Trinity Blood fic: Revelation
May. 20th, 2007 11:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
narcasse3610 words. PG. Not much more than a little bit of disturbing imagery, small animal death and blood drinking.
The tale of how Isaak first met Cain. Based on an idea of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
herit's.
Revelation
Disclaimer: Trinity Blood belongs to Sunao Yoshida, Gonzo and others
++++++++++
It was of course a ludicrous idea and he knew it. He was off on a wild goose chase the likes of which William would have invariably laughed at. Except if William knew what he was up to, he wouldn’t be laughing now. Not after everything that had passed, everything that had somehow managed to come between them. Which was why he was here in the first place, in a rickety horse-drawn carriage on a rapidly darkening road going nowhere, opposite a man who was evidently an actor hired to scare the punters. Why he knew the man was an actor was really due to a variety of reasons; namely the fact that he’d been repeatedly warned that he was venturing into the dreaded land beyond the forest, had also been warned that it wasn’t safe to dare anything outside after dark for fear of some nameless horror and the fact that the man’s supposed Eastern Orthodox prayers were the worst impression of Russian that Isaak had ever heard. After the fourth blatant attempt at waving about a rosary to catch his attention, Isaak gave up trying to enjoy the ride.
“Yes? Was there something you wanted?”
“You are a stranger here are you not, sir? These lands, they are not safe-“
“Bez muki net nauki.”
The man stared at him in confusion.
“Adversity is a good teacher. Not that that’s the literal translation anyway.”
And Isaak had smiled to himself behind his novel as the rest of the journey then transpired in silence.
Once they reached the hotel, he was doubly unimpressed since in the endeavour to create a tourist attraction, the owners had evidently just ended up doing damage to the original edifice. But seeing as this was the nearest hospitable location, he would just have to make do and thankfully enough after a heated discussion between his supposed fellow traveller and the hotelier, nobody tried to bother him with the nonsense of vampire superstition. They should be more circumspect, he supposed, especially since it was off-season and it looked like he was the only customer. And truth be told he was glad of the isolation because matters in Berlin looked like they were coming to a head. Not that he’d expected too much from a bunch of grumbling morons who called themselves Rosicrucians in the first place. Except, if he really was honest with himself; he did or rather he had when it had all first begun.
The fiasco in Londinium had left him at a loose end and with no hope of explaining himself to the university authorities, who’d wanted a scapegoat and wanted one now as well as William on the rampage over his now lost First; vacating the city had seemed like the best solution. So he’d done what he did best and found himself something occult-related to occupy his time with. William hadn’t really liked that sort of thing anyway and had always been deliberately rude about and to the occasional student of the occult who’d had the misfortune to cross his path. He’d tolerated Isaak’s interest because he often dismissed it as some sort of fad, much like his own penchant for Savile Row top-hats. Not that William could really afford them himself, Isaak had noted.
“You can’t waste all your scholarship on clothing!”
“Why not? You waste… oh, I suppose it is daddy’s money though, isn’t it?”
Isaak had glared.
“Oh come now, everybody knows that you’re daddy’s little princess. You can spend as much as you like on cummerbunds after all.”
The memory bought a familiar scowl to Isaak’s face. William had always teased him about that, always undermining anything he disagreed with by reminding Isaak that as far as William was concerned he was just some spoiled little rich girl. Isaak had hated it. Anything he did, anything he achieved was ignored and belittled. William really had been a horrible man and Isaak was probably better off rid of him. Except as much as he could think it, rationalise it, work it all out into nice, sensible increments in his mind; he still couldn’t quite make himself believe it. And the memory of William’s features twisted in fury in the midst of the ruined lab while he screamed that Isaak was nothing but a useless fool, continued to haunt Isaak almost nightly. Hence the deluded mess he’d managed to find himself in quite soon after.
Leaving Londinium for Berlin had seemed like a good idea at the time, if only because Isaak had a tendency to navigate via large cities, irrespective of country and had already begun to hear the rumours of a specific Berlin-based group whispered of in hushed tones. When even a cursory enquiry or two sent in the direction of the Societas Rosicruciana had been quickly and abruptly dismissed, his interested had only further grown. In retrospect he could see that the brusque manner in which his queries had been handled stemmed more from inter-fraternal rivalry more than anything else and if he’d been less than subtle in his inquiries in his enthusiasm then it was hardly to be unexpected when they told him to shut up and stop asking. At the time he’d taken that to mean that there might be a greater truth to be found in Berlin and caught up in his love of the forbidden had made the journey, burning all bridges behind. Which meant that now if he even considered turning up anywhere near Great Queen Street, he’d probably be going the right way for a good hard slap or at least a backhand which would probably result in the triple tau branded into his cheek for at least a hour or so afterwards, which while possibly appropriate really didn’t seem all that appealing.
Thus he’d found himself rather stuck in Berlin with a group of terran and Methuselah idiots who did nothing more eloquent than grumble about the current state of affairs. Half of them didn’t even have the slightest inkling of the profanity they’d enacted with their choice of congregational name either. Of course he’d toyed with the idea of going back to Londinium and abasing himself before the appropriate parties in the hopes of scraping back together some few remnants of his credibility but the nagging sensation that William might have lingered and seen to it that his return would be impossible dissuaded him from any late-night ideas of attempting it. At least in Berlin he was free to wallow in his own disgrace. In Londinium he might well be confronted by the less nostalgic version of affairs and that alone might be enough to crush him utterly. So he’d chosen to stay and make at least something of an attempt at conversation with individuals who really weren’t his usual sort of society at all. It hadn’t been the best of ideas in the end though it had turned up one or two avenues of real enquiry.
He’d quickly gained a reputation for being a little bit too proactive as far as the others were concerned as he set off chasing first one rumour, then another and another. There was little point in just sitting on his behind rather uselessly in Berlin anyway and for all he knew the next piece of inane gossip might actually be the key to the whole problem. And so he’d gone chasing fairytales and to blazes with whatever might have actually been left of his reputation. Fraud, eccentric, whatever other labels that might be applied to him made no difference now. Everything had been lost and perhaps for the first time, in that dissolution he had finally been set free. The aftermath of destruction had never been so glorious.
Which was why he was currently staying in a rundown little hotel in some backwater region on the edge of the Empire. Chasing fairytales. Perhaps that was all that he could do now and with each fruitless journey the conviction that he’d find any real revelation at the end of it grew weaker. But even then that wasn’t reason enough to give up, not because he was any sort of optimist or because there’d ever been any indication that this time there would be illumination but because when it finally came down to it, it was at least better this way. Better to live out his life chasing an endless dream that give up and become like the rest. It wasn’t courageous in the slightest and perhaps was just his running as far and as fast as he could from reality, not that that would be the part that would count. Better to know that he had tried, had dared to dream of something greater so that even if he never found it, never even found the slightest hint at proof, he could at least say, when the toll of funereal bells became unavoidable, that he’d tried and had frittered away his life in the pursuit of a greater truth.
And honourable intentions aside, at least the paprika chicken he’s been served for dinner wasn’t half bad. Flippancy being as good a retreat as any and one that seemed to produce some alarmingly accurate results on most occasions. Thus with directions gathered from the hotelier, Isaak had retired to bed after his meal rather than go charging off into the dark like an absurd missing chapter from some sort of horror novel. It really wouldn’t have been a sensible course of action anyway, all things considered. He was a stranger to the area after all and knowing his rotten luck he’d most likely have ended up breaking his ankle in the dark and having to spend a night face down in a ditch due to the unfamiliar terrain. And there wasn’t likely to be any sort of master boyarin to be had who’d send a rescue party. Besides, the point of the matter was scientific accuracy and not attempting to avoid breaking his neck in the dark, so the morning would be better served by exploration and the night by actually getting some sleep instead.
The next morning proved rather anticlimactic since Isaak slept like a log or at least a log wearing an eye-mask and a pair of cotton gloves to help with the softening of its hands. Even entering the dinning room downstairs seemed oddly normal when he went to enquire about breakfast, the scant hotel staff seeming having given up on their mythological vampire act. And it certainly didn’t seem like quite so much of an adventure by the time he’d checked his directions and set off for a little walk with something that looked suspiciously like a croissant wrapped in a napkin and stuffed into a jacket pocket.
There probably wouldn’t be anything out there, he’d already reasoned. Nothing but dragonflies and the odd toad belching at the sun, not that there’d be any dragonflies at all really. But it was worth a look anyway, seeing as he’d come so far. Just a scrap of ground somewhere; that was all he was seeking. A piece of scrubland that swallowed up all life. It sounded like the stuff of half-forgotten myth of course and that was probably all it was but perhaps it might lead to at least some sort of discovery, even if it was just some geological one. Except he wasn’t a geologist but maybe if he could dress it up in biology enough, at least one fraternity in Londinium might pleased enough not to want him dead. Which was an exaggeration anyway seeing as they had something of a historical precedent for getting things wrong which would mean… something at least. But he couldn’t be bothered to figure it out and it wasn’t as if he’d be dashing off to Piccadilly screaming “Eureka” any time soon.
The scrubland as it turned out was wonderfully unremarkable and in that natural absence of anything particularly dramatic actually struck Isaak as really quite beautiful. It had a casual desolation and absent relentlessness about it. Dirt and mud, and shrub and grasses, comprising of reasonably sized patches of both. The largest patch of dirt at least looked to be manmade and was perhaps what he was looking for. A blast patch of nothing in amongst the vegetation which would have been something if not for the fact that there were other similar, albeit smaller, patches of dirt scattered around in between the grasses anyway. It was unremarkable then, like the entire landscape around it and that banality perhaps gave it a certain livid beauty, as if something had struck the earth there and now everything refused to grow upon it out of sheer petulance. Isaak would have turned away at that point, would have simply been content to admire the landscape on his way back to the hotel if not for the motion of haphazard chance. He’d watched idly as a rather large butterfly had fluttered past the tip of his nose and had steered its course towards the barren bit of earth. It had fluttered perhaps a hand’s breadth above the ground and then quite suddenly dropped, struggled for a few moments before it had been seemingly sucked into the earth. Isaak stared, disbelievingly as the same process repeated itself with some other manner of bug and then another and another. Then he sat down on a nearby bit of rock with his feet deliberately off the ground and waited.
The patch of ground kept up the spectacle for the next half hour, consuming just about anything living that dared attempt to cross it and a few things that tried not to. It certainly was an unexplainable phenomenon and Isaak puzzled over just what exactly could be causing it beyond the obvious explanations granted by mysticism. Some time during his musing, a rabbit or a hare, he couldn’t tell the difference, decided it was going to venture close enough to sup on the vegetation but not close enough to be sucked into the strange patch of ground. It was a perfect sort of test really and Isaak was quite convinced that somewhere the almighty Darwin was practically ordering him to test his theorem. It was one of the many occasions where being long-legged turned out to be extraordinarily handy. Silently shifting his weight to the side, Isaak unfolded one bent leg and with a sharp kick sent the rabbit sailing right into the centre of the patch of carnivorous ground. And though the creature squealed, the ground obligingly proved a point and forcibly began to drag it under. Except this time the process was slower and Isaak got to watch not only the animal’s death throes but also the ground seemingly stripping the flesh from its bones which were left behind. Almost as an afterthought he took the croissant out of his pocket, examined it for a moment and then tossed it at the patch of ground which swallowed it up quite happily. And then the strangest thing happened.
The ground started to bubble as if it were boiling liquid and seemingly out of the earth itself climbed a man-like figure. It resembled a man in the sense that it stood upright and seemed to have the requisite limbs. It had bones, at least as far as Isaak could see, and flesh and muscle, but somehow those hadn’t quite managed to knit together entirely correctly leaving patches of bone or muscle exposed at random.
“Zero one.” It said in a grating voice.
Isaak blinked, too stunned to panic. And then it opened its eyes or what seemed to be its approximation of them. They were crimson and there was no iris or pupil or anything else, besides what probably was an orb of solid colour. Isaak just about managed not to fall off the rock he was sat on by sheer force of will and also in part due to the absurdity of the entire situation. If he’d been reasonably certain of his coordination he might have even pinched himself to make sure that he wasn’t being menaced by nightmares as a result of one Asimov novel too many.
“Cain.” It said suddenly though it made no move towards him.
“Oh.”
“Oh.” It repeated with enough formality for Isaak to realise that it had interpreted that as his name.
“Isaak. My name is Isaak.”
“Isaak.” It tilted what passed as its head to the side a little and seemed to consider that and then seemingly having made some sort of internal decision began to move towards him.
Scrambling off the rock Isaak briefly considered his chances if he attempted to escape but seeing as the creature, whatever it might be was moving towards him at a rather rapid pace and really didn’t at all seem to be hampered by its lacking anatomy he decided he wasn’t likely to get far. And his limbs were still trembling a little too much anyway. It stopped opposite him, so close that their faces were almost touching and seemed to inspect him with its strange eyes. And then a half-formed hand clamped to the back of his neck and he was draggled closer to what suddenly seemed to be a mouth filled with a frightening number of sharp teeth.
Closing his eyes reflexively, Isaak reflected that there were probably worse ways to die than being eaten by a semi-human thing that might be a hodgepodge of varying mythologies, not that he could think of anything specific at the moment, trapped as he was in its vice-like grip. Fighting would be futile anyway he decided; he could barely wind William if he threw his hardest punch so he had little chance against a thing like this.
“Be gentle.” The words slipped out as his mind retreated into flippancy as a last refuge from what was probably the unheard laughter of almighty Darwin.
“Yes.” It replied and surprisingly enough it was.
The sun was setting when Isaak woke. He would have been convinced it had all been a dream if not for the fact that he was lying on his back on the ground with his jacket over him. Sitting up slowly, proved that he was, predictably feeling faint. He put a hand to his head and tried to sort reality from fiction in his mind.
“Rest.” Came an unfamiliar voice.
Isaak stared. There was a naked man sat opposite him, apparently quite unperturbed by his nakedness. Memory came flooding back.
“Cain?”
“Yes. I’m glad you remembered, Isaak.”
Cain, a creature that looked to all intentions like a man but wasn’t a man at all. A creature that had risen from the earth like a god rising from the dead. A god forcibly entombed perhaps.
“Wha-“
But Cain had stood and crossing over to kneel beside him pressed a finger to Isaak’s lips silencing all protest. “Rest now and when you are better I will explain.”
“I… the hotel…”
Cain’s eyebrows rose, his expression bemused at Isaak’s somewhat incoherent protests.
“We should… go back to the hotel. I can rest there. Oh, but you have no clothing. That could get awkward.”
“I can slip through your window.” That smile seemed teasing.
“I suppose you could. Can you? My room is on the first floor after all.”
But Cain had smiled enigmatically as if that were all the answer needed.
About a week later, after many dubious looks from the hotel staff at the fact that Isaak had had another man in his room and that neither of them had seemed terribly inclined to go out following that development; they’d finally departed for Berlin. This time the carriage ride had been blissfully free from temporarily employed actors and Isaak had been rather better disposed towards his travelling companion. Watching Cain over the rim of his book seemed like a marvellous way to spend the journey, as Cain gazed placidly out of the carriage window, occasionally turning to grace him with a beatific smile.
“When we get to Berlin there are some people I’d like you to meet.”
Cain turned a curious gaze on Isaak but chose not to voice comment.
“They can most likely be of use in your… regeneration.”
And they would be; every last one of them. Terran and Methuselah alike; Isaak would see to it that they at least contributed to the greater truth in the extinguishing of their paltry lives. Then perhaps they might go to Londinium.
The brush of Cain’s fingertips against his cheek pulled Isaak from his thoughts.
“What are you thinking?”
“We should go to Londinium… after.”
“Oh?”
“It’s…” But Isaak lost whatever it was that he was going to say when Cain’s lips descended on his throat. This time it was nothing more than feather-light not kisses but rather a strange open-mouthed pressure that seemed to draw the heat from his skin. Perhaps it did, not that Isaak really cared. The slight cuts and nicks left behind where Cain had evidently drawn blood made little difference to him anymore.
“You should rest.” Cain’s breath was warm against his ear.
He was feeling faint again but that hardly mattered and instead of moving, he clung quite feebly to the solid body that held him. Cain chuckled softly but gave no indication of moving back to the seat opposite; instead he seemed to settle himself more comfortably before tightening his grip around Isaak’s waist fractionally.
“Rest.” It was the gentlest command.
Isaak didn’t even attempt to open his eyes but shifted slightly so that he could comfortably tuck his head against Cain’s shoulder while he slumbered. It had been a direct command after all and he was hardly one to disobey.
++++++++++
“Bez muki net nauki “ should be a transliteration of “Без муки нет науки.” But I could be horribly wrong. And it should almost literally translate as “There is no science without trouble” from what I gather.
Bram Stoker makes reference to the land beyond the forest in his famous novel.
Savile Row is located in Mayfair and is famous for it’s collection of fine tailors.
The Societas Rosicruciana in Anglia was founded in the 19th century and had particular links to the Masons. Three of its members went on to found the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn.
The United Grand Lodge of England is located on Great Queen St, just on your right as you head up Drury Lane from the Aldwych.
The Royal Arch Triple Tau is one of those specific symbols that often gets put on signet rings. It signifies lamenting sin and purification from it as well as being a handy key to assorted geometric equations that turn up in various bits of symbolism.
The missing chapter from Bram Stoker’s Dracula is of course the escapade titled Dracula’s Guest which involves Harker going for a wander after dark. Harker also picks up the recipe for paprika chicken for Mina while staying at an inn.
Boyarin would actually be the Russian for boyar. The Romanian would boier.
The Linnean Society of London are located at Burlington House, Piccadilly and most notoriously told Charles Darwin that his theory of evolution was wrong.
Isaac Asimov is course the famed sci-fi author and originator of the Three Laws of Robotics. One of the central themes in novels such as The Caves of Steel is just what differentiates a human from an advanced machine.
Isaak does appear to have a Jhonen Vasquez's Squee moment but that was entirely unintentional, though at least in one respect quite apt. Squee’s real name is actually Tod. Which almost seems like it should be a pun.
The tale of how Isaak first met Cain. Based on an idea of
herit's.Revelation
Disclaimer: Trinity Blood belongs to Sunao Yoshida, Gonzo and others
++++++++++
It was of course a ludicrous idea and he knew it. He was off on a wild goose chase the likes of which William would have invariably laughed at. Except if William knew what he was up to, he wouldn’t be laughing now. Not after everything that had passed, everything that had somehow managed to come between them. Which was why he was here in the first place, in a rickety horse-drawn carriage on a rapidly darkening road going nowhere, opposite a man who was evidently an actor hired to scare the punters. Why he knew the man was an actor was really due to a variety of reasons; namely the fact that he’d been repeatedly warned that he was venturing into the dreaded land beyond the forest, had also been warned that it wasn’t safe to dare anything outside after dark for fear of some nameless horror and the fact that the man’s supposed Eastern Orthodox prayers were the worst impression of Russian that Isaak had ever heard. After the fourth blatant attempt at waving about a rosary to catch his attention, Isaak gave up trying to enjoy the ride.
“Yes? Was there something you wanted?”
“You are a stranger here are you not, sir? These lands, they are not safe-“
“Bez muki net nauki.”
The man stared at him in confusion.
“Adversity is a good teacher. Not that that’s the literal translation anyway.”
And Isaak had smiled to himself behind his novel as the rest of the journey then transpired in silence.
Once they reached the hotel, he was doubly unimpressed since in the endeavour to create a tourist attraction, the owners had evidently just ended up doing damage to the original edifice. But seeing as this was the nearest hospitable location, he would just have to make do and thankfully enough after a heated discussion between his supposed fellow traveller and the hotelier, nobody tried to bother him with the nonsense of vampire superstition. They should be more circumspect, he supposed, especially since it was off-season and it looked like he was the only customer. And truth be told he was glad of the isolation because matters in Berlin looked like they were coming to a head. Not that he’d expected too much from a bunch of grumbling morons who called themselves Rosicrucians in the first place. Except, if he really was honest with himself; he did or rather he had when it had all first begun.
The fiasco in Londinium had left him at a loose end and with no hope of explaining himself to the university authorities, who’d wanted a scapegoat and wanted one now as well as William on the rampage over his now lost First; vacating the city had seemed like the best solution. So he’d done what he did best and found himself something occult-related to occupy his time with. William hadn’t really liked that sort of thing anyway and had always been deliberately rude about and to the occasional student of the occult who’d had the misfortune to cross his path. He’d tolerated Isaak’s interest because he often dismissed it as some sort of fad, much like his own penchant for Savile Row top-hats. Not that William could really afford them himself, Isaak had noted.
“You can’t waste all your scholarship on clothing!”
“Why not? You waste… oh, I suppose it is daddy’s money though, isn’t it?”
Isaak had glared.
“Oh come now, everybody knows that you’re daddy’s little princess. You can spend as much as you like on cummerbunds after all.”
The memory bought a familiar scowl to Isaak’s face. William had always teased him about that, always undermining anything he disagreed with by reminding Isaak that as far as William was concerned he was just some spoiled little rich girl. Isaak had hated it. Anything he did, anything he achieved was ignored and belittled. William really had been a horrible man and Isaak was probably better off rid of him. Except as much as he could think it, rationalise it, work it all out into nice, sensible increments in his mind; he still couldn’t quite make himself believe it. And the memory of William’s features twisted in fury in the midst of the ruined lab while he screamed that Isaak was nothing but a useless fool, continued to haunt Isaak almost nightly. Hence the deluded mess he’d managed to find himself in quite soon after.
Leaving Londinium for Berlin had seemed like a good idea at the time, if only because Isaak had a tendency to navigate via large cities, irrespective of country and had already begun to hear the rumours of a specific Berlin-based group whispered of in hushed tones. When even a cursory enquiry or two sent in the direction of the Societas Rosicruciana had been quickly and abruptly dismissed, his interested had only further grown. In retrospect he could see that the brusque manner in which his queries had been handled stemmed more from inter-fraternal rivalry more than anything else and if he’d been less than subtle in his inquiries in his enthusiasm then it was hardly to be unexpected when they told him to shut up and stop asking. At the time he’d taken that to mean that there might be a greater truth to be found in Berlin and caught up in his love of the forbidden had made the journey, burning all bridges behind. Which meant that now if he even considered turning up anywhere near Great Queen Street, he’d probably be going the right way for a good hard slap or at least a backhand which would probably result in the triple tau branded into his cheek for at least a hour or so afterwards, which while possibly appropriate really didn’t seem all that appealing.
Thus he’d found himself rather stuck in Berlin with a group of terran and Methuselah idiots who did nothing more eloquent than grumble about the current state of affairs. Half of them didn’t even have the slightest inkling of the profanity they’d enacted with their choice of congregational name either. Of course he’d toyed with the idea of going back to Londinium and abasing himself before the appropriate parties in the hopes of scraping back together some few remnants of his credibility but the nagging sensation that William might have lingered and seen to it that his return would be impossible dissuaded him from any late-night ideas of attempting it. At least in Berlin he was free to wallow in his own disgrace. In Londinium he might well be confronted by the less nostalgic version of affairs and that alone might be enough to crush him utterly. So he’d chosen to stay and make at least something of an attempt at conversation with individuals who really weren’t his usual sort of society at all. It hadn’t been the best of ideas in the end though it had turned up one or two avenues of real enquiry.
He’d quickly gained a reputation for being a little bit too proactive as far as the others were concerned as he set off chasing first one rumour, then another and another. There was little point in just sitting on his behind rather uselessly in Berlin anyway and for all he knew the next piece of inane gossip might actually be the key to the whole problem. And so he’d gone chasing fairytales and to blazes with whatever might have actually been left of his reputation. Fraud, eccentric, whatever other labels that might be applied to him made no difference now. Everything had been lost and perhaps for the first time, in that dissolution he had finally been set free. The aftermath of destruction had never been so glorious.
Which was why he was currently staying in a rundown little hotel in some backwater region on the edge of the Empire. Chasing fairytales. Perhaps that was all that he could do now and with each fruitless journey the conviction that he’d find any real revelation at the end of it grew weaker. But even then that wasn’t reason enough to give up, not because he was any sort of optimist or because there’d ever been any indication that this time there would be illumination but because when it finally came down to it, it was at least better this way. Better to live out his life chasing an endless dream that give up and become like the rest. It wasn’t courageous in the slightest and perhaps was just his running as far and as fast as he could from reality, not that that would be the part that would count. Better to know that he had tried, had dared to dream of something greater so that even if he never found it, never even found the slightest hint at proof, he could at least say, when the toll of funereal bells became unavoidable, that he’d tried and had frittered away his life in the pursuit of a greater truth.
And honourable intentions aside, at least the paprika chicken he’s been served for dinner wasn’t half bad. Flippancy being as good a retreat as any and one that seemed to produce some alarmingly accurate results on most occasions. Thus with directions gathered from the hotelier, Isaak had retired to bed after his meal rather than go charging off into the dark like an absurd missing chapter from some sort of horror novel. It really wouldn’t have been a sensible course of action anyway, all things considered. He was a stranger to the area after all and knowing his rotten luck he’d most likely have ended up breaking his ankle in the dark and having to spend a night face down in a ditch due to the unfamiliar terrain. And there wasn’t likely to be any sort of master boyarin to be had who’d send a rescue party. Besides, the point of the matter was scientific accuracy and not attempting to avoid breaking his neck in the dark, so the morning would be better served by exploration and the night by actually getting some sleep instead.
The next morning proved rather anticlimactic since Isaak slept like a log or at least a log wearing an eye-mask and a pair of cotton gloves to help with the softening of its hands. Even entering the dinning room downstairs seemed oddly normal when he went to enquire about breakfast, the scant hotel staff seeming having given up on their mythological vampire act. And it certainly didn’t seem like quite so much of an adventure by the time he’d checked his directions and set off for a little walk with something that looked suspiciously like a croissant wrapped in a napkin and stuffed into a jacket pocket.
There probably wouldn’t be anything out there, he’d already reasoned. Nothing but dragonflies and the odd toad belching at the sun, not that there’d be any dragonflies at all really. But it was worth a look anyway, seeing as he’d come so far. Just a scrap of ground somewhere; that was all he was seeking. A piece of scrubland that swallowed up all life. It sounded like the stuff of half-forgotten myth of course and that was probably all it was but perhaps it might lead to at least some sort of discovery, even if it was just some geological one. Except he wasn’t a geologist but maybe if he could dress it up in biology enough, at least one fraternity in Londinium might pleased enough not to want him dead. Which was an exaggeration anyway seeing as they had something of a historical precedent for getting things wrong which would mean… something at least. But he couldn’t be bothered to figure it out and it wasn’t as if he’d be dashing off to Piccadilly screaming “Eureka” any time soon.
The scrubland as it turned out was wonderfully unremarkable and in that natural absence of anything particularly dramatic actually struck Isaak as really quite beautiful. It had a casual desolation and absent relentlessness about it. Dirt and mud, and shrub and grasses, comprising of reasonably sized patches of both. The largest patch of dirt at least looked to be manmade and was perhaps what he was looking for. A blast patch of nothing in amongst the vegetation which would have been something if not for the fact that there were other similar, albeit smaller, patches of dirt scattered around in between the grasses anyway. It was unremarkable then, like the entire landscape around it and that banality perhaps gave it a certain livid beauty, as if something had struck the earth there and now everything refused to grow upon it out of sheer petulance. Isaak would have turned away at that point, would have simply been content to admire the landscape on his way back to the hotel if not for the motion of haphazard chance. He’d watched idly as a rather large butterfly had fluttered past the tip of his nose and had steered its course towards the barren bit of earth. It had fluttered perhaps a hand’s breadth above the ground and then quite suddenly dropped, struggled for a few moments before it had been seemingly sucked into the earth. Isaak stared, disbelievingly as the same process repeated itself with some other manner of bug and then another and another. Then he sat down on a nearby bit of rock with his feet deliberately off the ground and waited.
The patch of ground kept up the spectacle for the next half hour, consuming just about anything living that dared attempt to cross it and a few things that tried not to. It certainly was an unexplainable phenomenon and Isaak puzzled over just what exactly could be causing it beyond the obvious explanations granted by mysticism. Some time during his musing, a rabbit or a hare, he couldn’t tell the difference, decided it was going to venture close enough to sup on the vegetation but not close enough to be sucked into the strange patch of ground. It was a perfect sort of test really and Isaak was quite convinced that somewhere the almighty Darwin was practically ordering him to test his theorem. It was one of the many occasions where being long-legged turned out to be extraordinarily handy. Silently shifting his weight to the side, Isaak unfolded one bent leg and with a sharp kick sent the rabbit sailing right into the centre of the patch of carnivorous ground. And though the creature squealed, the ground obligingly proved a point and forcibly began to drag it under. Except this time the process was slower and Isaak got to watch not only the animal’s death throes but also the ground seemingly stripping the flesh from its bones which were left behind. Almost as an afterthought he took the croissant out of his pocket, examined it for a moment and then tossed it at the patch of ground which swallowed it up quite happily. And then the strangest thing happened.
The ground started to bubble as if it were boiling liquid and seemingly out of the earth itself climbed a man-like figure. It resembled a man in the sense that it stood upright and seemed to have the requisite limbs. It had bones, at least as far as Isaak could see, and flesh and muscle, but somehow those hadn’t quite managed to knit together entirely correctly leaving patches of bone or muscle exposed at random.
“Zero one.” It said in a grating voice.
Isaak blinked, too stunned to panic. And then it opened its eyes or what seemed to be its approximation of them. They were crimson and there was no iris or pupil or anything else, besides what probably was an orb of solid colour. Isaak just about managed not to fall off the rock he was sat on by sheer force of will and also in part due to the absurdity of the entire situation. If he’d been reasonably certain of his coordination he might have even pinched himself to make sure that he wasn’t being menaced by nightmares as a result of one Asimov novel too many.
“Cain.” It said suddenly though it made no move towards him.
“Oh.”
“Oh.” It repeated with enough formality for Isaak to realise that it had interpreted that as his name.
“Isaak. My name is Isaak.”
“Isaak.” It tilted what passed as its head to the side a little and seemed to consider that and then seemingly having made some sort of internal decision began to move towards him.
Scrambling off the rock Isaak briefly considered his chances if he attempted to escape but seeing as the creature, whatever it might be was moving towards him at a rather rapid pace and really didn’t at all seem to be hampered by its lacking anatomy he decided he wasn’t likely to get far. And his limbs were still trembling a little too much anyway. It stopped opposite him, so close that their faces were almost touching and seemed to inspect him with its strange eyes. And then a half-formed hand clamped to the back of his neck and he was draggled closer to what suddenly seemed to be a mouth filled with a frightening number of sharp teeth.
Closing his eyes reflexively, Isaak reflected that there were probably worse ways to die than being eaten by a semi-human thing that might be a hodgepodge of varying mythologies, not that he could think of anything specific at the moment, trapped as he was in its vice-like grip. Fighting would be futile anyway he decided; he could barely wind William if he threw his hardest punch so he had little chance against a thing like this.
“Be gentle.” The words slipped out as his mind retreated into flippancy as a last refuge from what was probably the unheard laughter of almighty Darwin.
“Yes.” It replied and surprisingly enough it was.
The sun was setting when Isaak woke. He would have been convinced it had all been a dream if not for the fact that he was lying on his back on the ground with his jacket over him. Sitting up slowly, proved that he was, predictably feeling faint. He put a hand to his head and tried to sort reality from fiction in his mind.
“Rest.” Came an unfamiliar voice.
Isaak stared. There was a naked man sat opposite him, apparently quite unperturbed by his nakedness. Memory came flooding back.
“Cain?”
“Yes. I’m glad you remembered, Isaak.”
Cain, a creature that looked to all intentions like a man but wasn’t a man at all. A creature that had risen from the earth like a god rising from the dead. A god forcibly entombed perhaps.
“Wha-“
But Cain had stood and crossing over to kneel beside him pressed a finger to Isaak’s lips silencing all protest. “Rest now and when you are better I will explain.”
“I… the hotel…”
Cain’s eyebrows rose, his expression bemused at Isaak’s somewhat incoherent protests.
“We should… go back to the hotel. I can rest there. Oh, but you have no clothing. That could get awkward.”
“I can slip through your window.” That smile seemed teasing.
“I suppose you could. Can you? My room is on the first floor after all.”
But Cain had smiled enigmatically as if that were all the answer needed.
About a week later, after many dubious looks from the hotel staff at the fact that Isaak had had another man in his room and that neither of them had seemed terribly inclined to go out following that development; they’d finally departed for Berlin. This time the carriage ride had been blissfully free from temporarily employed actors and Isaak had been rather better disposed towards his travelling companion. Watching Cain over the rim of his book seemed like a marvellous way to spend the journey, as Cain gazed placidly out of the carriage window, occasionally turning to grace him with a beatific smile.
“When we get to Berlin there are some people I’d like you to meet.”
Cain turned a curious gaze on Isaak but chose not to voice comment.
“They can most likely be of use in your… regeneration.”
And they would be; every last one of them. Terran and Methuselah alike; Isaak would see to it that they at least contributed to the greater truth in the extinguishing of their paltry lives. Then perhaps they might go to Londinium.
The brush of Cain’s fingertips against his cheek pulled Isaak from his thoughts.
“What are you thinking?”
“We should go to Londinium… after.”
“Oh?”
“It’s…” But Isaak lost whatever it was that he was going to say when Cain’s lips descended on his throat. This time it was nothing more than feather-light not kisses but rather a strange open-mouthed pressure that seemed to draw the heat from his skin. Perhaps it did, not that Isaak really cared. The slight cuts and nicks left behind where Cain had evidently drawn blood made little difference to him anymore.
“You should rest.” Cain’s breath was warm against his ear.
He was feeling faint again but that hardly mattered and instead of moving, he clung quite feebly to the solid body that held him. Cain chuckled softly but gave no indication of moving back to the seat opposite; instead he seemed to settle himself more comfortably before tightening his grip around Isaak’s waist fractionally.
“Rest.” It was the gentlest command.
Isaak didn’t even attempt to open his eyes but shifted slightly so that he could comfortably tuck his head against Cain’s shoulder while he slumbered. It had been a direct command after all and he was hardly one to disobey.
++++++++++
“Bez muki net nauki “ should be a transliteration of “Без муки нет науки.” But I could be horribly wrong. And it should almost literally translate as “There is no science without trouble” from what I gather.
Bram Stoker makes reference to the land beyond the forest in his famous novel.
Savile Row is located in Mayfair and is famous for it’s collection of fine tailors.
The Societas Rosicruciana in Anglia was founded in the 19th century and had particular links to the Masons. Three of its members went on to found the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn.
The United Grand Lodge of England is located on Great Queen St, just on your right as you head up Drury Lane from the Aldwych.
The Royal Arch Triple Tau is one of those specific symbols that often gets put on signet rings. It signifies lamenting sin and purification from it as well as being a handy key to assorted geometric equations that turn up in various bits of symbolism.
The missing chapter from Bram Stoker’s Dracula is of course the escapade titled Dracula’s Guest which involves Harker going for a wander after dark. Harker also picks up the recipe for paprika chicken for Mina while staying at an inn.
Boyarin would actually be the Russian for boyar. The Romanian would boier.
The Linnean Society of London are located at Burlington House, Piccadilly and most notoriously told Charles Darwin that his theory of evolution was wrong.
Isaac Asimov is course the famed sci-fi author and originator of the Three Laws of Robotics. One of the central themes in novels such as The Caves of Steel is just what differentiates a human from an advanced machine.
Isaak does appear to have a Jhonen Vasquez's Squee moment but that was entirely unintentional, though at least in one respect quite apt. Squee’s real name is actually Tod. Which almost seems like it should be a pun.
