Nosferatu

CHAPTER 3

Nekhbet was dead. Nosferatu screamed, the cry echoed back to him by the metal lid just in front of his face. She was just a skeleton lying inside of her tube, her flesh long since consumed by the ages. Her red hair crowned a skull, empty eye sockets leading into an empty cranium. Completely panic-stricken in the confinement and absolute darkness, he flailed his arms, smacking into the sides of the tube.

A dream. A nightmare.

Nosferatu fought to bring his mind and heart under control. He reached for the inner latch and pressed on it. He screamed, this time from pain, as a searing bolt of sunlight poured into the opening. Blindly he reached up and slammed the lid shut, the pain in his eyes unbearable.

Nosferatu waited for darkness, the ache in his eyes slowly fading. While he waited he inventoried his body. He was weak, very weak. It was an effort to lift his hand. Running his fingers over his body, he realized he was little more than skin stretched over bone. He needed to feed. Desperately.

He removed the crown from his head and the leads from his arms and legs. He reached up and pressed the latch, carefully pushing up the lid so only the tiniest of cracks appeared. Blessed darkness. He didn’t have the strength to throw the lid all the way open. He pushed it up enough to slither out of the tube, onto the pebble beach, letting the lid slam shut behind him. He lay there for a few minutes, gathering his strength. It was warm on the pebbles as the heat from the day dissipated upward.

The desolation of the area he had hidden in had kept him safe for all the years he had been in the tube, but it worked against him now. Nosferatu looked about. He saw a bird fly by high overhead, but other than that no sign of life along the shore. He knew he didn’t have the energy to climb the cliff and search farther inland, and given the desolation of the shore, he didn’t suspect farther inland would yield much.

Nosferatu lay on his back listening to the surf and staring up at the stars.

Is this how it would end? He cursed himself for not thinking things through when he entered the tube. But how could he have changed anything? How long had he slept? He’d set the tube for 650 years as best he could read the High Rune figures on the hexagonals — an amount of time he felt was sufficient to check to see if the Airlia still ruled in Egypt.

Nosferatu’s nostrils flared as they caught a whiff of something. He sniffed. Blood. Not human. Not anything he had ever smelled before. But close in some way to human. He turned his head from side to side, trying to determine from which direction the scent came.

The sea.

Nosferatu frowned. Blood in the water. He crawled to the water’s edge. A wave splashed cold water into his face, but he continued until he floated in the ocean. He lifted his head and sniffed. The blood was ahead. Again, not human, but close. Similar.

He kicked weakly, pushing himself forward. A swell sprayed water into his mouth and he tasted the faintest trace of blood. Indeed not human but mammal. Close enough in his desperate situation. He pressed on.

Nosferatu cried out as something brushed along underneath him. He looked down and saw a long gray form. A dorsal fin passed by his left side. Shark. Yes, they would be drawn to blood too, he realized, remembering dumping the bodies off the boat on the way there. Or had they caused the blood? he wondered. He was closer to the blood. His entire body felt it.

Something bumped into him on the right and he instinctively pushed away before he realized whatever he had hit wasn’t moving. He edged closer. A dolphin. Its belly ripped open. Then he heard it and saw it all around him. The feeding frenzy as sharks tore into a pod of dolphins. The ripping of flesh. The squeals of the dolphins as they fought back and tried to protect their young from the marauders.

Nosferatu didn’t care about the sharks that surrounded him. He pressed forward, holding tight to the corpse. With trembling hands he ripped into the flesh above the water, exposing a vein. Blood seeped out and he fastened his mouth onto it, drinking the trickle.

Something hit his legs but he ignored it, his entire being focused on drawing the blood in. He felt strength slowly spread through his body but the flow came to a halt. Nosferatu let go of the body and turned seaward, toward the worst of the savagery. He saw another corpse and swam to it, repeating the process. A shark took a chunk out of the body he was feeding on and he ignored it. He repeated this four times, growing stronger with each feeding.

The sharks also ignored him, perhaps satisfied with their meal of dolphin, or perhaps knowing on some primordial level that Nosferatu was kin, a hunter like them, drawn to the blood. Or, perhaps, sensing that he was something that they had never encountered and avoiding the unknown.

Nosferatu turned for shore, full of dolphin blood and feeling stronger but ill. He swam to the beach, staggering to his feet. The current along the shore had pressed him northward from where he had launched. He turned south and walked, heading back toward his tube.

Suddenly, he fell to his knees and vomited a mixture of dolphin blood and seawater. He felt woozy, both from the gorging after so long a fast and the difference in blood type. He knew he needed human blood. He was stronger, but could not survive for long like this.

He reached his tube and crawled into it, his stomach protesting, his head pounding. He’d drunk so much to gain so little.

Nosferatu spent the next day in his tube, planning. That evening he exited the tube and climbed the cliff to the top. Looking inland all he saw was rocky desert extending to the horizon. He doubted that anyone lived within hundreds of miles. Could he cross the desert to inhabited land before running out of energy? Nosferatu stood for a long time, peering inland. Then he turned to the sea. He could see for miles along the barren coast in either direction.

At the very least he knew there was life in the water. Enough to keep him alive.

He turned back toward the land, looking to the northeast, his focus drawn that way as if there were a beacon over the horizon. He knew that was where Egypt lay. And Nekhbet waited. Staying alive wasn’t good enough. He had to get stronger so he could travel. He stayed on top of the cliff the entire night and when the first sign of dawn appeared in the east, he climbed down and entered his tube.

The next evening he did the same, but now he simply sat on the cliff, peering first one way, then the other along the coast, waiting. That went on for three complete cycles of the moon.

His patience was rewarded in the fourth month. Right after dark, as soon as he reached the top of the cliff, far to the north he spotted a small glowing spot on the shoreline. He knew immediately what it was — a lantern aboard a ship beached for the night. Nosferatu made his way in that direction along the top of the high cliff.

It took over four hours before he was above the light. A wooden ship was drawn up on the shore, the flickering lantern hung on a short mast. The ship was about fifteen feet long, open-topped, with one bench across the center and a long oar extending to each side. At the rear, the handle for the rudder swept inboard. Nosferatu counted three people — two sleeping in the front of the ship and one standing guard next to the mast.

Nosferatu moved south about two hundred yards until he reached a cleft in the rock face. He climbed down to the shore and considered his options. His heart was racing, not so much from the descent, but from the nearness of human blood. He could literally smell the people nearby. He crept closer but paused as the guard woke one of the sleeping figures.

The two switched places, the guard wrapping himself in a blanket and lying under the bench. The newly woken man leaned the sword against the mast and climbed off the boat and walked stiffly toward the cliff. Nosferatu began moving again, closing the gap. The new guard was urinating onto the pebbles when Nosferatu came upon him from behind. His hand clamped over the man’s mouth, stifling any cry, and he wrapped his other arm around the man’s body, pinning his arms to his sides. Nosferatu’s head darted forward, mouth open, and he sank his teeth into the man’s neck, tearing at the flesh.

Blood. Human blood. As the man’s struggles grew weaker, Nosferatu grew stronger from the blood surging into his mouth. He completely drained the man in less than a minute.

Nosferatu slowly let go of the body, lowering it to the ground. He turned toward the boat and considered the two sleeping men. His lust for blood was strong and the urge to take another victim almost made him go forward, but he held back. He needed them. As they would need him.

Nosferatu took the body and threw it over one shoulder. He made his way south. He crammed the body into a split in the cliff wall, covering it with rocks so it couldn’t be seen. Then he went to his tube and covered it completely. He took a piece of cloth and wrapped it around his head, covering his eyes with a double layer. Then he waited for dawn.

When the sun came up, light penetrated the cloth, but it was filtered enough for him to be able to see shapes and forms without pain. The boat did not appear until almost noon. Nosferatu assumed the two survivors had spent the morning searching in vain for their missing comrade. He waved as the boat grew closer and he could see the two sailors arguing, already jittery from the unexplained disappearance of one of their own and having difficulty handling the boat lacking one man. Nosferatu reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of gold coin and waved it, the sun reflecting off the precious metal.

Greed overcame fear and the men drew the boat in closer, calling out in a strange tongue. Nosferatu simply shook the gold, then pointed at himself and the tube, then at their boat, then to the south. There was no mistaking his desire. He pantomimed rowing, and that really got their attention as the boat needed three men to move if the wind failed them, as it often would along this coast — two men on the oars and one on the rudder.

The two sailors brought the boat to a halt about fifty feet from shore, still arguing. Nosferatu waited. Greed and reality won as he suspected it would. The boat came closer to shore and he waded out to it. The sailors were obviously asking him questions but he ignored them, waving a hand in front of where his mouth was and shaking his head. He also pointed at his eyes, then at the sun, shaking his head more vigorously.

Then they pushed the boat back out into the swell, raised the short sail, and began heading south, one of them manning the rudder, the other sitting on the bench next to the left oar. Nosferatu sat next to the right oar, but for now no rowing was needed. Nosferatu’s eyes ached even though the turban wrapped around his head blocked most of the sunlight. He wanted to hide under one of the benches and sleep, but he knew it was too soon, the sailors too jittery, to do this now.

He pretended to sleep that night and the next day spent the time on the middle bench, suffering the sunlight that forced its way through the cloth. Not long after dawn they were becalmed and Nosferatu joined the other sailor in rowing. It was agony but he continued in this way for eight days as they made their way south. During that time he listened to the two sailors talk, picking up words and phrases. He learned they were from a land far to the north, above the opening to the Inner Sea along which Egypt lay, a country which they had never heard of.

They’d been blown far out to sea during a storm. It had taken them over a week to make it back into sight of land and when they tried to make their way north along the west coast of Africa both the current and wind defeated them. They’d then made the difficult decision to go with the flow and head south.

Sketching with a piece of charcoal on the deck, Nosferatu drew for them a rough representation of the continent as he remembered it. He drew a line around the southern tip and up to the north. Lying, he indicated there was a way to sail up the Red Sea and into the Middle Sea on which they had come, not that they needed convincing as they had already given up on going back up the west coast even before they met him.

Two cycles of the moon after getting on board the boat, they passed the southern tip of Africa and began making their way northward. Nosferatu pretended to eat the scant food they offered him, but slipped it overboard when they weren’t watching. Nosferatu’s eyes had adjusted slightly to the sun, but he still kept them covered with the cloth. He felt the hunger inside growing. The land grew more lush as they made their way up the coast and one day the sailors proposed stopping to hunt. Nosferatu begged off, letting them go inland with their bows and knives. Once they were out of sight, he also left the boat, taking a different direction.

He had to travel far to find a village, arriving just before dark. He waited until the middle of the night before striking, taking down a warrior who came out to investigate when the dogs barked at Nosferatu’s approach.

Nosferatu came back to the boat just before dawn to find his two comrades with fresh kill and full of fear over his disappearance. He explained nothing, keeping to his silence, even though he understood their language well now.

Thus they continued. He killed and fed on humans five more times before they rounded the horn of Somalia and entered the Red Sea. After such a long sleep and a long journey, even Nosferatu began to become anxious. He was nearing Nekhbet. When he saw the sands of the Arabian Desert to his left, he knew it was time to leave the boat.

He departed one night, leaving the two sailors alive, even though he had the hunger. As he crossed the desert between the Red Sea and the Nile he slept during the day, covering himself with sand to protect his eyes and skin from the sun and moving at night. The third night he fed on a lone Bedouin. The next night he spotted a camp of Bedouins, probably the group from which his earlier victim had wandered.

Nosferatu was stopped by a guard as he approached the cluster of tents. He greeted the guard in the same manner he had all he met that he did not feed on — with a hand raised, holding gold.

The negotiations with the Bedouin chief were fast and simple. Nosferatu hired a half dozen of the desert warriors for a full moon of service. No questions were asked about what tasks were to be fulfilled or destinations. Along with the six desert dwellers and their mounts, he also hired four extra camels. The next evening, right after nightfall, they left the camp and headed west.

On the fifth day the lead Bedouin in his group indicated they were near the Nile.

The moon was three-quarters full as Nosferatu climbed up the steep slope of a large dune and caught his first glimpse of the heart of Egypt since he’d left. He was staggered by what he saw. A massive pyramid built of stone and almost five hundred feet high capped the Giza Plateau. It was flanked by two other pyramids almost as large. In front of the Great Pyramid, where the Black Sphinx had once lain in a depression, the ground had been covered and there was a similar sphinx made of stone with a painted face. Between the paws of the stone sphinx was a statue that Nosferatu recognized: It was of Horus. A temple had been built in front of the large pyramid, with a long causeway connecting the two. To the north, along the river, there was the glow of a huge city.

The six Bedouins stood behind him, swords in hand, awaiting his commands.

Nosferatu stood still, taking in the changes, particularly the pyramids. There were piles of stone at the base of the Great Pyramid, as if it were not complete, or perhaps, Nosferatu mused, there had once been a facing on it that had been stripped off for some reason. So much change in 650 years. It was quite incredible considering how little change had occurred during his time imprisoned along the Roads of Rostau.

The real issue, though, was who ruled now? The sailors had been able to tell him nothing of Egypt, their home being far to the west along the Inner Sea. They had talked of an island kingdom ruled by a fearsome lord in the Middle Sea but it had meant nothing to Nosferatu.

Even in the deep desert, what happened in Egypt mattered nothing to the Bedouins, who stayed away from the Nile and the rule of law there. To them it was a place to avoid.

Nosferatu could see people on the plateau, even though it was the middle of the night. Soldiers on guard. Priests scurrying about. There were ships moving on the Nile, carrying grain and other cargo.

Nosferatu rode down the far side of the dune and to the Nile, where he spurred his camel into water and crossed over, followed by his small party. On the east bank, Nosferatu skirted the large temple, where armored guards stood watch. He moved to the place he remembered, the secret riverbank entry to the Roads of Rostau.

He was surprised to find that the entryway was submerged, the level of the river obviously having risen over the years. Nosferatu considered the change for a few moments, then made a decision. He needed information before he took precipitous action. He left four of the warriors with the camels, hidden among some massive building blocks. He took the remaining two Bedouins with him farther along the riverbank.

The small stone hut was still there, huddled among dozens of others. The mark was still in place above the entryway, faded with time, but visible to those who knew to look for it. Nosferatu didn’t bother knocking. He pushed aside the cloth hanging in the doorway and entered without knocking, the two Bedouins right behind.

There were four people inside. A man and a woman sharing a pallet to his left; a young girl sleeping on another slightly raised platform to the right, and a young boy sleeping on the floor directly ahead. Nosferatu was across the room in three steps. He snatched up the boy, hooking an arm around his neck and pressing a blade against the flesh.

The other three in the room were awakened by the noise. The man held his wife back as she lunged for the boy whom Nosferatu held.

“You are the Watcher?” Nosferatu asked. “The Wedjat?”

The man was blinking sleep out of his eyes, fear slowly taking its place. “I am Kajihi.”

“The Watcher?”

“How do you know—”

“Tell me what you have seen,” Nosferatu said. “What? Who are you?”

Nosferatu tightened his grip on the boy’s neck, eliciting a yelp of pain. “I ask the questions.”

“May they leave?” Kajihi asked, indicating his wife and daughter. “They will go to a friend’s. We cannot go to the Pharaoh’s guards, as you may know, if you know I am a Watcher.”

“‘Pharaoh’?” The word was unfamiliar to Nosferatu. “He who rules here.”

Interesting, Nosferatu thought. That was not the name of one of the four remaining Gods. Of course, that might be what one of them was called now. “A man? Or a God?”

Kajihi shrugged, relaxing slightly as he realized his intruder was interested in information. “He appears to be the former. Although there are some who claim he is a God. But each Pharaoh has died after a normal life span, so if they are Gods, they only enjoy the benefits in the afterlife. The Pharaoh before this one caught the water fever just like a man and died shortly afterward, just like a man.”

“How many Pharaohs have there been?”

“The Great Pharaoh Tuthmosis, son of Amenophis, is the seventy-fourth Pharaoh to rule and the fourth of the Eighteenth Dynasty.”

Seventy-four, Nosferatu thought with a shock as he did the math. Thousands of years of human rule given their life span. Nosferatu felt a chill of unease. “And the Gods? Where have they gone?”

“Who are you?”

Nosferatu nodded, indicating for the two females to leave. Then he let go of the boy. “Go with them,” he ordered. He took a seat, indicating that Kajihi should do the same. The Bedouins flanked Kajihi, their swords at the ready, their faces unreadable. “My name is Nosferatu.”

Kajihi’s eyes widened. “You are the Undead. I was told of you by my father who was told in turn by his father and down the line for many, many years. I thought you were just a myth.”

“I have been away for a while,” Nosferatu said. “Many years as you note. When I last saw the plateau, there was only the Black Sphinx.”

“The Black Sphinx!” Kajihi was astounded. “The Black Sphinx is only spoken of in whispers. Some say it never was. Some say perhaps the Great Sphinx that is on the plateau was once painted black and gave rise to the legend.”

“There was a Black Sphinx and it was not made of stone but of some metal,” Nosferatu confirmed, remembering Lilith’s and Chatha’s horrible deaths atop the structure. “Most noble and imposing, much more than the stone image that sits on top of it now.”

“You are indeed from the First Age then.”

Nosferatu spread his hands, indicating he had no clue. “What age is this?” “The Eighteenth Dynasty of the Third Age of Egypt. The Age of the Rule of the Pharaohs. The First Age is spoken of as legend. The Age when the Airlia Gods themselves ruled.”

Nosferatu nodded. “Yes, they ruled. I saw them myself. I killed one of them with these hands. So much for Gods. Who ruled in the Second Age?”

“The Shadows of the Gods made in the image of Horus.”

Nosferatu knew Horus well, one of the six Airlia Gods, and his father. “And what are Shadows?”

“Men who have minds of the Gods and are constantly reborn. They are long gone although I have heard there is one who still wanders the world, the Shadow of the God Aspasia, made to do his bidding while the God himself sleeps.”

That made little sense to Nosferatu. “And now a man rules here?” “Yes.”

“What happened to the Gods?”

“Some say they are still in the Roads of Rostau. Others say they’ve gone far away. No one really knows. Not even the high priests, although they pretend to know. Often they will point up to the sky, as if that is where the Gods have gone.”

Or where they came from, Nosferatu thought, remembering what the strange woman, Donnchadh, had told him when she freed him. “And the Shadows?”

“Gone also, although, as I said, there is rumor that the Shadow of the great god Aspasia is across the Red Sea in the wasteland of the Sinai. That he has been there since the beginning of time. Waiting.”

Nosferatu understood waiting. “Waiting for what?”

“No one knows.”

Gods, then Shadows, and now men. Nosferatu felt a surge of fear and hope. Time had worked in his favor, but how much time? More than 650 years, that was certain. “How long has it been since the First Age?” He had an idea how long the humans had ruled here, but none about the Shadows of Horus.

Kajihi spread his hands. “Over six thousand years according to the records kept here by my family.”

Six thousand. Nosferatu felt as if he’d been hit in the chest. He’d been off by about a factor of ten when he’d set the tube to wake him. A slight miscalculation in terms of pressing the hexes, a massive one in terms of time. Was Nekhbet still alive? Was the influence of the Airlia Gods now little more than a representation in a human called a Pharaoh?

Nosferatu pointed at Kajihi. “You will take me to the Roads of Rostau. There is something I must get.”

“The Roads are guarded. The Gods may be gone, but there are others about who do their bidding. The Ones Who Wait. Guides. They keep the Atlantean truce. They will not allow any disturbance of the truce.”

The world had indeed changed, Nosferatu thought. Six thousand years. If Nekhbet was still living, was she sane? Could anyone survive that long in the state they had put her with their mind intact? “Who are the Ones Who Wait? And these Guides?”

“The Ones Who Wait are like you, if what I was told about you is true. Half-human, half-God. They serve the God Artad. I have never seen one, but my order reports they are active. The Guides serve the God Aspasia. They are human but they obey with more vigor and blind obedience than even the high priests. And as I said, there is a belief that Aspasia’s Shadow is nearby and can also control the Guides. It is said he is a fearsome creature with little love for any other living thing.”

Nosferatu rubbed his head. Even when hidden, the long hand of the Airlia Gods still reached out and affected things. “Can you get me into the Roads?”

“It is dangerous. And it is against my charter as a Watcher.”

“Your ancestor took me into the Roads a very long time ago,” Nosferatu said.

“He thought it was part of doing his duty.” He waited as Kajihi wrestled with the problem. “Let me be more blunt. If you do not take me, I will kill you and your family, then there will be no more Watcher here. How will that fulfill your charter?”

“What is it you need from the Roads?” “My love.”

Kajihi frowned. “I do not understand.”

“My betrothed. She is buried there. I promised her I would return and I have. And I am late. Very late. Taking me to the Roads will not upset the balance of anything.” Nosferatu rose to his feet, towering over the Watcher. “I have had great patience, suffered much, and traveled far, but my patience is wearing thin. Take me where I want to go. Now.”

Kajihi had jumped to his feet and he stepped back in fear as Nosferatu came forward. The two Bedouin warriors closed in on either side of the Watcher.

“The Roads are dangerous,” Kajihi sputtered. “I have only been down there a few times. I do not know if I can find—”

“I’ll find her. You just get me in there. One entry I knew of is now underwater. The one along the Nile. The other was at the base of the Black Sphinx. Is there another way in?”

Kajihi nodded. “Yes. There are several. There is an entry at the base of the stone sphinx behind the statue of Horus, but I cannot enter there. Also one through the Great Pyramid.”

“Can you get in that entrance?” Kajihi nodded.

“Take me. Now. No more words, Watcher. I have no more patience. If you do not take me, I will kill you. And your family.”

Kajihi stood still for several moments, then seemed to diminish in size as his shoulders slumped. He grabbed a gray cloak and tossed it to Nosferatu before throwing one over his own shoulders. Then he got one for each of the Bedouins. “Put these on and follow me.”

They left the hut and made their way to the large temple built along the shore of the Nile. Just before the temple, Kajihi turned to the left and moved toward the Great Pyramid, creeping in the shadow of a long stone causeway that connected the two. They reached the large pile of limestone rubble at the base of the massive pyramid.

Briefly Nosferatu wondered what had become of Vampyr. Was he still alive after so many years? And if so, where had he made his lair? Did his anger and hatred still burn so brightly?

“What happened here?” Nosferatu asked, as Kajihi paused.

“According to Watcher records, shortly after the Great Pharaoh Khufu had the pyramid built, he had the smooth limestone facing that had been put on it ripped off. He also killed everyone who had ever been inside, sacrificing them to the Gods.”

“That makes no sense — to destroy what you have just built.”

Kajihi shrugged. “Such is the way of Gods and Pharaohs. It is not for men to understand.” He pointed toward a dark opening about fifty feet up the pyramid. “There.”

“Are there no guards?”

“Not outside. There is no need. Fear keeps people out. There are guards of a sort on the inside, though, for those who would be foolish enough to overcome their fear. Do as I do and we may survive.”

Nosferatu remembered the strange metal spider that had killed Mosegi. His hand strayed to the knife at his belt although he knew it would do little good against the creature. When he had entered so many years ago for his tube, Kajilil had told him the gray cloak would help hide him from the creature so he had to assume that was still true.

Kajihi clambered up the large stone blocks toward the opening, Nosferatu and the two Bedouins following. He could see clearly in the darkness, but his senses were picking up something beyond what was visible.

Nekhbet.

He felt her nearby presence as something palpable, emanating from the ground. She was alive. Of that at least, he had no doubt. They entered the tunnel and the presence grew stronger. The air was still and dry as they descended into the Great Pyramid.

He could hear Kajihi counting to himself. After perhaps a quarter mile the Watcher abruptly halted. He placed his ring on a spot on the smooth rock wall and a door appeared. “Hurry,” Kajihi hissed.

They passed through the door and Kajihi shut it behind them. “You are now in the Roads,” he informed them.

Nosferatu slowly turned, facing one way in the stone corridor, then the other. He had no doubt about which way to go. “This way.”

The other three followed as Nosferatu led them deeper along the Roads. They came to a juncture and Nosferatu unhesitatingly turned to the right. Nekhbet was close, very close. Nosferatu felt as if his chest would explode his heart was beating so wildly.

They turned another corner and he recognized the hallway through which he and his five companions had escaped so many years ago. He broke into a run, the others hustling to keep up when Kajihi suddenly halted and hissed a warning.

Nosferatu almost ignored the Watcher, but he forced himself to halt. Kajihi tapped his ear, indicating for him to listen. Nosferatu cocked his head. Metal on stone. Coming closer. Kajihi lay down, pressing against one side of the wall and throwing his cloak over his body, indicating that they should do the same. Nosferatu forced himself to the stone floor, draping the gray cloak over his body.

The sound grew closer, moving more slowly. Nosferatu could visualize the golden orb and black metal legs. His body tightened as the sound grew much closer. It was next to them, then passing. The sound faded slowly and Nosferatu twitched, anxious to move. He pulled aside the cloak and started to get to his feet, but Kajihi reached out and grabbed him, shaking his head.

Reluctantly Nosferatu once more buried himself under the cloak and waited. Minutes of silence passed. Then he heard it once more. Metal legs on stone walls. Coming their way. The creature came back down the corridor and passed once more.

As soon as the sound faded, Nosferatu was on his feet. There was no holding him back. He ran down the tunnel and skidded to a halt outside the metal bars of the cell. The gate was open and he pushed it aside, stepping in. One black tube rested on a slab in his old cell, covered with millennia of dust. Sometime in the past seven thousand years they’d moved Nekhbet back here.

Nosferatu ran his hands lightly over the lid as if he could feel her flesh instead of cold metal. Kajihi and the two Bedouins came into the cell and watched him quietly, sensing the emotion pouring off of him. Nosferatu went to the top of the tube and delicately wiped the dust from the glowing control panel.

“We must hurry,” Kajihi whispered.

Much as he desired to open the tube and see his love, Nosferatu knew the Watcher was right. Plus, dawn was not far off. He gestured and the two Bedouins grabbed hold of the ends. They lifted the tube off the platform. Kajihi was back in the corridor, leading the way out. Nosferatu brought up the rear, his eyes on the tube.

They exited the Great Pyramid just as the first reddish hint of dawn was showing in the east. Nosferatu lent a hand getting the tube down the giant blocks of the pyramid to the surface of the plateau. They scurried along in the concealment of the stone causeway until they reached the large pile of stone blocks where the other four Bedouins waited.

Nosferatu had them lash the tube to the two spare camels, protecting the end still on the ground with a piece of heavy cloth. He turned to Kajihi, anxious to be into the desert before the sun cleared the horizon. “Go back to your Watching.”

Seven girls and seven boys. Virgins all.

The ship from Athens delivered the yearly tribute to the long stone dock that extended from the port city of Iraklion into the harbor. Soldiers flanked the chained youths and escorted them along the dock to the waiting wagons. They were loaded on board and the small convoy made its way through the town, flickering torches in the lead soldiers’ hands lighting the way. Even though it was early evening, not a person was about and store windows were shuttered. No one wanted to gaze upon the doomed youths, for it was said the very sight of them brought ill fortune.

The wagons rolled into the hills, approaching the capital palace of Knossos. It was a sign of the king’s power that the palace was not surrounded by defensive walls. The Minoan Navy ruled the waves for many miles about Crete and any enemy would have to get through that powerful force before it could even approach the island.

On top of the tallest tower in the palace, a dark figure stood, gazing down at the slowly approaching lights. To all he ruled, he was known as King Minos, who held sway over Crete, and many of the surrounding Cycladic Islands. There were those who said he was the son of Zeus and the Princess Europa. There were none alive on the island who remembered when he had taken power, and the whispers passed down said he had been in the palace for over 350 years. Some said even longer. Thus the rumors of a God as his father.

Of course, it was true to an extent.

Vampyr pulled back the hood covering his head and looked up at the stars. He felt the lust for blood rising as the caravan carrying the tribute from Athens came closer. He had learned to be careful over the years, to hide his feeding from people. He took only one victim a month, in the secrecy of the Labyrinth he had had built underneath the palace, away from the prying eyes of others. The extra two he took on special occasions — one was the anniversary of Lilith’s death. The other was the anniversary of the date he had become king of Crete over 350 years earlier.

He had come there over five hundred years ago. After leaving Egypt with his tube and Aspasia’s Shadow’s admonition, he had traveled about the edge of the Mediterranean for two hundred years. He’d even gone inland, traveling into the Black Sea and northward into Russia, spending many years exploring. He’d seen much and learned much, but his hatred had not abated in the slightest.

Finally, growing weary, he’d taken Aspasia’s Shadow’s advice and hidden his tube in a cave along the coast of Greece and climbed inside, going into the deep sleep. He’d awoken five hundred years earlier. He’d traveled back to Egypt, where he learned that the Airlia had disappeared and that Shadows had ruled. Then even the Shadows had given way to men. He made plans to enter the Roads of Rostau and search out the four surviving Airlia to slay them — if that was indeed where they slept — but Aspasia’s Shadow had appeared and Vampyr had been forced to leave his ancient land and go back to wandering.

He’d killed many humans over those years, many for sustenance and many more for vengeance.

He’d eventually realized that he needed power and leverage in the world of men if he was ever going to strike back at the Gods and destroy Aspasia’s Shadow. He’d traveled to this island, where he slowly began taking command. First one village, then another. Banding together disparate groups until finally the island was one kingdom.

He ruled through fear, which he had found to be the strongest of human emotions. The slightest transgression against his reign was punished with torture, then death. He had had every man who worked on the Labyrinth underneath the palace executed after its completion so that none knew its secret ways but he. The fate of the youths who were sent into its depths every year was the subject of much conjecture among the populace. Some said a monster, half-man, half-beast, lived under the palace and fed on the flesh of the youths. Close, Vampyr mused as he watched the convoy approach. It was a rumor he did nothing to contradict. A king who held sway over monsters was a powerful king indeed.

Vampyr estimated that he needed forty more years of conquest and expansion before his kingdom would be powerful enough to challenge Egypt. While a long time for a human, it was but a moment for Vampyr.

The convoy had entered the palace and passed from sight below. Vampyr left the turret and made his way down the stairs that wound around the interior of the tower. He passed through ground level and continued to the roads he’d had built underneath. Vampyr moved through rough, rock-hewn corridors, the workmanship shoddy compared to that of the Roads of Rostau.

The hunger grew in Vampyr as he got closer to the Labyrinth. He knew his soldiers had already pushed the youths into the antechamber, which opened onto four doorways. Each doorway led into the Labyrinth, but the youths didn’t know that. And each doorway opened inward but there was no handle on the other side. For the first fifty years or so, Vampyr had watched the antechamber through a peephole, interested to see how the youths would react. They always ended up taking the doors. Sometimes all fourteen would go through the same one; sometimes the group would splinter. But they all ended up in the Labyrinth.

There were places in the Labyrinth where food would be lowered daily, allowing the youths to feed. There were also two wells. And once a month Vampyr would hunt, taking a tender, young neck and the fresh blood. One by one they would fall to him while those that survived grew ever more frantic.

None had ever escaped.

Tonight he would take the first.

Vampyr moved to a large stone inset in at the end of the corridor. Putting his hand in the right spot, he pushed and the balanced rock turned, opening up a slight space on the left. Vampyr slid through, closing the rock behind him. He was in the Labyrinth.

Vampyr stood perfectly still, listening.

There was a strange noise, one he had not heard before. From beneath him. From the earth itself.

Vampyr staggered as the stone floor shifted under his feet. A tremendous roar filled the air. Vampyr looked up in time to see a large stone come crashing down on him.