THE GATHERING: VII -- THE YOUNGEST
It was well past midnight before Raziel found his youngest brother. The Melchahim made their home in a city built on the remains of Steichencroe, a human city that was one of the first to capitulate to Kain's vampire armies. Melchiah had made quite significant improvements over the centuries. Raziel eventually found him, eventually, on a catwalk overlooking an enormous trench to the south of the city. He was surrounded by some vampires and mortals. In the depths Raziel could see a wild river flowing, churning, surrounded by pumping and steaming machinery. Whatever it was, it was loud, and forced them all to shout to be heard.
"Melchiah, my brother!" Raziel said without needing to strain his voice. Melchiah turned to meet him, a surprised look on his face. Raziel embraced him. "What is that infernal noise?" he asked loudly. "And what on earth happened to your hand?" He held on to Melchiah's lower arm, shocked to see that his right hand was missing. The stump had been tightly bandaged with white strips of cloth. Melchiah wrenched his arm free.
"Nothing, just an accident," he yelled. He gestured for Raziel to follow him with his good hand, and led them towards a small, wooden building set in the rockface. The wooden steps were rough but solid, and inside the building, Raziel found, the noise was much reduced. The small room was dominated by a huge wooden table, covered with designs and drawings of whatever machine was at work down there.
"It's a pump," Melchiah said. "I finally got this new design to work on a large scale. It can shift enormous amounts of water, as you could see!"
Raziel was at a loss. "Why would you want to do that?" he asked. "And what did happen to your hand?" The sight of that bandaged stump disturbed him. A lost limb was a serious injury for any vampire, and Melchiah did not heal like the rest of them did.
"Raziel, it -- it's not important. It just got caught in the machinery earlier, please, don't worry yourself on my account." He looked at his arm as if the injury was somehow below him. "I simply haven't had time to -- feed," he added.
Raziel smiled uncomfortably. He knew Melchiah would need to do more than feed to regain that limb. His flesh did not regrow, so he patched up wounds with skin and tissue he took from those that did not need it anymore. The subject was distasteful to both of them, he realised. Yet, he did not want to let it drop. "Are you sure you'll ... recover?" he asked.
Melchiah sighed. "Why are you here, Raziel?" he asked.
"Kain asked me to visit."
"Kain?" Melchiah asked with a dangerous edge to his voice. "I'm honoured." He bowed mockingly. Raziel shifted uneasily. "And what does the Master want with me?"
"He just wondered how you were doing." Raziel shrugged.
"How I was doing?" Melchiah echoed. "If he wonders how I'm doing, then why doesn't he come down here to have a look? Why don't any of you come down here to have a look?" He stood in front of the window, looking down into the chasm. "Don't you understand the implications of this? We can move lakes with this thing, Raziel! We could drain the southern swamps, turn those festering snakepits into land!" Raziel nodded. He could see the use now. The southern swamp were a dangerous place, for vampires. It was the home of one of the last free human tribes. It bordered with his own lands, and he had always thought it looked very beautiful, from a distance.
"I don't know why I bother," Melchiah grumbled in reply to his blank expression. "None of you are interested in my projects, and that while you all reap the benefits! Who designed the furnaces that allow our children to go out during the day? Me. It was me that forced the river Aht underground. I bridged the Termogent, when it was still a deadly place. I designed the Bonder dam, and it was my clan that built it!" His face fell, anger was replaced by a cold bitterness. "And yet you look down on us as if we were barely more than human." He looked out the window again. A silence fell.
"Melchiah," Raziel said in a consolidating tone.
"Don't 'Melchiah' me," Melchiah said, turning on his brother in anger. "Don't think I don't know, Raziel. I am neither blind nor deaf. I know what you think of me."
Raziel searched for the right words, taken aback by Melchiah's anger. "You're wrong, brother," he said gently. "Just that you are weaker does not mean we do not respect you." He strained, trying desperately for the words to ring true, willing them to be true. "Even Dumah has never denied that you were crucial to us, from the beginning!"
"Dumah respects nothing but brute force," Melchiah sneered. "He is ashamed to call himself my brother."
Raziel shook his head, but he knew denying it would be a lie. He understood Melchiah's pain. Centuries of being last, being least in everyone's eyes. Even his own. Hidden behind the anger in Melchiah's eyes he could see the sadness and shame that had made him this bitter. It was unbearable to Raziel. He wanted to offer comfort, to offer something that would not be a lie...
"My brother," he said softly, "if I offered you my throat, would you accept it?"
Melchiah's angry façade broke, and the deluge of suffering and loneliness spilled forth. "Oh, Raziel..." He fell into his brother's arms, and Raziel embraced him tightly. His fangs were hesitant, trying to be gentle, and thereby hurting more. Raziel drew in his breath sharply. Finally, the skin broke, and Raziel let his blood flow to his younger brother, enjoying this rare moment of intimacy for all it was worth.
In the old days, when they were still at war with the humans, they shared their blood often. Usually unwillingly: one brother would overwhelm and feed from the other, to affirm their status and settle their quarrels. To show who was strongest. Raziel had only fallen once under such an assault: Dumah had taken him by surprise and defeated him through sheer weight. Melchiah, as far as Raziel knew, had never won even once.
Raziel put only the slightest pressure against Melchiah's shoulders, and he let go. He looked at Raziel, his eyes filled with gratitude and love.
"It's true what they say," Melchiah said with a mischievous smile, "your blood is the sweetest." He licked his lips.
Raziel smiled and wiped the last of the blood from his neck; the wound was already healed. The gesture seemed to remind Melchiah of his own weakness, he folded his hand around the bandaged stump and turned away, mumbling something Raziel didn't catch. The moment was gone. Raziel felt cold, the chasm between him and his brother widening once again.
"Why don't you..." he started. "Why don't we have a celebration?" He was not sure where this was leading, but trusted his wits to save him.
"I wasn't aware there was anything to celebrate?" Melchiah answered.
"There is. I plan to negotiate a peace treaty with Rahab."
"You're going to make peace with him now? That won't be easy. I heard what happened in Darheim."
Raziel grimaced. He wondered how often he would have to hear that particular phrase. "That was an accident, little brother. Rahab and I share the same intentions. I'm sure we can come to an agreement."
Melchiah looked uncertain.
"And to negociate the terms of this agreement, we will have to meet on neutral ground," Raziel added, and paused for effect. "Your grounds." He smiled triumphantly.
"Here? But... I don't have any... Who would come?" He stammered.
"I'll invite everyone. I think all the clans should be present for something as important as this, don't you?"
"Zephon might not want to come," Melchiah said darkly.
"I'll make him." Raziel smiled with complete confidence. "Don't worry about the guests, I'll do the invitations. You just make sure that you're ready to receive them. You can show them all what you've been up to. Remind them why -- why we respect you."
Melchiah smiled a slightly lopsided smile. "I ... would like that," he said slowly. "I would like that very much."
Raziel nodded. He knew his brother well enough to understand.
"I do miss you." Melchiah shrugged helplessly. "I miss them all."
Raziel put his hands on his shoulders. "Maybe this can bring us all a little closer again."
It was well past midnight before Raziel found his youngest brother. The Melchahim made their home in a city built on the remains of Steichencroe, a human city that was one of the first to capitulate to Kain's vampire armies. Melchiah had made quite significant improvements over the centuries. Raziel eventually found him, eventually, on a catwalk overlooking an enormous trench to the south of the city. He was surrounded by some vampires and mortals. In the depths Raziel could see a wild river flowing, churning, surrounded by pumping and steaming machinery. Whatever it was, it was loud, and forced them all to shout to be heard.
"Melchiah, my brother!" Raziel said without needing to strain his voice. Melchiah turned to meet him, a surprised look on his face. Raziel embraced him. "What is that infernal noise?" he asked loudly. "And what on earth happened to your hand?" He held on to Melchiah's lower arm, shocked to see that his right hand was missing. The stump had been tightly bandaged with white strips of cloth. Melchiah wrenched his arm free.
"Nothing, just an accident," he yelled. He gestured for Raziel to follow him with his good hand, and led them towards a small, wooden building set in the rockface. The wooden steps were rough but solid, and inside the building, Raziel found, the noise was much reduced. The small room was dominated by a huge wooden table, covered with designs and drawings of whatever machine was at work down there.
"It's a pump," Melchiah said. "I finally got this new design to work on a large scale. It can shift enormous amounts of water, as you could see!"
Raziel was at a loss. "Why would you want to do that?" he asked. "And what did happen to your hand?" The sight of that bandaged stump disturbed him. A lost limb was a serious injury for any vampire, and Melchiah did not heal like the rest of them did.
"Raziel, it -- it's not important. It just got caught in the machinery earlier, please, don't worry yourself on my account." He looked at his arm as if the injury was somehow below him. "I simply haven't had time to -- feed," he added.
Raziel smiled uncomfortably. He knew Melchiah would need to do more than feed to regain that limb. His flesh did not regrow, so he patched up wounds with skin and tissue he took from those that did not need it anymore. The subject was distasteful to both of them, he realised. Yet, he did not want to let it drop. "Are you sure you'll ... recover?" he asked.
Melchiah sighed. "Why are you here, Raziel?" he asked.
"Kain asked me to visit."
"Kain?" Melchiah asked with a dangerous edge to his voice. "I'm honoured." He bowed mockingly. Raziel shifted uneasily. "And what does the Master want with me?"
"He just wondered how you were doing." Raziel shrugged.
"How I was doing?" Melchiah echoed. "If he wonders how I'm doing, then why doesn't he come down here to have a look? Why don't any of you come down here to have a look?" He stood in front of the window, looking down into the chasm. "Don't you understand the implications of this? We can move lakes with this thing, Raziel! We could drain the southern swamps, turn those festering snakepits into land!" Raziel nodded. He could see the use now. The southern swamp were a dangerous place, for vampires. It was the home of one of the last free human tribes. It bordered with his own lands, and he had always thought it looked very beautiful, from a distance.
"I don't know why I bother," Melchiah grumbled in reply to his blank expression. "None of you are interested in my projects, and that while you all reap the benefits! Who designed the furnaces that allow our children to go out during the day? Me. It was me that forced the river Aht underground. I bridged the Termogent, when it was still a deadly place. I designed the Bonder dam, and it was my clan that built it!" His face fell, anger was replaced by a cold bitterness. "And yet you look down on us as if we were barely more than human." He looked out the window again. A silence fell.
"Melchiah," Raziel said in a consolidating tone.
"Don't 'Melchiah' me," Melchiah said, turning on his brother in anger. "Don't think I don't know, Raziel. I am neither blind nor deaf. I know what you think of me."
Raziel searched for the right words, taken aback by Melchiah's anger. "You're wrong, brother," he said gently. "Just that you are weaker does not mean we do not respect you." He strained, trying desperately for the words to ring true, willing them to be true. "Even Dumah has never denied that you were crucial to us, from the beginning!"
"Dumah respects nothing but brute force," Melchiah sneered. "He is ashamed to call himself my brother."
Raziel shook his head, but he knew denying it would be a lie. He understood Melchiah's pain. Centuries of being last, being least in everyone's eyes. Even his own. Hidden behind the anger in Melchiah's eyes he could see the sadness and shame that had made him this bitter. It was unbearable to Raziel. He wanted to offer comfort, to offer something that would not be a lie...
"My brother," he said softly, "if I offered you my throat, would you accept it?"
Melchiah's angry façade broke, and the deluge of suffering and loneliness spilled forth. "Oh, Raziel..." He fell into his brother's arms, and Raziel embraced him tightly. His fangs were hesitant, trying to be gentle, and thereby hurting more. Raziel drew in his breath sharply. Finally, the skin broke, and Raziel let his blood flow to his younger brother, enjoying this rare moment of intimacy for all it was worth.
In the old days, when they were still at war with the humans, they shared their blood often. Usually unwillingly: one brother would overwhelm and feed from the other, to affirm their status and settle their quarrels. To show who was strongest. Raziel had only fallen once under such an assault: Dumah had taken him by surprise and defeated him through sheer weight. Melchiah, as far as Raziel knew, had never won even once.
Raziel put only the slightest pressure against Melchiah's shoulders, and he let go. He looked at Raziel, his eyes filled with gratitude and love.
"It's true what they say," Melchiah said with a mischievous smile, "your blood is the sweetest." He licked his lips.
Raziel smiled and wiped the last of the blood from his neck; the wound was already healed. The gesture seemed to remind Melchiah of his own weakness, he folded his hand around the bandaged stump and turned away, mumbling something Raziel didn't catch. The moment was gone. Raziel felt cold, the chasm between him and his brother widening once again.
"Why don't you..." he started. "Why don't we have a celebration?" He was not sure where this was leading, but trusted his wits to save him.
"I wasn't aware there was anything to celebrate?" Melchiah answered.
"There is. I plan to negotiate a peace treaty with Rahab."
"You're going to make peace with him now? That won't be easy. I heard what happened in Darheim."
Raziel grimaced. He wondered how often he would have to hear that particular phrase. "That was an accident, little brother. Rahab and I share the same intentions. I'm sure we can come to an agreement."
Melchiah looked uncertain.
"And to negociate the terms of this agreement, we will have to meet on neutral ground," Raziel added, and paused for effect. "Your grounds." He smiled triumphantly.
"Here? But... I don't have any... Who would come?" He stammered.
"I'll invite everyone. I think all the clans should be present for something as important as this, don't you?"
"Zephon might not want to come," Melchiah said darkly.
"I'll make him." Raziel smiled with complete confidence. "Don't worry about the guests, I'll do the invitations. You just make sure that you're ready to receive them. You can show them all what you've been up to. Remind them why -- why we respect you."
Melchiah smiled a slightly lopsided smile. "I ... would like that," he said slowly. "I would like that very much."
Raziel nodded. He knew his brother well enough to understand.
"I do miss you." Melchiah shrugged helplessly. "I miss them all."
Raziel put his hands on his shoulders. "Maybe this can bring us all a little closer again."