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3 The Baron’s Land, Halifax
Joseph had moved his head as they drew the noose tight. It had caught under his chin instead of against his windpipe. Had they dropped him, his neck would have quickly broken; as it was, he would more likely die of thirst or starvation than strangulation. Every once in a while, his guard would poke him with his dagger to see if he was still alive and was rewarded with a kick for his troubles. Joseph’s thoughts were tortured, filled with the images of what the Baron would do to Suri, believing her a slave.
Hours had passed when just out of his line of sight, he heard a sound. Apparently the guard heard it as well, as his footsteps were heard moving towards the brush. A few seconds later there was a half-shout and a snap, followed by the thud of a body hitting the ground. Joseph tried to swing himself around to see who it was, hoping it was someone come for him. His movement was arrested by a cold, hard hand on his ankle. The grip was strong and held him still easily.
“Still alive?” came a graveled voice as hard as the hand. “Such spirit and temper, such utter piss and vinegar should not be wasted.”
Joseph felt his boot being removed, and a sharp object cutting into his hose at his calf. The cloth tore easily, and the foot of his hose was ripped away and cast aside. He kicked, trying to free himself from the hand.
“Hold thyself still, my boy, else thou’ll kill thyself before I have done with thee.” At that, Joseph felt the hot breath against his skin and two sharp teeth sink into the flesh of his ankle into the vein there. The blood coursed hotly from him, and he could feel the growing weakness and encroaching cold which had little to do with the night air. He struggled uselessly, and cursed himself for having allowed himself to fall into the power of first one fiend and now another.
A few moments later, weak as a newborn and well near dead, he saw something flash past him, moving upward too swiftly to follow. The limb swayed as if beneath an added weight, then the rope snapped, and Joseph tumbled to the ground. He hardly felt the impact, was aware only of the blood from the previous evening’s sacrifice still staining the grass. The strange man was before him now, and the smell of blood was suddenly fresher. Something was forced into his mouth. He tried to turn his face from the burning saltiness, but he was held fast. Having no other choice he swallowed.
The liquid was hot, sanguine and thick. It burned not just in his mouth, but all the way down, like a raw liquor. The heat began to spread and he could feel his limbs go leaden, felt his body slowly dying around him. Poison, he thought.
The man chuckled. “Aye, boy. Poison. The poison that gives back more than it takes.”
Joseph’s eyes closed in spite of himself. The sleep of death was pressing heavily upon himself. Silently, he begged God for forgiveness of his failures and to accept him even unshriven.
Suri was awakened suddenly by a sound at the door. She clutched the blanket closer about herself, shrank back into her corner. The Baron strode into the room, not bothering to carry a light with him. He stood in the doorway as it was closed and bolted behind him. The retreating footsteps on the stair told that there would be no witnesses and no interference. He grinned at her, cold and evil. His otherwise lifeless eyes laughing at her.
“Hiding yourself, slave? You will quickly learn you can hide nothing from me. Not even your beauty.”
Suri sat straighter. “I am not slave, Seńor. I am a Sufi Ascetic: a holy woman and a seer.”
“Of course you are a slave. You come North with a crusader, how else would you be brought? As a wife?” he laughed.
“With respect,” she replied simply. “As I said, I am a holy woman and seer.” She stood, knowing that her only hope at this point was to stall. To fight him was what he wanted, and would cost her dear. She only needed enough time. “I am of far more use to you chaste than used as chattel.”
He smirked, “Oh really?” He reached out and snatched the veil, tearing it and the fillet from her head. Her hair flowed into her face, brought alive by static electricity. “Oh, my beauty, I think not. You will comfort me far more by warming my bed. I have heard of the women in the sultan’s harems, and the decadent pleasures they can introduce a man to.”
“You will be sorely disappointed, Seńor,” she answered calmly. “I have been raised as a Christian nun is raised, in near total isolation and know nothing of physical pleasures, either that of normal men and women, or that of your mythical harem slaves.”
“A virgin are we?” he grinned, tore the blanket away from her and pulled her close by her wrists. He breathed deep of her, unfazed by the cold defiance in her tigery stare. “Then I shall delight in your education.”
“Touch me and you will destroy my gift of sight. A prophetic sight you might find useful in the very near future.”
He bent close to her throat, breathed carefully against the creamy golden expanse, delighting in the shivers it caused her. “I have other ways to see the future. My own witches whose powers do not rely upon their oh so fragile virginity.”
She hissed against his ear. “To touch me is to sign your death warrant.”
He pulled back, his face twisted by a black scowl. “You dare to threaten me?”
“I speak only the truth, Seńor. I am incapable of lying.”
He smirked with contempt. “And would you lie to save your life, little one?”
“No. God provides. If my life is threatened, then it is his wish and his will. I cannot violate the tenants of my faith, nor the oath I took as a child. I tell what I know. Touch me and you will die.”
Now he laughed in earnest. “Ah, your sight is either false, or you are lying now! For I cannot die! The angel of light has sent his agent to see to that. I will live on this earth forever, with morsels such as yourself as my playthings.”
She looked him in the eye, her own slightly misty as the vision passed before her. “You will die, naked and cold upon the flagstones of this very room. A victim of your own arrogance.”
He backhanded her. “It seems I must teach you who is master.”
A shadow emerged from one of the tapestries. A silibant whisper echoed through the small chamber. “The princess will learn that soon enough.”
Suri’s eyes flew to the figure behind the Baron and widened in terror.
The man smiled, dark and oily, his skin a near black with ritual marks scarred into the flesh of his face. “Yes,” he hissed in Arabic. “I know who and what you are. I have hunted you for a long time. I delight that you have somehow fallen into my lap after all these years. Trust me, princess, you will be mine before you serve him as a proper slave.”
Sorieya’s scream rent the night, echoing painfully off the stone walls of the keep.
Joseph opened his eyes to see the strange, scraggly man crouched over him. There was an ache in every bone of his body, especially his neck, and there was the distinct taint of blood in his mouth. He focused on the man staring expectantly down at him. He was dark of hair and eye, but the color was indefinable in the moonlight. His skin had a deathly pallor to it and there was a painful silence all around. Fearing suddenly that he had been struck deaf, Joseph spoke. “Who are you?” he demanded, was almost surprised to hear his own voice.
The man smiled. “For the time being I am called Martin.”
Joseph sat up, rubbed the rope burns on his wrists. “Did you cut me down?”
“Aye.”
“Then you saved my life, and I owe you, Martin.”
The man chuckled. “I’ve done a bit more than that and not quite what thee think, my boy.”
Joseph looked at the man, studied him, suddenly not trusting his tone. “What do you mean?”
He shook his head. “There will be time enough to explain later, Templar. Right now,” he began, still squatting on his heels, and stared into Joseph’s eyes with a penetrating stare, “I hear that the Baron has taken thy slave girl to his castle. I am certain his intent as we speak is to rape and devour her.” He gestured to the bloodied altar behind them. “Much like he has been doing to poor Margret. Only he will not be taking his time I fear.”
Joseph lurched to his feet. The man stood, grabbed hold of him to steady him.
“Easy. Thou art still a newborn, and weak without blood.”
Joseph shrugged him off. “What are you talking about, madman?”
Martin hit him in the gut with his fist. “Thou feel that? A gnawing hunger in the pit of thy belly? It’ll get worse, until it consumes thee. Control it, or thou wilt do worse to thy lady fair than she faces as we speak. Do not over extend thyself yet, but move with haste. If thee move with caution, no one will see thee. She is more than likely in the East tower. Scale the Southern wall to the parapet. Take out the guards and enter the tower from there. Thou’ll only have two, maybe three flights of guards to fight through, if any. When thee have her, flee South. Thou’ll come across an old abandoned barn. Meet me there and I will explain everything.”
Without another word he turned and disappeared into the shadows of the forest.
Joseph began to run towards the castle. He was surprised to discover how swiftly he was moving, covering the mile twixt grove and keep in shorter time than a racing horse could have done. And as he neared the high stone walls, he could feel the evil within, pulsing like a living heart. In fact, he could hear, or feel the beating of many hearts within those walls, and the knowledge disturbed him.
He slipped unseen to the South wall and looked for a place to climb. There seemed to be no significant purchase anywhere for hand or foot. He was beginning to think his benefactor was indeed a madman when he heard a familiar scream from high above him. That cry put the spurs to his hide. He grabbed at the rough stones and began to pull himself up easily. It was an impossible act, but it was only moments before he was hanging from the crenelations waiting for the guard to pass. He could not see the man, but he knew he was there, and exactly where he was. He could hear the man’s heartbeat, and his blood sang to him. The gnawing in his gut grew, burning with a need to be filled.
Joseph forced himself to his task, leaping over the battlements to seize the guard, silencing him with a broken neck. He quickly ran along the battlement to the tower door, headed for the spiraling staircase upward.
Suri was only half conscious, only half able to struggle as her clothes, so meticulously put on her, were roughly stripped from her. She was keenly aware of the cold iron manacles on her ankles that bound her to the foot of the bed. Her back was protected from the icy flagstone floor only by the woolen blanket that had been carelessly dropped there. The Baron held her arms, pulling her straight, admiring her small, golden body and her perfect skin.
“So beautiful,” the dark man purred in Arabic, stroking her belly with frozen hands. “She will be so sweet.” He drew a cruel, curved dagger from within the folds of his robes, turned her face towards him that he might watch the terror in her eyes.
To his fury, the girl only prayed in her half conscious state. Quoting the Qur’an over and over again like a litany. There was no submission or begging in her face, no whimpering of terror. Feeling cheated, he made a small cut on her throat, just over the artery, somewhat more roughly than he had intended. The blood spurted, flowing faster than he could drink as he quickly bent his mouth to her. He drank greedily, until the flow slowed, the pulse loosing its haste.
“Hasid…,” the Baron reminded him.
He raised his head, remembering his toady. He turned, made a small incision on the inside of her leg and left the dog to drink with his own perverse greed. Let him think it was the drinking of mortal blood that lent immortality, he thought. It will distract him from the true secret.
Whilst the Baron’s focus was upon his own thirst, Hasid made a discrete cut down the length of his finger and forced it into the girl’s unconscious mouth. She choked on the blood suddenly flowing down her throat, but swallowed. They always did, knowing or otherwise. It was a reflex. He smiled, feeling her life begin to leave her body as the Baron sucked at her shapely leg. He could feel, sense, smell the change overcoming her. He rose. Let the dog have her tonight, he thought. Come tomorrow evening, when he was certain of everything, he would whisk his prize back to Syria, back to his master. Smiling, he faded back to the wall and the secret passage out of the chamber.
Joseph was amazed by the ease with which he slew the few guards that tried to prevent his passage through the tower. It was as if he were fighting boys, or practice dummies made of thinwood. They broke easily. One or two blows and they toppled, screaming. And their blood… their blood sang to him still, begged him to stop for a sip. Enraged by these unclean thoughts, he rushed upwards, believing it all to be some perverse trick of the castle or some spell placed upon it like the grove.
At the top of the stairs he was suddenly confronted with a choice of three doors, all of which had external bolts on them, though there were no guards here at the moment. He paused, tried to orient himself enough to make a choice. Then he smelled it, to his left: The overwhelming stench of fresh blood, and the tiniest hint of lotus blossoms. He bellowed, kicked in the heavy oak door without bothering to throw the bolt.
On the floor, naked and covered in blood, was Sorieya, beautiful even in the midst of the gore. Raising himself from her body, half-naked and covered in her blood, was the Baron. The Baron met his eyes for a brief moment, and began to hiss arcane words. Joseph charged like a maddened bull. The two slammed into the side of the bed, knocking the wind out of the Baron. Joseph reacted on instinct. The hunger was too great, the blood too prevalent. He seized the Baron by the hair and arm, violently exposing his throat. He then bared his teeth and sank them into the tender flesh.
The Baron screamed, flailing his arms wildly, but could not dislodge himself from the fierce grip. All his struggles were in vain as Joseph drank his life away, his own mortality suddenly quite evident.
Joseph did not stop until there was nothing left. He would still have kept sucking away, but something moved against him. He let go, looking back, saw a flutter of movement and a tiny moan from the naked girl. Suddenly remembering his responsibilities, he bent to her, letting the Baron’s empty husk fall. He listened for a heartbeat. Silence within her paling chest, yet she moved. Her hand touched his, weak, but living. She was ice cold. Quickly, he wrapped her within the blanket on the floor and lifted her easily in his arms. He started to stand and felt something try to jerk her from his grasp. Behind him, he heard the bed move. He turned, saw the chains and laid her down again.
He searched the Baron’s body quickly, then the pile of clothes discarded a few feet away until he found a ring of keys. He tried several before he found the right one. He threw the chains and the keys aside and picked her up.
He met only a few more guards coming down again, come to investigate the absence of the current dead. Hefting Suri to his shoulder, these died as easily and quickly as the last. He moved out onto the battlements as the alarm was raised. Without thinking, he leapt to the crenelations and jumped to the moat as a hail of arrows filled the air around him. Getting to his feet on the far side of the murky water, he shifted her weight to carry her more easily and ran across the darkened moors Southward.
4 The Road To York
Joseph turned towards the old building the moment he saw it on the edge of his vision, not remembering or knowing why. The building was silent save for two hearts and their restless shifting, and smelled as if neither man nor beast had occupied its dusty space for many seasons, if not years, until this evening. The door opened on rusty hinges, and complained again as he swing it closed behind them. Sensing the horses, Joseph stiffened, tried to locate other life and found none.
He carried Suri up to the loft and laid her carefully in the ancient straw. It was not until he drew back part of the blanket to check for life that he noticed the presence of another. He looked up to see Martin bending near him.
Martin gestured his head at the unconscious girl. “Thy work?”
Joseph struck him in a rage, throwing the man halfway across the loft.
“I guess not,” he muttered, picking himself up.
“The Baron did this to her,” Joseph snarled.
“Oh, I doubt that,” he said easily. “But as thee say. Is the vampire dead?”
“The Baron is very much… Vampire?”
Martin laughed. “Thou still hasn’t figured it out have thee?”
“Figured what out, madman?” Joseph demanded.
“What I’ve done to thee. What has happened to her.”
Joseph looked down to where Suri stirred in the straw.
Martin moved past Joseph to kneel beside her with a wineskin in his hands. He uncorked it and pressed it to her lips, forced her to drink the still hot liquid.
Still half aware, Suri drank. There was a strange saltiness to it, and a purity that seemed to cleanse the foul taste in her mouth. Clutching the blanket about herself, she slowly sat up. Her hunger staved off for the time being, she refused more. Martin shrugged and recorked the skin.
He plopped himself down nearby and watched the pair. Joseph knelt beside her as she frowned, looked down at her bloodied hands, and rethought the taste in her mouth. Her tigery eyes slowly widened as she realized.
“What, what is it, my heart?” Joseph asked, holding her tight.
“It’s gone. My… my sight. It is …gone!”
“I was too late then. I had thought I’d killed him before he could ravish….”
She grabbed his shirt, looked wild-eyed up at him. “No, he did not. Something else has… happened to me. It is another taint. Something… foriegn. My body feels… dead.”
“That’s because it is.”
She looked over at Martin, seeing him for the first time. “Who are you, seńor? Are you friend or foe?”
“Father, actually. To the Templar here, anyway.”
“You are not Don Halifax,” she answered, shaking her head.
“No. I am not. I am called Martin. And I am his father in a way. The way of the blood.”
Joseph growled, starting to move towards him, but Suri held him back. “He tells the truth. Let him explain.”
“How do you know he tells the truth?” he asked, but obediently sat back, holding onto her protectively.
“I do not know, but that I know. Please, Seńor Martin. Explain yourself.”
“A wise girl, Joseph. I’d keep that one real close. Might help thee with that hot head of thine.” He uncorked the skin and took a long swig before setting it aside and settling back against one bale. “I, thee, the lady and that black bastard up at the Baron’s castle, are vampires.”
Joseph scoffed. “Ridiculous! I am a holy knight of the cross! There is no possible way that I have become one of the damned. And there was no black skinned man in that castle.”
Suri’s blood froze.
Martin hung his head and sighed. “Damn it! That means I have to go myself and deal with the fiend. I was hoping thou wouldst take him by surprise and do the job for me. But I should have known better.”
Joseph looked down at Suri, saw her reaction and tried to comfort her. “There is no way he can be telling the truth, Suri. You are a holy woman.”
“He tells the truth, Joseph. There was a black moor in the castle. He… drank of me, and fed me of his own foul blood. He has tainted my soul with his evil. Damned it? No, I think not. Others cannot damn us, Joseph.” She looked up at him with dark tears in her golden eyes. “Only we can damn ourselves, by forsaking our faith and our God. Others can only tempt us, or send us early to our fates.”
“Thee know she’s right, boy.” Joseph glared at Martin. “I gave thee life when thou weret dying. Remember that. What I have given thee is a powerful gift if thou use it right.”
“A curse…”
“Nay, a gift. Aye, there be drawbacks: what thou know of legend, sun and fire. Crosses? They only work if the wielder truly believes. Or if thou believe it will. I have heard tell of one of us who can repel us with the power of his faith alone. There are those of us who are evil, aye, and it is they who make what we are a threat and a terror to mortal kind. But there are as many of us who are good, some even holy. Girl, if thou wast a holy woman, thou art a holy woman still. Unless, of course, thy faith wavers. Some of us view the change as a test of our faiths, some as a damnation. Other simply as another phase of life. However thee sees it, it is still what thou art. Get used to it, or kiss the sun come dawn. Though that is technically suicide, which, by thy faith, Templar, I believe is the gravest sin?”
“You are not Catholic?” Joseph accused.
Martin chuckled. “Is she?”
Suri put her hand on Joseph’s arm to calm him.
“Does it really matter?” The question hung like an accusation in the air. “See it as God having sent me to save thee, to help thee save her. See it however thou wilt. Do with this new life whatever thou wilt. Just remember. Let any mortal know what thou art and thou risk us all in a witch-hunt, not to mention the hundreds of mortals innocently accused, and those that will be killed by our kind defending themselves. Vampires are as individual as they were in life. Just remember, thou dost not have to kill to survive. If thee take only what thee need, and keep thy nature secret, thou canst live without running away for the rest of thy unlife. Which, I might add, could be a very long time.”
“How… how old are you, if I may ask?” Suri asked softly.
“I’ve lost track, honestly, my lady. But I remember a time before there was a Holy Roman Empire, a time before the invention of the word Christian.”
Suri forced herself to think, “Joseph, we have to go away. You cannot remain here, as much as you may wish it. Every one here believes you dead. And if you were to turn up now, with the Baron dead, there might be other inquiries, other justices brought to bear. It is far too dangerous.”
“Heed the lady, Templar,” he chuckled again, “though thou canst hardly call thyself that anymore. I have work of my own to do. I have been tracking that black devil a long time and I cannot let him escape now, not when he is so close, or I would stay and teach thee all thou need to know.”
Joseph did not restrain himself now. “You made me, the least you can do is own up to your responsibilities!”
“Joseph!” Suri admonished.
“Tell thou what. Go to York. There is a small conclave of our kind there. Enough for a prince to have laid claim to the surrounding area.”
“A prince? We have royalty?” Joseph scoffed.
Martin shrugged. “When any group of any like individuals congregate for a period of time, some kind of government will form. In York, he fancies himself a prince. I hear he actually was one in his breathing days. Be that as it may, thee will find people there who will teach thee. Who will help thee. In fact, go to the Bishop there. He is one of us. He will help thee. It is, after all, his Christian duty,” he scoffed.
Martin got up, tipped an imaginary hat to Suri, waved to Joseph and jumped from the hay loft to the floor of the barn. The horses whickered in distress, already upset by the smell of blood so near. Their neighing reminded Suri of her request to Daniel. She turned to Joseph, distracting him from his anger.
“If I am right, those should be your horses. And our things should be with them.”
“Why? What would they be doing stabled here, so far from…”
“Because last night, I told Daniel to have them here,” she answered in a quiet voice, not meeting his eyes.
Joseph stopped. “You knew. You knew all of this would happen, didn’t you!” he accused.
“I knew something ill would come of your…” she bit her tongue. “I only knew to tell Daniel to have our things here and ready for a journey to York if we had not returned by nightfall. Having seen what became of us, he no doubt obeyed, knowing why.”
“Then he should be around here somewhere,” he said and started for the ladder to look for him.
“If he was wise, he will have brought the horses and gotten far from here, as I asked him to do.” Suri knew, somehow, even as she said it, that he had not. She dared not question where he might be, only prayed for his soul to be permitted entry to paradise. She rose slowly, still wrapped in the blanket, and moved to the ladder. “I need water.”
Joseph let her move past him to the floor of the barn. He started to follow, but saw her go to a low trough that someone had filled with fresh water and decided to stay in the loft for a little while. He heard the blanket fall to the floor, then the soft splash of water as she rinsed away the blood from her body.
By the time she felt clean enough, Suri’s skin was pink under the golden pallor from the vigorous scrubbing she had subjected it to. Even still she felt unclean, unworthy to pray, though she knew pray she must if she ever hoped to be clean again. She crossed to the packs, so thoughtfully draped over the wall of an empty stall, dug out the rubbing cloths Daniel used on the horses and dried herself with it. She wrung out her hair and tied it in a loose knot. Looking around, she found her chest in the back of a stall with Joseph’s few things, and opened it.
She was ritualistic in her dressing, using it as a focus to clear her mind. It felt good to have her salwar trousers on again, to protect her legs against the English cold. Not that she was really aware of the weather anymore. The coldness in her soul bothered her more at the moment. The silk of her spare blouse was a small but welcome comfort, to feel such softness after the coarse wool of that horrible red dress. Taking out her heavier, wool shawl, she found a silver and turquoise belt of delicate links with tiny clapperless bells. Slipping it around her hips, she wound herself back to respectability in short order. She drew on her second veil, white silk with a layer of white fringe and edged with fine gold lace. She only wore it for special occasions, but now it was all that she had. She had only owned one pair of shoes and those were back at the Baron’s castle. She put on her thin silver bangles one by one, methodically, clasping the filigree hand net carefully. The few rings she owned, she placed on her hands, and placed a long silver chain around her neck and tucked it into the folds of her tunic. Upon her head she carefully set the black and gold, coined scarf, fringing her brow with a double row of tiny disks of hammered gold. Over this she drew the tail end of her shawl, then closed her chest.
She crossed to the stalls, laid a gentle hand on the smoky grey nose nudging her for comforting. “Joseph, we should go.”
He glanced down the ladder to see if she was dressed before descending. “Why? This place is abandoned. It seems safe enough.”
She sighed. “The Baron is dead Joseph. They know this by now. Soon they will realize you are missing. If they even suspect that you are still alive, they will hunt you. Once the alarms have gone off, the vampire that made me will know soon enough that I am not within the castle. He will search for me, I am certain. And when they search, they will search the abandoned places.”
Joseph shook his head. “More likely they will search North, thinking we seek refuge in Scotland.”
“Even so, we should not be here come morning. We should sleep better farther from here.”
Joseph sighed, giving in to her wisdom for once, and moved to saddle the horses.
Dawn saw them far Halifax, when they took refuge in a poacher’s cabin deep in the woods. They slept back to back with a blanket thrown over them for protection. Sleep was fitful for both.
Joseph woke just at twilight, hearing the distant bells of a church calling a village to Vespers. Sliding himself out from under the blanket without disturbing Suri’s still sleeping form, Joseph cleaned himself up and changed into his only other tunic and hose. He crept quickly out of the small shack, drawing a cloak about his shoulders and pulled up the hood. He followed the sound of the bells, running the first few miles till he came to the edge of the woods and could see the path and one or two villagers straggling down it. He quietly fell in with them.
Suri woke after full dark, somewhat confused for a moment. Then she remembered. Everything. She shuddered, turned to Joseph and found him gone. She looked around the tiny shack slowly, saw the horses still pressed against each other on the other side of the small room, and his things, still resting beside hers. She relaxed, knowing he would be back. She rose, took her prayer rug from her chest, and walked out of the hut. She found a small clear area very close to the building and laid her rug on the ground. Fetching the waterskin, she ritually washed her hands and face, using as little water as she could, knowing that, though they would not need it, the horses would.
Freshly washed, she knelt to her prayers.
After the mass, Joseph slipped into the confessional. He was nervous, more so than he had been in years. What could he say? And how was he to say it without causing the priest to hunt him, or curse him for damned. Would he be denied the absolution he so desperately needed? He took a deep breath, said a silent prayer for the right words and crossed himself.
“Forgive me father, for I have sinned. It has been too long since my last confession. I… I am a crusader, father. When I was fighting in Spain I rescued a woman from violation, a nun. I brought her back with me from Spain as my ward, as having saved her made her my responsibility. I brought her to my home and… my rash temper… put her into mortal and physical danger. Her soul, too, was placed into jeopardy. Now, because of her I was forced to kill a man to protect her.”
“This was hardly your fault, my son. If she was endangered by this man, then you did right in protecting her.”
“Father, she would never have been in danger if it had not been for my hot head and rash behavior; if it had not been for my pride in my own self righteousness.”
“Then that is a grave sin indeed, my son. Pride is one of the deadly sins, and so it has proved in this case. I would charge you with a pilgrimage, but you have been to the holy land, shed blood to recover it, therefore that will not suffice.” The priest was silent for a long time.
“Father?” he prompted softly.
“As I said this is a serious sin. You have allowed your own pride endanger your holy charge. You must search your heart, and be honest with yourself, for God will know the truth of things. Decide that which is most valuable to you,… and you must give it up. Surrender it to God, pass it on to an heir or to a needy soul. Pray for forgiveness, and that your sacrifice will make you more self-aware, more careful of falling into the traps temptation and human weakness lead us.”
Joseph’s heart froze, for he knew without a doubt what he valued most. It would be difficult to explain to her, but hoped that she would understand. He prayed that she would understand. He did not hear the rest of what the priest said, but silently took his leave, pausing before the Madonna to cross himself.
The pair of them rode in silence for many miles. It was well past midnight when Suri spoke. “What ails thee, Joseph?”
It was the moment he dreaded, having to tell her. He took a moment to compose himself and frame his answer. Suri waited patiently.
“I have been to confession.”
“Confession? To whom and to what have you confessed?”
“To the priest in the church in the village this evening. And to my sins of the past week. The gravest ones, anyway.” Feeling her stiffen in fear, he held her tighter before him, reassuring her in a soft voice. “It is anonymous, Suri. The priest could not see me, and the confessional is a sacred trust which cannot be broken. Besides, I did not tell him about that.”
They both knew what ‘that’ was. She relaxed somewhat, leaning back against his chest. “Why?” she asked. “Why did you do this thing?”
Joseph sighed. “When a Christian commits a sin, he goes to the church, to the confessional and confesses his sins in hopes of absolution. Sometimes the priest prescribes Hail Marys, Our Fathers or other prayer vigils to absolve the sin. Sometimes… sometimes the penance is harsher. Anywhere from physical chastisement to pilgrimages.”
“What is penance?”
“It… it is what you are given to do in order to atone for the sins of the flesh that the spirit might be cleansed. If you enter the penance with true remorse, when your penance is served, your sin is absolved, erased.”
She thought about it, carefully. “Like paying the penalty for a crime.”
“In a way. For the most part it is far more private and need only involve the priest and the penitent.”
Another mile disappeared under quiet hooves.
“And what penance has he given you, my bold warrior?”
She waited.
“Joseph?”
“My sin was deemed one of…” he sighed deeply. “I must give up something. I must surrender that which is most dear to me, which I would find hardest to give up.”
“And what have you assessed that to be?” Suri knew the answer before she asked. His very manner told her that.
Silence.
The answer came so quiet that only her newly intensified senses heard it. “You.”
Sorieya did not say anything for a long time, lost in thought and prayer. It worried Joseph, she knew, was certain he was waiting for some kind of reaction. She remained calm, mulling over this idea of penance. She had accepted the idea that Joseph must do whatever he thought best to save his soul. She had also concluded that he would take her at least to York, would find her a safe haven even if he had to return her to the Holy Land himself. He would not just abandon her. His honor would not allow it. As for her own soul….
Her thoughts were interrupted by a hard voice blocking their passage. “Hand over yer valuables and no harm’ll come to ye.”
She opened her eyes. Joseph had already reined his horse in, and was glaring at the two men blocking the road with crossbows leveled. The second, smaller man was already reaching for the reins of the pack horse, keeping the crossbow level. Behind her, she could feel Joseph stiffen, knew that anger and hunger both were upon him.
“The sword, toss it down,” the bandit ordered.
Joseph obeyed, but sneered. “I need no sword to deal with the likes of you.”
“Brave, but stupid.”
“Perhaps,” Suri said, catching his eye. The man was trapped in her gaze, hypnotized by the beauty they promised and quickly filling with lust and curiosity to see what lay hidden from sight.
The second man saw something gleam in the moonlight at Suri’s ankle, partly exposed by her position on the saddle. Grinning, he reached for the ankle to remove the belled trinket.
Joseph seized him by the throat and pulled him up to his level. As the man struggled, unable to shout for the crushing grip on his windpipe, Joseph snarled in his face. “You do not touch the woman!” Tilting the face away from him, sank his teeth into his filthy neck.
Suri slid from the horse’s back and slowly approached the first bandit. He watched her greedily, as she stopped a foot from him. Reaching up, she took down one side of her veil, leaving him to gaze in stunned awe at her moonlit beauty. He reached out to touch her face. Smiling softly, she caught his wrist, pressed it to her cheek. She ignored the dirt and the stink. All she could smell was the blood, all she could hear was the pounding of his heartbeat begging to quench the burning hunger within her. She turned her head slightly, taking her eyes off of him and bit deeply into his wrist.
The instant his blood burst into her mouth, she felt it burn, felt something rising up inside her. That something exploded in her brain and she pulled the rest of him to her, her eyes glazed red, her own blood on fire. Her fingers stiffened, claw-like and dug into his belly and tore upwards to his heart. She clawed at him, snarling, lost in an uncontrollable rage, all cognitive functions shut down.
Joseph, full, heard the screams of terror of the other man, and threw his meal aside. He dismounted, his normally fearless horse backing nervously away from the figure in white, his eyes rolling back. The pack horse, no longer held, had bolted. Joseph saw Suri tearing into her bandit in an uncontrolled frenzy. He grabbed hold of her, pulling her off as the man fell in pieces to the roadside. She turned, clawing at Joseph, snarling. He held on tightly, shocked by her sudden violence. Unable to escape his grip, she bit into him, drinking deeply of the fresh, though rapidly cooling infusion of human blood. Suddenly, she stiffened in his arms, her nails digging deeply into his body, then went limp.
Joseph looked down, saw a quarrel sticking out of her back. Enraged, he laid her carefully on the road and tore off after the man he had tossed aside. The man dropped the crossbow and tried to crawl away, intensely weakened and still bleeding. With a single blow, Joseph snapped his neck and threw the body into the brush on the side of the road in disgust.
Going back to Suri, he fell to his knees beside her. He felt sick at heart, blaming himself. When he had decided to give her up, this was not what he had meant or intended. He pulled out the quarrel, broke it and threw it away. He turned her over and gathered her to his chest. She stirred, pushing against him, trying to right herself. She sat up. Joseph just stared dumbfounded.
“But, but you were dead…” he stammered.
“So are you, Joseph.”
“But, the arrow, you fell as if….”
She silenced him with a hand on his shoulder. “Whatever it is, we can ask in York. But first we must get there. Dawn is not far off.”
Joseph helped her to her feet. “Why did you tear him apart like that, and why did you attack me?”
She looked up at him, blinked. “What are you talking about?”
“You don’t remember?”
“Remember what?”
He pointed to the body in the road. She looked, drew back suddenly, her hand to her mouth. Feeling something wet on her face, she looked down at her fingers, saw them coated in sticky red. She staggered back in shock. “I don’t… remember. How could I?”
She sniffed at the blood on her hands, curled her lip in disgust. She turned her head, hearing running water nearby. She walked towards it, leaving Joseph to round up the horses.
The stream was only a few dozen yards away through the treeline. She knelt at the water’s edge, plunged her arms into the water and splashed her face. She scrubbed her clothes and veil until the stains washed away in the cold water. She heard hoofbeats behind her. She did not look up at Joseph, but continued washing.
He bent, set his hand on her shoulder. “We need to take shelter. I saw a hovel on the other side of the road. We can just make it. I think it might have been the bandit’s shelter.”
She tilted her head, looked up at the slowly greying sky, nodding silently. She replaced her veil and rose, ignoring the chill of the wet cloth against her skin. She followed him back to the road, noticed that he had disposed of the bodies. They crossed deep into the woods on the far side, hobbled the horses just outside of the rickety door.
The shack itself was barely livable, the slats were poorly caulked with dried mud that was flaking off, leaving what would soon be dangerous cracks in the walls. The floor was filthy, the rushes unchanged for seasons. The beds were no more than vermin infested blankets on the floor. Joseph set about clearing the rushes and the blankets, throwing them out the door in disgust. Suri crossed to the darkest corner, laid out her prayer rug and knelt. She bent to her prayers, hoping beyond hope that the choice she had made at the river was the right one, and would finally cleanse her enough to regain her lost sight, to make her worthy again.
Joseph left her to her prayers, aware that she would not leave off until she was done, sun or no sun. He did what he could to protect her, throwing the saddle blanket over her bowed form. He curled himself up in a near corner, throwing his bedroll over himself.
Suri continued to pray, even after the sun rose over the horizon and she drifted to sleep against her will.
The first thing she was aware of was a brilliant flash of light and an intense feeling of peace washed over her. Something deep within her quivered in fear, but she mastered and suppressed it. Looking up, she saw a figure emerge from that bright light. She cast her gaze to the floor, sitting up, but remaining respectfully bowed before the angel. The angel’s voice was androgenous and kind.
“It is a hard choice you have made, little one.”
“Yes, oh radiant one. I am still not certain it is the right one, but the only one my mortal mind can come to.”
A hand rested gently on her head. “Not necessarily. It is not part of your faith, but not wholly incompatible. The concept of punishment for committed crimes is the foundation of what Gabriel brought to Mohammed. What has taken your gift from you is not what you have become, but what has made you. You took into yourself the blood of incredible evil. It is this which has tainted you.”
“How can it be cleansed? It is part of what I am now.”
“It can be purified, but it will not be an easy road. You must maintain your faith, avoid that which might endanger what purity remains.”
“Why did I… do what I did tonight, and why can I not remember it?”
“You drank the blood of evil. That touch of your unmaker’s evil inside you calls out and takes over.”
“Joseph drank the same blood, why did he not….”
The angel smiled. “Joseph is not you. The man who made him was not the same as the evil one who took you. What is right for Joseph is not right for you.”
Suri lowered her head, nodded her acceptance. The hand moved from her head to her shoulder.
The angel’s voice grew softer. “Sorieya, your life has been filled with self sacrifice. Your unlife will be filled with the same. Your continued determination and your faith will ensure your sacrifices will not be without their rewards. But your faith must remain unwavering. Your continued purity must be protected.”
“I will guard it over my life.”
The hand moved and the angel backed away. “Your faith, even in the face of this horror which would have rocked that of stronger souls, has remained constant. Instead of asking what had you done to deserve your fate, you asked what could you do to atone. For this, God has traded your gift of sight for a new gift. Your sight is not out of reach, and the gift you will be granted has its limits. You will discover it slowly, and it will grow stronger as your faith and devotion grows. Use the gift you have been given to help others as you can. Patience, child. All things come with patience.”
Suri felt something on her back, shaking her. The light was replaced by a sudden and complete darkness. She sat up, felt something being drawn off of her. She blinked up at Joseph, somewhat lost and distorted.
“Suri, are you all right?”
She nodded, straightening her clothing. While Joseph saddled the horse, Suri bent to her evening prayers, thanking God for her enlightenment and the gift he had granted her.
When Joseph came back inside for her, ready to mount up, she was waiting patiently for him. Before he could lift her into the saddle, Suri held up her hand.
“Before we ride, there is something I must say.”
He looked at her in question, but waited patiently.
“You have your penance, and I understand it. I wish to tell you that I, too, have chosen to undertake a penance.”
Joseph leaned back against his horse, his arm draped over the saddle, curious.
Suri took a deep breath, went on. “You must give me up, and so I must find a caretaker to take your place. A slave I have been taken for, and so a slave I will become.”
He jolted upright. “A slave? Suri! You cannot possibly become a common serf! You… you are a princess.”
“Was, Joseph. I was a princess. I gave that up a long time ago.”
“It is not a common practice in England. I know it is in your homeland, to take prisoners of war and sell them into slavery…. But….”
“There is no point in argument, Joseph. It will be done. It must be done if I am to redeem myself and earn God’s favor once more.” She watched him carefully. He sighed, turned to face the horse and rest his forehead on the saddle. As she looked at him, she began to see swirls of color and light dancing within him, could read in that the flickering of his torn emotions. She realized suddenly what she was seeing: Joseph’s soul.
She set her hand on his back, a feather light touch he only barely felt. “Do not blame yourself for my decision. It is as much the Baron’s fault as it is my choice. It is the only logical decision. We are going to a city where many of us reside. Think about it, Joseph. I am incapable of lying, I have the ability to see into men’s souls and know if they tell truth or falsehood. Surely this is an ability any Prince, mortal or otherwise, would find invaluable.”
He looked at her, still torn.
“Take me to York. Give me as a gift to the Prince. Let him know my gift and my value, and that which must be done to ensure my continued value, though I will do all that is asked of me which is in my power. I will be protected and valued and both our penances will be begun.”
Joseph shook his head. “I don’t like it. Sigh, but if penance was easy, it would not be penance,” he said in a tone that spoke of a lesson hard drilled into him. He lifted her up onto the horse and pulled himself up behind her. “We still have a long way to go.”
5 York, England 1197
York was an impressive place after Halifax, though barbaric and filthy compared to the quiet cleanliness of Lisbon. It had a wall that surrounded it, with several hundred yards of clear cut field between the walls and the treeline of the forest beyond. The people were a mixed press of peasants and lower class workers who gave the two horses a respectful berth. Some stared covertly at the strangely dressed woman on the knight’s horse. A few dared to stare openly. Joseph ignored them all, steering his horse towards the bells of compline.
Joseph tied the horses at the post, helped Suri down. He led her through the few people filing out of the church after the service. A priest, tending to his human flock, saw them enter and headed them off. “How can I help you, my son? You just missed the service.”
Joseph crossed himself. “We are here to see the bishop, father.”
He nodded. “Certainly. He is up and about. Follow me, please.”
The priest led them through the main narthex to the front, then to a side door into the main hallways of the church. Suri slowed, casting her gaze about the small cathedral, in awe of the extravagance and the unbelievable, complex beauty. She also felt repulsed by the numerous icons and graven effigies behind the altar and in the prayer alcoves. As she passed those alcoves, just past the choir loft, she paused. Something within one of them caught her eye. There was a tall carved statue of the angel Gabriel, complete with sword and carved flames in his hand. There was a touch of peace and benediction in the wooden face. Kneeling deep in prayer at its feet was a large man, his long hair scattered across his back like a mane of molten gold. She saw his soul without trying, pure white and golden, fiercely holy and devout.
Joseph called to her softly. She hurried to him, following obediently behind.
In the alcove, the golden man raised his head, turned it. Something drew him, something felt and something heard, but by the time he stirred himself from his prayerful meditations, it was gone. He turned back to his prayers, confident that what was to come would come in its own time.
Joseph and Suri were led through dark, labyrinthine corridors to an opulent room. The man waiting there looked up from an ancient ecclesiastical treatise at the priest and his two followers. “Can I help you, father?”
The priest bowed, his hands tucked into his sleeves. “Forgive me, your Excellency, for disturbing your peace. But these two have come asking for you.”
The bishop was a plain man, rather tall and gaunt, pale, but that was to be expected of a scholar. There were numerous inkstains on his long fingers as he closed the book and set it on the desk. “Thank you, father,” he said, dismissing the priest and gesturing for his guests to make themselves comfortable. He looked very closely at them as the priest left, closing the door softly behind him. Suri guessed what he was doing, recognized that concentrated look in his eye as he studied them for signs of life, or undeath. She knelt on the floor beside Joseph’s chair and lowered her head obediently. “Now, what can I do for my brethren?”
“Brethren?” Joseph asked, frowning.
The Bishop smiled as he settled into his chair. “Aye, brethren. We are all kin as far as the blood goes. Though there may be little relation to each other by our individual makers, the power of our blood alone makes us kin. It helps to identify and separate us from mortals. So, what can I do for you?”
“A man named Martin told me to ask for you.”
He leaned back in his chair, rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I see.” He sighed. “How old are you?”
“Your Excellency?” Joseph asked, confused.
The bishop clarified himself. “How long have you been dead?”
“Oh, about four, maybe five nights. Martin said you would explain matters to us.”
The Bishop groaned. “He always does. Is the Moor also of his blood?”
Joseph’s face darkened. “The lady,” he corrected, “was made by another, whose name and face we do not know.”
“Delightful.” The Bishop was silent for a moment, thinking. “Very well. Who are you?”
“I am Joseph, the Templar son of Lord Atley of Halifax. This is Sorieya, a Muslim nun I rescued while I was in Spain.”
The Bishop looked thoughtful. “I have heard of you. First decorated for valor at Acre, then volunteered for work in Spain.” He looked critically over at Suri. “Which was not without its rewards, I see.”
“She is a nun,” Joseph insisted. Beneath her veil, Suri blushed.
“The Islamites do not have nunneries. They do not believe in their women taking vows of chastity.”
“If I am allowed to speak?” Suri asked softly.
The Bishop looked curiously at her, smiled. “Why not, this could prove interesting.”
“I am a Sufi ascetic. I was taken as a child from my father’s house with his consent because I had the gift of prophesy. I was hidden away in a shrine, which it was my duty to care for and protect. I lived as a nun lives, devoting my life to God and virtue and the aid of others.”
“Don’t you mean Allah, woman?”
“Allah means God in my tongue. Why should I speak the word God in one language when I speak another? Our Gods are the same. It is just in how we worship him that we disagree upon.” She bowed. “Forgive me, esteemed one. But though I once lived as a nun lives, which is Joseph’s word, and not mine, I am now a slave and subject now to man’s will, as well as that of God.”
“Slave? What does she mean by this?” He looked to Joseph for an explanation.
Joseph sighed, disliking this part intensely. He related to the Bishop the circumstances of their creation and the reasoning for their coming to York, and the penances they had chosen.
The Bishop sighed. “All highly irregular. But I dare say the Duke could use her. He has lost his interest in women in the physical sense, so you need not fear her violation or requirements in that arena. Very well, let me first explain a few things here,” he began, getting up and pacing the room. “First of all, many of us have come to York. The out-lying areas are dangerous, filled with creatures not quite mortals yet very hostile to our kind. With so many of us here, we have been forced to accept a leader among us, and set certain rules by which we must abide on pain of eradication. Conveniently, our leader rules both vampires and mortals alike.
“Second, we live comfortably here only so long as mortals do not know our true nature. Were they to learn, their insane fears would lead them to burn the town to the ground around their own ears to destroy us. Many innocents would be wrongfully accused and die with us were that to happen. As I have detected something holy about the both of you, I will take that to be as much an anathema to you as it is to me. Third, we do not kill our prey here. It would be very unwise. We cover evidence of our feeding with paranoid precision. We feed without our victims’ knowledge or with their willing consent. If they realize what we are or what we do, we must silence them with our blood.” He paused, having caught the questioning in Joseph’s face. He gave an exasperated sigh. “Did Martin not even explain to you how you were made?”
Joseph shook his head. “Martin explained nothing, but that we should come to you.”
The Bishop rubbed the bridge of his nose again, a mortal habit of which he had not rid himself. “A vampire is made when a mortal dies of blood loss, and is fed a vampire’s blood. It is this blood which not only sets us apart from mortals, but which gives us powers and strength beyond that of ordinary men. It is also our greatest weakness. So you need not fear that repeated feeding from one individual will cause that person to walk as we do. That is so much nonsense. If you feed a living mortal your blood it gives them greater, though vastly limited strength, allows them to heal as we do, and grants you a certain amount of unquestioned control over them. The same can happen to a vampire foolish enough to drink of another vampire’s blood.”
Suri looked up at Joseph, remembering vaguely, the taste of his blood in her mouth.
“Once is not enough, though. That control, though unlike that over a mortal, only lasts so long. However, it can be used to force continued feeding, which creates a connection so strong that only death, time or the blood of an older, stronger vampire can sever. The blood is control, remember that.” He resumed his pacing with his lecture. “Where was I? Oh, yes, fourth, wood through the heart will paralyze, but only complete destruction of the body can kill you. Fifth, if you find you have lost control, or you must kill, make certain it does not appear as if a vampire did the deed. Violations of our tenants of protection means certain death and justice is swift here.”
He paused, looked Joseph over carefully. “You, Templar, will be a problem. You are a well-known figure, though your face is not as of yet. Should someone of Halifax, or any who knew you come this way, you could be identified and it may be known in certain parts that you are dead, or are supposed to be.”
“How am I to…”
“I was getting to that,” he reprimanded. “From now on you are simply Joseph, a Templar with no family and currently relieved of active duty. I know one of us with no small sway over the Grand Master. I can make some arrangements. For now you would do best to offer your services to the Duke. He likes to keep men of the blood amongst his men-at-arms and knights. That way he is protected from attacks by others of the blood. I will take you shortly to the place he keeps his court and introduce you.
“Regarding the church grounds and the cathedral proper. This is holy ground, as is the Saint’s Pilgrimage beside the cemetery. That you crossed here without invitation alone tells of your holiness, something few vampires retain as they cross between the mortal world and ours. You are blessed. There are a great many of us who cannot cross holy ground without invitation, and some not at all. Be careful to whom you give that invitation. I will have no blood shed here and no killing. This is true sanctuary for all. Am I clear?”
“Yes, your Excellency.”
Suri only nodded.
“Since it is obvious you still adhere to your faith, you will come to me for your confessions, and to me alone. That way our existence remains secret and your soul can be properly cared for. Except in extreme urgencies, I take the confessions of willing vampires in an appointed room at the Duke’s keep and only on Wednesday nights. Now, if you have no farther questions?”
“No, your Excellency.”
“Good, then if you will be so good as to accompany me to the Duke’s, I will take you there now.”
Joseph rose, gestured to Suri to follow suit. She obediently arched to her small feet, jingling softly.
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