Author’s note: At this point I strongly recommend that those of you who haven’t already read Walking in Fear take a break from this story for a while and come back to it once you have. For those of you who have read Walking in Fear and have been waiting patiently for the advertised conclusion to it, read on.
Fifty Two
28 June, 2002, 60 miles West of Chamdo, Tibet
Charlie struggled feebly against the grip of the many strong monks. Blood covered his lips and stained his teeth. They dragged him from the room, away from the collapsed form of the blood junkie. She was just unconscious. Charlie had gotten little less than three ounces of blood from her arm before Loki had had his monks intervene.
“She asked me!” The vampire shouted as the monks nearly carried him down the stone corridor. “She begged me!” he hollered. But he was soon locked in another room where his shouts went unheard.
Loki stepped inside the room and knelt by the girl. She lay with her bloodied arm stretched out, her eyes closed. He pushed away the pity he felt for her. After all, she hadn’t chosen to become an addict. These things had a way of happening. The point was, what you do with what happens to you. She had given in. When the match was rigged against her, she threw in the towel. Disappointing. But not damning.
He scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the next test. She murmured incoherently in her chemical-anemic sleep. The experience of being fed upon – of having her blood drained on purpose, released massive amounts of endorphin and adrenaline, strengthening the psychological need for the vampire. The chemicals must be purged.
He rounded the corner and entered the next room. It contained the ancient meditative bed which would serve his purpose. Not a bed at all, but three waist high wooden posts set apart about three feet from each other in a line. Two chains hung from the ceiling and ended in manacles on either side of the end post, level with its top.
The conjurer gently sat her down on the center post, then, holding her neck with care, laid her back so her neck rested on the post by the chains. When he was sure she wouldn’t roll off, he swung her legs up to the last post and folded her arms on her stomach.
He walked around her sleeping form to the head of the ‘table’ and took her left arm and stretched it out to the manacle dangling from the ceiling. He took the disinfectant cloth from the small wooden bowl on the stool nearby and began to clean the bite. She winced in her sleep as the alcohol met the wound. Once he was satisfied it would not become infected, Loki lifted her wrist into the manacle and closed it with a click. He attached her right arm in a similar fashion on the other side.
Before turning away, he gently drew a sweat-dampened strand of hair from her brow, then he clenched his jaw and left the room.
29 June, 2002, 60 miles West of Chamdo, Tibet
Oz frowned. “What do you mean? Why would he not want to see me?” The red haired young man crossed his arms. “What’s going on? What’s he up to?”
The monk standing before him didn’t move a muscle. “He has requested that be kept a secret as well, sir.” Oz was shaking his head. “He has emphasized, sir, that you have all the usual privileges and accesses in the lamasery.”
Oz made a sarcastic little laugh. “Yeah, thanks.” He turned and headed for the great door that was the entrance and exit of the lamasery, when the monk took a step and raised his voice.
“There is, I believe, a particularly special evening prayer two days from now...” the monk lowered his head as Oz turned around, ensuring the inference was clear. “A very unusual ritual, I expect,” the monk went on, “however it is considered evening prayer and would therefore be included as a usual privilege.”
Oz raised an eyebrow. After a moment, he slid the strap of his duffle bag from his shoulder. With a thunk it hit the floor. “Thanks,” he said with a small nod. The monk nodded in return before turning and moving back down the corridor he guarded.
Charlie sat on the stool in the corner of the tiny, dark cell. His heart raced from the small amount of human blood he had tasted. But now he was doomed. Not just to death, but damnation. The soul which had opened up a new world for him of feeding, guilt-free, from animals was going to drag him down to some fiery pit for eternity. At least, that was Charlie’s conception of hell. Fire and brimstone. Devils and demons. He shuddered. He had never considered himself evil. He just did what he liked because he could. Morality took a back seat when he realized his power after he was sired. But then, maybe it was only now that he had been returned his soul that these conceptions mattered. Was amorality the curse of the soulless?
The door opened, letting in first a crack, then a wedge, then a torrent of light. Charlie squinted, holding a hand before his eyes. Would he be chopped up first, or just staked? When his eyes adjusted, a lone figure stood in the light of the corridor beyond the door.
“I’m very pleased with you, Charlie.” Loki stepped into the room, his hands clasped behind his back. The vampire did a double take. “Not only did you expend significant effort to resist your nature, but in the end it wasn’t your nature which won you over; it was your compassion. You fed on that girl to relieve her pain, not your own.”
Charlie’s eyes were darting back and forth quickly, analyzing the sudden change in the situation. “You’s sayin’ you ain’t gonna dust me?” He asked, the first bit of elation spreading through him.
“No, you’re going to stay as you are, Charlie. Do you know why?” Loki began to pace, very slowly before the seated brit. Charlie shook his head. “Because you’re special, Charlie. You’re a very special vampire. There’s a prophecy written about you. Did you know that?”
Charlie blinked. “Because o’ me soul?”
“Because of your soul.” The conjurer continued to pace. “There are two vampires with souls, or there will be, and you’re one of them.”
“What else does it say?” The vampire asked, shifting in his seat.
Loki shrugged. “Nothing of consequence.” He turned and leaned in to look the vampire in the eyes. “You’re very important to me, Charlie,” there was some concern in the conjurer’s voice, as if it were vital that the vampire understand this. “You’re a very special vampire.”
Charlie tried to smile but found he couldn’t. “Alright,” he said weakly, "no need to pick out curtains."
Loki nodded, satisfied and straightened. “You’re free to go, Charlie, anywhere in the lamasery. You may have animal’s blood any time you wish and if there’s anything else you need for your comfort, please don’t hesitate to tell me.” He turned and exited the room, leaving the door open behind the still seated and still baffled vampire. “Oh, there’s one more thing,” he turned just outside the door. “That girl who was with you, she’s having a special ritual the day after tomorrow. I’d like you to attend.”
Charlie shifted in his seat. “I- I’d like that... sir,” the brit stumbled over the words. When Loki nodded and turned away, Charlie raised his voice slightly. “Is she gettin’ a soul then, sir?”
Loki turned around and studied the vampire with an odd expression for a long moment. “What a strange question,” the conjurer frowned. With that he turned and left.
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