Vampyre Labyrinth

by G. P. Taylor

‘He knew every word, as if he had seen it time and again,’ Jago answered.

  ‘And you never suspected?’ Walpurgis replied.

  ‘I just thought he was the weird old man downstairs. Now I can see the truth. He was my protector. They paid my mother like a brood mare,’ Jago said, his voice tinged with anger.

  ‘They would have blackmailed her, cheated her and never told the truth. That is their way.’

  Jago could see the hate in his face. ‘And you?’ he asked.

  ‘I married a Vampyre. Didn’t know until it was too late. Fell in love and married her,’ Walpurgis said as he looked to the branches above him.

  ‘Do I know her?’ Jago asked.

  ‘Vibica de Zoete,’ he replied in a quiet voice. There was a long and awkward silence. ‘I take it you knew her,’ he said eventually.

  ‘I saw her die in the train crash after she had come from the house of Ozymandias.’

  ‘Vibica isn’t dead. She is alive and she is here and she is intending to do what she wanted all those years ago. Ozymandias told me that I too am to become a Vampyre and my wife will be the one to take me.’

  ‘Then why are you coming with me?’ Jago asked, not knowing what could be in his heart.

  ‘I have to see her again. No matter what I have to see her for the last time,’ he answered.

  ‘But she will take you and you –’

  ‘It is a chance I want to take. I need to know more.’

  ‘Why?’ Jago asked.

  ‘She left me for another man. I need to know why,’ Walpurgis said, his voice hushed.

  ‘Toran Blaine?’ Jago asked.

  ‘You know him?’

  Jago looked to the ground before he answered. ‘He reminds me of you in so many ways,’ he said. ‘You could be brothers.’

  ‘I want to kill him and I have been cheated of that. Ozymandias said he is dead. He took my wife from me and that can never be forgiven.’

  ‘Then you will ask her why?’ Jago answered.

  ‘And once I know I will be ready to die. What is the point in living with a broken heart? I have voices in my head. They come and go, tormenting me every day. They speak to me about every catastrophe in my life. One voice in particular taunts me about Toran Blaine. When I know why, then I can silence them for good. See these marks?’ Walpurgis went on as he rolled up his sleeve. ‘I punish the voices by cutting these. The pain keeps them far away.’

  Walpurgis walked on, faster than before. They cut through the undergrowth to a path of crushed stones littered with leaves. It stretched ahead of them higher and higher as it cut through the dense forest.

  ‘This way,’ Jago said as they walked above the tree line. ‘I can see the entrance.’

  He pointed to a building that looked as though it grew from the rock. The slanted stone roof was etched from the cliff that towered above; the neatly chipped stones were knitted together so that they looked like solid rock. The only sign of human habitation were the mortared walls and the carved steps, which twisted and turned from the forest to the door of the grotto. Stretching to each side were high cliffs that carried on to the horizon like the back of a leviathan gripping to the earth.

  ‘Mount Lazari – the Mountain of Lazarus and the Cave of Magdalene,’ Walpurgis said. ‘Vibica told me of this place. I never thought she would ever come here. She said there was a legend of a woman who had lived for thousands of years, an Oracle who could see the future. The Maleficarum had her placed in an alabaster coffin so she could not escape. I thought it was just another of her stories.’

  ‘When did you discover she was a Vampyre?’ Jago asked.

  ‘I found her eating one of my friends. I worked for a university in America at the time, as a collector of ancient artifacts. One evening I came home and found that Vibica had hung my colleague by his ankles from the meat hook in the pantry and drunk his blood. I understood then that she was different from most women I had met before.’

  They walked on the exposed path towards the house that stuck from the scarp face.

  ‘Do we just knock on the door?’ Jago asked.

  ‘I will tell them we are pilgrims visiting the shrine. They are sure to let us in and from there we will have to see.’ Walpurgis laughed. ‘I have a gun and you have a knife and they have a monster locked in a glass case.’

  The steps seemed to cling to their feet, dragging them back with weariness. Jago could hear Walpurgis draw a tight breath as he held the wound on his leg and tried to stem the seeping of blood through his trousers.

  Taking the small vial, Walpurgis sipped the linctus and then looked to see what was left.

  ‘Is there no way of overcoming the poison?’ Jago asked.

  ‘Vampyres are experts with poison – they have had eternity to work out what will kill their enemies.’

  They were soon at the door to the monastery. Walpurgis banged the bronze hammer against the wood and the door opened slowly. A bald-headed old man in a white robe peered suspiciously at them.

  ‘Yes?’ he said, looking at Walpurgis through eyes that hung in wrinkled flesh. ‘What is it you want?’

  ‘We are pilgrims. We have come to see the shrine,’ Walpurgis answered easily.

  ‘The shrine is closed – has been for all the war. It was the only way to keep it safe,’ he answered.

  ‘My friend and I have come from London. I need help – an injury from the journey. At least would you tend my wound?’

  The man thought for a moment and then looked beyond them to the forest and then to the sky.

  ‘I suppose …’ He paused. ‘I suppose you could rest for an hour.’

  Walpurgis slipped the gun from his pocket and placed it against the brow of the man.

  ‘What I need will take more than an hour. Are you the only one here?’

  ‘Only I … Brother Notarius, alone – a hermit of hermits.’

  Walpurgis pushed him inside the stone building and when Jago had followed he closed the door.

  ‘It would not be wise for you to lie,’ Walpurgis said as he clicked the hammer of the gun and smiled.

  ‘There are two people who are sick, in the infirmary. I tend to them every day. They are asleep and will be for some time.’

  ‘Why?’ Jago asked. He looked around the candlelit room stacked with boxes, cobwebbed books and crates of tinned fruit.

  ‘They have been poisoned. Brought here so that the mountain air will be good for them. Their protector has paid me in fruit. Canned and preserved but still as fresh as the day it was picked.’ Notarius pointed to a can of peaches that stood proudly on the fireplace cut from solid rock.

  Walpurgis looked at Jago and then around the room. In a blackened, cauldron-like pan on the fire a thick stew bubbled.

  ‘I think we should see them. Lock the door, Jago, and then we shall go with Brother Notarius and see his guests.’

  ‘It would not be advisable. They are greatly disturbed; the poison has frozen their features into dark grimaces. I wait for its effect to diminish and then they shall be well,’ Notarius said in a gruff voice.

  ‘How long will that take?’ Jago asked.

  ‘Perhaps a year – maybe longer,’ he said as if Jago should know the answer.

  ‘What poison would do that?’

  ‘Torafugu,’ Walpurgis said before the man could speak. ‘It is Vampyre poison. It brings on the symptoms of death.’

  ‘Not quite,’ answered Notarius excitedly. ‘You cannot speak or move a finger – but you can hear everything. Their eyes are open but they see the world as if it is a dream and yes – you were right – it is Vampyre poison, made from the liver of a fish and served in a stew.’

  ‘Who gave it to them?’ Walpurgis asked as he pushed the man towards a small door in the side of the wall.

  ‘About that I do not know. They came to me that way. Cold – as if dead. Hardly a breath has left their bodies in all this time,’ Notarius answered. ‘Why such an interest?’

  ‘I have not seen a case of Torafugu for many years
. I would be interested to know who they are.’

  Brother Notarius looked at him suspiciously. His face changed as his lips broke in a smile that showed his wine-stained teeth.

  ‘Are you sure you have time, Mr Walpurgis?’ he asked to their surprise. ‘Ozymandias knows that you are on your way to this place and has asked me to telephone him when you arrive. If I have not called within the hour he will send the companions.’

  ‘Walpurgis?’ Jago asked.

  ‘He and Cardinal Theodore are great friends. This time has all been arranged. Especially for you – Jago Harker?’ The man looked at him with enquiring eyes that peered out from under his thick brow. ‘I am right, am I not?’

  ‘I am Jago Harker,’ he said.

  ‘How long do we have?’ Walpurgis asked.

  ‘An hour at the most, probably much less. I would insist that we all stay together, Jago.’

  Walpurgis looked at the man as if he knew why he should be so adamant. ‘Take us to them,’ he insisted.

  ‘Harker should go first. Just follow the passageway to the chamber.’ Brother Notarius pointed to the corridor cut from stone and lit by tall red candles. ‘It is quite safe.’

  Jago walked quickly along the passageway, aware that Walpurgis and the monk followed on close behind. The tunnel narrowed, its walls chipped and chiselled where ancient hands had cut it from the stone. He walked on, gathering his pace. A small doorway was just ahead. Jago stepped through as he stooped into the chamber.

  He stopped suddenly as he looked at two stone plinths made of a darker rock. On each was a body covered in purple velvet. The arms of each figure were placed neatly to the side; their wide-open eyes stared at the low ceiling above them. Tallow lanterns filled the room with an aromatic smoke. Despite the half-light, Jago didn’t need to guess who they were.

  ‘It’s Biatra and Hugh,’ he said in a sharp and shocked breath. He held his hand to his face to cover his words.

  ‘How long have they been here?’ Walpurgis asked the man calmly.

  ‘A few days,’ he answered. ‘The man came some time before the girl. Both had been medicated before they arrived. It is my job to keep them asleep and not kill them,’ he said proudly. ‘One morsel more than they need and both would die,’ he said.

  ‘Will they live?’ Jago asked.

  ‘As long as they are cared for,’ Brother Notarius answered.

  ‘How long does the poison last?’ Jago said, his voice cracked with pain.

  ‘A year, perhaps more. They will not wake for some time. They are deep within Luna Negri …’

  ‘But that is a place in the Carpathian mountains,’ Jago snapped angrily at the man. ‘I was told –’

  ‘Luna Negri – the black moon – is a place within the mind. It is a prison for Vampyres, a punishment for a crime that doesn’t warrant death. The poison entombs them within themselves. They are in hibernation until the allotted time. There is nothing that you can do. It is a prison without walls, a safe place where they are held captive without manacles or iron gates. They are trapped in the darkness of their imaginations. It is not a place I would choose to dwell.’

  ‘Walpurgis, we have to set them free,’ Jago declared.

  ‘It cannot be done. Their fate is sealed. Forget them, Jago.’ Walpurgis looked at Jago and saw tears trickling across his cheeks; he wished he hadn’t spoken. He turned to Notarius. ‘Whatever happens this night, make sure they survive. Care for them, or else I will come and kill you.’

  ‘It is my redemption, a task I will never give up,’ Notarius answered. ‘I promise I will care for them, whatever else is asked of me.’

  ‘Be sure of your words, for I have a knife so sharp it can cut the soul from the flesh,’ Jago screamed as he stood by Biatra and stroked her cold face and looked into the lifeless eyes. ‘I will come back for you. Whatever it takes. In a year or ten thousand years I will not forget you,’ Jago whispered to her before he kissed her face. ‘I promise I will be back.’

  Biatra made no sign in reply. Even though she could hear his words, she was trapped like a mute within her body. Jago smoothed her hair from her brow and looked at the fading mark on the side of her face. As he traced the scar of the cleft lip with his finger a single tear dropped from his cheek. It landed on her lips and slipped within quite silently. Jago did not see the tear of love that welled from her eye and was soon lost in the folds of red hair. Inside she screamed his name, but the posion had made her mute and numb.

  ‘We hold you to your promise,’ Walpurgis urged the man. ‘Whatever happens …’

  ‘The rules of Luna Negri cannot be broken. They are in a safe place. No one is allowed to take their lives – that is what was written long ago and shall always be obeyed.’

  Without warning, the door of the outer room opened. A sudden draught trembled the flames of the candles so they darted and danced, lengthening the shadows that scurried across the low roof of the tomb.

  ‘Silence,’ Walpurgis said as he pressed himself against the wall. ‘Which way can we escape?’

  Notarius pointed to a small dark gap in the far wall that they had not seen.

  ‘The cavern runs deep into the mountain. It is the place of the Oracle and her servants.’

  ‘Jago, go quickly. I will stop them until you get far away. Go to London – hide there.’

  ‘No,’ he answered, ‘We shall fight.’

  ‘Do as I say, boy,’ Walpurgis commanded. ‘Don’t you forget I too have been paid a high price to kill you.’

  [ 26 ]

  Five Hundred Faces

  WALPURGIS DID NOT scream for long. His cries chased Jago as he ran down the long tunnel lit only by small candles in hollows cut from the rock. Jago could hear him trying to fight. The other voice that echoed through the cavern was that of Ozymandias. He laughed as Walpurgis was thrown around the room like a rag doll.

  ‘It is no use running, Jago Harker. There is no escape from this place,’ Ozymandias screamed and cackled like a madman.

  Jago did not look back. He ran deeper into the cavern, following the twisting and turning of the stone-hewn corridor. There was no sound of pursuit and he slowed his pace, walking carefully over the broken rocks that littered the floor. To each side were other tunnels, foreboding and unlit. Each was cut from the rock, carved to the same height and sculpted with elaborate faces. He followed the lights of the tiny, well-tended candles.

  No sound came from the steps he took. As he touched the walls of the cave he could feel them becoming warmer, as if the rocks were starting to roast from within. The air was thick with incense that scented the air from somewhere deeper in the cavern. Strands of smoke threaded their way towards him like the twisting backs of snakes. In the corner of a small culvert were the bones of a man. The long-dead fingers gripped the handle of an axe. The man lay where he had been killed, the back of his skull cracked and split by a single blow. Empty eye sockets stared at Jago from the broken skull and the jaw hung limply from its hinge.

  He pressed on, climbing a flight of thin steps that spiralled upwards through the white rock.

  There was a sudden opening. The tunnel became a gallery above another cave. He looked down, knowing he was not alone. It was then he saw her. Vibica de Zoete stood by a stone slab covered in red velvet. She stroked the head of a man wrapped in white linen and in a deep sleep.

  ‘Toran Blaine,’ Jago thought.

  ‘You are right,’ Vibica whispered. ‘It is my dear Toran. How long will you hide, Jago?’ she asked, her whispered words clear in his mind.

  Jago stepped from the shadows and looked down.

  ‘I thought you were dead,’ he said as she looked up at him.

  ‘I was lucky to escape the train. Just like you, Toran and I were thrown from the wreckage. Sadly he has never recovered and has slept since that night.’

  ‘Is he going to die?’ Jago asked.

  ‘Toran is in Luna Negri. He will remain this way until he can be healed. That will not happen until the Oracle has been resurrec
ted,’ Vibica said as she gestured for Jago to come to her. ‘There is no way out of these caves. Ozymandias will soon be here. You could run around for a few days, but eventually you would be caught. Help me cure Toran and I will help you escape,’ she said.

  ‘How can I do that?’ he asked.

  ‘Give me some of your blood. Give it to me before Ozymandias sacrifices you. It suits him for Toran to stay this way so I will remain with him. He sickens me. Ozymandias is a revolting ogre.’

  ‘But you are married to Heston Walpurgis,’ Jago asked.

  Vibica laughed, throwing back her head as the sound cascaded around them.

  ‘So he told you … Ozymandias assured me that Heston would be kept out of the way chasing a wild goose. He asked him to kill you so that he would never discover what we had in mind for him.’

  ‘And what is that?’

  ‘He is to become one of us. The founding of a new generation of Vampyres. If Ozymandias has his way then you will be dead. But the Oracle will be alive and he will be king.’ Vibica looked at him as he walked towards her. ‘Just three drops of your blood and then Toran will live.’

  ‘Medea said it was like poison,’ he answered as she stroked Toran on the cheek.

  ‘It will wake him from sleep. Your blood is an elixir. That is why they want to kill you. It is the only thing that will bring the Oracle back to life.’

  ‘What good will it do him?’ Jago asked.

  Vibica stepped away from the stone slab and walked towards Jago. He looked her in the face. Running down her left cheek was a crinkled scar. She saw him stare and instinctively put her hand to her face.

  ‘It was from the explosion and I took many months to recover,’ she said, knowing his unasked question. ‘The Oracle has been in this place for two thousand years. Once she was human and knew secrets that some in the world would want to be hidden forever. She came to these caves to hide from the Church. The Pope wanted her dead so that no one would ever know her secret.’

  ‘What does she know that is so important?’ Jago asked, stepping back from her and listening to the dripping water that fell from the roof above.