by Kit Colter
Erin saw a geyser of fire arch into the air and away from the demon’s body, then plow across the dark figure and out of the courtyard into the darkness. Shaking, Erin struggled to her hands and knees and scrambled for the taser. A hand caught her wrist and pulled.
“You’re not going to survive this as you are, Erin.”
Sirian. The skin on half his face was burned and blackened. He turned, kicked open the nearest door, and dragged Erin inside. There were paintings on the walls and tall, glass cases containing pots and other artifacts. A museum.
Sirian swung Erin around in front of him.
Erin felt his arms wind around her body, pulling her into his chest so tightly it forced the air from her lungs. His face slid across her cheek bone to the angle of her neck, and she realized what he meant.
He was going to kill her. Turn her. Make her a vampire.
Erin jammed the taser into his side and pulled the trigger. Sirian’s body seized, then fell backwards into one of the glass display cases. His arm tightened around Erin’s waist and she tumbled forward into the cascade of broken glass. Sirian’s hand came up then, hooking around her neck, and pulled. Erin saw his mouth, his fangs, cutting through the darkness. She grabbed the first thing within reach—a shard of broken glass—and shoved it into his chest. Then her head collided with something hard and blackness washed over her sight. She could hear him breathing. Could hear the glass crunching beneath their bodies. Could feel his arm coil around her waist and pull her backward to his chest.
Then stillness.
The darkness seemed to pulse, swell, then slide to the side. Taking a slow breath, Erin rolled weakly onto her back and peered through the shadows at Sirian’s motionless figure. Light glinted off the glass shards around his dim silhouette. The image seemed to sway. She wondered if he would just die if she left him alone long enough. Bleed to death or something. Erin squinted against the darkness closing in on her vision and continued watching Sirian, listening to him breathe, wondering what to do as his blood cooled against her skin.
“You still alive?” she whispered.
“Mm.”
Erin reached to one side, curling her hand around another shard of glass. Then she just held it. “If you turn me, the first thing I’ll do is kill you,” she said.
He didn’t respond.
“I swear I’ll do it.”
Sirian’s arm tightened around her waist.
Then the blackness surged forward, and Erin’s senses went dark.
Chapter 20
Memories Erin couldn’t translate sifted through her mind: hands, snow, the night sky, white sheets. She opened her eyes. The room was very small and almost empty. The walls were bare except for a large wooden cross hanging from a nail. To her right was a small window, and morning rays ricocheted off the snow outside and filled the room with cool white light.
Erin sat up and looked around. A very old wool blanket lay over her body, with a white sheet beneath to protect her skin from the wool’s scratchy touch. Both her hands were bandaged, as well as several of her fingers. She pushed back the blanket and found herself clothed in a white cotton sleeping gown, though it was much too big. Erin inspected the bandage on her left hand where the glass shard had cut her palm. Then she pushed to her feet, walked to the window, and gazed out.
Austria was gorgeous. The glittering white and blue and grey all tangled together between the earth, sky, and towering mountain peaks. Each color was alive, as if she could sense the landscape breathing, could sense its heart beating. Judging from the view, this was a third of the way up the mountainside. That meant the Ranshofen monastery was nearby.
Erin scanned the bedroom and realized she was already there. This was it. The monastery. She scanned the room for her clothes, but found only her sneakers and jacket. Erin quickly stepped into her shoes and slipped on her jacket, then pulled open the heavy wooden door. The brick floor was smooth underfoot as she stepped into the hallway. She heard voices, turned left, and followed the sound
The voices were coming from a room. Erin knocked on the door. The reply was in German: “Wer ist da?”
Erin knocked again. A moment later, the door opened.
“Oh.” This was spoken by a monk, dressed in a brown robe with a large silver cross dangling from his neck. He had very short silver hair and a thin face. “Good morning, Erin Stone,” the monk said with a thick accent Erin couldn’t place.
“Uh, good morning,” Erin said.
“Come,” the monk said, “Brother Fars has been waiting for you.” He gestured down the hall and led her past several doors. He turned and followed another hall to the very last door. Knocked.
The reply came—more foreign words in a slightly deeper voice: “Jetzt nicht. Ich bin gerade beschäftigt.”
“Sie ist wach.”
“Treten Sie ein,” the voice behind the door called.
Erin was then ushered inside. The room was warm, but felt empty. Sitting at a large wooden desk was another monk, dressed identically to the first. He was younger than the first monk and looked very calm and comfortable.
“Ah, good morning Miss Stone,” the monk said. “I’m Brother Fars. Please sit down.”
Erin sank into a chair in front of the desk, listening to the two monks speaking what she guessed was German. Eventually, the older monk left and closed the door, leaving Erin alone with Brother Fars.
“How do you feel?” he asked. His accent was a bit softer than the other monk.
“Alright,” she said, studying the room. “Could you tell me where I am?” She wanted to make sure her suspicions were correct.
“This is the Ranshofen monastery,” he said.
Erin nodded.
“A rather large fellow brought you in the middle of the night last week,” he said. “Looked somewhat battered himself.” He looked at Erin’s injured face and hands as he spoke. “Don’t worry though, you are completely safe here.”
“I’ve been here for a week?”
“Six nights,” Brother Fars said with a gentle nod. “What brings you to Austria? You are American, yes?”
There was a knock at the door, and a third monk brought a plate of food into the room. Eggs and toast. Erin found herself dazzled by the mere smell. She hadn’t known she was hungry until just then.
“I’ll let you eat in privacy,” Brother Fars said, moving to his feet and walking to the door. “I will return shortly.”
“Thank you.”
The second the door closed, Erin attacked her plate with reckless abandon. The entire meal—including crumbs—was gone within seconds. Then Erin crossed the room and looked out the window. The brilliance of color that washed across her sight was breathtaking. She felt as though she might simply drown in the richness of it all. She didn’t know how long she stood there at the window, just staring across the mountains. Something was tugging at her, ever so lightly, pulling her out into that overwhelming color and light.
There were two knocks at the door, and Brother Fars reentered. “Would you like to walk with me?” he asked. “I will show you the grounds.”
Erin followed him through the door and down the hall. Everything inside the monastery looked surprisingly similar. Dark wooden doors and gentle arching ceilings. White paint. Bare walls. Crosses hanging from nails.
“This is a long way from home for you, Erin Stone.”
Erin thought about how to respond. “I came to Austria for this mountain.”
“It is a beautiful mountain,” he said, “though I daresay not the most beautiful in all of Austria. What brings you here?”
“I’m not sure,” she replied.
Brother Fars suited Erin with a long, thick, hooded jacket and a large pair of boots that reached over her knees, then pushed open a door and stepped out of the monastery into the open air. The coldness was brutal, stiffening the soft tissues in her throat and lungs. Erin shrank deeper into her jacket. The mountain sloped downward before them in a thousand falling angles, all winding to the village of
Hallstatt below. The landscape looked fake from where Erin stood, snow and white light drowning the village with a misty silver sheen. Around her, stony peaks of white and all shades of grey glimmered against a pale blue sky, soft clouds blurring the distinction between snow-covered earth and the atmosphere. Erin followed the ridges toward the top of the mountain, but found part of the monastery obscuring her view. She squinted against the morning light and recognized the shape of a large bell tower—the bell tower from her vision.
“Come,” Brother Fars said, gesturing as he pushed through the thick layer of fresh, loose snow surrounding the monastery. Erin followed directly in his foot prints, sinking into the snow so deep she stood nearly up to her knees in cool, white powder. Brother Fars made his way to the north side of the monastery where a walkway had been carved out to lead from a large set of wooden doors into the open, boundless white.
Erin planted one foot in one of the monk’s prints, then caught sight of the mountain rising before her like a tidal wave of earth and stone and snow. The breath in her lungs slipped out into the cold air, lacing her vision with a momentary wisp of steam. Shimmering white and cool silver weaved across towering grey stone peaks, icy ridges, and forest shade. The sight of it was like stepping up to the edge of a cliff. She felt as though it would swallow her whole, and part of her wanted it to.
“Sometimes I think perhaps it is the most beautiful mountain in Austria,” Brother Fars said.
Erin drew her eyes away from the mountain, sparing a swift glance at the surrounding peaks, then at the ridges in the distance. Something was different. She looked up once more, brows angling just slightly.
Brother Fars smiled gently. “I wondered if you would notice.”
“The snow’s melted,” she said cautiously, thinking as she spoke. The snow began thinning about a third of the way up the mountain, gradually dissipating until the ground was literally bare, untouched, leaving slopes of lush green grass to sway against the cold air.
“Why is the snow melted?” she asked, glancing at Brother Fars.
“Scientists like to say it’s caused by the mountain’s volcanic core,” the monk said, though his voice sounded peculiar, as though suggesting he knew better.
Erin looked up at the landscape a moment longer, entranced by the contrast between the brilliance of white snow and the deep, rich greens and browns of trees and grasses. Slowly, she redirected her attention to the monastery, just to pull her gaze away from the overwhelming sight of the mountain itself.
“The monastery was originally built as an outpost by Christian monks to protect the village below, Hallstatt.”
“Protect it from what?” Erin asked.
He let out a breezy sigh. “Complicated matters.”
“I came here to learn about the mountain,” Erin said. “Complicated isn’t an issue for me.”
“I suppose not.”
“Protect it from what?” Erin asked again.
“Sauth Rahn,” Brother Fars said, gazing into the distance. “Come,” he said, and led Erin inside the monastery through the front door, which opened into an enormous foyer with nothing but empty floor, tapestries, and a large crucifix mounted to the far wall. Brother Fars led her to the crucifix.
“Do you have a relationship with God, Erin Stone?” he asked.
“Not yet,” she said, thinking of her grandmother and the Rez—all the things her mother forbid.
“And the religion of your mother’s people?” Brother Fars asked. “The Apache?”
Erin looked at him in surprise. “How did you know that?”
“The particulars of your arrival piqued my curiosity,” he said, watching her with a resigned expression. “Christ bestowed upon us great hope and great knowledge, and also great counsel. He told us: do not judge.” Brother Fars smiled kindly. “You are walking your path. He will find you.”
Erin was silent for a long moment. “What is Sauth Rahn?” she finally asked.
“The beliefs of our ancestors were different than the beliefs of today,” Brother Fars said. “The lives of our ancestors were different also.”
Erin nodded, desperate for information. For something solid. Anything.
“The story, as I was told, is this. Many, many years ago—centuries ago—Sauth Rahn was the most powerful and ravenous demon the people of all Austria and Switzerland had ever seen. War and plague and famine arose in his footsteps. Kingdoms and alliances toppled. All the land was thrown into chaos, and for nearly two hundred years, we battled his presence. He seemed invulnerable, with the capacity to possess, and control, and kill. Lesser demons flocked to his sides, rallying to war against all humanity. He held within his grasp the power to change shape, appearing as a black wolf upon the crossroads, a crying raven upon the evening sky, a red star in the sky, marking each unsuspecting village for destruction. Two-hundred and fifty years into his reign of violence and slaughter, the Christian monks sacrificed their own salvation for their people by resorting to the ways of the demon himself in order to defeat him—the dark and evil ways of sorcery.” Brother Fars looked at Erin’s face, his expression soft and sure. “Beneath the Dachstein mountains, then the mount of Annexus Mons, reside two crossroads of earthen power, ley lines by another name. Like the crossing of two rivers, the energy of the crossing ley lines swirls and builds, creating a reservoir. Using the sinful power of magic, the monks harnessed the strength of the ley lines to trap the demon within Annexus Mons, where the continued ebb and flow of energy would keep him until he dwindled away into nothingness.”
Brother Fars went quiet for a time, staring up at the cross. Erin waited.
“Would you like to walk?” he asked. “I will show you the monastery.”
She nodded and followed as Brother Fars led her to the right and down a hallway. They strolled down the corridor, all bare white walls and smoothed stone walkways, the occasional window letting in brilliant morning light to compete with the warm orange glow of candles.
“I expected you would ask of the mountain’s history,” Brother Fars said. He studied her face, almost smiled, then looked away. “I suppose you’re waiting for the rest of the story. Well, the light of the monk’s sacrifice was soon overshadowed,” Brother Fars said. “When Sauth Rahn did not dwindle away, not even after half a century, the monks discovered the demon was feeding upon the very powers which bound him. Not only feeding upon the powers, but growing stronger because of them.” He stopped and gazed at a cross on the wall. “It was three generations until Sauth Rahn grew so strong that he broke free and loosed vengeance upon the people. Many battles were fought, and eventually the monks trapped the demon within the mountain once more, again forfeiting their own salvation to rescue the people.”
“Their salvation?” Erin asked.
“Their place in the Kingdom of Heaven. Sorcery is forbidden by God,” he replied. “Before Sauth Rahn had a chance to restore his strength a second time, the monks devised a very powerful spell. A sacrifice would be made, not to appease the demon, but to weaken him. And, as it has gone with so many sacrifices, a maiden was chosen.”
Erin felt a twinge of anger rise within her chest. Naturally.
“The virgin maiden was pure of heart and soul. She possessed the gift all women possess, the ability to hold life within them and bestow it to the world. And it was this gift which made the spell possible.”
Erin just looked at him. She had heard this story a thousand times. Virgin to the dragon. Virgin to the volcano. Virgin to the hurricane. For as much as the ancients claimed to value chaste maidens, virginity seemed like the world’s most dangerous occupation.
“A ritual took place, during which the monks again harnessed forbidden magic. Each of the nine monks sacrificed their lives to the maiden, channeling into her body the very power of their souls.”
Erin hesitated. She remembered the sacrifice. She had seen it in her vision. The robed men in a circle, the blinding light. She had seen it. The sudden certainty that Brother Fars’s story was true—that pe
ople had actually done these things—made Erin sick to her stomach.
“Then she went to the mountain,” Brother Fars said. “With the souls of the monks within her, the maiden entered the Sauth Rahn’s lair and fought him to her death. She went knowing she would die. Her purpose was to weaken him, so that he could not escape to loose vengeance on the people. And she did.”
Erin stared in astonishment.
“So many years later, when Sauth Rahn had once again strengthened, the ritual once again took place, and the chosen maiden once again fulfilled her role. And again, so many years after that. Yet when it came time for the fifth maiden to go the mountain, she was secretly pregnant, but she was the chosen one, so they sent her, and she went. It was in the fifth battle with a chosen maiden that Sauth Rahn finally perished. Powered by love for her unborn child, the maiden slew Sauth Rahn, and with the birth of her son, the power left her. Yet, as she did not die, the monks worried about the nine souls which resided within her. Fearing that the awesome power of the nine souls might pass to her progeny and rise again, the monks placed upon her head a curse of barrenness and, upon her son’s head, a spell which willed him only sons, and for his sons to have only sons, and they only sons, for the rest of eternity. And though the power might pass through their veins, none would ever again be able to use it, for good or for evil. That is the story of Sauth Rahn, this monastery, and this mountain.”
Erin thought about the bizarre account. It sounded like Greek mythology, but it also fit with what she had seen in the vision. “Why couldn’t the males use it?”
“Only females may carry within them life that is not their own. It may pass through the males in the maiden’s line, but the lives, the souls, are dormant, diminished.”
Erin nodded. She didn’t know how else to respond.
“And it is the power of those nine lives, I believe, which your father has passed to you,” Brother Fars said slowly and surely. Before she could utter a word, he continued. “Your father has only brothers.”