An Introduction

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He struggled the last few desperate strokes and found a foothold on the muck that served as the seabed. After two agonizing steps he collapsed onto all fours, his robes dripping cold water until he wearily made it to dry land. He rolled over to his back and gasped, trying to return his breathing to normal and recover from the long swim as he gazed at the moon. In Constantinople the moon had been a thing poets swooned over and compared to Oriental women. Here, it was merely a cold, white place for his eyes to rest.

He was not sure if his eyes were playing a trick on him or if the moonlight had turned yellow. Then he made out the sounds of men’s voices over the slow swell of the surf and realized it was torch light. Brother Nicholas rolled over and sat up. Men covered from head to foot in homespun cloth, patches here and there upon their cloaks and hoods, were approaching him in a semi-circle.

“Surrounded isn’t much of a step up from drowning,” he reflected as he forced himself to stand. He knew he was in no condition to fight, and even through the tired haze that had settled over his eyes he noted that many of the men handled themselves like warriors. He considered retreating into the waves.

“Hold there!” a stern voice from the man holding the torch commanded. Brother Nicholas was too weary to argue. He managed to croak out, “Brothers—“ before his voice failed. The first lungful of saltwater when the ship had broken apart had taken a toll.

A few of the men slowed at the sound of his voice, but the man holding the torch and those nearest him continued their advance until they were just out of fighting range.

A diminutive one pushed past the torchbearer and slid back his hood. Close-cropped gray hair caught the torch light as he extended his arm. He appeared to be holding a weapon.

“Brothers?” Brother Nicholas tried again. “Are you—“

“Do you believe that Jesus is the Christ, the son of the living God?” the small man’s bass voice boomed as he continued his approach. Whatever was in his hand was extended out in front of him and hidden in his shadow.

“Yes…yes… I…”

The man kept his arm extended and gave the torchbearer a quick glance. As he did, the light fell on his outstretched hand. He was holding a crucifix.

“Continue, Father. We must be certain. He wouldn't be the first to mock the faith.”

The little priest returned his gaze to Brother Nicholas and took more two steps toward him. The crucifix was inches from Brother Nicholas’s face. The priest’s face was covered in shadow. The moonlight glinted off of Christ’s body on the crucifix. The torchbearer raised his arm so that the light struck Brother Nicholas squarely in the face.

And Brother Nicholas reflexively kissed the crucifix’s feet.

The relief in the men surrounding him was palpable.

“You are very welcome here, Sir.” The old priest’s voice was still deep, but not so stern. The other men closed in, and two slipped their arms around the exhausted monk, who allowed himself to lean completely on them for support.

“We apologize for our lack of hospitality,” said the torchbearer. “But we had to make sure you weren’t a vampire.”

Brother Nicholas was sure he had heard that wrong.

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Originally posted at Gleeful Extremist.

 

Very good! I like your style - it has an easy flow. But you had better be planning one incredibly twisted plotline to justify the introduction of vampires. Please don't waste your style on stereotypes and cliches!

 

Twisted it is!