Sleeper
by Ariana Lussier

Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own any part of Eidos, Silicon Knights, Crystal Dynamics, Legacy of Kain, any of the actors or their possessions, pets, midnight snacks or toothbrushes.
Author's Note: I wrote this many years ago and reread it tonight. Surprisingly, I didn't feel like changing anything. I hope you enjoy it.

Time had paused during this period of oblivion. Vague images of the world, in its past and present, drifted in and out of his awareness. Ranks upon ranks of his brethren, organizing to fight the vile menace that threatened to smother the land. The skies, blackened with magic and wing, weighted with hatred, pressed down on all of them. Their enemies milled and snarled all around them, waiting for the tiniest window of opportunity to strike at their heart and destroy them all...

Another time, another place. This one at the Pillars, feeling the pull of the call. The summoning had been without question, his acceptance even less so. Guardian he was, and Guardian he would remain...

Another fragment of dream, fire and screams. The children... he twitched restlessly in slumber... the children were killing each other...

The next scene was far more peaceful, an abrupt splash of cool water to his fevered mind. His muscles settled, the last of the quivers bleeding away. Green grass and impossibly blue sky, feathery clouds that stretched forever. A time of peace, before the curse was unleashed upon his people...

The feel of fabric against his skin intruded on his dreaming, then merged with it. The warm breeze that pushed the clouds became cooler, a more palpable feeling across his bare skin. His eyelids twitched, the lashes fluttering. The feeling of the Reaver, and the image that accompanied it, swam into his consciousness. Revered by his people, hailed as a holy artifact, it held the hope of their race. In the hands of their savior, it would be their salvation. Or possibly, their avenger.

The Reaver...

His fingers clutched the silk-wrapped length, kept close to him during this time of hibernation and change. His eyelids twitched again, cracking open and shutting, the gold almost glowing in the darkness. The bottomless pupils contracted, the room all around coming into reluctant focus.

Every era must come to an end.

Every weapon must be blooded.

Every sleeper must awaken.

Janos' eyes blinked open, clearing away the mental webs. The moon was on its way to full; the last time he'd seen its face, it had been a slender shaving of the last quarter. That told him he had been in the state of change for at least two weeks - no real surprise, there. These evolutions usually took anywhere from a few months to several years. When he'd acquired his power to teleport himself and others, he'd been unconscious for almost three decades.

The dust coating him was thankfully not nearly so thick now as it had been then. He eyed the thin sheet of gray that lay over him, his bed and everything else in the room. In the old days, when humans still lived with vampires in the aeries, someone would come in and clean while he was asleep. Now, the aeries were dark and empty, silent witnesses of a time long past. Now, he had to gauge the thickness of ambient grime to determine how long he'd been dormant, rather than hearing it from someone else.

The tips of his feathers scraped away wings of dust as he rose, rubbing the grime from his face with a three-taloned hand. His muscles were stiff as always, and he took his time getting up, devoting his attention to each and every muscle. A puff of motes accompanied his every movement as he stood, his wings extending slowly in a satisfying stretch. Each joint and bone creaked in protest after his long inaction, though not nearly as much as he'd expected. A short dormancy, then.

He left the shrouded Reaver on the bed and walked over to his balcony to look out into the valley below. The lake was a black sheet of glass mirroring the night sky above. His eyes, sharper now than they had been before his sleep, dilated and arrowed to a gray rabbit sitting up on its haunches on the opposite shore, busily cleaning its face with its front paws. The rabbit's plump body, along with the cool scent in the air, told him that it was autumn, soon to be winter. He'd gone to sleep during the spring. At least six or seven months, most likely longer.

The evening wind helpfully picked bits of dust off his bare skin. He lifted his arms high over his head and stretched, his back arching and his wings flaring. Dust and shreds of webbing floated from his body and feathers and drifted to the floor. Janos picked a sticky thread of web from one of his primaries, deftly flicking the little brown spider off the feather as he did so. He ran his hand through his hair, combing out the dust and web with his clawtips. Hibernation that went on longer than a few months generally was seen as an invitation to multi-legged visitors - one of the main reasons he didn't bother with clothes while he was comatose. He turned his face up to the waxing moon and flapped his wings, feeling his body finally shake off the last dregs of slumber. Its light gleamed a cool silver along the edges of each ebon pinion and bathed him in a gentle radiance.

Once his body had fully awakened, however, it made another need known. His normally mild hunger uncoiled and sank its teeth into his middle, reminding him of another disadvantage to the lack of humans in the aeries; he had to go out hunting once he awoke, risking a loss of control due to the length of time he'd fasted while asleep. He could suppress it for now, but he would need to feed and soon.

His thoughts darkened as his mind turned towards the thirst that plagued his kind. Not for the first, or even thousandth time, he thought about the curse that had been laid upon his race, reconsidered his own actions... Could he have done something to prevent it? Could any of them? The answer was, of course, no. As always. The constancy of that answer, however, could not comfort him. They had never wanted to prey upon the humans they watched over.

Janos turned away from the moon and the disturbing bent of his thoughts. A glance at his wardrobe made him grimace: he'd forgotten to seal the door and the clothes inside it were just as dirty and cobwebbed as he was. Perhaps it was residual laziness from his long sleep, but he really didn't want to shake the dust off anything right now. Long habit made him pick up the Reaver, safe and quiescent in its silken wrappings, and sling it over his back to rest between his wings. He glanced back over his shoulder towards the valley again, and to the small town that lay beyond it: Uschtenheim.

He smiled in the darkness, a rare twinge of mischief brightening his mood. Humans would have clothes, and certainly more fashionably up to date than anything he possessed right now. He needed to feed anyway. Two hares with one arrow, as the humans sometimes said.

Decision made, he dove off the edge of the balcony, reveling in the thrill of the wind rushing over his skin. Just before hitting the water, he snapped his wings open, the updraft from the lake filling them and bearing him back up. Long ago, he'd been teased by other vampires as being a show-off when it came to flying. He couldn't deny there was an exhibitionist streak in him, but how he loved the feeling of being embraced by the wind. He couldn't imagine living without wings, without the power to ride the sky. Janos wondered briefly if jealousy might have been a factor in the human's war against his kind.

Of course it was, he thought. We are stronger, faster, more resilient. We possess magics and abilities they can never have. We are immortal, in the brief flames of their lives. It was all too easy for our enemies to manipulate them and give us a second front to divide our attention. Janos shook his head, forever regretting the division between the races. Humans have such brief lives, they have long forgotten that we have a common enemy.

He circled the small town of Uschtenheim, his newly improved eyesight searching for a likely opportunity. He found it in a window left slightly open to allow the cool air into a darkened home. Janos hovered just outside the window, watching for possible guards or even curious townsfolk, and looked inside. It was a bedroom, lit only by the thin sliver of moonlight that came in behind him. He could see two shapes in the bed inside, the sleepers' breathing deep and even. A husband and wife, then? Perfect. He smiled as he slipped inside without a sound. The silence in the house was broken only occasionally by the odd creak of the building settling or the slumbering whimper of a dog downstairs.

The man was blond, she was not. Dark hair that daylight could reveal as anything from auburn to black lay tangled on a pillow. Her husband slept on his back, snoring softly through his open mouth. She was on her side, her back snugged against her husband's sleeping form. His hunger growled sullenly at the scent of fresh blood and Janos took a moment to wrestle it back down. He moved quietly around to her side of the bed and knelt down next to her. The rough woven blanket hugged her shoulders and was held loosely in one hand, the other tucked under her pillow. He reached out to brush a few strands of hair from her cheek, ready to vanish quickly if she proved to be a light sleeper.

When she didn't respond at all, he leaned forward, taking care to not disturb the bed. A gentle nudge of one finger under her chin tilted her head just enough to expose her throat. Her breath fell away in a sigh as his fangs slid into her flesh.

Feeding like this was intensely personal and something most vampires found distasteful, especially those that viewed humans as little more than food. Their preferred method was to telekinetically draw the blood to them, keeping a space between themselves and the human. That way was very painful for the victim, as the blood burst from the body by any egress available to it. That way of feeding almost always killed the person, if they were not already dead to begin with. Janos generally only did so by necessity. He could recall, as the younger vampires could not, a time when humans and vampires coexisted peacefully, if not happily. He could remember when humans were not just food.

She stirred under his mouth, her sigh becoming a soft moan. It wasn't unexpected; he'd learned during that idyllic past time that feeding like this was very arousing for humans. Perhaps with more time and patience, or more discretion, humans could have learned of the vampire's curse without reacting in panic. The curse could have potentially brought the two races closer together.

Janos took just enough of her blood to dull the frantic edge of his hunger. He drew away, a moments' thought healing the tiny holes in her throat. She made a small sound at the loss of his touch and turned over, snuggling up to her husband. The man muttered something indistinct and Janos retreated further back from the bed, wrapping his wings around himself and watching unseen from the shadows.

"...Gunter...?" she murmured, her hand sliding across his chest. She pressed herself closer to him, Janos' feeding leaving a need that demanded to be met.

"...mm?" his eyebrows twitched and he turned his face towards her. He awoke a little when she covered his mouth with hers. He awoke even more when she covered his body with her own. He made a low sound of surprised pleasure and sleepily obliged his mate's insistence.

With a smile, Janos took his leave, departing before things progressed too far. He paused just long enough to take a pair of Gunter's trousers, certain that the man wouldn't mind the loss. He doubted that Gunter would even realize they were gone. Neither of the humans noticed the slow swing of the window as the vampire left them their privacy.

He took a moment on the roof of their home to dress. The breeches were a little short, but Janos didn't really care, so long as they covered him. No need to frighten anyone that might see him any more than necessary.

Unfortunately, his hunger had only been dulled by that brief feeding, not satisfied at all. Janos perched on the edge of the roof, watching the streets below. Gunter and his wife lived in a lower-class section of the town. It wasn't the worst part of the city, but it wasn't the area where the town officials would be living. He watched the guard patrols, made infrequent by the quality of the neighborhood. He wondered if the slums would be patrolled at all; they hadn't been the last time he'd visited Uschtenheim.

Anja readjusted the battered velvet hat with its tired feather on her hair. It had been quite stylish a year ago, one of many things she'd wistfully seen on finer ladies. Far too expensive for her to buy new then, it had fallen out of style within a few weeks. She'd found the discarded fashion last night and added it to her working attire. Its dark blue color didn't really match the faded green and black of her dress, but the discord wasn't noticeable at night.

She plied her trade at night, never seeing the city during the day. Town guards kept people such as her out of view of "honest folk" while the sun was out. What hypocrisy. Her own livelihood was fed by the nighttime lusts of others, guardsmen included. A copper or two for a few minutes of rutting in one of the narrow alleys, held against a crumbling brick wall by the grunting and thrusting of whatever man sought release with a stranger. Those same coppers were enough to get her a room and a hot meal. She'd saved a tiny hoard of coins against the nights when nobody needed a whore. It had gotten smaller and smaller over the last week.

A dirty handkerchief was tucked into one fingerless glove. At one time it had been snowy linen edged with fine lace. She'd found it too; it had also been discarded once it was no longer pristine. The fabric was now a permanent grimy gray, stained here and there with brown and red. Anja had developed a mild cough a few months ago and it had gotten steadily worse. She did her best to hide the cough, but the more she tried to suppress it, the more insistent the need became. The handkerchief sometimes came away bloody after a fit of coughing and her chest felt tight and achy all the time now.

One of her friends, another prostitute, had suggested she go see a doctor. Anja had laughed along with her. Physicians would never look down long enough to help someone like her, even if she could afford the fees. She drank hot tea whenever she could find it and had initially resigned herself to waiting for the cold to pass. As the weeks wore on, her breathing became more labored and her appetite began to wane. Her dismissive laugh had become more brittle and she couldn't help but hear the whispers of the other girls. Lung-rot, they said.

Now they avoided her like most of the other men, and even women too, that prowled the streets at night. Everyone in the slums lived with a fear of sickness and plague, for they all knew full well the services of a doctor would be a rare thing. They settled instead for avoiding those that were ill, like her.

"Good evenin' m'lord," she said. The man had been passing by with his head down. He glanced up at her as she gave him an inviting smile. His dark eyes swept over her once and he grimaced and hurried on.

She tried not to feel hurt, but she knew what he saw. The shard of silvered glass in her tattered purse - also a finding - told her each night. Hair that was once a healthy chestnut was now dry and faded, strands escaping the secondhand pins that tried to hold it into a style. Cheeks that were hollowed from too many nights of little or no food, smudges of blue-black under red-rimmed eyes that glittered with fever. Waxen skin that no amount of cosmetics could make healthy. At one time she had been one of the few real beauties on the streets. That had been a lifetime ago.

Anja looked around. She could try a better neighborhood, maybe a guardsman would want to spice up a boring patrol. She didn't want to do that unless she had to, however. Guardsmen, particularly those who had inherited their ranks, rarely bothered to pay. And if the guard she ran into was one of those holier-than-thou types, she could very well be arrested just for being in a district that was better than she was. She'd had the misfortune to approach one a month ago. He'd taken his pleasure, then slapped her when he was done. Called her a sinful temptress, as if his lust was somehow her fault.

Last night had been a waste of time, tonight was looking like it would be too. She fiddled with the knotted strings of her purse, her false gaiety crumpling under the relentless march of countless nights with no food, no money, no hope.

She was passing by a blind alley when the voice caught her attention. Low and soft, it brushed across her skin like a caress. "Anya."

Her steps paused, she glanced around for the man. Her painted eyebrows drew together in confusion at the empty street. "Is someone there?"

"In here," he whispered.

She turned her head to look down the alley. This way? Likely. Sometimes a man wanted a prostitute, but not the risk of revealing himself to any passersby. Anja brightened a little; usually the ones that did that were people of importance - town officials, minor nobles, rich merchants. Her hand went to her new hat, checking the pins that held it on her hair, before venturing down the passage away from the weak illumination of streetlights.

"What can I do for ye, m'lord?" she asked.

Janos didn't answer. He watched her approach, her steps short and hesitant in the dimness. The sound of water dripping from a pipe high above was noted only absently.

She nodded, as if answering a question and peered at the ground, stepping carefully around bits of debris and trash that littered the cracked paving stones. Far back in the alley, two cats screeched a challenge to each other and she winced at the echo of sound. "Sir?"

He studied her a moment longer. She was close to the back where he was; the fighting toms shot out of the broken crate by his feet, darting past a startled Anja. He listened to them relocate their battle out in the street. For a moment, it looked like she was going to follow the cats, but a game determination brought her closer. "What is it you wish?" he asked.

She stopped at the sound of his voice so much closer to her and looked around, startled. The ragged finery she wore told a tragic tale all their own. The prostitute was very close, but still couldn't see him. There was almost no light in this alley and he could mask his presence from others, if he chose. She appeared to consider the question, then shrugged. "Ten coppers," she said. "Long as you want. All night, if that."

Ten? More likely two or three. And with the illness he could sense, she would be lucky to get one. He'd heard the cough muffled by the rag tucked in her glove, he'd smelled the blood left on it. She was dying.

He wondered what dreams she might have had, if any. What had she been like as a little girl? Did her family know how low she had fallen? Were they even alive?

Even after the curse, humans could never be just food to him.

"Come here," he said gently. She turned towards the sound of his voice, squinting in the darkness. He let her perceive him, knowing that with the limits of human vision, she would only see a vague shape before her.

Vorador, long embittered by his suffering at the hands of humans, would torture this woman, feasting on her screams and then her despair, before he finally fed on her blood and life. Janos could not judge him for his ways; a father that expected his son to be a copy of himself was committing a grave sin indeed. Vorador's path was Vorador's path, and Janos would never try to force his only child to a way of life that was not suited for him. However, neither could he condone Vorador sating his pain on the bodies of others. It had been a point of contention between them for centuries.

His wings unfolded as he drew her into his arms, the feathers sliding against each other with a soft, dry sound. He cupped his wings around both of them, drawing a cloak of mental concealment around them as well. Her eyes, adjusting to the darkness, widened at the sight of his own. "What-?"

"Sssh, Anya," he said, soothing her question. Her eyelids drooped and she relaxed into his embrace. "What will you purchase," he asked, "with your ten coppers?"

Did she see his fangs or the wings that sheltered them? His eyes held hers and she wouldn't - or couldn't - look away. "Food," she said distantly.

He could feel her heartbeat against his chest, fast and a little irregular. Her breathing was very thick and wet and he could smell the blood in her lungs. Why had she not gone to a healer? Her body spasmed suddenly and she began coughing, each racking sound harsh and dry. Janos held her through the entire fit, waiting calmly for it to end.

"What kind?" he asked, when at last she was finished and the rag had been tucked back into her glove.

The woman blinked as she considered it. "Mutton," she said finally, her voice a little rougher than it was before. "Bread. Cheese."

"And if you had more than ten coppers? What food would you get then?"

"I... I'm not sure, m'lord." A tired curl escaped its pin and Janos played with it while she thought, winding it around one finger. "I think... cherries."

"Cherries?"

She nodded, a faint smile on her face. "'Ad me some once, a long time agon... They taste like summertime, they does... Summertime in the country..."

"They do?" he asked, interested. He'd never eaten cherries before the curse. He had smelled the fruit ripening in distant orchards, however, and she'd described what he imagined they tasted like. "And what would you do, once you had eaten your cherries out in the country?"

"...in the country..." she repeated softly. Her body relaxed against his and he guided her head with a gentle hand to rest on his shoulder. "They 'as got 'orses out in the country, those nobles do... I seen them ridin' 'orses..."

He nodded and continued stroking her hair, waiting patiently for her to continue.

"...never ridden one m'self, but I... I always wanted to..."

His lips were almost touching her ear as he murmured, "Why is that?"

Anya didn't answer him for a long time. One of the cats gave a final triumphant scream and chased its rival away. His attention went to the streets as he heard a someone approach to investigate the commotion. Janos heard clanking, the scrape of metal against metal. A guardsman. His wings twitched and folded closer around Anja, mirroring an instinctive reaction to protect her. The guardsman glanced down the alley. Janos saw the notched axe at his belt, the iron collar that protected his neck. Not a guardsman, then. A vampire hunter.

His feathers twitched and he snarled silently at the man. If necessary, he could leap straight up and catch the wind that way. Anja's slight weight would be no difficulty. If not, he could at least make it to a rooftop with her and teleport them both away. He was not willing to fight with her here.

After a few minutes of staring suspiciously down the alley, the hunter turned and went on his way. Janos continued watching, to make sure he didn't return. His feathers settled slowly as he relaxed and turned his attention back to Anja. Her thin shoulders were shaking.

"Anja?" he whispered.

"They're so pretty..." she sobbed against his chest. "Like God put legs on the wind... it's like flyin' on the ground..."

His heart twisted under the longing in her voice. He thought he understood her now, a little bird hatched with broken wings, never really comprehending the ache in her spirit. Dying inside as well as out, forever denied the sky she didn't even know she craved, there was no chance for future happiness. Some broken wings could mend, but hers never would. Janos kissed her forehead softly. "Then go," he said, reaching out to touch her mind with his own. "Go into the country, into that summertime, and ride the wind..."

Under his touch and voice, she lifted her face, tilting her head back for him. He cradled the back of her head with one hand as he pressed his fangs into her throat, releasing the spill of blood inside. Anja gasped and stiffened in his embrace, her hands fluttering weakly against his upper arms. Janos gave her the feeling of wind in her hair, of freedom and flight. She sighed after a moment and relaxed by degrees, a faint smile on her lips as her life and misery faded away.