Disclaimer:
Gabriel Van Helsing and Carl are not mine. Anastasia and any other characters the reader does not recognize from the movie belong to me.
Notes:
First and foremost I would like to extend my gratitude and appreciation to lembas7, whose wonderful story "LAEVA DEI" inspired me to write this. That wonderful piece of fanfiction proved that Van Helsing could successfully be written on a theological slant, and that other people would actually be willing to read it as such.
This is my first piece of fanfiction, and I would greatly appreciate any reviews and/or constructive criticism my readers can offer.
Bellatrix Sancta
Chapter One: His Newest Assignment
Vatican City
October, 1881
Dawn was unfolding, its first rays crawling slowly up the bases of the statues in the Piazza San Pietro, when the clatter of hooves on stone broke the stillness.
The rider was clad entirely in black, from the wide-brimmed hat to the toes of his well-worn boots. Thundering across the plaza on a coal-black horse, he seemed as if he did not belong here.
But then, if he did belong anywhere on this earth, it might as well be here.
As Gabriel Van Helsing alighted from his horse, he handed the reigns to a waiting attendant, making note of the young man's reluctance to meet his gaze. The youth gaped in wide-eyed horror at Van Helsing's blood-stained garb. The hunter just waved him away irritably.
Letting out a ragged sigh, Gabriel straightened his attire to make it as presentable as he could, before entering the gates.
He hadn't gotten far before a familiar voice called his name.
"Hello, Carl," he said absently, letting a tired smile flit across his face for the first time in a more than a week.
The disheveled friar fell into step beside him. "How was Seville? I don't suppose you brought anything back?"
"Perfectly dreadful. And, no, of course I didn't." Pulling his crossbow off his shoulder, Van Helsing tossed it irreverently to his friend. "That needs work…"
'Wait! Van Helsing!"
Blast! Almost there…
Turning away from the hall that led to his room, and, consequently, away from any chance of rest, Gabriel faced his friend. He knew what was coming. He needn't have asked, but he did. "Yes, Carl?"
"Cardinal Jinette would like to see you."
"Can't it wait until I've washed the blood off?"
"I'm afraid not. He says it's of great importance and to send you in as soon as you arrived."
"Carl, he always says that."
"We've had quite an event while you've been gone, Gabriel." Van Helsing was surprised to hear his given name spoken; it was a sure sign of Carl's anxiety. He was also surprised at the desire to curse, but reminded himself that he was on holy ground.
It seemed to Van Helsing that the cardinal had made it his life's work to stand between Gabriel and a peaceful night's rest. He was forever asking the impossible and upbraiding Gabriel when things did not transpire as he would have liked. But for some reason, Gabriel Van Helsing kept coming back. A need for answers, perhaps? At times, Van Helsing wasn't sure he would ever know.
"He's waiting for you in his office." Carl prompted.
With an incoherent snarl, Van Helsing stalked off toward the cardinal's apartments.
"Your assignment is complete?" Cardinal Jinette asked pointedly.
"Need you ask?" Van Helsing retorted. He'd only just entered the room and he already felt cross.
"Your failures are rare, my son, but they do occur."
With that one statement, the cardinal's whole demeanor changed from one of accusation to one of fatherly concern. Gabriel marked the change and it made him uneasy.
"Your next assignment may be of greater gravity than you know, and I'm asking you now to have an open mind, and a serious one, as you embark on it."
"As always, Your Eminence." Van Helsing said dryly. He felt fidgety sitting there, gazing at the red-robed cleric.
The cardinal became stern at this hint of complacency. "Not as always, Gabriel! Your sobriety with this task is everything!"
'Look, Cardinal, you haven't even told me what's going on! I don't know what you're asking of me…how can I assure you until I know?"
The Cardinal seemed deeply disappointed, and suddenly, very sad. "As you wish, Gabriel. Come with me."
As they traversed the maze-like hallways, Cardinal Jinette related the events of the past week.
"…Father Ambrose of Lochlere was the last of nine to die, leaving a trail across two continents, all the way back to this poor soul."
"Forgive me, Cardinal, but usually, when someone leaves a trail of dead people in their wake, it's because they killed them."
"She is not the killer, Gabriel. She is a victim, the only one to survive thus far."
Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "She?"
"Yes, young, not yet twenty, I should think. We can't get much out of the poor soul. For the first two days, she was not truly conscious. As it is, she's quite delirious. I thought of you, actually, when she appeared."
"You thought of me?"
"Yes. She came to us in much the same manner you did: more dead than alive, with no past to speak of."
"You said you couldn't learn much from her…"
"We couldn't. She's worse now than she was five days ago. Briefly she spoke to us, before the fever set in. We learned very little because she was very confused. When we asked where she had come from, she couldn't answer, nor would she tell us who attacked her. We asked if she could remember being in London. She didn't answer but I could tell that she did not."
"Does she have a name?"
"There is a hard trial!" the cardinal admitted. "She has sought many people in her delirium, but she never spoke her own name. We are fortunate that among her belongings, we found a journal. Assuming it belongs to her, her name is Anastasia."
"Couldn't you find some clue where she's been by reading the journal?"
"Our linguists are translating it as we speak."
"Translating?"
"Yes, that is the curious part. The memorandum itself does not appear to very old, but it is written in an ancient mode of Latin."
"Send it to Carl."
"I shall send the friar to with the manuscript as soon as they finish transcribing it."
Jinette paused in his tale as they came to a large set of double doors. Gabriel recognized them as the entrance to the Healer's Ward, a place wherein all the apothecaries and physicians employed by the Holy Order perfected their craft.
The Cardinal gaze Gabriel a quick, appraising glance. Jinette regretted now not letting Van Helsing clean himself up before they met. He looked quite gruesome, even forbidding, in his black, bloodstained attire.
"Take off your hat."
The comment was half order, half suggestion.
Gabriel did as instructed. The action gained a satisfactory nod from Jinette, and Gabriel was motioned to follow the Cardinal into the healer's ward.
The air within the ward was cool, smelling faintly of balms and healing herbs. The cardinal lead Van Helsing past rows of sick and injured, lying on white cots, being tended be monks and nuns. The caretakers gave him dark looks as he passed.
Cardinal Jinette led him through another set of doors and then another, until they were far deeper into this section of the Vatican than Gabriel had ever been. Van Helsing was surprised when the cardinal stopped before a small, nondescript door, and fished for the key among the scarlet folds of his robe. As they stood outside, Gabriel could hear faint, but frantic cries coming from within.
Jinette drew the door open cautiously and motioned for Van Helsing to enter. The hunter stepped over the threshold with the cardinal close behind.
Gabriel was a bit staggered by the sight that greeted him. The room was windowless, with walls of time-worn stone and a gently sloping ceiling. The only light came from an oil lamp that rested on a table by the far wall. A small bed and chair were the only other furniture in the room. But little of this occupied Van Helsing's attention; it was fixed on the form that lay on the bed.
The blanket was drawn up to her chest. The girl's arms lay atop the coverlet, her hands clutching fistfuls of white linen intermittently. Her face was pale, and the damp chocolate locks that lay arrayed on the pillow testified, along with her nonsensical cries, that, among other things, she was in the throes of a violent fever.
Inexplicably, Gabriel found himself drifting toward the bed. He studied the girl with an intense gaze, as if trying to see through to her heart with a glance.
Between the half-articulated babble, Gabriel caught snatches of what sounded like Latin. He could not understand the words, but they were clearly pleas for help, desperate and heart breaking to hear.
The very sound of the words left Gabriel swamped with half-faded memories and nightmares, memories of a time long gone, of battles that, to have witnessed, Gabriel would have had to have been dead for centuries, but whose recollections haunted his sleep with startling clarity.
Gabriel glanced at Cardinal Jinette. "It's Latin, old Latin…"
"The only language to proceed from her lips."
"I don't understand what you want me to do."
The cardinal turned his eyes from the girl and met the gaze of the Order's most renowned warrior.
"To listen, my son."
Van Helsing looked back at the prone figure on the bed. "But I don't understand…"
"Then I suggest you pray, Gabriel. I have told Brother Matteo that you will take his watch over the patient today."
Before he could protest, the cardinal had retreated from the room and left Gabriel alone with the patient, and alone with his memories…