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rosy. His hair - oh, his hair is a glory, a flow of rich pale gold falling
past his shoulders to weave about his hips. A woman might sell her soul for
such hair! And there is a light about him, almost a nimbus, a glow that seems
to come from his whole body, his fair gleaming skin.
Such was the impression of beauty that I wanted to fall down in worship. He
might have been a six-winged seraph; wings would have seemed a natural part of
him.
When he saw that I was conscious, he gave me a tall beaker made of strange
glass, dark blue with metallic hues caught in it. It contained red wine, which
I drank greedily.
Beherit sat beside me like a nurse, feeding me morsels of food. Then he began
to question me again about the modern world; I cannot remember what he asked
or how I
replied, only his voice hissing on and on, and his hair gleaming in the light,
and the sense of oppression and menace that lay upon me.
When I needed to relieve myself he insisted on accompanying me - where did he
think
I might run to? But it was as well he did, for on the way back I fainted. He
helped me back to the library couch and sat on a chair beside me, watching me
as a cat watches its prey.
Then he asked intently, 'What do you know of Dracula?'
This question shocked me so much that I did not know how to answer. 'Nothing.'
He had my journal in his hand, and waved it at me. 'I have read your
scribblings. You know of him!'
I was strengthless; he was terrifying, with his hard white teeth shining. So I
told him, Abraham, the story that you told me. If I did wrong, forgive me. I
was - am - in thrall. As
I spoke, Beherit interrupted with expressions of contempt that gave me the
impression that he loathed Dracula. Yet when I came to the part where Dracula
was destroyed, his reaction astonished me. He leapt up in a kind of panic,
crying out, 'But Dracula cannot be dead! He cannot be!' He walked around the
room, tearing at his hair and wringing his hands in the most startling
demonstration of anguish. I was alarmed, and at a loss. Then he turned
viciously upon me, his hand squeezing my throat.
'You lie!'
'I do not, I swear!' I cried in fear of my life. 'All I know is what my
friends told me.
Dracula fed upon their loved ones; they outwitted and destroyed him!'
I thought Beherit would kill me. Instead he let go and calmed himself with a
sibilant, pensive breath. 'You tell what you believe to be the truth,' he
said. 'I accept that. But I say again, Dracula cannot be dead. He was the most
powerful student the Scholomance has ever seen. He would let nothing sever him
from immortality. He must go on, in spirit, in a changed form. But dead?
Impossible!'
I was almost too dizzy and exhausted to question him, but I forced myself.
'You knew him, then,' I said. 'He was here.'
'Yes. Of course he was here.' This said with a thin, mirthless irony.
'Then tell me, Beherit - tell me your story!'
'In time.' He smiled, but his eyes were calculating. 'Come, my friend, there
is more to show you.'
I was barely able to stand. He supported me, but there was no question of my
refusing
to go. He tugged at a bookshelf and it opened like a door to reveal a
corridor, barely high enough for us to walk upright. He went first, bearing a
lamp; I followed, leaning on him, intrigued despite my misgivings.
This corridor wound deep into the mountain, now descending, now climbing, and
its oppressive walls were wholly covered in mosaics of wondrous artistry but
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of lurid, disturbing images; sea monsters, hideous gaping fish, mermaids,
leviathans, all portrayed with a lasciviousness of design and colour that
sickened the very soul. These grew worse as we went, portraying mutilation and
bestiality. Other tunnels led off the main one, and often we passed dark
recesses in which the stink of alchemy still lingered. Shuddering, I
wondered what experiments the Devil's students had conducted in these arcane
laboratories. Once, the light from Beherit's lamp fleeted across the back of
one such cave, and I caught a glimpse of jars in which pale shapes floated in
greenish fluids.
With every step I sank deeper into a sort of loathing, a dread of what awaited
me.
'Consider the Devil,' said my companion as we went. 'He it is who thwarts
God's will by giving mankind the wisdom God did not mean us to have. God
wishes us to be innocent and obedient. The Devil gives us knowledge and
thereby the power to challenge
God's will. Lucifer makes us disobedient, as he was disobedient - daring to
challenge
God for his throne! Can you not admire him a little, for his audacity? After
all, it takes courage to question the arrogance of God.
'For that audacity he fell. Lucifer, the most beautiful of the seraphim, was
cast into the darkness for daring to question God! Was he evil - or brave?'
I was in no state to make any comment on this dubious philosophy.
Beherit continued, 'Writings in the library tell us that God created man to
replace the fallen archangels. They say Lucifer is jealous of God's love for
mankind, of the attention
He pays to them, and that is why Lucifer forever tries to subvert them to his
own cause.
But think; he does so not by tormenting them but by giving them great gifts.
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