Dracula: Rise of the Beast

by David Thomas Moore

  I started. “To me? Why?”

  “She said that only one as powerful as the witch herself would be able to banish her back to hell. Fighting fire with fire and evil with evil, as it were. So her father, mother and brother volunteered to undertake the perilous journey to your castle—risking their own deaths at your hands, a price they were willing to pay for the good of the village. Their sacrifice will forever live in our memory and the memories of our children and our children’s children. We will never forget them in our prayers as long as we live, and there will be a monument honouring their sacrifice as long as a village stands here.” He pointed at the stone cross in the middle of the little square. “That is why we shall be eternally grateful to you, Count, for ridding us of this terrible evil…”

  I found it difficult to contain my merriment. I suppose I must have smirked, because he flinched then, unnerved. This fool thought he could fight fire with fire and remain unscathed. He thought he could direct and deceive dark forces he could not even begin to comprehend. Such is the folly of mortal men—they know nothing, but act as if they know everything.

  “The girl you speak of is alive and well, my friend,” I said, very much savouring the change that suddenly came over him. His eyes widened in shock and his jaw dropped. “She must have awoken during the journey and lashed out at those who had sought to destroy her. I found her unconscious among their corpses. The equipage must have gone off the road in the struggle. She had managed to slay her treacherous relatives, but the injuries sustained in the crash had momentarily incapacitated her, exhausted as she was from the effort of fighting three people at once. I, of course, carried her to my castle and nursed her back to health.”

  “You nursed her back to health?” the priest shouted, his eyes bulging in terror. “But she is a monster!”

  “So am I, you foolish peasant!” I roared, incensed. “You dare presume to use me as your attack dog? Unworthy worm! Kneel before me, or I shall take your head for my mantelpiece!”

  He raised the cross, quaking like a leaf in a powerful gale.

  “Stand back, spawn of Satan! I warn you!”

  I bared my fangs, which made him blanch.

  “You? Warn me? Who do you think you are, priest?”

  “I am a man of God!” he spat, going red in the face.

  At that instant something bright and heavy fell on him from above, like lightning splitting a tree. His body was crushed beneath its weight with a sickening wet crunch. His foolish head cracked open and his brains spilled out onto the snow and mixed with his ignoble blood. It was a glorious sight.

  She stood on his broken corpse, terrible and beautiful, a goddess of sadistic malevolence, her eyes glowing like blue fire, her exquisite mouth curved into a rapacious grin, her angelic features assuming a predator’s merciless ferocity.

  “Good morning, Count,” she said, in a crisp and clear voice that carried around the hushed square like the tolling of a funeral bell.

  “Good morning, my dear!” I replied with a deep bow, extending my arm. She took it and stepped off the pile of broken bones and pulverized flesh. Her touch was warm and smooth, but firm. I gazed at her, mesmerized by her regal beauty and enthralled by the savage bloodlust I could see shining in her eyes.

  “Forgive the interruption,” she said and her lips formed a thin, vulturous smile, “but it did not seem you were getting along.”

  “I was just about to punish him for his insolence.”

  “Insolence was not the cause of my disagreement with him. He endeavoured to murder me, inciting others, more feeble-minded even than himself, to do the work in his stead. A coward to boot.”

  “So I gathered. Unsuccessfully, for which I am glad.”

  “Of course.” She looked me up and down, frowning, and I saw how the flakes of snow melted the instant they touched her shiny golden head. “I hope you will forgive my abrupt departure from your tower,” she said loftily. “I am indeed grateful for your hospitality and care.”

  Her icy, superior tone struck me as insincere and affected; there was heat bubbling underneath. “Then why did you jump out of the window?” I asked, trying to keep the reproach out of my voice.

  “I did not. I flew out. But I should have thought the reason for my leaving perfectly obvious. I did not know whether I could trust you. You were part of the plot to get rid of me, after all. The crux of it, in fact. Those hungry looks you gave me did not go unnoticed, dear Count. And the way you licked your chops whenever your sombre gaze found my neck.”

  My gaze inadvertently found her neck again. I simply could not resist its charms. The scent of her hot young blood was overwhelming.

  “But if you feared me—”

  “Mistrusted, never feared.”

  I smiled. “Then why did you stay in my castle beyond the first night? Your injuries were not that grave. You could have easily escaped the very same night I brought you in to recuperate.”

  She narrowed her luminous eyes. “Recuperate? You brought me in to question me and then to satisfy your thirst for blood!”

  “True,” I admitted. “But my question remains. Why stay?”

  She blinked and that sly smile made another fleeting appearance. “I was curious about you.”

  “Curious?”

  “Yes. I wished to know more about you. I wished to… find out what sort of creature you were.”

  “I thought my reputation…”

  “Your reputation is well deserved, dear Count, but does you great injustice.”

  “I do not follow.”

  “You are not the scarecrow people make of you. Your legend has turned you into a monument. A monument to evil, yes, but a thing of stone and mortar nevertheless. Immovable: grand and threatening, but stiff and languid. However, the truth I discovered was different. You are so much more! Not a statue at all, but alive with anger and lust and craving and pride. You are an elemental force. A storm, full of evil purpose, raging and rampaging, ravishing and ravaging the land. A wicked intellect the likes of which the world has never known. A creature of dark beauty and awesome power. A thing of the grave and proud of it!” She looked over her shoulder. “And now, if you would excuse me, I have some unfinished business to attend to here.”

  She turned away, leaving me speechless, and strode towards the closest cottage, with bloody-minded purpose. After a moment, I found my tongue and asked:

  “May I help you finish it?”

  She answered without stopping or turning.

  “You can accompany me, but you must not interfere. They are mine to punish.”

  She rapped on the heavy door and waited.

  “They will never open willingly,” I said, thinking of the priest and his dramatic demise not minutes ago.

  “They shall. People are sheep. And now that I have killed their shepherd, the flock is leaderless. They will not know what to do. See?”

  The door was slowly unlocked and unbolted. The man who came out to greet us was big and strong; he hoisted a heavy double-edged axe in his meaty hands.

  “Stand back, witch, or you shall feel the swing of my axe!” he bellowed, but his voice shook with fear and his eyes were bulging. “You will not desecrate my house with your vile presence!”

  “Foolish peasant!” she snapped, raising her left arm. A string of silver thread shot out from her open palm, wrapped itself around the man’s mouth and nose and brought him forcefully to his knees. He dropped the axe and began desperately pulling and clawing at the thing with his fingers, but to no avail. Smothered, he died in a matter of seconds, writhing on the ground, kicking and moaning in pain. When it was over, the witch bent over his corpse, which began to decompose before my very eyes. The skin darkened and withered, the hair fell out, the arms and legs shriveled and the chest sank. I moved closer and saw a long semitransparent leathery tube, not much larger than a finger, driven into his neck. The other end of the tube disappeared somewhere beneath her clothes. After she had drained him, she stepped over his wilted remains and went insi
de the house, rubbing her hands together with evident glee; but emerged a minute later, disappointment writ large on her face.

  “Only his ailing father,” she sighed, then looked over to the next house and licked her lips.

  “If you kill them all now, what will you eat come next winter?” I asked her. “Leave some alive, so they can procreate and supply you with fresh food later on.”

  She pondered this.

  “Wise words, Count. But there are far too many of them still breathing. Do not forget that they tried to murder me. Maybe I shall leave ten or fifteen of them. Or perhaps one from each family. But the rest will pay.”

  She set about her task with a greedy, hungry air, going from cottage to cottage like the plague itself. I noticed no change in her appearance and had to wonder what became of all the flesh and viscera she consumed. After the seventh murderous visit I began to feel apprehensive. The sun was slowly creeping up the peak under whose shadow the village was nestled, and would soon emerge to scorch me with its pernicious rays. I estimated that if I started immediately, I would barely have enough time, even downhill, even as a wolf, to run the distance to my castle.

  I finally stood before her and said mournfully:

  “Unfortunately I must now leave you.”

  She stopped dead in her tracks and stared at me, her eyes alive with feeling. “Leave me?”

  “The dawn will break soon and I must flee.”

  “You? Flee?”

  “Yes. Even I.”

  She lowered her eyes and smiled. “Why go all the way to your castle to sleep?” she whispered softly. “Why not sleep here with me?”

  My mouth went dry. I dared not believe my ears. Her smile became wider and she raised her head. She met my transfixed gaze and blushed, but did not look away. My head exploded with the sound of a thousand bells tolling in unison. I could sense her tender pulse quickening. The scent of her blood became unbearable. It was like a trumpet call to battle.

  “Am I correct in thinking that it is native soil and darkness that you require?” she asked quietly, reveling in the blush like a maiden in love.

  “That is so,” I replied, hardly recognizing the voice as my own.

  She extended her arm, all thoughts of deadly retribution clearly forgotten.

  “Then I know the perfect place. Follow me… my love.”

  I took her delicate hand, burning with desire, and followed her to a dark cottage at the very edge of the village. I surmised it was the one she had used to dry herbs and prepare remedies. She led me to the cellar and showed me a great black fissure in the very rock upon which the village stood: a cave as old as time itself and as deep as the oceans. The air smelled of damp earth and ancient stone, iron ore and black magic. We trod on bones that reeked of death and putrefaction and whispered lovingly to each other. That is where we consummated our union, in the stygian darkness, in the cold stone belly of the mountain, knee-deep in bones, surrounded by the restless spirits of all the people she had slain. She undressed before me, slowly, majestically, never taking her shining eyes from mine. Despite the utter darkness, I saw every detail of her exquisite white body; her silver skin glowed like the moonlight had assumed human form.

  “This will be the first and only time, dear Count,” she uttered softly as she stood before me, proud and unabashed.

  I frowned, barely containing my excitement. Inside my body, a storm was raging.

  “Why?”

  “That is my destiny. I cannot escape it.”

  I took her naked body in my arms. “Then it will be my destiny also.”

  I kissed her, and she smiled inside my kiss. “Beware that you do not burn yourself playing with this fire, dear Count.”

  “If self-immolation is the price, I am more than willing to pay it,” I replied.

  And then it happened. She transformed into the marvelous monster that she was. I was dumbstruck with awe and adoration. She was even more gruesome and magnificent that I had imagined! Mere words cannot convey her savage, inhuman beauty! A creature of dark potency and immense power. A Druid queen, born to rule the living, as I was a vampire king destined to reign over the dead. A match made in Hell!

  Afterwards we lay together on a bed of fine silk thread, breathing as one and thinking as one, wallowing in wordless bliss deep within the mountain’s dark bosom. I could feel the great Carpathian forest silently watching over us, and the entire underworld of beasts and monsters sharing in our moment of marital harmony. It was as if all the creatures of the night had paused to welcome their new King and Queen, and Nature herself was standing attendance upon us, savouring our morbid union.

  “I am with child,” she proclaimed at last, shattering the perfect silence into pieces. She took my hand and placed it over her belly, which was so warm and hard I pictured hot coals inside it rather than a baby.

  “I am glad,” I said, which was the truth. It had never occurred to me before that I could father children, but now I had, the thought was strangely pleasing. “But how do you know?”

  “A mother always knows. In three days I shall bear three children. All of them girls.”

  “I am glad. It will be an honour to be their father.”

  “And then I shall die.”

  A long, terrible silence followed this pronouncement. I was speechless again and, for the first time since I could remember, overcome by dread. The thought of losing her caused me physical pain.

  “That cannot be!” I protested, my voice shaking with emotion.

  She stiffened in my arms. “But it shall be! It is my destiny and my nature, dear Count. You cannot change your destiny any more than you can change your nature.”

  “Neither is set in stone!” I said. “Nature changes all the time! And men have always striven to usurp their fate and escape the shackles of destiny!”

  “Mortal men!” she spat with disdain and indignation. “Mortal men are foolish. We are not.”

  “You will perish giving birth to them?” I asked, choking on the words as if they were stones.

  “No. I will perish giving life to them.”

  I took her hand in mine and squeezed. “I do not understand, my love. Why must you die?”

  “So they can live. One life in exchange for three. I think it a good bargain.”

  “Do not speak so cavalierly about your life!” I said with a trembling voice. “It is much too precious to be bargained away!”

  She laughed. “My life is but a link in a chain, as is yours. We are all of us expendable, as long as the chain remains unbroken. The dance of life must continue.”

  “There must be another way!”

  “There is no other. I have seen into the future and I have decided.”

  “It cannot be your destiny if it is a choice!”

  “It is my destiny to make that choice. When you fled the approaching dawn, was that a decision you made? No, it was your destiny to flee! We cannot escape our nature and we must obey its rules.”

  “But our very nature is unnatural!”

  “Only in the eyes of mortal men. But they are ignorant and do not realize that we, who are creatures of the night, are just as much a part of Nature as they are. We simply occupy a position above them in Nature’s order. We are the predators and they our prey.”

  “But…”

  “You are the living-dead proof, my love. You are the proof that death is natural. You are the proof that death is destiny. And I shall embrace both in three days’ time.”

  “No! I am the proof that death can be deceived and conquered! I am the proof that death is not destiny, only a stepping stone towards a different kind of life. I am the proof that you can change your destiny and escape the tyranny of the laws of Nature! Why must you die, my love? Why must you sacrifice yourself? Why must you succumb to the vulgar weaknesses of the flesh?”

  She sighed and caressed my cheek. Her hand was warm and soft. I relished her heavenly touch, trying not to think of a future time when I would have to exist without it.

 
“Because I am ready,” she said softly. “And I prefer it. And I know that you will be a wonderful father, my love.”

  “You prefer it? You prefer death and oblivion to eternity with me in our castle?”

  She put her hand over my mouth.

  “Quiet, my love. I know that it hurts, but you must be strong. Let us savour this moment and not spoil it with futile regrets. It is as it should be. You know as well as I do that death does not mean oblivion. I will continue living in our children, in their hearts and minds. My blood will flow through their veins. My magic will flow through their blood. Flesh is fleeting; blood is eternal. My memory will live on. Forever.”

  My eyes welled up with hot tears. Yes, my friend. Tears! I was weeping for the first time since I could remember, and my black heart was breaking.

  “Indeed it will,” I said. “But I will miss you.”

  She lovingly caressed my cheek again. “And I you, my dark prince.”

  We kissed. And it was magical in more ways than one.

  IT HAPPENED EXACTLY as she had foretold. Three days hence she laid three gigantic eggs, as big as beehives, one black and two white, in a nest she made for herself in the bowels of my castle, out of silver silk and human skin. After three more days of brooding, during which time she only drank fresh blood and warm honey, the eggs hatched. Three beautiful babies emerged from their leathery sacs, mewling and squinting at the blinding light radiating from their mother.

  The two white eggs produced two identical dark-haired girls with glowing black eyes, while the dark egg contained a fair-haired little babe with pale blue eyes and translucent skin. The witch bathed them, licking them clean with her own tongue, then called me over to claim and admire them. She looked drowsy and tired, but joyous and content. I knelt before her, my face a mask of dumb delight, reached into the nest and held the triplets. They were warm and squirming in my trembling arms, tiny morsels of tender flesh with big heads and luminous eyes. Perfect in every way! I was speechless with joy, unable to express the warm feeling of happy pride swelling in my bosom. They ceased bawling when I held them and met my gaze as an adult would. They instantly knew me as their father and protector. They were so beautiful! And so strong! Each one had the iron grip of an eagle and the steady gaze of a ravenous wolf preparing to strike. And their newborn scent! They smelled of fresh snow, cold rock, moist earth and warm blood.