[Keller]

Upon Pain Of Life:

(This is a part of what is now the Pain of Life SL)

In 1936, King Edward VIII abdicated the throne of England and George VI took his place. Italian forces captured Addis Ababa and annexed Ethiopia and Germany and Japan formed the Anti-Comintern Pact.
In 1936, Generalisimo Francisco Franco led his Falange against Popular front forces and the Spanish Civil War began. Drawn by the rich pickings of war, Azaiah and Lorenz found themselves in the midst of battle.
A bomb exploded as Luftwaffe planes devastated the countryside. The two vampires huddled in a trench as shrapnel hissed through the air above them.
"Tell me again why this was good idea to get into army again." He muttered as a spray of dirt blasted free by the bomb rained down on them.
Azaiah was forced to laugh in spite of the gravity of the moment,
"It seemed like a good idea at the time. You must admit, we've feasted as we haven't done for years."
Another rain in dirt and mud pelted them and he ducked a bit, chuckled,
"I'll will say, living in Turkey has spoiled me for this sort of thing. You too it seems."
His grin made Lorenz scowl, then he too was forced to smile, albeit a bit grudgingly,
"I have though of nothing but hot bath for a week now."
They both laughed.
"Well," Azaiah said finally, "I suppose we should do some fighting as long as we're here."
Lorenz drew his old Cossack sword, he preferred it to a rifle and often used it to devastating effect.
"Ready," He said simply.

The Germans were huddled around a small fire in their own trench. For the moment, the Spaniards were taking the worst of the battle and they had a brief respite. They had no idea what was coming slowly their way.
"Coffee, please, Herr Chef." The soldier chuckled and reached out a cup to his comrade, who was carefully heating up some food while there was time to eat.
Both men and their two companions looked up, startled, at the being who had appeared in their midst.
Lorenz swung his sword and a man was cut neatly in two, and then a second one fell, beheaded. The soldier dropped his coffee cup and swung down his rifle. He fired from his hip and Lorenz felt the bullet slice through his chest. He scowled as he turned to the man, now terrified as his bullet seemed to have no effect, and killed him with another powerful stroke. The fourth man jumped to his feet and ran for his life. Azaiah caught him in the dark and took him.
"You always make such a mess." The ancient one said as he came upon the scene of slaughter, "It's the Cossack influence, they were already barbarians a thousand years ago."
Lorenz sat back near the fire, his face now flushed and warm from feeding,
"These men were sent here to kill those who did no harm to them. Hitler is madman, before he is done, millions will be dead."
Azaiah picked up the coffee pot and poured them each a cup,
"Yes, this is only the beginning, Brother. We are seeing the start of another world war. We will be fat until it is over with."
"Is this all you think of? To feed?" Lorenz hissed, "I fought in Russia, and in France in last war. The whole world will suffer, and you only think to feed."
Azaiah smiled,
"I have lived through ages of men. Romans, Greeks, Persians, and races who were ancient before they existed. As long as I have lived I haven't seen a half century of peace."
The smile faded,
"The wars of men mean nothing to us, they are a means to feed unnoticed and well. We have always become part of their lives and their deaths and always we have suffered with them."
Then the old one sighed,
"It is our humanity that keeps us sane, Lorenz. The blood that gives us immortal life also makes us mad, or would without those simple human emotions. Never forget them, Brother."
Something feel to the ground between them, a black object, a grenade!
There was no time to escape, Azaiah shoved Lorenz away and fell on the explosive, and there was a shattering blast.

Lorenz awoke. His ears rang from the bomb, but his unnatural healing abilities were already repairing the damage to his ear drums. He gasped as he looked to his companion.
The ancient one had been literally blown apart by the grenade. The upper half of his body was thrown aside, and covered with dirt. Gently, Lorenz turned him over. The old vampire managed to open his remaining eye and look at him.
"You will be all right, my friend. I will take you away from here, I will..."
"No." Azaiah managed, "No, my Brother. It would take years to repair this even at my age and I have no patience to endure it."
He choked and a gush of black blood spewed down his destroyed chest.
"I have seen this, Lorenz. My time has come."
He choked again and another gush of blood sprayed the ground,
"I need you to help me. I can't die from this, and I can't finish it myself."
The bloodshot eye locked on his,
"You know what to do."
Lorenz looked away, his own eyes wet now with blood tears,
"I cannot, please..."
"You... you must, Brother. Spare me from this.... Please."
Azaiah gasped another gulp of air,
"We will meet again. I have lived before and I will again. I have seen it. A man will be born in a far country, and you will find your way to him.
"The one you seek, the reborn Ordog," he choked again, "he will lead you to this man, to the place where he will be, and you will know in time that he is me."
Somehow he managed a smile,
"Please, Brother. Find a sharp piece of wood and end this. I will be with you again. I swear it."
It took only a moment to find a sharp bit of wood among the splinters. Lorenz's hand shook as he pressed the point against his friend's ruined chest. Azaiah struggled until his bloody hand covered Lorenz's.
"Thank you, my Brother. I will always be with you in spirit, and one day I will be with you in this life again."
The old one's remaining hand grasped Lorenz's and the stake was driven deep. There was a flash of fire, and all that remained of Azaiah burned away.

The golden ark gleamed, even in the dark of night it shone with the radiance of the holy objects inside. Around it they all stood, the priests, heads lowered as the old one approached. They dared not look into the eyes of the ancient one, nor even to admit he existed. His kind had long since ceased to be the priests and judges of the tribes yes they still sought his blessing.
They'd brought him from Egypt with them and for forty years he'd been part of their number as they wandered the desert. Now the promised land was theirs. They'd crossed the Jordan River. Moses had to stay behind, but they still had the old one. Now it was time for his blessing. Once it was done he'd go his way, and their new life would begin.
He moved without a sound, his long robes swirling around his ankles. Slowly he approached the holy object.
Keller jerked awake. The dreams again. He sat up in bed and wiped a blood sweat from his brow.
He stood and weakly moved to the small wet bar for a drink. His hand shook slightly as he drank the fiery liquid down and poured another. It had been so real, had the Chapaev madness finally struck him? He didn't know but the curse had struck every elder the family had ever had eventually. Why not him?
He looked at the clock, 3 a.m. The thought of going back to bed and back to the dream was hardly appealing.
"Well, shit," he said, "I guess it's time to go to work."

(to be continued)

[Keller]

Upon Pain of Life

(The SL continues)

He spread his arms and began his slow dance before the golden ark. His long, gray hair was braided and his beard swirled about his lean face. For ages he'd served them and accepted their worship. Priests of Babylon, Egypt, Assyria and before them of those tribes and clans who took the names of animals or had no names at all had sought his council and brought him sacrifice.

Those days were gone, or soon would be. New religions were spreading along with civilization, the old animist cults were disappearing and his kind were already becoming unnecessary. Mankind had moved on, after tonight, he'd move on as well.. Tonight he would forever relinquish their worship to a new and nameless God.
The dance was short and odd, more ritual formality than anything. After this, only kings and high priests would perform it. He'd been brought along by the tribe as they fled Egypt, whose gods were already dead or dying. Now they would begin their new worhsip even as they found a new life in this place. They had always served their tribes and clans, now many of his kind no longer tied to the tribes would prey on them. It was good they were so few in number. They been mortal man's judges and protectors now they were predators and enemies.
He stepped back into the cool interior of the tent and sat cross legged on the cushions. A tall, dark-skinned man sat across from him.
"It's done," he said. "The old worship has ended, the blood ties are broken. Your God has ascended his throne."



Keller rolled over, still asleep. There were few things that scared him, but the dreams did. All the Chapaev elders before him had suffered the madness. It was the family curse, or had been until him. His tight grip on his humanity had saved him so far, but maybe his grip was slipping at last.
He rolled again, and slipped deeper into his slumber. Beside him, Dallas slumbered on unknowing.



It was dark in the far desert, and cold. With no humidity in the air to hold the heat, the temperature could drop almost one hundred degrees from day to night. He didn't mind though. He'd lived for centuries in the frigid Steppe lands. Of course he preferred the warmth of the day, it heated his cold body nearly to human temperatures.
He flew over the dunes, silent as the air itself. By dawn he'd be across the burning sands and deep in the jungles. He'd waited a long time to see them, the few glimpses he'd had were from the minds of others and he longed to see for himself. Below him now he saw the lush growth of the jungle. The smells of life and death drifted up to him through the trees.
Here were civilizations ancient beyond even his knowledge. Long dead, their ruins were populated by simple hunter gatherers, people like his own had been so long before. Slowly he began his descent, he felt at home already.

Keller half slept, half woke, his mutterings were nearly moans. Thick drops of blood sweat clung to his forehead, soaked his palms. The pillow beneath his head was deep crimson and wet. He tossed the pillow onto the floor and fell back, not asleep but not awake either.

The men moved quickly through the snow toward they quarry. Gestures replaced words now, the animal had sharp ears and a sharp sense of smell. They kept the wind at their backs and moved closer.
He watched them with mild curiosity. In the time since he'd drunk the blood his own senses had sharpened until everything was new to him. He experienced everything as if for the first time. It was as she said, and he loved it. He'd been chosen to take her place as the shaman of the tribe, but even what he knew of her and her kind couldn't prepare him for this.
Her soft laughter brought him out of his trance. He hadn't heard her laugh before. Having passed the gift to him, she was free at last to do so.
"It really is intensely pleasurable, isn't it, my son?" She whispered.
"I can't believe you want this to end, Mother." He replied, "It's so.. wonderful."
Her smile didn't reach those vivid blue eyes,
"Yes, at first it is. And the sense of purpose, of helping the tribe, our clan is as well."
She stood, tall and blonde, a beautiful and striking figure. She'd been made too young, the fault of her sire, who'd chosen her for her beauty rather than the knowledge born of long life that was usually a requisite. She still longed for her lost mortality and she wanted only to end this unnatural existence.
He, though, had lived a full mortal life. He was in his gray hairs when chosen, a man of wisdom and respect among the clans that formed their tribe.
"Some are born to it as I sense you are, young one." She said quietly, "Sadly I was not. I've not yet walked for a century, and the years already bear me down like weights. I'll be glad to end this lifeless life."
She turned to watch the hunters,
"Come now, let's follow the hunt, you need to practice your new skills until you have mastered them."
They easily caught up with the men and followed just out of sight. The men closed in on their prey and readied their weapons. Slowly they fanned out and with a gesture from the leader, they lit their torches and rushed the huge beast. Caught in the firelight it panicked and turned to fight, then as quickly it swung around the fire did its work and it ran blindly into the darkness.
The men followed, shouting and waving the torches, and the terrified animal charged away, and over the steep cliff that it couldn't see. It fell bellowing onto the jagged rocks below. The hunters followed and he watched them slowly clamber down the cliff to their quivering victim.
His sire put her arm around him and they rose into the air and descended to the bottom. For the first time the hunters saw them and they all bowed low.
"Hail to our great mother!" The leader intoned, "The first of the blood is for you and your son, for you have blessed our hunt."
The men stood back as she passed between their ranks and to the beast. It was immense and covered with thick red hair. She used her sharp nails to slit open its throat and stepped aside for him,
"Drink, my son, my only son." She whispered.

Keller nearly sprang out of bed. He fought to get awake and escape the dream as his body shook off the dread. The animal was a woolly mammoth!

(to be continued)

[Keller]

Upon Pain Of Life:

(this is a part of the Pain of Life SL)

They came from all over, some traveled for weeks. Babies still at the breast and those so old they needed help to walk, they all came. This was the time of the gathering. Along the way some would die and some others would be born. Once a year the clans gathered to renew family and filial ties. The men would hunt together and competitions would be held in wrestling and the use of weapons while the women would gather wild grains and fruits and share the news of their clans. Young men and women would seek mates among the other clans and the unions would help to cement the ancient alliances. Those with grievances would be judged along with criminals, and the shamans would administer judgments and conduct the sacrifices, both animal and human. During the year, smaller gatherings would be held among closely related clans as well, but this was the high gathering. The tribe was fortunate in that they possessed three shamans, two men and a woman, all of them ancient and powerful vampires.
He belonged to the wolf clan and he was the oldest and most powerful among the shamans. He had already attended hundreds of these gatherings and was honored among all the clans. He sat now with the two others in the yurt that had been set aside for them. Both were ancient and well versed in the ways of the clans and the rituals of the judging, and the sacrifice, and both were his chylder as well. He'd also shared the dark blood with other allied tribes and he had acquired the powers of and Elder. No where was there another who could match his power or his wisdom.
"I know our duty, father!" Grimka said, "Haven't I always followed and respected the old ways?"
The big vampire paced the yurt, as the others sat quietly,
"The days have come down, the world is changing. Already the mammoth and the great horses and bison are more scarce each year, and the snows are receding."
He took a cup of fermented liquid from their shared cauldron and sipped.
"Far south in the warm lands men are building cities and new ways and even new Gods are rising. Our time has passed. I say it is time for us to change as well."
He sat close to his ancient Elder,
"Father we've served our people for ages uncounted. You yourself have been a shaman so long that no one remembers when it wasn't so. You are the wisest among us, surely you see what I see."
The old one laid a hand on his chylde's shoulder.
"Yes, I too have seen the changing of times, in my dreams I too have seen the cities baking in the desert heat."
He ran a hand through his long, gray hair,
"Our duty has always been to the tribe, our family. There is none of us that aren't of the same blood as these people, and we have been their judges and priests. Yes, the snows will melt and the clans will move on. When they do we also will move. There will be other clans, other tribes who will need our wisdom and strength. We will serve as we always have until the day when we no longer are needed. When the day comes, my son, we will move on. But the time is not now."
For a moment Grimka frowned, but he knew the old one was right. In exchange for the blood, he had made his vows to serve the tribes. He would keep his word until their usefulness was at an end.
The Old One stood as a boy entered the yurt to beckon them,
"Come, it is time."

Outside the yurt the women waited to escort them. During the year in those clans without the presence of a shaman the women were the healers and prophets, now it was their honor to attend the shamans as they moved among the tribesmen. For the next eight hours they heard the grievances of the clan. Family against family, and individual against individual. Judgments were given, and criminals were tried, and when it was done the quilty were sacrificed. They drank blood until they was warm and sated and then they drank still more. Around them the tribe feasted too and drank the grains and fruits that were fermented into beer. The gathering was a success the Gods would be satisfied and the hunting would be good for another year.

Keller moaned in his sleep. he saw everything as if through his own eyes. It was he that judged the guilty and the innocent. It was he who blessed the new born and spoke words to the memory of the dead. His chylder stood beside him and received the sacrifices, and he tasted the blood, hot and fresh.



He woke covered in blood sweat as he had each night There could be no doubt now. The focus of the dreams was him. When he finished his work at City Hall tonight it would be time to have a talk with Alsaya.


(to be continued)

[Keller]

Upon Pain of Life

(The SL continues)

Lorenz DiVitalian opened the door and smiled,
"Come in, my good friend, Keller!" He said, "It is pleasure to see you."
Keller stepped into the vaulted entranceway to the under works of St. Januarius church. Lorenz had bought the ruined structure some years before and rebuilt the lower crypts. Now he and his sire lived there, safe from intrusion.
"Thank you, Lorenz." Keller replied, "Is your mother here?"
The odd man nodded,
"Mama is always here, my good friend. Please to come into the parlor. We were watching the cook show."
They found her there, before the television, comfortably settled in an overstuffed chair. No matter when he saw her, Keller thought, she always looked regal with her long white hair and blazing blue eyes, she had the look of a queen and a predator which never failed to fascinate him.
Her face lit to see her friend, then darkened,
"Come in, my friend, please have a seat." She said quietly.
She sent a silent mental message to her son and he graciously moved off into another part of the labyrintine old building.
Keller sat and smiled, laid a pack of cigarettes on the small table between them. She accepted one and a light. Although she kept her own here, it was a gritual they'd repeated many times, and always a prelude to their chats.
"Tell me, Keller," She said, pouring them a glass of whiskey from the small decanter on the table, "what is it that troubles you so?"
He smiled, not the least surprised at her intuitive understanding of him and his mood.
"I've been having dreams, old woman. Vivid ones, dreams of our kind in ages past. I fear I'm losing my grip on reality. We've spoken before about the curse of the Chapaev Elders."
Without speaking she rose and laid a coool hand on his brow. For a moment she stood in silence, eyes shut.
Then,
"I sense the turmoil in your mind, but you are hardly mad."
She sat again,
"Tell me about these dreams, please."
Slowly and with as much detail as he could remember he recounted his dreams as she smoked and listened.
"These things you saw in your dreams did happen, my friend. There were kindred even among the first humans. I, myself, am old enough to have visited Egypt before the pyramids were built, and I was hardly the first of our kind. There are, or were, many before me, and they were shamans and counselors to our earliest ancestors." She said.
"The legend says the kindred were created with the coming of the moon. Blood drinkers, wolves, and those other breeds we know so well were all made at once. Of course there are more legends than I can count, and none offer the least shred of proof.
"I suspect that it isn't the dreams that scare you, but that you see them as through your own eyes, yes?"
He nodded.
She dragged her cigarette,
"You and I know that some souls refuse to die with the body. They are reborn again and again, sometimes through ages of time. I have known several who claimed they were born into the blood more than once. My own sire was one of them. Perhaps your dreams are actually memories of a past life struggling to be remembered."
He listened, nodded,
"That makes sense to me, but what do I do now? I'm nearly sixty years old, why now? If I lived before, why haven't I had these dreams before?"
She sipped her bourbon,
"That I cannot say, my friend. Everything has its time. As we age we undergo changes, and those of us in the blood even moreso. Perhaps some necessary barrier to this rebirth has been crossed."
She set her drink aside, and laid a hand on his,
"When I looked into you, I saw nothing that threatened you. Whatever the dreams are, they don't seem to have harmed you, and I don't sense any impending danger in them. There is the chance that they're merely dreams. The blood has many mysteries that are yet to be solved. You may have acquired the ability to see some of our past."
"Dallas said much the same thing, old woman," He replied.
This brought a brilliant smile,
"Your wife is powerful in the blood, even as you are, and wise beyond her years. Her view of this is every bit as feasible as any."
She refilled their glasses,
"I have often had the thought that both of you are reborn blood drinkers, hence your strength and abilities, which are quite beyond your short time in the blood. There are a number of answers to your question, my friend. I fear only time will reveal which one is correct.
"Keep in mind that very little can harm you. The madness you fear may be possible, but I see no sign of anything wrong with your mind."
She smiled again,
"Keller, very few who take the blood can really bear all that comes with it. Madness and death await all but a precious few. You've seen this already, many times. You and your wife, on the other hand, flourish. You will only grow stronger with the passage of time, and I see nothing that can really harm either of you.
"Be at peace, my old friend. In time the reason for your dreams may reveal itself, or it may not. In any case, you will always have Dallas and I and even Lorenz, and we will always be here when you need us."
She stubbed out her cigarette and accepted a light for another. A silent message brought Lorenz back into the room and the three spent a quiet evening watching the Food Channel.

(to be continued)

[Keller]

Upon Pain Of Life:

(this is a part of the Pain of Life SL)

A stocky, bearded man answered the door and smiled.
"Rabbi Singer?" Keller asked. "My name is James Keller."
"Oh, yes, Mr. Keller. Please come in. Rabbi Fishman said you'd be stopping over."
The Rabbi led him to a small office set off from the Olev Shalom synagogue. The Rabbi excused himself and returned followed by a woman, who set out a pot of coffee and cups. Once they were served she excused herself and took her leave.
"Samuel, Rabbi Fishman, said you were curious about some dreams you've had, Mr. Keller. And also the Ark of the Covenant. I'm afraid that I'm not an interpreter of dreams like Daniel but I'll help you all I can."
"I understand from Rabbi Fishman that you are also a scholar of the Talmud, and also of some of the more esoteric beliefs and writings of the Jewish faith, Rabbi." Keller replied, "Perhaps I should start by telling you my dream."
The Rabbi sat and sipped his coffee as Keller detailed his dream, how he'd played the lyre and danced before the Ark. He also detailed his dreams of the early humans and their worship of the vampiric shamans. Throughout the Rabbi said nothing, but when Keller had finished, he set his coffee aside.
"First of all, the Bible mentions King David dancing before the Ark as it was brought back into Jerusalem after he captured the city about 1000 BCE or thereabouts. His dance was in keeping with a prophecy. However, I don't think that's what you saw. There is another figure, a rather enigmatic one named Azaziah, or just Azaiah, who is remembered mostly for having played the lyre as David danced before the Ark. He was a Levite and as you know the Levites were the ancestral priests who alone were able to enter the presence of the Ark. In the 8th century BCE there was another Levite named Azaziah who supervised the bringing of tithes and offerings into the tabernacle. This was during the reign of king Hezekiah. Precious little is known about him, but some scholars have suggested that it may have been the same man and that he served before the Ark as a Levite throughout that entire time."
Singer smiled,
"You won't find that supposition in the Bible, and most biblical scholars aren't even aware of it. Anyway, some have further supposed that he was even more ancient and that he came to Israel from Egypt at the time of the Exodus."
He chuckled,
"Please don't mention this to my fellow Rabbis, it's an unpopular theory and I'll admit its more than a little far fetched. At any rate, we know very little about any of these men, but I must suggest to you that perhaps as a scholar yourself you may have read some of this theory and applied the man's long life to the immortality usually ascribed to vampires."
He sipped a bit more coffee,
"And as to vampires, the Bible makes no mention of them at all, although Proverbs, in the New Testament makes mention of an Aluka, the Hebrew word for leech, or more specifically a horse leech. This one however, has some daughters. The exact verse escapes me at the moment, but apparently he has some daughters, and the passage has been interpreted by some to suggest a vampire. Once again, this theory is not a popular one and has pretty much been universally discounted as such."
He set his coffee down, his face set in a serious mask,
"There is one figure from the Bible who is usually associated with vampires, however. I'm sure you've heard or read of Lilith."
Keller nodded,
"Yes, I ran across that name several times in my research."
"Lilith originated as a demon in Sumerian legend. She was part of a family of demons, which included Lillu, Ardat Lili, and Irdu Lili. She's mentioned in the Epic of Gilgamesh, written about 2000 BCE. According to the legend, she escaped from her home near the Euphrates River to dwell in the desert. In that context she was a sort of vampire harlot, who was unable to bear children and whose breasts were dry. She is usually pictured as a beautiful young woman with the feet of an owl, although it is believed that the owl's feet referred to her nocturnal life.It's basically an allegory.
"In the book of Isaiah, she appears again. In describing God's vengeance Isaiah says the land will be turned to a desert and as a sign of desolation, "Lilith will repose there and find her place of rest."
"The Talmud, however, has a more interesting view of her. There she appears as the first wife of Adam. Oddly enough, they had a disagreement as to who should be in the dominant position during sexual intercourse. Adam held forth that he should be on top, and she used her magical powers to fly away to the Red Sea, which was apparently the abode of a number of demons."
He stood and took an old book from his shelf, flipped through the pages until he found the reference he sought,
"There, she had a number of offspring, generally called Lilum. She claimed to have some vampiric powers over babies, but she worked out an agreement with three angels, Senoy, Sansenoy, and Semangelof to the effect that any baby wearing an amulet inscribed with the angels names would be safe from her."
The Rabbi chuckled at the look on Keller's face,
"My friend, in reading the Bible and these other ancient books, one can find every kind of supernatural creature imaginable. It was the nature of the writings of that time to include allegorical tales. The writers based most of these stories on legends that were ancient even in their time. The creation story of Adam and Eve have counterparts in much older legends and tales, as does the story of Noah, to mention only a few.
"True, most or all legends have some basis in fact, but I assure you, there are no such things as vampires. They are generally supposed to have their basis in sexual repression, again the stories are allegorical.
"However, and here I'm going out on a limb that I'm told no Rabbi should ever venture upon, but I think this is why Rabbi Fishman sent you to me.

"My family originally came from Prague, in what is now the Czech Republic. They believed that vampires do exist, and have existed all throughout history, and yes, even in the Bible. It's quite possible, if they do exist, that they were honored, even worshipped for their immortality, and some old and rare books speak of these things, but I have no basis in fact to offer you.
"So, there you have it. I'm afraid I may have added more confusion rather than helping you, Mr. Keller, and I'm sorry."
Keller nodded as he sipped his own coffee. Most of what the Rabbi said he already knew from his own research. However the reference to the Levite Azaziah seemed to strike a chord deep inside him,
"Rabbi, is there anywhere I can learn more about this Azaziah or Azaiah?"
The Rabbi took a small piece of paper and wrote out an address,
"This man is a catholic priest, with whom I often correspond. He is steeped in the old legends and tales of Europe and the Middle East. If anyone can help you, it's him."
He stood and laid a hand on Keller's shoulder,
"Mister Keller, in all likelihood, your dreams are merely that, dreams. Talk to the good father, and then perhaps your fears will be allayed. If I can be of any further help to you, feel free to contact me at any time."

Keller shook his hand and headed back to his car. He had some books in his library that he hadn't consulted yet.

(to be continued)

[Keller]

Upon Pain Of Life:

(this is a part of the Pain of Life SL)

He moved across the roofs of the buildings, unseen by the crowd. Far below him the woman stood watching, also hidden from mortal eyes. He cloaked himself in shadow so she wouldn't sense his presence. He had no wish to be seen now, perhaps he'd go to her later, but not now. She was suffering, he could feel it but he didn't understand, so he thought it best to stay hidden. She had always been aloof and he had no wish to intrude on her now. Besides, there were too many mortals here, and it was nearly dawn. If they were detected they'd have to kill to escape and the conditions were against them. He had no wish and no reason to do battle here tonight.
He turned as they dragged a man out. He was big with long black hair and beard, and he was terrified. One look told him that the man was also kindred. So, they'd caught one, a fledgling. From the look of him, he'd barely passed the change from mortal to vampire, the smell of fresh human death still clung to him.
He looked again to the woman. So, that was it, he was her chylde, and she was helpless to save him. Her agony was nearly palpable for one with senses as keen as his. He pulled the shadows closer about him and slipped back into a corner of the roof to wait.
They chained the fledgling to an iron stake set in the town square and began to pile wood around his feet. He had seen this before. They didn't really know how to destroy kindred, and that was good. When it was over they'd lose interest and he and the woman might be able to rescue what was left of her chylde.
The town squire appeared, followed by the selectmen. He stood for a moment looking at the fledgling, who hung from the chains in abject misery. Then he produced a scroll and turned to the crowd.
"Citizens!" He began, "For weeks we have been plagued by a demon! He has murdered our sons and daughters without mercy, and cursed our village for years to come!
"Now, he is in our hands, and he will pay the price of his evil!"
He paused to let the impact of his words sink into the crowd, then,
"Once he was human even as we are, but the evil one has taken his soul, and there is but one way to redeem his immortal soul!"
He turned to the East and looked at the rising sun,
"We know the ways of the blood drinkers, they live in darkness, and cannot tolerate the blessed sun."
Then he turned his eyes back to the chained fledgling,
"Monster! For your evil, your punishment will be two fold! First you will feel the scorching heat of the sun, then your filthy soul will be purified by God's own fire!"
The first rays of the sun crept across the cobble that made up the streets and the square.
The squire smiled,
"Let the ordeal begin!"

The fledgling had no resistance to the sun, as soon as it shone on his foot he began to scream, and he didn't stop for hours. By noonday he'd lost mercifully consciousness, but by then the crowd had thinned out. There was work to do and they could always come back after it was done. They left him scorch until after darkness fell, and then they lit the piled wood at his feet and burned what was left.
He waited through it all, watching the woman, who had shrunk into the shadows to avoid being scorched herself. Through it all she suffered, but only he could see the blood tears that smeared her face and stained her clothing. The shadow hid her from mortal eyes. She never left her chylde, never looked away.
At dawn the Town Squire and the selectmen returned. They swept up his ashes and placed them in a small silver box. It would be taken to the Monastery of St. Vitalian and interred deep in the crypts forever.
At last the woman turned away and moved slowly off into the dark. He followed and for the first time he allowed her to see him. Her face was devastated, eyes bloodshot and still leaking the dark red tears.
She smiled to see him
"You saw?" She asked simply.
"Yes," He answered. "The fledgling was one of yours wasn't he?"
"My only chylde," She said, "my other one also perished."
She sobbed,
"He could not bear the blood. I was so sure this one..."
She didn't finish.
"I'm sorry, Alsaya. We both know how few are really fit for immortality."
She looked back toward the village,
"This one is. He wasn't destroyed, he'll walk again."
His eyes followed hers,
"That might take centuries, you know that."
She nodded,
"I'll wait for him. However long it takes."
"Not here," He said, "they'll be on guard for years to come."
Again she nodded,
"Come with me. "He said, "Years from now they'll have forgotten this and we can return for him."

Keller woke and sat up as he had every night for weeks now. Another dream, but this one was different. There was someone he could ask about this dream. The Alsaya in his dream was his friend, and he'd already discussed them with her, and the man who was tortured and burned was Lorenz DiVitalian.

(to be continued)

[Keller]

Upon Pain of Life

(the SL goes on)

They appeared in the streets just after nightfall and rode slowly toward the palace. Women pulled their children inside their houses as they passed by, and men lowered their eyes so as not to look upon them. It was unwise to see, or be seen by, the dark riders. They had been famed as spies and assassins for generations and the superstitious people of this place took no chances.
All three were dressed in chain mail shirts over leather, stained black. All wore long cloaks of black wool and veils that covered their faces, leaving only their eyes visible. Instead of the ponies that even the chieftains rode here, the three were mounted on sleek black horses. Superbly trained animals, they kept straight ahead as did their riders, never looking to either side at the people who scurried out of their path.
The palace was modest, a mud brick building surrounded by thick walls. Guards stationed at the gateway stepped aside without question as the men passed through, and a young boy raced into the main hall to report their coming. Inside the throne room, Amel, prince of the city smiled as the boy reported to him.
"Go, boy, and bring them to me." He said.
At the entrance to the building the leader of the three dismounted and passed the reins of his horse to one of his companions. He followed the boy inside, boots silent on the thick Turkish carpets as they approached the throne.
"Welcome, my friend." Amel said, "Please to sit, refresh yourself, I'll have food and wine brought for you."
"I have not come for food or drink, Prince of the city. I have heard your call, what is it you wish of me?"
Amel squirmed in his seat. This man scared him. The dark ones were known for their ferocity in battle, and it was said they could not be killed. He himself had seen one of them shot through with a dozen arrows, only to pluck them out and fall upon his attackers like a tiger and rip them to pieces. They could change into wolves or bats, or things far worse than either. They could fly or disappear into shadow. Above all, they never failed to complete a contract.
He lowered his eyes from the man's luminous green stare,
"I would have you perform a task for me. I'm sure you know the Great Khan of the Mongols desires this land."
The man nodded,
"He has many desires. I know also he has offered you a treaty of peace, and to trade with his merchants. I have heard that you disgraced his emissary and sent him back in pieces. That was most unwise, Prince."
Amel squirmed again, but was forced to smile,
"You know much, my friend."
"I have come far, Prince, and I have far to go before I sleep. There is no time, say what you want."
Amel's eyes flicked to the dark dressed man's, and again to the floor,
"I want him dead." He said simply.
The man shook with laughter,
"You would have me assassinate the Great Khan?"
Cold sweat broke over Amel's round face, but fear of what he had done gave him the courage to go on,
"It was arrogance, a mistake! I have sent envoys with gifts to the Khan, and he sent them back in pieces. In a week he will bring his armies against me.
"Please! You served my father, and his before him! I know you can do this thing! I will give you anything! Please!"
The man stepped closer,
"I am truly sorry, Price of the city. It's too late."
"Too late?" Amel gasped, "What do you mean, too late?"
He was lifted clear of his throne, feet dangling in the air. He saw the sharp little killing teeth.
"The Great Khan is a wise man," The dark one hissed, "he paid my price to kill you."
He plunged his teeth into the terrified man's throat and drank until the body hung limp in his hands. He threw the body aside like so many rags, and turned to see the boy staring at him through terrified eyes.
"Go home, boy, take your mother and your father, sisters and brothers and flee. This city will be rendered into dust. You will live a long life and when your grandchildren are grown, no one will even remember it existed."

Keller awoke, yawned,
"Another night, another chapter," He muttered, and went off to shower. He had work to do for the city of Isle Voletta, he'd gotten way behind with the dreams. He'd have to put off his meeting with Alsaya for a few more days.

(to be continued)

[Keller]

Upon Pain of Life

(the SL goes on)

From high on a hill they watched as the Mongols swept into the helpless city that had been the capitol of the Tangut empire. It wasn't a battle, it was a massacre.
"This wasn't necessary. The Prince who brought this to happen is already dead!" Koska said. "Why must the innocent suffer along with the guilty?"
"Word of this will spread across the Steppe and through the desert. In a month they'll know about it as far away as China. The Khan is a master of subtlety. The next city won't be so quick to refuse his embassy." He answered.
Koska hissed.
"You sound like you admire him, my Lord." He said.
"I do." He replied. "By killing these hundreds he will save the lives of thousands who may someday serve him. Yes, history will remember him as a monster, and he is, but a monster of uncommon wisdom."
There were a few chuckles from the others. He had gathered together not only blood drinkers but shape shifters as well. There were now nine of them and they had prospered for generations from patrons like the Great Khan.
"Do you think it is a matter to laugh about? People are dying down there! Innocents!" Koska snarled.
He whirled on the man,
"People die every day! We live by their deaths, and live well!"
He turned away from him in disgust. Koska had been brought to them by his Alpha, and although he thought it was a mistake, he had accepted him for his old friend's sake.
"We are what we are, Koska. Rather than be hunted like animals or monsters, we are respected and feared. Never forget the burden you accepted with the powers of your wolf blood." He said.
Koska rode off into the dark, leaving the rest to watch the slaughter. He waved the man's Alpha over to him,
"The moon sickness is truly a burden for some, especially those who are young in it. I suggest you speak with your pup. Those I cannot depend on don't ride with us. Sometimes they don't ride again at all."
The message was clear, and the wolf rode off after his offspring.
Azaiah shook his head. The wolves were excellent soldiers and servants, but the unstable nature of their blood was always a problem, and those who were newly brought into the moon sickness, as the blood drinkers called it, often suffered their loss of innocence. He'd be sure to watch the pup closely.



The flaps of the massive tent were pulled aside and he strode in. The cold, green eyes were sharp above the black veil that covered the lower part of his face. He had found it advantageous to hide his face, and those of his companions. It added to the mystery and the fear they inspired in those who saw them.
He moved into the tent, and bowed slightly to the man who sat on the mound of cushions at the center, surrounded by his closest advisors and counselors. The Great Khan of all the Mongols.
"Come forward, my trusted friend." The Great one said, "Sit at my side and share my meal."
He waved a hand and trays of food were brought and set about before him.
"I would speak with this man in private," The Khan said and the others rose and departed.
"It is said that your veil hides the face of a demon, my new friend." He said when they were alone.
Azaiah pulled away his veil and took the black steel helmet from his head. A hand swept the long, gray hair from under his cloak, and his beard, no longer covered by the veil was free to swirl about his lean face.
"There are few who would call my old face pretty, my Lord, but it's hardly that of a demon." He said.
The Khan chuckled and bade him sit,
"You are a wise man, my friend. A terror suggested is often as effective as one made real."
He smiled and sat at the Khan's side, accepted only a cup of wine from the food taster.
"You have passed my test, that of killing that fool Amel. I welcome you to my service." He went on, "They say you and your companions are eternal. I heard it from my father, and he from his so I suspect it's true. The legends and tales go back as far as we remember, or care to. Your skills are unequaled, even among my finest warriors. I will have many uses for you and your riders."
He waved a jeweled hand again and two servants appeared, each carrying two heavy bags of gold.
"Here is your payment, in double. You will find me a generous lord to hose who serve me well."
He smiled,
"I have found you so already, my Lord Khan. Our skills are as your own, to use in your service."
"I accept you, my friend, and I have a new task for you."
From his robe of heavy yellow silk he took a rolled up parchment,
"Take this, and deliver it to the Shah of the Khwarizm. Tell him Ghengis, Khan of all the Mongols forgives his impetuous act and desires his friendship in these dangerous times. He has many enemies more dedicated even than I. This time, perhaps, he will accept me as friend and lower his guard. No matter, he is doomed either way."
The Khan leaned closer,
"When you are brought into his presence, beware, for he is cunning and will test you. Do not kill him as you did Amel. I have been his mortal enemy since he murdered my ambassador and attacked my caravans. The time of his judgment has nearly arrived and I myself will watch him die. Return to me after you have delivered my message, while the Shah is diverted by you, my armies will draw near."

He laid the bags of gold beside the roaring fire and sat among his companions. Once again, his helmet was set aside, he had no need to hide his face from those he commanded. At his side sat his second in command and trusted friend, Silasha. She was tall and beautiful, and although barely passed her first century she was a wise and powerful alpha she-wolf.
"The Great Khan pays well, my Lord Azaiah." She said, "But I do not trust him."
"Nor do I, Silasha. As with all great mortals, he achieved his greatness by treachery." He smiled, "Yet the treachery of men has made us wealthy, my friend."
He took the rolled parchment from under his cloak,
"And here is more treachery in which we will take part and become richer still."
"Is this what we have become? Are we made only to serve wicked men for their cursed gold?" She hissed.
He sipped the mulled wine from the community pot between them and sat back,
"In your old land, far to the North, your kind are still hunted like animals, and mine are exterminated whenever they are found. You ride free and equal beside me while the blood drinkers that still reign enslave your kind, noble and ignoble alike! Would you return to that?"
Her voice was low, her eyes fierce,
"You know I would not." She replied.
"Children of the moon, and those of the blood are few in number, and pursued like vermin." He said, "But who among men would pursue us? None, I assure you. Instead we are respected, feared! Mighty kings and princes vie with each other to purchase our services, and your pack is free to hunt as your ancestors did of old!"
He threw the cup of wine into the fire,
"Do not speak to me of treachery! Is there any treachery greater than has been done to us who were once the object of worship even as Gods?"
Again her voice was low,
"I do not dispute your words, my friend and lord. You have given us back our freedom and the right of our birth into the service of Luna. It is only that we would be out of the world of men, deep in the virgin forests as we were meant to be. My kind are not made for the intrigues and greed of mortal men."
He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder,
"The world belongs to mortal men now, my friend. If we would survive, we must be as greedy and wicked as they.
"The world is changing yet it remains unchanged, age after age. Men love to make their wars, perhaps in some far off time they will finally come to peace, or destroy themselves. Until that time, if we would continue, we must walk among them unseen, unknown.
"I have not the power to see the future, but I can foresee the day when they will cease to believe in our kind, and the others who are more than mere men. We will pass into history and history will become legend, and finally myth."
He waved his hand, and a moth flew from a nearby tree.
"You see? The moth mimics the tree bark and we pass by without seeing him. So we must mimic mortal men that we may also pass unseen among them."
He stood,
"Come, it is nearly light, you still have time to hunt and I will retire to rest. Tonight we ride for the stronghold of the Khwarizm, you must rest also after your hunt, it is many days ride."

(to be continued)

[Keller]

Upon Pain Of Life

(this is a part of the Pain of Life SL)

In the year 1210, the Shah of Khwarizm conquered Iran and Turkestan. A year later, Ghengis Khan moved his army toward China. By 1215, when Beijing fell, northern China was little more than a wilderness.
Having consolidated his power, the Great Khan sent an embassy to the Shah. In his arrogance the Shah had them massacred. Now a second group rode into the Khwarizm stronghold, bearing yet another message from the great one.
The black cloaked riders rode their horses at a walk. They met only cold, fearful stares from those bold enough not to run at first sight of them. Soldiers gripped their swords and axes, but none had the courage to stand in their way.
The Shah had taken up residence in the palace left vacant by his killing of the former prince of Iran. At the gate the riders dismounted and strode inside. All were on their guard, he knew well that they could expect no welcome here.
The Khwarizm were not tall men, and they towered over them as they passed between ranks of soldiers. He was flanked by the hulking, one-eyed Fiesh on his left and as always his ever faithful Silasha was to his right, both of them power wolves.
"My respects to the Shah of the Khwarizm!" He said when they stood before him, "I bring you greetings from the great Khan of all the Mongols, who is now emperor of the China's as well."
The Shah was a warrior in his own right. He'd gained his throne by courage and guile, yet these odd warriors made him uneasy.
"What brings the servants of the Khan to me?" He asked, careful to keep his voice level.
To show fear would dishearten his men, and they were already unsettled by the knowledge that Ghengis Khan desired their lands and their lives as well.
He pulled the rolled parchment from beneath his cloak and passed it to a courtier, who brought it to the Shah.
"The Great Khan, desires only peace with your highness." He said, "He promises that the ill feelings of the past will be forgotten, and that the mighty empires of China and Iran will together ride west and conquer the rich lands of the Christians."
The Shah listened as the scroll was read to him, and finally he smiled.
"The last ambassador the Khan sent to me did not return. I myself watched them die!" He hissed.
"We have never feared to die, highness. I can assure you though, when finally they drag my corpse from this hall, you will not be alive to watch it." He replied calmly.
The Shah's guard would have sprung forth to attack this arrogant outlander, but the Shah stayed them. He had no desire to discover whether this dangerous upstart could make good his threat or not.
"You may return to your master and tell him the Shah of the Khwarizm will make no peace with him, now, or ever, and that he awaits him on the field of battle."



They rode away from the city and into the desert night until they were far away from the stronghold of the Khwarizm.
It was Silasha who spoke first,
"You know, my Lord, that the Shah's men will come on us at daybreak, while we are at rest, or should be."
He nodded,
"Yes, they know the legends and they'll follow them."
He brought his horse to a halt,
"Their very knowledge will undo them, however. They think us all to be blood drinkers, even your shape shifters, and they think we are helpless in the sun. But I have walked long enough to be nearly immune. I can stand the sun for hours, and I don't think they'll last that long."
He looked to their east, where the barren rock cliffs rose,
"Come, my friends. Let us make our camp and prepare for our guests."

General Hasan had made his plans well. His men used the available cover to creep close to where his spies had located the cursed Mongol's servants. He had hand picked fifty warriors, every one a veteran fighter. They brought along stakes of wood, silver bound, and with the sun as their ally they could not fail. The monstrous dark riders would never return to their master.
They surrounded the black tents where their enemy slept, and at a word from Hasan, they threw torches into them and set more fires at their edges. In seconds they were ablaze.
The general sat on his horse and watched the fires burn. The tents were destroyed utterly, yet none of the dark ones came out of the flames. He hadn't imagined that this would be so easy. He was about to reform his man to search for their bones when all hell broke loose. They hadn't been in the tents. They were hidden among the rocks at the base of the cliffs, and now they attacked.
Silasha and Fiesh were old and powerful enough to change at will. All through the night they'd aroused and angered their pups until they too were ravening beasts. They sprang upon the Iranians like demons. Too late, Hasan realized that he'd blundered into a trap. Frantically, he wheeled his horse and prepared to rally his men, but before he could do anything, his attention was frozen. A powerful figure was upon him and his officers. All in black armor and wielding two swords, Azaiah galloped out of the shadows and into their midst.
He mowed them down like a harvestman, his blackened steel swords singing through the air. Arrows struck him and embedded without effect, and no sword was fast enough to cut him. As the wolves decimated everyone in their path, he cut down any who escaped. In minutes, fifty hardened warriors were reduced to bloody corpses in the early morning sun.
He sat back in his saddle and watched his wolves destroy the last few stragglers, then he called a halt.
"Silasha!" He called, "Leave one alive, I have use for him."

The Shah was at dinner when the man came racing in. So excited was he that he nearly forgot to bow,
"Your Majesty! The captain of the guard bid me to bring you at once! It concerns General Hasan!"
The Shah rose and turned to the man beside him,
"Perhaps you should come see this also."

They stood just outside the gates of the city. A phalanx of men surrounded the Shah's party.
Before then was the remainder of general Hasan's raiding party. One man, bloodied and nearly dead, sat on the seat of a small wagon. The horses harnessed to it were run to exhaustion and it was filled with the dismembered bodies of the fifty soldiers. General Hasan's head lay atop the pile.
The captain of the guard pulled the man from the wagon's seat,
"Speak!" He commanded, "You said you have a message for the Shah. He is here to receive it!"
The man was barely able to stand, he shook like he was about to fall apart at any moment, but he managed to speak,
"He who leads the dark riders says to beware the dark." He said.
The Shah turned to the small, dark haired man beside him,
"Well, Ordog. I thought you knew the weaknesses of these monsters."
Ordog walked around the wagon, smiled at him,
"The information I gave you was correct, Majesty. Apparently this one is far more powerful than even I imagined."
"This one!" The Shah hissed, "There were at least nine of them! They stood before me, am I to believe that all are beyond your power?"
Ordog poked among the bodies,
"Some of them were moon children it seems, these men were torn apart." He replied, "I underestimated him."
Then he turned to his employer,
"It won't happen again, my Lord. As soon as it is dark I'll leave and go after them. I'll need a wagon and someone to drive it in daylight. They won't escape me again."
"They had better not." The Shah answered, and walked back into his palace.
He had already assembled his council of war,
"Mount your troops my generals, we leave at once. I will follow these devils back to their Khan and destroy them all!"

They watched the whole scene from hiding. He and Fiesh had followed the wagon back to the stronghold, meaning to take his revenge, but the sight of Ordog made him pause.
"I knew it!" He hissed, "They knew too much about us not to have met one of my kind."
The one-eyed wolf nodded his massive head,
"Do you know this one?"
"Yes, my friend," He answered, "I know him only too well. His name is Ordog, and he is beneath even my contempt."
He moved back into the dark,
"Come, let's rejoin the others. Silasha will have moved them to safety by now."
Fiesh hesitated,
"Are we not going to wait for the traitor and destroy him?"
"No," Came the answer, "we would attract too much attention here. He'll come after us, and I'll take him then."

(to be continued)

[Keller]

Upon Pain of Life

(the SL goes on)

They rode swiftly back to the Mongol lines, most of their baggage had been burned by the Khwarizm and they could love faster, stopping only to rest the horses. They were surprised to see how far those lines had extended. They had ridden out for seven days, but their return took only three.
"The Great Khan moves like the wind my Lord." Silasha said. "Nearly as fast as we do."
"He has learned well the ways of war, Silasha. It is the swiftest and wisest who wins the battle, not always the strongest. I have watched the Mongols use their speed to draw the enemy out of his entrenched lines and and then turn upon him when he is stretched thin.
"While we were keeping busy the forces of the Shah, he has moved his lines up to the river. He knows the enemy will pursue us, and he will slaughter them in the desert before they can reform."
They had passes from Ghengis Khan himself and they were passed through the lines and directly into his presence.
They found the great one amid his generals.
"Welcome, my friends!" He said, delighted, "Please Lord Azaiah, sit, feast, and your companions as well! I applaude you, and I give you my thanks!"
He waved a hand heavy with gold and jewels and servants appeared with trays of food and drink. Azaiah noded to Silasha and she seated the others at a table set aside for them. Another wave and more servants appeared and piled bags of gold and jewels on the table amid the platters of meat and pitchers of wine and fermented mare's milk.
"I make you as rich as many kings, my faithful ones, and as my spies have told me your tents and belongings were ruined by the Khwarizm dogs, I shall replace every item as well."
"You are most generous, my Lord Khan." He said. "I am grateful."
The great one laughed,
"It is I who am grateful, my dark warrior. Not only have you brought my enemy to me, but you have killed many of his best soldiers as well."
He closed his eyes for a moment,
"Oh, to have been there, to feel again the steel in my hand as it slices into flesh, to smell the blood."
Then the black eyes opened and he was saddened,
"I was a warrior when I was young and poor, the match for any. Now I have a thousand jeweled swords and I am grown old and soft in my luxury. By tomorrow, the Khwarizm armies will be within my reach and I will destroy them without rising from my silk cushions. Some days I would trade all this for the saddle of a war pony."
Then he waved the thought aside,
"But let us not speak of these things, my friend. Tonight we will feast and celebrate our victory to come."

"Do you think it's wise to pursue him, Ordog? He's as old as time, an as dangerous as a snake."
He whirled on her,
"Your concern touches me deeply, my love. Or could it be that you live off my generosity?"
The red haired woman smiled,
"Why don't you forget this folly? We could go west, into the Catholic countries, the nobility there would pay as well as these for our skills."
He turned back to the table where he sat. A small wooden dagger bound in silver lay before him.
"Perhaps after I've finished here we will. I'm tired of these desert scum."
Ondrea moved up behind him,
"Ordog..."
"Enough!" He spat the word, "I will not rest, cannot, until he is burnt ashes! Now go, pack your belongings and have Dima put them in our wagon. We must leave as soon as it's dark or the Shah's armies will get ahead of us."
She started away, but he grasped her arm,
"Make no mistake, Ondrea. You and Dima exist to serve me. Your skills are excellent, but remember who taught you them. Without me you have nothing. Do not fail me!"
He shoved her roughly out of the way,
"Now, go do as I said!"


(to be continued)

[Keller]

Upon Pain Of Life

(this is a part of the Pain of Life SL)

They sat around the campfire. The wolves had hunted and fed on deer in the forest, and Azaiah paid a visit to some scouts of the Khwarizm. They would not be reporting back to their master.
Silasha dipped her cup in the pot of mulled wine. It was a drink they always shared.
"Lord Azaiah," She said quietly, "this blood drinker, Ordog. You know him don't you?"
"Yes," He answered, "I know him."
His unwillingness to talk about it unnerved even her,
"Come, my Lord. Who is he?"
He sipped his own wine,
"He is my grandchylde."
They went quiet as all eyes turned to him,
"My daughter was shaman of her tribe, as all the old ones were. She served them for many years, until she tired of the blood.
"Ordog was a disgrace, a thief. He stole from his own people, but none could prove it."
He sipped again,
"He was obsessed with the blood, and when he knew my daughter was to pass it on he went to her and begged her to give it to him. She refused, of course."
His face hardened,
"He came upon her in her sleep. She was still young enough in the blood that she had to rest during daylight.
"The hunters of the Steppe and the Gobi had knowledge of poisons, he used a poisoned dagger to paralyze her. As she lay helpless, he drained himself to the point of death, and then opened her veins and stole the blood. Afterward he fled. She hadn't the strength to recover, and I was too far and heard it too late to find him.
"Naturally, I vowed to destroy him, and as he wants to steal my power, and I am the only one among our kind who knows of his treachery, he wants to destroy me as well. Blood thieves are despised among us."
A grim smile lit his lean face,
"He'll be coming soon. I welcome him."

They went into battle along with the Mongols. Never were such warriors unleashed against mortal men. The Khwarizm fell and died until finally even the most seasoned fighters fled before them. The Mongols engaged the enemy as well and when it seemed the superior numbers of the Shah's army would prevail, they turned and fled. Encouraged, the Shah commanded his generals to pursue them and destroy them to the last man. Despite their objections, the soldiers did as commanded.
For three days the Mongol army ran before their foes, and each day the Khwarizm became more arrogant. They had won, even against the Great Khan. All that remained was to finish the last of the cowardly enemy and they would be the masters of all the Steppe lands, the Gobi desert, and even of the empire of the Chinas. So eager were they to destroy the fleeing horsemen that they broke formation. The fastest of their riders surged ahead until their lines were stretched and they broke into small bands. It was then that the Mongols turned on them. It was a tactic they had employed many times.
Each of the horsemen had several ponies. They turned their exhausted animals loose and mounted fresh ones. With a terrible vengeance they swept back and attacked the now scattered Khwarizm. They slaughtered them to a man.

When the battle was over the victors celebrated in true barbarian style. Mountains of food were consumed, and oceans of drink. The dark ones sat at the great Khan's table in places of honor. The wolves filled their stomachs and even Azaiah seemed to enjoy the wine and dancing girls. When they had stayed long enough to satisfy politeness and after they'd been paid they left the Mongols and went into the desert again to wait for Ordog. They didn't have to wait long.
In the wilds of Eastern Europe and the Gobi, there is an unwritten law. Any traveler who comes in peace to ask shelter must be fed and given a bed for the night without harm. It was under this law that Ordog dared appear in camp. They rode in near midnight, three of them. Ordog had Dima leave behind their wagon. If he won his challenge, he could go back for it, and if he lost it, he wouldn't need the wagon.
He stepped down from his horse and approached the fire. Azaiah stood to greet him.
"I see you still walk, old one." Ordog hissed.
"Look well, bastard grandchylde. You'll not see me again with those eyes." Azaiah replied.
A smile crossed the smaller man's dark face,
"So, you admit that I am of your blood."
"You stole the blood and killed my daughter!"
Ordog smiled,
"You now have your chance for revenge, Grandsire. Even in your hatred of me, you cannot deny the law of our kind, which you yourself helped to write."
He turned to Ondrea and Dima, currently surrounded by Azaiah's wolves.
"Among our kind, there is a law. Any chylde, even one such as I, is entitled to challenge his elder. If the challenge is successful, he will inherit all the elder possesses, even his blood and power. I have come to issue the challenge, and my grandsire may not refuse it."
He looked among the hate filled eyes of the dark ones.
"I have studied the arts of the sword and of the hand and I am without equal. When I have destroyed your aged leader, you and all you have will be mine, and you will serve me as do my other slaves."
He stood back and began a slow warm up, his sword flashed and his arms and legs moved with the slow grace of a master fighter.
"You must accept the challenge, old man."
Azaiah smiled as he watched.
"Your challenge is accepted," he said simply.
Ordog could barely contain his elation, his arrogance. He ceased his deadly dance and stepped so close to Azaiah that their bodies nearly touched,
"The choice of weapon is yours old one. What do you say?"
The ancient vampire's hand moved like lightning. He drove a long sliver of white oak into his enemies chest and snapped it off below the skin. Ordog stumbled back, gasping in pain and shock.
"I choose the stake, little thief, and I give you my advice as the last thing you will ever hear. When it is time to fight, fight, don't waste it on talk!"
The challenger struggled desperately to pull the sliver of wood free but it was broken off too deep inside him. He slowly burst into flame. All eyes were on him as he collapsed into smoldering ash. Azaiah quietly scattered the ashes with his boot and let the wind take them.
"My daughter is avenged, my bastard grandchylde walks no more."
He turned to Ondrea and Dima,
"Your master is dead. Will you follow him now into the shadows?"
It was Ondrea who answered for them,
"We served this one because we were bound to him. He never had our loyalty, only our service." Her eyes flicked to the hulking monsters that surrounded her, "We are still protected by your sanctuary, Elder."
Azaiah walked around them, examined their armor and weapons,
"He taught you to fight?"
Dima nodded.
"Perhaps you would fight for us? I reward those who serve me quite well."
"Perhaps," The young man answered. He was readying his mind and body for the attack which might come at any moment.
"You need no mortals to serve you! Do the children of the moon not serve you well enough?"
It was Koska who spoke, he stepped closer, fists clenched.
The ancient one smiled. He had anticipated the young wolf's arrogance.
"Kill them, Koska, and we'll speak of it no more." He said quietly, "And if they kill you, they may ride with me in your place."

(to be continued)

[RashelKeller]

The two mortals witnessed the end of the battle with hard, unreadable eyes, shields in front of their thoughts.
A man of impressive height, with a well toned body. The woman at his side was sleekly muscled, and not very tall.
Their features were undistinguishable, concealed by the close fitting armor. The black leather helms fully enclosed their heads, and were characterized by large hinged cheekplates and ‘sparrows beak’ visor. The hardened leather harnesses they wore had been designed for stealth, comfort, and maneuverability. The leather had been treated with conditioning oil for silent movement. Each had a baldric, an ornamental belt worn over one shoulder, strapped across their armor to support a broadsword. Laced frogs hung suspended from a second belt about their waist, holding throwing daggers. Engraved into the shoulder pads of their leather pauldrons was the symbol of a sunburst, an indication of their duty as daylight guardians. The bracers strapped to their forearms were not simply protection, but also served as sheaths for matching silver daggers. The wooden handles for the six inch blades were barely visible, the wood stained ebony. Full lower leg protection completed the armor, upper cuisse, knee cop fan, and lower greaves. Cloth, dyed and redyed to match the darkness, clung to their bodies beneath the light weight armor. It was the thin gloves and supple ankle boots that hinted at their profession more than any concealed daggers would have. Assassins.
They spoke only when spoken to. Their alert eyes watched their enemies. There was the undeniable aura of danger around them, the way a predator appears while defending its territory. No trust was placed in the law of sanctuary. Life was preserved through the flash of steel and bloodshed, not the honor of one’s word.
“Kill them, Koska, and we’ll speak no more of it.” The command was spoken by the ancient vampire who had slain their master. “And if they kill you, they may ride with me in your place.”
“It will be my pleasure to end their lives,” came the response of the wolf pup who wore the skin of a man. He was donned in leather armor mixed with chain mail. The straps of his shield were tightened on his left arm. There was the hiss of metal as he drew his sword. With no further preparations needed he stepped forward, a menacing leer given to the two mortals.
The woman lightly touched her right hand to her partner’s arm. No words were spoken, but they needed none. Their master had preferred their silence, and their faith in each other was all the communication that passed between them. They separated, distance put between them as they circled the approaching enemy. The deadly, liquid manner in which they moved was beautiful in the way poisonous snakes were beautiful, the certain knowledge that they could kill without a second thought, without regret, adding to their glamour. A keen mind could have detected how eerie their actions were, how matched each step they took was. They were two individuals with one directing will. Partners in the truest sense, working as a single unit with the use of not one pair of eyes or ears or hands, but two. He saw the threats that she did not, and she spotted the dangers that he missed.
Before Koska had the opportunity to swing his sword, they struck. The man wielded his height as an intimidating weapon, drawing the wolf pup’s attention to him. Two thin daggers arched through the air, the woman’s actions nearly too rapid to follow. Her hand and eye coordination was superb. The first blade sunk into the soft tissue of Koska’s throat, between the protection of his helm and chestplate. The second embedded itself in the narrow slit of his visor, piercing one of his eyes. There was no time to even scream. A large broadsword glinted in the moonlight as the man stepped in. The blade expertly pierced a weak point of the chestplate, shredding vital organs. The woman darted into the fray. Even without a blade in her hands she was far from helpless. A vicious kick slammed her heel into their enemy’s knee, the blow so skillfully performed that there was the sickening sound of his kneecap dislocating. The man did not struggle to tear free his broadsword. His hands released the hilt of the sword. A second later, his fingers curled around the hilt of the dagger in the enemy’s throat. As Koska started to crumble due to the damage done to his leg, Dima’s strong muscles flexed. The razor edge of the dagger ripped through flesh, found the spine, slipped between two ridges of bone, and ended it.
It did not take long for them to finish the kill, and it was with a silver dagger. Koska may have been a warrior in his own right, but they had been forged into living weapons since their childhood by Ordog. Their blood stained blades were pulled free from the cooling flesh of the corpse.
A savage glint lingered in their eyes as together they lifted their gaze to Azaiah. Their master may have fallen but he had struggled alone. They had each other, and within their hearts burned a fierce protection towards the other’s life.
The silence stretched on between the band of immortals and the two humans. Azaiah looked upon the two mortals. It had taken them mere seconds to dispose of a child of the moon. They possessed a level of skill he had not expected. His eyes took in the sunburst symbol engraved into their armor. It was apparent he was considering, weighing, deciding something. They had followed Ordog’s orders without question or hesitation, yet had not lifted a hand to seek revenge for the death of their master. It had been loyalty earned through manipulation and fear. The possibility of earning their loyalty through other means was intriguing. Their skills were useful and he was not wasteful.
“It seems that I now lack one of my defenders,” he rasped, “and you two are in need of a master.”
There was wariness in the stance of the two mortals. The old one who had slain their master was upholding his promise. It was a strange notion to them. “Tell me, what are your names?”
To give their names would be to place their fate in the hands of the ancient vampire. Yet to walk away would mean death, as no practical opponent would release captives, to allow them to potentially become a future threat.
“Dima,” spoke the man, his voice rumbling like thunder from a violent storm.
“Ondrea,” answered the woman, her name whispered like a caress of darkness.
Ordog had named them based off his intentions for them, their childhood names forgotten in the passing of years. The boy had grown into a powerful warrior. The girl had been raised to be strong and courageous. Now they stood fearless, mortals and yet still creatures of the dark.
“We will serve,” Ondrea crooned, her voice a haunting melody, “under one condition.”
“That we are to be treated as warriors,” Dima continued in a firm tone, before Azaiah could inquire as to the condition, “not as property.” The final words held an edge of steel. Their body language betrayed the truth that they would rather risk death than allow themselves to be abused. Free will was a new concept that they found strength in.
“Then I would see the faces of my new warriors.” Azaiah watched them with interest as the two mortals swiftly cleaned their weapons and sheathed them. Gloved hands reached up to remove the leather helms.
The man may have been called handsome once, but now the right side of his face was marred. Scars from a beast started directly below his eye and slashed downward. It was not the healed wounds of a werewolf, but the aged injuries from a vampire’s claws. It had been Ordog’s punishment for touching Ondrea, which had been a forbidden thing, despite the mortals’ fondness for each other. His hair was as black as night. His eyes were piercing, the dark blue of twilight.
The woman’s face was the epitome of innocence. Smooth skin, soft lips the shade of rosebuds, eyes the color of turquoise as if gazed upon through a fine mist. Her hair was her dominant feature, the untamed curls and waves as red as the spilled blood at her feet. She too bore scars, faint markings covering her neck from old puncture wounds caused by Ordog sating his bloodlust.
With their faces no longer shadowed by their helms, something else became apparent. There was a certain wisdom to their features, as if they carried the weight of more than one lifetime. The mask of humanity they wore was briefly lowered. An icy finger whispered down Azaiah’s spine as a glimpse at the truth was visible in their ancient, knowing, seeing eyes. The two mortals had been together long enough to recognize the eternal bond they shared. Vampires were not the only being as old as time. Instincts told him what they were.
Spirits bound to forever walk the earth, trapped in an endless cycle of birth and death.
Old souls.

The flap of the oiled canvas tent rustled as Dima entered behind her. Hours had passed since the two mortals had pledged their services to the ancient one, and now dawn approached. It was time to seek sleep so they would be well rested to for the coming day.
Yet the instant the canvas fell back into place Ondrea felt her partner at her back. The sudden realization that they were alone was nearly overwhelming. His head dipped down as he leaned forward, and he spoke the name that he had given her long ago.
“My heart,” he whispered, his breath brushing the words against her ear. Her pulse raced at the sudden wave of desire. Passion burned hotter than any rage as she turned to face him.
Their eyes met and there were no more words, only the knowledge that Ordog was gone. Their master had deceived them, had spoken the lie that without him they would have nothing. Since his death they had discovered that he was wrong. They had each other.
Their hands fumbled with the straps that held their armor in place. She guided him further back into the tent. Her knees were weak but his steady arms were there to support her. This was their surrender to what they had wanted for so very long. She murmured his name into the curve of his throat as his hands closed around her waist.
The tent flap lifted. Without hesitation, Dima reacted. Azaiah turned his head to stare at the throwing dagger that was suddenly buried in the thick canvas a fraction of an inch away from his hand.
“Unless an enemy is attacking,” growled a hoarse voice, “it can wait.”
The intense finality of those last words resulted in the ancient vampire’s retreat. If privacy was the price to pay for their services, he was willing to oblige. Patience would earn their loyalty far quicker than the glimmer of gold. The man had spoken true. The plans he wished to discuss with them could indeed wait.
“You missed,” Ondrea lightly teased as her callused fingers danced across her partner's flesh.
An appreciative sound escaped Dima's throat. He bent down to capture her lips in a heated kiss. “I was distracted,” he finally admitted, when he lifted his head for air.

[Keller]

Upon Pain of Life

(the SL goes on)

In the year 1227, Ghengis Khan died at the height of his glory. Some say he fell from his horse, but no one lives who can really say. In autumn, the great General of the Mongols, Subedei took his master's body back across the Gobi and into the mountains. The procession was preceded by a dozen or more trumpeters, who blew their instruments continually to warn those who might happen across the funeral party. Anyone who looked upon the cortege might someday lead others to rob the grave, those not wise enough to disappear were instantly killed.
The burial party stopped and those who were to dig the actual grave moved on to do so unseen by the main party. When their task was complete they returned only to be slaughtered to the last man. A troop of cavalry rode their ponies back and forth across the grave site for three days to totally obscure the great Khan's final resting place. When they had done, they too were massacred, and those who killed them in their turn were killed as well. Ghengis Khan's grave and the fabulous treasure it is said to contain have never been found, nor has the resting place of any other Mongol General or Khan.
The great one had designated no direct heir and the greatest empire in history was divided between his four sons. It was the beginning of a process that would eventually lead to the demise of the divided Mongol kingdoms, although that would take decades more.
This long term effect of the Khan's death was foreseen by any number of persons, among them Azaiah. Before the Mongol ruler was even in the ground, he and his followers were riding south and west into the realm of the Byzantines. Along the way they stopped to make camp.
Silasha sat beside her longtime Lord and friend,
"Where will we go now, Azaiah?"
"The Byzantines for the moment, then west into the Christian lands. As long as men exist they will court the service of such as we." He answered.
She sipped her wine,
"We are already as rich as kings, my Lord. We have no need to stay among men any longer. Let us buy some land, a forest perhaps, far to the North where we won't be found."
He smiled,
"You have been my right hand through every danger, Silasha, I can refuse you nothing.
"I remind you again of what I said so long ago. We cannot avoid the world of mortal men forever. They too will move even into the frozen forests of the North, and you will once again be at war. Only by learning to move among men unseen will we survive."
He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder,
"That said, I wish you well, old friend. Take your share of treasure, and those who wish to follow you. As for me, I intend to live a life of luxury among the Christians."
He turned to Dima and Ondrea,
"If you choose to stay with me I'll show you ways to prosper and use your skills. There will always be those who desire power and gold, and they will always pay well for skills such as ours. The old ways must give way to the new. As my children you will have plenty to occupy your time."
He left them to decide as he again turned to Silasha,
"Tomorrow I ride to the West. I hope we meet again, my old friend. If not, I wish you well. Live long and free as your kind must live, and think of me sometime."
She smiled,
"I will never forget you, my Lord and my good friend. There will always be a place for you at my fire."
"And for you at mine as well, Silasha. We'll meet again, my brave one. I will be eager to hear your adventures."

"No, no, no! You must put on your undergarments! No young lady of fashion would go about without the proper dress, and you may not hide weapons under your gowns, they throw off the whole line of the dress!"
Madame Zondra threw her hands up in frustration and went out to where Azaiah sat in the antechamber,
"Signore, your niece is impossible. She still wants to dress like a man and she insists on slipping daggers into her underthings!"
She leaned closer, voice low,
"I am shocked to say she swears like a man as well, Signore, and she hits like one."
Azaiah smiled benignly. He'd heard their voices quite easily through the walls, and she did have an impressive vocabulary of curses. He was far more comfortable in armor than the voluminous robes and cloaks of a Byzantine nobleman himself, and he understood her frustration.Dima and Ondrea had elected to throw their lot in with his, and he had plans for them all.
"Madame. My niece was abducted by barbarians when only a child. She has been denied a decent education in the fashion and decor of a court lady."
He took a small pouch of gold from his belt and jingled the coins inside it,
"Of course, this is why I hired the best possible teachers for her and my nephew, and why I pay them so well."
She happily hefted the purse, took a deep breath, and went back into the fray.
"I shall do what I can, Signore."

When they finally emerged, Ondrea was a vision. Her small figure was perfect for the flowing gown of fine, sapphire colored silk. Her long, red hair was washed and styled and hung in crimson waves, woven through with strings of pearls. It hung beautifully down her back.
Madame bustled around her, still fussing with the many petticoats, and carefully avoiding Ondrea's fists. She'd already suffered several bruises. She paraded the young woman around the room as Dima and Azaiah watched, smiling.
"Excellent!" Azaiah said, "She looks like a lady at last."
Then he frowned,
"Now you need to teach her how to walk like one."
Before Madame could say a word, he tossed her another purse of gold coins, and she sighed and herded her charge back into the dressing room.
Azaiah turned to Dima, who fidgeted in his own new clothes. It was so much easier to dress him up.
"Well, nephew, it's nearly time for your lesson as well."
He tipped a large bottle and poured himself a glass of wine.
"I shall be here. As soon as your teacher decides to quit my service, send him out and I'll bribe him too. Remember, no killing. Good teachers are hard to find."
As the young man went off, muttering to himself, Azaiah smiled and sipped his wine. This was going to cost him a fortune, but it would be worth it.

(to be continued)

[Lorenz]

Upon Pain of Life

(the sl rolls along)


Lorenz brought a freshly filled decanter of sherry into the makeshift parlor of the remodeled crypts of St. Januarius church and set it down beside his Sire. He sat in his chair, set beside hers in front of the large screen television and poured himself a glass of whiskey.
"My son, one doesn't need intuition to see when you are troubled." Alsaya said quietly, "Your face tells your thoughts to those who love you."
He favored her with his odd smile,
"Yes, Mama. It troubles me about our good friend, Keller. Do you think Azaiah is really coming back to us? Is such a thing as this possible?"
"Among our kind, and especially among the oldest, it is not uncommon to live may lives."
She set her glass of sherry aside,
"Even mortals can be, and are, reincarnated. The soul is a powerful force, and with long life it grows in power, even as we do. Needless to say, those who live for centuries become very powerful indeed.
"Azaiah was ancient even before I was brought into the blood, his powers are immense. I truly don't know what he would be capable of."
For a moment he pondered the thought.
"Mama, I knew him well. He was good friend to me, we had many happy times, the first I had since I lost my Suliana. Will he still be good man?"
She smiled and paid a gentle hand on his arm,
"Azaiah was a pragmatic man, he did what he needed to do. Not all the things would be called good, but I never knew him to be cruel or destructive without reason.
"Be aware though, there are other, darker entities, demons, ancient witches, and others who are capable of mimicking other spirits, and one of the power of Azaiah would have been known in dark places. His connection to the Ark of the Covenant and the God of the Hebrews would, in itself, have marked him. It may not be Azaiah who is returning to this world, it may be something dark and dangerous indeed."
"Should we warn friend Keller, mama?"
Her face was stern in a way he hadn't seen it before.
"We cannot, Lorenz. To warn him is to warn it also. It is already part of him. We must keep our thoughts from it."
He sipped his whiskey,
"What can we do then Mama?"
She shrugged,
"We must wait, and watch him, son. If it is truly our friend Azaiah, we will see it."
She sighed,
"And if not, both must be destroyed. We cannot allow this new darkness to infect the mortal world. It is our duty to prevent such an abomination from gaining a foothold among those we have come to love."

(to be continued)

[Lorenz]

Upon Pain of Life

(the sl goes on)

Raoul answered the door and stood aside as Lorenz DiVitalian shuffled in.
"Good evening, my good friend, Raoul! It is pleasure to see you. You are well?"
The big, blonde man smiled,
"Good evening, Herr Lorenz. I am well, danke. And you?"
"I am very well too, thank you, my friend."
He looked around the foyer,
"Is my friend Keller at home, please?"
"Yes, Herr Lorenz, come to the library, he's reading."

Keller looked up and smiled. Lorenz always made him smile.
"Hello, Lorenz, come have a drink."
Lorenz handed his coat and his wide brimmed hat to Raoul and took a seat,
"Thank you, my good friend, Keller. You are well?"
"Yes, Lorenz, quite well." His eyes narrowed, "You and your mother also?"
The odd man nodded,
"We are well, she asks me to tell you the Sci-fi channel is having Night Stalker reruns, you should come over for TV night soon, please."
Keller chuckled,
"I'll be sure to do so, Lorenz."
He sipped his bourbon,
"Lorenz, you didn't come all the way out here to invite me for TV night. I know you and Alsaya don't care much for the modern world, but you do have a telephone. What's really on your mind?"
The big man fidgeted in his seat a bit, sipped his whiskey, and finally,
"I was good friend to Azaiah. You know this."
Keller nodded,
"I will be happy to have him to come back, of course. Have you had more dreams of him?"
"Yes," Keller replied, "I have. And it seems I've acquired some of his skills. Do you remember if he could play the piano?"
Lorenz's head bobbed,
"Yes, he loved to play, he wanted even to teach me, but I was poor student, hands are too clumsy. Has he taught you anything more?"
Keller held up the ancient book in his lap,
"Yes, I can read Aramaic now, and Egyptian as of last night. Fascinating really, how much some of these old tales lose in translation."
Lorenz nodded again,
"Yes, I too enjoy the old books, I was a scholar and a scribe in life. I never learn Egyptian though."
"Well, I'll be happy to help you learn it. As for Aramaic, maybe you'd like to go through my library. I have a great collection. By the way there are even a few written by Alsaya."
He was rewarded with a big smile from Lorenz,
"I have Mama's books also, but I will like to come browse through your library, my friend, Keller."
The two sat quietly drinking for a while, and it was Keller who broke the silence,
"Lorenz, are you sure there's nothing more?"
The big man stood, smiled,
"Not for now, my good friend. I will look for you on Tuesday for Night Stalker reruns."
Keller showed him out and turned back to his books. Lorenz was a terrible liar, his face was far too open and honest and Keller was far too shrewd. Well, no matter. he'd find out in time what was going on, and he already knew it had something to do with Azaiah. Alsaya was worried about something, or she'd not have sent Lorenz.
"Christ," He muttered, "what next?"

"How was he, Lorenz?"
The odd man hung up his hat and coat, turned to his sire,
"He is well, Mama."
He took her hand,
"Tell me what you know, Mama. I don't have your powers but I am not blind either. You're worried."
She bade him follow her into the parlor and they sat in their respective chairs.
"Something is coming, Lorenz. More than Azaiah, even if it is our old friend. There is more."
She took a moment to gather her thoughts,
"There are other beings from the past. I see them as returning, drawn to this place.
"I haven't told you everything, Lorenz. I too was drawn here, as you were."
He shook his head,
"What brought me here was Francisco, Mama."
"Yes, my son, it was, but there's more. He too was a reborn soul, and he was drawn here as well. There are others here, too. Our kind and other breeds as well as mortals. This place is a nexus of some kind. We all have a part to play here in what is to come."
Lorenz poured them each a drink and handed hers over,
"What is to come, mama?"
"I wish I knew my son. Something good or something evil. Whatever it is, we can't do a thing to stop it, and it centers on our friend Keller."
"What can we do?"
She sipped her sherry,
"We wait, Lorenz, we can only wait."
"Can we not tell our friend, Mama?"
"We don't yet know if he will still be our friend or not, Lorenz. Until we do we can tell him nothing."


(to be continued)

[Keller]

Upon Pain of Life
(the sl goes on)

"On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses are blooming
And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb"
James Beattie, "The Hermit"

Az-sheia sat between the two big men in their boat They were silent, their muscular backs bent to the oars as they pulled him deep into the forest wastes. Few of the tribe ever came here, it was too far to carry game back, and most feared it as a place of the dead, although no one really knew why anymore.
For two days they'd traveled, first on foot and now by boat. At times he'd thought of turning back, and been at the very edge of doing so but he set his jaw and went on. What he was doing wasn't for him, it was for the good of his people, his family.
At last they came to shore and after another short trek he found himself at the mouth of a cave.
"Go on, she waits." One of his companions rumbled, and before his eyes, they both sat and fell into a deep sleep!
He stepped into the darkness, more than a little uneasy, and used his flint to light a torch he found just inside the jagged opening. It blazed into light and he found himself in a massive cavern. There was a path between the walls of stone ahead of him, worn by countless feet, and the ceiling of the cavern was so high the torch's light didn't reach it. He slid the flint knife from his belt and went on.
Not far into the darkness, he saw a light ahead, somehow it relieved him and frightened him at the same time. Turning a corner he found himself in a place the like of which he'd never seen. There, deep in the cavern, someone had carved a remarkable structure from the living rock.
It was a temple of sorts massive and finely carved. The facade rose to the ceiling of the cavern and the whole was lit by vats of oil, also cut out of the stone. A broad portico was reached by steps and tall pillars framed the broad doorway. All was covered with flow stone. Obviously the temple had been there for ages uncounted. He doused the torch and climbed.
He entered an enormous room, the walls intricately carved with patterns and shapes which he'd never seen anywhere else. Huge carvings of wolves and hunting cats raced across the vast walls pursuing deer, and tall, horribly made creatures he'd never seen stalked through the trees. In other tableaus the wolves and lions paid homage to the misshapen beings at what appeared to be several images of this very temple. Among all the images, men were also shown, hunting beside the animals and paying tribute to the monstrous things as well.
"Our history, my friend."
He swung around to the soft sound of that voice, and found himself facing a remarkable being.
She was tall, taller even than the women of his tribe, and many of the men as well. Her eyes met his on an even level, and were dark blue and mysterious. Long, black hair tumbled over her broad shoulders.
He fumbled for words and she smiled.
"I am Lilah. It is I you came here to see."
As captivating as her voice was, it still didn't quiet his pounding heart.
"I am Az-sheia, of the..."
"I know who you are. Please, come into my home. We have much to talk about before you decide whether to receive the gift I have to give you."

Her lair was comfortable to say the least. The walls, like those without were covered with more of the massively carved scenes, although on a smaller scale. The room was dry, with none of the flow stone that covered everything without. Thick cushions covered the floors, and low tables held oil lamps which lit the room. Lilah led him in and motioned for him to sit. She placed two golden goblets on the table between them and poured them each a cup of wine.
"I know the blood drinker who is the judge and the healer of your tribe has chosen not to continue. It is often so, especially in those who are given our gift when they are too young as she was." She began.
"I am glad to see that you are a man grown and in your gray hairs. Yet, I must ask you, do you truly know what it is you ask me for?"
He sipped the wine.
"I am, as you say, in my gray hairs. Soon I will be to old to join the hunt and I will sit among the women and children. My usefulness will end and in time I will die or be left in the forest for the wolves. I wish to live and to serve.
"In my many seasons I have learned much. I've seen what the judges and healers must do and I see this as a way I may still serve my tribe, which is my family." He answered. "Our shaman, as you say, will no longer continue. There is only old Az-sheia to take her place. No other wants to take this upon himself."
This brought a smile to her face, which he realized for the first was quite beautiful.
"A good answer. You have indeed grown in wisdom. Let me tell you of our kind, things that you may repeat only to those of the blood. Mortals would not understand, nor even believe our history. And there are few even of my kind who know the stories.
"In ages past," She began. "this world was nearly destroyed, a huge object came from out the sky and smashed into it. Everything was laid waste and nearly every living thing was destroyed. So great was the impact that the two bodies were fused into one, but for a piece that was thrown into the heavens. It was to become what we call the moon. In that moment, the seed of man, and our kinds, were planted.
"This occurred long before man or even ape walked the earth. It is known only through the sight beyond sight that some of our kind were given."
She sipped again, leaned back and looked about her at the carved images on the walls of the room.
"Over ages of time, those who feed their babies on their milk developed, and from them the apes. Always the power of the moon acted upon them, and some were changed and stood up to walk. They became men, and some were changed still further. Some found they could change their shape. Those who could take the shape of wolves and cats and the beings you see on my walls evolved. In time some of those were further changed into the drinkers of blood."
She smiled again,
"Yes, we are all of one family. I have no answer as to why we separated from each other, I know only that it happened. Some say it was a disease, since it could be passed through the bite or the blood, but again, I cannot say this with certainty.
"In time the blood drinkers began to dominate the other children of the moon. I have always though that it was because the wolves and cats and others had no control of their changing until they gained age and power through making more of their kind. They have always been driven by the moon, while we may control ours."
Her smile faded and her voice quieted,
"There were never many of our kind, and all but a few have now passed into memory. We were once a race, able even to bear children of our kind. We fed our babies on blood rather than milk of course. I, myself was born in this way. But it seems we were still evolving and we lost this ability and instead became immortal. I am the last of the pureborn that I am aware of, and I cannot bear children nor can those that are taken into the blood. The gift is now passed only in the way you have come to know. This is all I know of the history of our kind or of yours."
She set her cup of wine aside,
"Now, I must give you my warnings. You know already how the weight of years bears us down, and many are ground to dust beneath this burden. She who now sits in judgment of your tribe received the blood from my grandchylde who is now himself gone to join our ancestors. The blood thins as it is passed in this way, and she will find release upon the stake.
"Unfortunately, she will leave a void that must be filled by another drinker of the blood, and I am the only source left to you. If you choose to take it from me, it may be that you never cease to exist as long as the moon circles us above. Do you understand this?"
He considered this for a moment. He hadn't realized before that by taking this step he might never be able to find peace. Still, he knew his duty, and he had made his choice before he ever set out to find this temple and this being.
"I understand." He said."And I accept."
She nodded,
"Then let us begin."
The blood was taken from him, mixed with hers and returned to him and with it the memories, the images of the history she had related to him, even the coming of the moon and the destruction of the old world. For three days he suffered the death of his mortal body, and when he rose on the fourth, he was an immortal. Through out it all, she fed him on her blood again and again, each time easing his agony and sickness and bringing more of the memories.
For several more days she taught him to use his new senses and powers, to change his shape into a bat or a wolf, and into the pure form of the blood drinker, the vamporos. From the first his powers were phenominal.
At last she returned his garments, cleaned and dried.
"Now you are my chylde," She said, "and we will always have a bond between us, though we may never meet again. I have lived in this wilderness for long enough. I think I would like to follow the rivers to the sea and walk among men again."
She placed a gentle kiss on his cheek,
"Go, my son. In years to come you will serve your people well, and when the day comes that our kind will no longer be of service, and it will, you will also move on. I wish you only well."
He felt his eyes grow heavy and he fell into a deep sleep. When he woke he was again in the boat with his two guides propelling him back to his people. He would never see them, nor Lilah, again, and years later when he returned to the forest, he was unable to find the cave again.

(to be continued)

[Lorenz]

Upon Pain of Life
(the sl goes on)

Lorenz stepped into the foyer of the underground home he had made for his sire and himself. He quietly hung up his hat and coat and moved into the vaulted room that he and Alsaya used as a parlor.
As always she smiled to see him,
"Good evening, my son. How was your work?" She said.
"It was very good night .I saw her Mama, my grandchylde. She came to Palace to see me." He said, too quietly.
Her smile remained but she could feel something was wrong.
"Is she all right, Lorenz?"
He sat heavily, nodded,
"Yes she is well. She is very beautiful, and she has an adopted child, Mama. She said she will come to meet you soon."
His face broke in a smile.
"She kissed me on cheek." He said, his hand tenderly touching the spot.
The old woman turned, laid a hand on his arm,
"Tell me what's wrong, please."
"You tell me first, Mama. Tell me of him, of Francisco, who you knew as Ordog."
She drew her hand back,
"He's gone, Lorenz. We destroyed him, he..."
He sprang up from the chair so quickly that she gasped and pulled back.
The long years of living burial he'd endured had damaged him. He had no idea of the enormous power that lay within him and in many ways she was grateful. He was gentle and loving. He so seldom became angry that she sometimes thought him incapable of it, and when his temper flared it frightened even her.
He knelt in front of her chair, took her hands in his. His voice was quiet, almost pleading.
"He was Ordog and Azaiah destroyed him, but he came back. Then we destroyed him also, will he come again?"
Her fierce blue eyes lowered to her hands, which were clenched in his.
"I... I don't know, Lorenz. I..."
"No!" He hissed, "No! You see things, you know things. All these years I have asked you for nothing, but now I ask. Tell me truth now!"
She raised her eyes to his, saw the blazing fury in them, something she had never seen before. Even when she'd first found him again. Even when he hated her for abandoning him to the mortals and their tortures she had never seen him so. Her voice was low, gentle when she answered him.
"I have seen him. He will come again, but I do not see him harming her. He comes to harm another."
Lorenz paced, his big frame tense, nearly shaking in his anger, yet his voice was quiet, controlled.
"Please, Mama. Use all your skills, all your arts. Look into the future and tell me what you see."
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath.
"He will come, he is summoned by a magic user who serves the demons. He does not come for her, it is not by his will, but that of the evil ones.
"Here, in Isle Voletta, a young man and woman, reborn from ages past as he is. He comes for them. From hell he is called for them."
Her face twisted, a bead of blood sweat rolled down her brow,
"Many forces converge on this place. Azaiah comes too, and he comes to stop the evil ones. He comes to Keller, and Keller will aid those the demon wishes to harm. He has strength, perhaps as great as ours. He will fight to the last for them."
Lorenz hovered over her,
"What of my Jasmina? What part does she play in this?"
She shook her head, her eyes opened,
"I don't know, my son. She may have no part at all. I do not see danger for her from him, but I can see no more."
She reached up and took his gnarled hand in both of hers,
"Lorenz, she is of my blood, as you are. I will stand against anything that would harm either of you. I will never allow you or she to come to harm even to the end of my existence."
"What can we do, Mama? What is next for us to do?"
She gently pulled him down into his chair,
"We can only wait. What comes, comes. When it comes we will know what to do."
"I hope you are right." He muttered.
"I hope I am too, Lorenz. I hope I am too."

(to be continued)

[Keller]

Upon Pain of Life
(part of the sl)

Thy genius commands thee; with rapture behold, While ages on ages thy splendors unfold.
- Timothy Dwight, Columbia

Marie Maynard yawned and hung her apron on the hook and turned to the big cook who was also the owner of the small restaurant where she worked. With much of New Orleans still not repaired they were doing a land office business and she was tired.
"Good night, Oncle Guillaume. I'm going home." She said. "I need a hot bath and my big man."
Guillaume laughed. He was no one's uncle but everyone called him so and he enjoyed it tremendously,
"Bonne nuit, Cher. You sleep sweet. I see you tomorrow."
The streets were dark as she passed through the ruined neighborhood that fringed hers. Katrina had vented her full fury here, and the city administration still hadn't even begun the demolition of these dark, windowless hulks. Scrawny cat prowled the empty halls looking for the bony rats that scuttled through the piles of broken bricks and shattered lathe and plaster walls.
A noise made her swing her head toward the shadows. Her hand slipped into her purse and gripped the container of mace. When there was no further movement she moved on, but her pace was quickened. Something back there had frightened her and she needed to get home.
At last she climbed the stairs and let herself into the apartment, locking the doors behind her.
Her husband came out of the shower, drying his hair. He'd worked the late shift at his own work.
"Hello, baby." He said.
His smile faded fast when he saw her face.
"Marie, what's wrong?"
She gave a sigh of relief, smiled,
"It's nothing Johnny. I just hate walking through the wreckage so late at night."
He put a thickly muscled arm around her shoulders. He was well over six feet and built like a wrestler. His embrace gave her instant comfort.
"Starting tomorrow, I'm going to drive you to work and pick you up. I wanted to for a long time, hard head."
She laughed,
"I'll be fine, big boy. I'm hungry, did you eat?"
"Yes, I had a sandwich at work." He replied.
She padded toward the bathroom,
"I need a shower and then I'll make us some eggs and bacon."

Johnny moved into the parlor and sat to wait for her. A sound made him get up from his chair and move to the door.
Lightly, almost silently a nail scratched on the metal. Johnny cracked his knuckles and pulled it open. Whoever was out there had followed his woman home and frightened her. They were about to find out what a big mistake they had made.

Marie stepped out of the shower and rubbed a towel through her hair. She was too tired to style it tonight. She needed to eat and get some sleep. As she moved into the parlor, she smiled. Johnny sat in his chair, eyes closed. Poor man's exhausted, she thought. Well, some food would refresh him enough to get him into bed. Maybe she'd even get lucky.
She stopped, the towel dropped from her hand. A man stood in the parlor looking at her. She couldn't see his face, but his eyes shone in the dark. Without hesitating she sprang back into the bedroom and slammed the door. Quickly she retrieved the little gun from Johnny's night stand.
Her mind raced. My God, she thought, he must have killed my Johnny. No, maybe Johnny was only knocked out, she had to believe he still had a chance. She gripped the pistol and opened the door.
The figure hadn't moved. He stood, a black shape in the unlit living room. Marion could tell he was tall and lean, but he wore a long coat and a hat pulled low over his eyes. She could get no details. It didn't matter, though. He was finished, she'd turn him over to the police, or kill him if he tried anything.
"Don't you move," She hissed, "this gun is loaded and I know how to use it."
The shining eyes were on hers, unmoving, dead like the eyes of a doll.
Her thoughts became scattered, she couldn't concentrate. The little gun seemed so heavy now, her hand lowered. With her last ounce of will, she raised it again and fired, then fired again.
The man seemed to jerk slightly as the bullets struck him but he didn't fall, he just stood.
The pistol clattered to the floor, her hand seemed to have no strength left.
Visions filled her mind. Strange images of places she'd never seen replaced her terror. It was so peaceful, so quiet suddenly. She turned and went back into the bedroom.

Paul Rouerge showed his badge to the police officer at the door to the little apartment and stepped inside. His partner, James DuLac was already there.
"We have two victims," DuLac said.
He pointed to the big man who sat in the parlor,
"This is John Maynard, his wife is in the bedroom."
Rouerge leaned down, his face only inches from the dead man,
"Cause of death?"
"It looks like his neck's broken." DuLac replied.
Rouerge turned to him, scowled,
"This guy is huge. He must wear a size eighteen shirt. How could someone break his neck without a fight?"
DuLac moved up beside him,
"We'll have to wait for the M.E. to be sure, but if you look close, you'll see his head is at an odd angle. Also, there's a slight bruise on his chin and his hair is messed in back. It looks like someone grabbed him and twisted his head around until his neck snapped."
"Christ." Rouerge hissed. "The killer must have been a gorilla."
"You haven't seen anything yet, Paul. Come into the bedroom."
As soon as he saw her, Paul's knees seemed to buckle. It took all his will not to lose his balance. It was as if he'd stood here before and viewed the same scene.
Marie Maynard lay on the bed. Her feet were together but her arms spread as if she was about to embrace someone. Strange enough by itself but the strangest thing was the dreamy smile on her face. Her eyes were open and staring.
"What killed her?" Was all he could manage to say, his throat seemed like it was closing off.
"Again, we need the M.E.'s report. Look how pale she is, though. She looks like she had a heart attack. Maybe she came home, got high on PCP or something and killed her husband. Then she came in here and stroked out."
"I saw a gun in there on the floor. Was the husband shot?"
DuLac shook his head,
"No, he wasn't. The gun's been fired though. Maybe she was so high she missed him?"
Rouerge frowned,
"She shot at him from five feet away, a man as big as that, and missed. So, she a woman of barely one hundred pounds grabbed a two hundred plus pound man and snapped his neck like a twig? Jimmy, I think you been using some of that PCP yourself."

Doctor Cane got up from his place beside Marion Maynard's body.
"This lady appears to have died from loss of blood."
"Loss of blood?" Rouerge said, "There isn't a mark on her."
Cane pointed to her mouth, frozen in that weird smile,
"Look at her, she's pallid, shrunken. And her teeth, there's blood caked on them and some on her lips. I looked in her mouth, someone tore out her tongue. Looks like she bled out."
The blood pounded in Rouerge's head,
"How could she smile like that with her tongue ripped out? And if she bled to death, where's the blood? The bed should be soaked in it."
The doctor took off his thick glasses, rubbed a hand over his face,
"I don't know, Paul. I just don't know. The autopsy will tell us more."
The detective pulled him aside and summoned DuLac to join them. He felt as if he'd been sent back in time.
"Do you two remember those murders five, six years ago?" He whispered.
DuLac looked at him blankly. He hadn't been with the New Orleans police then, but Doctor Cane nodded. He remembered all too well.
"Yes, the rapture murders. She has the same weird smile, there's no doubt of it, Paul. But, that case was closed. The killer was killed himself by one of our detectives."
Paul looked back at Marie Maynard's smiling corpse.
"It looks like we have a copy cat, Doc. Do that autopsy as soon as you can. We need to move on this before he strikes again."
DuLac spoke for the first time,
"What makes you think he'll strike again?"
"Come back to the station house, Jimmy. I'll show you the old case files. If this is a copy cat, he'll strike again. This could be just the beginning."

(to be continued)

[Keller]

Upon Pain Of Life

(this is a part of the Pain of Life SL)

The elegant carriage rolled to a stop before the magnificent palace of the Doge of Venice. One of the most powerful men in the then world, the Doge was elected by the wealthy merchants of Venice, rather than being an hereditary position. The palace was a monument to money, and money was what brought Azaiah to Venice.
A liveried footman slipped down from his seat beside the driver and opened the carriage door and a richly dressed young man stepped down and assisted a beautiful young woman to alight as well. They were followed by a distinguished gray haired man who nodded to the captain of the palace guard.
"Good day, young man. Azaiah Morningstar, physician to the court of his august majesty the Emperor of Byzantium."
He handed the man an envelope,
"Please, deliver this to your master. He will be expecting us."
They were shown to a small antechamber to wait while and in a matter of minutes were ushered into the presence of the Doge.
Azaiah and Dima bowed politely and Ondrea executed a perfect curtsey. The ancient one had the thought that Madame Zondra would have been proud to the point of tears.
"Doctor Morningstar," The Doge began, "I am indebted to you and to His Majesty for your haste in answering my request."
A wave of his hand sent everyone from the chamber but his most trusted guards.
"Your reputation has proceeded you, Doctor. I hope it is deserved. My letter was specific, I assume you were informed of my problem?"
"Simply put." Azaiah said, "Vampires."
"Indeed." Came the answer, " Our city is infested with these vermin. There are bodies floating in the Grand Canal in the morning. I want this stopped, Doctor Morningstar, to that end I sent for you."
Azaiah smiled,
"Your problem is all but solved, Majesty. We will start tonight, by tomorrow we'll have results for you."
The Doge dipped a plump hand into a bowl of fruit at his side and selected a grape.
"In the interest of thoroughness I have also brought in another expert."
His smile was oily to say the least,
"I believe you have heard of David Eumenides?"
Azaiah nodded,
"Yes, Master Eumenides has published several volumes on the lore of blood drinkers." His voice was dry, "I have yet to read them."
The Doge laughed until he nearly choked on his grape,
"Doctor Morningstar, you are a most amusing man. I will wait to hear from you. It will be soon I trust."
As they rode away in the carriage, Dima turned to the ancient one,
"Who is this Eumenides? Why has the Doge brought in another hunter?"
Azaiah chuckled,
"The Doge is not a hereditary ruler. Those who control the money in Venice elect him. In the interest of thoroughness, or, more to the point, of keeping his position he has provided himself with insurance."
Ondrea pressed him further,
"What should we do about this hunter?"
The smile dropped from Azaiah's face and his voice was quiet and dangerous,
"I'll deal with Master Eumenides. You two start finding those blood drinkers. I want to keep our patron happy."
From high above on the balcony of St. Mark's cathedral a heavily cloaked figure watched them pull away. He knew they were hunters under that finery, and they were just in time.

(to be continued)

[Keller]

Upon Pain of Life

(the SL goes on)

David Eumenides was in his fifties, fat, and bald. To look at him, one would hardly imagine him to be a hunter. Indeed, he wasn't. His reputation was largely based on the exploits of others. In truth, he had little real experience with or even belief in the undead. His plan was to bilk the Doge out of enough money to escape to Paris before he was discovered as a fake. Of course, he hadn't counted on the Venetian ruler being clever enough to hire a second hunter as well. No matter, if he couldn't avoid them he'd deal with them and make it look like the work of the vampires.
He was easy to find. He couldn't resist rich food or elegant clothing. Azaiah found him at a street vender examing linen.
Eumenides turned as the tall, gray haired man stepped out of the shadows and accosted him.
"Master Eumenides? Please allow me to introduce myself. Azaiah Morningstar at your service." Azaiah said, smiling. "I understand you are working with us in ridding Venice of the undead."
Eumenides ignored his extended hand.
"Frankly, Doctor Morningstar. I prefer to work alone, without any amateurs getting in my way." He sneered.
"I quite understand, Master Eumenides. A shame, we're both educated men, I was hoping to acquire some knowledge by working with you. We have heard of your skills, even here in Venice."
Azaiah had read his man correctly. The flattery brought a broad smile to the man's pasty face.
"Well, perhaps I was hasty, Doctor. I never hesitate to share my extensive knowledge of the supernatural. Have you read my book by any chance?"
"No, I have not, but I'll have one of my servants procure a copy."
Azaiah gestured toward a small tavern just down the street from where they stood,
"Please, Master Eumenides, I always find it easier to get acquainted over wine."
When the other man hesitated he smiled again,
"I'll be happy to buy."
Eumenides fat face split in a grin. This might be the chance he was waiting for. He'd get the man drunk and dispose of him. The young man and woman who accompanied him would be no trouble to get rid of once their leader was gone.
"Why, yes, of course. I too would enjoy an intellectual discussion."

They sat at a small table, a bottle of wine between them. Eumenides sipped his carefully, waiting his moment to strike. In the meantime, he saw no reason not to recount some of his supposed deeds.
"In my homeland of Greece, we have not only vampires, but other creatures of evil. There are creatures who can become not only wolves, but cats as well."
He sat back, a hand rubbed his immense belly,
"Of course, they all fell before me. Why, just my reputation alone is enough to make them run in terror."
Azaiah smiled, listened intently, and refilled the other man's glass. In all his years never had he heard such drivel. The man didn't seem to know anything about the breeds nor their powers.
"I am in awe, Master Eumenides. I had no idea you were so experienced."
Eumenides waved a pudgy hand,
"I could spend hours recounting my exploits."
"Well," Azaiah replied, "we have plenty of wine and plenty of time."
They both laughed.

It was nearly dawn when the two men staggered along the Grand Canal. Arm in arm they moved as best they could, considering how much wine they'd drunk.
"My friend, I misjudged you." Eumenides said, his words slurred by too much wine. Perhaps we would make a good team at that."
They stopped at the edge of the black water and Azaiah turned to the other man,
"I'm sorry to say I forgot to ask you something, Master Eumenides."
"Oh?" Eumenides said, "Ask me anything, my dear Doctor Morningstar."
The ancient one smiled,
"Can you swim?"
Eumenides laughed until he shook,
"Azaiah, you've had too much to drink. Why would you care if I can swim or not?"
The vampire's powerful hands grasped the other man's head and twisted. There was an audible crunching sound, and he dropped the obese body into the canal.
"No reason," He muttered as he strolled away, "just curious."
From high atop a stone porch on St. Mark's Cathedral a heavily cloaked figure watched him and a dry sound almost like a cough issued forth in lieu of a chuckle. Stooped and twisted, he turned and slowly limped away.

(to be continued)