Got this idea while researching a bit of Judas' Gospel. I'd really appreciate it if people would refrain from commenting on the accuracy of what I've said about the Gospel-no one will ever truly know what is actually written in that Gospel, or what actually happened. So put a cork in it and appreciate it for what it is: a juicy story.
Anyway, this is sort of a continuation of my "Sewers" fic, which is something I wrote many years ago about Steve Leonard's initial indoctrination into the Vampaneze way of life.
I really like Steve.
It's just a short thought-fic, nothing more and nothing less. It's meant to get you thinking about the ties into Christianity that Shan left up for grabs in his novel and what-have-you. I think the best way to describe this is "a plot bunny that got away."
Rated T for: language, religion.
Steve Leonard, Mr. Tiny, Gannen, Vampaneze, et cetera, all (c) the Master Darren Shan.
Steve Leonard, to put it bluntly, hated his job.
He sat upright in his coffin and let his hands hang limply between his legs. His hair was disheveled, he knew, and the faint creases of sleep still clung to his face like a second skin. His eyes felt tired as he looked out into the darkening sky, the moon hanging low and ripe over the trees. It reminded him of a fruit, ready to be picked right out of the sky. The moon, he decided, was ready to nourish him. It was ready to shield him. He decided that tonight they would prepare to hunt again.
Around him, the ruffling of activity began to emerge. The others in his pack began waking, looking to the sky much as he had moments before. They turned and glanced to him, some of their skin deep, royal shades of purple, others still holding the same pigment as before.
Gannen crawled out of his coffin and came sauntering over to Steve. He came to Steve's coffin, crouched down, and brought his face directly into Steve's. "What's on the agenda for today, boss?" He grinned. His breath smelled like an onion that had sat in the sun for too long.
Steve shrugged lightly, turning his gaze (and his nose) away from the rancid Vampaneze. "I was thinking we could look for victims tonight," he murmured, more to his toes than to his companion. Gannen snorted (at his word choice, Steve assumed) and brought himself up to full height. He turned, facing the rest of the waking crowd of Vampaneze, and addressed them.
"Tonight, we hunt," Gannen said, his voice booming with little effort. There were a few catcalls from the group, jeers of excitement and thirst. It had been a few weeks since they last fed—perhaps it had even began to crawl into multiple months. Steve knew they were all thirsty, all hungry, but it was such a tedious task.
With a sigh, Steve pushed himself out of his coffin and stood up awkwardly out of it. He shut the lid and turned to one of the many human familiars they let hang around (in their hopes that they would someday be able to join the clan). He nodded curtly to one of them, who hobbled over to take care of the coffin. He dragged it out of Steve's sight as Steve walked over to Gannen's side. "Remember, we must hunt in separate towns. All of you, spread out, and we shall meet here by dawn." When none of the Vampaneze responded, Steve waved a hand at the gaggle. "You all know the drill."
Cue the jeers and laughs. "You've got that right, punk!" someone shouted, although Steve didn't recognize the voice—nor did he care to.
He had been at this for 15 long months. He had been blooded almost immediately upon being discovered—no rest for the wicked, as Gannen had sneered—and had been working nonstop since.
He was the Vampaneze Lord, after all, and work was work. It had to be done.
Still—it was tiring. He was only shy of 16 when he was blooded, now barely 17, although he still looked 16. He had fled his hometown almost immediately after finding the clan and hadn't looked back since. His mother could eat crow for all he cared. All that mattered to him at this stage of his life was that he track down the traitor and make him pay. The scumbag, Darren Shan.
He flinched at the thought of his old friend's name. What a waste, he thought to himself. Darren would have made a much better Vampaneze. They both could have ruled the night together, as opposed to playing right into DesTiny's hands.
The world his imagination was painting for him was exquisite. Both he and Darren, rulers of the dark, bringing about the apocalypse together while feasting on the wicked. Hadn't they dreamed of this as children? Hadn't they lain awake at night, staring at the ceiling discussing their plans for their futures as blood suckers together? Why had Darren just…given that up?
A sigh escaped Steve's lips. He ran an agitated hand through his hair as he gazed off into the darkness.
They could have held the world in their hands. Together. A dynamic duo.
But then Darren had to go be a dick and let himself get blooded by the damned Creepy Crepsley.
Steve shuddered as he turned abruptly and began to march towards a town. After a moments hesitation, Gannen followed his leader, unsure of where he was headed but knowing the young boy would need guidance. He was still a child, a pup, in terms of the creatures of the night. Only 15 months blooded, although with a heart like he had, Gannen would have guessed he had been a Vampaneze for much longer. Some were vampires at heart, others Vampaneze, and Steve certainly made an excellent Vampaneze.
The future was not yet sealed. At Vampire Mountain, safe and snug in the crevices the mountain offered, Paris Skyle, Vancha March, and Arrow quietly discussed the Vampaneze Lord in hushed tones. No one knew of Crepsley's assistant yet, Darren only having been blooded for something close to five years by this point. But the Council was fast approaching, and destiny had paid them a visit to warn them that big things were going to be happening soon. Kurda Smahlt begged the Princes to consider allowing some Vampaneze to enter the Mountain, to negotiate. Most didn't know of Steve's existence; the only ones who did were the 13-or-so who traveled with him then. Steve was waiting for "the right moment" to introduce himself as their Lord, which, to the fates, meant he was secretly waiting for destiny to point him in the right direction.
"Something tha' matter?" Gannen growled to his charge. Steve shot him a wary glance as he walked. They were in the forest, only a mile or so away from a group of towns. It would not be difficult for Steve to sneak into a city and mark one human as his own.
Once again, Steve shrugged to his elder. "I dunno," he answered honestly. "I'm just feeling a little off today."
Steve sneezed violently. He rubbed his nose while scowling at his arm: this was the side effect of the serum Crepsley had given him so many years prior. His scowl deepened and he felt resentment for everything around him. "Gannen. I want to hunt alone."
The elder stared at him for a moment, before giving a shrug of his own. "Fine with me," he said. "I'll just hunt in the town next to yours."
Without further ado, Gannen flitted away—a skill Steve wouldn't ever possess in his lifetime, although he didn't know it. He sighed, feeling envious of Gannen and his advanced powers.
After what felt like ages of walking—anxiety and angst clinging to him like a glove he knew only too well—Steve suddenly felt the urge to give up. He glanced around himself and saw a nice rock to sit on for a moment while he overcame his weaknesses and continued with the hunt. He perched himself there, bringing a fist to his face and resting it heavily against his cheek.
For the first time in a very, very long time, Steve felt like crying. He felt like weeping for his lost childhood, for his friend who had given him up so mercilessly. He thought about his decisions and felt broken and wronged. A shudder ran through his body as he bit his lip so hard it bled.
He sat for a long, long time. The moon continued to hang over his head, friendly, making sure that he had enough light to see by. A wolf wandered by, sniffed him, and seemed to ask for permission to sit beside Steve. He was too comfortable in his own self-loathing, however, and he shooed the well meaning animal away. It left, its tail hanging limply between its legs. As Steve watched it go, almost meaning to call it back, he saw a faint pink glow off in the distance of the trees. He squinted at it—not knowing what could possibly emit that spectra of light—and saw that a man was approaching him, carrying the glowing pink thing.
The man was small and squat and had a face like the devil himself. Steve nearly recoiled at the sight, but kept his ground.
"Who are you?" he barked to the man, who was approaching much faster now, a smirk twitching at his lips. "What are you doing here?"
"Now, that's not very hospitable, is it?" the man tutted, glancing this way and that as he approached the young boy. He came to a halt about a foot away from Steve, standing and appraising him obviously. Steve felt the urge to cover himself up with his hands, to pry his body away from this man's eager eyes. "I am a friend, not a foe."
Steve couldn't keep the wariness from his voice. "What do you want?"
The man laughed, the sound somehow hostile and cruel. "I wish to speak with you, Master Leonard! That is all I wish. I see that you are glum and I wish to bring your spirits up!" The man waved a hand and a chair materialized out of thin air. He sat upon it, a sense of entitlement hanging around him like perfume, and smiled "sweetly" up at Steve. Steve noticed that his teeth were razor sharp, like a predator who hunts its own.
"I'm fine," Steve mumbled, more to himself than to anyone else. This received another derisive snort from the man who sat beside him. "Far from fine, I imagine!" he boomed. "Just for future reference, Master—my name's Desmond Tiny, but you can call me Des, or Mr. Tiny if you prefer."
Steve stared at the man blankly. "I'll call you Mr. Tiny."
"That's most good!" Mr. Tiny responded, squeezing the glowing pink object in his hand tightly. Steve brought his attention to it and realized it was an exact replica of the human heart, except with a watch embedded in it. He frowned at the sight and wondered if it was made of plastic or tissue. "So…if my ideas are correct, you are thinking about young Master Shan and also regretting your decision to join the ranks of the Vampaneze?"
If it had been any other time, in any other situation, Steve would have blanched at the man's insight. But at that moment, Steve couldn't bring himself to care enough to be surprised that the man was so intuitive. He nodded. "That about sums it up, yeah."
Mr. Tiny paused and seemed as if he were rolling the taste of Steve's distress across his tongue, like sampling a vintage wine. He shot a glance at Steve, who simply stared up at the man. "Are you familiar with the Christian religion, Master Leonard?"
Steve blinked. "Uh. Yeah. It's sort of the biggest religion on this planet."
Mr. Tiny tsked at him. "Not quite, but I'll excuse your ignorance." Mr. Tiny shifted slightly and looked towards the ground, almost as if lost in thought. He brought his eyes back to the young teenager who sat in front of him and he couldn't help a slick smile from spreading across his face. "So I assume you know the story of Judas? Or do you only know what your pastor or priest told you?"
It was Steve's turn to shift uncomfortably. "I don't see what Christianity has to do with any of this," he muttered beneath his breath. Mr. Tiny let out a small bark of laughter.
"My dear boy," he said, his eyes sparkling with mirth that Steve couldn't understand. "Everything in your culture is inextricably related to Christianity and Islam and Judaism. It is simply the way of the world." He waved his hand dismissively at Steve. "Universal archetypes are universal for a reason."
"So what does Judas have to do with any of this?" Steve's skin felt itchy, and his fingers longed to pick at every fold and crevice that lined his body. Suddenly the night air felt like it was suffocating him.
The fat man sneered at the teen. "Judas, as I am sure you know, was one of Jesus' twelve disciples. Judas was also the man who betrayed Jesus to the Romans. You, Steve, resemble…Judas, in a way."
Steve rose to the bait. "I'm not the one who betrayed my friend," he snarled, standing up and bringing a fist up to Mr. Tiny's face. "If anyone is the Judas, it's fucking Darren Shan. He's no Jesus. He's no savior."
Mr. Tiny put a hand against Steve's raised fist. He laid his palm against it, flat, and Steve felt a pulsating energy radiate from the flat palm. His hand was forced down to his side, fingers still clenched tight while his nails bit deeply into his skin. He almost growled at the elder who was treating him so cruelly. "I have half a mind to drain you dry," Steve said, his voice as dark as he could make it.
The man didn't even react. "If you dare lay a finger on me, I will make sure you spend the rest of your days with your organs facing outwards instead of in." That made Steve pause—what a bizarre threat, he thought—and the pause was all Mr. Tiny needed to continue his speech on Jesus and Judas.
"Judas gets a bad reputation in your world," he went on, his voice cool in the face of the threat he had just issued, "because he betrayed the savior. However, he did not betray him—Jesus asked the man to turn him in. It was all Jesus' plan, all along, because Jesus knew he had to sacrifice himself. Judas was a true disciple, following Jesus' last commands, right to the point where he became a universal image for hatred and corruption."
"That's not how the story goes."
Mr. Tiny's eyes flared. "I have read the Gospel of Judas. I was present at Jesus' execution. Do not dare question my authority or my knowledge. That threat is still in effect and will continue to be until you learn some manners."
Steve crossed his arms and glared narrowly at Mr. Tiny. "So what the hell does this have to do with me?" He felt like shouting. He was thirsty. He was hungry. He wanted to go mark a victim and then come back to camp, sleep, and await the time when he could strike, according to Vampaneze law. He was tired of dealing with this giant man who felt as if he could issue threats and commands on an impulse.
"As I said previously, you are Judas."
"I still don't understand."
Mr. Tiny sighed impatiently. "You must betray your best friend, Steven. And in the future, the world may look down upon you with disgust and contempt. But in the end, it will be worth it, for the ultimate glory: fulfilling your destiny. In order to save the universe and create something greater, you must kill its savior. Bring the world onto a different path, Steven. Be the Judas of the twenty first century."
Steve still, in all honesty, did not get it. But as the period fell after Mr. Tiny's last sentence, he began to walk away from Steve. With a wave of his hand and a cheery "Toodles!", he was on his way, leaving Steve to ponder what he had said.
Steve stood still for many moments. He stared at the forest ground, at the ripening sky above him. The moon was beginning to shy away for the sun, and he was running out of time to mark a victim. He jarred himself into action and thrust his feet forward, in the direction of the village. But the entire time, he felt the faintest smile dancing on his lips; because even though Mr. Tiny's words meant nothing to him, he was beginning to understand the meaning of his true destiny, once and for all.