Immortality

***
Twenty-Three

“In the name of God, open this door.”

A strange awed gasp spread across the room amongst the men as the painting of the Transylvanian map became a frozen icy mirror. The gateway to Dracula’s lair lay before them, if only they had the courage to step through, Abraham saw the apprehension on their faces as he turned and looked back at them; forty-seven men by last night’s count were crowded round, sharing an identical look that was tinged with fear. He didn’t blame them. He felt that way himself, though he knew it didn’t show. His years had given him that, at least.

Perhaps the men gathered there, with their pitchforks, old swords, scythes, and some with weapons borrowed from the manor with a solemn oath that they would be returned, perhaps they expected that he would say something. As his unnerving, steely gaze swept over them, he saw a hint of expectation creeping into their faces, as though as their leader it was his place to rally them, to speak whatever words of inspiration he had in him that would make them cheer and feel themselves mighty as thousands. It had never been his place to lead before, yet he knew the words all too well. He knew them, yes, but felt no need to speak them. He felt their fear would serve them better than could any call to arms.

“You should speak to them,” said Carl, appearing at his elbow with a sword clutched in his trembling hands. “They’re terrified.”

Abraham smiled. “I know they are,” he said, seeing the villagers’ fear reflected in the friar. “They should be. I don’t know that will prevail, but I believe that we shall need our fear to stand a chance.”

Carl nodded sagely as though he understood, but Abraham could not say that he understood what he had said himself. He only knew that his path lay beyond that mirror, whether he returned or not. He almost felt it did not matter either way, just so long as their goal was accomplished. He could only hope that the men felt the same.

He adjusted the collar of his coat and swung his brother’s crossbow onto his shoulder. He coughed to clear his throat and nodded solemnly to the sea of expectant faces, and then he spoke. It was not quite the speech for which they’d hoped.

“God be with us,” he said. Then he turned and walked on through the gateway.

It was cold and chilled him straight through his flesh making his teeth chatter and his joints stiffen almost painfully. It was snowing on the other side, with large white flakes falling from the dull, completely overcast sky above. It could almost have been evening, the sky was so unnaturally dark, with those thick grey clouds gathered around the top of the castle’s highest tower blocking out the sun.

The castle itself was quite unlike any structure Abraham had ever seen if only in its looming, ominous nature. It looked almost to be carved from the living rock, its black walls almost glassy with ice under the dark sky, all sharp edges and spikes. The heads that sat there speared on pikes were vastly more familiar to him, like something from his vast memory of earlier days, but were obviously of no more comfort than the great imposing castle.

He heard a rustle of cloth behind him and turned to see Carl stepping through the gate. The friar looked frozen, snow clinging to the ends of his hair, and Abraham realised that he’d actually warmed a little himself, if not much. Carl smiled at him hesitantly as if unsure it was quite appropriate to the situation, then moved over to his side and turned to look at the gate. Judging by the look on Carl’s face they were both wondering the exact same thing: were the villagers actually going to follow? Abraham started to picture just the two of them being the only ones who’d dared pass through in the end, that someone had stuck in a hand and decided it was just a little too cold with just a little too great a danger of death, thank you very much, and they’d all be heading home now, good luck with the vampire-slaying. Ah well, if that was the case then they’d just have to step back through and think of something new. At least next time he’d be prepared for the sight of that castle.

As it turned out, he need not have worried – soon a happeappeared and was soon followed by and arm, then the whole body of a Transylvanian villager carrying a rather rusty old scythe and sporting a particularly bewildered expression. More came after, one, two, three at a time, ‘til forty-four men (apparently two had still been passed out drunk and one had been tracked down by his particularly persistent wife) were standing before them.

“Is that everyone?” Abraham asked. A quick headcount ensued; everyone was present and corrwithwith their rusty farm implements. And they headed for the castle gates, almost ominously silent.

They were huge and thick and completely immovable, even with the combined strength of forty-six men against them. Abraham eventually called a halt, rather riserised that they hadn’t been spotted, but then again it must have seemed highly unlikely to those within the castle that anyone would be coming through the gateway. They should know better, surely.

“Well, last time you brother had, hmm, the superhuman strength of a werewolf, so he just picked us up and kind of… jumped inside,” Carl said, which was of course completely unhelpful.

“Carl, I’m quite sure that no one present is currently in the process of turning into a wolf,” he said, biting back his most sarcastic comment. “We will simply have to go back through the gateway and find something…”

“Errr, Van Helsing?”

Abraham did *not* like the sound of that. “Yes, Carl?” he asked, sure that he was going to regret having asked.

“Well, it’s the gate.” Abraham glared a little more intensely. “It… well it only opens one way, you see.”

Abraham stared, and Carl smiled sheepishly. Then he strode off between the men back to the gate and lay his hand against it. He didn’t slip through. The gateway was just a sheet of cold, hard glass. He sighnd rnd rested his forehead against it.

“So how did you return last time, Carl?” he asked as Carl scampered up next to him. “Tell me you didn’t have to *walk*.”

“I’m not sure that walking is actually possible from here,” Carl said. “But the gateway *does* seem to open. But, well, only when Dracula’s dead.”

Abraham turned to face him. “So, we are here, we are stranded here, until Dracula *dies*?”

Carl nodded. “Yes. It would seem that way, yes.”

“And you did not think it was perhaps important that you tell me this, that I should perhaps know this *before* we arrived here?”

“I thought you knew.”

Abraham sighed. Behind them the men were fast becoming restless, and that did not bode well. Soon, even without his command, they would probably start to hammer at the doors with their weapons – their recycled farm implements – and that was sure to alert Dracula’s Dwergi to their presence. He sighed again and reached into his coat. “You had better cross your fingers and pray that this works, Carl,” he said, removing Gabriel’s rotating blades from his inside pts.

He strode up to the doors, bringing the blades up to full rotation. The sawing of metal against wood was loud and he had no doubt that it would bring the Dwergi running. But if chance and God were on their side, perhaps he would break through before their arrival. After all, it would be a terrible shame to have come so far only to be thwarted by a troublesome gate.

It wasn’t long before he broke through with one blade, and there was still no sign of the Dwergi. It would take a little more time, but they would get inside. Then the real challenge would begin.

***