Part 15 (2/2)

He smiled at me first, then at the animal-who grinned, tongue lolling, as it thumped its tail like a dog in greeting-and asked the creature kindly, ”Is he awake, Archangel?”

And he bent down to scratch the wolf behind the ear. Archangel closed his eyes appreciatively and began clawing the air wildly with a rear paw.

I dared then to rise-still keeping one eye on the grinning four-legged predator-and took the proferred s.h.i.+rt. So awed was I by the entire tableau, and by the very fact that I had survived, that my voice was reduced to a whisper: ”How did you find me?”

His smile never faded, though he shrugged as if the answer were not important. ”I have a way of finding those who need my help. Come; you are hungry.”

He was quite right. I let him lead me to a kitchen with a much larger hearth, where a black iron kettle hung from a spit. He indicated with a nod where I was to sit-at a rough-hewn table and bench made from a few split logs. So there I sat while he ladled some of the contents from the ketde into a handmade bowl and brought it to me, then handed me a piece of brown bread. I waited for a spoon, but it was not forthcoming; instead, I lifted the bowl to my lips.

It was peasant fare: beet and cabbage and barley stew, but delicious and hot. I ate two bowls while my host crouched on his haunches on the dirt floor in front of the fire. The wolf joined him, curling upon the heated stones of the hearth while its master stared into the flames and stroked its head distractedly. I watched them both curiously as I ate; animal and human resembled each other in colouring and had the same gende, placid demeanour.

I ate until I could eat no more; and at the very instant I set my clay bowl against the unfinished wood, my host turned his face towards me to reveal his soft smile.

”Now it's time for you to talk.”

How could I not? The man's air was such that I had trusted him with my very life the instant I first saw him; and the devotion the huge wolf showed him impressed me no less.

So I told the story: of my life in Amsterdam, of how it was shattered by recent events, by Arkady's appearance and my brother's kidnapping and death, by my son's transformation into a vampire, by Arkady's destruction. I spoke, too, of my shocking discovery that I was Arkady's son and Vlad's heir-and that I was weak, powerless to do anything to help those I loved.

Desperate, I begged Arminius to come with me to the castle-to set my little boy free, to destroy Vlad. For I sensed that he was most learned in these occult matters, and very powerful-powerful enough, perhaps, to overcome the Impaler.

To my embarra.s.sment, my voice broke many times during the telling of the story; more than once, I paused to remove my spectacles and wipe away tears. Yet I should have wept oceans of them if I thought it might convince Arminius to aid me. I was determined that he knew precisely what help to give.

He listened to my emotional plea in complete silence and detachment, his gentle dark eyes focussed on mine the entire time. And then he turned his face again to stare into the fire.

The wolf woke and nudged his hand, and he stroked its head once, twice; the creature settled down again and soon fell into a dream, its front paws twitching faintly.

”I cannot go with you, Abraham,” he said at last. ”I am, like Vlad, tied to my dwelling, to some extent. Even if I were not, I could not raise a hand against him. You are the one who must accomplish this task, my friend. You have been awaited many generations.”

My frustration, my anger, were too great to hide. ”But I am not strong enough!”

He nodded at the fire, as though he were addressing it. ”Not now. But if you choose the correct path, you will be.” And then he gave a single, abrupt sigh. ”Of course-once you know what is required, you will resist.”

”No,” I said, vehement, intent on vengeance. ”I will do whatever necessary to destroy Vlad.

Only tell me what I must do.”

He turned his whole body then from the fire and faced me directly, sitting back and folding his arms round his s.h.i.+ns. ”Were you evil, I would send you to the Scholomance-the school where the Devil trains his own in the man tic arts.”

”If there's a school for evil,” said I, desperate, leaning across the table towards him, ”then surely there must be a school for good.”

He smiled at that, his thin lips curving easily into a half circle. ”Such a place dare not exist openly-nor even have a name, as it would be under constant attack from its enemies. Here is the problem, Abraham: In order to fight evil, we must know evil. In order to prevail against Vlad, you must possess equal power in order to defend yourself and those you love.

But such power brings with it terrible temptation.”

”If I am to defeat Vlad, then I have no choice.”

”No.” His expression saddened. ”No choice, to fight one such as Vlad. Others have tried; none has succeeded.”

”Have you tried?”

His eyes widened slightly with surprise before he quickly averted his gaze; he rose to his feet and halfturned towards the fire, which cast a tiger-lily-orange glow upon his face, his sparkling white hair.

”No. I have not tried, though I have advised odi-ers. But they did not possess the . . . unique opportunity you do.”

I lifted a curious eyebrow. ”Which is?”

Again, he studied the fire rather than meet my gaze and, after a long pause, replied, ”You have your mother's strong will. Believe me, you will need it. Even during his life, Vlad was cunning and bloodthirsty, known throughout his small kingdom of Valahia-better known to you as Wallachia-for his acts of sadism and torture. Oh, his people loved him for the victories he won over the Turks-but his ferocity in battle had nothing to do with courage or honour or love for his land. Only two pa.s.sions drove him: the thirst for blood and power.

The pa.s.sing centuries have only made him crave them more.”

His eyes looked upwards and sideways, beholding the past; curious at the conviction in his voice, I said, ”You speak as though you knew him.”

He glanced back at me, his lips curving upwards ruefully, shyly, as though the truth embarra.s.sed him. ”I did. Born under the sign of Sagittarius, the year the English burned Jeanne d'Arc as a heretic-perhaps an omen of other evil to come.

”I knew his father, Vlad Dracul, sent to the city of Buda as a hostage of Sigismund I. And his grandfather, Mircea the Old, who ruled many years, and his greatgrandfather Basarab the Great, who defeated the Tatars.” The wolf beside him growled in his sleep; Arminius laid a hand upon him. ”Yes, I know, Archangel. The Draculas, as they have since come to be known, were a family of great intelligence, great shrewdness, great political ambition-but, I am afraid, not great wisdom, despite the fact that many of them joined the Sholomonari.”

I frowned at the term-though I was far more puzzled by his a.s.sertion: Did he truly mean that he knew Vlad's forebears? That he was older, by at least a century, than the Impaler?

”From King Solomon,” he explained. ”The Sholomonari were comprised of the most brilliant minds in Eastern Europe. They devoted themselves to alchemy-the search for immortality; or, if you will, the philosopher's stone. But after a time, many of the Sholomonari devoted themselves to evil rather than good. Those inclined to wickedness studied at Sibiu, over Lake Hermanstadt, at the Devil's Scholomance; and each learned the art of pact-making, some for temporal gain, others for more lasting treasure. Vlad's father and grandfather were Sholomonari, as was Vlad himself. He and his forefathers used their powers to further their political careers.

”But Vlad possessed a streak of cruelty and craving for power beyond theirs-perhaps because his own father cold-bloodedly surrendered him as a child to the Turkish sultan, as a hostage-and he soon discovered a way to have eternal life, eternal blood. Thus was the pact you know as the covenant born. Like his own father and grandfather, Vlad thought nothing of surrendering his own kin, if it brought him gain.”

A terrible realisation came to me. ”So if there have been and are many Sholomonari . . .

then are there also many vampires?”

”After a fas.h.i.+on,” he said. ”The sort you know have all been created by Vlad's bite. There are others, though, of another nature-as many kinds, perhaps, as there are bargains with the Devil. Different men seek different things. Vlad sought immortality laced with blood and terror, for such brought him pleasure.”

”And how is it you know all these things?” I asked; my curiosity had bested me, although the question seemed impudent, almost rude. ”About the Scholomance, the Sholomonari, and Vlad?”

I expected he would not answer; my head was swirling with romantic superst.i.tions about a secret organisation of Sholomonari dedicated to uphold good, and his being sworn never to reveal the source of his vast occult knowledge. But answer he did-after a moment's pause to stoop down and thoughtfully stroke the sleeping wolf's flank-with words I could never in all my life have imagined: ”Because, my dear Abraham-I, too, am a vampire.”

Chapter 18.

The Diary of Abraham Van Helsing, Cont'd.

I could do nothing but stare at him, thunderstruck by his admission; a sudden chill of fear overtook me. Had I been so wrong to trust this quiet stranger? So wrong about the atmosphere of goodness I sensed here? Had I fled Vlad's castle only to walk into the beast's very maw?

He saw my discomfort and a sad, self-deprecating smile fleetingly curved his thin lips beneath his drooping mustache; then his expression once again grew sombre. ”I do not mean to frighten. But it is the truth.”

”Who are you?” I demanded softly, without knowing I intended to pose the question.

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