Memoirs
of an
Immortal Life
Candace L. Bowser
MEMOIRS OF AN IMMORTAL LIFE
Copyright Candace L. Bowser Jan. 2013
Second Edition for Kindle Users
Cover Illustration Copyright 2014
by Dark Water Arts Designs
Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead was done so based on research and readily available information from various web sources.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form, or by any means whatsoever, including photo-copying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission from the author. The Berne Convention Copyright Laws of 1988, and the Digital Millennium Copy Right Act of 1998, enacted by Congress protect this work from piracy and any transmission is strictly prohibited and will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.
Disclaimer
This book is written in what is sometimes referred to as “King’s English”. The reader may notice certain words are spelled to coincide with the time- period of the novel and the old style of the English language was used in writing. This was done intentionally to establish accuracy.
DEDICATION
To my husband, who patiently supports my dreams.
With Special thanks and undying gratitude to Samatha Burasco-Britz, who was my beta and editor.
To Bram Stoker, who inspired my love of the darkness through finely written prose, who wrote with bravery and tenacity in a time when the literary world began to blossom outside of society’s norms. You were a man far ahead of your time and were greatly under-appreciated during your lifetime. You shall continue to be a great source of inspiration to me, and many others, so for this, I thank you not only for conjuring a dream within but also for the vision you created whom so many now adore...
Prelude
I am an Immortal. I would not have chosen this life had the choice been mine to make; had I known that which could save me would prevent inevitable death, that my life would be one of solitude where those loved would eventually wither and die. Born the daughter of a great man who bore a hidden curse, it was not known to me the fate that awaited me. My name has been many throughout the centuries; but my true name, the one given to me at the moment of my birth, had fallen to obscurity until only a few days ago. My life is a constant reinvention, now living under the guise of a horror novelist in the current century, but now that the truth is known, there will be denying my lineage any longer. I am Claudia Ambrosia Van Helsing, daughter of Abraham Van Helsing, a descendant of the man known as Vladimir Tepes of the Baserab, and am a surviving member of the Dracul. A woman who, from this day forward, shall no longer be solely known as the author who bravely chose to pen her life story.
Not all castles are for fairy tales. Some are for kings, Some are for queens, and some harbor what is best left to shadows...
The Beginning
History tells a story. Every story has a beginning and an ending. It is the details left lying between that are often overlooked, even misunderstood, or fabricated to make the story believable, understandable, and more suitable for mankind. Yet in the most basic piece of history, the line between the hero and the villain is not always as clear as one would believe. Such is the case regarding the life of Vladimir Dracul and the life he lived.
Dracula did not die as Harker and the others were led to believe. He lived on under many other names throughout the centuries. My father, who by all accounts, was thought by Mina, Jonathan, and Lord Arthur to have returned to his old life as a renowned physician had in all truthfulness taken the partially beheaded body of Vladimir Dracul to a secure location hidden from the rest of the world. I was, at the time, a very young woman who did not understand the importance of the man in the coffin we transported nor the importance of the creature's world. I would not learn the truth about either of them until much later in my life, and to this day wish time would have been kinder, a better friend so to speak, so that I might have had the opportunity to mind the darkness between them.
My father kept it well hidden the Dark Prince lived. He had become fascinated with the creature and the implications his kind could have on modern diseases of the blood. The possibilities of using the rare qualities Vladimir’s blood possessed in the name of science was a tempting proposition my father could not resist. They were the same qualities that drove my father to use Dracula to further his medical studies, hiding him from the world for his own personal reasons, and keeping him a near prisoner – though it can be said with ease Vladimir was never a prisoner for it was within his power to leave whenever he wished. What began as near madness to kill a creature both feared and misunderstood led to an obsession even more bizarre; a friendship and a bond that even I could not understand until nearly a century later when Dracula presented me with my father’s diaries and his own.
Part of my father’s mania in blood related diseases stemmed from my mother’s death. Catherine Anna Van Helsing had carried a recessive gene that did not become dominant until she became pregnant with her first child. By the time her second child was born, the rare form of hemophilia she possessed killed her in childbirth. My sister, Ophelia, died only days after my mother. My father became consumed with finding a cure knowing that I too carried the recessive gene. He knew it would be only a matter of time before the illness would overtake me and begin to exhibit symptoms. His quest to save me bordered on near madness the same as any parent would carry to save their child, however, my father's madness came with a stark and troubled difference.
What they did not know at the time, when Mina had departed Carfax Abbey in the keep of the Dark Prince to return to his beloved Wallachia, was my father was already an Immortal and had been pursuing Vlad for the last four hundred years. The call from Jack Seward was merely a convenient coincidence that led to a strange twist of fate. Abraham Van Helsing had once been known by a less recognizable name in historical texts. My father was someone quite dear to Vladimir. It was a fact my father never knew until his death.
At the time Vladimir cursed his allegiance with God and the Church, it was known to very few that he had brother who had devoted his entire life to the clergy. It was not an odd occurrence for a family to proceed in this manner during the Dark Ages. In fact, it was quite common place to ensure the family bloodline survived. Clerics were allowed to have families, and sexual relations were not forbidden unless one had been exalted to the height of Monk or Father. Many families sent at least one son into the clergy and the profession of God to secure their lineage for future generations. Kings and their sons often died in battle leaving no one to carry on the family name and crest. By placing one in the charge of God, they remained cloistered safely beyond death.
He had entered the Romanian Order at Sighișoara under his given name of Belcor Baserab at the very young age of five years. It was not until much later he was given the Anglicized name of Ahbrim.
I have read the detailed entries of the diaries and the painstaking steps he took to save his brother’s soul countless times. Belcor and Dracula were separated when they were very young, so young they had never known each other as children; only as men, and only Dracula possessed the faint, lingering memories of a sibling lost. There was no bond between them as there often was between siblings. Vlad was groomed for greatness. Belcor was groomed for God and from the day Belcor Baserab was placed within the Order only Ahbrim remained.
Ahbrim kept detailed records of his encounters with the young Vladimir. His superiors were impr
essed with his concern and devotion toward the man who would be the next leader of Wallachia and Romania. Knowing who he actually was, they placed him as the guardian of Vlad’s spiritual well-being and soul. Vladimir was the favored soldier of God in the eyes of the Vatican. Ahbrim had spent the first sixteen years of his life in relative seclusion being groomed by the Archbishop Mordecai Vedesti to be the spiritual advisor to Kings. He never knew he was being groomed to care for a man who was his own brother and would not know the truth until his death. Vladimir knew the truth all along and perhaps it was all that Ahbrim alive despite his efforts to kill Vladimir in the end.
Ahbrim’s responsibility to Vladimir was not one to be taken lightly. Vlad had been in possession of the Ottoman Turks for nearly half of his life. He was a highly prized prisoner of war who held the esteemed place of being the son of a King. He was not only leverage but also young enough to be malleable. It was the hope of the Ottomans to mold the young and impressionable Vlad to take on their cause, their religion, and send him home to his people with the intent of using him to overthrow his own country. It did not go quite as they had planned. Ahbrim noted Vladimir’s faith was too strongly rooted, his soul too devout, and his body too committed to Christ for the Ottomans to turn out his heart. ‘Their efforts’, he had written, ‘may have been that of valiant men whose defiant nature led them to believe they had corrupted a child but in the end the man of God still remained.’ Vlad feigned acceptance of their beliefs in order to gain release so he could unleash his vengeance and make them pay with their lives.
Ahbrim took his duties seriously when he learned Vlad’s father Vlad the II was returned to the Romanian statehood in 1431 and did the unthinkable by making a pact with the Ottoman Turks to concede the ownership of his two sons, Vladimir the III and Radu, to the Sultan in 1436. By doing so, his sons were to serve as hostages of Royalty. Vlad was imprisoned, beaten, and whipped with a horrid device called the cat-o-nine tales - a leather whip fashioned with metal spikes that protruded from the ends of the whip devised to tear flesh from the victim’s back. His stubborn behavior led to his abhorrent treatment whereas Radu was an exemplary Royal prisoner and converted to Islam. He was honored with the title of Bey and given control of the Janissary contingents.
These were the formative years of my Uncle causing him great strife and hatred for not only the Ottoman Turks but also for his brother Radu and the Young Prince Mehmed. He grew to be envious of his half-brother Mircea and also of the Hungarian. He was angered at his father for trading him to the Turks and breaking the Order of the Dragon’s oath to stand against the Ottoman Empire so long as there was breath left within the Order.
Realizing my Uncle could not be broken, it was decided that he would later be released under what was referred to as probation of interment and be taken to be educated in logic, the Qur’an, Turkish, Persian, and works of literature. He would speak these languages plus many others fluently in later years. My uncle was an expert equestrian and swordsmen as well as a gifted archer. His penchant lie in his ability to extract confessions through torture as would later become discovered many years after his ‘death’.
His memories are strong in my blood, the memories of my Uncle, as I carry his blood within me; the memories of each disparity he faced, of each blood-curdling scream he invoked, of each tear he shed for his beloved. I keep in my possession the diaries of two great men: my father and my uncle, and that of one woman: my own. Though not every entry of the diaries are contained here, it conveys what is important - the truth. It is time the world knew the truth. It is the true story of the Order of the Dracul, the true story of the Order of the Dragon, that must be told, the story of three unlikely people, how they shared one commonality, and how that commonality saved me from the darkness of death's door.
Chapter One
Vlad Dracul’s Journal
20 December 1446
Turkestan Prison
In my words, I must exercise care and in my penmanship disguise for should this record of captivity fall into the wrong hands certain death would be mine. But I mean for the world to know what these brutal savages have taken upon themselves to do to my brother and I in the name of their God.
I am grateful Belcor was so young that these vile creatures showed no interest to take him into their keep. Only Radu and I fell to be their prey. Mircea should consider himself fortunate to be the eldest son. I have been in this horrid prison now five years. It is rumored soon they shall send me to Sighisoara. I can only pray to God that he sees it in his power to grant me this one small grace.
Much has been learned about them in my captivity. They are, if anything, predictable. Radu submitted his will to them without second thought or consideration, embracing their faith and heathen nature whereas I shall never bow to them no matter the humility I am forced to endure. They tell me I am disobedient. I must learn reverence and respect. How can I respect that which is undeserving? Radu has already paired with one their wretched females - an incestuous dog of Satan. Their offspring no doubt destined to be devils themselves.
Today Radu and I are to be presented to Sultan Mehmed. He is a cruel and heartless dog. Given the nature of those who serve him, I would expect no less than this to be true. The loyalty of his subjects comes from the fear he demands, what he beats from them until they are submissive and in indentured servitude. The less fortunate suffer beneath him while those who would be considered nobles in my homeland are treated with the highest regard. Mehmed bleeds the poorest of men down to the last meager piece of bread on their table handing what they have left to those who have done nothing to earn it.
It is said he keeps many wives and concubines to satisfy his lust. He rapes the women of the villages he conquers leaving them unclean. What manner of beast is so depraved he must harm the innocent to prove his conquest?
I must record all I hear, all that I see, all that befalls me as a testament should this life be left behind at their hand so the world will know Prince Vlad of the Baserabs did not submit his will to theirs; never did I waiver; never did my God fail me.
They torture me with devices I have never before seen for my disobedience. My body, scarred from my experiences, shall one day bear witness to what happened within these walls. Then the truth shall be known to more than me. I have contemplated feigning interest in their faith only to aid in my release. Should Radu begin to feel once more a kinship to me, he may take into consideration placing me upon the throne in Wallachia when the time comes. I must plan carefully with regard not only to my own wellbeing, but also that of those who would look to me as their Viovode should the time come when my release from this Hell on Earth happens. It cannot be said if they speak truths or with forked tongues, for it is said when they conquer an offer is made to choose Earth or Sky. Should Earth be chosen, they are bound to kneel before the Sultan, their new God, and swear allegiance to him. Should they choose Sky, they are sent to see their own God firsthand. Should the question be posed, not Earth nor Sky should I choose. My heartbreak for my country and for those left in the wake of their God is deep, unyielding, and even death will not still what I feel.
Beneath the stone floor of my cell I keep these memoires hidden till the day of my escape; till the day God grants my vengeance. Then they shall know pain, and they shall know it at my hand.
Chapter Two
Vlad’s Journal Continued
Word comes late this day from Mircea. His is well, in hiding, and cryptic in his words. I believe he works toward my release through well-laid military plans. Praise God I have Mircea as my aide. Father retains the throne in Wallachia. How he wove such a bargain with the Turks has yet to be discovered. I am certain Radu knows the truth behind the treaty Father secured, but this he would never reveal to me. Radu does not yet trust me, with good reason. We are blood, but that is not enough to heal the wedge he has driven between us, which I have made clear at every occasion presented to me.
I have bent my discord slightly to appear more amicable toward these
savages in the hopes Radu will have sway in placing me as ruler in Wallachia should Father fall in his rule. I would love to stand upon the castle wall at Poenari, and look down upon the land of my home with pride, as he and his men drown in a river of blood handed to my brother by those he has so willingly chosen to abandon.
Mircea is diligent in his works to fortify our homeland through his brilliant strategic military prowess. The fortification of the Danube Citadels takes place as I write. He enlists the free and dependent peasants of the countryside to fight and has the support of our Pope. His alliances are strong ones and enable him to defend the independence of our countrymen and women with little resistance. He is to me a great inspiration and also arouses within me envy for which I pray God will forgive me. Mircea has become the Viovode our countrymen deserve though he carries not the title. One day, it is my hope, to rule as bravely as Mircea and to restore what has been taken from our people with the grace of God.
1 January 1447
Radu and the incestuous dogs with which he has chosen alignment fight to convert me at every turn. My schooling is of great interest to them, and each day I spend an hour of training in equestrian skills and fighting, followed by four hours of written prose and strategic military defense. This begins in the early hours of the morn and ends before they face their false God for prayer. I am forced to bend to their God or face the flesh torn from body. It is not what I wish to do but what I must do to secure my place and trust, to secure my return to my beloved Wallachia and free those who barely exist under their rule.
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