The Division of the Damned (23 page)

Ten names were needed for the ceremony to work, ten being the number of universal potential. The concept of all things being possible manifested itself in the fact that all the numbers used by man are represented in the numbers zero to nine.

However, and more importantly to th
e vampire clan and Lilith, ten wa
s the number
of rebirth; one and zero equalled
one, the perfect and expected end, and thus new beginning, of the cycle. The ten names would symbolise the rebirth and continuation of the old ways before Utu’s curse and thus the return of Lilith’s powers.

Unfortunately for Lilith, with Utu’s curse b
roken, the vampire bloodline would
once more be able to stalk the day and it was just that the demon needed to hinder. If that should happen, then the Dracyl would be too strong for Lilith and, once again, she would have to take second place to Szaran’s line.

The problem that Lilith needed to solve was how could she assemble all ten named ones in the Book of Blood and yet still disrupt the ceremony enough to harm the Dracyl?

The best method to surreptitiously sabotage the rite would be to kill Smith now that he was out of contact with his brother,
s
o perhaps sending him away had not been such a bad idea, she mused.

Whilst under the c
ount’s protection, he had been safe. She co
uld never have stood up to the c
ount, although she had known that her only hope for success lay in the disruption of his ceremony.

The Son of Utu was a key figure in the writings in the Book of Blood and his absence or silence during the proceedings could only be harmful for the Dracyl, she was sure of it. That meant she had to murder Smith.

Lilith had wanted to kill him after the conception but the Dracyl had forbidden it. If only Smith was somehow not functioning or,
even better, not present at the ceremony, then the consequences for Szaran’s ancestors could be catastrophic.

She thought about how she could pacify the Dracyl if Smith was killed and decided they could lay out his possessions like Szaran’s. She was sure the vampire would take Lilith’s word on the matter that he need not be present for the ritual. Lilith herself needed only that he be there in name.

So Lilith would be reborn as a result of the birth of a son fathered by the Son of Utu, a son that would reconcile her with the ancient
S
un
God
as she had prophesised all those many centuries ago. The Dracyl, however, would remain under the curse to forever roam the night and shun the day.

Well that was the plan
,
anyway.

At the height of the ceremony, with all ten named ones present, she would be taken into the great tree at the centre of the circle. This would complete the cycle that had started all those eons ago in Inanna’s Tree of Life. Then her powers would be returned to her as they had been before Utu’s curse and the war with the
God
s.

Time is of the essence, she decided.

Then it hit her, the realisation that the ceremony was tainted already by the very fact that Smith was the father. She didn’t need to kill anybody because Smith had done all the work for her by fathering a child with her second body, Maria.

Chapter 28

Marienberg, East Prussia

His name was Raphael Czerolka but he was known
to all as simply the l
ibrarian. He had served the Order for sixty-two years, in armour and in sackcloth, and he had accomplished many things but this was his crowning achievement
;
the reading and deciphering of
the prophesies
laid down in the Book of Blood.

Michael had brought it from Transylvania to the castle at Marienberg six weeks before. He was a man of few words and had only given the bare outline of the story to the Brethren. The Grand Master of the Order put all to the study, translation and interpretation of the ancient texts. The majority of the book was written in the ancient Sumerian cuneiform and the translation had been ponderous and dense. Only the most learned of the brethren were allowed
to take part and Raphael, the l
ibrarian, was considered to be their most academic member.

The book consumed him. By day he read it through and made his notes, and by night he dreamt of vampire armies, furious
God
s and secret cults. Now finally, after weeks of hard work, he had in his grasp the knowledge to wipe out the pending vampire plague. He knew how to beat the Dracyl and Lilith.

He told the
G
rand
M
aster his idea in a closed assembly. Only those that had been chosen to work the book were present, and Michael. All wore their ceremonial robes and swords.

"Are you sure on this, Librarian?” the
M
aster asked. "It all sounds very heretical.”

"How can anybody be sure of anything? We’re talking about a book that was written over a period of thousands of years by a demon who was obsessed with a private war against a host of Sumerian
God
s. No
,
Master, I am not sure. I can only surmise from what I’ve read."  Brother Raphael was renowned for his sharp tongue and his dislike of earthly authority. It was one of the reasons why they had left him to rot on his own in the library. He was eighty-three now and all the signs were that he was not mellowing with age.

The brothers m
umbled to themselves until the
G
rand
Master
called for silence.

"So there are no guarantees?”

"No." He stood before them, defiant and ready to defend his propositions. The floor was silent.

"Tell the story again, Librarian. I want to be clear on this.”

So he did.

*  *  *

The priest was renowned throughout the land for his bravery and daring. His name was legend and his deeds were retold in the cold winter months to frighten children into bed. It was said that his great-grandfather had eaten the flesh of the heretic at Ma'arra and had found the Holy Lance. His grandfather had survived the debacle at Damascus and his father had ridden with the Lionheart to take Acre. Of himself, it was said that he’d fought against the Egyptians at Damiette with such valour that his fellow knights had composed hymns to honour his glorious deeds in battle. So the myth would have it that his life, and the lives of his whole bloodline, had revolved around war and conflict in the Lord’s name. However, now he was just an old man, half blind and dressed in rags. With his wild hair and limping gait, he looked as much a warrior as a lame dog, and the villagers found it hard to conceal their disappointment and doubt.

Barely managing to hide his cynicism, the village head finally told him of their p
roblems. How every month their lord and m
aster
takes
a victim to his castle to be no longer seen or heard of again. Defence against him with earthly means was useless. They needed divine help and guidance.

"Build a church," was the old man’s answer. "Hide there when he comes. The Lord will protect you.”

"He forbids a church," was the reply.

"Then a cross. The shadow of the cross will repel all evil if you believe strongly enough in its power.”

"A cross would be seen as an open act of defiance.”

The old man thought for a moment. He rubbed his whiskered chin and looked slyly at the village head. "Do you know your Bible?”

The headman looked shocked. He knew the stories but he had never seen a Bible; he had never even seen a book. The old man opened his sack and pulled out a huge leather-bound manuscript. The villagers crowded round, sighing as they looked on in admiration. He knew they couldn’t read Latin so he opened it up to the relevant page. He read slowly, translating after every line. The progress was slow but the villagers listened and their excitement grew. After he had finished reading, he looked up and asked if they had understood what had to be done.

"A tree."
The headman answered.

"A tree."
The old man confirmed.”

*  *  *

”Librarian
—
" All looked to see who had spoken. It was Michael. "I think I know the tree that you spoke of. I think you may be right.”

Raphael let a smile slip from his crabby demeanour and then
scowled at the only man in the or
der he actually respected. The l
ibrarian had once been a knight of the Order too, but now he was just a functionary.

"Of course I’m right. There is no other way to read it. The Book of Blood and the writings of Thomas of Trent all point to it being so.”

"Who was this Tho
mas of Trent again?” the
Grand M
aster asked for the crowd. The
l
ibrar
ian scowled in disgust but the
Master
went on
.
"Seeing as not all of us have had the benefit of sixty years of living in a library.”

The
l
ibrarian
glowered even more but relented.
"A crusader, one of a whole family line who gave their lives to God and the fight against evil. He roamed Medieval Europe and his writings relate one of the first encounters with the Dracyl."

"Ah yes, well it is a good theory, Brother Raphael. Perhaps we need to look at it a bit more.”

"There’s no time. We have to act now. The solstice will soon be upon us and
…”
He fell silent as Michael approached
the middle of the sitting.

The G
ra
nd M
aster looked quizzically at him.
"Well?”

"Master, Brothers, I
have a plan. I think that the l
ibrarian may have found something and, as he said, we have to act now. I beg of you all to hear me out and give me your blessing for the mission ahead.”

They listened as he laid his plans out before them but Michael knew they would never give their blessing and consent. The Order was now Himmler’s pet and the
Grand M
aster was but a puppet for Heinrich’s fantasies.

He would have to go it alone.

122

Chapter 29

Ukraine

Von Struck smiled as he watched Rohleder and the boy called Paul chatting together. Rohleder was cleaning Helga, his machine gun, and telling a story. Paul sat next to him and listened intently. He had followed Rohleder like a lost puppy from the first and Von Struck smiled to himself as he thought of his hard drinking, whore-mongering comrade-in-arms as a father figure.

"Whatever next?"
H
e grinned to himself.

"So what’s the plan for tonight, Boss?" It was Henning. They needed to find a new hide in the next few weeks. The patrols they had sent out had all been on foot and they had come up with nothing. It was time to do a long-range patrol on horseback.

"Well, I asked Jurgen
—
I mean Arak
—
if they could keep an eye out for a suitable spot but he didn’t even bother to answer. So it’s up to us. We’ll ride out early evening. I think I’ve found somewhere on one of the maps, so we’ll go there to check it out.” He’d relented on not telling the men about Jurgen.

Henning looked across to where the two women w
ere cooking over an open fire.
"And what about the civilians?”

"The wom
en, you mean, Wolfgang?" H
e smiled as he asked.

"Yeah," Henning turned to face him and smiled back
.
"
T
he women.”

"You can stay behind and look after them with one man. Pick someone and keep it in your trousers.”

Henning laughed. "I can’t promise anything.”

They rode out under a cloudless sky. Every star had turned out to light their way and the going was good. They stuck to the tracks. It wasn’t tactically clever but the Russians used cavalry as well and the idea was that they would be in the midst of the infantry before they realised they were German.

Henning had stayed behind with Muschinski. Rohleder had voiced his doubts as to the wisdom of leaving the two biggest womanisers alone with the
women,
however he’d smilingly backed down when Nau mentioned his interest in little boys.

The horses hadn’t had much exercise since their arrival at the quarry and Aphrodite, Von Struck’s horse, was puffing after the first hour. They slowed down to a canter but didn’t stop. Von Struck’s sixth sense started to tingle as Andreas Schneiderat called out, "Boss, we’ve got company.”