besides Vampyr. He was still, assimilating this startling news for several moments. Then he asked, “Where is Aspasia?”
Kajik simply pointed up.
“What does that mean?”
“He is not on this planet. He is sleeping among the stars.”
Nosferatu slid his legs out from under him and sat down, feeling the weariness of the years he had already lived. Aspasia was inaccessible. It was as likely that Artad was too, even though he was in the place called China.
But that there might be other Undead there gave him hope of perhaps enlisting some allies, in addition to Alexander and his army. Aspasia’s Shadow’s plan might simply be a distraction, another roll of the dice; but that didn’t mean Nosferatu couldn’t turn it to his own advantage.
Nosferatu took leave of Kajik and returned to the army. Alexander led the army north and east out of Egypt and toward Babylon. They crossed the Tigris and the Euphrates and met Darius once more in battle at Gaugamela. Once more Alexander was victorious and once more Darius fled, although this time he escaped Alexander but not death as he was slain by two of his own generals.
Nosferatu found that following an army on the march made for excellent feeding because of the number of camp followers, on whom no one kept a close eye. However, he was still dismayed at the slowness of the advance. It was four years since he’d left Greece with Alexander and they were still within the known world. He spent many of his nights wandering local villages and cities trying to learn more of the world to the east and listening for any mention of the land of China and of other Undead. But nothing.
At his urging Alexander moved forward in the winter of 331, an unheard-of thing, and captured the Persian capital of Persepolis. He burned the city, ending the Persian Empire.
With access to the Persian court records, Nosferatu found the first mention of a land that might be China. Far to the east and north of a huge mountain range. There were drawings of flying dragons and other odd beasts and tales of a strange people with yellow skin and slanted eyes. He was discouraged to see the distances drawn on the maps and the number of kingdoms still between him and his objective.
Alexander didn’t care. They finished the winter outside the sacked remains of the Persian capital as his emissaries went to all the surrounding kingdoms and demanded tribute lest they face destruction. By winter’s end his domain stretched from Greece to Afghanistan to Turkistan to Carthage. He was essentially the ruler of the known world.
It was to the unknown world, however, that Aspasia’s Shadow’s imprinting and Nosferatu’s urging pushed him. Any other ruler at such a young age would have been content to govern and reap the rewards of his hard labor. But Alexander was not the ruler of his own mind.
In 326 he crossed the Indus River and invaded the Punjab.
Nosferatu could finally see the high mountains to the north, apparently impassable, blocking him—and Alexander’s army—from the goal of China and Qian-Ling.
At that point what Nosferatu had long feared finally happened, the army rebelled. They had been away from home and loved ones for almost a decade in an age when the average life span was barely three decades. They refused to continue and no amount of coaxing or threats by Alexander could make them go a step farther.
Nosferatu stood on the bank of the Indus and watched as the hastily constructed fleet of Alexander set sail, to go downriver and then into the Indian Ocean and on to the Persian Gulf and eventually home.
He did not join them. He turned his face to the north and headed toward the white peaks that seemed to touch the ceiling of the sky. He would try to reach Qian-Ling on his own.
Crete: 331 B.C.
Nosferatu, who knew Vampyr well, was right. Vampyr’s hatred had kept him alive when the Spartans had sent him out of their camp, naked, handless, without any supplies, and frighteningly depleted of blood. All he had was his xithos, which Acton had hung around his neck on a scabbard, saying he had earned the weapon.
Vampyr had staggered through the forest,
weaving his way among the trees. A wounded animal, simply seeking some place to hide. The first day he’d burrowed under the previous winter’s leaves, his body wracked with pain, real and phantom from where his hands ought to be. How could flesh that was not there cause pain? he’d wondered in bewilderment.
He had judged the humans wrongly, he’d realized those first weeks after he was maimed. They were more cunning and determined than he had imagined. He promised himself he would never underestimate them again.
It took all he had learned over the many years and the training of the Spartans for him to survive his wounds and the handicap of not having hands. He fed on children, the old, the weak, those he could overpower most easily. And he made his way south, knowing he needed to get back to his tube, to go into the deep sleep. It took him two years to cross southern Greece. Then another year before he managed to make his way on board a ship to Crete.
He found the island fragmented, the kingdom he had once ruled a distant memory that most believed never really existed. He went to the ruins of his old palace, to the hidden chamber behind the throne room. Using a stick gripped between his teeth, he set the controls, and then crawled in, managing with great difficulty to put the leads around his arms and legs. Then he went into the deep sleep, his mind filled with thoughts of revenge.
CHAPTER 8
China: 325 B.C.
Nosferatu walked among the stone people, a shadow in the darkness. The statues that lined the dirt road on either side glared down on him, their faces forever set in anger. They were a warning, a silent message sent to those in the area to stay away from the mountain to which the road led.
Nosferatu could see the peak looming directly ahead, the destination that Aspasia’s Shadow had told him to seek so many years and miles ago. Nosferatu had gone north out of India and skirted the foothills of the Himalayas, following them around to the west, as the few locals he talked to late at night recommended. He’d crossed hills and vast deserts, sometimes going for long periods without feeding until finally the massive mountains were to his right and he was moving east once more. He came upon a well-worn trading route, one that would not be called the Silk Road for hundreds of years, but was already in use by intrepid souls willing to attempt the dangerous journey.
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