by Brian Lumley
I see that is what it takes, the ex-vampire groaned. Very well.
And after a further sullen silence, Thibor continued the telling of his story …
Picture it, then, that strange old castle up in the mountains: its walls wreathed in mist, its central span arching over the gorge, its towers reaching like fangs for the rising moon. And picture its master: a creature who was once a man, but no longer. A Thing which called itself Faethor Ferenczy.
I have told how he … how he kissed me. Ah, but no son was ever kissed by his father like that before! He lodged his egg in me, oh yes! And if I had thought that the bruises and gouges of battle were painful …
To receive the seed of a vampire is to know an almost fatal agony. Almost fatal, but never quite. No, for the vampire chooses his egg-bearer with great care and cunning. He must be strong, that poor unfortunate; be must be keen-witted, preferably cold and callous. And I admit it, I was all of those things. Having lived a life like mine, how could I be otherwise?
And so I experienced the horror of that egg in me, which fashioned tiny pseudopods and barbs of its own to drag itself down my throat and into my body. Swift? The thing was quicksilver! Indeed, it was more than quicksilver! A vampire seed can pass through human flesh like water through sand. Faethor had not needed to terrify me with his kiss, he had simply desired to terrify me! And he had succeeded.
His egg passed through my flesh, from the back of my throat to the column of my spine, which it explored as a curious mouse explores a cavity in the wall—but on feet that burned like acid! And with each touch on my naked nerve endings came fresh waves of agony!
Ah! How I writhed and jerked and tossed in my chains then. But not for long. Finally the thing found a resting place. Newborn, it was easily tired. I think it settled in my bowels, which instantly knotted, causing me such pain that I cried out for the mercy of death! But then the barbs were withdrawn, the thing slept.
The agony went out of me in a moment, so swiftly indeed that the sensation was a sort of agony in itself. Then, in the sheer luxury of painlessness, I too slept …
When I awoke I found myself free of all manacles and chains, lying crumpled on the floor. There was no more pain. Despite my thinking that my cell should be in darkness, I found that I could see as clearly as in brightest daylight. At first I failed to understand; I sought in vain for the hole which let in the light, tried to climb the uneven walls in search of some hidden window or other outlet. To no avail.
Before that, however, before this futile attempt of mine to escape, I was confronted by the others who shared my dismal cell. Or by what they had become.
First there was old Arvos, who lay in a heap just as Faethor had left him—or so I thought. I went to him, observed his grey flesh, his withered chest beneath the rags of his torn, coarse shirt. And I laid my hand upon him there, perhaps in an attempt to detect the warmth of life or even a faltering heartbeat. For I had thought I saw a certain fluttering in his bony chest.
No sooner was my hand upon him than the gypsy caved in! All of him, collapsing inwards like a husk, like last year’s leaves when stepped upon! Beneath the cage of ribs, which also powdered away, there was nothing. The face likewise crumbled into dust, set free by the body’s avalanche; that old, grey, unlovely countenance, smoking into ruin! Limbs were last to go, deflating even as I crouched there, like ruptured wineskins! In the merest moment he was a heap of dust and small shards of bone and old leather; and all still clad in his coarse native clothes.
Fascinated, jaw lolling, I continued to stare at what had been Arvos. I remembered that worm of a finger coming loose from Faethor’s hand and going into him. And was that worm responsible for this? Had that small fleshy part of Faethor eaten him away so utterly? If so, what of the worm itself? Where was it now?
My questions were answered on the instant: “Consumed, Thibor, aye,” said a dull, echoing voice. “Gone to feed the one which now burrows in the earth at your feet!” Out from the dungeon’s shadows stepped an old Wallach comrade of mine, a man all chest and arms, with short stumpy legs. Ehrig had been this one’s name—when he was a man!
For looking at him now, I saw nothing in him that was known to me. He was like a stranger with a strange aura about him. Or maybe not so strange, for indeed I thought I knew that emanation. It was the morbid presence of the Ferenczy. Ehrig was now his!
“Traitor!” I told him, scowling. “The old Ferenczy saved your life, and now in gratitude you’ve given that life to him. And how many times, in how many battles, have I saved your life, Ehrig?”
“I long since lost count, Thibor,” the other huskily answered, his eyes round as saucers in a gaunt, hollow face. “Enough that you must know I would never willingly turn against you.”
“What? Are you saying you are still my man?” I laughed, however scathingly. “But I can smell the Ferenczy on you! Or perhaps you’ve unwillingly turned against me, eh?” And still more harshly I added, “Why should the Ferenczy save you, eh, except to serve him?”
“Didn’t he explain anything to you?” Ehrig came closer. “He didn’t save me for himself. I’m to serve you—as best I may—after he departs this place.”
“The Ferenczy is mad!” I accused. “He has beguiled you, can’t you see? Have you forgotten why we came here? We came to kill him! But look at you now: gaunt, dazed, puny as an infant. How may one such as you serve me?”
Ehrig stepped closer still. His great eyes were very nearly vacant, unblinking. Nerves in his face and neck jumped and twitched as if they were on strings. “Puny? You misjudge the Ferenczy’s powers, Thibor. What he put in me healed my flesh and bones. Aye, and it made me strong. I can serve you as well as ever, be sure. Only try me.”
Now I frowned, shook my head in a sudden amaze. Certain of his words made sense, went some little way towards cooling my furious thoughts. “By now, by rights, you should indeed be dead,” I agreed. “Your bones were broken, aye, and your flesh torn. Are you saying that the Ferenczy is truly the master of such powers? I remember now he said that when you recovered you would be in thrall to him. But to him, d’you hear? So how is it that you stand here and tell me I am still your lord and leader?”
“He is the master of many powers, Thibor,” he answered. “And indeed I am in thrall to him—to a point. He is a vampire, and now I too am a vampire of sorts. And so are you …”
“I?” I was outraged. “I am my own man! He did something to me, granted—put that which was of himself into me, which was surely poisonous—but here I stand unchanged. You, Ehrig, my once friend and follower, may well have succumbed, but I remain Thibor of Wallachia!”
Ehrig touched my elbow and I drew back from him. “With me the change was swift,” he said. “It was made faster through the Ferenczy’s flesh mingling with my own, which worked to heal me. My broken parts were mended with his flesh, and just as he has bound me together, so has he bound me to himself. I will do his bidding, that is true; mercifully, he demands nothing of me but that I stay here with you.”
Meanwhile, while he spoke in his mournful fashion, I had prowled all about the dungeon looking for an escape, even attempted to scale the walls. “The light,” I muttered. “Where does it come from? If the light finds its way in, I can find my way out.”
“There is no light, Thibor,” said Ehrig, following behind me, his voice doleful as ever. “It is proof of the Ferenczy’s magic. Because we are his, we share his powers. In here all is utter darkness. But like the bat of your standard, and like the Ferenczy himself, you now see in the night. More, you are the special one. You bear his egg. You will become as great as, perhaps greater than the Ferenczy himself. You are Wamphyri!”
“I am myself,” I raged. And I grabbed Ehrig by the throat.
And now as I drew him close, I noticed for the first time the yellow glow in his eyes. They were the eyes of an animal; mine, too, if he spoke the truth. Ehrig made no effort to resist me; indeed, he went to his knees as I applied greater pressure. “Well then,” I c
ried, “why don’t you fight back? Show me this wonderful strength of yours! You said I should try you, and now I take you at your word. You’re going to die, Ehrig. Aye, and after you, so too your new master—the very moment he sticks his dog’s nose into this dungeon! I at least have not forgotten my reason for being here.”
I grabbed up a length of the chain which had bound me to the wall and looped it round his neck. He choked, gagged; his tongue lolled out; still he made no effort to resist me. “Useless, Thibor,” he gasped, when I relaxed the pressure a little. “All useless. Choke me, suffocate me, break my back. I will mend. You may not kill me. You cannot kill me! Only the Ferenczy can do that. A fine jest, eh? For we came here to kill him!”
I tossed him aside, ran to the great oak door, raged and hammered at it. Only echoes came back to me. In desperation I turned again to Ehrig. “So then,” I panted, “you are aware of the change taken place in you. Of course, for if it’s plain to me it must be plainer still to you. Very well, but tell me: why then am I the same as before? I feel no different. Surely no great change is wrought in me?”
Ehrig, rubbing his throat, came easily to his feet. He had great bruises on his neck from the chains; other than this it seemed he suffered no ill effects from my manhandling; his eyes burned as before and his voice was doleful as ever. “As you say,” he said, “the change in me has been wrought, as iron is wrought in the furnace. The Ferenczy’s flesh has taken hold of me and bent me to its will, as iron bends in the fire’s heat. But with you it is different, more subtle. The vampire’s seed grows within you. It grafts itself to your mind, your heart, your very blood. You are like two creatures in one skin, but slowly you will meld, fuse into one.”
This was what Faethor had told me. I sagged against the damp wall. “Then my destiny is no longer my own,” I groaned.
“But it is, Thibor, it is!” Ehrig was eager now. “Why, now that death no longer holds any terrors, you can live forever! You have the chance to grow more powerful than any man before you! And what is that for destiny?”
I shook my head. “Powerful? In thrall to the Ferenczy? Surely you mean powerless! For if I’m to be his man, then how may I be my own? No, that shall not be the way of it. While yet I have my will, I shall find a way.” I prodded my chest and grimaced. “How long before … before this thing within commands me? How much time do I have before the guest overpowers the host?”
Slowly, sadly I thought, he shook his head. “You insist on making difficulties,” he said. “The Ferenczy told me it would be so. Because you are wild and wilful, he said. You will be your own man, Thibor! It shall be like this: that the thing within cannot exist without you, nor you without it. But where before you were merely a man, with a man’s frailties and puny passions, now you shall be—”
“Hold!” I told him, my memory suddenly whispering monstrous things in my mind. “He told me … he said … that he was sexless! He said: ‘The Wamphyri have no sex as such.’ And you talk to me of my ‘puny passions’?”
“As one of the Wamphyri,” Ehrig patiently insisted, as doubtless the Ferenczy had ordered him to insist, “you will have the sex of the host. And you are that host! You will also have your lust, your great strength and cunning—all of your passions—but magnified many times over! Picture yourself pitting your wits against your enemies, or boundlessly strong in battle, or utterly untiring in bed!”
My emotions raged within me. Ah! But could I be sure they were mine? Entirely mine? “But—it—will—not—be—me!” Emphasizing each word, I slammed my balled fist again and again into the stone wall, until blood flowed freely from my riven knuckles.
“But it will be you,” he repeated, drawing near, staring at my bloodied hand and licking his lips. “Aye, hot blood and all. The vampire in you will heal that in a very little while. But, until then, let me tend to it.” He took my hand and tried to lick the salt blood.
I hurled him away. “Keep your vampire’s tongue to yourself!” I cried.
And with a sudden thrill of horror, perhaps for the first time, I began to truly understand what he had become. And what I was becoming. For I had seen that look of entirely unnatural lust on his face, and I had suddenly remembered that once there were three of us …
I looked all around the dungeon, into all of the corners and cobwebbed shadows, and my changeling eyes penetrated even the darkest gloom. I looked everywhere and failed to discover what I sought. Then I turned back to Ehrig. He saw my expression, began to back away from me. “Ehrig,” I said, following, closing with him. “Now tell me, pray—what has become of the poor mutilated body of Vasily? Where, pray, is the corpse of our former colleague, the slender, ever aggressive … Vasily?”
In a corner, Ehrig had tripped on something. He stumbled, fell—amidst a small pile of bones flensed almost white. Human bones.
After long moments I found voice. “Vasily?”
Ehrig nodded, shrank back from me, scuttling like a crab on the floor. “The Ferenczy, he … he has not fed us!” he pleaded.
I let my head slump, turned away in disgust. Ehrig scrambled to his feet, carefully approached. “Keep well away,” I warned him, my voice low and filled with loathing. “Why did you not break the bones, for their marrow?”
“Ah, no!” said Ehrig, as if explaining to a child, “The Ferenczy told me to leave Vasily’s bones for … for the burrower in the earth, that which took shape in old Arvos and consumed him. It will come for them when all is quiet. When we are asleep …”
“Sleep?” I barked, turning on him. “You think I’ll sleep? Here? With you in the same cell?”
He turned away, shoulders slumping. “Ah, you are the proud one, Thibor. As I was proud. It goes before a fall, they say. Your time is still to come. As for me, I will not harm you. Even if I dared, if my hunger was such that … but I would not dare. The Ferenczy would cut me into small pieces and burn each one with fire. That is his threat. Anyway, I love you as a brother.”
“As you loved Vasily?” I scowled at him where he gazed at me over his hunched shoulder. He had no answer. “Leave me in peace,” I growled then. “I have much to think about.”
I went to one corner, Ehrig to another. There we sat in silence.
Hours passed. Finally I did sleep. In my dreams—for the most part unremembered, perhaps mercifully—I seemed to hear strange slitherings, and sucking sounds. Also a period of brittle crunching.
When I awakened, Vasily’s bones had disappeared …
Chapter Nine
THE VOICE OF THE EXTINCT VAMPIRE FADED IN HARRY KEOGH’S incorporeal mind. For long moments nothing further was said, and they were empty seconds which Harry couldn’t really afford. At any moment he could find himself recalled by his infant son, back through the maze of the Möbius continuum to the garret flat in Hartlepool. But if Harry’s time was important, so too was the rest of mankind’s.
“I begin to feel sorry for you, Thibor,” he said, his life-force burning blue as a neon firefly in the dark glade under the trees. “I can see how you fought against it, how you did not want to become what you eventually became.”
Eventually? the old Thing in the ground spoke up at last. No eventually about it, Harry—I had become! From the moment Faethor’s seed embraced my body, my brain, I was doomed. For from that moment it was growing in me, and growing quickly. First its effect became apparent in my emotions, my passions. I say “apparent,” but scarcely so to me. Can you feel your body healing after a cut or a blow? Are you aware of your hair or fingernails growing? Does a man who gradually becomes insane know that he is going mad?
Suddenly, as the voice of the vampire faded again, there came a rising babble in Harry’s mind. A cry of frustration, of fury! He had expected it sooner or later, for he knew that Thibor Ferenczy was not alone here in the dark cruciform hills. And now a new voice formed words in the necroscope’s consciousness, a voice he recognized of old.
You old liar! You old devil! cried the inflamed spark, the enraged spirit of Boris Dragosani. Ah!
And how is this for irony? Not enough that I am dead, but to have for companion in my grave that one creature I loathed above all others! And worse, to know that my greatest enemy in life—the man who killed me—is now the only living man who can ever reach me in death! Ha, ha! And to be here, knowing once more the voices of these two—the one demanding, the other wheedling, beguiling, seeking to lie as always--and knowing the futility of it all; but yet yearning, burning to be … involved! Oh, God, if ever there were a God, won’t—somebody—speak—to—meeeee?!
Pay no attention, said Thibor at once. He raves. For, as you well know, Harry, since you were instrumental, when he killed me he killed himself. The thought is enough to unhinge anyone, and poor Boris was half-mad to begin with …
I was made mad! Dragosani howled. By a filthy, lying, loathsome leech of a thing in the ground! Do you know what he did to me, Harry Keogh?
“I know of several things he did to you,” Harry answered. “Mental and physical torture seems an unending activity for creatures of your sort, alive or dead. Or undead!”
You are right, Harry! A third voice from beyond the grave now spoke up. It was a soft, whispering voice, but not without a certain sinister inflection. They are cruel beyond words, and none of them is to be trusted! I assisted Dragosani; I was his friend; it was my finger which triggered the bolt that struck Thibor through the heart and pinned him there, half-in, half-out of his grave. Why, I was the one who handed Dragosani the scythe to cut off the monster’s head! And how did he pay me, eh? Ah, Dragosani! How can you talk of lies and treachery and loathsomeness, when you yourself—
You—were—a—monster! Dragosani silenced Max Batu’s accusations with one of his own. My excuse is simple: I had Thibor’s vampire seed in me. But what of you, Max? What? A man so evil he could kill with a glance?
Batu, a Mongol esper who in life had held the secret of the Evil Eye, was outraged. Now hear this great liar, this thief! he hissed sibilantly. He slit my throat, drained my blood, despoiled my corpse and tore from it my secret. He took my power for his own, to kill as I killed. Hah! Little good it did him. Now we share the same gloomy hillside. Aye, Thibor, Dragosani, and myself, and all three of us shunned by the teeming dead …
