"I expect that the point will prove inconsequential," the priest sighed in answer. "We will have plenty of time to sort out the details if we are still alive when this is all over."
Sebastian had seen the castle as they entered the village, looming above them like the huge, rotting corpse of some ancient dragon. Its stone towers and battlements were crumbled and cracked, but the skeleton of the structure remained. It was eerie, like a scene from one of the movies they'd discussed the night before. It would not have surprised him had a storm blown in to shoot bolts of lightning at the desolate, windswept landscape. It was inconceivable that any life could exist there. It was also nearly impossible to believe that in all the time they'd been in the village, even the time that Klaus had lived there, no one had mentioned that the place even existed.
None of them was very talkative, and as soon as their meal, supplemented by some cakes Claudia was able to prepare from stores of grain she'd found in the cellar, had been eaten, they all found their own corners and sat back to wait.
Sebastian had been sitting alone and staring into the depths of the fire for some time when Peyton and Damon slipped up beside him.
"We're worried," Peyton said almost immediately, "about the girls."
"I am too," Sebastian admitted, "but now that we've dragged everyone all the way up here, what can we do? We can't send them back down the mountain by themselves, and we can't just turn back. Not with Klaus up here somewhere."
"We're worried about Klaus, too," Damon cut in. "How do we know he wants us here? How do we know he isn't just like them now? Sebastian, I'm scared. That thing was hard as hell to kill back at the Inn, and it was already half dead."
"Yeah," Peyton cut in, his eyes intense, "and what are we going to do if Klaus is like that? Kill him? Drag him out and watch him melt in the sunlight, or drive a damned stake through his heart?"
Sebastian hadn't considered that. His goal had been simple, probably too simple, in retrospect. He'd wanted just to come up here and to find Klaus. That was all. He'd thought that once they came face to face with him they'd be able to straighten everything out. They always had in the past, why should he have thought this would be any different.
Now he was faced with it. Could he kill Klaus? If he could, would he? Would any of them? Father Adolph, maybe. Even Damon and Peyton might be able to pull it off if the girls were threatened. Sebastian was much less sure of himself.
Klaus had been the central focus of his life for many years. He'd taken him from a boring, inconsequential existence and given him one of dreams and riches. He had been the outlet for Sebastian's music, the catalyst to his creativity. Now he was here, tracking his friend like some kind of wild animal, or, more exactly, like a monster. What had he expected to find?
Steeling himself to try and disguise the depth of his emotion, he said, "We will just have to find him, first. What we do then will depend on what he does, I think. He may be fine."
The words rang hollow and empty, and none of them gave them any real credence. Klaus was not fine. Nothing about this whole situation was fine, and they were beginning to doubt that it ever would be fine again.
"We could leave the girls here," Sebastian suggested. "One of us could stay with them. That way, if we fail, someone will be left to let the villagers know what's happened."
"Who will stay?" Damon asked quickly.
They all looked around, and Sebastian frowned. He would definitely not be staying. Of the four men, he had the least to lose. His father was dead, and he had no woman to return to. Father Adolph would not remain behind. They could tell from the fire that burned in his old eyes that he was girding himself for a battle with the forces of evil. With him, it seemed personal. That left Peyton and Damon, and Sebastian said as much, watching them both intently.
"I want to go along," Peyton said immediately. "If there's anything there to fight, I'm your man. I'm the strongest, and there's no telling how difficult it's going to be to get inside. I think I'll be needed."
"I'd feel like an animal in a cage here," Damon said, shaking his head. "I mean, what if they come here while the rest of you are gone? I don't think I could face them off by myself."
"Then I guess there's nothing else to say," Sebastian said. "We can't leave them here, we can't send them back. We all go in together, and we pray that we all come out the same."
Peyton and Damon still looked troubled, but there was no other answer to be found. Sebastian wished once more that they'd considered the situation more completely back in the village before taking off up the mountain. Having been pretty much the driving force behind the expedition, he felt the guilt for the danger they were all in. In particular he felt foolish for not insisting that Melissa remain behind. She was weak from her recent ordeal, and after the climb she'd grown pale – possibly from exertion, but what it if was more? What if being closer to whatever awaited her was affecting her in some other way?
He sat back again, and the others returned to their places on the opposite side of the room. Outside the wind had picked up and was whistling through the cracks in the old Inn. The fire crackled and popped and at every snap of a twig or leap of a spark, and he soon found himself starting to doze.
Eventually everyone else drifted off into fitful sleep. Sebastian shook his own weariness off and moved closer to the fire, having volunteered for the first watch. Father Adolph sat up as well, and they sat down facing one another to wait out the long hours until dawn.
"You should sleep," Sebastian said. The priest had shown almost as much fatigue as Melissa on the trek up the mountain, and Sebastian was concerned for him.
"I will doze a bit before dawn," Father Adolph said, smiling thinly. "When one has seen as many years as I have, he is less inclined to give precious hours of life to dreams. I find myself sleeping less and less as I grow older."
They sat for a few moments in silence, and then he began to talk again, in low tones so as not to disturb the others.
"When I left my home to become a priest," he said, "I never dreamed I'd see anything like this. I was always the quiet one. I never liked to hunt, and most of the games the other boys played were rougher than I liked.
"I used to clean up around the chapel in my village. I dusted the pews and polished the wood of the altar, and Father Dieter, our parish priest, taught me to read. There was little chance in our village for higher schooling. It was difficult enough to keep food on the tables in those days, because of the war.
"My mother was very proud of me, I think. My father less so, since I showed no interest in hunting or farming, but he did not protest too much. We were a happy family, and he saw that it was truly what I wanted. In any case, with me gone they had one less child to feed, and there were three others.
"Now I have lived many years, and they have been good ones. I have served God in the seminary, in the streets of the cities, and here in the mountains, where I believe we live closer to him. I have been a counselor, a friend; I have even had my share of violence. The government has been less than tolerant of the church in the past, and the respect of soldiers for men of the cloth is sometimes limited.
"So," he sighed heavily before he continued, "I have seen much of all there is to see, or so I thought. A short week ago I was a comfortable old man, not the strongest, nor the weakest in my faith, and content to let my days filter through me like sand through an hourglass, counting off the hours until my death.
"Now I find that perhaps it is not so simple. I have not always believed in fate. I have read The Bible, and I know that God puts trials before us. I know the stories and the old tales of evil that walks the earth and the servants of the lord who have defeated them. I never believed."
Sebastian looked up at this, searching the older man's lined face.
"You are shocked?" the priest asked, smiling. "I am shocked, as well. I thought my faith was unwavering. I thought I had reached the peak of my spiritual strength. Now I know that I have fooled myself. Perhaps I am still a fool.
; "Stories have a tendency to seem just that, stories. This is not a story. Here we sit, calmly talking before a fire, while less than a mile above us lays the test of a lifetime – perhaps the end of a lifetime, as well."
"We'll find a way," Sebastian said, feeling less assured than he managed to sound.
"That may well be," Father Adolph said, eyes far away. "But the fact is, I would already know the way, if my faith had the strength that it should. If I truly believed that God would stand before me and champion me no matter what I faced, then I would feel no fear. I would allow for no doubt. It is not so, Sebastian. I fear for my life. I fear for yours and the others as well. I fear, even, for the safety of my soul.
"My father always said that I was the weak one, because I would not fight with the other boys. Now I will know if what he said was true."
"You are anything but weak," Sebastian said with conviction. Sitting there, bent and old, his Bible held in shaking hands, Sebastian admired the old man more than he'd admired any living man he'd ever known. He could have remained back in the village, secure in his little world of faith and peace, and left them to face this evil alone. He did not.
Instead he joined them, fully aware that everything he stood for, everything he'd worked for in his long life, might crumble to nothing before the passing of another day. He was here because he cared about life, and because, doubt or not, his faith was real.
"I am very glad to have you with us," Sebastian said after a few moments silence. "A weak man would have remained behind, perhaps mourning our folly, but not joining us in it."
Father Adolph smiled then, and answered, "Would you pray with me, Sebastian? Sometimes it helps to calm me."
Sebastian nodded, but added, "I will, but I have no claim on an answer. I have not stepped foot in a church, other than your own, in almost ten years."
"Somehow," Father Adolph said, smiling more clearly, "I don't think God measures faith on a scale of church visits or a budget of tithing, no matter what the Bishops tell us."
They knelt together there, while the others slept as peacefully as possible in such a place, and at such a time, and they prayed. They didn't speak aloud, each communing with his spirit and with that of whatever Gods would listen.
Sometime later Sebastian looked up, and Father Adolph was still hunched in the same position. He didn't move, and the young musician didn't know if he slept, or if he still prayed. Sebastian sat back, watching the room with a lighter heart. He wasn't a religious man, but just for that little space of time, he felt like they might succeed. He grew calmer; perhaps that's why he fell asleep soon after that.
In the end it didn't matter than none was awake to stand the watch. They were all awakened simultaneously by an unearthly scream.
It was heart-rending. The sound was human, and then again it was not. It was too loud, too high, and too full of pain. Sebastian knew at once that it was Klaus.
Everyone was on their feet at once. Father Adolph handed out crosses right and left, distributing the objects he'd brought in a sort of haphazard attempt at equalizing the assumed protection they would bring.
Nobody spoke; there was nothing to say. They'd come here to help their friend, and to destroy a monster. They had no idea of how to go about it, but that was what they had to do, or die trying. They gathered in a small circle, clasped hands and gazed at one another, memorizing what they saw, and how they looked. Then they formed a single, silent line and headed out into the darkness and down the street. Sebastian wasn't sure about the others, but for only the second time in many years, he was praying.
Chapter Nineteen
Rosa and Klaus passed their first night and the next day in one another's arms. They were unaware of the events in the village below, or of anything beyond the confines of the room. Over and over they shared the borrowed blood that ran through their veins, and each time Klaus felt a little bit more of his control slip away. At the same time, he felt a little less controlled by Rosa.
He was caught in an endless spiral, like liquid rushing in a vortex to flush down a drain. He tried once to fight it off. He let her slide her hand roughly up his back, but he held himself apart, fighting the urge to encircle her slender form with his arms. His entire being quivered with the need of her, and still he fought.
Rosa seemed to guess what he was doing, and she redoubled her efforts with a short gasp. It was obvious that she needed the sharing as much as he did, perhaps even more, and she would not be denied. He thought for a moment that he would succeed, that he might even be able to pull away from her grasp and take a moment to sort out his churning emotions, but she was having none of it.
With snake-like quickness she slid across him, her skin like soft velvet. She placed her neck over his lips and pressed down. He tried to twist his head, but the scent of her blood was too close, too much for him to handle. He pressed his head downward into the satin bed sheets in an attempt to escape, but it was futile. Her skin already held a thin film of dried blood where he'd fed before, and when it touched his lips, he was hers again.
Klaus surged up and bit down, piercing her flesh hungrily and drawing the nectar of someone else's life from her yet again as she arched against him, moaning in release. He couldn't fight her, and he no longer had the strength to try.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked her finally, when there was a moment's respite. "I know it wasn't like this for you and Alex, or the one you called Copper. Why are you doing this?"
"We are bound, now," she said, straddling him and making a tent of her long flaming hair that covered his face, leaving only her eyes to fill his sight. "You need me as you need the blood; it is eternal. I need you as well. It was you who chose this, when you shared my blood. I tried to warn you, but it is what I wanted."
He thought back. She had struggled briefly, very briefly, when he'd first bitten her. Had he done this to himself? How strong was this need, and was he to feel this way forever?
"It will become easier," she assured him, leaning down to tease him with her tongue. "You will gain more control."
He wondered. Something in the way she countered every move he made to free himself made him wonder just how much control she wanted him to gain. He didn't like the feeling of dependency. It felt like a trap.
"Why do you want me so close to you?" he asked, pulling back again. "Why would you bind yourself to me? You don't even know me. We met a week ago."
"I know you better than you could possibly understand," she said, sitting up to watch him with smiling, superior eyes. "You forget. I knew your father, even your grandfather. I watched your father grow from a small boy to a man. He was a handsome man, so full of life, and so wild."
Her eyes momentarily glazed as if they focused on something far away. "You remind me of him," she said. "As a child, you were enough like him to have grown to the same man. You grew up in very different worlds, and under very different influences, and yet there is still that about you that brings him instantly to my mind.
"I followed you, you know." She said this last so matter-of-factly that it was a moment before he realized what she'd said and started to a sitting position.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"I mean just what I said," she smiled at him possessively. "When your mother sent you away, she thought you would be beyond me. She thought to have saved you from a `fate worse than death.' I followed you.
"When you attended university, I watched over you. When you studied music, I listened from a distance and did what I could to smooth your way. It was I who placed the harp solo in your young friend Sebastian's mind, long ago, that helped to lead you here. Every step of your life, I have followed. As I have said, I know you better than you could ever know."
The sensation of being manipulated by forces beyond his control intensified. He could think of nothing to say, so he said nothing, merely stared into her eyes.
"Don't look so shocked," she said, a flicker of annoyance crossing her features. "When I see something that I desire, I take it.
I saw you, and I have arranged to have you. You have not, until now, seemed too upset by this."
It was true. Even as she sat there, explaining how she'd manipulated every step of his life to her own ends, he wanted her. Even as his heart sank at the thought that his dreams, his goals, had not really even been his own, he felt her flesh drawing him forward.
He tried to think. Surely this was not what he'd wanted, what he'd worked and dreamed for. She was beautiful; there was no mistaking that. The music was wonderful, as well, but there was something missing. It hit him very suddenly, and it was devastating.
The music was the key. It was beautiful, haunting and perfect, and that was the problem. It was perfect. It was as simple as breathing had been. The enjoyment was still there. He could listen to Rosa play for hours, and he did not doubt that he'd derive great pleasure from playing himself, or from singing to her in the clear, brilliant tones of his new-and-improved voice. But there was no challenge.
The music had no soul. He might strive for the rest of the days of his existence, and they could be endless, but he felt that he might never again reach that "high" that his music had always brought before the transformation.
"How can you stand it?" he asked, his eyes locked to the instruments on the wall with almost manic intensity.
"What do you mean," she asked him, true curiosity in her eyes.
"The music," he answered, not looking at her. "You have taken it from me, even as you gave me the ability to transcend. It will never be the same as it was.
"When I sang, or when the group performed, there was always a goal before us, something to strive for. We were good, maybe even the best at what we did, but we could improve. Every performance was different, and when it was better than the last, it was exhilarating.
"Now it will never be like that again. The music is beautiful. It is perfect, in fact, beyond anything I could ever have accomplished before."
"Then what is the problem," she asked. "Isn't this what you wanted, to reach the ultimate?"
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