Dark Season: The Complete Box Set (92 page)

The Book of Gothos

Many years ago.

Tired now after writing for so long, the old man closes the book. His hands are shaking, and his eyesight is fading. Many, many times he came close to abandoning his work. There were many people who came to him and begged him to stop, trying to warn him of the immeasurable damage he would be causing. They told him to think of the people who would burn in centuries to come, and the fear and agony that would be inflicted by the book, but the old man knew that no matter how bad things might be as a result of the book's existence, they would be ten times worse if the book did not exist at all. So despite the protestations of those around him, he carried on and now, finally, the book is complete.

"It's done," he says, a shiver passing through his body. How many people, in centuries to come, will curse him for having ever completed this work? He knows there will be many who despise him, who speak the name Gothos with venom on their tongues.

The book has come to him in a series of visions. At first he thought he must be going mad, but over time he came to realize that he had been chosen to act as a channel for forces he could never understand. They demanded that he write these words, and now these words will haunt vampires for many centuries. The book will be fought over, and many will try to destroy it. This is the book that contains the truth about the destiny of the vampire race, and it does not make for pleasant reading. Even as the old man looks at the leather cover, he sees a dark red stain begin to appear. The book itself knows that its history will be bloody, but the book seems pleased with this fact, as if it expects to enjoy the pain it will cause. It is, Gothos sees finally, an evil thing, but perhaps it can also be used for good.

"Are you sure there are no mistakes?" Cassandra asks. She has been lurking in the shadows all this time, watching the old man as he writes, hoping against hope that something will interrupt his work.

"No mistakes," the old man says, sighing. He slides the book toward her. "Everything written in here will come to pass. It must do. It's a prophecy. It came to me in dreams, and I was compelled to set it down in words. I am the book's servant."

"What is her name?" Cassandra asks.

The old man smiles. This is the question he was hoping Cassandra would not ask, but also the question that he knew she could not ignore. "You want spoilers?"

"What is her
name
?" Cassandra asks again, more firmly this time.

"Abigail," the old man says, the smile leaving his face. The name has a certain weight, echoing through the centuries. She will not be born for many years, but this child is already important. "Her name is Abigail."

"A strange name," Cassandra says. "And what is her mother's name?"

"Sophie," the old man replies. He sighs. "I've seen her in my dreams, and may the gods have mercy on her soul."

Cassandra steps over to the table. She runs a hand over the book's cover, but she doesn't dare to open it. "Is she deserving of Patrick's love?" she asks sadly.

"She is," the old man replies. He stares at Cassandra, understanding only too well the pain that courses through her heart. For so many years, she has longed to be the one who Patrick loves, yet she knows that this can never be the case. "Don't take this as a slight," the old man continues, hoping to ease Cassandra's sorrow. "Patrick still holds you in high esteem. You are one of the few people to whom he will really listen."

"Patrick will fight against this," Cassandra says, her voice filled with steely determination. "He won't just accept the prophecy. He'll rip this book to shreds if he gets the chance. He tried to deny the last prophecy, and we both know how close he came to succeeding. This time, there will be no stopping him. If anyone can do it..." She pauses, her voice trailing off. She hopes against all hope that this time Patrick will be able to defeat destiny itself, but at the same time she knows that this can never happen.

"Of course," the old man replies, "but Patrick's fight is itself part of the prophecy. It's all in the book. He will fight, and he will lose. Everything is set out as it must be. The old prophecy came to pass, and now the new prophecy has been written." He stares at Cassandra, seeing the look of fear written across her face. "You know this is how it must be," he says finally. "Humans might live freely, shaping their own futures, but our species is tied to a very different set of forces." He pauses, not sure whether he should continue. "Then again, there might be a way -"

"Don't say it," Cassandra says.

"But it's true," the old man insists. "The prophecy is a living, breathing thing. There might be a way to dissuade it from pursuing its full course. It Patrick truly loves this girl -"

"Which he won't," Cassandra says, interrupting.

"He might."

Cassandra nods sadly. "He might," she says. "But he won't." Cassandra is one of the few who truly understands the fate of the vampires, and who recognizes that their glory cannot last forever. She has seen in her dreams that the vampire race will rise so very high before plunging deep into a darkness from which none of them can ever escape. It is this story that the Book of Gothos sets out.

"Leave us alone for a moment," the old man says, staring at the book.

"There is no time to -"

"Leave us alone," the old man insists.

Cassandra sighs. "I will return in a moment, Gothos. There is no time to waste." She puts a hand on the old man's shoulder, and then she steps outside. It's a dark, moonless night and the stars are bright. She knows that in centuries to come, those same stars will look down upon acts that take place as a direct consequence of the things written in the prophecy. Considering all the pain that will be caused by the book, she wonders if perhaps she should destroy it as soon as she gets the chance, but she knows that the book provides order and control, and that without the book there will be chaos. For all its evils, the book must persist.

"It's time to leave," she says a few minutes later, as she returns to the old man, but he can no longer hear her. To her horror, Cassandra finds him dead on the floor. His body has been ripped to shreds; his blood has poured out onto the ground, and in that blood sits the book. Looking around and seeing that there is no-one else nearby, Cassandra stares at the book and finally understands its true power. The book is alive, and it has chosen to kill its father. Carefully, Cassandra steps over the old man's body and picks the book up. She knows that she is in no danger, because the book needs her to carry it far from here. Looking down at the old man's body, Cassandra vows that the name Gothos will live on throughout all of time.

For many years after this moment, Cassandra is the guardian of the book. She carries it with her everywhere she goes, from Paris to Rome, and on to Constantinople and London. As the vampires wage their hidden war against the spiders, Cassandra keeps the book well-hidden. Eventually, however, as the spiders are defeated and the first stirrings of the vampire civil war are felt, Cassandra recognizes that she must find a better place to keep the book locked away. She takes it first to Ireland, where she attempts to persuade Black Annis, who is living there under the false name Azael, to be its custodian; Black Annis turns her down, fearful of the book's power, so Cassandra journeys back to England where she finally forces the Tenderling King to take responsibility. His hands trembling as he takes stewardship of the book, the Tenderling King is unable to turn down Cassandra's request.

From this moment, the path of the book becomes muddied and it disappears from recorded history for many years. During this time, some come to believe that the Tenderling King had found a way to destroy the book, but others know better and assume that he has merely found a place where it can be hidden far from the eyes of the vampires. To this day, it is still not known where the book was for these centuries. It is as if it simply did not exist, yet it must have been somewhere. It must have been doing something...

Sophie

Today.

Patrick tries the door handle again, but the dead-bolt holds. The door itself seems pretty strong, so there's at least a sliver of hope that Patrick can't just break it down. Still, as I back away from the door with Abigail in my arms, I realize that we're trapped in here. We can wait as long as we want, but there's no food or water and - at some point - I'm going to have to open that door and go back out into the tunnel. It's just a question of
when
we finally open the door and surrender to Patrick.

Abigail starts to cry. I try to soothe her, to get her to relax, but she's screaming now and her cries echo in the small room. "Please," I say to her, "be quiet." I look over at the door and imagine Patrick standing out there, listening to his own daughter crying. Is this really what he wants? Is he so determined to get her, at any cost, that he'll listen to her in distress? "Are you hungry?" I ask Abigail quietly, whispering to try to avoid behind heard by Patrick. "I don't have anything for you."

In a desperate attempt to calm her, I try to find a way to feed her, but it doesn't work. I don't have any milk for her, although she at least stops crying for a moment during the attempt. As I give up, she starts crying louder than ever, as if I've annoyed her. "I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'm so sorry."

The truth is: I'm a terrible mother. Abigail was taken from me when she was born, and we never got a chance to bond. I can't expect her to be just dropped back in my arms, and for everything to be okay. That bond that a child and its mother establish during the first months can never be replaced. Abigail probably doesn't even recognize me as her mother. To her, I'm probably just some person who's carried her down into a cold sewer system, and who now taunts her with failed attempts to feed her. She's still crying, still calling out for someone else. Maybe she wants a
better
mother.

Suddenly, for the first time, I have a flash of memory. I've never been able to remember being pregnant with Abigail, or giving birth to her, but now that I can look into her face I feel as if something's coming back to me. Perhaps it's all my imagination, but I have a memory of being in some kind of cave, with snow outside. My belly is huge and my body is convulsed with contractions. I'm all alone, but I have a feeling of Patrick being somewhere nearby. There's...

No, that's all I remember.

Is that how I gave birth to Abigail? Alone somewhere, out in the wilderness. I guess it makes sense. Patrick doesn't exactly seem like the kind of person who'd make a good midwife. I look down at Abigail and, as she cries, it's hard not to feel that she's had a terrible life so far. I'd give anything to be able to change that, but what hope do I have when her father's an insane vampire and he's standing right outside that door, waiting to kill me and take Abigail away to raise her in his own image?

"We'll get out of this," I say to her, but she just keeps crying. She's calling out for someone to come and save her, for someone to take her to safety. She wants to get away from me. My own daughter, and she hates me.

The door handle turns again. Patrick's still trying to find a way into this room. What will he do if he succeeds? I guess he'll take Abigail from my arms and then kill me. He'll probably leave my body to rot down here, undiscovered, just as he's left Nimrod out in the tunnel. I guess eventually a sanitation worker might stumble across me. I try to imagine the face of some guy as he walks into the room and finds my corpse on the floor. Closing my eyes, I hold Abigail tight and pray that she'll stop crying.

Eventually I open my eyes and I come to a decision. Bizarrely, I remember something Shelley told me once. Damn it, I miss Shelley. I don't know where she is, but I wish I could talk to her. Once, though, she told me that if you're in a bad situation and there seems to be no way out, the best option is to do the exact thing that scares you the most. Just march straight into the danger and hope you can come up with another plan. That, Shelley told me, is the only option; otherwise, you just end up hiding until the danger overtakes you.

I stare at the door handle.

If I do what Shelley suggested, that means I have to unlock the door and face Patrick. I'm certain he plans to kill me. After all, that's what Nimrod said, and I came to trust Nimrod implicitly. There's also the matter of the prophecy. But at the same time, maybe my best option really might be to go face to face with Patrick and try to change his mind. Sure, it'd be a huge risk and it would mean pretty much placing Abigail in his arms, but what other choices do I have? If I stay in this room, I'll eventually die and Abigail might die as well.

I take a deep breath. What would be worse for Abigail? Dying now, or facing a life with Patrick?

Looking around the room, I see all sorts of chemicals and cleaning items. I'm sure I could find a way to kill us both, probably painlessly. Then Patrick would eventually break into the room and find us both dead. He'd know that I beat him, that I got both Abigail and myself away from him. For a moment, just a brief moment, I feel as if this might be the best option, but then I realize I could never do such a thing. As Abigail continues to cry, I realize there's no way I can kill my own daughter. Even if death would be preferable to a life with Patrick, I can't actually bring myself to do it.

Which means...

I step toward the door. Patrick hasn't tried the handle for a few minutes, but there's no doubt he's still out there. He's probably waiting for me to surrender.

I take a deep breath. Damn it, Shelley, you'd better be right about this.

I reach out and slide the dead-bolt across, and then I turn the handle and open the door. For a moment, I hope that maybe there'll be some miracle and Patrick won't be out there waiting for us. But he's there. Standing straight in front of me, staring straight into my eyes, I come face to face with him.

Abigail finally stops crying, staring up instead at her father.

"Here we are," I say, my throat dry from fear.

Slowly, he reaches out to take Abigail, but I move her away from his hands. "I'm her mother," I say firmly. I have to choose these words carefully, because they might be the last ones I ever say. I take a deep breath. "I'm her mother," I say again, trying to sound like I'm not scared, "and you can't have her."