It was the old dream again.
Dracula dreamed of the other place where he had been reborn. It was not Egypt. Centuries had passed since his transformation in the shadows of the pyramids. He had learned to kill, live, and survive. He'd seen empires rise and enjoy their fleeting day in the sun before collapsing into anonymous dust.
The Egyptians still persisted, but they were not an expansive power. The Greeks had made their mark on the world. They were a people of philosophers, but also of conquest. They knew how to fight, and they fought when it was needed.
Now it was Rome's turn.
The tiny village in Italia had grown into a mighty city, its rulers driven by blood and the desire for power, and now they were invading new lands and putting people to death in the Colosseum. They might take over the world one day. Dracula thought it was possible but unlikely. He had lived long enough by now to understand that humans were like candles. Their lives shone brightly, but briefly. He watched them struggle to build empires, only for their dreams of conquest to die with them. If Rome grew and fell, he would not be surprised.
A man's dreams did not stretch beyond his lifetime. That's what Dracula witnessed again and again. The span of a human life was too short a time for a man to build an empire that lasted. Of course, Dracula had long since stopped thinking of himself as merely a man. The creature in the cave, whatever it was, had made him more than human. It had taken away his humanity, replacing it with a glimpse of eternity.
Dracula lived and watched the seasons' cycles. It was something to behold, this relentless passage of time. He travelled the lands, feeding but always moving. Sometimes he stayed in a town for years, but eventually, people would wonder why he did not age, or appear during the day, and so he would leave.
Sometimes, decades later, he would return to these towns and see people he had known. Now wizened and senile with age, most would not recognise him. After all, a man could not remain youthful forever. Some recognised him, though, and thought he was the son of the man they had once known.
'How is your father?' they would ask.
'Dead,' Dracula would say, laughing.
And they would wonder why he laughed.
His world was perpetual night. One stagnant star-filled evening slid eternally into the next. He never saw another dawn; he knew the sun's rays could destroy him. Never seeing the sun was something he missed, but he learned to accept it. He had become a creature of the night. To mourn that which he could not effect was a waste of his energy. Besides, he had eternal life. Losing the light of day was worth the price.
Dracula could have changed some to be vampires such as himself, and he did this sometimes, but just as often, he would return and kill them. He had a secret fear in his heart. To make someone as powerful as himself was a mistake. Another vampire could imprison him forever.
The thought of it gave him nightmares. He had been a slave and had vowed he would never be one again. Travelling through the years, he encountered slaves again and again. It seemed to be the way of men to subjugate others. To Dracula, the world seemed a pitiless, revolving globe of master and slave. He could understand this. It was better to be a master than a slave. Dracula sometimes thought that men enslaved other men because of their own fear of enslavement.
The Romans knew about slavery. It was as much a part of their world as were their dreams of conquest. For a time, Dracula lived among them in the city of Jerusalem. Over time, he'd learned it was easier to live in the cities. It was easier to be lost in the teeming crowd than to stand out as one man in a remote village.
It was while he lived here that he found her again.
He found Mara.
She owned a small boarding house where people lived. Dracula was astonished when he saw her again. Still, he'd come to know that people were reborn endlessly across the centuries. Only he lived forever.
At that time in Jerusalem, he called himself David, an innocuous name that allowed him to blend in with others. He'd learned to do that well. Hide in crowds. Never stand out. Always remain aloof and a little separate.
He was so astonished when he first saw Mara that he could not speak.
'Yes?' she said, from the doorway of her home. 'What do you want?'
He stared at her. 'A room,' he said, finally. 'A place to stay.'
She told him the price, and he immediately agreed. Mara could have told him the price was the world, and he would have agreed. For centuries, he had thought her lost, and now she was his once more.
He struggled to know what to do next, and so he did nothing. Again, he remained aloof. He had plenty of money. Stealing was simple when he could kill with ease. The girl said her name was Milka, but he knew she was Mara. She could not remember her past life. She could not remember that single night of pleasure when he had known love for the first and only time.
He told her the old lie that he had told others; he had an illness that made him sick when he was exposed to sunlight. She took this to mean he needed help, so she was kind to him. It was her way, but she said it was also the way of the new faith that she followed. She said she had seen a man who had performed miracles. He had done amazing things, including raising a man from the dead. Many did not believe it, but it was true.
'I believe you,' he said.
'You do?'
'Yes,' he said.
He knew that people could be reborn. He had been reborn, and so had Mara, although she did not remember.
A few weeks after he moved in, she invited him to eat with her. She made stew, and they ate it in her room while the sounds of the night crept into her home. People laughed and yelled on the street. Dogs barked. A baby cried somewhere for its mother's milk.
He observed her, his eyes flicking up from the bowl as they ate together. Her face was the most beautiful he had ever known, and it was forever seared upon his memory. If he lived a million years, he knew he would never forget her.
I love you. I hate you.
He could not understand his own feelings or why the world had crafted such a life for him. Mara was part of his transformation. Without her, he would not have been cast into the pit and given eternal life. Her frivolous act had given him eternal life.
Now, as he peered over the bowl, he remembered he had torn out her throat and drunk her hot, sweet blood. That same blood still coursed within him. They were joined across the centuries and were destined to be together forever. The time was not right yet, but soon he would tell her the truth about himself. Then he would transform her, and they would both become children of eternity.
She glanced up from her stew and told him about her new faith. Occasionally, she smiled, and it was the same childlike smile as from all those years before.
'You should come to see him,' she said.
He had been so focused on her smile that he had not heard her words.
'His name is Jesus,' she continued. 'Come with me.'
'What?'
'Come to see him. Some are saying he is the Son of God.'
'It is not safe. The Romans are mercilessly persecuting his followers.'
He felt afraid, and he did not often feel afraid. The fear was not for him, but for her. He did not want to lose her again. Better that he change her to be like him, and then she would be safe.
As she prepared to leave, he confronted her. 'Do not go,' he said.
'I'm going. You can't stop me.'
But he could. His eyes bore into her, and he spoke firmly. 'No,' he said. 'You're not going.'
'All right. I'll stay.'
She stayed, but it wasn't through her own free will. She stayed because he used his powers to mesmerise her. It was a skill he had started to develop. He'd found he could control people's minds. At first, it was only for short periods, but over time, he found he could control them for longer. Sometimes days, weeks, and even months.
Of course, she was no fool. She had no idea what had happened to her, but she knew he had used a trick. There was an unnerving blank spot in her memory, and she knew he had put it there. It scared her, and so she demanded to know what he had done. He told her some of the truth. Not all of it. That would have been too much. But he told her he had the power to control people's minds. To bend them to his will.
They were sitting on the steps behind her home when he told her. Sounds from the buildings carried to them in the night. The same baby was crying again for its mother's milk. Two people argued. Cries of passion rang out from someone's bedroom.
In the pale light spilling from her home, he immediately knew that telling her the truth was a terrible mistake. There was another look that Mara would get. It was the way she set her mouth when she was annoyed, and now she was very annoyed.
'I thought you cared for me,' she said.
'I do,' he said, surprised.
'You would not have done that if you cared. Men and women must trust each other. One must not control the other.'
Before he could reply, she retreated back up the stairs and into the house. He called her name, but she did not answer. Although he could have used his power, it would only have confirmed what she had said, so he decided to leave her be. Prolonging the argument would have only made things worse.
That night, when he arose, she was not in her room. For hours, he waited for her to appear. When she did not, he went into the streets and asked others if they had seen her. A man told him the Romans had been taking Christians away.
'They have that crazy faith,' the man said. 'One God, instead of many. Better to agree with the Romans and live a peaceful life.' The stranger peered at him. 'You're not a Christian, are you?'
He asked the direction the Romans had taken. It took most of the night, but he finally found her. She was on a hill in a bend in the road. It was a full moon, and its light shone down starkly on the crucified Christians. She hung there with the others. He tried to see her face in the stark moonlight. In the sunken hollows where her eyes lay, there was only darkness, but he imagined her shyly smiling down at him.
You will return, he thought. It may take many lifetimes, but you will return, and I will find you.
Mara would return, but for now, she was dead.
I love you. I hate you.
Dracula wept.