And after the Minister had finished reading, then maybe they could talk, and maybe then Tony would be believed.
“Mr. Reid?” he said. “Can I have some more soup?”
The man didn’t look up from the book, merely waved with a hand. “Yes. It’s over there in the cupboard.”
Tony climbed down from the chair and crossed to the cupboard. The Minister didn’t move from his position as Tony passed. Tony noticed that he was a third of the way through the book...still back in the time before the Romans.
The real shocks for the Minister still lay ahead, and Tony wanted to make sure that he had more food before then...the Minister was likely to go ballistic somewhere just after the halfway mark.
He managed to cope with the tin opener but the cooker proved a test of his ingenuity...there were just too many buttons and dials. He turned back to ask the Minister, but the man was deeply engrossed, his shoulders hunched and tight as he leaned even closer to the pages.
Tony could only get the cooker working by switching on each ring in turn, checking whether it was warming up by holding his hand above it.
The soup came out of the can slowly, oozing thickly like ketchup from a new bottle...or blood from a new wound. He almost gagged but managed to fight down the reflex. Not that the Minister would have noticed...he was lost in the book, deep in a world where God was defined by his relationship, not with man, but with creatures of the night, pale vampires who looked on men the same way that men looked at cattle.
The big clock above the fireplace chimed, once, then again, almost causing Tony to spill the soup. He waited, but there was no more.
Two o’clock in the morning! Tony thought with some wonderment. Such a time barely existed in his young mind. It should be a time for comforting sleep in a warm bed, not standing, unwashed and afraid, in a strange kitchen. He wondered just how long it would be before he felt safe again.
The soup was warming up slowly and Tony poured it into his bowl before it was properly heated through. That didn’t bother him though...it went down almost as quickly as the last bowl.
He didn’t look at the Minister until all the soup was finished, but when he did he saw that the man’s face was nearly as red as the inside of the soup bowl.
“Sacrilege,” he whispered. “I don’t believe a word of it.”
Tony wasn’t sure about that...he could see the doubt in the man’s eyes. Maybe that was what made the Minister so angry, but whatever it was, it caused him to throw the book across the room.
There was a loud snap as the spine cracked and the old pages spilled out in a fan. And there among them, just protruding from a new rip in the cover, several folded pieces of aged, yellow paper.
Tony reached them first, and when he unfolded the top sheet he found it was covered in strange diagrams...circles and stars encasing thick, black hieroglyphs. And on the reverse, in a flowing, stylish script, a verse, but most of it in a language he couldn’t understand.
He read it out loud, but struggled so much over some of the words that the Minister took the paper from him and continued reading.
Powers of the Kingdom, be ye under my left foot and in my right hand,
Glory and Eternity, take me by the two shoulders and direct me in the paths of victory.
Mercy and Justice be ye the equilibrium and splendor of my life.
Intelligence and wisdom crown me.
Spirits of Malcuth lead me betwixt the two pillars upon which rests the edifice of the temple.
Angels of Nestah and Hod strengthen me upon the cubic stone of Jesod.
Oh Gedulael, Oh Gedulael, Oh Tiphereth, Binael, be thou my love.
Ruach Hochmael be thou my light. Be that which thou art and thou shalt be. Oh Jethriel Tschim assist me in the name of Amro, be my strength in the name of Yoriah.
Oh Beni-Elohim, be my brethren in the name of the Redeemer and by the power of Zebaoth.
Elohim do battle for me in the name of Rokar.
Malachim protect me in the name of Jod He Vau He.
Seraphim cleanse me in the name of Elvoih.
Give me the strength to cast down this the servant of thine enemy.
“What does it mean?” Tony asked, but the Minister shook his head.
“I don’t know. It seems to be some sort of exorcism...and some of the words are definitely Hebrew, but it’s been mixed up with the abominations mentioned in that book of yours. Here,” he said, thrusting the papers at Tony. “Take them back. I want nothing to do with it.”
Tony took the papers and managed to return them to their original place in the cover of the book. On his hands and knees he collected all the spilled pages together and slid them back inside the spine, but their order was anybody’s guess.
“The vampire wants it,” Tony said, slipping the book between his trousers and his body. “It must mean something.”
Bill Reid was angry, but Tony had noticed it too late.
“Would you shut up about the vampire. There’s no such thing. It’s all just the ravings of a demented soul,” the Minister said, almost to himself, “That’s all it can be.”
The man looked at the clock and winced visibly.
“It looks like we’re not going to get much sleep tonight. Are you tired?”
Tony shook his head. In truth he felt dog weary, but he wouldn’t allow himself to sleep...not here in a strange house.
“I don’t suppose you can play chess?” Bill asked, and was surprised when the boy nodded in response.
Five minutes later they were seated in Bill’s study hunched over the black and white pieces and Bill was fast discovering that Tony did more than just play chess.
The boy was a natural. He didn’t know the standard openings, but he could counter in imaginative ways and soon the Minister was fighting, not for a win, but for survival.
They were both so engrossed in the game that they almost didn’t respond to the ringing of the front door bell. It was only when the ringing turned to a loud, insistent knocking that the Minister rose out of his chair.
~-o0O0o-~
Margaret wasn’t going to make it as far as the church. Her legs were as dead as old wood, and it felt like her shoes had been filled with lead. Her eyesight was blurred and hazy, unable to distinguish between lampposts and trees.
Her injured hand throbbed in time with her heartbeat, a beat that was getting faster and louder in her ears.
She made it as far as the gate to the churchyard and just managed to push it open before it swung away from her, yanking her balance with it and sending her tumbling to the ground.
Lying down seemed like such a natural thing to do and a welcome grayness seeped into her brain...the promise of sleep.
She felt a hand tug at her shoulder and she got turned round to look up into the concerned face of a young policeman. The face was only there for a second, and for a time she felt unsure whether she dreamt it. The grayness took another step forward and her head sank once more to the ground, but she got disturbed by two pairs of hands roughly lifting her to her feet.
She tried to fight them off, but could only produce small, ineffectual flutters with her hands. She was led, almost frog-marched, along the driveway and into the Manse.
The sudden brightness of the light lanced into her eyes, forcing her to clamp them tightly shut.
In the far distance someone was speaking to her, and she knew that she should recognize the voice, but the effort was just too much. She let herself be led to a chair and sank deeply into its cushions. Just as sleep finally took her she heard someone mention a doctor, but by then her body had shut itself down and there were only the dreams to remind her that she was still alive.
~-o0O0o-~
Tony stood around feeling lost and useless as the Minister and the policeman brought the woman into the study.
She looked disheveled, her jacket ripped and torn; her jeans caked in mud and a red splash of blood on her T-shirt. Her eyes were wild, seeming too large for her head and her hair was tangled a
nd wild. It took him several seconds to recognize her and when he did he let out a small gasp.
“Miss Brodie?” he said, and the Minister beside him jumped with a start as if jolted by electricity.
The man leaned forward over the woman and parted her hair from her face.
“Margaret?” he asked, as if in wonderment. “What in heaven has happened to you?”
The teacher didn’t reply, her eyes closing and her head dropping to her chest.
“I’d better phone for a doctor,” the young policeman said.
The Minister waved him away and leaned closer to the teacher.
“Margaret,” he said, more insistent this time, but Tony could see that the teacher was already asleep.
He suddenly felt more frightened than ever. Teachers were part of the rational, sane world that he still yearned to get back to. Teachers did not turn up at three in the morning covered in mud and blood looking half dead.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her, even when the policeman came back into the room.
“I’ve called for the doctor,” he said. “His wife wasn’t best pleased. He’s not been home all night, but she said that she would tell him to call in… if he gets in touch.”
The policeman looked uncomfortable.
“I’d better be getting back outside sir...Mr. Collins was most insistent that I shouldn’t leave my post.”
“Yes,” the Minister said. “I’ll look after her until the doctor gets here. It looks like we’ve become collectors of lost souls tonight.”
Tony watched as the Minister gently prized Margaret’s hand away from her bloody T-shirt, and gasped when he saw the extent of the wounds that had been inflicted.
“It looks like she’s been attacked by a dog.” But Tony wasn’t so sure...he’d seen grooves like that before...in Ian’s neck...just after the vampire had got him.
“We can’t wait for the doctor. Stay and watch her,” the Minister said to Tony. “I’ll get something to clean up that hand.”
Tony was left in the room with the sleeping teacher.
He backed himself away from her, slowly. She could wake up any minute...and she might not wake up human. She looked pale, and he thought that she might have lost a lot of blood...like something might have been feeding on her.
He looked around, looking for something that he might use as a weapon, and his eyes lit on a fireside poker. It wasn’t quite a stake, but he thought he would be able to use it as one if it came down to it.
He had just lifted the poker into his hand when the Minister returned carrying a bowl of water.
“Quite the little protector eh?” the Minister said gesturing towards the poker. “Don’t worry...nothing will harm her here.”
“She might be a vampire,” Tony suddenly said, almost shouting.
“Now listen. I’ve had enough of this talk of vampires. We’ve got a sick woman here, and we need to help her. Now come over here and hold this bowl.”
Tony shook his head, but the Minister looked at him with such sadness in his eyed that he put the poker down and moved forward, gingerly at first, then with more confidence when the woman showed no sign of waking up.
The Minister cleaned the woman’s hand with gentleness, wringing out the cloth he used into the bowl, turning the water first pale, then deep pink.
And all the time Tony watched, ready at any moment to make a dive for the poker. But the teacher didn’t move, didn’t even flinch as dry crusty blood was carefully removed from her wound exposing the raw flesh and the glimpse of white bone beneath.
Even when the Minster wrapped the hand in a clean white bandage and placed it back, like a small pet, in her lap, she didn’t move.
The Minister stood, pressing his palms at the base of his spine and groaning.
“I’m getting too old for this,” he muttered to himself, then, in a louder voice, spoke to Tony.
“What a night. Do you think we have any more surprises yet to come?”
Tony shrugged, still not taking his eyes from the teacher.
“It’s getting on for four o’clock,” the Minister said, dropping himself into his armchair with a sigh, “Too late to go to bed, too early to do anything worthwhile. I’ll stay up and wait for the doctor. Do you want to go to bed and get some sleep?”
“I’d rather stay with you,” Tony replied. In truth the thought of being alone filled him with terror, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to sleep...not with the teacher downstairs.
He sat in the chair opposite the Minister and stared at the chess pieces.
Neither of them made a move and neither of them spoke.
There was only the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece and the soft heavy breathing from the sleeping teacher in the other chair.
~-o0O0o-~
Brian opened his eyes, but the darkness did not lesson.
He felt weak, as if just recovered from a long bout of flu, and when he tried to bring a hand to his brow he found it too much effort to move even a finger.
There was a dull ache at his throat just above his collarbone, rawness like that left by a burn, and there was a leaden tiredness in his limbs.
His eyes slowly adjusted, and the shadows to either side of him hardened and became defined.
He lay in a stone box, walls rising almost a foot above him to his right and left. Somewhere in the room beyond someone, or something, was singing, a melodic, almost child-like chant. He felt a lethargy take hold, first in his feet then his calves, slowly spreading to all his body, a tingling sensation like a tuning fork being ran lightly from his head to his toes.
The roof of his head felt light and he seemed to float just above the hard stone at his back as calm washed over him.
The singing stopped and there was the sound of metal sliding against stone.
He felt a sudden burst of panic, but the vibration modulated, rising in speed and driving all thought from his mind, even as the sharp glint of steel came into sight above him.
A long white arm was holding a sword above him, and it waved in a series of passes over his body as a strange chant joined with the vibration and synchronized with his heartbeat.
He watched, hypnotized as the silver steel passed above him, once, twice, then again. And with each pass it came closer and the silver shone brighter.
A head came into view...a white ghost with burning eyes. Brian knew that he had seen it before somewhere, but he couldn’t remember when, and he knew that he should be afraid, but all he felt was quiet calm and acceptance.
The creature smiled, exposing its fangs, and Brian smiled back as it brought down the sword, hard, across its own arm, slashing a six-inch wound that immediately oozed redly.
“Drink and become mine,” a voice echoed inside Brian’s head. The blood began to fall on him, spattering across his cheeks, nose and, finally, falling on his lips. He licked it with the tip of his tongue and gasped as it burnt a fiery trail down his throat.
It hit him almost immediately...an ecstasy that was stronger than the most powerful orgasm. He opened his mouth wide and began to gulp hungrily.
Heat coursed through his body, burning its way through his veins and arteries, lighting him up from within.
He could see every pore on the face of the creature above him, the fine crystalline structure of the skin, the root of every hair. He turned his head to the side and realized that he could see the finest grain of the stone, each atom dancing and cavorting.
The room was suddenly lit up brilliantly, as if by a roaring fire. Shadows danced on the ceiling and among the shadows he could see bats roosting in the nooks and crannies of the rough stone.
He could feel every beat of his heart, like a bass drum in his chest, a pounding that shook and reverberated through his body, slower, then slower still, like a clock winding down.
And still he gulped down the hot liquid, and still the fire coursed through him until it consumed him entirely. He felt his heart burn away, piece by piece, the drum stuttering and faltering until it
was finally silent and there was only the fire and the burning eyes of the creature above him.
Enough, the voice said in his head, and the flow of liquid suddenly stopped. He gulped pleadingly, but there was only air.
The heat inside him flared, threatening to incinerate him completely then died as suddenly as it had come. An icy coldness took its place, a cold so deep that ice must be forming in all the empty places inside him, a deep blue cold that froze where the heat had ravaged and left him an empty vessel.
A white hand came down to his face and stroked him across the cheek, its touch as cold as the ice he felt in his veins.
Now you are first made, the voice in his head said. Now you are mine.
There was naked lust in those blazing eyes, and Brian felt as if he fell into them. The cold inside him intensified, like ice water running through him. Deep in the pit of his stomach there was a place that demanded heat, which needed heat. For the moment it was little more than a mild hunger, but he could feel it growing, tugging at him.
Come, the voice said, and Brian felt himself rise from the box of stone, so light that he felt he might float.
They were in a small, roughly hewn room, and he could now see that he had been lying in a great stone coffin that dominated the room. A silver sword lay on the floor at his feet, its jeweled hilt blazing as if it was on fire. Although he could see every ridge and crack of the walls around him, there was no source of light. But Brian accepted it as just another part of what he now was.
Somewhere deep inside him a voice was crying, shouting for attention, but he was mesmerized by the blazing eyes of the creature that took him by the hand and led him out from the room of his birth.
It took him through caverns that glowed in silver and gray, the mosses and lichens writhing, each with their own, tiny spark of life. He could hear them hum, a thin tinny, minor chord that sang in the air around them, but he had no time to stop as the creature spurred him forward.
Eldren: The Book of the Dark Page 14
