Part 18 (1/2)

The Diary of Abraham Van Helsing, Cont'd.

22 DECEMBER.

Arminius was correct. Though I never again partook of his strange brew, my keener perceptions and ability to sense and control auras have remained and in fact been strengthened through further exercises under his direction.

Days and nights bleed together. It seems I have spent a lifetime under Arminius' tutelage, but it has been only weeks. I am in a perpetual state of exhaustion similiar to what I experienced in medical school, but my grisly studies are now of an altogether different breed of cadaver.

Upon occasion I find myself mysteriously transported to cities and towns across Europe, both eastern and western; this I know is due to Arminius' intervention.

Most times, however, I resort to more mundane means of travel and spend many hours in trains and carriages in search of Vlad's malignant sp.a.w.n. I have visited towns and cities in Hungary, Roumania, Austria, Germany, but I know little of them beyond their nighttime streets and dawn mausoleums. And with the rescue of each potential victim from the vampire's maw, with the release of each trapped, tormented soul, I feel my own powers grow.

I have written Mama and Gerda to explain my absence, but there was no way to put such words on paper and make them sound sane. I pray my mother understands. Coward that I am, I could not relay little Jan's true condition; I told them a far kinder lie, that the child was dead. I could not also break to Mama the news about Arkady and Stefan. That I shall save until I see her face-to-face-if ever that time comes again.

And what of my poor wife? So long as Zsuzsanna exists, Gerda remains in danger because of the marks left on her throat. I cannot rest until my darling is freed, and our child avenged. .

The Diary of Abraham Van Helsing 9 JANUARY 1872.

No respite. Stronger still. Though the task grows in some ways easier, the grimness of it pervades my soul. In the hour before dawn-the hour before I strike-the dark burden so oppresses me, I sink to my knees, silently crying out: Father, take this cup from me. . . .

But once stake and hammer are wielded, I and my victim release a final sigh, grateful for rest.

Justus et pius. I am harsh but just.

When finally I sleep-at odd hours parenthesised by sunrise and dusk-dreams of my family haunt me. Stefan, Gerda, Arkady-and most of all, little Jan. They cry out to me from their individual purgatories; they beg for help I cannot yet give.

Soon, my child. Soon.

The Diary of Abraham Van Helsing 23 JANUARY.

After a month traversing eastern Europe, I returned to Arminius' den for respite and further study. He has brought to my attention an ancient ma.n.u.script known as the Goetia, or The Lesser Key of Solomon, a guide to the summoning of demons. ”Understand this,” he says, ”and you will understand how pacts are forged, and how Vlad remains in communication with dark powers.” It is a fascinating and frightening subject.

But I cannot remain.

I dreamt again last night of little Jan-as the mortal child he once was, with guileless, loving eyes and his grandmother's sweet, even temper. But surrounding him was the bleak grey stone of Vlad's castle; and as the image coalesced in more detail, I realised he was held fast in Zsuzsanna's lovely, treacherous grasp, struggling to break free, holding out his plump little arms towards me: Papa, come! Please, Papa. . . .

He smiled at first-the scared, tentative little half-grin he sometimes gave when fighting tears. But the more he reached for me, the more the vampiress tightened her grip, forcing down his little arms and pinning them until the poor boy could not move, could do nothing but break into helpless sobs.

Oh, Papa, come!

And in my dream I wept in anguished frustration as the woman leaned her head down to cruelly bite his neck, her long hair loose and spilling over him like a blue-black veil. The barrier hid him so I could not see; but I could hear his feeble wail as she pierced him.

The detail grew sharper once more. I saw they stood together on the stairs, beneath the portrait of the Impaler, wavering with candleglow. And as I watched, the green-eyed image in the portrait stirred, moved, and turned its haughty gaze on me.

Mocking laughter.

And then a hysterical scream: Papa, come!

He is only a child; he cannot speak with the eloquence of an adult, yet his frantic tone conveyed to me a wealth of heart-rending information.

His torment grows daily, and no one but I can free him. I must go to him. His trapped soul has cried out in its anguish and touched mine.I woke, weeping and convinced. The dream was simple and swift but possessed of such emotional power that Jan's image haunts me during my waking hours.

After a near-sleepless night, I spoke of it darkly to Arminius this morning, over a breakfast of gruel with sheep's milk.

He did not reply for some time, which is his custom; and when he did, his tone was careful, his dark eyes averted. ”It is a common thing for a vampire to haunt the dreams of a loved one.”

”Perhaps,” I said, defensive. I sensed his disapproval, even though I could see no overt sign of it in his bland expression, hear no sign in his voice. ”But that does not mean he needs me any less. I am strong now. Strong enough to defeat Vlad and put my child to rest.”

He pushed himself back from the table, his eyes focussed on the oats in his bowl, and released a long, low sigh. There was no recrimination in it, yet I sensed a coming disagreement and tensed for an argument.

Again there came a pause. At last he lifted his gentle gaze and answered, ”Abraham. You are strong, true; but not yet strong enough to defeat Vlad.”

”But I am!” The helpless rage that had filled me in the dream overcame me again. I struck the table with my fist, causing the milk in my cup to slosh over the side. ”For the past two months, I have done nothing except rid Europe of the scourge of the undead! And none of them-none of them-could overpower me. None could escape. Two months of my life, gone! How much longer must I wait? How much longer?”

He fixed on me a look of infinite understanding, infinite pity, and parted his lips to say one word. Years.

At that I jerked to my feet, incensed, raving. I screamed as I flung my terra-cotta bowl against the mantel and took angry satisfaction in seeing it break into shards. Milk and oats flew through the air, spattering onto the mantel, the hearth, and poor Archangel, who leapt up growling.

”You are asking me to let my son remain in that- that h.e.l.l, with those two demons. You are asking me to surrender his memory, to surrender my wife, to surrender my very life, and replace it for years to come with purgatory for us all! I am strong enough, I tell you! Strong enough, and I can bear no more. Vlad must be destroyed, and now!”

At the calm compa.s.sion in his soft brown eyes, at the quizzicalness in Archangel's white ones, I gulped in a breath. And when I released it, I was startled and ashamed to find it accompanied by ragged sobs, torn from my very core.

I collapsed back into my chair and covered my face, struggling to regain control. A warm hand touched my shoulder; the act of comfort only brought more tears.

”Abraham,” Arminius said. His tone was gentle as a mother's, yet stern as a general's.

”There is no other way. Can you not see that Vlad manipulates you even at this distance?

He has grown weaker and fears for himself. So he has made your own son attempt to betray you-to draw you to him.”

His last words rekindled my ire; had he not said them, I might have listened, might have been convinced. But his insult to my child made me even more determined. I rose again and glared down at him with tear-blurred sight. ”Jan would never betray me! He is only an innocent child, and my son.”He studied me in silence for a time. And then I believe he sensed my resolve, for he sighed in weary defeat. ”You have free will, Abraham. Evil compells; goodness, by its very nature, cannot. I will not hold you here if you wish to go. But mark this well: I might not be here when you return.”

When you return, he said, not if. He was that entirely certain I would fail and come back begging for his help. The thought again rankled, and in my emotional, exhausted state, I made no effort to control my temper.

Instead, I went straightaway to my cot and gathered up my belongings. And just as I had so long ago stormed from my house in Amsterdam, slamming the door on Mama and Stefan, so I now slammed the door on Arminius without another word.

Chapter 20.

The Diary of Abraham Van Helsing, Cont'd.

With my cloak and my bagful of medicine and weapons, I strode out to the neighbouring barn, which housed sheep, a few chickens, and the two horses that had drawn my carriage. I fitted only one with reins and threw a blanket over her back in lieu of a saddle. The carriage I did not need. Though the last week had grown unseasonably warm and melted most of the snow, the mountain pa.s.ses were still treacherous and icy. My chances were better upon a single mount.

Thus I rode-foolishly, without provisions or water-until daylight waned. To my confusion, a journey that I remembered as taking no more than a handful of hours now took an entire morning and afternoon and part of the evening as well. By the time I reached Isten Szek- G.o.d's seat, the magnificently high snow-capped peak in the Borgo Pa.s.s-it was washed with the rose-orange tint of sunset.