Chapter 14: Seek and ye shall find
Germany, 1939
"May I sit beside you, my son?"
Without turning his head, D glanced up at the priest. He had a kind face to match his kind voice. He was in his 60s, with neatly combed white hair and faded blue eyes behind round glasses. D nodded slightly and the old man settled onto the pew next to him with a faint sigh. It was just before dawn, and they were the only two people in the church.
"The Wehrmacht began the bombardment of Warsaw yesterday," the old man remarked after several moments. "Did you know?"
"No," D said softly.
The priest shook his head grimly. "This new war will be worse than the last," he predicted sadly. "They sent more than a thousand aircraft to bomb that city. Can you even imagine it?"
D said nothing.
"War is the story of the world," the priest said. "I suppose it is because there is war inside all of us, constant war." The priest studied D out of the corner of his eye, his expression one of compassion and understanding. D inclined his head in another faint nod.
"I couldn't help but notice that you come here quite often," the priest went on apologetically. "And I was wondering if you would like someone to talk to. If there is anything I can do to help…"
"I'm waiting to see if God will answer my questions," D said, unsure of why, after thirteen years of brooding over those questions alone, he felt comfortable admitting it to the white-haired old man.
The priest smiled. "You've been coming here for two years," he said. "But never to mass, only late at night or in the very early morning, and you sit here for hours staring at the cross above the alter. You have incredible patience, if you are only awaiting an answer from God."
"I wouldn't presume to set God's schedule," D said. "No matter how many years I must wait, it will be worth it if He really does answer."
"That's quite different from most people," the priest remarked amicably. "So many lose faith if their prayers aren't answered immediately."
"That is because their lives move forward so quickly," D said softly. "They cannot afford to sit around waiting for God."
"But you can," the priest said. It didn't sound like a question, so D didn't reply. The priest followed D's eyes up to the cross. "What are your questions? Perhaps God will provide answers through me."
D closed his eyes. "Very well," he breathed. "What is the power of a cross?"
The priest was taken aback. He had expected the somber young man to ask why God allowed evil or suffering or injustice in the world, something like that. "The power of a cross?" he repeated, blinking. "Why, a cross is just a symbol. It has no 'power' of its own."
"As a symbol, then. What is its power as a symbol?"
"It reminds us that Christ died for us," the priest said.
"The cross is the symbol of mankind's salvation from sin," D muttered, as if he had repeated it to himself many times. He shook his head. That wasn't enough of an answer. Then he looked the priest in the eye. "My next question is much more difficult," he said, his voice cold. "Why was it that Joseph of Arimathea gathered Christ's blood in a cup?"
The priest nodded to himself, carefully considering the question and the young man who asked it. "That, of course you are aware, was the cup that Christ drank from at the last supper." He met D's gaze evenly. "You must understand that the body and blood of Christ provide us with spiritual nourishment."
"Spiritual nourishment," D said, his expression deeply troubled.
"Yes. When we receive the Sacrament of the Eucharist, we become closer to Christ… it helps us to resist temptation, and it reminds us that in Christ we have everlasting life."
"Everlasting life," D repeated. The priest thought he sounded a little sarcastic.
"Christ promised us: 'He that eateth my flesh and drinketh my blood, hath everlasting life'," the priest reminded him.
"Yes, well, back to my question," D said. "If Joseph of Arimathea took Christ's blood in order to drink it, why not take some of Christ's body in order to eat it? Why take the blood, and not flesh too?"
The priest looked at D strangely for a moment, and then sighed. "My son, I cannot answer that question. But maybe I can still help you. Have you any mortal sins to confess?"
D looked startled.
"Have you offended God, and fallen outside His grace?" the question was gentle, rather than accusatory.
"I… yes. I have been tempted."
"Temptation is not sin," the priest told him.
"Yet I wanted to sin," D said. "And to feel such overwhelming temptation… I must be beyond God's grace."
The old man shook his head, smiling. "'There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.' " D caught his own dumbfounded reflection in the priest's glasses. "You didn't commit the sin, did you?" the priest asked.
Slowly D shook his head no.
"There is someone I think you should meet," the priest said, standing and moving into the aisle. "Go to the cathedral of Naumburg. It is a small town a hundred miles north of here on the Saale river."
"And then?" D asked.
"Just go to the cathedral. His name is Raban. Perhaps after all these years, God has answered his questions… and if so, then he will be able to help you."
D studied the priest for another moment, and then stood. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I'll be on my way."
The priest looked at him critically. "Is that wise, my son?" he asked. "The sun is rising."
D smiled, unsurprised and not the least bit offended. "I think I can guess what sort of 'person' Raban is," he muttered. The priest shook his head.
"He's not quite what you think," the old man said.
"Neither am I," D said, and made his way to the door.
Several days later, D arrived in the small town of Naumburg. When he found the impressive medieval cathedral, the first thing he noticed was the smoke billowing from one of its spires. D confronted the first person he saw.
"Your cathedral's on fire!" he exclaimed.
The man looked at him mistrustfully. "New in town, eh?" he said, and continued down the street. At a loss, D found another passerby.
"Excuse me," he tried again. "But it seems the cathedral is on fire."
"Don't worry, it's fine," the middle-aged woman assured him. "Every day from sunup to sundown, smoke pours from that tower. No one's sure what it's from, but it's been going on for months and there doesn't seem to be any damage." She shook her head. "A miracle, maybe, but a mystery, certainly," she said, and went on her way.
As soon as D set foot inside the gate, a naked girl came running towards him. D stared at her coldly. She didn't smell human, but she couldn't be a vampire either. She ran right up to him and grabbed his left hand before he could react.
"Hello!" the girl said, addressing the palm of his hand. The demon's face materialized.
"Well hello," it replied, just as cheerfully.
"What brings you here?" the girl asked breathlessly.
"I'm looking for someone called Raban," D said, but the girl ignored him, and continued staring raptly at his hand.
"He's looking for someone called Raban," the demon explained.
"Oh! How tantalizing!" the girl said, and then she disappeared.
D stood there holding up his left hand in the air, stunned.
"Obviously this is not a normal cathedral," his hand remarked.
"What was she?" D asked, perturbed.
"A demoness, clearly," his hand answered. "It's been millennia since I've seen one so pretty. Or seen one at all, actually. That she can run about so freely here… well, this ought to be quite an educational experience for an infant like you. Let's go check out that tower."
Statues seemed to stare at him from every wall and corner as he made his way through the cathedral. At last he found the stairs leading to the burning tower, and made his way up them. As he climbed the stairs he heard whispers and laughter coming from the stones around him.
"Lots of demonesses," muttered his hand. The smell of the smoke was getting stronger and more foul with every step. D recognized it with a twinge of sickened dread: the stink of burning flesh. At last he was at the top. D opened the door to the balcony, and winced instinctively at the scene he found outside.
A proud figure stood bare-chested on the balcony, facing the setting sun. Its hands were clasped behind its back, and it was entirely engulfed in flames. D clenched his teeth. Looking closely, he could see that the vampire's skin was burning away and simultaneously regenerating.
There was no doubt in D's mind as to the identity of the dying vampire.
"Raban," D said a strong, quiet voice. "Come inside."
The vampire spun around. "Doesn't anyone respect the dying anymore? Can't you see I'm busy killing myself at the moment? Can't it wait until dark?" he snarled, but then his expression changed.
"Oh, it's you," he said hatefully, and, in a swirl of flame, he headed towards the door. Once in the sanctuary of darkness, the heavy wooden door shut against the sunlight, the vampire's steaming skin instantly smoothed and cooled. There was a shirt and vest hanging on a peg beside the door, and by the time he had put them on, he was completely healed. He was a little taller than D, but with the same broad-shouldered, graceful form. His black hair was cut relatively short, but still seemed untidy. His eyes were deep and shone like red glass. This was obviously a pureblood, and D had never met a vampire with a presence so much like his father's.
"You're remarkably powerful," D commented.
"Save your flattery, mutt," the vampire snapped, heading down the stairs. "Come!" Raban called, and D followed him, completely at a loss. At the bottom of the stairs, Raban opened a tall wooden cabinet and took out two swords. One of them he tossed to D, who caught it instinctively by the hilt.
The vampire, meanwhile, assumed a fencing stance, pointing the tip of his weapon at D's chest. "Come on then, let's get it over with," the vampire said, sounding bored.
"… I don't understand," D said quietly.
"I won't go along with his dreadful 'conquest', but I won't let the likes of you kill me for it, either."
"I'm not here to kill you," D said. "A priest told me to find you." Raban blinked. His eyes were like cold wine. Then he lowered his sword.
"Oh, I see," Raban said, and stared at D for several frozen seconds. "What year do the humans call it?" the vampire asked distractedly.
"1939," D answered. Twenty-five years ago, his father had asked him the same question.
"Ah," Raban said, and put his sword back in the cabinet. "It's only been 40 years, so I suppose he might still be alive," he muttered.
D had no idea what was going on. Then he remembered the sword in his hand. Wordlessly, he offered it to Raban hilt-first. Raban glanced at the blade, and then up at D's expressionless face. The vampire smiled.
"Keep it," he said. "Now follow me. I have what you're looking for."
"What am I looking for?" D asked.
"The Holy Grail, of course," Raban replied.
"Go ahead and drink from it if you wish," Raban said, carelessly tossing the cup to D.
"This is…" D whispered, awed. His fingers were quickly going numb.
"Yes, the cup which first held Christ's blood, the one they've been making the fuss over for who-knows-how-long. I daresay a dhampir never touched it before. Well, 'let us proclaim the mystery of our faith', as they say. Try to take a sip, I'd like to see what happens."
"You're sure I …can?" D asked. The vampired nodded. Feeling delerious, D raised the ancient artifact to his mouth.
"It's just water," he choked, lowering the cup again. Raban smiled.
"Interesting," the vampire remarked. "If you were a vampire, of course, you'd taste blood, although it would nearly kill you. And if you were a human, the water you just drank would sustain your life supernaturally. I often wondered whether a dhampir would taste blood that wouldn't kill him, or water that wouldn't keep him alive. It seems the latter is the case."
"So what's the connection?" D asked. "Vampires, crosses, blood, water, death, and immortality- where does it all come from, and what does it mean?"
Raban stared at him, and then laughed, revealing long white fangs. "You mean your dear old dad never told you?" he laughed. "Of course he didn't. He doesn't know- none of us know. I've studied the matter for centuries, and the only thing I know for sure is that our species must die out eventually. We cannot survive. Even if his plan succeeds, and we enslave the humans, still, we are doomed. Most likely your father has already realized this, but prefers to chase his blasphemous dream because it's much more amusing to go on existing than to become extinct obediently."
A/N: I first made up this suicidal vampire character for a different story, and I liked him so much I figured he ought to show up in this story too, and have a pretty important role at that. I actually had his character in mind when I wrote Dracula's part earlier- you'll find out why in the next chapter. Raban is a rationalizer- and just a bit cynical. He's tired of being so smart and clever. I think the best word for D's character is "gloomy". Dracula's sort of a combination of both of their characters, with a lot of pride thrown on top. Anyway, Naumburg Cathedral is, of course, a real place. And now it's 1939 and we're in WWII! The parallels between Nazis and vampires is too good to pass up. At first it sounds dumb, but if you think about it for two minutes, really the Nazis were a lot like vampires… but I'm not about to write a thesis on it or anything.