I closed my eyes.
I lay that way until the time before dawn. In the twilight hour it began to snow. Large flakes fell through the trees to land on my face. I pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders and shivered as each flake touched me. They did not melt as quickly on my face as they did on Brother Jonas’ sleeping form. He was warmer than me. I envied him his warmth. His warm blood, pumping through his body.
The hunger gnawed at my insides again. I turned my face away from him and rose. I wandered down to the lake’s frozen shores and stared out at the sight as snowflakes drifted and settled. The surface was soon white. The sky was pregnant with snow. It would be a cold walk.
Behind me I heard Brother Jonas’ heart quicken and knew he was awake.
I returned to him and squatted opposite him as he broke his fast.
He offered me a hunk of bread, as he had each day.
‘Hungry?’ he said.
‘Always,’ I said. ‘But I am fasting.’
This seemed to please him. I learned later that the monks thought hunger was somehow holy. That it brought a man closer to God and focused the mind.
It didn’t bring me closer to God. But I suppose it was God’s work. In a way I was saving lives.
If that’s not holy work then I don’t know what is.
The day turned out to be miserable. Brother Jonas was silent in his thoughts, and I kept my council. There were many things I wished to know. I did not ask, though. I walked on by his side, content with the silence. The snow built up until walking became hard. By midday we were walking through drifts that were two, sometimes three, feet high. My feet were numb, even through my boots. I wished for a quick heart then. I have become inured to most hardships over my long years, but I have always hated to be cold. That has never changed.
I was feeling sorry for myself as we walked during the day. My discomfort did not abate when we stopped for the evening and made our sorry little camp. For some reason we were doomed to suffer through the winter. I have wintered many years outside, and I was no stranger to snow and cold. It didn’t mean that I had got used to it. Each summer the memory of the cold seeping into my slow limbs would fade, and then each winter as the snows began to fall the memory would come back and I would wonder why I hadn’t thought to kill a farmer in some out of the way place and winter there. But the hunger drove me even in the winter, and the fear of too many people kept me from staying in a village for too long. By necessity and my strange blood I was an outcast. I needed to roam.
I wondered for a time, over the following days, what I was thinking, joining this monk on his journey to his monastery. I wanted to learn, but could I really pass for human for long enough, among others of his kind?
Would they sense the darkness in me? I didn’t know. People couldn’t tell what I was from a quick meeting on the road, but I had not spent more than two weeks in human company since the girl that shared my cell in Romania. She had known what I was though, through the depths of her mental wall that allowed her to remain aloof while I fed.
It was strange. All these years I had largely shunned society, living on its fringes, but I could see the way the wind was blowing. Even through years of war and famine, people were spreading wider. Sure, in those days I could still walk for weeks through the forests and mountains and see no people or signs of civilisation, but then there would be a village and it would have grown since the last time I saw it. People loved to build and live together. Perhaps they felt safer from the dangers of the world when there were more of them.
It seemed a foolish assumption to me. Most of the things that killed humans were the result of other humans living nearby. Get people together and illness spreads and war grows from their discontent. Better to live alone in the forest and hunt the beasts in the shade of the trees, or sit on the banks of the lake and fish in solitude. That would be a far safer pastime than living in a city or a town.
War would come. It was inevitable. The whole continent was shaped by war. Famine and disease must have been a pleasant change for the people of that century.
We moved on through the days and through the snow. I was thoroughly frozen by the time we came before Brother Jonas’ home. Still, we were both alive when we arrived at the Abbey. Brother Jonas would never know what an achievement that was.
*
Chapter Forty-Two
Reichskloster Salem (Salem Abbey)
I had little experience of architecture and grand buildings, but I had to admit, humans were capable of impressing me from time to time. You have to understand the impact the place had on me. I had largely shunned places where humans congregated. I hunted in the outskirts, the dark and lonely places of the world, for there were many. But cities and towns had grown out of the dirt all over the world. They were places where I could not go. I could not fit in.
The building sprawled in what should have been an ungainly sight, like a fat man lying on a feather bed. The ground should have a depressed look for all the stone and wood that was atop it. But it stood firm and proud in acres of farmed land. It stood like it would stand for all time. I could not imagine anything powerful enough to rock those foundations, or imagine any building with greater grandeur.
Of course, there were many buildings more impressive. There were buildings all over the world of greater quality and beauty, palaces and libraries and castles and stately homes. But I had seen none of those.
The Abbey was going to be my home. I was pleased at the prospect. If I was going to stay under a roof for any length of time I could not imagine anywhere more fitting. I was in two minds – happiness and something else, bubbling under the surface of my skin.
As we walked toward what would be my home for over twenty years, my heart, long slowed to a few beats a minute, began to quicken.
Was what I felt excitement? I do not think it was. I think it was fear.
I walked slowly by Brother Jonas’ side, prepared to flee if I must. But my curiosity overwhelmed my misgivings. I wanted to learn. I wanted to learn as much as I could. And this was a place I could really test my intellect.
‘It is magnificent, is it not?’ asked Brother Jonas, mistaking my trepidation for awe.
‘It is…bigger…than I had imagined.’
‘There are many brothers here. It can be overwhelming at first.’
‘Who is your leader?’
Brother Jonas laughed. It was the first hint of humour I had heard from him. ‘The Abbot sees to our spiritual needs. He is the head of the Monastery. But we are Cisterians. The head of our order resides in our Mother monastery in France. In reality, most of the Brothers are led day to day by the lector. He deals with the little things. In all things, God is our superior. We are led by the word of God, and through his words you will learn the true way.’
‘He speaks to you?’
‘Of course. Through the good book. It is his true word.’
‘The good book?’
‘The bible.’
Of course I had heard of the bible before, but like I said, many of the foibles of people passed me by. He was the first man of God I had ever met. I was not scared of his religion, not then. I knew that sometimes terrible things were done in the name of religion, but they had not been done to me, so like many things I hadn’t worried about it. Wars and Inquisitions were nothing to do with me.
He pushed a side door open. We did not enter through the grand main door, but what I assumed was a private entrance. We passed many monks about their business. Within the walls there was a great square, where Brothers were tending vegetables. I hoped I would not be spending my days tending vegetables. I didn’t see what that could teach a man.
‘Will I be free to read?’
‘All Brothers are free to use the library when their duties are complete. In reality, unless you are a scribe, your days will be taken with labour and prayer. As you cannot read or write, you will begin with labour. You will be tutored in your letters. As you learn, should you have the aptitude, you may be given the
duties of a scribe.’
‘When can I start?’
‘When you take your vows.’
Brother Jonas found the man he was looking for. He led me to him.
‘Lector, I have an initiate who wishes to join the order.’
The Lector sized me up. I could feel myself weighed in his gaze. He had deep set dark eyes. His eyebrows were bushy and his head, as Brother Jonas’, was shaved.
I bowed to him. I didn’t know if it was the right thing to do. He didn’t seem offended.
‘Come,’ he said. ‘You must dress as the other Brothers. You have the look of a man accustomed to finery. There is no room for men of wealth here. All are equal. Come, and we will find you robes. It is the first lesson in leaving your life before behind. Then you must take your vows. Are you sure you are ready to take your vows? They are not to be taken lightly. You must swear before God.’
I nodded. ‘Of course. That is why I am here. I wish to learn your ways.’
‘Then follow me,’ he said.
So I followed him. I was invested that day with my robes, which were uncomfortable. I took my vows and swore to obey God above all things. I foreswore sexual congress.
It hadn’t occurred to me to have sex before. I didn’t see what the big deal was.
He didn’t make me swear not to take the blood of the innocent or anything, so I guess in some ways I haven’t broken my vows to this day. I don’t think that’s the spirit of the agreement I came to with God, though. I’m sure it’s not what he intended when he took me on that day.
I won’t claim I’m still a monk. But I haven’t broken my vows yet, so in name, if not spirit, that’s what I remain to this day.
I took that as my first name. Monk. That’s what I was called back then. Brother Monk. It was kind of stupid, but it fitted and no one begrudged me the name.
That was the first day. I was shown to quarters I would share with my Brothers.
It should have been hard. The Cisterians seemed to believe in hard work. I followed orders. I rose at before Matins and went to bed after Compline. While the other Brothers slept I lay in my bed and listened to their sleeping hearts beat. I listen to the hearts of all the Brothers sleeping. My hearing was unbelievably acute. I learned my lessons and dug my vegetables. I was given a patch and I weeded it for years.
Mind numbing, boring, pointless work. I could not even eat the vegetables I tended. In effect, I was feeding the other monks.
It was the same as the captive girl all over again. Feeding my food.
I didn’t feed though. Not on the monks. That would have put a swift end to my education, and as I was to find out, education was soon to become my second passion.
Blood would always remain my first.
*
Chapter Forty-Three
Salem Abbey
For two years I studied letters. I learned slowly. I was in no rush. I tended vegetables and didn’t learn much of value except that humans waste most of their lives on maintenance. It seemed to be all humans did. They tended things. They were shepherds. They tend the land, the animals, corral their emotions and hold their hopes dear within their hearts. The men at the monastery had hope in their hearts; hope of salvation. Through piety they believed they could be closer to God. Find a place in his kingdom for all eternity. They spent so much time worrying about what would happen when they died that they forgot to live.
It was strange and sometimes almost touching, to be surrounded by such fervour. I was not touched. I felt nothing for God, but I was, in my own way, grateful for my time at Salem.
At first the going was slow. I learned my alphabets. Brother Jonas was nowhere to be seen for months at a time, but another Brother, Samuel, took the time to tutor me during our free hours. In two years I had learned to read all the languages that I could speak. In four I could read languages I could not even speak. The Brothers were amazed by my intellect. Really, though, it wasn’t like learning something new. When I came across things I did not know, I read about them as widely as I could. I learned many of the thoughts of scholars on religion, became something of a scholar myself on the topic. The irony did not escape me.
Such tomes were refreshing for me. It was all new, a whirlwind of ideas in my head. I took those ideas and tried to apply them to my peculiar situation, but when the greatest thinkers of the age imagined mankind’s position in this world they had not included vampires.
There were darker volumes in a restricted section toward the back of the library. There was a locked door, to which only the abbot had a key. I asked him, later, when we were on better terms, what was behind the door. Darkness, he replied. We did not speak of it again, but it only fuelled my curiosity.
I read voraciously, devouring ideas and facts that would have made a mortal’s head explode with knowledge. The other brothers imagined that I was some kind of savant. I wasn’t, although I have a certain intelligence. I was merely tireless.
They thought I knew everything, I didn’t. They thought I could answer their questions, because I read so much. But they didn’t understand. When I was reading, it wasn’t like learning something afresh…I was remembering.
I wasn’t taken with my own intelligence. I was burning for knowledge because I knew it already. In trying to find myself, you see, during those days and nights of tireless study. I thought if I could find some thread, a skein, to pull me through to the other side, I would know myself. I would know where I came from, where I was born, understand my purpose and finally, after all those years, discover my name.
So I read. I questioned the brothers. I thought on what I read, whether it be theology or geography, science or mathematics, I mulled it over in my head, tasted it with my tongue and my eyes, found the shape of it to see if it would fit in my head. Most of the time, it did. But I never got any closer to a revelation. I had no epiphany.
Soon I became a scribe. I worked on letters from the Abbot, an obese rotund man full of his own sense of self importance. Few were particularly enlightening, save those concerning the Inquisition.
He seemed to fear the Inquisition, although it seemed to me that they were only interested in heretics. I could not understand his fear, but I could smell it on him from time to time. Those times seemed to be when a messenger came from Rome or the head of the Cisterian movement. Blackfriars, or Dominicans, were some of the most devout members of the Inquisition, secretive and powerful with their links to the head of the church. They were dangerous and to be feared. I gathered as much from discussions with the Brothers, and later with the Abbot himself. Some topics were dangerous, though, to be tiptoed around. A man risked much to even speak of the Inquisition. I had to be doubly careful. A vampire could risk losing eternity.
I understood very well that should I die I had more to lose than mere men. Did it make me afraid? Never.
I had more to lose, but I was significantly more difficult to kill.
I paid attention to the letters I took for him as he dictated. He wrote his own letters, too. I was not privy to the secrets within those missives.
It took many years, worming my way into the good graces of the Abbot, but eventually I was given free reign in the great library. Access to the secret tomes. It was, at the time, my heart’s desire. I fantasized about the knowledge hidden behind those doors. I imagined, I suppose, that I would find the origin of the vampire, the secret of my conception.
There were more books in the library than a man could read in a lifetime. Within the secret room there were only a hundred or so. But these I would read over and over again. I still mourn the loss of those volumes. Even though they did not contain the secret of my creation, or my purpose, or any hint to my name, they contained secrets. Secrets that would turn a man’s hair white. Dark rites that could grant power, the truth behind myths that have mystified mankind for centuries. Not everything within that room was true, but enough for me to realise that with the loss of those books mankind’s time on earth lost a little piece of history. The Abbot risked his ow
n life with such a collection under his care. The church and man unwittingly destroyed some of the greatest secrets of the earth over many years. A birth often follows a death. The true birth of the scientific age came not with new scholarship, but with the death of mystery.
But I am getting ahead of myself.
I was not a man and I did not need to sleep. Nor did my eyes ever become tired, although I took to keeping my hood up to shade my eyes from the light that streamed in through the tall windows.
I still had to attend prayers and perform menial duties, but fewer and fewer, until I had more time to read and study.
I took to going to the library long after everyone had gratefully gone to sleep. I was favoured by the Abbot, so I was allowed to study. It was the seed of my destruction. Jealously is a terrible thing. Perhaps it was not mere jealously which caused the other brothers to point the finger at me. I think it was my own stupidity. I could no more blame them than I could hate myself. They feared that which they did not understand. It is a human ailment.
What man could not suspect a demon within their midst when I never aged, never changed, only made the pretence of sleeping for four hours every night, only ever ate meat but never became sick or even had one day under the weather? My teeth were always perfect, my hair did not receded, I had no lines on my face.
What man could not fear such a creature? Was it jealously, or spite? No, it was humanity.
I understood it, all too well. For within me, too, lies a seed of humanity. I too fear that which I do not understand. I fear myself.
But once again, that is a tale for later days. For now I must concern myself with 1697. It was the year the Inquisition came.
*
Chapter Forty-Four
Salem Abbey
There was a brother there who had become suspicious of me, I think. Had I had the normal run of emotions, I would have been hurt, I think. As it was I understood it all too well when Brother Jonas returned from his travels one day. I saw the way he looked at me. He had changed over the years. His head was burnt a dark shade from constant exposure to the sun and the elements. There were deep weather lines at the corners of his mouth and his eyes. His eyes, too, were darker and he had taken to squinting. I think his eyesight was failing, but that didn’t mean he was no longer capable of observation.
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