Five
The Paradox within Me
I awoke to a ceiling of stone.
It was hard to open my eyes at first. They seemed to be forged tightly together, as if someone had crept upon me and sealed my eyes whilst I had lay resting.
The darkness comforted me and soothed my mind. I lay in the dark, still and peaceful and willingly forgetting the battle that had resulted in my falling into what had felt like the pit of the underworld. I clung to the darkness, savouring each part of peace that it did bring me.
In taking a deep breath I felt the pain and the tightness of the skin upon my chest. Such was a reminder of my previous battle and the hunter's last dying assault – a baneful attack of a desperate man hoping to inflict as much pain as possible with but one single strike before life faded from him entirely. He had hoped to destroy me, and yet had obviously failed, for as I lay in the darkness I became aware that my soul was still tightly anchored to what was my body.
The night before unwittingly came back to me in a sudden rush of memories. Rest had been only a temporary release, a state in which my mind could escape the shackles of reality and head briefly into a state of concord and solace where I did not have to think but could simply just be.
I recalled the night before and the battle that had taken place. The fire, just remembering its flames scorched the membrane of my thoughts and burnt the many chasms of my mind. I had forced such thoughts to the deepest depths of my consciousness, wanting to forget, to forget the heat of the flames and how they had seared my skin and burnt my eyes.
Raziel, I had left him fighting in the room above. Now as I lay in solace I wondered to whether he had ever made it out. Alternatively I chided myself, knowing full well that I already knew of the final outcome. Raziel had always been most confident in his skills. To think that maybe the fire had destroyed him was wishful thinking on humanities behalf.
Turel was still in one piece. I knew this because it was he who had pulled me from that burning building, and then had lied me down upon the cold cobblestones of the street outside. But I wondered about the others. What of Dumah and Zephon? Where had Melchiah been, was our youngest safe?
My body had not been terribly damaged – the burn was merely a temporary set back to which I needed to give momentarily into rest so as to allow my body to repair itself fully.
Turel and I – with swollen eyes and therefore an obscured vision – had watched the flames before us. The smell of fallen embers had filled the air, ashes drifting in the wind, the sounds that turmoil can bring, and the greedy banter of flames.
Flames had billowed towards the deep velvet sky, smoke rising in swelling clumps, and there had been the detached voices of those who were still inside the building. There was nothing we could do for them.
Before us the flames of the fire had continued to rise, the building alight like a beacon burning bright in the newly established night. How brutal for the beautiful night to have his cloak of darkness tarnished like that.
The fire had engulfed the scene with its heated dominance. It had been such a blasphemous act that these mortals had come in hope of destroying us, in hope of felling Lord Kain's realm.
I had tilted my head back to the night sky and brought my hands towards my face, so as to cover my eyes. It was subsequently then, as if to add insult to injury, I had noticed a banner lying upon the floor. Of all banners it was to be one with Lord Kain's insignia upon it, lying deep in the charred remains of wood. The insignia was now a dirty grey, the fabric it had been woven upon was no longer stable – the textile weave, having been embraced by the warmth of flame, began to fall apart in my claws.
I reached out for that banner and brought it to me, holding it tight within my claws and close to my chest as if in hope that such a banner was somehow connected to my sire himself, and in so me embracing it than perhaps I could draw some of Lord Kain's strength from its tattered remains. Of course such a thing did not happen, but seeing my sire's insignia brought me a strange and distant comfort that I guarded and hoarded covetously to myself.
"Rahab?" I felt Turel's claws upon my face, as it was he titled my head to one side. I allowed him to do so, still gazing through half-closed eyes at the ember filled skies above us.
"Your eyes..." Turel's voice trailed off. There had been a tone of curiosity within his vocals – the voice of some long forgotten philosopher discovering one of the many riddles of the universe. Nonetheless, such a tone had also contained the notes of uncertainty – suggesting that the philosopher, in discovering something new was brought to the ultimate conclusion that what he may behold in an aspect of a breakthrough may also change absolutely everything, everything he had based his life upon, everything – the very essence of his being becomes questionable. And he breathes, and he lives, and he becomes, but he constantly questions such.
For centuries we have subtly moved throughout Nosgoth. From the beginning we were the self-appointed gods – careless gods. The mortals feared us, and yet within this element of fear we also came across a slight aspect of respect. It was a respect developed through dread and a proportion of loathing.
And yet there came a time when, from mortals there evolved to be a select number who turned against themselves and chose to worship us. As our evolution progressed to become something more, than these select few would go out and hunt for us, turning against their own kind. At times they would even choose to sacrifice themselves to our hunger. Such was their devotion, or more so, such was their foolishness. To say the very least I admit that I found the worshippers that developed a little unsettling. What kind of creatures would turn against their own kin, I cannot say. Perhaps it is debatable that I am such a creature... Judge me how you will. But enough about that, and enough about them.
Conclusively we often saw ourselves as the gods of Nosgoth, or at the very least the willing servants, the children of Kain – a much more powerful creature than any of us – despite what Dumah would like to think.
I have told you of the times that a newly born vampire can get caught and ensnared within the moment of change, and how it is they come to think themselves as indestructible. The same can be said for the elders as well. One might say that with a vampire's age a facet of arrogance may develop, and for those foolish ones – ignorance. Even we, those who are the older ones of the clans, can presume that we are truly immortal in every sense of the word.
Time ages us in the implication that our knowledge of the world increases, and we become wiser for it. Time remains to be our bitter enemy, yet it also empowers us. A paradoxical situation if there was ever one.
Throughout time our bodies evolve. In the beginning we thought that our stages of evolution would simply make us stronger. But the matter was to be something more than just 'simple'. Little did we know of the sacrifices we would unknowingly throw out to fate, and that throughout time, each time we evolved, so the less desirable we would become.
Oh yes, each bout of metamorphosis made us stronger in many aspects, and therefore with every century that passed us by it was natural for us to think that we were becoming stronger because of it. Consequently when we did find certain weaknesses – such as my own weakness to fire and light – it was met with a manner of uncertainties.
Our minds and thoughts argued with us constantly. How could we be so strong, and yet so weak?
All in all we were contradictions of life, 'living' – and I use that term lightly – Oxymoron's, paradoxes within ourselves.
It was through a gaze of pain that I looked back up at Turel. "I know," I had replied.
I did not want Turel to see me like this. I did now want him to see my newly discovered weakness. I did not want him to know that but a glance at fire had caused me so much pain. I did not want him to uncover my own paradoxical element. But I understand that we cannot always get what we want, and as I watched him gaze down upon me I came to the chilling conclusion that he was already aware of it – aware of my weakness, aware of the paradox within me.
Turel should not have come for me. He should have left me in there. I came to a cold understanding, how could I serve Lord Kain with such a weakness, yet no added strength to compensate for such? I felt ashamed.
Yet all these feelings were a secret. I did not allow them to show. Instead I hid such emotions behind a mask of philosophical thought. They regarded me as the scholar, the learned one, and that is the mask I hid behind. Instead of ever showing fear or pain, I pretended to analyse it.
It would have been a way out, to just lie there in the shadowy chasm of rest. It would not be easy – it would be painful in fact, because that it how it is when one starves oneself. But if I had wanted to, I could have remained there forever. I could, if I so wanted to, allow myself to starve, allow my body to rot away like it should have done all those years ago, to cave in upon itself before collapsing completely to dust. That is what I could have done, to allow myself to join the dust of the ages. If I wanted to I could have given up on this world. If I had wanted to. But I did not want to.
True, there was a part of me going through a stage of self-doubt, a doubt that made me question myself. Deep inside I began to fear that I was not good enough to serve Lord Kain, to serve my sire. But if I were not in existence than who would see to the Rahabim? Besides, I have never been one for allowing my emotions to conquer me.
If there was anyone who I did not want to see me go through self-doubt than it was Lord Kain. He had very little patience for a useless emotion such as 'doubt', especially if it was developed from oneself. Did I wish to anger and annoy him, to make him think that he had wasted his time in pulling my soul from the hereafter, only to raise and nourish me? It was something that I did not want at all. Besides, what did self-pity ever accomplish? I was being foolish.
When I opened my eyes fully I was to notice the presence of dry blood around them. It had been this clotting blood that had sealed my eyes shut. With the back of one of my claws I gently wiped them clean, and then ran it down the side of my left cheek. It seemed that even in rest my eyes had continued to weep.
Understandably the aftermath of the fire made me feel unclean. I felt as if I wanted nothing more than to peel off some of my skin, especially the part of my chest that had been burnt. Such thoughts clouded my mind, and my eyes continued to sting.
I arose from a sarcophagus of the finest stone. Pushing the lid off slowly, I found myself feeling a little drained – no doubts from the side effects of healing.
The air of the crypt was damp and musky, an atmosphere that had been preserved this way in layers of filth for eternity. A cobweb from the ceiling wafted itself in the stale air and draped itself across my head so that it got tangled within my loose hair – truly giving me the stereotypical appearance of the undead.
Breathing at a slow and gentle pace I took in my surroundings. My need for healing had made someone bring me to what appeared to be a sepulchre, a mausoleum – and a grand one at that. The coffin I had been lain within was one of the utmost eminence. It was a heavy grey stone structure engraved with the images of what mortals throughout history have regarded as 'Seraphim' – divine, immortal, humanoid creatures adorned with feathery wings.
I stood silent and still within the sarcophagus base, looking around at the other areas of the crypt. Indeed, it was quite the place of grandeur.
As I went to step out of my coffin, so it was I pushed back the lid even further and took note of how much easier I found doing such. My strength was returning to me fully, at last. Well, that was something.
The walls and ceiling of the crypt were covered with the dust and cobwebs of time. I bent down and ran a hand over the discarded lid. There were engraved images here too, but this one depicted a long forgotten landscape of rolling hills and dominant mountains and a tiny village residing at such.
The lid itself was very heavy. It would have perhaps taken three strong mortal men to push it and secure it into place. Designed to be heavy, such lids were developed in hoping to stop what mortals named 'Thieves of the Grave' entrance to the coffin. It amuses me to think upon what reaction any thief would have given if they had hoped to plunder a tomb my brethren or I lay within at the time.
'Rest Eternal' the writing on the sarcophagus lid said, written in some archaic lettering of an old language. The writing went on to speak of someone from a certain town, but I never did discover who the person had been or where they had been from as the engraving of the names had long ago worn away. Regardless, from looking at the grandeur of where they had been laid to rest, I suspected that they had been someone of noble blood.
The exit could not be far, I concluded, and then nearly tripped over something upon the floor.
At my feet, upon the floor, lay some dishevelled form of a mortal, completely unconscious and evidently left there by whoever had brought me to rest in this tomb. It was a thoughtful gesture that they should think that I would like to feed upon rising.
I cannot tell you whether the mortal was male or female, because, to be honest I did not pay much attention, but instead put all my thoughts upon replacing the blood that I had lost.
"It is good to see that you are finally awake. The Rahabim have been asking for you."
There was a voice from somewhere behind me. I looked up from my meal and wiped the remaining blood from my lips.
Turel stood within the doorway of the crypt. So intent upon feeding, I had no longer paid attention to my surroundings and therefore had not heard the heavy stone door pushed open.
"I thought that I would allow you to heal and have a proper feed before allowing them admittance." He eyed the mortal I clung to. A glimmer of hunger shone deep within his eyes at seeing some of the blood I had carelessly spilt in a moment of greed, yet it was gone as soon as it appeared and he managed to take a hold of his lust and compose himself very well.
"I thank you for your consideration," I said, ignoring the trickle of blood that dripped down from the corner of my mouth. Drinking blood was not always a dignified moment.
As I continued to drink Turel studied me in one of his passive gazes – one that makes you wonder about what it is he is thinking, as you can never be certain.
The blood continued to fill me. I savoured each and every mouthful that I did take, allowing it to warm me and revitalise the dead cells of my body. Blood made me feel alive; it brought electrifying warmth to my body that echoed down my spine and sought out every capillary, filling them with life and nourishing me. It was ecstasy in its purest forms.
'This is our curse,' I had once read from an old scroll, 'to be cold to this world, to have to harvest the mortals of our land so that we are able to live. We hunger for them, those who once we had took beneath our wings – to teach and protect. Now we drink from them. Yet there are those who refuse to, those who can no longer stand the silence that our curse has brought us. They end their own lives with bloody tears and without hesitation.' Our nobility had come at a price throughout the ages.
It was strange that we were so dependant upon those we despised and those who in return loathed us. And yet, from the words of ancient tomes, history suggested that once our two races had lingered together in unison. That alliance, of course, was no more.
Turel approached me when I had finished feeding and did the same thing he had the night before – to take a hold of my face and tilt my head to one side. I glared at him, but he ignored me, and perhaps for my own sake I should be grateful that he did. He brought his other hand to my face and pushed back the skin near to my eyes as if to examine them.
I felt unnerved at being under such a scrutinizing gaze, uncomfortable with Turel being so near and gazing straight into my pupils.
"They seem to have healed for now." There was not one ounce or any trace of concern in his voice. At that moment, when he examined me to see if I was alright, it was as if he was not doing it out of concern for my health, but instead making sure that one of Lord Kain's warrior's was stable enough to fight, lest they put the remainder of the clans in trouble.
Turel was cold and aloof, but I respected him deeply. Out of all of us he seemed to be the one who liked to be on his own. He liked to be in the company of his brethren – should we be near, yet on the other hand should he find himself alone than he was content to be that way. Alone, with someone – he did not care either way.
"And are you fit enough to travel?"
"I am not some weak child, Turel."
"I never said that you were." There was the hint of a warning within his voice.
Turel was much taller than I, a looming presence that towered over me. Often he surveyed the world through a gaze of polite interest, or when in a more darker mood – a critical glance that could chill you to your very core. He was very much the dominant, silent type, one who could dominate a room without ever having to speak. With but one look he has been known to quieten a hall full of the most delinquent of fledglings.
"It is a precaution we have to take. If we were to be attacked within our journey home I am wondering whether the Rahabim Lord would still be with us come the end."
This time, having taken notice of the hint of warning within Turel's voice from before, I made no attempt to reply. I wondered if after last night's charade Turel was now beginning to doubt my abilities in serving Lord Kain. Did he think me weak?
"Turel – the night before –" I clenched my teeth and looked down at the floor. "I should not have been so weak."
"We all have our weaknesses." The lieutenant side to him faded to some extent. His gaze softened slightly and when he looked at me this time I hoped that he saw me as his brother, and not just some other vampiric warrior.
"Indeed. Regardless – I thank you for your aid and assistance."
A small smile parted Turel's lips, whilst with his claws he absentmindedly tapped the hilt of his sword – as if debating some important issue within the depths of his mind, and then he nodded. Once more his face became expressionless, and again he was distant – simply one of Lord Kain's lieutenants, as was I.
Seemly satisfied with my condition, Turel turned and left, the looming frame of his body dispersing into the darkness.
I watched the outline of his figure leave and relaxed slightly. My hand had rested upon the area where my scabbard usually hung; unfortunately it had been lost in the fire and I had had no reassuring hilt to rest my claws upon.
As I have said, I respected Turel, but also, deep down, I feared him.
)-(
I found Zephon sitting not far from the mausoleum. His back was turned away from me, his gaze fixed upon the town below – the mausoleum having been built upon a slight hill that over looked the town.
The Zephonim Lord was sitting upon someone's gravestone, his legs folded beneath him, his hands casually placed upon his knees.
He was our Subtle Prince – Prince of Chaos and Disorder, and Lust and Greed. To the mortals he was the Prince of Temptation, and the Prince of their Nightmares.
He was the most complex creature I had ever met. His emotions ranged from anything to cold resentment, passionate turmoil, or even a quiet aloofness – which would make you think that he was partly like Turel. Often times he was sly, conniving, and highly manipulative. Zephon thrived in chaos, mischief and disorder, and delighted in it all – especially if had been the one to create it.
But I have said that Zephon was a highly complex creature, and that is quite true. You see, Zephon was not just all those things – chaos, turmoil – he was everything. Sure enough I have seen him celebrate the downfall of others, but I have also seen a gentle side to him – though such was a rare thing to see indeed.
It was now, as he sat upon the gravestone, that I regarded him. He was in one of his thoughtful moods – a highly dangerous mood for anyone of mortal blood for him to be within. I always wondered what he was plotting in that dark and twisted mind of his when he was like this, for he had a mood that often suggested he would like nothing more than to attempt to complete domination of Nosgoth. Unfortunately for him that was never possible. Perhaps that was why he was always so bitter.
The graveyard Zephon sat within was one most typical – a piece of land scattered with tombstones of all shapes and sizes, some new, others old – broken and decayed – they stood as monuments to those who had long passed before us. Ivy creepers also made its home here, adding to the atmosphere of lamentation, choosing to creep upon and entwine itself around the oldest of memorials, interweaving itself deep so as to hold together the crumbling stone with its twisting roots.
There was a stone statue near to where Zephon was sitting, its empty gaze forever locked upon him in what almost seemed like a disapproving glare. It appeared that he had ignored it in the beginning; nevertheless, as I approached he was swift to get to his feet.
Standing, Zephon reached out for the statue. The nightly breeze catching strands of his dark hair gave him a wild and untamed look. I knew what he was trying to do. With an outstretched hand he was attempting to pull the statue towards him, using whatever telekinetic force he possessed. It cannot have been much, and I think in honesty he was trying to move something that was much too big for him, and should have started with something a little smaller.
I questioned this sudden try of displaying power. I have no doubts that he had somehow seen me approach, despite the fact that his back was turned to me. Was he trying to prove something? Perhaps he was trying to show that he was stronger than me, after all he did not seem to have been injured in the fire the night before. Maybe I was being paranoid.
Zephon pushed back the wild strands of hair with his left hand – his right still outstretched. He snorted and then flicked his right hand. Such a gesture sent the statue tumbling forwards. The statue listed on its base, bowed slightly as if it were a mortal performer descending from its stage and taking one last bow to the audience. Then, after a slight pause it fell to the ground.
"Very good," I said, announcing my presence behind him.
His gesture did not have the desired effect that perhaps he had hoped for, for though the statue lost an arm, it did not shatter. Nonetheless, this did not seem to matter. Zephon looked quite unfazed and yet quite content with the fact that at least now the statue was no longer giving him a stone clad, critical glare.
"Rahab," Zephon said, his hand still outstretched. His voice was filled with a false delight as he treated me to one of his mock bows and an impish smile. He was still standing upon that tombstone. The moonlight filtering behind his figure gave him quite a stunning look. To anyone passing, such a scene made him look quite the ethereal figure. He was wild and untamed and deadly. Standing where he did made him look like the Lord of the Graveyard – Death's princeling.
"It is such a privilege for you to join me." The sarcasm radiated from him. "Come brother, pick a gravestone and sit with me. Together, let us sing a lament for these mortal fools." His lips were painted with a dangerous smirk.
I was in no particular mood for his snide remarks and so indulged him with a smirk of my own; making sure that at the same time I allowed my canines to show – a warning to him.
I looked to the horizon and the town before us, taking particular interest in the smouldering carcass of the building that had been alight the night before. Simply, we had left the fire to burn itself out. Well, there was not a lot we could no to stop it.
"What damage?"
Zephon turned unexpectedly towards me – his expression as passive and as cold as ever. It was almost like the night before had never even happened, and that from the fire we had lost nothing. To him he was still in existence so nothing else mattered.
He snorted in distaste for the subject I was proposing that we talk about.
"What does it matter?" With arms folded across his chest he eyed me with a glacial look.
'What did it matter', he had asked me. Surely it mattered something? I knew that some of those who had been caught within that fire had been Zephonim. Did he try to make it seem that such had no affect upon him? Maybe he really was that cold and so far away from anyone else.
I tried to see past this façade. I tried to see Zephon in another light – that perhaps he was, like me, hiding behind a mask. That in truth things like loosing his own children did affect him.
Yes, I tried to see past this façade, but often failed because at times Zephon was simply careless.
Part of me suspected that Zephon's annoyance towards Melchiah was because, out of all of us, it was Melchiah who could see past the masquerade that Zephon preformed in front of us. I suspected that maybe – just maybe – his emotions could be just as vulnerable as the rest of us – though we all tried desperately to hide such. That these emotions could tear and shred his skin, causing him wounds and inflictions that he could never understand because he distanced himself so far from feelings.
Irrefutably, Zephon was not just devoid of life; he was also dead to emotion.
Zephon's clan was only just above Melchiah's, and so, not one of the strongest. With the factor of not being one of the strongest, only an emotion of coldness could be derived from one such as Zephon. He wanted his children to be strong, to be gifted as the children of the other clans. Regrettably, what he did not see was a clan before him that was gifted in many ways other than strength.
Thusly, in wrapping himself in coldness, I suspected Zephon knew he could avoid disappointment. Zephon taught himself not to expect much from his brood. Though through this feeling it only pulled him away from them, when they so desired to get close to their master.
The conclusion was inevitable. Through his remoteness he acted like it did not bother him. A mask, a cape of iciness that he drew close around him – such eroded Zephon. In the end he only lost patience with those who had what he could never possess – those of his brothers who had fine children, Melchiah who was the weakest of us all and yet had patience, and mortals – mortals who could feel love, warmth, life, and live only how he could wish to.
The children he had lost, and those he was always loosening, so he mourned for them secretly.
The silence that fell between us was deafening and uncomfortable. For moments Zephon reverted his gaze back towards the town ahead, eyeing it as if it was some growth upon the landscape.
"See not the damage they do?" Zephon gestured towards the landscape before us and sneered. "We must control the cattle. See not the delusional ideas they develop if we do not our eyes upon them? They call themselves hunters. They dare to think that they could possibly destroy us." There was the distinct note of mockery within his voice.
Zephon's thought upon the daringness of humanity in hoping to hunt us seems ironic now that I know what I do. How ignorant he was of his history – how ignorant we all were – of the life he had lived long before Lord Kain had ever breathed life back into that abandoned and soulless corpse of his.
"Vampire hunters have walked Nosgoth for many ages. They are nothing new. The fire of last night is simply the development of a newer group of mortals who feel bequeathed upon the idea of taking up their predecessors mantle. They are nothing."
"So much rational thinking, Rahab..." He eyed me with a deadly curiosity. "Tell me, what would you do if you found this new resistance?"
"I would deal and bestow silence upon them."
"Yet you could not even do that to one mortal. The girl who burnt your flag – was letting her live a favourable thing to do?"
"I need more servants," I said. I should have known that it was the perfect chance for Zephon to mock me. This conversation – spawned from a simple question of what damage had been created from the night before – evolved to become a moment for Zephon to take his chances in criticising me.
"I need to replenish the stock I am loosing."
"Oh?" He raised one eyebrow. "Or is it that you require more lovers?" With a snort of contempt he brushed past me, pushing back tendrils of his hair with a flourish of his claws.
"Perhaps the next time you burn yourself her blood can nourish you."
Something within me snapped. And yet I held myself back. I wanted to hurt him for saying such words to me, but all I could do was stare at his departing figure with such a look of contempt.
I held myself back. I was not like the others – for one I did not plunge myself into battle, my blade drawn without hesitation. No, that was not my style. Instead I waited, and watched, and thought, allowing the perfect chance to inflict revenge to come to me.
Maybe I held myself back from striking Zephon down because he was my brother – on the other hand, maybe not. All I know is that I never stuck him for such a comment. Perhaps I should have done.
I would have launched myself at him, hissing, and my claws close to his throat. 'Be still thy tongue before I cleave it from your misbegotten mouth!' That is what I would have said if I had been Dumah, or Turel, or Raziel. But I was not any of them – I was Rahab. That is probably why Zephon wound me up the way he did, because I would never be one to react as the others did, never be one to strike out at such snide comments. Zephon knew this. But that was to change.
My stance crumbled. Sitting, I propped myself up against another statue – its seraphic face emotionless as it gazed down at the sword carved between its hand. Wisely, this statue had chosen not to stare at the Zephonim Lord.
I could not forget about the fire, about the damage that had been wrought, and my weakness that had suddenly been displayed for everyone to see. Zephon's words to me were a simple reminder of my weakness. And such words haunted me.
That fire, the massacre of some of our own had been their statement – whoever 'they' were. They had left behind their own marking, their own banner – the mortals own insignia – an insignia to challenge our own. It was pathetic and absurd. Who would challenge Lord Kain? Though one could not help but admire them, admire their stupidity at least.
Fortunately the Rahabim had not suffered due to such an incident. The building had been the one to have more damage wrecked upon it than that of the clans. Yet the handful of children we had lost was still enough to raise our anger. How dare they even strive to do such a thing to us, to Lord Kain. How dare such a tiny wisp of a thought of opposing us cross their insignificant minds.
I sat at the feet of the seraph and brought my claws to my eyes as I remembered the brightness of the flames and the way it had affected me. I had never experienced anything like that before – like I could not even stand to look at light.
This statue dwarfed me, and for the first time in a long while I felt small and insignificant. Such was a feeling that I had not had since I was a vampire child thrown at the feet of a merciless world.
I looked back towards the mausoleum. There were two burning torches either side of the doorway, anchored to the wall. As I looked at the flames now, I discovered they did not harm me, and I felt no pain.
At the feet of the seraph and before the rolling and dying land of Nosgoth, I dared to hope that what I had experienced was little more than a unique experience. I hoped that it was something that had happened and could not be explained. But it did not matter, for I would not go looking for the answers, and such would never bother be again.
I was wrong.
They say that the questions we do not seek, we do not look for, or ask about, have the answers we fear to hear.
They are right.
Little did I know that eventually I would fall sway to such an existence – living within the darkest dark and clutching to the shadows, unable to stand the light.
Showing signs of sensitivity to light was but the first whisper of change, though it was not yet to develop fully. Even more so, I was not to be the one to evolve first. That privilege was to go to someone much more important.
Alas...
"Rahab?"
I stuck a hand out from behind the stone seraph and flexed my talons unenthusiastically so as to indicate where I was sitting, as the statue had hid me away.
"Zephon said you were here."
"Oh? And what other poison did he spill from that misbegotten mouth of his?"
Melchiah was taken aback by my acidic tone and gazed at me with caution. He became undecided, should he continue to speak, or was I best left alone to my own devices? Still, a message from Raziel was obviously one that Melchiah knew must not at any circumstances go undelivered. To defy Lord Raziel was to defy Lord Kain.
"Raziel sent me. I am to tell you that we are still to return to Lord Kain."
I nodded. The world could fall apart and we would still be loyal and faithful lieutenants delivering out Lord Kain's every order. That is how dedicated we were to our sire. It seemed that even a rebellious moment such as the night before would see us continuing our duties as if nothing had happened. We were steadfast, defiant and strong. What could possibly stop us?
"And what about here," I asked. "The fire and those who caused it, do you think that they will rest knowing that their task has failed and still lies unaccomplished?"
"Turel is remaining behind, he and Raziel have already discussed such," he said. "Fear not, the Turelim will find out who is behind this."
"Of that I am quite sure." There was bitterness within my voice. I had tried to hide it but it had reverberated upon my vocals before I could even stop it from slipping out. Nevertheless, Melchiah did not seem to notice, and if he did than he said nothing about it.
Why the bitterness? I was not sure if I wanted the Turelim to be involved. There was apart of me that saw this as my task. I thought that if I could find such mortals and deal with them than I could redeem my weakness and myself – that I could prove myself worthy and everyone would forget about my downfall the night before.
Furthermore, I wanted to please Lord Kain. If I could quell such a resistance than my lord would be very pleased. It is but a natural instinct to want to please one's master.
I was ambitious, but my ambition was one most silent. I strived to make myself a worthy member of Lord Kain's court and clan, I fought to keep up with my older brethren – training with my favoured weapons, fortifying my knowledge by reading ancient tomes – but all was done without much show. I learnt and trained but did so without voicing my aspiration of wanting to feel purposeful.
Once I had challenged and fought Dumah in front of Lord Kain so as to gain his attention and hopefully his praise. But all was done without the fanfare. I appeared calm, collective and always thinking – and such was my mask.
Melchiah's voice had lapsed into silence moments ago, but I had not noticed. Instead I sat leaning forwards on my knees, thoughts passing through my mind.
When I once again took notice of my surroundings it was then that I noticed Melchiah's silence.
When I saw Melchiah's face I knew that he was thinking along the same path as me. I could tell through his gaze that Melchiah half-wished that it were he who was stopping behind instead of Turel. But than, he was never given that chance.
Little brother, how it was you always wanted to prove something to our master – Lord Kain. How you wanted him to know that you too were gifted like his firstborn.
"Fear not Melchiah, your time will come," I whispered to him, standing up and lying a hand on his shoulder.
It was then that Melchiah took an intake of air, as if he was slightly nervous to ask what he was about to.
"You faltered last night, Rahab, was something amiss?"
"You saw me fall?"
"I saw Turel bring you out of that building. Your eyes –"
"It was nothing –" I lied. "Just a sudden moment if weakness, but it is gone now."
I concluded my words. 'But it is gone now', that had not sounded like my voice. Where was the calm, thinking and reserved vampire that I had been before that night, before that fire? The vampire who had spoken such words sounded uncertain, worried, and anxious that the weakness would return.
What was this – was I suddenly becoming so fragile? Even Melchiah could withstand a small amount of light, and yet I had shied away from such when even he had faced it.
How fit would Lord Kain see me if I were suddenly having a problem with light sensitivity. Was I fit enough to command one of his clans?
For a brief moment I was tormented with those forbidding thoughts. The incident shredded my mind. A weakness can be overpowering. My claws I clenched tightly together tightly, yet with care I put the matter aside.
I had only suffered this weakness once, maybe, and with hope, it would not happen again. Truly, I had spent the majority of time within the shadows and it was no surprise than that the sudden brightness had effected me so.
In the town below I began to notice a handful of my children, all awaiting my next orders. Now was the time to fortify myself, to pull my mind together, to make it strong and dispel of all thoughts and fears that I was growing weak.
I turned around to face Melchiah, giving him a look of approval. "You fought well within this, Melchiah. You organise and direct the Melchiahim effectively." I referred to the fight we had endured in taking over the land. I wanted to show Melchiah that at least he had the admiration of but one of us.
"Rahab..." he said, a little unsure. But I would not allow him to disagree. How could one hope to improve and grow stronger if they did not at least receive some appraisal, especially when one such as Melchiah received so little of it?
I gestured and motioned Melchiah forwards, directing him to the town below. Now was the time to finalise orders, organise the clans and then return home. Home – it had been but a few months and already my soul yearned for such, as did my children.
My thoughts were ironclad and firm. I would seek out this resistance and redeem myself. I would find them and quell them. But where they lingered we did not know. Raziel had asked me about the abbey and that ignited something within my mind. We had both agreed that such a place close to water would be ideal for humans to inhabit.
I suspected that the abbey was the key – and such became my obsession.