XI THE GATHERING
Melchiah looked out over the results of his hard work. In less than a month, his vision had become reality. The ruins of the round castle Westerburgh were reborn. The hand of time had taken all but its circular outer wall, which had been partially sunk into the ground by a long-dry river. Now, the first floor was filled with a steel construction, and one of the wide arched windows of what had once been the second floor functioned as the new gate. Melchiah's men had put in a new floor, an enormous ring made of wooden beams, turning slowly around the central staircase, now flattened and paved to be a still, raised dais looking out over the slowly circling floor. The vampire Marion was there now, instructing a group of young mortals all dressed in black robes with bright yellow sashes. They would carry around large metal cups of blood tonight, for all to share and partake.
Melchiah himself stood on top of the ancient wall, high above the rotating floor. Against these uneven, broken walls they had set six flagpoles with banners in six colours. They were blowing in a strong wind, and Melchiah looked up at the sky. His unusual hall had no roof, and he had nowhere to take his guests if it should rain. It would not rain, he reminded himself. It had not rained here in over two months. And yet, he could not escape the feeling he had overlooked something; that something would go irredeemably wrong. They would all be here, except for Kain. What would they say? What would they think?
With a shock, he recognised the figure that had appeared in the gate opposite. Raziel had arrived early. He was welcomed by Galen, his deputy, who showed him onto the turning platform. A large group of vampires poured in after them. Melchiah lowered himself onto the steel ladder that had taken him up here, and quickly climbed down to greet his elder brother.
Soon after Raziel, Rahab arrived with his entourage, and then Zephon. Even Dumah and Turel arrived on time, in spite of the long journey they had to make. Long before midnight, the old ruins of Westerburgh were teeming with life, vampires of all six clans milling around, testing each other, rekindling old friendships and feuds. The slave-children walked among them, their goblets raised above their heads, inviting anyone and everyone to drink and celebrate. After each revolution of the floor they returned to the arched window in the back where the cups were refilled from seemingly bottomless barrels.
Rahab watched the crowd uneasily. He was talking with some of Raziel's company, two of the older warriors who complimented him on the negotiating skills of his advisor Amadis and expressed their regret on the fire in Darheim. Rahab barely heared their words. He felt uncomfortably out of place. Melchiah's enormous machine created the impression that he was standing still, and that the old walls of the ruins, and indeed, all of Nosgoth, turned around them. He knew this to be an illusion, and yet he could not escape the feeling. The soft rumble of the machinery beneath their feet sounded like distant thunder, and the miriads of voices shouting, laughing and boasting around him seeemed to form one nightmarish cloud of noise. He nodded gratefully at the short vampire in front of him, guessing he had said something appreciative. Some distance away he could see Zephon, leaning possessively on a young mortal man; one of the four slaves Melchiah had offered him. He grinned unpleasantly at Rahab when he noticed him watching. Rahab nodded, and turned back to the two in front of him.
"Where is Raziel?" he asked, and just then he felt a hand on his shoulder. Raziel was flanked by his body-guard Axel on one side and his servant girl on the other.
"It's time," he said, grinning widely. He did not seem bothered in the least by this unsettling environment. Rahab followed him to the waist-high stage in the center of the hall; the only thing in the room that wasn't turning. They climbed onto it, and Rahab felt disorientated for a moment, as the illusion of standing still was replaced by the reality of having the room turning around him. He stood beside Raziel, shoulder to shoulder. He raised his hands for silence, and soon enough the din receded. He waited patiently until the entire assembly was quiet. Even the Turelim looked up at the platform silently and expectantly -- unusual, for their grasp of the concept of authority was generally tenuous. When the only sound was the distant rumble of the machinery below, he started to speak.
He repeated the terms of the peace treaty, and the reasons behind them, while the crowd revolved around him. It was a seemingly endless procession, their faces drawn in anger, fear, malice. As he pronounced the assertion that the Razielim and Rahabim would have nothing to fear from each other in the future, it suddenly occurred to him how many of them had come here bearing arms, how many wore armour. The desire for vengeance, for battle, for dominance hung like a vapour over all of them -- and why should it not? Were they not all Kain's children?
The treaty, this gathering -- it was all a lie. A damned lie, and surely, Raziel knew. Perhaps they all did. No matter. If Raziel wanted him to lie, he would: for his brother, for what they were, once, before everything began to fall apart.
"Anyone breaking the terms of this treaty will be considered an enemy of clan Rahab and clan Raziel," he closed. "Together, we will be stronger than ever before. I trust we can count on all of you." If nothing else, this might give the herd some short years of relative safety. Perhaps they would recover.
He looked over his left shoulder, where Raziel stood, smiling proudly. He stepped forward and took the word.
"Children of Rahab!" His voice rang out clearly, effortlessly reaching even those in the back. "My own clan, clan of Dumah! Turelim, Melchahim, spawn of Zephon!" Complete silence for a heartbeat, before he continued. "Does it matter? Are you all so very different that you cannot share the bounty of Nosgoth without clawing out each other's hearts?" He paused, and watched them as they glanced around and chuckled guiltily. It was a large crowd, at least twice as big as his entire clan.
"Forgive me, but seeing you all drinking, talking and enjoying yourselves together here tonight makes me think you can." Adoile's smiling face passed by. She was stood just at the edge of the turning platform, close by as always. Axel stood behind her, he nodded when Raziel met his eyes. "Nosgoth is a vast place, my kinsmen, and full of riches of all kinds. If we can share them, rather than slaughtering each other over the smallest hamlet, there will be enough for all you monstrous, bloodsucking fiends!" They laughed, and he laughed along. "And so this war is over," he said decisively, and raised a hand for them to quiet down again. He lowered his tone. "I will let you in on a secret," he said, quite seriously. "There never was a war between clans. After all, there is but one clan." A few faces frowned. "Do we not all serve the same Master? Do we not all call the same man our sire?"
He waited, stretching the silence as far as he dared, before giving an imperceptible sign.
"Kain!" a voice shouted, somewhere in the crowd.
"Kain," he answered, and repeated it. "Kain."
The chant was picked up immediately, and spread throughout the crowd. "Kain, Kain, Kain," they shouted, punching the air and stomping their feet. He smiled broadly, unable to contain his pride. He'd done it. He had brought them here together, six clans, the six lieutenants. He could see Dumah shouting, although he could not make out his voice. Even Zephon's lips shaped the name of their master. Faster and faster; the chant turned onto a deafening racket that shook the ancient walls surrounding them.
It died abruptly, just as Raziel's ears picked out another sound behind him. The sound of tiny fluttering wings. His face fell for a moment -- this was supposed to be his moment, and now Kain would steal it. But this tiny sting of jealousy vanished as soon as he felt that familiar, heavy hand on his shoulder. Kain met his eyes for a moment. Was that the trace of a smile in the corner of his mouth? He stepped forward, and Raziel and Rahab stood behind his shoulders.
"My children," Kain started. All regarded him in a silence born of awe. Many of them had never seen Kain in person before. "It gladdens my heart to see you all gathered here, peacefully sharing drinks, dressed in silk and gold. It tells me the empire has not yet lost its shine. Centuries ago, when I set out to build a new empire upon the ruins of the past, and impose a new order -- my order -- upon the land of Nosgoth, I could not have guessed that it would one day be filled by a swarm of progeny as bountiful and powerful as you. Or, indeed, as loud," he added humourlessly and the crowd laughed. Raziel glanced at Rahab, who managed a smile. Kain reached out his hand, and robbed a surprised vampire in the front row of his cup. It flew through the air, and Kain's hand snapped around it effortlessly. Some of the contents spilled over the edge, but returned to the cup in defiance of the natural laws. "And why not?" Kain continued, "You are right to celebrate what you are, for you are as I made you, the true lords of Nosgoth! None but you shall inherit this festering world until the entirety slips into the abyss." He raised the cup in a toast. "So drink up, while there is time. I drink to you." He took a sip and a cheer rolled up from the crowd.
Kain passed the goblet to Rahab, and vanished once again into a flock of bats. Rahab drank as well, and passed it on to Raziel. Raziel emptied the last drops, and tossed the metal cup far into the crowd, where it immediately caused a struggle. Rahab laughed and shook his head. It was a mirthless laugh, the laugh of a man who might as soon cry. Raziel himself felt chilled by Kain's speech, the despair for the future it voiced. It seemed Rahab was not alone in the darkness of his mind. Was Raziel's own hope really so misplaced?
Melchiah looked out over the results of his hard work. In less than a month, his vision had become reality. The ruins of the round castle Westerburgh were reborn. The hand of time had taken all but its circular outer wall, which had been partially sunk into the ground by a long-dry river. Now, the first floor was filled with a steel construction, and one of the wide arched windows of what had once been the second floor functioned as the new gate. Melchiah's men had put in a new floor, an enormous ring made of wooden beams, turning slowly around the central staircase, now flattened and paved to be a still, raised dais looking out over the slowly circling floor. The vampire Marion was there now, instructing a group of young mortals all dressed in black robes with bright yellow sashes. They would carry around large metal cups of blood tonight, for all to share and partake.
Melchiah himself stood on top of the ancient wall, high above the rotating floor. Against these uneven, broken walls they had set six flagpoles with banners in six colours. They were blowing in a strong wind, and Melchiah looked up at the sky. His unusual hall had no roof, and he had nowhere to take his guests if it should rain. It would not rain, he reminded himself. It had not rained here in over two months. And yet, he could not escape the feeling he had overlooked something; that something would go irredeemably wrong. They would all be here, except for Kain. What would they say? What would they think?
With a shock, he recognised the figure that had appeared in the gate opposite. Raziel had arrived early. He was welcomed by Galen, his deputy, who showed him onto the turning platform. A large group of vampires poured in after them. Melchiah lowered himself onto the steel ladder that had taken him up here, and quickly climbed down to greet his elder brother.
Soon after Raziel, Rahab arrived with his entourage, and then Zephon. Even Dumah and Turel arrived on time, in spite of the long journey they had to make. Long before midnight, the old ruins of Westerburgh were teeming with life, vampires of all six clans milling around, testing each other, rekindling old friendships and feuds. The slave-children walked among them, their goblets raised above their heads, inviting anyone and everyone to drink and celebrate. After each revolution of the floor they returned to the arched window in the back where the cups were refilled from seemingly bottomless barrels.
Rahab watched the crowd uneasily. He was talking with some of Raziel's company, two of the older warriors who complimented him on the negotiating skills of his advisor Amadis and expressed their regret on the fire in Darheim. Rahab barely heared their words. He felt uncomfortably out of place. Melchiah's enormous machine created the impression that he was standing still, and that the old walls of the ruins, and indeed, all of Nosgoth, turned around them. He knew this to be an illusion, and yet he could not escape the feeling. The soft rumble of the machinery beneath their feet sounded like distant thunder, and the miriads of voices shouting, laughing and boasting around him seeemed to form one nightmarish cloud of noise. He nodded gratefully at the short vampire in front of him, guessing he had said something appreciative. Some distance away he could see Zephon, leaning possessively on a young mortal man; one of the four slaves Melchiah had offered him. He grinned unpleasantly at Rahab when he noticed him watching. Rahab nodded, and turned back to the two in front of him.
"Where is Raziel?" he asked, and just then he felt a hand on his shoulder. Raziel was flanked by his body-guard Axel on one side and his servant girl on the other.
"It's time," he said, grinning widely. He did not seem bothered in the least by this unsettling environment. Rahab followed him to the waist-high stage in the center of the hall; the only thing in the room that wasn't turning. They climbed onto it, and Rahab felt disorientated for a moment, as the illusion of standing still was replaced by the reality of having the room turning around him. He stood beside Raziel, shoulder to shoulder. He raised his hands for silence, and soon enough the din receded. He waited patiently until the entire assembly was quiet. Even the Turelim looked up at the platform silently and expectantly -- unusual, for their grasp of the concept of authority was generally tenuous. When the only sound was the distant rumble of the machinery below, he started to speak.
He repeated the terms of the peace treaty, and the reasons behind them, while the crowd revolved around him. It was a seemingly endless procession, their faces drawn in anger, fear, malice. As he pronounced the assertion that the Razielim and Rahabim would have nothing to fear from each other in the future, it suddenly occurred to him how many of them had come here bearing arms, how many wore armour. The desire for vengeance, for battle, for dominance hung like a vapour over all of them -- and why should it not? Were they not all Kain's children?
The treaty, this gathering -- it was all a lie. A damned lie, and surely, Raziel knew. Perhaps they all did. No matter. If Raziel wanted him to lie, he would: for his brother, for what they were, once, before everything began to fall apart.
"Anyone breaking the terms of this treaty will be considered an enemy of clan Rahab and clan Raziel," he closed. "Together, we will be stronger than ever before. I trust we can count on all of you." If nothing else, this might give the herd some short years of relative safety. Perhaps they would recover.
He looked over his left shoulder, where Raziel stood, smiling proudly. He stepped forward and took the word.
"Children of Rahab!" His voice rang out clearly, effortlessly reaching even those in the back. "My own clan, clan of Dumah! Turelim, Melchahim, spawn of Zephon!" Complete silence for a heartbeat, before he continued. "Does it matter? Are you all so very different that you cannot share the bounty of Nosgoth without clawing out each other's hearts?" He paused, and watched them as they glanced around and chuckled guiltily. It was a large crowd, at least twice as big as his entire clan.
"Forgive me, but seeing you all drinking, talking and enjoying yourselves together here tonight makes me think you can." Adoile's smiling face passed by. She was stood just at the edge of the turning platform, close by as always. Axel stood behind her, he nodded when Raziel met his eyes. "Nosgoth is a vast place, my kinsmen, and full of riches of all kinds. If we can share them, rather than slaughtering each other over the smallest hamlet, there will be enough for all you monstrous, bloodsucking fiends!" They laughed, and he laughed along. "And so this war is over," he said decisively, and raised a hand for them to quiet down again. He lowered his tone. "I will let you in on a secret," he said, quite seriously. "There never was a war between clans. After all, there is but one clan." A few faces frowned. "Do we not all serve the same Master? Do we not all call the same man our sire?"
He waited, stretching the silence as far as he dared, before giving an imperceptible sign.
"Kain!" a voice shouted, somewhere in the crowd.
"Kain," he answered, and repeated it. "Kain."
The chant was picked up immediately, and spread throughout the crowd. "Kain, Kain, Kain," they shouted, punching the air and stomping their feet. He smiled broadly, unable to contain his pride. He'd done it. He had brought them here together, six clans, the six lieutenants. He could see Dumah shouting, although he could not make out his voice. Even Zephon's lips shaped the name of their master. Faster and faster; the chant turned onto a deafening racket that shook the ancient walls surrounding them.
It died abruptly, just as Raziel's ears picked out another sound behind him. The sound of tiny fluttering wings. His face fell for a moment -- this was supposed to be his moment, and now Kain would steal it. But this tiny sting of jealousy vanished as soon as he felt that familiar, heavy hand on his shoulder. Kain met his eyes for a moment. Was that the trace of a smile in the corner of his mouth? He stepped forward, and Raziel and Rahab stood behind his shoulders.
"My children," Kain started. All regarded him in a silence born of awe. Many of them had never seen Kain in person before. "It gladdens my heart to see you all gathered here, peacefully sharing drinks, dressed in silk and gold. It tells me the empire has not yet lost its shine. Centuries ago, when I set out to build a new empire upon the ruins of the past, and impose a new order -- my order -- upon the land of Nosgoth, I could not have guessed that it would one day be filled by a swarm of progeny as bountiful and powerful as you. Or, indeed, as loud," he added humourlessly and the crowd laughed. Raziel glanced at Rahab, who managed a smile. Kain reached out his hand, and robbed a surprised vampire in the front row of his cup. It flew through the air, and Kain's hand snapped around it effortlessly. Some of the contents spilled over the edge, but returned to the cup in defiance of the natural laws. "And why not?" Kain continued, "You are right to celebrate what you are, for you are as I made you, the true lords of Nosgoth! None but you shall inherit this festering world until the entirety slips into the abyss." He raised the cup in a toast. "So drink up, while there is time. I drink to you." He took a sip and a cheer rolled up from the crowd.
Kain passed the goblet to Rahab, and vanished once again into a flock of bats. Rahab drank as well, and passed it on to Raziel. Raziel emptied the last drops, and tossed the metal cup far into the crowd, where it immediately caused a struggle. Rahab laughed and shook his head. It was a mirthless laugh, the laugh of a man who might as soon cry. Raziel himself felt chilled by Kain's speech, the despair for the future it voiced. It seemed Rahab was not alone in the darkness of his mind. Was Raziel's own hope really so misplaced?