Morgan Rice: Destined

The vampire priest led Caitlin through a side door, and Caitlin found herself descending a flight of stone steps. They walked down an arched, medieval passageway, and he continued to light torches as he went.

“I don’t think they’ll be back,” he said, locking another entrance as he went. “They’ll comb the countryside for you, and when they don’t find you, go back to their homes. That’s what they always do.”

Caitlin felt safe here, and she was so grateful for this man’s help. She wondered why he had helped her, why he had put his life on the line for her.

“Because I’m of your kind,” he said, turning and looking right at her, his piercing blue eyes boring through her.

Caitlin always forgot how easily vampires could read each other’s minds. But for a moment, she had forgotten that he was one of hers.

“Not all of us fear churches,” he said, answering her thoughts again. “You know that our race is splintered. Our kind – the benevolent kind – need churches. We thrive in them.”

As they turned down another corridor, down another small flight of steps, Caitlin wondered where he was leading them. So many questions raced through her mind, she didn’t know what to ask him first.

“Where am I?” she asked, and realized, as she did, that it was the first thing she’d said to him since they’d met. All her questions came pouring out in a rush. “What country am I in? What year is it?”

He smiled as they walked, the age lines bunching up in his face. He was a short, frail man, with white hair, clean-shaven, and a grandfatherly face. He wore the elaborate garments of a priest, and even for a vampire, he looked very old. She wondered how many centuries he’d been on this earth. She felt kindness and warmth radiate from him, and felt very at peace around him.

“So many questions,” he finally said, with a smile. “I understand. It is a lot for you. Well, to begin with, you are in Umbria. In the small town of Assisi.”

She wracked her brain, trying to figure out where that was.

“Italy?” she asked.

“In the future, yes, this region will be a part of a country called Italy,” he said, “but not now. We are still independent. Remember,” he smiled, “you are no longer in the 21st century – as you may have guessed from the dress and behavior of those villagers.”

“What year is it?” Caitlin asked quietly, almost afraid to know the answer. Her heart beat faster.

“You are in the 18th century,” he answered. “To be more precise: the year 1790.”

1790. Assisi. Umbria. Italy .

The thought of it overwhelmed her. It all felt surreal, as if she were in a dream. She could hardly believe this was really happening, that she was really, actually, here , in this time and place. That time travel really worked.

She also felt a bit relieved: of all the times and places she could have landed, Italy in 1790 didn’t sound too foreboding. It wasn’t like landing in prehistoric times.

“Why were those people trying to kill me? And who are you?”

“Despite all of our advances, this is still a somewhat primitive and superstitious time,” he said. “Even in this age of luxury and decadence, alas, there are still scores of commoners who live very much in fear of us.

“You see, the small mountain village of Assisi has always been a stronghold for our kind. It is frequented by vampires, and always has been. Our kind of vampire only feed on their livestock. Still, over time, the villagers begin to take notice.

“Sometimes they’ll spot one of us. And when they do, the situation becomes intolerable. So every now and again, we let them bury us. We let them go through their silly little human rituals, let them feel as if they’ve gotten rid of us. And when they’re not looking, we simply rise again and return back to our lives.

“But sometimes, a vampire rises back too soon, or is seen rising back, and then there comes the mob. It will blow over. These things always do. It brings unwanted attention to our kind, but only temporarily.”

“I’m sorry,” Caitlin said, feeling badly.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “This was your first time travel. You couldn’t control it. It takes some getting used to. Even the best of us can’t control re-surfacing very well. It’s always hard to say exactly when or where we’ll end up. You did fine,” he said, gently placing a hand on her wrist.

They walked down another corridor, this one with low, vaulted ceilings.

“Besides, you didn’t do all that bad,” he added. “After all, you knew enough to come here.”

Caitlin remembered spotting the church as she’d sprinted through the field.

“But it just seemed like the logical place to go,” she answered. “It was the first building I saw, and it seemed like a fortress.”

He smiled, shaking his head. “There is no such thing as coincidence in the vampire world,” he said. “Everything is destined. A building that seems secure to you might seem frail to someone else. No, you chose this spot for a reason. A very specific reason. And you were led to me.”

“But you’re a priest.”

He shook his head slightly. “You’re still very young, and you still have a lot to learn. We have our own religion, our own creed. It is not very different from that of the church. One can be a vampire and still involved in religious life. Especially our type of vampire,” he said. “I even help the humans in their daily spiritual life. After all, I have the benefit and wisdom of thousands of years on this planet – unlike human priests. Luckily, the humans don’t know I am not of their kind. For all they know, I am the town priest, and always have been.”

Caitlin’s mind spun, as she tried to reconcile it all. The image of a vampire priest seemed so paradoxical to her. The notion of a vampire religion, of its working within the church… it all seemed so strange.

As fascinating as all of this was, what she really wanted to know was not about vampires, or churches, or religion. She wanted to know about Caleb. Had he survived the trip? Was he alive? Where was he?

And she wanted desperately to know about their child. Was she still pregnant? Had the baby survived?

She thought these questions very strongly, and hoped the priest would pick them up, and answer her back.

But he didn’t.

She knew he’d heard her thoughts, and was choosing not to respond. He was forcing her to ask these questions aloud. And, as he probably knew, they were questions she was afraid to ask.

“And what of Caleb?” she finally asked, her voice shaking. She was too nervous to ask about her child.

She looked over at him and saw his smile fade, as the slightest wince crossed his face.

Her heart dropped.

Please , she thought. Please don’t tell me bad news .

“Some things you’re going to have to find out for yourself,” he said slowly. “Some things I am not meant to tell you. It is a journey you must take. You and you alone.”

“But is he here?” she asked hopefully. “Did he make it?”

The priest, walking alongside her, tightened his lips. He let her questions hang in the air, unanswered, for what felt like forever.

Finally, they stopped before another flight of steps, and he turned and looked at her. “I wish I could tell you more,” he said. “I really do.”

He turned, raised his torch, and led the way down another small flight of steps.

They entered a long, vaulted corridor, all the ceilings here gilded and intricately designed. They were entirely covered with frescoes, brightly designed, and in between them were arches, lined with gold. The ceiling shone.

So did the floor. It was a beautiful, pink marble, and looked freshly cleaned. This subterranean level of the church was gorgeous, looked like an ancient treasure chamber.