Vampyr estimated that he needed forty more years of conquest and expansion before his kingdom would be powerful enough to challenge Egypt. While a long time for a human, it was but a moment for Vampyr.
The convoy had entered the palace and passed from sight below. Vampyr left the turret and made his way down the stairs that wound around the interior of the tower. He passed through ground level and continued to the roads he’d had built underneath. Vampyr moved through rough, rock-hewn corridors, the workmanship shoddy compared to that of the Roads of Rostau.
The hunger grew in Vampyr as he got closer to the Labyrinth. He knew his soldiers had already pushed the youths into the antechamber, which opened onto four doorways. Each doorway led into the Labyrinth, but the youths didn’t know that. And each doorway opened inward but there was no handle on the other side. For the first fifty years or so, Vampyr had watched the antechamber through a peephole, interested to see how the youths would react. They always ended up taking the doors. Sometimes all fourteen would go through the same one; sometimes the group would splinter. But they all ended up in the Labyrinth.
There were places in the Labyrinth where food would be lowered daily, allowing the youths to feed. There were also two wells. And once a month Vampyr would hunt, taking a tender, young neck and the fresh blood. One by one they would fall to him while those that survived grew ever more frantic.
None had ever escaped.
Tonight he would take the first.
Vampyr moved to a large stone inset in at the end of the corridor. Putting his hand in the right spot, he pushed and the balanced rock turned, opening up a slight space on the left. Vampyr slid through, closing the rock behind him. He was in the Labyrinth.
Vampyr stood perfectly still, listening.
There was a strange noise, one he had not heard before. From beneath him. From the earth itself.
Vampyr staggered as the stone floor shifted under his feet. A tremendous roar filled the air. Vampyr looked up in time to see a large stone come crashing down on him.
CHAPTER 4
Africa: 1450 B.C.
Nekhbet. Nosferatu sensed her presence in the tube being dragged behind the two camels as strongly as he felt the sun beating down on the cloth wrapped around his body to protect his skin and eyes. They pushed on, into the Great Desert, leaving Giza behind. The Bedouins were keeping a southerly course, the Nile far off to their left, the Great Desert extending in all other directions. One Bedouin followed behind the party with a palm branch, sweeping away their tracks.
Kajihi had said nothing as Nosferatu and his Bedouins headed to the southwest, into the desert. As soon as they were out of sight he hurried back to his hut. His wife and children were still gone and would stay away until he sent for them. He pulled out a piece of thick papyrus paper. He wrote, telling of Nosferatu’s visit. He rolled the papyrus and stuffed it into a piece of bamboo, sealing each end with wax that he imprinted with the Watcher crest from his ring. He then placed the tube on top of four others, his reports of activity in Egypt for the past fifteen years. Soon it would be time to forward them to England, to Watcher headquarters.
As he tied the tubes together he sensed a presence. He looked up to see a man — no, not a man — a creature in human form standing over him. He knew who it was even though they had never met before.
Kajihi bowed his head, refusing to meet the stare of the other. “Kajihi, the Watcher, the Wedjat.”
Kajihi nodded. “Aspasia’s Shadow.”
“You have had a visitor.” Aspasia’s Shadow sat down cross-legged on the dirt floor. He looked very much like Nosferatu, tall, thin, with an evil grin. The major difference was that Aspasia’s Shadow had jet-black hair instead of red. “How did you know?”
“Someone has been in the Roads of Rostau with you.” Kajihi nodded.
“Who?”
“Nosferatu.”
“Ah, so the legend is true. I remember when Isis and Osiris were killed. Two of the brood who committed the crime escaped. I’ve met one several times. Vampyr. But that was a very long time ago,” he added, almost to himself. “What did Nosferatu want?”
“He took a black tube. He said his love was in it.” Aspasia’s Shadow nodded. “Nekhbet. Where did he go?”
“Into the desert to the south and west.”
“Interesting.”
Kajihi kept his eyes downcast, hoping the creature would leave, also knowing it was just as likely that Aspasia’s Shadow would kill him.
“What did you write?” Aspasia’s Shadow indicated the tubes. “A report of recent events.”
“That will be so useful,” Aspasia’s Shadow said with a laugh. The smile disappeared and Aspasia’s Shadow leaned over Kajihi. “Watcher.” Kajihi reluctantly looked up. “Yes?”
“The Roads of Rostau are not for you or the Undead. Do you understand?” “Yes.” But Aspasia’s Shadow was gone.
* * *
To the southwest, the last things on Nosferatu’s mind were Watchers, reports, or Aspasia’s Shadow. The sun was well over the horizon, shooting beams of light across the desert. He wrapped another turban around his face, further protecting his skin and eyes. They rode through the day, putting distance between them and Giza. By noon, Nosferatu had triple-wrapped his head, practically cutting out all light, allowing himself to be led by the Bedouins deeper into the desert known as the Great Sand Sea. When he questioned them about how far it was to the other side, they always shook their heads and indicated the next destination was an oasis they knew of. Beyond that, they didn’t say anything. He realized their concept of travel was much different than his and he didn’t know enough of their language to make himself understood.
As the day wore on, Nosferatu rode in a daze, directly behind Nekhbet’s tube. He had no doubt she was in there and that she was alive, although he had little clue as to what condition he would find her in when he opened the tube.
At his urging they rode straight through the night and finally halted just before the next dawn at the small oasis. Nosferatu felt the hunger, but he knew he needed the aid of the Bedouins more than he needed to feed. The desert people were a strange race, having nothing to do with Egypt or the Gods, or, now, the Pharaohs, preferring to live in a land where survival was an everyday struggle. To them, distance and time all related to water holes like this.
As the sun rose, Nosferatu lay next to Nekhbet’s tube, covering himself with blankets despite the heat. He placed both hands against the side of the tube. Surprisingly, the metal was cool. He slowly fell into unconsciousness, the effort of the last few days and the growing hunger forcing his mind and body to retreat into itself.
He woke at dusk. He pushed aside the blankets and unwrapped the turbans from his head. It was cool, the sand giving up the day’s heat, a light breeze blowing in from the deep desert. The Bedouins were cooking a meal on the other side of the small water hole, ignoring Nosferatu and the tube. When complete darkness fell, Nosferatu went to the head of the tube. The control panel was alive with a glow that grew brighter as the sky grew darker.
Nosferatu’s hands trembled. From hunger, from anticipation. He tried to control the shake, but couldn’t. He knew he should wait. Opening the tube there and then would do no good. They must get across the desert. But she was there, so close, only the lid between the two of them after so many years apart, after so many years so close.
He tapped on the hexes. With a hiss, the lid cracked open and slowly swung up. She was as beautiful as the first time he had seen her brought into the cell under the Giza Plateau. Long flowing red hair splayed about her head. Smooth white skin stretched over high cheekbones. Red eyebrows cut across her lower forehead above her closed eyes. She was swathed in the same white robe he had seen her entombed in. Her pale lips were slightly parted, revealing perfect white teeth.
Nosferatu placed his hand on her forehead, just below the metal band. Her skin was cool to his touch. He moved his hand to just over her mouth. He felt nothing. There was no rise or fall to her
chest, but he knew she was alive. The metal crown was still set on her head and he carefully reached in and removed it.
He knew how to bring her to full life. In the same way she had given him power so long ago.
But he was weak. He had the hunger. He looked up, across the water hole at the half dozen Bedouins. A muscle on the side of his face twitched. His heart was racing. He ran his fingers over Nekhbet’s face, marveling at the smoothness, the coolness, longing for the heat he had imagined for so long, that they had discussed for centuries.
He knew better. Patience had been chained into him. To act just then would be a mistake.
Nosferatu stepped away from the tube. He began walking around the water hole. All six of the Bedouins stopped what they were doing and looked at him. Despite his weakened state, the presence of Nekhbet gave him power unlike any he had ever known, even when he had drunk from Osiris himself. The six blades, the blades with which they had killed Osiris, were strung about his belt.
One of the Bedouins, the leader, was the first to realize the danger, drawing his scimitar. The blade didn’t even clear the scabbard as Nosferatu drew and threw the first dagger, the blade hitting the leader’s neck square on. The man staggered back, hands grasping at the handle. Nosferatu threw the second blade with his other hand as he pulled the third. Four of the Bedouins were down before they could mount a defense. The last two had their swords out as he threw the fifth dagger.
The man blocked the oncoming missile and charged Nosferatu. The sixth ran away.
Nosferatu dodged the man’s wild strike, stepped in close, and wrapped the Bedouin in his arms. He clamped down on the man’s neck, tearing through flesh to blood. As it had always been, the struggle was one-sided as Nosferatu gained strength and his victim lost it. Out of the corner of his eye, even as he drank, Nosferatu watched the sixth man running — keeping track. The Bedouin tried to leap onto one of the camels, but his fear made the animal skittish and he was unable to mount it.
Nosferatu drank, knowing he needed to break free and capture the last man.
Love won out against hunger and he threw the victim from him and ran toward the sixth man, who was by then running up the side of a dune. With the energy from drinking, Nosferatu easily caught him and dragged him down. The man fought, but a blow to the side of his head rendered him unconscious.
Nosferatu dragged the man back to the side of Nekhbet’s tube. He lifted the Bedouin and slid him into the tube next to his love. With a dagger, he punctured the man’s neck, quickly sliding a finger in to keep the blood from spurting out. He dropped the dagger and turned Nekhbet’s head toward the man.
He waited, letting a little blood seep out. The first sign of life was a slight flare of her nostrils. The head moved ever so slightly, the mouth opening.
Her eyes were still closed but she could scent the blood, feel its proximity. As her open mouth closed on the wound, Nosferatu removed his hand, letting the life force flow forth.
Nekhbet drained the man in less than a minute. Nosferatu marveled to see the glow come to her cheeks, her chest begin to rise and fall with steady breaths. Her eyes flashed open, fixing on his. She smiled, red-stained lips parting to reveal crimson-covered teeth. He leaned over and kissed her, blood on blood.
* * *
Eight days. And still no end in sight to the desert. Nosferatu looked over the moonlit sand, the same view they’d had every night since he’d brought Nekhbet back. She was at his side on one of the camels, another two animals behind them, dragging her tube. He knew she was weakening. He cursed himself for not keeping more of the Bedouins alive so they could feed again. He had anticipated being out of the desert in a day or two and able to hunt. But there was nothing out to hunt. The only living thing he’d seen since leaving the site of the massacre was a lone bird far off in the distance one evening.
His mind was feverish with hunger. He had to fight to convince himself that they were actually moving forward and not simply marching in the same spot night after night. He kept them oriented by the position of the stars, steadily moving to the south. How long could such desolation go on? He knew the Nile was to the east. Where there was water there would be people to feed on. But Egypt’s reign extended far down that strip of water and the long hand of the Airlia Gods reached down the blue waterway also.
The days, though, were bliss. Lying next to Nekhbet in her tube, talking, touching, and feeling each other’s closeness. Even the intense heat blazing into the tube was tolerable to be close to his love.
But if they did not feed soon, he knew they would run out of energy and be consumed by the desert.
“Feed from me and go on.”
Nosferatu was startled by Nekhbet’s words. They didn’t just intrude on his dark thoughts, the words assaulted his mind. “Never again.”
Nekhbet brought her breast next to his and reached out, touching his arm. “You freed me from the living sleep. That is love enough.”
Nosferatu had not wanted to know about the years she had been in the tube and she had said nothing yet. “Was it bad?”
“I could only lie there and think. I could not move even though twice every twenty-four hours the wraps on my body did as they had done when we were imprisoned together, working my muscles — it was the only way I knew the passage of time.
“At first I thought I would go mad. But then I started remembering all we had talked of. And I thought of those conversations.” She smiled. “And then I kept them going. I would try to think of what you would say. And then I would reply. We had the most wonderful talks. I would also invent places. That we would visit together. Beautiful places.”
Nosferatu was silent. His time in the tube before his escape had been horrible indeed, but at least he had been able to sleep almost half the time. And he could always look forward to the daily feeding when he would see Nekhbet. She had had nothing to look forward to and been unable to sleep for over six thousand years. A time he had spent in darkness and ignorance. He spurred the camel.
“We will make it out of this desert together. I promise you that.”
Nekhbet smiled sadly once more, but her head was shaking ever so slightly. “You do not believe me. You saved me from something worse than death. I would welcome becoming part of the desert. And I have had the last seven nights and days with you. That is worth a lifetime.”
“We will go forward together or perish together,” Nosferatu said simply.
But on the next night he knew it would be their last. They were expending too much energy with nothing to replenish their stores. Perhaps they could go into Nekhbet’s tube and set the device to put them to sleep for a millennium or two and hope the land had changed by then. But there was only one crown in there and one set of wraps.
“Feed on me, then put me into the deep sleep in my tube,” Nekhbet said. “It is the only way we will manage it.”
Just before dawn he draped cloths over the tube to protect it from the direct rays of the sun and climbed inside with Nekhbet. They passed the day holding each other and whispering of a future in a land that was green and full of life, one where they did not have to worry about the Airlia Gods swooping down out of the sky and destroying them.
As the temperature went down in the tube, they knew darkness was not far off. And that Nekhbet did not have the strength to ride on. He sensed she would not even have the energy to lift herself out of the tube.
“We must have a plan for the future,” Nekhbet finally said.
“We have been talking—” Nosferatu began, but she hushed him with a light touch of her finger on his lips.
“We have been fantasizing. The real world is much harsher. You have told me there are those out there who would kill us. The Ones Who Wait. Guides. Even the Gods who made us and hate us lurk somewhere, I am sure. I’ve waited long enough. I want to sleep. To truly rest. To wait for the time when we can be free. And there is this also—” She halted.
“What?” Nosferatu prompted.
“I have been drained far
too many times,” Nekhbet said. “Without the blood of the Gods, like we took from Osiris, I have aged. Not as fast as a human, but faster than you, my love.”
“I do not know where the Gods are,” Nosferatu said, understanding what she was saying.
“I know. That will be your task. If you love me, you will take responsibility. You will be the one who watches and waits to bring me back when we can have a life together and when I can drink from a God.”
Nosferatu knew she was right. His plan had been shortsighted. If they were to have a life together, he would have to envision time much differently. He held her tightly, wasting precious hours of darkness.
She gingerly unwrapped his arms from around her body and whispered, “Now. Drink from me one last time.” “You said—”
“One last time,” she said, leaning her head on his shoulder. “It will not matter since I will go into deep sleep, but it will give you the strength you need, and it is the closest we can be.”
He pulled aside the cloth from around her neck and touched the shunt with his lips. The first trickle of blood sent a surge of energy into his body. He only took a little, enough to keep him going for another couple of days, then he stopped. He climbed out of the tube and looked down on Nekhbet. Her eyes were half-closed and unfocused, her skin pale. He prepared her, putting the wraps on her legs and arms.
With the stars shining down on him, Nosferatu stood over the tube. “Good-bye, my love. I will awaken you when we can freely walk the world together.”
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