The Nosferatu Chronicles: The Aztec God

by Susan Hamilton

  “A monastery?” asked Ephraim. “Aren’t religious icons a defense against vampires?”

  “That only applied to a small group of superstitious humans who perceived themselves to be Strigoi once they were transformed by Dracula,” said Tariq. “Such was the power of their beliefs that they could be kept at bay with crucifixes and garlic and killed with a wooden stake plunged into the heart, just like the stories you were told as a child.”

  “So the myth of Dracula is true,” mused Ephraim.

  Kevak grasped the gold chain around his neck and showed Ephraim the crucifix attached to it. “This is the most precious thing I possess.”

  Ephraim debated in his mind if a being from another world could possess a soul.

  “Iam created all his children in his own image,” said Kevak, anticipating what Ephraim was thinking. “What does Iam look like? Does He have dark skin, as J’Vor, or is it pale like mine? What is the length of His ears or teeth? Does thick hair emanate from His head, or is He bald like countless other humans and I? Everyone sitting at this table is unique, yet we all possess the same form. It is my belief that the only thing required for a soul is faith — I found that out a long time ago when I briefly lost mine. Upon regaining my faith, Iam returned my dead son to me in the body of a human infant.”

  J’Vor reached out and squeezed Kevak’s hand. “Iam has blessed us, Father.”

  “Iam,” murmured Ephraim. “The Great I Am — you are a brother in Christ, Kevak, and I wish to join your struggle against evil.”

  “It is not evil, Brother,” said Kevak. “Would you consider those who rescued you as evil?”

  Ephraim looked into the faces of those sitting across from him. “You are all vampires?”

  “We were transformed against our wills,” said Emanui, “and would have never known that we could escape our existence were it not for a courageous Vambir who gave his life for all of us.”

  “We do not judge the Vambir and vampires we encounter,” said Kevak. “We free them from the blood addiction and relocate them.”

  “But the risk!” exclaimed Miriam. “If they escape and commit more murders, then you bear the responsibility!”

  *******

  When the three prisoners regained consciousness, they found themselves seated upright in restraints. Kevak was facing them, flanked by Emanui, Miriam, and Ephraim.

  “What are you?” demanded Boris upon seeing Kevak.

  “Navigator Kevak of the Isla,” answered Johep as he looked around at his surroundings. “I never thought I would see the inside of the lifeboat again.”

  “How long have we been here?” asked Kira.

  “One week,” answered Kevak. “The blood in your systems has been flushed out and replaced with hemo-nectar.”

  “How is it that you still have hemo-supplies after all this time?” asked Johep.

  “There was an abundance of seeds,” answered Kevak. “All it required was patience and time.”

  “Your time scale for the harvest was months short of realistic goals!” protested Johep.

  “Yet I spoke the truth,” said Kevak. “This planet’s sun accelerated the growth.”

  “If you had been wrong, we would have starved to death!” exclaimed Johep. “The Commander said you were a liar and a traitor — we could not go against her and the Enforcers.”

  “That is all in the past,” said Kevak. “Your blood-free existence begins today.”

  At Kevak’s signal, Jasper, Tariq and J’Vor stepped up from behind the restraint chairs and pushed the captives’ heads forward, exposing the backs of their necks. Each received an injection at the base of the cerebellum.

  “What have you put inside us?” demanded Kira. “It’s moving!”

  “It will pass,” said Kevak. “You have been injected with nanobytes, and their tendrils are wrapping around your cerebral cortex as we speak.”

  “To what purpose?” demanded Johep.

  “They have been programmed to swell as soon as blood is detected in your systems,” explained Kevak. “Death will occur within seconds. They also contain a tracking device. From now on we will know your every movement.”

  Both Ephraim and Miriam looked at Emanui and nodded, now convinced she had earlier spoken the truth.

  “There is no reason to keep us here any more. Release us!” yelled Kira.

  “Hardly,” said J’Vor. “Although blood is no longer in your systems, the cravings will remain for months.”

  “During that time,” continued Tariq, “we will teach you how to harvest your own hemo-crops and use psychological methods to suppress the cravings. You will be confined to the brig until you are ready for agricultural assignment or return to human society.”

  “No!” insisted Boris. “I must return to my family immediately!”

  “Then your family will watch you die as you attempt to feed off them,” said Jasper. “You cannot suppress the cravings without training.”

  “What do you mean by ‘agricultural assignment’?” asked Kira.

  “We have established farming communities in isolated regions near the equator,” said Kevak.

  “Toil away like a Lowcaste hermit?” asked Johep. “No thanks.”

  “For you, Johep, there is no other option,” said Kevak. “You are Vambir. In a few months the hemo-nectar in your system will bring about a reverse transformation. You will revert to your original form, at which point assimilation among humans will be impossible.”

  “Another Nosferatu,” sneered Kira.

  Johep glared at her.

  “What are you looking at?” Kira taunted. “Fifty years ago you promised me we would live forever in splendor. Ha! Fifty years of nothing but the hunger and the hunt. I should never have listened to you!”

  “No, you shouldn’t have,” snapped Johep. “You would be long dead by now.”

  “Lies!” exclaimed Kira. “You are nothing but lies!”

  She turned to Boris and laughed. “Do you really think your family is still alive?”

  “Shut up, Kira!” yelled Johep.

  Boris’s eyes widened in fear. “No! It’s not possible! I’ve been with you every night since I was transformed!”

  “You were unconscious due to lack of blood the first night,” said Kira. “That’s when Johep fed off your family.”

  “We fed off them,” added Johep flatly.

  Boris shrieked in fury as he struggled against his restraints. “Kill me!” he begged Kevak. “Kill me now! I can never live with what I have done! The only thing that kept me from killing myself all this time was the hope of being reunited with my family!”

  He brought his head forward then swung it back hard against the chair. Ephraim ran to his side and held it still.

  “There is forgiveness in God’s love,” said Ephraim. “Forgiveness and redemption — all made possible by the suffering of Christ.”

  “God could never forgive me,” sobbed Boris.

  “If I can forgive you,” said Ephraim softly, “then surely God can.”

  Boris hung his head and wept bitterly.

  “Put me in his cell,” pleaded Ephraim.

  “No,” insisted Emanui. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “His soul is all that is hungry now,” said Ephraim. “He will not harm me or himself. Put me in his cell, so that I may care for him. It is what I have been called to do.”

  Kevak nodded. “Do as he asks.”

  CROSSING

  Spain, 1510

  With the death of Queen Isabella in 1504, “Friar Alonso” lost his benefactor and protector. Dujot had been a law unto himself, answering to no one as he went about torturing those he deemed to be pretenders of the faith. He had declared that no trials of the accused were necessary, since God had revealed their guilt to him through divine visions. Everyone had been terrified of the friar, and the few who were brave enough to challenge his authority found themselves on his list of suspected heretics.

  Although Isabella’s husband Ferdinand was also devou
t, he was in no way enthralled by the mysterious friar, as his wife had been. The numerous enemies Dujot had made now openly questioned his motives. There was even talk that he was a demon posing as a holy man. His “emersion in evil” cover story was no longer accepted as the tactic of a covert Christian operative. He had appeared to be middle-aged when he first came to the attention of Isabella, and even though his face was always obscured by the hood of his robe, his deliberate, slow movements assured his enemies that he was now an old man who could easily be overpowered. Many attempted to discover where the friar took his daytime rest and methodically searched the cellars of nearby buildings, but he had always managed to elude them.

  Impatient to expose the friar, five men had physically restrained him in the courtyard one night to await the daylight that he had steadfastly avoided for so long. Left with no other option, Dujot had entered berserker mode. Although he no longer possessed his original Vambir form, he unleashed the superior strength and speed he had kept secret for decades. As his teeth sank into the neck of one of his captors, he ripped out the jugular with ease to the shock and horror of the others, whom he easily dispatched before escaping into the countryside.

  Now a fugitive, it was impossible for him to remain in the region. He had to get away — far away.

  The first thing he did was change his appearance. He crudely shaved his head and eyebrows with the knife he kept holstered in his belt. Being in the isolated countryside was a double-edged sword — he was safe from detection but would not be able to feed with any regularity.

  On the third night, he spotted the light of a campfire and could make out a solitary man stirring the contents of a small metal pot. A donkey was tethered to a nearby tree, and Dujot struggled to contain his glee when he recognized the habit of a fellow Dominican friar. It was perfect — he would feed off him then steal his identity, but beforehand, he needed to know everything about him.

  “Hello, Brother!” called Dujot as he hobbled into view.

  The young friar slowly got to his feet. “God be with you, Brother. This road is not well-traveled, and there are no villages in the vicinity. What brings someone of your advanced years so deep into the forest without a donkey or supplies?”

  Dujot laughed. “My feet still provide adequate transportation, and God takes care of the rest.”

  The young friar slowly pulled back his hood, revealing a face devoid of pigment. His hair was white as snow, and a pair of pink irises stared at Dujot through eyes set within white lashes.

  “My name is Brother Albinus,” he said with a smile. “Albinus the albino. It is easy to remember, is it not? And you?”

  “I am Alonso, formerly the personal chaplain to Her Majesty Queen Isabella,” said Dujot. “She placed the welfare of Christendom into my care. Through the years, many became jealous of the favor she showed me, and upon her demise, I was stripped of all authority. I am a wanderer now, content to live out the rest of my days ministering to those that the Lord leads me to.”

  Albinus took the last sip from his cup. “There is plenty of broth, Brother Alonso. Would you care for some?”

  “No, thank you,” he said. “I ate earlier.”

  Albinus began to pack up his belongings. “You are welcome to what is left of the fire,” he said. “Shall I leave it for you?”

  “You travel at night?” asked Dujot.

  “Alas, I must,” answered Albinus. “Sunlight is extremely harsh on my eyes and skin.”

  “Heaven be praised!” exclaimed Dujot. “I suffer from the same malady! Divine Providence has surely brought us together!”

  Albinus noted Dujot’s physical features. ”Although your complexion is pale, you are not a true albino.”

  “Nevertheless,” said Dujot, “sunlight burns me. Tell me, Albinus, where are you going?”

  “To the convent of St. Stephen in Salamanca,” answered Albinus. “Friar Antonio de Montesinos is putting together a band of missionaries to go to Hispaniola Island.”

  “The New World!” exclaimed Dujot. “Take me with you! I have heard there are natives whose souls are damned because they are ignorant of the true faith.”

  Albinus smiled and shook his head. “The journey is an arduous one, Brother Alonso. For one as old as you, it is unlikely you would survive the crossing.”

  “I am willing, and God will decide if I am worthy,” declared Dujot. “Tell me about this Friar Antonio!”

  “I have known him since I was a child,” said Albinus. “He was instrumental in guiding me to my calling during my formative years and has arranged for me to remain below decks during the journey. You are welcome to travel with me to Salamanca, but the decision to include you in our mission will be up to him. Do not get your hopes up. In the meantime, please avail yourself of my donkey.”

  “My feet have always sufficed,” said Dujot, “and it now feels as if I am a young man again.”

  Out of respect for the elderly “Friar Alonso,” Albinus walked beside him, leading the donkey. It took them nearly a week to reach Salamanca, and Albinus noticed a change in the “old man.” He no longer limped and now easily kept pace, which Albinus attributed to Divine Purpose.

  Dujot’s smile masked his dark plans. He could not kill Albinus, as Friar Antonio knew him. The cover story that he suffered from the same condition as Albinus would offer him the daylight protection he needed during the journey. Although he was ravenous, Dujot maintained his composure by thinking of how the New World would be teeming with feeding grounds populated by primitives who would be easy prey.

  *******

  The sea relentlessly jostled the convoy of four ships as they trekked over the Atlantic Ocean. Dujot had made a miraculous recovery from all his physical disabilities once he reached Salamanca with Albinus. Friar Antonio had been happy to accept another holy warrior into his fold, since there were precious few who wanted to give up the comparative life of luxury in Spain to the hazards and diseases lurking in the jungles of the New World.

  During the daylight hours below decks, Alonso had entered the state of semi-stasis that he learned on Vambiri. Semi-stasis slowed his digestion and ensured he could survive months without feeding.

  Five weeks into their journey, Dujot was jolted out of semi-stasis when a particularly large wave struck the ship. He could feel something squeezing his arm, and a faint voice growing stronger called to him.

  “Brother Alonso!” exclaimed Albinus. “We must abandon ship!”

  Dujot’s eyes opened to see the young friar crouching beside him.

  “What has happened?”

  “A storm has been raging all day,” explained Albinus. “We have separated from the other ships. The scouts have spotted landfall dead ahead, and the winds are pushing us straight into the boulders along the shore.”

  “Is it still daytime?” asked Dujot in a panic.

  “Yes,” answered Albinus. “But the clouds have covered the sun. We will be able to withstand it.”

  “No!” insisted Dujot. “Sunlight is fatal to me regardless of the clouds! How long until sunset?”

  “At least another two hours,” answered Albinus, “but the ships will be smashed against the boulders within the hour. We must leave now!”

  Dujot put his hand on Albinus’s shoulder. “Go, Brother. I will stay below decks until it is safe to rendezvous with you on the shore.”

  “I’m not leaving you,” said Albinus.

  A young novice called to them from above. “The rowboats have been lowered! It is time!”

  “Perhaps you are right,” said Dujot to Albinus. “Is the sun still hidden behind the clouds?”

  Albinus look through the open hatch. “They appear to be—”

  Dujot struck Albinus on the back of the head, rendering him unconscious.

  “Boy!” Dujot shouted from below. “Are you there, boy? Help me!”

  The novice peered through the hatch again and quickly climbed down. “What happened to Brother Albinus?”

  “A crate fell on him!” exclaime
d Dujot. “Take him!”

  The novice grabbed Albinus’s arms and pulled him up the stairs while Dujot pushed from below. As Albinus’s body reached the deck, one of Dujot’s hands was exposed to the daylight, and steam began to rise from the flesh. Dujot cried out in pain, and the novice’s eyes grew wide with fear as he beheld the sight.

  “I must remain here until dark,” yelled Dujot over the roar of the crashing waves as he withdrew into the hull. “Conduct Brother Albinus to safety, boy. God will take care of the rest.”

  “Vaya con Dios, Friar,” the novice cried, then motioned for others to help with Albinus.

  For over an hour, Dujot shifted his weight to counteract the listing of the ship. Bracing himself for the crash that would come any second, he was still caught off-guard when it happened. Seawater surged through the lower decks around him. As his compartment quickly flooded, he let out a sarcastic laugh and reflected on the irony of how he had survived a space journey of thousands of years only to meet his end in this primitive fashion.

  The ship broke apart on the rocks. Although the bow smashed to pieces, the stern section containing Dujot was pinned in place. There was just enough space in the compartment for his eyes and nose to remain above the water level. Clutching a beam, he held himself steady until it was dark and he could make his escape.

  As he swam toward the shore, the surging tide relentlessly pushed him into the boulders. He heard a loud snap but did not realize it was the sound of his arm breaking until the searing pain engulfed him a few seconds later. When he eventually felt the sand beneath his feet, he steadied himself against the waves and limped to the beach.

  “Halloo!” he yelled but could find no sign of the rowboats or survivors.

  He sat on the beach and fought through the pain as he caught his breath. When he had regained his strength, he spotted two crisscrossing palm trees. Placing his broken arm in between them, he gritted his teeth and quickly snapped the broken bone back into place. Tearing off bits of his robe, he tied them tightly around two branches he had used to hold the arm in place. Although he was a hybrid, the part of his biology that was Vambir was already mending the broken bone and torn tissue, and he would be completely healed by the next night.