The Twilight Dragon & Other Tales of Annwn: Preludes to The Everwinter Wraith (The Annwn Cycle)

by Shawn Speakman

  “Swiss Guards ward the entrance into the restoration room,” the fairy shared.

  “And beyond?”

  “The vampire.”

  Charles quickened his pace. Time was of the essence and Berrytrill would have cleared the way of traps—magical or otherwise. It didn’t take him long to traverse the rest of the room. The path the Dark Thorn showed him fully realized, Charles slowed as he peered around a last set of bookshelves to assess the situation on his own.

  Berrytrill was right.

  Almost twenty Swiss Guard stood at the entrance to the restoration room of the Secret Archives, weapons aimed through the glass that comprised the room’s long wall. The guards did not concern him though. Beyond, in the room, he could just make out the white, unruly hair of Cardinal Archivist Cesare Farina, his lined face drawn with fear and fresh bruises blooming where he had been struck with impunity.

  And at his side the unmistakable presence of the vampire.

  Charles did not waste time. He strode into the middle of the Swiss Guard as if he commanded the entire world.

  A guard moved to obstruct the knight almost immediately.

  “Halt! Now!” he demanded.

  “I am here to speak with the Cardinal Archivist,” Charles said, loud enough for the occupants in the restoration room to hear.

  “Only those given leave by Captain Beck Almgren can ent—”

  “Let him pass!” Cardinal Archivist yelled.

  The guard frowned but moved aside. The others of the Swiss Guard let the Heliwr pass as well. Striking the floor with the Dark Thorn to gather all attention to him and with Berrytrill hiding in the crux of his armpit, Charles strode through the glass door designed to keep moisture and contaminants out and into a situation he immediately did not like.

  Not at all.

  Cardinal Archivist Cesare Farina sat next to the vampire at one of the dozens of tables used for the maintenance and continued integrity of the Secret Archives’ precious documents. The Cardinal did not move. Cesare Farina was a member of the Vigilo but a silent one, one of the few who respected the Heliwr, a man possessed of a scholarly mind who prided himself in protecting the knowledge the Vatican had accrued over centuries. The vampire had fingers about the old man’s neck, his grip absolute, one that could snap the mortal’s life from his body with a flick of the wrist.

  As Beck Almgren had related, the vampire had taken two other prisoners along with the Cardinal Archivist. Two restorers, undoubtedly working the late shift with their Cardinal, sat at the rear of the room, both men staring blankly as if in a trance.

  “Charles Ardall,” Cardinal Cesare Farina greeted with a weak smile.

  “Are you three okay?”

  “We are,” Cardinal Farina said. “The vampire has not harmed us.”

  With Berrytrill now hovering nearby, Charles gazed then at the subject of his hunt. The intruder from Annwn was definitely a vampire. Thin skin. Prominent fangs. Eyes set within gaunt features. But he was unlike any Charles had seen too. Instead of possessing the northern European features that marked those who had entered Annwn millennia ago, the vampire had a dark Middle Eastern aspect to him. It told Charles that this vampire was likely not bitten and turned in Annwn but in this world, long before the fey had left, and had ventured to Annwn at a time much later.

  Knowing that, it made the creature ancient beyond belief.

  It did not stop there. The eyes proved the theory if his heritage did not. The soul that stared back at Charles bore the weight of ages, a depth of knowledge and soul the knight had only seen in the eyes of Merle. It was more than that though. Power radiated from the vampire, old power derived from centuries of experience that reverberated the air like a high-tension power line.

  Charles had encountered several vampires in his time as Heliwr but none like this.

  “Who are you and what do you want?” he questioned finally.

  The vampire smiled, fangs born. It was a smile that lacked humor.

  “I want what you want, knight.”

  “What would that be exactly?”

  The vampire cocked his head. “For me to gain that which I desire, of course.”

  “You have broken into the home of the Catholic Church,” Charles said unflinchingly. “You have killed many men this day, your own as well as those from the Swiss Guard. My fellow knight lies wounded.” He paused. “Not the best way to ensure aid in your quest.”

  The creature shrugged. “I had to gain your attention, Heliwr.”

  Charles did not like the sound of that.

  “Why do you have need of me?”

  “Besides the ancient wizard who yoked you into service, Charles Ardall, you are the only one with the respect needed to enter areas of this city that I wish admittance to,” the vampire said. “You and you alone.”

  “Hate to break it to you, vampire,” Berrytrill chimed in smugly. “But the Knights of the Yn Saith are despised by the Church.”

  “That may be, fairy,” the other said. “I still have need of your master.”

  “My master, he is not, not at al—”

  “I am Charles Ardall,” the Heliwr said, cutting his guide off before the conversation turned ugly. “And this is my quiet guide, Berrytrill. Who are you and why are you here?”

  The vampire grinned self-mockery. “I have been called He Whose Life Dies Not. The Sable Warlock. The Fatal Revenant of Scarl. In this land, long ago, I was Mortuis, The Dead Who Walks. The world has wept ever since those days. Because that was not my birth name. Once, I was dead, the result of illness, and entombed for four days before being resurrected and returned to sunshine, a light that holds no love for shadowkind. A miracle some called my return. The miracle turned to ashes in my mouth long ago. I have learned to hate that day I entered the world with a second life.”

  It didn’t take Charles long to realize what the vampire’s true name was but he could not believe it.

  It was impossible.

  “You are Lazarus of Bethany,” Charles said finally. “Or you think you are.”

  The vampire nodded. “One of many names but that was my first.”

  “Blasphemy,” Cardinal Cesare Farina growled.

  The vampire squeezed the old man’s neck, snarling. “The only blasphemy, priest, is what your God did to me that day. Open your mind.”

  The Cardinal Archivist squawked in sudden pain and his eyes rolled back into his head as magic filled the room. Charles could feel it, ancient and potent. Before the knight could act, Cesare Farina breathed in suddenly, eyes returned to normal, body shuddering and fear twisting his features.

  “It is true,” the Cardinal Archivist whispered, shaking still. “I saw… that day. Christ…”

  “But that would make you millennia old,” Charles argued.

  “I have witnessed much,” Lazarus said. “Through the blood of Jesus I was returned to life after four days of death. He did this to me, called me to help fulfill His will and convince the world to believe in Him. A will that has cursed me for centuries.”

  Cardinal Farina shuddered anew. “Proof. Real proof. In my mind,” he whispered, rubbing at his temples. “I saw your sisters there, that day…”

  “Martha and Mary did right by me,” Lazarus continued. “My sisters sent for the Christ, whom I followed out of devotion and love. I saw the truth of His will even then, the reasons for it, even if I knew not its implication for my own soul. I followed God, to see right done in a world that yearned for it. The truth could not dispel the judgment—the jail time—that was given to me though.” The vampire sneered, eyes flashing pent rage. “I was not asked if this is what I wanted.”

  “He returned you to the living though,” Charles said, putting a small bit of trust in what the Cardinal Archivist had seen. “Some would call that an incredible gift.”

  “They have not walked my life,” Lazarus said. “Destroyed lives. Families decimated. Spread evil.”

  “Of course. You are a true vampire,” the knight said. “A killer.”
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  “I am that. Make no mistake.”

  “But you blame Christ for your actions since then?” Charles said. “I am sorry, but even vampires have a choice.”

  “Therein lies the irony,” Lazarus growled, his eyes grown darker. “After my resurrection, I learned He waited two whole days before making the journey to Bethany, days I still lived my mortal life. Two whole days,” the vampire seethed. “Choice, you say? You mock. By that time, I had passed beyond this world into… beauty. Absolute peace. I have since learned hatred for what I am, for the reprehensible reason I was reborn, a horror walking the Earth. ‘I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.’ Christ, I curse those words, words that I have read more times than breaths I have taken, the entire time unable to ignore the bloodlust I was cursed with. Through His blood. Choice? What choice? It took centuries of searching for an answer to counter my existence—a hunt that has led me here.”

  “And Jesus wept,” Cesare Farina added, tears filling his eyes. “But not for the sorrow of your sisters at your passing or for the lack of faith some in Bethany felt but instead for what He would do to you.”

  “Perhaps this Cardinal Archivist is not as dumb as I took him,” Lazarus said. He patted the old man’s bearded cheek like a child’s. “No, He wept for the atrocity that I would become, for the travesty of life I would reflect, for the hypocrisy of His cause. He needed the miracle for the Word and his everlasting Church. He knew what he created, the miracle that would grow his flock. And for that I am forever damned.” He paused. “If He had only arrived two days earlier, thousands of lives I have taken would have not known my bite, my curse. If only He had let me lie in my cave and remain in the peace and tranquility of death. If only He—”

  “Life is filled with ifs, Lazarus,” Charles said. “They don’t allow you to revisit and correct. Ifs are best forgotten.”

  “That is where you are wrong, Charles Ardall,” the other whispered. “I will set right this wrong. Tonight. An if shall set me free.”

  Charles could barely comprehend the historical gravity of what he found himself in. Let alone the danger. He knew the Bible and the main writings that comprised the doctrine Catholics adhered to. The creature across from him didn’t just know history that had shaped the world. Lazarus was history. The vampire possessed knowledge that every scholar would desire; he also undoubtedly knew information that could be used for his evil purposes. If Charles was already on edge, he was even more so now.

  Yet the Heliwr felt a growing sense of sympathy for the vampire. Of pity. The man that had been Lazarus of Bethany was something else now, betrayed by the very goodness he had followed, had loved. The act that the Word had enacted—if what Cesare Farina had seen was true—was an evil far more virulent than what the vampire had become since his first death.

  “You mentioned a choice, a hunt that has led you here,” Berrytrill chimed in.

  “Matters such as these require a certain decorum, fairy,” Lazarus said. “Today is the most important day of my life. It necessitates a longer explanation so that history may be made whole again. Let my reason for coming here and the bargaining for what I want begin.” He paused, looking directly at Charles. “I will let these two workers free, if the Cardinal Archivist takes me to a very specific text I know exists in these Secret Archives, a writing so old and so ancient that only a handful have ever laid eyes on it, let alone read its pages.”

  “You shall not lay your sinned hand on a single page under my care,” Cesare Farina muttered, his steel returning. “This library is owned by His Eminence. No creature of Hell has ever been given leave by the Pope to do as it pleases here. Not ever.”

  “And yet here I sit, priest, in your home,” Lazarus said, taunting Cesare Farina with a sharp shake. “The Pope won’t mind giving me his leave. This is in his best interest, after all.”

  “Which text would you be after?” Charles asked.

  “The Bible.”

  “I could have given you one from any hotel in Rome,” the knight snorted.

  “No. The Bible. The first Bible,” the vampire said. “The Bible that is unsullied by editing fingers and biased purpose by those in power. The Bible that exists with the full text of the Word. There I will find what I seek.”

  “Blasphemy,” Cardinal Farina croaked. “The Codex B is the oldest edition here and its contents are well documented outside these walls.”

  “The Codex B, as you call it, is shyte,” Lazarus said, running a sharp fingernail down the man’s cheek but his eyes never deviated from Charles. “That came into existence centuries after the original. There is another text, one I have been assured exists, and in it I will confirm my salvation and set right the wrong done me.”

  “No such book is here, Lazarus,” the Cardinal Archivist assured.

  “You dare twist words with me. I smell it on your breath,” the vampire mocked. He grabbed a fistful of the old man’s white hair and yanked his head back. “It is not a book but a set of scrolls, more the like.” Charles could only watch the vampire’s fangs inch closer to the exposed neck. “Answer me!”

  “It’s not a book!” Cesare Farina screamed, feeling death on his neck.

  “What is it then, priest?”

  Eyes rolling panic, terror won.

  “A series of parchment pages and scrolls!” the Cardinal Archivist admitted finally. “Very old. Very fragile.”

  “Of course they are, fool,” Lazarus said, smiling triumph.

  The Cardinal’s fear filled the room like a stink. Charles hated the situation. He was unable to intervene without jeopardizing Cesare Farina’s life. No wizard spells or power from the Dark Thorn were faster than Lazarus; in the split second it would take to call his power and strike, Lazarus would have already sensed it and acted. If the vampire wanted to kill the Cardinal, there was nothing Charles could do about it.

  But given the danger, he still couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The original text of the Bible. An unedited edition. The information was daunting in its reality. Why would the Bible be edited? What could the Church gain? What was it protecting? Other editions of the book had been altered but they were common knowledge. Thinking about his debate with the Cardinal Seer, what if the Apostles knew of the fey? Had originally written about them? What if the Word called the fey good? What truths did the Bible hide in its first edition? Mentions of lost relics and places of power? What control did the Church keep by its revision work?

  And what did Lazarus hope to find?

  “If we agree to give you access to this Bible, what will you give in return?” Charles asked, ignoring the protestations of the Cardinal Archivist.

  “The lives of these Churchmen, to start,” Lazarus replied. “They are not the reason I came here, a mere means to an end. I will give you something more as well, something you as the unfettered knight want.”

  “What is that?” Berrytrill questioned.

  The vampire grinned his cold, humorless smile.

  “My death.”

  “I can do that for you right now,” Charles said, gripping the Dark Thorn tighter for emphasis.

  “The badge of your duty through my heart, right?” Lazarus said, grinning the same humorless smile that began to grate on the Heliwr’s nerves. “Undoubtedly the same death you dealt my companions in the passageways below.”

  “That’s right,” the knight said.

  “Stakes do kill the progeny of my curse,” Lazarus said. “I would know. I have killed enough of them over the centuries when needed. No, as the first vampire, I am immune from such acts of wooden violence.” When Charles did not immediately respond, Lazarus learned forward. “Do not believe me, Heliwr?”

  “Hard to believe, given those of your kind I’ve killed.”

  Lazarus stood, still gripping the Cardinal Archivist close. He ripped open his shirt, bearing his chest. In one fell kick, he shattered the ancient chair he had bee
n sitting on. Wood shrapnel exploded. He bent to pick up a piece more than a foot long, its end sharpened to a murderous point.

  “Tell me, fairy, how do you kill a vampire?”

  “A stake to the heart,” Berrytrill said. “The best way.”

  “Exactly,” the vampire said. He handed the stake to Cesare Farina. “Kill me, Cardinal of these Secret Archives.”

  “I will not,” the Cardinal Archivist muttered, gone as pale as the vampire.

  Lazarus painfully squeezed the old man’s neck again.

  “Do it. Or you die.”

  The old man took the makeshift stake, his hand palsied. Charles could see the fear that threatened to overcome the Cardinal.

  “Do it!” Lazarus roared.

  In a jerky motion, Cesare Farina succumbed and brought the stake downward.

  The Cardinal’s aim was true. The stake penetrated deep into the vampire’s chest where his heart would be. Cesare Farina shakily let go the stake. Lazarus snarled in pain but did not fall, his eyes dark like terrible midnight, maintaining his grip on his prisoner.

  The creature did not die. Instead, Lazarus pulled the broken piece of chair free.

  The flesh mended instantly as if nothing had happened.

  “I am not dead, Heliwr of the Yn Saith,” Lazarus said, breathing hard but made whole. “Explain it.”

  “I can’t,” Charles said, bewildered.

  “There is only one thing that can kill me,” Lazarus said. “And the knowledge can be confirmed in the only true Word.”

  “You did not know of this first Bible until recently,” Charles remarked, still unsure what had just happened. “Otherwise you would have tried to see it earlier. Why now? Who shared its existence with you? Who is aiding you?”

  The eyes of the vampire narrowed briefly in indecision.

  “A witch,” Lazarus said finally. “She is extraordinarily powerful for her kind, not like those who populate many of the towns and cities of Annwn. She has lived almost as long as I have.”

  Charles did not like that. Witches did not offer help without gaining something.