The Nosferatu Chronicles: Origins

by Susan Hamilton

  “Yes, Sire,” replied Iroto. “I thank you for the trust you have placed in me and will serve you faithfully.”

  After Dracula dismissed him, Iroto offered up a silent prayer for the protection of those still enslaved.

  SAVAGES

  Village of Bazna, Transylvania

  By the time the villagers came across the first ‘coffin,’ it was late in the afternoon. No one had seen anything like it before. It was composed of an unknown metal and contained a blinking red light that emitted a high-pitched, pulsing sound. Led by the preot, who carried a large crucifix, the villagers tentatively approached it.

  “Open it,” ordered the preot.

  The villagers remained still as they tightly clutched their pitchforks and axes.

  “I said open it!” shouted the preot. “God is infinitely more powerful than the Evil One!”

  After unsuccessfully trying to pry it open, they began to hack at it with their axes. Eventually, one of the strikes penetrated the surface, whereupon the coffin emitted a loud hiss. The villagers immediately drew back in fear. Handing his crucifix to a bystander, the preot grabbed an axe and struck the flashing red light.

  The vital signs of the pod’s occupant were rapidly deteriorating due to the hull breach. The computer was forced to make a conflicting logic decision: the sensors indicated it was daylight outside, but the occupant faced certain death if not immediately revived. The override function chose the option that would give the occupant the best chance of survival, even if that time was measured in mere seconds. The revival sequence was activated and the hatch opened.

  Terror gripped the villagers as the hideous creature inside was revealed. The body was that of an emaciated female with an elongated bald head, pointed ears, and gnarled, claw-like hands that were twice the normal size. Most disturbingly of all, a pair of large fangs protruded from the center of her lips.

  Retrieving his crucifix, the preot thrust it within inches of the occupant as she opened her reptilian eyes and emitted a blood-curdling scream. Steam rose from her skin, and she raised her arms in a futile effort to protect herself from the sunlight. Her core body temperature quickly rose to a level that triggered spontaneous combustion, and the stench caused many onlookers to retch. Curiously, the body contained no blood, but instead a powdery, viscous substance that evaporated into acrid smoke, which was carried off by the wind.

  “Behold, our victory!” proclaimed the preot. “We must find and destroy every disciple of Satan that was cast out of Heaven today!”

  ********

  Cloaked Lifeboat, Outskirts of Bazna

  “Which is it, Yeoman,” demanded Mazja, “220, 219, or 216?”

  Fryhi nervously glanced again at her panel.

  “Someone give me an answer!” she roared. “How many homing beacons are functional?”

  The crew shared Mazja’s frustration. As more homing beacons went offline, the Vambir were powerless to help their comrades until after sunset. Incapable of independent flight once it had landed, the lifeboat could not be used for rescue or reconnaissance missions. Various theories were posed as to what was happening to the homing beacons: atmospheric interference, a computer glitch, a defect in their design…or something else.

  Seeking a diversion from his grief, Kevak kept himself busy by entering the latitude and longitude coordinates of every homing beacon that had relayed a signal to the lifeboat and used that information to generate a computerized map.

  “Commander, it’s possible there are sentient life forms on this planet.” he said.

  The crew gathered around his panel to see what he had been working on.

  “This blue light represents the lifeboat, and the red lights are the locations of the beacon signals we picked up,” he explained. “Now watch—the red lights will go out in the order that the beacons went offline.”

  As everyone looked on with interest, it was clear that the beacons were not going offline at random. Something was methodically disabling them.

  “What sort of life form could it be?” asked Chaluxi.

  “When the Isla broke apart, the life form scan had not been completed,” said Kevak.

  He sighed and looked up at Mazja. “Something could be attracted to the red flashing lights, Commander. We need to take bio-scanners in addition to lasguns when we are able to begin searching.”

  “Is the lifeboat supplied with drones?” asked Mazja.

  “Four, Commander,” he answered, “but for observation purposes only.”

  Mazja furrowed her brow as she tried to think of another option. “Once the drones are in range, could they command the pods to go into hover mode and make their way to the lifeboat?”

  Kevak shook his head. “Hover mode can only be activated by the occupant, Commander. After that there is no navigation. The pod simply follows the occupant.”

  Frustrated, Mazja rubbed her head and sighed. “Then we must wait for nightfall.”

  As soon as it was dark, the Vambir began the search and rescue mission. Within hours they had located and revived the occupants of twenty-seven pods. Kevak stoically watched as the revived Vambir were happily reunited with their families.

  Mistaking his silence for worry, Chaluxi attempted to give Kevak hope.

  “There are still many more pods to be located, Navigator,” he said. “There’s a chance of finding Vrin and J’Vor.”

  Kevak closed his eyes and took several seconds before venturing to speak.

  “Their pod malfunctioned centuries ago,” he whispered. “I checked just before…”

  Chaluxi placed his hand on Kevak’s shoulder. “I am sorry, old friend.”

  “What of your parents and sister?” asked Kevak.

  “They were not assigned to the Isla,” answered Chaluxi. “My sister’s spouse was Commander of another ship.”

  “But in the panic surrounding the Lowcaste revolt, they could have—”

  “They were in stasis on their ship long before the explosions began. I saw to it myself before reporting to the Isla.”

  More joyous cries were heard as another passenger was revived. Those Vambir still anxiously awaiting the discovery of their loved ones looked on silently.

  “At least we do not carry the burden of uncertainty, Helmsman,” said Kevak, his voice barely above a whisper.

  *******

  As the sky darkened, more villagers arrived with torches to join in the search. Word had spread quickly about the hideous demons encountered and the ease at which they had been dispatched upon beholding the preot’s crucifix.

  After sunset, things changed.

  “There’s another one!” cried the preot.

  As soon as the axes pierced the coffin’s surface, the familiar loud hiss was followed by the lid opening. This time, the male demon inside did not curl up in agony when confronted with the crucifix, but instead stood up and curiously looked around, babbling incoherently. The preot grabbed one of the torches and struck him in the face, which only served to enrage the creature, and he swatted at the throat of the preot with one his oversized claws. Displaying incredible strength, the male backhanded the preot into the crowd of onlookers. The villagers were eventually able to overpower the demon by rushing toward him with torches while others attacked from behind with axes. After several blows struck his head, the male sank to his knees as the viscous substance spilled from his gaping wounds.

  *******

  The Vambir saw the torches in the distance. Running toward the light, they heard the sounds of a great commotion and were able to make out silhouettes of the life forms Kevak had alluded to earlier. Their physical appearance was surprisingly similar to the Vambir.

  “They’ve discovered a pod!” shouted Kevak.

  “Hurry!” ordered Mazja.

  Arriving at the scene, the Vambir were enraged to find their comrade being viciously attacked. The life forms were striking him in the head with metal objects as he raised his arms in a futile attempt to defend himself. It was Mazja’s spouse, Behot.
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  Mazja set her lasgun to kill and vaporized the life forms closest to Behot. Picking up one of their axes, she vented her rage on the preot by striking him in the head with a force that split him down to his waist. Blood spurted from the body, and a thin arc sprayed across the side of her face.

  As the terrified villagers scattered, Enforcers took off in pursuit.

  Behot’s body shook as Kevak used his bio-scanner to determine his condition. Mazja knelt beside him and gently took his hand, instantly recognizing he would not live.

  Death throes.

  There was a flicker of recognition in Behot’s face before he abruptly stopped twitching.

  “I’m sorry, Commander,” said Kevak. “His injuries were too severe.”

  The bio-scanner lit up, but Kevak did not understand the reading.

  NUTRIENT PROXIMITY

  Waving the scanner in different directions, Kevak saw that the signal became stronger as it moved closer to Mazja, who was still at Behot’s side. Not wanting to intrude on her grief, he muted the scanner. The readings indicated that the red substance on Mazja’s face was remarkably similar to hemo-nectar.

  Returning to the scene, Enforcers reported that the life forms had been easily eliminated.

  “How long until daylight?” Mazja asked Fryhi.

  “Approximately ten hours, Commander,” she replied.

  Mazja stood up and inspected the carnage. Out of the five life forms that lay motionless on the ground, one remained alive.

  “Vaporize the dead and put the live one in a pod for later analysis,” she ordered Kevak.

  “Enforcers,” she hissed, “continue to locate and revive as many passengers as you can before daylight. Deploy surveillance drones and eliminate any opposition you encounter.”

  After the Enforcers had departed, the remaining Vambir stood silently in respect as Mazja bent down to whisper a private goodbye to Behot. When she had finished, they gently lifted his body and headed back to the lifeboat.

  A drop of the red substance on Mazja’s face slowly trickled down her cheek into the corner of her mouth, and a reaction in her brain released high levels of dopamine. The taste of the substance was familiar.

  Hemo-nectar!

  Mazja shuddered as its invigorating effects coursed through her viscous circulatory system. The Vambir following behind mistook her shuddering for grief.

  The metamorphosis had begun.

  VISITATION

  Village of Velt, Transylvania

  Yellow tops. They’re ready to pick!

  Emanui bent down and pulled the garlic bulbs from the soil. Half an hour later, her basket was full. The sun had set when she reached the small hut she shared with her grandmother. The old woman coughed as she struggled to sit up in bed.

  “Look, Bunica!” exclaimed Emanui. “I filled the basket! And there’s plenty more where these came from.”

  “It is dangerous to be out after dark, Emanui!” chided Bunica.

  “Everything nearby has been picked,” she said. “I had just turned around to come home when the smell reached me.”

  Bunica picked a handful from the basket and held it to her nose.

  “Splendid,” she said. “The chopped leaves are all that is needed to finish the tonic for the farmer’s wife. That should fetch enough to see us through the rest of the month.”

  Emanui laughed. “I didn’t know garlic had fertility properties.”

  “Neither does the farmer’s wife,” retorted Bunica. “She’ll be expecting something pungent, and we won’t disappoint her. Besides, most of what ails people is in their minds. If they believe in a cure, then that’s half the battle.”

  Emanui’s mother had died giving birth to her. Her father, a soldier, had left her in the care of his mother. The silver pieces he brought home during his rare visits had been enough for them to feed and clothe themselves, but three years ago he had been killed in battle.

  Emanui and her grandmother had barely managed to eke out a living by selling the herbs they picked. Their fortunes changed when a merchant’s wife commented on Emanui’s beauty and clear skin. Bunica had bragged that it was all due to a secret cream she made from herbs and rendered fat, and from then on the eccentric old woman was sought out for her beauty products.

  Fortune further smiled upon them when the child of a wealthy villager was struck down with fever from an infected wound. With the child on the brink of death, the desperate parents pleaded for Bunica’s assistance. Seeing that the child would most likely die, Bunica stressed that it was probably too late to save him, but she would do her best. Dressing the wound with a mixture of raw honey, garlic, and chamomile, she added the dramatic effect of going into a trance and uttering words no one understood as she finished tying the bandage. The next day, the child’s fever broke, and he went on to make a complete recovery.

  Bunica’s various elixirs were now in such high demand that Emanui was forced to venture farther away to locate new herbs for picking, since their garden was not enough to supply their needs.

  “We’ll hang the garlic out to dry tomorrow,” said Bunica before descending into a coughing fit.

  “Here,” said Emanui, handing her a cup of broth. “I’ll take the wheelbarrow tomorrow and collect the rest of the garlic when I finish hanging what’s in the basket.”

  “You must be home before dark,” insisted Bunica. “Always have garlic with you and never remove your crucifix. I have entered the final sickness, and evil is returning to the land.”

  “What evil?” asked Emanui.

  “Strigoi,” whispered Bunica.

  “I’ve never heard that word,” said Emanui. “What does it mean?”

  “You’ve never heard the word because it has been forbidden to utter it,” said Bunica. “They are the troubled souls who rise from the dead with the power to transform into animals or even to become invisible. Their kind has not been around since I was a small child, when the village was stricken by a wasting disease in the middle of winter.”

  Bunica was racked by another coughing fit and paused to sip some more broth. “The cooper was the first,” she continued. “He coughed up blood for weeks and was a broken husk when he died. Ten days later his wife showed the same signs and swore he had returned each night to feast upon on her blood. No one believed her until others saw him making his midnight rounds. It was decided to open his grave.”

  “Was he gone?” asked Emanui.

  Bunica slowly shook her head. “He was there. Two weeks dead, but no decomposition, and fresh blood was trickling from his lips.”

  Emanui allowed a pause before asking her next question. “What did they do?”

  “They drove a wooden stake through his heart, cut off his head, stuffed the mouth with garlic, and placed it at his feet,” answered Bunica. “His spirit could not reanimate a broken corpse. It didn’t help his wife, who soon died, and the same was done to her.”

  “Why have you never spoken of this before, Bunica?” asked Emanui.

  The old woman shivered as she pulled the blankets close around her. “The old preot, Father Petros, forbade us to talk about it once our village was free of them. He believed that thoughts of demons could expose an opening in our souls for them to haunt. By banishing them from our memories, we were never troubled again. It is said that when you go through the final sickness, you can see the future. The Strigoi have begun to appear in my dreams. They are far away now but will eventually return here.”

  “What happened to our village so long ago?” asked Emanui.

  Bunica lowered her voice to a whisper. “We lost nearly a quarter of the population to the wasting disease. It claimed my brother, and...he returned.”

  “He came to feed off your blood?” asked Emanui.

  “He tried,” said Bunica, “but could not pass the threshold of our hut. We boarded up the windows and covered the outside with crucifixes and garlic. Evil spirits are unable to look upon a crucifix.”

  “Why does garlic repel them?” asked Emanui.
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  “Garlic repels all blood-suckers,” replied Bunica. “Mosquito or Strigoi, it makes no difference.”

  “How did you know your brother was outside if you had the windows boarded up?” asked Emanui, trying to hide her skepticism.

  “He called out to me,” said Bunica with a faraway look. “I can still hear his voice, barely above a whisper, imploring me to come out and…play.”

  Emanui remained silent as she pondered what she had just heard.

  The faint howls of distant wolves often sound like crying children.

  “Do not doubt me, child,” said Bunica sternly. “Never again pause to pick herbs if it means you will be outside after dark. Promise me! The Strigoi are returning. I have seen it in my dreams.”

  “I promise, Bunica,” answered Emanui.

  Poor woman, her pain is affecting her dreams.

  BALANCE

  Castle Dracula

  Iroto and Teodor rode behind Dracula through the Wallachian countryside. Iroto relished the crisp fragrance of the surrounding pine forest as a pleasant change to the death stench that permeated the battlefields. He allowed his thoughts to wander through the cataclysmic changes that had taken place in his life: his carefree existence in Africa, the enslavement of his tribe, and the subsequent liberation from the Ottomans. His heart ached for what Soueti had endured and how he had been helpless to prevent it. But it was pointless to dwell on events that could not be changed, and he took comfort in the fact that Soueti was being well looked after by Elzbieta. The quiet routines of sewing and reading were doing wonders for her state of mind. Each day he could see traces of her former happy self returning.

  They had been assigned a chamber within Castle Dracula and dined with the courtiers each evening in the Great Hall.

  Upon retiring to bed, Iroto would recount happy memories from their village. Soueti listened silently without emotion, but eventually there came a night when one of his stories made her laugh. He took her hand and chastely kissed it, but the innocent gesture caused her to recoil. Seeing her fear of him flash briefly in her eyes, Iroto was devastated. Soueti quickly reassured him that the reflex had not been intentional.