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Part One:  The Triptych

Chapter One

I watched from the concealing shadows, just at the edge of the candle light, though a keen observer may have noticed the tiny glints of the wavering light reflecting off my unblinking eyes, however Father Jarvick had no reason to fear observation within the small chapel─within his sanctuary.

            For many years I had paused within the shadowed confines of the small chapel and over the years I watched Father Jarvick undergo a slow metamorphosis from the once youthful man to a stern elder.  The first time I saw him he was in his early twenties, tall, and with sharp features.  His hair was always cut short and strewn about in those days.  On many days the young women would wait for confession─and bat their eyes at him.  He would only smile back.

            As the years marched past, the line of women diminished and Father Jarvick began the slow transformation.  Over time, as his bodily metabolism slowed, he steadily put on weight and his once black hair was now reduced to grey, straw-like strands rooted at the edges of his barren scalp.  Even his face sagged and displayed the inevitable wrinkles of time.  Thankfully to my pleasure the cheerful warmth in his eyes remained─persistently.

            I shifted in the candle twilight and sank deeper into the comforting shadows.  In the shadows I felt comfortable, almost warm, as if I had taken a stiff shot of vodka.  It was a sensation of the mind only, as I felt icy cool, for once I embraced death there was no turning back.  I sank deeper, pressing my back to the wall.  I loved the cozy spaces.

            Father Jarvick moved about the small chapel, ensuring everything was in place.  He stopped tediously at each candle and inspected them, making sure they were adequate and proper for mass, even though it was a Thursday.

            I watched carefully as he slowly made his way down the pew, inching slowly towards me.  He was methodical and extraordinarily patient─a quality that I prided myself on.  Often I was the silent observer, watching the rise and fall of nations, the birth and expiration of generations, the good times and the bad, and the inspiration of love and the enduring passion of hate.  Humanity was full of fragility, as if composed of tiny threads clinging to the fibers of silent souls and to the steadily pumping hearts of the mortal flesh─humanity which I did not share and a fragility that I could not comprehend.  Maybe one day in the past─but no longer.

            Father Jarvick stepped in front of me inspecting the three candles there, while I remained motionless, melded into the darkness, one with the depths.  He did not see me, for all his acuity, for all his perception, I was only the darkened shadow and nothing more.

            It was almost time; I could hear the soggy footsteps of Father Merric, even as he was still a few moments away.  I know Father Jarvick was unaware of the impending visit─he was too calm.  The last time Father Merric made his way to London was several years ago, and Father Jarvick perfected every fixture with a care that would have daunted his efforts today.  Father Merric was older than Father Jarvick by nearly a decade, and was residing at the Vatican.  Father Merric was a thin man, with a short stature, and the beginning of a curved spine, which caused him to hunch forward.  His strength was failing and in his withered right hand he carried, and used, a cherry wood cane.  Gaunt facial features and sunken eyes added to the ancient and often serious face, though his voice was soft and subtly demanded absolute attention.  He had come to visit on matters concerning the Triptych. 

I had been at the Vatican, studying, when I overheard the conversation, and discovered the importance of this unannounced visit.  Marcus had gone missing and it was rumored that the Eldrich Coven was involved.  Once, the Coven was just a meddlesome group of fanatical young men and women, nine in total, who claimed to be the hand of the Vampir, mortals who delved deeply into regions where no mortal had business.  The Eldritch Coven had adapted over the years as members greeted death and were replaced.  The minor quibbling and infrequent interactions between them and the Catholic Church were very faint and rarely spoken of, even the Triptych left the Coven alone, discounting it as a freak assembly of twisted and bent mortals.  Then Aamos arrived.  He was the only known member to have obtained a Coven seat through brutal attrition.  His original request to join the Coven was rejected by Lord Barnabas.  Days later the shriveled remains were sent to the Coven with another request.  He was immediately granted audience.  This shift in the Eldritch Coven happened four weeks prior.  The Coven rode out immediately to find the Relics.  Father Merric was notified at the Vatican, and now he was about to meet Father Jarvick.

            It was rumored that Aamos produced the Book of Mordant.  This intrigued me because according to Vampir legend, the Book of Mordant was created by the Patriarch Mordant, and contained magic given to Mordant by one of the first two hundred fallen.

            I was prepared to protect the sanctuary of the Archangel Cathedral, whether Father Jarvick or Father Merric approved or not.  Concealed within my shadow, I watched as Father Jarvick turned towards the door at the first knock.  He paused quizzically at the repeated knocking.  His chapel was always unlocked.

            “Coming.” He called out to the stranger, “Coming.”

            The knocking paused as Father Jarvick approached the old roughly hand carved door.

            I watched keenly, awaiting the surprised expression, and the profound greeting in that voice that is nearly a full octave higher.  I watched as the door creaked inward, and as predicted Father Jarvick’s face exploded with excitement, then shown red with embarrassment.

            “Father Merric?” His startled voice screeched, “Welcome, do come in out of the wet night.”

            Quickly Father Merric stepped over the threshold and hastily entered the chapel, “I have news from the Vatican for the Triptych.”

            I admired the piercing forwardness that Father Merric was well known for.  Most scholars and fellow cloth would avoid him when possible, which added to his desire for sanctified solitude.

            Father Jarvick nodded silently, as a solemn expression covered his face and his eyes narrowed.  “Let us retreat to the study, to converse on the recent events.”  He stepped out and quickly walked down the main isle, passed my form, and continued on to the study.

            I lingered behind, stepping out of the darkness only after I heard the chamber door close.  With a slightly tilted head, I filtered out the remnant drips, the whining and creaking wood, and focused on the voices, which resonated to my keen ears perfectly.

            “What brings you so urgently from the Vatican?” Father Jarvick asked─his voice now sounding normal.

            “What have you heard about the Eldritch Coven of late?”

            There was a moment’s silence.  “News made it down that there was a newly appointed member, but nothing extraordinary.”

            “That member, “Father Merric said clearly, “Is Aamos and he brutally murdered a member to gain his seat in the Coven.”

            “Ambitious.”

            “Yes, and he claims to have the Book of Mordant.”

            There was no hesitation and I could clearly hear the audible gasp that no doubt Father Jarvick issued in amazement at the weight of this new possible reality.  “I thought it was destroyed.” Father Jarvick stated with a tugging nervous undertone to his voice.

            “So did the Catholic Church, but the manner of death for the now replaced Coven member was horrifically similar to the descriptions listed in our Dead Vaults.”

            “It’s forbidden to enter the Dead Vaults, how and why would you take such a potent risk?”

            There was a long silence.  Only the steady beating of their hearts was audible─a notion which reminded me how long it had been since I last fed.  I needed blood.  I needed the living warmth, the slick wet blood, as the desert wanderer requires the oasis.  I closed my eyes for a moment.  The savory relishing of the quivering creature entwined in my loving grasp as slowly sipped the thick honey from its veins, and the final shudder as it winked out of existence.  Blood─

            “I had to know for sure,” Father Merric stated, breaking my thoughts.  “I had to know.” He sighed as he finished the statement.

            “Then you confirmed it?  Aamos, with the Eldritch Coven, has this once mythical Book of Mordant?”  Father Jarvick questioned with just a taint of sarcasm.

            Again there was another pause, though only brief.  “Yes,” Father Merrick stated with an icy low tone.  “As the legend says the Book contained the incantations scribed by the first two hundred fallen, as a final defiance to God.  The Book was kept for thousands of years──untranslatable.  As you know, Jarvick, Mordant dedicated his life to decipher the Book, supposedly just prior to his death, he inscribed the key codex on the inside cover.  Hundreds died horrific deaths before the Book was lost─presumed to the Library of Alexander.  It was not noted again until 1333 when it was uncovered and Uriel commanded it destroyed.”

            “But it wasn’t?  The Holy Catholic Church preserved it as a sacred artifact and sealed it within the Dead Vaults?”

            “Right,” Father Merrick stated affirming the conclusion that Father Jarvick had reached, “I had to know.”

            “Wait? How did you review the enchantments if the Book is gone?”

            “I reviewed the accounts of the deaths presumed to be inflicted by its twisted power.  That and─” his voice trailed off

            “And what?”  Father Jarvick pressed.

            “The actual Book of Mordant could not be found.”

            “Then it’s true: this Aamos who is now a member of the Eldritch Coven holds the darkest, most demonic, and twisted evil book, the Book of Mordant.  This would increase their advantage in their struggle to reopen the Archangel Cathedral Gate.”

            “Yes Jarvick.  Though the ancient Triptych has been scoffed at by the Vatican, the Triptych may have the power, the counter balance to this tilt.”

            Father Jarvick answered only with a short hesitation, and this time his voice was hollow and cold. “Trenton.”

            “Yes.  That creature may now be of use.  Do you know how to find him or where he resides?”  Father Merrick’s tone carried a notable disdain.

            “I have only seen him once.  The Triptych was gathered at the Mother Bread Inn and suddenly he was there.  He said very little and no one knows where he resides.”

            “Do you think we could find him?”

            I had to smile at the irony, as I was already there and had found them.  Then my senses were always alert for anything to do with the Archangel Cathedral or the Triptych.  It would be a windfall for them.  I was already here.

            “He has been many places,” Father Jarvick noted.  “Moscow, Cairo, Munich, London, Paris, Rome, and so many others.  To know where he might be or where he calls home is a mystery many have sought to solve.  All have failed.”

            “What if you convened the Triptych to lure him out?”

            I had to laugh, the silliness, these old priests scheming to try to capture me.  Was I really that important to anyone anymore?  Often I pondered meeting one of them, all of them, in a dark place, and offer them immortality.  The thought of human blood made my mouth thirst---and they would rise again forever.  That is enough; I refocused my attention back to the scheming priests.

            “Marcus is currently in Moscow with Volstov.  Aaron has traveled to Cairo for a brief stay, and the last I heard, Zion had gone back to Christiansburg.” Father Jarvick stated.

            “What is it that Zion likes about that place; it is desolate─nestled near rocky crags and that dark forest. ─No pilgrims, no people, and no one goes there.”

            “All of the Triptych has oddities or some strange habit or ritual,” Father Jarvick chuckled, “We are almost glorified misfits.”

            “Well Father Merric, who else in the Vatican knows about this Aamos, the Eldritch Coven, and the missing Book of Mordant?”

            “No one.  As soon as I found out I came straight to you, as you are, or will be most directly involved, I saw no need to involve any other of the cloth with what I am sure they would deem by them senseless.  That and I would have to admit to entering the Dead Vault, which would get me killed or excommunicated.”

            “I see your point.”

            “Indeed.”

            “Do you know where the Eldritch Coven is located these days?”  Father Jarvick inquisitively asked.

            “They shift a lot and have safe houses in Paris, London, Berlin, and even in Rome, or so the rumors go.”

            “Not a rumor,” I murmured softly.  The Coven had setup throughout Europe, North Africa, and into the Middle East.  There was also a safe house in London.

            This would be a challenge, especially if this Aamos did have the Book of Mordant.  The power it was rumored to contain could alter the face of humanity and of the world all together.  Maybe I should take up this task─it was a quandary and a dilemma.  Failure would result in sacrificing all humanity to the trapped Vampir; it was already taxing enough to control the few free roaming Vampir.  And they always made such a mess.

            I silently stepped from the shadows into the ever flickering candle light.  I always felt exposed in the light, no matter how dim, but it was a required sacrifice.  Steadily I moved up to the altar, standing beneath the simple crucifix, “Finis ex voto et via vices.”  It was uttered just loud enough.

            “Did you hear that?” Father Jarvick questioned with an obviously concerned and nervous voice.

            “It came from the chapel.”  Father Merrick offered, “But I did not hear anyone enter, not after I arrived.  Were we alone?”

            “Yes, you were the only visitor.”

            “I should hope they did not overhear too much.  Let’s go together to see who has entered.”

            Their voices were filled with fear; I could hear the subtle trembles, the quivering.  Only on rare occasions did I seek to inspire fear─but I relished it.  Almost as much as the sweet nectar─Blood.

            “I am here,” I whispered, throwing my voice about the cathedral, forcing the echoes to linger and stack upon each other.  The result was extraordinary; it was a cacophony of haunting whispers from everywhere and from nowhere.

            No words were spoken by Father Jarvick or by Father Merric, only the silent steps shuffling along were clearly audible.  And I remained at the foot of the altar, facing the crucifix.  They would arrive behind me, in just a moment.

            “Who are you?” stammered Father Jarvick, as they rounded into the sanctuary.

            “I am Trenton.” I offered solemnly, and turned around.

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