Coming Out of the Cold

Deep in the mountains of Uschtenheim
500 years before the Pillars' corruption

At last Raziel reached the highest balcony of the mountain's interior. It had taken him more than an hour to traverse the elegant, soaring architecture within Janos' retreat, for these towers and balconies were built by beings gifted with flight. The most direct route was up, but Raziel's threadbare wings would not rise to the task.

By now the sun was rising. Visible through the open roof, the sky glowed pink and gold. Intent on reaching his destination, the sight went unnoticed by Raziel as he made his way down the hall.

Strange crystals lit the vast corridor. Piled in ornate bowls, hung from the walls by chains, they had been harvested from nearby caves for their inviting purple light. A velvet rug scuffed Raziel's feet; red with a black diamond pattern, though the diamonds blended together after centuries of ferrying passengers. Carved from stone and artfully decorated, the walls showed no such signs of decay.

Coming to the end of the hall, Raziel stopped before an imposing set of double-doors. He felt the winter chill creep through the stone and into his bones.

According to legend, Janos Audron was the most powerful vampire in Nosgoth, before his life was taken during the Sarafan Crusades. More infamous than Vorador, Nosgoth's humans considered Janos their greatest villain; a demonic parasite that feasted on the innocent and visited havoc on the isolated villages in his mountains.

Vorador indeed deserved his reputation as the depraved master of Termogent forest, yet he was also far more refined and wise than rumors would have him believe.

Vorador called Janos his maker. If this was true, Raziel did not know what to expect from him. He was venerable, of that there was no doubt, but was he a man turned monster - like Vorador; or one of that mysterious race of winged vampires reverently depicted in Nosgoth's ruins?

The wraith blade, the spiritual embodiment of that enigmatic sword, had guided Raziel on a strange journey through time and space, and the secrets he uncovered led him to believe that he and his weapon were deeply intertwined with Nosgoth's past. Possibly, its future. Vorador even called him a savior - but not without also accusing him of being Nosgoth's destroyer. Upon his arrival in Nosgoth's distant past, even Moebius had addressed him as such: Redeemer and Destroyer, Pawn and Messiah. The implications made him shudder. He chased Kain through the Chronoplast to settle a score and satisfy his contract with his (at the time) auspicious Benefactor, not to become a martyr for the world that abandoned him. And as long as Kain was around, Nosgoth already had a worthy destroyer.

Vorador said that only Janos would have the answers Raziel sought. Kain seemed to think so, too - a fact which gave him significant pause. He wondered if he made the right choice leaving Kain alive. Kain, Moebius, and his malevolent Benefactor all seemed intent on manipulating him toward some purpose. He needed to discover what, and quickly.

A frigid breeze blasted back his dark hair as he opened the door. He stepped through the threshold, grasping the front of his cowl in his cloven fingers so that it would not come loose from his face, for the cloth disguised a grave disfigurement; and minding his ruined wings, that they would not become stuck when the door shut behind him. Little more than flaps of tattered skin, his wings were burned ashen blue like the rest of him.

His eyes widened, white orbs of ghostly light. He found himself standing in the alcove of a large balcony overlooking the mountain. Like much of the retreat, the floors were tiled with marble and the roof supported by enormous columns of blood jasper stone. Snow piled up along the edges. This spacious balcony could comfortably entertain a party of ten or more. Apart from himself, the balcony held only one occupant.

A pair of majestic raven wings obscured much of his figure from behind. Like the other winged beings depicted in the vampire ruins, Janos' skin was a light blue, the same color as a glacier when light passes through it. Uniquely, his dark hair was streaked with swaths of grey. He wore white robes lined with red and gold, with a black collar; colors faded with age. He went barefoot, indifferent to the frostbitten stone. A chill wind rustled his ebony feathers. Though Raziel was already dead, the sight of Janos Audron rendered him breathless. He had not realized the ancient vampires would be so intimidating in person. With great caution, he proceeded to the edge of the alcove.

The wraith blade hummed silently within his right arm. He dared not summon the ghostly sword, wary that it would startle Janos into attacking, yet even out of sight, it was with him always, hungry for battle and the unfettered souls of Raziel's enemies. Janos, he hoped, would not be one of them. He ventured, "Janos Audron?"

"It is heartening, after all these years, to hear my name spoken without contempt," Janos answered, welcoming. The ancient spoke with a strange accent, as if the common tongue was not his first language, though he demonstrated mastery of its grammar, if not its pronunciation.

As Janos turned Raziel realized that he was not as old as he appeared from behind. He had a youthful face, worn more by strife than by years, and his hair was greying before its time. Of course, this was merely superficial. The age at which Janos obtained immortality was not a great one, his late thirties perhaps, but eons had passed since then. His eyes were like polished bronze. When he faced Raziel he suddenly froze, cloven hand to his chest in shock, and gasped, "Raziel!? My child, what have they done to you?"

It did not surprise him that Janos recoiled from his appearance. His execution at the Lake of the Dead had stripped the flesh from every muscle and bone. His abdomen had been excavated entirely, leaving only a spine wrapped in a thin rope of muscle and nerve between his exposed ribs and pelvic bone, which the acidic waters had nearly picked clean. Though he had since overcome his weakness to water, the damage was already done. A pair of tarnished greaves, threadbare gauntlets, and muddy sash - now a cowl to hide his face, were all that survived of the handsome uniform he wore to the Sanctuary of the Clans on the day his empire betrayed him.

No, what surprised him was Janos' sincerity. In the months since his resurrection, he had been looked upon with derision, abhorrence, maliciousness, and heartlessness. Hearing his name from the mouth of this stranger put him on guard - yet he felt disarmed by Janos' compassion. Worse still was that ominous they Janos believed responsible for his grisly form. Raziel did not know who they were, but he dreaded them. Though he managed a quick response, his voice teetered on ambivalence, "I have been dragged through hell and back – all, it seems, to reach this moment. But I don't yet know why…"

Janos seemed not to believe his eyes. He looked away, not out of revulsion; dizzy with shock and awe. He whispered to himself, "For thousands of years, I have waited… alone here… losing faith…"

Fearing he would lose Janos to his inner monologue, Raziel stepped forward imploringly, keeping a safe distance. This vampire could be unstable. "How do you know my name?" he asked pointedly, regaining the ancient's attention.

Janos steadied himself. His mouth twitched, almost forming a smile, but he banished it before it could flower. He spoke haltingly, uneasy and loathe to offend. "Ah, please forgive me… Raziel, your arrival has been foretold. You are as my mentor described, in a certain sense, but… not as I imagined." He looked at Raziel again. This time his reserve faltered. He approached Raziel as he would a wounded animal. "Are you in any pain?"

"No," Raziel wavered, appalled.

"I know a little healing magic. I may be able to –"

Raziel stepped back. He thought of escaping. "No! Please. That would be futile. I only came here for answers."

Janos stopped as if suddenly remembering something important. He gave Raziel another passing glance, then sighed, "Yes, of course. There is much you need to know. I apologize; you are the first guest to visit to my retreat in sometime - and a monumental visitor, at that." Janos folded his cloven hands together in front of him and seemed to settle. "Now, you have questions..."

Raziel relaxed a fraction, glad to be getting somewhere. He crossed the balcony so that they could speak more easily, though he continued to watch Janos carefully. The vampire carried no weapons that he could see. This only put Raziel more on edge. Janos' retreat was surrounded by Sarafan Crusaders hungry for glory. Since he did not feel the need to carry a weapon, he must be crazy, or so powerful as not to need one.

Standing a few feet from Janos, Raziel realized that he was not such an intimidating figure after all. His raven wings made him look like a giant but his frame was gaunt. Seen through the opening of his robes, his chest muscles were defined, no doubt thanks to those feathery appendages, but unimpressive. He seemed malnourished, but not ravenous; thin, but not helpless; meek, like a monk. Raziel had no idea what to make of him.

"Vorador said I should seek you out. I have seen the murals in the vampire ruins; you are one of the ancient race of vampires that created the Pillars."

Janos' eyes lit up with pleasure. "Correct. No doubt you are wondering about the meaning of those murals. I will explain: At the time of the Binding, nine Guardians were called to serve the Pillars. And I was summoned as the Tenth Guardian – the keeper of the Reaver, the weapon of our salvation." As he explained, his face turned somber once more. "Over time, our race died out, until only I remained, sustained solely by my obligation to you and by my guardianship of the blade."

So what Kain said was true; the Pillars did belong to the vampires. The murals in the ruins suggested this and now Janos confirmed it. Or at least, he seemed to. Raziel did not rule out that the histories he had encountered were a fabrication, though the evidence against this theory was daunting.

Vorador had also mentioned the Reaver, which Janos guarded, and seemed to believe it was crucial somehow. He still did not see how this related to him, or what Kain believed to be his secret destiny, but at least it was an answer. "And the other nine? Why did their guardianship not sustain them?" he inquired, suspicious.

"I don't know." Shrinking, Janos slowly turned to face the Sarafan killing fields beneath his balcony. Vampires, their charred and beheaded corpses gruesomely displayed on pikes, littered the cliffs and snowy ground around the small frozen lake beneath Janos' balcony. Raziel's brow wrinkled in distaste. To think he had been a part of this as a human. Not so long ago he believed that Kain had robbed him of his human nobility when he transfigured his corpse into a vampire, but now that he saw the Sarafans' methods, he questioned whether they were much different from Kain's vampire army. With all he had discovered here in the past, Raziel could no longer be certain of anything.

"As our race dwindled, the humans prospered. I have watched, over the centuries, as our history faded into myth, and finally receded all together. The humans have forgotten us entirely, and claimed the Pillars for themselves - wholly ignorant of their true purpose. To them, I am merely a devil; the origin of their vampire plague." Janos curled his lip sourly.

Again, Raziel had doubts. He had seen the wasteland wrought by Kain's empire, even participated in its creation, though he resented his involvement deeply. Nosgoth did not flourish under vampire rule. At least, not under Kain. "Why would the Pillars summon human guardians, then, if they are meant to be served by vampires?"

Janos met his eyes. "The Pillars choose their guardians from birth, Raziel – and vampires are no longer born. This is the crux of our dilemma. And this is the terrible irony; with their vampire purge, the members of the Circle have assaulted the very architects of the Pillars they are sworn to protect. They have embarked on a treacherous path. With every vampire they kill, the humans are slitting their own throats."

He turned again to the vile cemetery below, sobering. "They know I'm up here, beyond their reach, and it terrifies them. You can see how they flaunt their kills to torment me - or perhaps simply to lure me out. They have this foolish notion that destroying me will somehow topple our entire bloodline." He scoffed, darkly amused. "Thankfully, we're not that fragile."

As Raziel gazed at the killing fields, a deep sense of guilt began to creep over him. He had no memory of his human life. Still, it was his hands that helped to make this slaughter. He murmured absently, "I have seen them mustering their forces in the village below…"

Unsurprised, Janos answered gravely, "Yes. I don't know what they're plotting, but I fear our time may be bitterly short."

Somewhere in Nosgoth, perhaps at this very moment, Raziel's human self might well be in pursuit of Janos, unknowingly intent on extinguishing his own salvation. He silenced the thought, unable to bear the caustic irony. "Mankind seems to have brought you only torment and grief. You must hate them."

Janos crossed his arms in silent consideration. He shrugged, feathers rustling. "They fear what they don't understand, and they despise what they fear. But no, I do not hate them."

"Vorador does."

Janos slightly lowered his eyes. "He has suffered much. He cannot forgive them."

"Should they be forgiven?" Raziel looked to him, lost in a maze of his own ethics.

His old eyes softened in pity. "They don't understand what they're doing. They are simply unenlightened and vulnerable to manipulation."

Janos' unequivocal reply stunned and shook Raziel. He cringed at first, disgusted by Janos' submission to his tormentors, but he realized that was Kain talking. There was no surrender in Janos' eyes. He was obstinate, enduring, and yet, patiently unaccusing; as a cliff by the sea abides the washing tide. For a moment, he felt almost ashamed to have taken revenge on his brothers. For a thousand years Raziel had lived by the principal of an eye for an eye, believing it just. Now his foundations were shaken.

"I've seen how they depict you," Raziel murmured, remorseful. The crude gargoyle he saw painted in the Sarafan Stronghold and the monster of legend had nothing in common with this gentle vampire. He was now convinced that Janos was telling the truth, about everything. The implications did not reach him immediately. He was curious about the vampire standing before him. "Have you truly been alone here all this time?"

He now saw that in spite of Janos' difficult station in life, the ancient vampire had not given completely into melancholy. Janos smiled with faint affection. "Vorador comes occasionally. Unfortunately, we are not as close as we once were. We have our differences, you know."

The white glow of Raziel's eyes dimmed faintly and he looked away, focused on the edge of the balcony bathed in the yellow dawn. A speck of something floated past his face. He lifted his head, dazed. It was snowing.

He became aware of Janos looking at him. He turned, faced with sympathy for what felt like the first time. "You are also estranged?" Janos inquired, not pressing.

Raziel looked away again. When he remembered the trials he had conquered, the punishments he had weathered to reach this moment, he never would have imagined such a question could make him feel so vulnerable. He had killed his brothers out of revenge; all except Turel, who had eluded him somehow. His clan, which included all of his wives and children, was extinct, leaving him to face the world alone for the first time in centuries. And Kain... he still did not know how to feel about Kain. Kain seemed to believe they became allies the moment Raziel spared his life. Raziel was not so sure. In any case, he found it hard to stomach the idea of being family to his murderer.

"I... yes, I have been... cast aside. I do not see any hope of reconciliation." He was not sure what coaxed him to speak. Speaking about his feelings did not come naturally to him, and to tell the truth it was frightening. Kain beat Raziel and his brothers when they were young, until they were living callouses. The only vampires he felt comfortable exposing himself to were his wives, and then only the few who tolerated his restless personality long enough to earn his confidence. Even that required pulling teeth. Janos regarded him without scorn, almost as if he actually cared.

"Decades have passed in which Vorador and I have not spoken. We each have very strong opinions and, on certain subjects, we passionately disagree. But we always reconcile in the end. One cannot place a value on the company of old friends." Though he clearly meant this to be comforting, when he saw the look on Raziel's face, he withered. "I'm sorry; I've upset you."

Raziel composed himself. He shook his head, looking up at the snow. "No, it's not your fault."

Janos was respectfully silent. After a few moments had passed Raziel glanced his way, watching him gaze at the tall pale shadows of the Pillars. From this vantage point the nine Pillars appeared to be a single edifice stretching into the heavens. Mountains and dense forests stretched out between them. The snow falling on Janos' black wings seemed to meld him with ancient Nosgoth's natural beauty. Though history and destiny had cast Raziel adrift, he found shelter in the shadow of Janos' unshakeable tranquility. Raziel looked down at his claws, flexing them. "So, it's all true, then - what Kain and Vorador have told me. I really am some kind of unholy vampire messiah."

"Unholy?" Janos shook his head, disturbed. "No. Messiah... perhaps."

Bowing his head, Raziel clenched his fists, shoulders taunt like bowstrings. Softly, he hissed, "I don't like that word. It smells of martyrdom."

Janos responded with infinite patience, "Raziel, your role in this world's destiny is more crucial – and more benevolent – than you've allowed yourself to believe. Your journey will not be easy, dark powers are allied against you." He paused. As he looked up, Raziel saw him examining him again. Gently, Janos added, "But I think you already know this. You appear to have been cruelly tested. This is why you hide your face?"

Hesitantly, Raziel touched the tips of his claws to his cowl. Shutting his glowing eyes, eyelids charred, he felt the cloth slide off the tip of his blue nose. He lowered it an inch, exposing his grizzled upper jaw. No lips, no tongue, no throat, not even a mandible, just a cavity. Underneath his cowl he was all vertebrae, split throat and killer teeth; more monstrous than the Sarafan's propaganda.

He was handsome, once. He had white skin, jasmine eyes, and wings - not raven feathered; tan and ivory leather sails spread across the breadth of three long graceful fingers, without a single tear or imperfection. Now he did not know himself from a ghoul. He did not know how or why he came to be here, with this ridiculous destiny and this horrid body that he rejected. But Janos was wise and kind. He must know.

There was no response. Raziel opened his eyes a fraction, looking at him sidelong. Janos gazed at the distant Pillars, pensive. By the look on his face Raziel could tell that he had seen. He pulled the cowl over his nose again, mortified.

Janos sighed, releasing tension. "There is something I must show you, while there is still time... but, if you need, you should rest a moment first. You have come a long way in seeking me out. I understand this is a heavy burden to take on all at once."

Raziel allowed his muscles to loosen. As Janos said, with the Sarafan so close by, they tempted fate with each small delay. But he and Janos had the high ground, too. If an attack was coming, he felt sure he would see it. "Yes, thank you."