by Amy Cross
"Because he was scared," I reply firmly, interrupting him. "The great Gothos, master of the vampire race, was scared of dying, so he did everything within his power to prolong his life. He had this bridge built purely so that he'd be able to come back one day, even though his time has passed. What's he going to do when he gets here? Start the war again? Bring about more death and more destruction? Will it spill over into the human world this time?"
"You must have faith," the priest continues. "You must -"
"He's right," says a voice nearby.
Turning, I see that Rasmussen has returned.
"Faith, above all else, is of paramount importance," he continues, stepping into the room. "Without faith, one is lost, cast adrift in the universe. Gothos is not our master by some accident. He has attained that position purely because he has shown, time and again, that he is the wisest and strongest vampire who ever lived. One of the reasons for this strength is the fact that he can see, better than anyone else, what needs to be done. Perhaps, to the rest of us, his methods might be difficult to understand, but that is why we have our faith. We must trust him absolutely, and without question." He pauses. "Are you, Abigail Hart, daughter of Patrick, able to do that?"
"Why did my father hate Gothos?" I ask. "What did Gothos do that -"
"Stop," Rasmussen says firmly. "Why do you constantly try to see the world through your father's eyes, Abigail? Make your own decisions. Choose your own path. Patrick rejected Gothos, and our race almost died off completely. Do you not see that it would be foolish to make the same mistake again?"
I open my mouth to argue with him, but finally I realize that he's right. I've never really had faith before, at least not properly. I guess I had faith in Benjamin and the Watchers for a while, and I had faith in Patrick, but both times my faith went unrewarded. Gothos commands the faith of so many other vampires, so maybe I should just trust that his choices are correct? That's what faith is about, isn't it? Ignoring your doubts and trusting another person? Taking a deep breath, I decide that I'm not going to back down. I'm going to be strong.
"I have faith," I say eventually. " I have faith in Gothos."
"The Strix are dealing with your friend," Rasmussen continues, "but once they're done -"
"I don't have any friends," I tell him.
"The human police officer," he replies. "He came looking for you."
"Mark?" I pause, shocked that he'd risk his life to come to the church and try to find me. I warned him to stay away, so why did he come blundering into the place? Damn it, I hate the way humans are constantly causing trouble. There's nothing for him to do here, so he's basically signed his own death warrant.
"There's no need to be concerned," Rasmussen continues. "At this very moment, the Strix are taking his blood. They'll add it to all the rest, and then we can begin the ceremony and re-open the bridge."
I take a deep breath, trying to overcome the desire to rush through and save Mark. He's only a human, of course, but I still feel as if his death isn't strictly necessary. "Don't kill him," I say eventually. "Call the Strix off."
Rasmussen frowns.
"I mean, don't kill him yet," I continue, desperate to find an excuse to keep Mark alive. I don't even know why I care so much, but for some reason I feel as if I want to see Mark at least one more time, to explain who I really am. "We don't need his blood for the ceremony, but it might be more fitting to have a live sacrifice to present to Gothos when he emerges from the bridge. Instead of offering him stale blood, we can let him feed for himself."
"She might be right," the priest says. "The Lord Gothos will undoubtedly want to drink directly from the body of a human, and it would perhaps be wise to ensure that we have an offering waiting for him. There's a danger that he might be a little weak when he first emerges from the bridge."
Rasmussen stares at me for a moment, as if he's suspicious of my motives. "Fine," he says eventually. "I shall go and see if the Strix have killed the human yet. Perhaps they're still playing with him before they make their final strike. After that, I'll send them through to move the sphere, and then we can begin to bring Gothos back. I'm quite certain that he'll be keen to speak the daughter of Patrick. After all, his family and yours go back a long way."
"Is that a good thing?" I ask cautiously.
"The ties of our past cannot be undone," he replies. "You are Patrick's daughter, and nothing you do or say can ever change that fact. Gothos will recognize your blood, but he is a wise man and he will understand that you are not necessarily the same as your father. He will give you a chance to prove yourself, and he will be grateful to you for helping to facilitate his return." He pauses. "So, Abigail. I know that when you came to us two days ago, you wanted to stop us. Now that I have explained everything to you, are you willing to reconsider? Are you willing to join us, and help us?"
I take a deep breath. Although the idea of resurrecting Gothos feels wrong, I can't deny that it's tempting to end my self-imposed period of seclusion and finally embrace other vampires.
"I need an answer," Rasmussen continues. "You must choose."
"I choose to join you," I reply eventually, feeling a strange sensation in my chest, as if my heart has become far heavier than before. At the same time, it's good to know that I'm no longer alone.
"Preparations will begin at once," he says, with a faint smile. "You won't regret your decision, Abigail. I'm quite certain that Gothos will reward you handsomely."
As he leaves the room, I turn back to face the sphere and once again I find myself contemplating the possibility that Gothos is about to return. I know I should have faith, and that I should be like all the others and wait patiently to see what Gothos wants us to do, but at the same time I'm filled with doubts. We should be entering a new age in which the vampire race grows and becomes strong again, but instead it seems that we're going to dig up the past and bring back the man who led us to war. I can't help wondering if this might all be a terrible mistake, but I guess the time for fear is over. I'm a vampire. It's time to push away my human side and embrace other vampires, and help our race to rise again.
Mark Gregory
"Come on," Hoskins says, sounding a little irritated as his voice echoes in my mind. "There's no such thing as vampires."
Before I can say anything, his face starts to twist and distort, and I realize I'm being pulled down by invisible hands. I try to get free, but when I turn to look back at Hoskins, I see that there's a huge wound in his neck, with blood pouring down the front of his uniform.
"Vampires don't exist," he continues. "You're imagining the whole thing."
Hearing a distant cracking sound, as if stone is being torn apart, I look over my shoulder and realize that I'm not in Afghanistan; I'm in a church. My mind seems to settle and become calmer for a moment as I remember that I came here looking for Abby. I can see her, standing over by the altar, and there's a huge black sphere next to her, with light blazing at its center.
"If this is real," Hoskins whispers in my ear, "then maybe that creature was real all those years ago. The one that killed me."
Abby Hart
"Abigail?"
He's coming. Even now, standing here with my eyes closed, I can sense something ancient and powerful stirring in the heart of the large granite sphere. I don't honestly know how long he's been asleep, but his mind has begun to flex and rumble, as if he knows that he's about to be called from rest. I should be happy that he's coming back, that the age of the vampires is about to be restored and our one true ruler is on the verge of resurrection; instead, I'm filled with fear. Is this a test of my faith, or a sign that I share my father's concerns about Gothos and his intentions?
"Abigail, it's time."
I open my eyes and look straight ahead. The sphere has been moved into place, right in front of the altar, and the Strix are gathered in the pews, ready to welcome the return of the greatest vampire who ever lived. That's what they call him, anyway. I can't see the Strix, of course; they're still for too i
nsubstantial to have a visible presence, but I can sense them now, and I can feel their anticipation. They've worked hard for this moment, and they expect great rewards. I just hope that Gothos isn't so foolish that he gives them any further power. After all, the Strix have shown themselves to be patient and intelligent, and I'd hate to see what they could accomplish if they were to be given the chance to become more substantial in this world.
"Gothos must be called from the bridge," Rasmussen says, standing next to me. "For that to happen, he must be offered blood. We had planned to flood the sphere with human blood, but now that you're with us, there is a much better way. One drop of your blood, Abigail, will be more powerful than all the human blood in the world. After all, your blood comes from Patrick, from the world that Gothos once knew. Once he's back, he can then drink all the human blood he needs, but you..." He pauses. "Just a drop, Abigail."
I nod, even though I'm not sure that this is a good idea.
"Come with me," Rasmussen says, taking me by the hand and leading me along the aisle. As we walk, I can sense the Strix watching and anticipating. By the time we get to the steps that lead up to the sphere, I'm struggling to stay calm, but I guess I just have to focus on my faith. I believe in Gothos. This is the right thing to do. My father was wrong about Gothos, just as he was wrong about so many other things. He saw Gothos as a danger, whereas it's clear now that Gothos is in fact our savior. He's the only one who can lead the vampires out of the age of chaos and into a new era of power and prosperity. I just... I just wish I was certain, but there's a nagging voice in the back of my mind that keeps telling me I might be making a mistake.
"Now what?" I ask, already able to feel the soul of Gothos stirring deep within the granite sphere.
"Hold out your hand," Rasmussen replies. Moments later, he takes a dagger from beneath his gown and runs the blade against my palm, drawing a thick line of dark red blood that begins to dribble down to my wrist. "Now place your hand on the bridge," he says, taking a step back. "Let Gothos know that you give your blood to him willingly. Show him that your faith is strong, and that you choose to welcome him to the world. Trust me. He'll recognize your blood in a heartbeat."
I swallow hard. Is this really a good idea? After a moment, I remind myself that I need to have faith. Reaching out, I place my hand against the cool, rough surface of the sphere, and I wait.
"Abby no!" Mark shouts from the back of the church, where he's being restrained by some of the Strix.
"Kill him!" Rasmussen calls out.
"No!" I shout, turning to look back over at Mark. "Keep him alive." I pause for a moment. "For Gothos."
Rasmussen sighs, but I can see that he agrees.
Turning back to the sphere, I realize I can feel something strange in the palm of my hand, as if the blood is being sucked from my body. Sure enough, when I pull my hand away, I see that the granite surface of the sphere has begun to drain my body. I take a step back and watch as the dark red patch of blood begins to seep into the sphere, and moments later it's as if the sphere itself has consumed my blood, drawing it beneath the surface and channeling it to Gothos himself.
"The moment has come," Rasmussen says. "Can't you feel his mind returning to full strength? After all this time, his great wisdom and power is awakening."
I nod. The truth is, I can sense Gothos coming closer and closer, as if his mind is being raised from the depths of death itself and unfurling as it receives my blood. There's a powerful hunger burning in the heart of the sphere, and after a moment I realize that a large crack is starting to appear in the surface, sending a fine rain of granite dust down to the floor. The entire church is shaking, and the air is filled with echoes of a long-dead mind. I can hear voices calling out from the heart of the sphere: some of them are screaming, and some of them are rejoicing. I'm not certain, but I think it's the sound of the war itself, bursting through to the modern world.
"We must step back," Rasmussen says, taking my hand and leading me to the foot of the steps. "This is the moment that has been prepared for. We are the servants who have been chosen to bring Gothos back to the world. It is a duty, but also a great honor. Now we will have the privilege of serving our master, of hearing his words directly. We'll become the new army of Gothos, and he'll command us to spread his word throughout this land."
I try to smile, but I can't shake the feeling that this is all a terrible mistake. After all, my father never seemed very keen on bringing Gothos back, and I always thought that he believed the vampire race should move forward. By resurrecting Gothos, aren't we dooming ourselves to make the same mistakes over and over again?
Moments later, a large section of the granite sphere falls away, smashing on the ground. Rasmussen and I step back a little further as the whole church starts to tremble with increasing force in the face of the vast power that has begun to break the sphere apart from the inside. Finally, a loud splitting sound fills the room, like a crack of thunder, and the entire sphere seems to break into thousands of pieces, all of which seem to remain in place for a fraction of a second, before shattering and falling to the floor. A wall of light bursts from the heart of the sphere, knocking me to my feet and shaking the church by its foundations. I look over and see that the huge glass windows are starting to crack, as if the sea of human blood is being drawn to burst through at any moment. As the trembling subsides, however, I turn back to look at the spot where the sphere once stood, and I see that now there's a figure standing before the altar. Next to me, Rasmussen has already dropped to his knees, filled with awe and excitement, but I can't share the sentiment. Instead, as I stare at the figure and see his deep, ancient eyes, I realize that there's no way to stop this thing, not anymore.
Gothos lives.
Mark Gregory
Still struggling to get free of the invisible hands that hold me in place, I watch in awe as a figure steps out of the ruined black sphere. From the back of the church, it's hard to get much of an idea of what he looks like, but he seems like a fairly old, slow man, dressed in a dark brown that makes him seem like a monk. Whoever or whatever he is, the other creatures here seem to be in awe. Hearing a splintering sound nearby, I turn to see that one of the nearby windows is starting to crack. Slowly, a thin line of blood starts to trickle down from the top. Somehow, I don't think that thing's going to hold out for much longer.
"You lost your mind when I died," Hoskins continues. "You managed to patch it up for a few years, but now it's coming crashing down again. Welcome to madness."
Abby Hart
He walks slowly, as if he's in pain. After all those years, trapped in an eternal death at the heart of the bridge, he must be stunned by his sudden freedom. As he makes his way slowly out of the sphere's glow, his face mostly covered by a hood, he seems to be treading carefully, and his hands - clasped in front of him, almost as if he's in prayer - look much older and more frail than I'd expected.
Finally, he stops in front of Rasmussen, who is still on his knees with his head bowed.
"Where is this?" Gothos asks suddenly, his voice sounding old and frail. After a moment, he reaches up and pulls back his hood to reveal the face of an old man. "For how long was I sleeping?" He waits for Rasmussen to answer, but eventually he turns to me. "How goes the day?" he asks. "Is the eastern front sufficiently defended? Were the Golvs repelled, or must I send reinforcements? Is..." He pauses, as if his mind is clouding over for a moment. "What of the Underworld? Did they send reinforcements, as I requested?"
I stare at him, unsure as to what I should say.
"Do you not have a tongue?" he asks, taking a step toward me. "Where is everyone else? I must speak to the last Hecate, and to Cassandra. Where is Patrick? Is he back from the west? I worry about him, you know. I fear he has ideas of his own, and that he cannot be trusted. Someone must keep an eye on him at all times, else he is liable to..." His voice trails off for a moment, and he stares at me with the expression of someone who is seeing something truly shocking for the very first time. "You
are new," he says eventually. "You do not belong at Gothos, or... There is something familiar about you. Your eyes, perhaps, and your scent. Your blood..." He leans closer. "Who is your father?"
"A friend of yours," I reply.
"Kneel!" Rasmussen hisses from behind Gothos.
"Yes!" Gothos says brightly, almost as if he finds the situation amusing. "Why aren't you kneeling, girl? My word, have you no manners?" He pauses, as the good humor seems to leave his expression. "Well? Who is your father, and why do you not kneel before me?"
"My father is Patrick," I say, feeling a tightening sensation in my chest, "and I'm not kneeling because I have no cause to do so."
"Patrick?" Gothos narrows his eyes for a moment, as if he's trying to get a better view of me. Slowly, he reaches out and brushes the side of my face with his fingers. "Yes. I see it now. You have his aspect, without a shadow of a doubt. However, he is not supposed to father a child yet, not for many years. These things cannot be rushed. For one thing, the proper mother is not due to be born for many..." He pauses, and then he turns to looks back at the ruins of the sphere. "The bridge," he mutters after a moment. "Have I spanned so many years that now the prophecy has come to pass?"
"The world has changed," Rasmussen says. "It took much longer than expected to free you. We had to wait until Patrick was dead."
"The war," Gothos whispers. "Is it over?" He pauses. "No, it can't be over. Paused, perhaps, but never over. I still have so much still to do."
"My name," I start to say firmly, "is -"
"Abigail," he says, interrupting me as he walks slowly over to the shattered sphere. "I know all about you, girl. I know what you are. You must forgive me, though. I was not certain that the Hecates had managed to create the machine properly. I feared for my soul, you know." He turns to me. "You brought me back. You, the daughter of Patrick. Where is he? Is he here?"
