The Nosferatu Chronicles: The Aztec God

by Susan Hamilton

  In between her sobs, she listened intently for any sounds of crying but heard nothing. As dawn approached, the sky began to lighten, but in her traumatized state of mind she took no notice of it and continued her hopeless search. Feeling her core body temperature rapidly climbing, her survival instinct took over and she dug into the ground with her talon-like claws in a desperate attempt to burrow herself out of danger. She came to an abrupt halt when she spotted a tiny fire-burst across the field — the first of the sun’s rays had located her baby. As her skin burst into flames, her grief-stricken shrieks echoed across the landscape, and within seconds she was reduced to ashes that were carried off by the wind.

  *******

  When Dujot reached the pod, he saw the male occupant stagger out and fall to the ground as convulsions rippled through his body.

  “Remain calm,” he said to the occupant. “It’s only the shock of revival and will pass soon.”

  The occupant looked up and saw a figure in a black robe. A large hood concealed the face.

  “This planet has a plentiful supply of hemo-nectar,” said Dujot as he held a large leaf containing red liquid to the occupant’s mouth. “Drink it quickly, and it will hasten your recovery.”

  As soon as the male ingested the liquid, he began to feel an intense burning in his throat and screamed in agony as black, putrid matter began to flow from his eyes and ears. The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was the stranger pulling back his hood to reveal a face that was not Vambir.

  “Unfortunately for you,” said Dujot to the dying Vambir, “the red substance from the Four-legs is poison to our kind.”

  Opening the pod’s hatch, he quickly disabled the homing beacon. “Hover!” he commanded.

  The pod levitated and followed him back into the rainforest, away from Tenochtitlan. Although the thick canopy of trees overhead provided constant daytime shade, it would not be enough to protect him from the sunrise that was nearly upon him. Pulling apart the twisted vines that had grown over a fallen tree near the edge of a swamp, he made a thin opening and pushed the pod into place. Once he had squeezed himself through, he knotted the vines back together and entered the pod. He was too excited to sleep and used the time to refamiliarize himself with the control keys. Wondering why a handful of stasis pods had landed nearly sixty years after the Isla had been destroyed in orbit, he shouted the voice command for access to the computer log. After a few minutes, he found his answer.

  “Stray pods banding together in Low Earth Orbit for all this time!” he cried aloud. “I wonder how the occupants at the rear would feel about being sacrificed for the common good?”

  He could hardly believe his luck — after narrowly escaping death so many times, he had been at the right place at the right time to take possession of the one object that offered him daylight protection without the constant worry of being discovered.

  Maybe the deity worshipped by the Primitives has taken a liking to me, he thought, letting out a sarcastic laugh.

  He stopped thinking about that and focused on the matter at hand. The Spaniards had expected him back the previous night, and their patience with his strange habit of avoiding daylight was already wearing thin. If the pod’s solar shielding could be used to generate a personal shield, it would remove the greatest obstacle he had faced in dealing with humans. After the sun had set, he left the pod behind in its hiding spot. With its palmcom now in his possession, he could easily find it again.

  As he made his way back, he heard footsteps too delicate to belong to the clumsy Spaniards. He smiled when he recognized two Tlaxcalan warriors. They would provide the perfect alibi for his extended time away.

  *******

  As the last pod descended, its heat shielding eroded. Predicting a hull breach, the computer prepared to initiate the ejection countdown but quickly changed course when the navigation system detected a large body of water. The burning pod plunged into Lake Texcoco, and the force of the splashdown caused huge waves to crash over the banks. The water surrounding the sinking pod began to boil as it came into contact with the intense heat.

  After the pod settled on the bottom of the lake, the computer prevented it from surfacing — the sun was rising, and it would have to remain submerged for another twelve hours before the revival sequence could be activated.

  *******

  “Where’s that infernal priest?” demanded Hernando Cortés. “We need him as an interpreter!”

  Months earlier, Cortés had stopped at Cozumel Island after hearing rumors about a survivor of a Spanish missionary shipwreck who had been marooned there since 1511.

  Upon seeing Cortés's ships, Dujot had lit a fire to flag them down. Once rescued, he boasted that he would be of great value to them, since he was now fluent in Mayan as well as other indigenous languages. While Cortés considered ‘Friar Alonso’ indispensable as an interpreter, others did not share this opinion: a valued crewman had mysteriously disappeared since the friar’s rescue, and no one believed that the experienced deck hand could have lost his footing in the middle of the night and fallen overboard.

  “Friar Alonso claims to have taken on the customs of the Mayan people so completely that he keeps his body clock in time to their celestial calendar,” said Bernal Diaz, who was keeping a journal of Cortés's discoveries for posterity. “Apparently the Mayan circadian rhythms currently dictate that he must take his rest in the daytime.”

  “He no longer has to pretend to be a savage in order to survive,” snapped Cortés. “Find him at once!”

  “With respect, sir, that is not our primary concern,” said Diaz. “Rumors are swirling of mutiny. Disaffected crewmen are whispering about returning home.”

  Cortés sighed, irritated that he was forced to turn his attention elsewhere. “I’ve been expecting this,” he said. “Scuttle the ships. If anyone wishes to desert, they can take their chances with the natives.”

  *******

  “Quetzalcoatl’s army has arrived, Sire,” reported the scout.

  “Show me,” said Montezuma.

  The scout handed him sketches of the strange-looking humans. Just as the divine visions had predicted, they were all white-skinned and rode atop four legged animals resembling deer.

  “The sticks they carry with them emit fire, as the prophecy foretold,” said the scout.

  “Last night many people heard the cries of a distressed woman,” said Montezuma. “But the words she uttered were of a different tongue. Her voice could be heard everywhere, yet nowhere specifically.”

  “It was one of the Civatateo,” said a priest, referring to the spirits of women who died in childbirth and walked the night searching for their lost babies.

  “What happened at Lake Texcoco?” Montezuma asked the priest. “It has been reported that great waves crashed over the banks, and the water boiled for hours.”

  “Quetzalcoatl will reveal all in due course,” said the priest. “This was foretold, and we have no choice in the matter.”

  “Then I must submit,” said Montezuma. “The gods have brought this about, and it is not for us to question their motives. Assemble the officials. We will depart at once to pay homage to our new masters.”

  PARTING

  Russia, 1553

  The Orthodox monastery Kozheozersky was located next to Lake Kozhozero in the northwestern part of Russia. No roads led to the monastery. Visitors on foot or horseback would eventually find themselves at the banks of the lake, and a fire would have to be lit in order to summon a boat from the other side. Even by the standards of the sixteenth century, it was arguably the most isolated Christian monastery in the world.

  The monks lived an ascetic life of prayer, chastity, fasting, and manual labor. Ephraim had been the Hegumen for nearly thirty years and kept Boris’s secret of what he was from the others. While Ephraim grew old and weak, Boris retained his youthful appearance, since the Vambir part of his mixed physiology, along with a steady intake of hemo-nectar, had slowed the human aging process. The dress co
de adhered to by the monks concealed Boris’s lack of physical change — to reveal one’s face or even hands and feet was considered a vanity, and they purposely pulled their long hoods forward and tucked each hand into the opposite sleeve in order to ensure that no flesh was exposed.

  Since arriving at the monastery in 1522, the Isla’s lifeboat had been cloaked in the nearby forest and was central command for the vast network set up by Kevak to protect humanity.

  The Vambir residing in Newlun and had adjusted well to their isolated way of life, and the ongoing construction of the Newisla gave them both purpose and hope.

  Transformed humans that had been neutralized with the implants were referred to as “Rescued,” while those still at large were called “Ferals.” Humans who accompanied the Rescued on missions to root out Ferals were called “Watchers,” and their purpose was to provide protection during the daylight hours.

  The Rescued were divided into two groups: those, like Boris, who were relieved to be released from the blood hunger and actively assisted in protecting humanity, and those who refused to accept their situation. Since no conclusive method existed to determine which of the Rescued were sincere in their rehabilitation, the cerebral implant was the fail-safe.

  Ephraim shifted his weight to his cane as he hobbled into the woods toward the lifeboat. Boris could tell from the expression on his face that he was in pain.

  “Your arthritis has spread,” said Boris. “Stasis pod technology could eliminate all your health issues.”

  “I have been blessed with suffering,” said Ephraim. “It is a daily reminder that what I endure is nothing compared to what the Christ bore on the cross for all of our sins.”

  It was a conversation they’d had countless times.

  “Your natural life span is nearing the end,” pleaded Boris. “Miriam’s cancer was cured in a med-pod. She is the picture of health even though she is older than you. Think of the extra years you could have in service of our holy struggle.”

  “Miriam is a Watcher, and her duties require her to be agile,” answered Ephraim. “I am concerned only with the saving of souls. To accept any Vambir improvements to my body would be vanity.”

  “Please, Ephraim,” begged Boris. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  Ephraim smiled serenely. “Death come to us all. It will visit me before you, but we will be reunited in Heaven one day. In His infinite wisdom, God has decided that we are to travel different paths. We must accept this without question.”

  Once inside the lifeboat, Ephraim embraced Kevak. “May I speak with you in private?” he asked.

  Boris watched warily as they went into Kevak’s compartment.

  “My time grows short,” said Ephraim to Kevak once they were alone. “Very short. My passing is going to be difficult for Boris.”

  “Losing those we love is always painful,” said Kevak. “Those who care for no one are spared, yet it is a meaningless reprieve. A solitary existence without the love of others is no way to live.”

  “I have lived through incredible times,” said Ephraim. “Iam has revealed to me the miracle of life existing on another world. One day humanity will understand and accept you.”

  “One day, Iam willing,” said Kevak.

  “And now, old friend,” said Ephraim, “I need you to do something for me: give me the last rites.”

  *******

  Walking back to the monastery, Ephraim leaned heavily on Boris. As they emerged from the forest, he doubled over in pain.

  “You need immediate medical attention back in the lifeboat,” said Boris as he picked him up.

  “No!” insisted Ephraim. “Take me to my own bed!”

  Ignoring Ephraim, Boris instead carried him back into the forest.

  “Boris, please,” whispered Ephraim. “My time has come, and dying is an intensely personal matter that I wish to share only with you.”

  Coming to a halt, Boris began to weep.

  “A long time ago you wept like this,” said Ephraim, “and we weathered the storm together.”

  Racked with sorrow, Boris carried Ephraim back to the monastery. After gently placing him in his bed, he held the old man’s hand and watched helplessly as his breathing became labored.

  “You saved my life and eternal soul because of your forgiveness,” whispered Boris into his ear. “It was your forgiveness that allowed me to trust in Iam’s forgiveness.”

  “You restored my faith through your remorse,” gasped Ephraim. “Everything happened as it was meant to happen. Goodbye for now, my dearest friend.”

  Taking Ephraim into his arms, Boris held him close until the end.

  HELIX

  BSL-4 Laboratory, 2005

  Maz flashed her security card to the guard.

  “Biosafety Level 4 confirmed for Mazatli Pocatello,” he said after checking her credentials.

  As she got into her protective suit, her heart raced with excitement. An outbreak of ebola in the Sudan had provided the perfect opportunity. She had accompanied Professor Espinoza to the region to collect blood from the infected and added the saliva sample of Quetzalcoatl to the batch destined for the BSL-4 lab. After entering the airlock, she was relieved to see that only Espinoza was present.

  “Ah, Maz, you’re here,” said Espinoza. “The samples you requested are in that tank.”

  Without pausing to make conversation, Maz brushed past him and began the task of DNA sequencing. Espinoza was accustomed to her brusque manner. Maz was a complete mystery to him, but he had long ago stopped trying to figure out what drove her. Somehow, an orphan raised on the Washakie Reservation in Utah had defied the odds and completed university with first-class honors in epidemiology. She was tireless in her dedication to her craft and had followed him around the world to the most dangerous places to collect samples of highly infectious diseases.

  “What happened in the Sudan supports my Aztec theory,” said Espinoza.

  Maz stopped what she was doing and looked back at him. “How so?”

  “Outbreaks of measles and ebola occurred concurrently,” he said. “I’m convinced that smallpox alone was not responsible for wiping out the Aztecs.”

  “The Conquistadors certainly made their contribution,” said Maz.

  Espinoza detected the cynicism in her voice and reminded himself not to take it personally. Maz could have easily gotten a cushy job with a pharmaceutical corporation and made ten times her current salary. She had worked tirelessly for him, a Spaniard, for nearly a decade and surely would not have done so if she had any prejudice against him.

  “What are you hoping to find from the DNA sequencing?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “These samples are from ebola survivors,” she said. “I’m searching for genetic mutations that could have prevented the virus from undermining the immunity system.”

  “Well,” replied Espinoza, “that was certainly the case with the Black Death.”

  He waited for her to reply with more information, but Maz continued her work in silence. After Espinoza had categorized the measles samples, he exited the lab through the airlock.

  Once he was gone, Maz retrieved Quetzalcoatl’s sample from the tank and began her analysis. Hours later, she watched intensely as the computer screen constructed the helix based on the data.

  “A triple helix!” she said aloud.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the ping of the timer going off. When she read the results, she was ecstatic — the reagents added to Quetzalcoatl’s sample had detected virus proteins.

  I know what you contracted, Quetzalcoatl!

  DESCENDANTS

  New Year’s Eve, 2010

  The blaring music from the stage made conversation impossible. The majority of those in the audience were under the influence of mind-altering drugs, and the strobe lights exacerbated their disconnection from reality. At the center of the stage, a thin, pale man with long black hair gyrated to the cacophony.

  The entertainer Venomy openly claimed to be a vampire. He ste
adfastly avoided daylight and never missed an opportunity to flash his elongated canines in front of the cameras. As part of his publicity campaign, he would sit serenely and sip blood from a champagne glass when appearing on late night talk shows. Others in the gothic scene had adopted similar affectations, but Venomy came to the attention of Kevak’s network when he had referred to Lun as the city of his “ancestors” during a recent interview.

  Venomy paused from singing and walked slowly from one side of the stage to the other, bending down to inspect the faces of his adoring fans. As he passed they smiled broadly, exposing their dentally enhanced canines. He came to an abrupt halt when he saw the canines of a beautiful woman expand and retract as she smiled at him.

  “Won’t you come into my parlor?” Venomy asked the woman as he spoke into the microphone.

  “Said the spider to the fly!” roared the crowd in response.

  At Venomy’s signal, a security official escorted the woman backstage. She followed the official to the dressing room, which was guarded by two burly men.

  “Venomy wants this one,” said the official to the guards.

  One of the men opened the door and motioned her inside. Half an hour later, Venomy took his final encore and headed backstage. When he walked into the dressing room, the guards prevented the flock of groupies from following. Venomy saw the woman sitting motionless at the bar.

  “Why didn’t you help yourself to a drink?” he asked.

  “I didn’t fancy the selection,” said the woman.

  “You should have checked the fridge,” he said as he opened it and removed a container of blood.

  The woman maintained her composure as he poured a portion into a champagne glass and took a large gulp.

  “You don’t appear to be enjoying it,” she said. “In fact, you are fighting the rising urge to expel it.”

  Venomy felt his stomach churn. “Who are you?” he demanded. “And why is Liselle not with you?”