The Division of the Damned (9 page)

Chapter13

He waited for Smith in the library, relaxed and reclining next to the fire that Marik had made for them. He pondered how to approach the subject at hand. It wasn’t going to be easy. How
much should he tell him
—
tell him everything and risk his alienation or condense the whole thing to just his role in the ceremony? Maria had played her role well and soon they would have an heir to the name of Dracyl, if Smith played along and did his part.

He pondered over the Germans. If they kept their part of the deal, a completely new age lay on the horizon. A wave of vampirism would sweep through Europe and, after that, the world. He would be a
God
and Smith would provide him with his heir. The dynasty of the Dracyl would go on for a thousand years, as was predicted in the
Cronica Insangerata
. His brother just had to provide the heir, and then he could disappear, forever.

The door opened and Smith walked in. There was a brief moment of uncertainty before he went over to the chair opposite the
c
ount
.

"So now will you please tell me who I am?" Smith sat back, crossed his legs and waited.

The
c
ount
leaned forward and started right in. "As for a name, I cannot tell you. You were taken away at birth. This wasn’t done out of malice or ill-will, it was done because it is so written in the
Cronica Insangerata
that
the son of Utu
must be separated from the family at birth. You were watched and guarded, as I have already told you, so you would come to no harm. You are my brother in blood as in flesh, but you have no family name."

He paused to let it sink in and ploughed on. "Our family have always believed that tradition is one of the pillars of power. We have always followed and obeyed the traditions and customs that are set out in the
Cronica
. It may seem quaint and odd to you, but that is our way.”

Smith fired off the next question without waiting. "What and where is this
Cronica
?” And, as an afterthought, "Who are you?”

"My name is Vlad Dracyl, son of Szoltan Dracyl the Second. Our mother is unimportant; she died during childbirth, as it was written in the
Cronica Insangerata
. The
Cronica Insangerata
is an account of all that we have done and all that we will do. It is both a record and a direction.”

He stood up and started to pace in front of Smith.

"The
Cronica Insangerata
is its Romanian name;
The Chronicle of Blood
. The ancient Greeks called it the
Biblion Haimatos
, the
Book of Blood
. That was its first appearance, in ancient Greece. It went through various versions and had many names. The German Crusaders, the Teutonic Knights, called it the
Buch Des Bluts
.
In Hungary,
A vér Könyve
.
It’s strange that there is no Latin name for it, bearing in mind
that there was a large Roman presence in this area for a long time.
Cronica Insangerata
means
Chronicle of Blood
and that is what
our family is all about, James:
blood.”

For the first time a silence stretched out between them. Smith tried to take it all in while keeping a calm exterior.

"What do you mean that our family is about blood? Isn’t every family about blood or the bloodline?”

"Yes, it is and we need new blood for our family. That is why you are here, James. That is why I sent for you. You must take a woman and give us an heir, a male heir. That is your destiny and that is why we need you here. Can you do that?”

Smith’s mind was racing.
So he has got a problem
.
T
hat’s why Maria came to me in the nigh
t.
He felt cheated, used and, for some obscure reason, strangely superior.
However, the growing sense of menace that had started with the revelations about his father now seemed to take on a very real edge. He could hardly conceal his shock at what was being proposed. Breeding to keep in line with some ancient scripture seemed so arcane.

The
c
ount
seemed to read his mind. "Now, don’t say you didn’t enjoy last night with Maria?” he chided.

Smith reddened and stood up. "Now, steady on, you’re getting a bit too close to the bone. I understand that you want me to play my part in your plans but they are your plans, not mine. Think about what you’re asking of me. You want
me to father a child for you
—
”

"For the family,” he passionately broke in and grasped Smith by the wrists. Looking him in the eye, he whispered urgently, "It’s for our line, for our whole heritage. If we break the line now we will be the first to break with tradition for hundreds of years.” He let his wrists go and hastily apologised. "I didn’t mean to offend. I’m sorry. This is not an easy thing to
do;
asking a man to father a son for me is hard on my ego and my pride. But you see how much this means to me, no to us, and to our history." Striding to the door he opened it.

"Maria, bring
Iullia
to the library,” he called and turned back to Smith. "Let me introduce you to the prospective bride.” Sighing resignedly, and somewhat over-theatrically, he smiled
.
"Perhaps she can convince you.”

Smith looked to the door in a mixture of curiosity, panic and eagerness. He didn’t quite know. He could hear footsteps coming towards the room. It wasn’t Maria with whom he should couple, then, so who is it to be? Why would a perfect stranger want to bear his child?
For money, position, favour?
He felt like a nervous schoolboy and he didn’t know why, this wasn’t his doing.

The door creaked open and Maria walked in with the unknown
Iullia
in tow. She stepped to the side so Smith c
ould see her. Iulia was young
—
about eighteen Smith reckoned
—
with long blond hair that
crowned a wonderfully innocent face. She looked at Smith
,
unabashed
,
and almost challenged him to not find her attractive. The long green dress that she wore fitted her to perfection, emphasising her slim but curvy figure. Smith swallowed hard and tried to think of something to say.

Vlad Dracyl saved him. "Well, brother, will you help us carry on the family bloodline? Will you play
your part for our family name?
”

All eyes turned to Smith, waiting for an answer. Looking at them one by one, he grasped for something to say. "You'll have to
give me more time to consider
—
" he blurted out.

Iullia looked shocked and dropped her eyes to the ground. The
c
ount
stiffened and only Maria seemed to nod. "How long do you need?" she asked, matter-of-factly.

"I’m not sure. Situations like this don’t happen to me every day."     His ill-timed attempt at humour fell on stony ground. Nobody seemed happy and Smith felt uncomfortable in his failure to accommodate them. The awkward silence hammered at him until the
c
ount
tutted and walked away towards the fire. Both women said nothing, as if waiting for his decision.

"We can talk tomorrow," the
c
ount
said. "I have things to see to now. I bid you a good night, brother,” he added, placing a harsh emphasis on the word ‘brother’, before storming past them and leaving the room.

They watched him go and Smith noticed the worried looks on the faces of the two women.

"James,
”
Maria started
. "I … I think you …
" She trailed off and looked at him for what seemed like ages. Her face was blank, yet her eyes burned in furious turmoil. "Good night, James. We can talk in the morning." She turned and left him alone with Iullia.

Smith struggled to explain himself to Iulia. "You must understand, I don’t mean to offend but from where I come from, it’s simply just not done like this, it just isn’t.”

She studied him with an unconstrained lack of guile as if he were a circus curiosity. More painful silence followed before she spoke. "You must fulfil your destiny.
We
must fulfil
our
destinies. You were born to this, as I was chosen. As it is written and so it shall be." With this, she turned and walked slowly out, leaving Smith even more confused.

This damned book was beginning to annoy him. Who said it was his destiny?
As it is written so shall it be
—
what is that supposed to mean? Were they all like this in Romania or was it just a Transylvanian trait?

He went up to the fire and warmed his hands. What had he gotten into? He could hardly believe the events of the last few days. It all seemed like a bad piece of theatre with no interlude for respite.

He had to leave
—
tonight, if possible.

He drew away from the hearth to peer out of one of the windows.    
He caught movement outside and looked harder to make it out. What he saw made his blood freeze. Of all the shocks he had received in the last twenty-four hours, the troop of German soldiers marching in the snow towards the house was the most startling. He turned in blind panic. What was going on?

"You want answers, English?” It was Michael. He stood in the doorway to the library looking directly at him.

"I need to hide, if that’s what you mean,” he replied as casually as he could, though the bravado soon started to slip as the sound of the jackboots grew louder. "Can you help me, old boy?”

"I will provide you with both answers and a good hiding place. Follow me. I’ll tell you the truth about your family and I’ll hide you from the
c
ount
’s newest guests."

With that he turned and Smith followed him.

Chapter 14

Rasch had stayed mercifully silent throughout the march up to the castle. Henning had taken over the map reading, leaving Von Struck with his thoughts. The men had been in good spirits at the beginning of the march, despite the demanding pace. SS Oberschütze Matheus Nau had even broken into song at one point, until Rohleder had told him to shut up. Von Struck could understand their good mood; they were in a friendly territory on an operation that, in comparison with Russia, was a holiday.

It irked him that Rasch hadn’t trusted him with all the details of the mission. Operational security was important for any mission but this was hardly a deep penetration into enemy territory. There was no danger of him being taken captive and tortured because the enemy, although on the advance, was hundreds of kilometres away. He’d even told him that he would soon learn everything, so what was he playing at? He shrugged inwardly. Rasch was a sad specimen of a man. Pettiness and arrogance seemed to be the main ingredients of his character, so why did Von Struck feel so annoyed at his lack of trust? He shook his head to be rid of the thought.

After a while he saw the outline of the castle in the distance. For no apparent reason the mood of the squad darkened as it loomed on the horizon, but Rasch seemed to pick up and called to the men, "Keep it tight now, men. Let’s make a good impression." He ran to the front of the troop and took the lead with Henning
.
"Links, rechts, links, rechts…”

Von Struck had taken a position to the left of the squad, in line with the elder of the two Bavarians in the troop, Jurgen Muntner.

"What an arsehole,” Muntner muttered to Von Struck. "We’ve got to lose this idiot before he spoils the whole trip.”

Rohleder took up the doctor’s call and shouted t
o the men, "You heard the good d
octor, links, rechts,
links
rechts."
Then, as if to himself, "What a rabble, what a shower of shite.
Herr Doctor, I personally apologise for the lack of military discipline in my squad. I will charge myself accordingly on our return to the beloved Fatherland. Heil Hitler!”

"No need for that, Rottenführer
,
” answered Rasch generously
.
"I’m sure the men are just out of practice.”

"What an arsehole
,
” Muntner muttered.

As they neared the castle, the troop fell silent. No jokes, no remarks and no calling out the time from Rasch, who now seemed also to be as affected by its presence as the others.

Von Struck halted the squad in front of the main door. Rasch walked up to him and said in hushed tones, "I think now, Standartenführer, that I should do the talking.”