He fed upon stragglers and upon those who wandered too far from nightly encampments. His primary impression of China was one of vastness. Seemingly endless deserts rimmed by mountains. He heard there was an ocean to the east, but very far away.
The Silk Road ended at the city of Xian, which those he had talked to around the fire in encampments had told him to seek. A local warlord ruled in Xian and there appeared to be no centralized government, indicating to Nosferatu that the word “China” was merely a geographical, rather than political, term. He’d spent several weeks in Xian, listening at night to words spoken in darkened taverns, learning the language and feeding to rebuild his strength after his long, arduous journey.
Few spoke of Qian-Ling and then only in whispers. There were supposed to be evil demons around the mountain protecting it, and if one did get past the demons, the story was that those who went in never came out. It was not very much different than what was spoken of the Giza Plateau. When the moon was darkest he departed Xian for Qian-Ling.
Nosferatu paused between the statues and looked up. Three thousand feet high, the mountain was much larger than the great pyramid he had seen in Egypt. It was perfectly shaped, its rounded shoulders graced with terraces filled with plants and trees leading to a rounded top.
Nosferatu sensed movement in the darkness. He made himself as still as the statues. There was someone out there, stalking him. He’d been hunted before, by humans when he had stayed too long in one place and fed too often. They never stood a chance of capturing him in the dark and he always made sure to hide well during the day. But this was different. His pursuer wasn’t a clumsy group armed with swords and carrying torches.
Nosferatu moved quickly to one side of the road and hid next to one of the statues. He turned his head slowly, peering about, while also listening closely. He heard a slight rustle of cloth to his right front. There. Also in the darker place at the base of a statue was a figure. Staring back at him. Nosferatu realized with a start that the other could see him just as well in the dark. He knew then that he had found another like him, another Undead.
Then he realized there was more than one. He turned his head to the left and saw another figure. Slowly turning in a circle, Nosferatu saw that he was surrounded by half a dozen silent figures, all of whom held weapons, short swords carried at the ready.
How had they encircled him so easily? He should have heard them well before they got close. Turning swiftly, Nosferatu bounded up into the air, alighting atop a statue and looking down at the encircling group. He leapt from the top of the statue to the next, landing hard and grabbing hold to keep from falling off.
He was surprised to see that the circle had moved and was gathered around the base of this statue, keeping a careful distance, but all eyes upon him.
Nosferatu held up both hands, empty palms out to show he was not armed. The circle didn’t respond, simply staying in place, staring. The tableau remained frozen, as if they were statues also, for over ten minutes, then two of those who had trapped him moved apart and another, taller figure, walked between them and up to the statue on which Nosferatu was perched, halting about five meters away. Nosferatu still had his empty hands held up and this new figure mimicked him, doing the same. He appeared to be a man, of above average height for the people of the area, with long dark hair, wearing loose-fitting black pants and shirt of the shiny material Nosferatu had seen others in this land wear, a fabric the locals called silk.
Nosferatu jumped down onto the road and the man held his place. Now that he was closer, Nosferatu could see him clearly in the moonlight.
It was the eyes that told him he was indeed looking at one of his own kind. They were dark and deep and he could sense as much as see a tint of redness in them. Nosferatu felt no fear. Indeed after so many years, he felt a desire to speak with someone who shared his fate.
“Where are you from?” the man asked. He spoke in the ancient tongue of the Airlia.
“I am Nosferatu, made in the First Age of Egypt, the spawn of Osiris the Airlia God and a High Consort of the Gods.”
The man nodded. “I am Tian Dao Lin. I was made here”—he pointed at Qian-Ling— “by Artad himself in consort with a sacrificial girl.”
“How long have you been here?” Nosferatu asked.
“For over three hundred years I have walked the night here.” Nosferatu glanced about. “And the others?”
“They are from me.”
Nosferatu was surprised. “From you? How?”
Tian Dao Lin smiled. “From me and local women.”
Mating with a human. It had never occurred to Nosferatu. The hunger for blood had always ruled. And then there was Nekhbet.
“They are less than we,” Tin Dao Lin said. “Only one quarter of the God blood. The eldest is almost ninety years old and close to death. Several others, older, have already died of old age.”
“Do they also have the hunger?”
Tian Dao Lin stepped closer. “I do not let them feed on blood. They crave and eat human food. I do not want them partaking of the hunger.” He gestured. “Come.”
Nosferatu followed Tian Dao Lin, the entourage of Quarters falling in behind.
They headed directly away from Qian-Ling into the countryside, arriving at what appeared to be an abandoned village, the buildings badly in need of repair. “These people ran away long ago,” Tian Dao Lin said as he led Nosferatu into the largest hut in the center of the village. The Quarters, who Nosferatu saw included only males, separated and disappeared into the surrounding huts.
“No females?”
Tian Dao Lin frowned. “I do not let female Quarters live.” “Why?”
“Because then they could mate with male Quarters and increase their power.” That made brutal sense to Nosferatu. Tian Dao Lin settled down cross-legged on a cushion and indicated for Nosferatu to do the same across from him.
“You have traveled far,” Tian Dao Lin said. “It must have been a dangerous and difficult journey.”
“It was.”
“One does not undertake such an arduous endeavor without a very good reason.”
“He who made you…” Nosferatu paused. “Yes?”
“The Airlia—where are they now?”
“They sleep below ground, in the mountain-tomb.” “Can you get to them?”
“No. I have tried and, with tales of great riches, I have tempted others to try. I even sent a small band of Quarters into the mountain. All have failed and most have died in the attempt.”
Nosferatu felt a blanket of weariness come down over his shoulders. To have come this far and be told so quickly his goal was not attainable was overwhelming.
“Are you hungry?”
Nosferatu weakly nodded.
Tian Dao Lin stood. “Come. There is still enough darkness. We can hunt together.”
• • •
Nosferatu spent a week with Tian Dao Lin, feeding and learning of his life. In turn he told the Chinese man of his travels and how things were in the Western world. Sensing that Nosferatu wasn’t satisfied with being denied access to the Airlia by just words, Tian Dao Lin agreed to lead him as far into the mountain lair as he safely could.
Early one evening after rising, Tian Dao Lin led him to the base of the mountain, a half dozen Quarters trailing after them. They passed between two large boulders, each with a statue of a crouching tiger perched on top. They entered a small courtyard, thirty meters wide by fifteen long. At the far end were two large bronze doors covered in writing.
“Are there Watchers here?” Nosferatu asked, remembering how there was always one near the Giza Plateau. He quickly described that situation.
“I have not seen anyone like that,” Tian Dao Lin said. “What about Watcher-Hunters?”
“What are those?”
“Humans who hunt us?”
“I, and my people, have killed some humans who came after me, whether they were Watchers or not, I do not know.”
They stood in front of the doors.
“I hired some bandits to open these doors.” Tian Dao Lin swung one a little bit open. “After they breached this, I killed them all to keep the place safe.” He then ordered the Quarters to maintain a watch on the doors.
Tian Dao Lin slid through the open door, Nosferatu following. They were in a large anteroom. The walls were painted with many figures, similar to what Nosferatu had seen in Giza, along some sections of the Roads of Rostau.
A wide tunnel was at the end of the anteroom. Ten meters wide, it ran straight as an arrow into the bowels of the mountain. The workmanship was as superb as that of the Roads, the walls cut smoothly.
They went down about two hundred meters where two smaller tunnels, each going ninety degrees in opposite directions, split off. Nosferatu could see the writing on the walls around the split.
“Warnings,” he said.
Tian Dao Lin nodded. “Yes. Watch.” He walked a little way down the main tunnel. A dim red glow appeared just ahead of him. The glow became a circle, then stretched up and down, narrowing. It took a shape Nosferatu recognized: an Airlia. Pure white skin like ivory, legs and arms longer than a human’s, with a large head covered with flame red hair. The burning red cat eyes looked at them as if the image could see.
“That is the image of my father, Artad,” Tian Dao Lin said.
The right arm rose, its six-fingered hand extended, palm out. The image spoke in the language of the Gods, reiterating what was written on the walls: It was forbidden to enter unless one had the key. Any who tried to pass without it would die.
“And many have died,” Tian Dao Lin said. “If you go farther down this tunnel, there is a beam of light that slices through flesh and bone like a knife through water. None can pass.”
“And down there is where Artad and the other Airlia sleep.” Nosferatu did not make it a question, so Tian Dao Lin did not reply.
So close. Nosferatu could sense the Airlia ahead of and below him. Sleeping in their tubes. With the blood he needed to resurrect Nekhbet in their veins. “What about this key? Any idea where it is?”
Tian Dao Lin shook his head. “None. I have searched far and wide. I fear it might even be down there, with the Airlia. I see no reason why they would leave it outside.”
“What about the other tunnels?”
“The one to the left has an air shaft crossing it, very small, which dead-ends at stone. The one to the right—I will show you.”
They backed up and took the right-hand tunnel. They went straight and down for a little way, then the passageway began weaving back and forth in wide turns and descending at a steeper angle. The tunnel suddenly began to widen, then opened into a large chamber, the far end of which Nosferatu could not see. As soon as they stepped out of the tunnel into the chamber, a dim glow came alive far above their heads.
As the glow grew brighter, Nosferatu put his hand up to shade his eyes. “What is this place?”
The glow was soon as bright as the sun, and Nosferatu closed his eyes to mere slits.
“It is where they have stored much of their riches,” Tian Dao Lin said.
Nosferatu could see they were in a massive cavern, the roof of which was supported by metal beams. The room had to take up the entire interior of the base of the mountain, he realized. The floor was covered with numerous large black rectangular containers.
“I have tried to get into them, but never succeeded,” Tian Dao Lin said.
“Are there no guards?” Nosferatu asked. “In the Roads of Rostau there is a beast that prowls the tunnels and kills interlopers.”
“Just the trap far down the main tunnel,” Tian Dao Lin said. “Look.”
Another red glow appeared in front of them. It coalesced into another Airlia form. The figure began to speak but many of the terms it used were unfamiliar to Nosferatu. He realized it was probably giving an inventory of what was stored there as several times it mentioned amounts and numbers and pointed at various containers.
“I am sorry,” Tian Dao Lin suddenly said, catching Nosferatu by surprise. “Sorry for what?”
“That you cannot get what you came for. That you cannot return and rescue your love, Nekhbet.”
Nosferatu backed up into the tunnel, Tian Dao Lin joining him. The light from the chamber dimmed, leaving them in their darkness. They headed back up the tunnel.
“Will you stay here?” Nosferatu asked Tian Dao Lin. “This is my home.”
“Will you watch this place?”
“Yes.” Tian Dao Lin knew what Nosferatu was getting at. “If there is a change, if we can get to the lower level, I will let you know. Where will you go?”
That was an interesting question as Nosferatu had no idea what his next move was to be. “I will go back to the west.” He did not tell Tian Dao Lin that he planned to go into the deep sleep, as the other did not have a black tube, nor seemed to know of their existence. “I will seek out Aspasia’s Shadow and try to learn more.”
“He does not sound like a creature that is to be trusted,” Tian Dao Lin noted.
“He seems to take amusement in the misery of others,” Nosferatu acknowledged. “Still, he has an agenda that was imprinted on him by Aspasia. He sent Alexander and his army in this direction in the hope they would make it and perhaps force an entrance. I am sure he will cause more trouble in the future.”
Both were startled when there was a loud bang. “The doors!” Tian Dao Lin cried out.
They raced up the tunnel to find the large bronze doors shut and the bodies of the six Quarters scattered about in front of them in the foyer room, ripped to pieces. Nosferatu and Tian Dao Lin ran to the doors and leaned against them, pressing with all their superhuman might, but they would not budge.
“Who did this?” Nosferatu demanded, as they turned back to face the main corridor.
Tian Dao Lin shook his head. “I do not know. I have been inside the mountain a half dozen times. Never has this happened.”
Nosferatu knelt next to one of the bodies. The wounds were clean, caused by something very sharp.
“In the Roads of Rostau—” Nosferatu began, but he fell silent as they heard a noise above them. Both looked up to see a trapdoor swing open in the rounded dome ceiling. A glowing gold orb with black legs—a twin to the one under Giza—dropped down, hitting the floor with a clatter of metal legs on stone.
One leg lifted, razor-sharp tip pointed at Nosferatu, while another was directed at Tian Dao Lin. For several minutes everything was absolutely still in the foyer. Then the sound of boots echoed up the main corridor. Nosferatu took an involuntary step back as two Airlia appeared in the entranceway to the main corridor, long spears in their hands. They wore black, one-piece suits and looked none too pleased, their fierce red eyes glaring at the intruders.
“My lords—” Tian Dao Lin began, hands held up in supplication. His entreaty was cut short by a bolt of gold from the tip of one of the spears hitting him in the chest and knocking him backward.
Nosferatu finally reacted, reaching for the dagger in his belt when a bolt took him in the chest and his world went black.
Crete: 325 B.C.
Vampyr came awake to darkness. He lay still for several minutes, slowly breathing, trying to regain his orientation. Coming out of the deep sleep was always a disconcerting experience. He reached up to open the tube. When the stump of his arm hit the top of the tube, it all came rushing back to him: what the Spartans had done to him; the years of making his way here, forced to live like an animal, feeding on the weak and the young.
Vampyr pressed the lid open. Faint starlight and moonlight seeped into the chamber from slight cracks caused by the earthquake so many years before. He sat up and fumbled with the leads to his arms and legs, using his stumps and a stick between his teeth. It took hours to remove them, then he exited the tube.
Vampyr held up his arms, staring at the stumps. Something was different. The flesh on the stumps of his forearms had healed and skin covered the wounds—but after over five years of deep sleep he could swear that the forea
rm was ever so slightly longer. Were his arms growing back? Was the Airlia virus in his blood allowing him to regenerate?
Vampyr left the chamber to hunt for someone to feed on as he considered the possibility. He went to the closest village and reached in a window, taking a sleeping child into what remained of his arms and running off into the forest before the alarm could be raised. He drained the child and buried the corpse in a shallow grave before returning to his ruined palace just before dawn. He searched for a piece of stone that matched the length of his forearms. He finally found one and took it with him into his tube, where he set the controls for ten years and reattached the leads. Then he closed the lid.
• • •
When Vampyr awoke ten years later, the first thing he did was open the lid to let the meager light of the chamber in. The second was check his stumps against the stone marker.
They were indeed a fraction of an inch longer. He felt hope for the first time since Acton had swung the axe. His hands would be back. Judging by how little had grown in ten years it would take a very long time, but that was the one asset he had plenty of. Without exiting to feed, he edged toward the top of the tube and with the stick reset the controls for a much, much longer deep sleep. Then he shut the lid and passed again into darkness.
CHAPTER 9
China: A.D. 1167
The bronze doors leading into Qian-Ling swung open and a young woman staggered out, a boy-child less than a week old in her arms. The doors swung shut behind her and she wandered into the dark terrain around the mountain. She made it little more than a mile before she was surrounded by a group of four men who were not quite completely human.
They were the descendants of Tian Dao Lin’s Quarters, who had stolen local women and intermarried, mixing their blood and genes over and over again through the centuries until what was left were these creatures who prowled the night, attacking unwary travelers, eating their flesh and drinking their blood like animals, with little intelligence left in their twisted minds.
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