The Vorbing (16 page)

              For a while, the adrenalin was still pumping. They found it hard to relax. Eventually, they all wound down in front of the warm fire and felt drowsy from their exertions. Anamis would alert them if the werewolves returned in the night or to any other threats, so they took some comfort from that.

              “Ah, sleep, clothe me in thy velvet cloak,” Vlad said, closing his eyes and stretching out.

              Pierre shook his head as he struggled to stay dry over by the rocks. Somehow, sleep eventually found him too, and his loud snores competed with the rumbling thunder above for the loudest noise.

Chapter Thirteen

Pierre jumped in his sleep and woke up in a fright. Vlad was shaking him awake with a broad grin on his face. Pierre squinted in the dawn light.

              “What is it?” Pierre said.

“There’s a cave near here,” Vlad said.

“I’ve seen a cave before, thank you,” Pierre said, turning over to go back to sleep.

“Not like this one,” Vlad said. “You need to see this.”

              “Lead the way,” Pierre said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

              Vlad lit two torches from the fire and handed one to Pierre, and they set off through a trail in the copse. They arrived at a tiny cave. It was so narrow, it looked like only children could squeeze through the entrance.

              “You should remove your armour,” Vlad said.

              “Never,” the knight replied.

              “Very well,” Vlad said.

              The knight struggled to make it through the gap, and his armour clanged against the stone repeatedly. Pierre stood back, hurled his breastplate to the ground, and entered. “This had better be worth the effort, boy,” Pierre said.

              “Oh, it is, believe me,” Vlad said. “And don’t call me boy.”

              Pierre made a mental note not to call Vlad boy again, even though he still referred to Vlad as that in his head during his inner dialogue with himself.             

              Vlad went in first and helped Pierre through the narrow gap. Vlad shone the torch around to check for any danger. The roof of the cave rose steeply, but there was room to stand up, for which Pierre was grateful. He did not cherish the thought of having to clamber over rocks on his belly without his armour on while carrying a burning torch.

              “This way,” Vlad said.

The knight followed Vlad warily. He was too experienced to put all his trust in Vlad yet. The boy still had not proven himself although he undoubtedly had potential. Potential was not enough, though. Pierre had seen many young soldiers with potential end up in their graves after taking many others with them because of poor decisions. Pierre felt he should lead in case anything happened, but he knew Vlad had to have his chance in charge, and so he allowed the boy to take command temporarily. Vlad looked at the walls with an intense gaze on his face. Pierre wondered what it was all about and where they were going.

Vlad stopped. “Look.”

              A breeze made their torches flicker, and Pierre squinted as he tried to focus his eyes on the dark cave wall in the guttering torchlight. There was just enough light to see a series of paintings on the cave wall. The flickering torches created the illusion that the painting was moving. Pierre found it unnerving. “What is this?” Pierre said.

              “Do you see the first one here?” Vlad said.

              Pierre looked more closely, and his eyes went wide. “I see,” Pierre said, a note of excitement in his voice. “That’s Lucifer and his angels being cast out of Heaven after their revolt against God.”

              “Yes, now look,” Vlad said as he pointed at the next mural, “I think this is what Lucifer became when he fell to earth…”

              Vlad scraped the dust and cobwebs off the obscured writing with his finger and squinted as he read the words aloud.
“Malum ut venit ex divum,”
Vlad said, a puzzled look on his face.

              “The evil that came from the sky,” Norvad translated helpfully. The trio looked at each other with a dawning awareness of what they had found.

              Pierre saw an image of the Devil with blood dripping from his fanged mouth.

              “That looks like a vampire,” Pierre said, looking at Vlad in shock.

              “That looks like Deadulus,” Vlad said.

              “You mean…? No, this is a revelation,” the knight said in disbelief. “Deadulus IS Lucifer?”

              “Assuming that a liar or a madman didn’t paint this,” Vlad said. “I would say it has a ring of truth to it. We’ve always wondered why vampires are scared of crosses; I think we’re looking at the reason. The crucifix is a reminder of God to them, their God that they tried to overthrow and couldn’t. He made them pay the ultimate price, cast them out of Heaven, turned them into these hideous beasts, and they hate him for it with each breath they take. That’s why they hiss whenever they see any emblem reminiscent of him or his power over them.”

              “Can it be true?” Pierre asked.

              “I believe it is,” Vlad said.

              “Could Dubhtayl be a derivation of the word ‘Devil’?” Pierre wondered.

              Vlad tried to speak, but was unable.

              “The Land of the Devil,” Pierre said to himself, to hear how it sounded.

              “I can’t believe I didn’t see that before. I think you’ve got something there,” Vlad said quietly.

              “Yes,” Pierre said as he stroked his beard, his mind lost in thought.

              “Here is what I believe happened,” Vlad said, regaining his composure.

              Vlad went to the first painting and pointed at a jagged, light green tear in a turquoise blue sky in the first mural. “This is the very spot where Deadulus and his nefarious allies fell from Heaven,” Vlad said. “At this exact point, the sky remained torn for a millennium, so that every time the vampires raised their unworthy eyes to God’s kingdom, they would see a reminder of their betrayal and shame.”

              “How do you know this?” Pierre said. “This is just a painting.”

              “It says it right here,” Vlad said, as he lowered his torch to a Latin inscription beneath it.

              “Oh,” Pierre said. “But you don’t speak Latin.”

              “Norvad does,” Vlad said. “He translated it for me earlier. The early bird catches the first worm.”

              “Rein yourself in, dog!” Pierre said laughing.

              Vlad went to the second mural. It was a basic image of Deadulus on earth, glaring up to Heaven with tears of rage streaming down his monstrous cheeks.

              “The grave of angels became the cradle of demons,” Vlad said.

              “The beast cries,” Pierre said, surprised. “Perhaps it is true, or perhaps it is just this artist’s interpretation, whoever he was.”

              “I dedicate my existence to thwarting you at every turn, Yahweh,” Vlad said as he read the inscription under the mural. Vlad looked at Pierre.

              “That sounds more like Deadulus,” Pierre said.

              They moved to the next mural. It showed scores of lightning bolts cracking and scorching the earth, and fiery whirlwinds coming from Heaven, with Deadulus and his vampires cowering in fear from the divine ferocity.

              “God is angry with them,” Vlad said.

              “Yes, they have vexed him infernally. Look at them shrinking from the wrath of God,” Pierre said piously. “I have never seen vampires scared before.”

              “Their fear didn’t last long; look here,” Vlad said as he continued to the next mural.

              Deadulus was at his full height, raging at the Heavens in the image on the wall.

              “I shall read you the words of Deadulus,” Vlad said. “He says, ‘I will vorb on the creatures you made in your image and remould them in mine. I will drink their blood, YOUR blood, Yahweh, then tear them asunder to stop them rising as vampires or at the Resurrection. They will not join you, but will join ME in eternal damnation. When my Garden of Eden is filled with my kind, then, once again, Lord, shall I confront you. Then, I shall defeat you once and for all and take my rightful place on the throne of your kingdom’.”

              Again, they looked at other for reassurance in the cold, dark cave.

              “It chills my blood,” Pierre said. “I know of the Bible and God’s word, but I know not the words of Lucifer. I am not sure I want to hear them, either.”

              They moved to the next mural.

              “God retaliates,” Vlad said.

              In that mural, hot coals rained down from the sky, striking some of the vampires. It depicted Deadulus and the surviving vampires fleeing for cover.

              “Look, the trees have caught fire,” Pierre said.

              “It is Hell on earth,” Vlad said.

              They walked to the final mural, which showed Deadulus and his vampires entering Vampire Mountain for the first time to avoid the hot coals.

              “Where is their lair?” Vlad said with frustration.

              “This image is tantalising in its imprecision,” Pierre said.

              Vlad shone his light past the last mural to see if there was anything else of interest there. He saw more words written there.

              “I know this one!” a voice said behind them.             

              Vlad and Pierre cried out in terror and shone their torches in the direction the voice came from.

              “Norvad,” Vlad said.

              Pierre and Vlad gave a sigh of relief, although they still breathed heavy from the shock.

              “My apologies, friends,” Norvad said. “I thought I could help. I have been here before and seen this. These words are about the Son of Man saving the world from evil.”

              “You have misinterpreted them,” Pierre said.

              “How so?” Norvad asked.

              “It is a prophecy that says the Son of Man shall deliver mankind from evil,” Pierre said.

              “That’s what I said,” Norvad protested.

              “What was your father’s name?” Pierre asked Vlad.

              “Adam Ingisbohr,” Vlad said.

              “There it is!” Pierre said. “Adam was the first man, and you are the son of Adam, the Son of Man.”

              “Are you certain?” Vlad asked.

              “Who is misinterpreting it now?” Norvad asked.

              “Wait,” Pierre said calmly. “The last part says that this saviour shall be the man who sees without looking.”

              “Ah, the prophecy of the blind man,” Vlad said. “I have heard this since the cradle, but I am not blind. I see.”

              “It is not blindness. This saviour is someone who sees without looking,” Pierre said.

              “What does that mean?” Norvad asked.

              “Vlad won the king’s archery tournament by firing an arrow with his eyes shut,” Pierre replied. “He saw without looking.”

              “You believe this prophecy is about Vlad?” Norvad asked.

              “Yes I do,” Pierre replied. “I also tested his abilities with apples in the forest. He saw without looking there, too, and I knew he was someone unique.”

              Pierre and Norvad looked at Vlad in a new way. They had belief and awe in their eyes for the first time, and it unnerved him.

              “It can’t mean me,” Vlad said.

              “It all makes perfect sense,” Pierre said. “Do you see the moment of victory over the vampires in your mind’s eye?”

              “No, I don’t see it,” Vlad said.

              “Then we shall not set foot on the battlefield until you do,” Pierre said forcefully, “until you believe in this prophecy.”

              “Let’s talk about this later,” Norvad said yawning. “We have much to do.”

              “Very well,” Pierre agreed, “What we have seen here changes everything we know or thought we knew. We are on a holy quest, more sacred than any of us knew. The forces of darkness will throw their might into stopping us. Make no mistake. We are sleepwalkers on the edge of a cliff; it will only take a nudge to send us to our doom. Now, let us leave this place.”

              They shuffled back up the dim, uneven passageway towards the entrance to the cave. Vlad paused for a moment and looked back into the darkness. He still disbelieved what happened. The acquisition of knowledge usually led to clarity, but the information in the cave raised more questions than it answered. The prophecy, or rather the interpretation, was the recognition he had sought all his life from his father, from his mother, and from his village. Now it seemed it was all coming to him at last, but he was not sure he wanted it or the pressure of expectation it brought. Vlad kept moving and exited the cave with the others.