Abbasid Caliphate, Isfahan Countryside AD 848

Rolling clouds hid villages carved in caramel-coloured mountains below which green fields rolled off into the pink horizon. Although I didn’t know how much further south we needed to travel to reach the Patriarch, I could sense the approach of another trial. Perhaps I too had learned to read my father in this time. Yet he still felt so cold and distant. Perhaps with a longer lifespan, connections took longer to establish. Or perhaps it’s because he lacked the warmth of humans, I had come to take for granted. After all, even those Vikings felt much kinder than him.

Indifference made all the difference.

As long as one showed compassion to the smallest of things, as long as one showed passion in a single field, whether that be the most repulsive thing or action, it would always feel more welcoming than total and absolute apathy.

That’s what vampires were. Total and absolute indifference. They sought blood, not to quench their thirst for violence but to grasp the warmth they so desperately wished to experience, warmth even the dullest of animals felt.

“Aidar.” My father called out.

I flew to him; he rested in a small mountain creek. “Yes, Father,” I answered.

“I can see that you know what my intentions are.”

“I believe so.”

He nodded. “It seems you are growing as a vampire both in strength and intuition.” My father sat up; he kept his hair tilted backwards and let water drain out of his sponge-like hair. “You’re next, and sixth trial is to wipe out a village.”

I dreaded the day this would come; however, I had already come too far.

“A few moons ago you saw how humans fought, how they lived, and their rules. Now apply what you know to destroy a village. The mountains are our home, yet here they try and scale them. Push them back, use violence fright or words. Anything is acceptable.”

#

“Akhtar where are you?” Ali called out. No one answered. He decided to head out and check the outside garden. However, his brother wasn’t there either. Ali turned back around. A small line of dried blood ran down the side of the house. There shouldn’t have been any animal slaughter-last night. He headed behind the house.

“Oh God.” These words escaped Ali’s mouth. For in front of him, nailed to the side of the mountain with metal rods. Flies circled his brother’s head, and reddish-beige puke covered his beard. Blood trickled down his neck and tinted his robes brown.

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“Dad, come fast, help!” He screamed out.

As Ali and Akhtar were always the first awake, not only did his father come out, but a few other villagers crept out of their dwelling to teach him not to scream so early in the morning.

At first everyone covered their eyes, as the clouds seemed particularly thin that day, letting the blinding sun beam bright lights into their retinas. However, soon enough the smell of rotting flesh wafted into their noses, and each one of them saw small streams of blood come from behind their houses. They each, like actors performing a carefully choreographed play, turned their heads, and then their bodies towards the mountain’s face. Their eyes cast down, their beards touching their torso and their feet following close behind they searched for the source of the blood. Unfortunately for them instead of seeing the chalice of life, or the corpse of their cattle, they saw the bodies of their loved ones, from sons to daughters, from brothers to sisters, and wives. All nailed in odd ways to the mountain wall.

Their screams filled the mountain tops for half an hour, and their wails topped the other half.

#

Ethiopian Highlands AD 848

The sixth trial ended successfully. We flew for another few weeks in which time I completed the seventh trial as well. Yet I did not feel anymore powerful or vampiric, but instead worm like. A worm which had crawled onto a table at The Hague.

“This is your last trial,” said my father, snapping me out of my daze. He pointed up a magnificent mountain which looked nondescript when placed alongside its peers. They all seemed to hold small fields of bliss on countless cliffside pastures. “You must climb this mountain,” said my father. “On each cliff the patriarch will ask you a question. If you fail to answer correctly, you must jump off the cliff or be pushed off.”

Even when I thought about the fact the trials I completed could end in my death. This one seemed over the top.

“If you manage to make it to the top, the patriarch will consecrate you and you will become a true vampire. After that he will lead you to the Vampiric fire. And if the flame that sparks all life sees you fit for the task. The patriarch will take you in as a vampire of The Order of the Vampiric Flame. The body which preserves the eternal flame.”

For the first time, I saw the spark of life in my father’s eyes. He looked down after a brief moment. “Remember, there is no time limit. If you must think for a year, think for a year. There is no shame when it comes to our lives. Remember our creed.” My father’s words were concise. He patted my head. “Then I must go. I wish for you the best in life. And if we were to ever meet again, well, then that will be that. Good luck.” He hugged me, transformed into a bat and flew off.

There beneath mountains, pushed back and forth by great sweeping winds I stayed for some time, unsure how to react. Although tears didn’t roll, my eyes burned. I looked up in hopes to hold in whatever weld up; however, the strong winds scratched at my eyes and some tears escaped. I hoped that this time, I would not die so young. Young and without achievements. This whole time, I had feared to climb mountains. I feared that it would all go to waste, and so I slept and slept. And I figured out what hell this was. A place where the lazy and indignant became lazier and more indignant. Yet, even knowing this. Even seeing those villagers die, I knew and now know that I will do nothing but fall deeper into my faults.