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Guillermo winced as he downed his pain medication with a gulp of water. Every movement, every breath, and every swallow made some part of his body flare up in white-hot pain. Groaning, he dropped his head back onto his pillow and stared at the sad, water-stained ceiling of his sad, cramped room. He was planning to get up and try to make some food for himself, but the heavy ache in his bones compelled him to lie still until the meds made it to his bloodstream and carried him off to a deep slumber.
Before the drowsiness and warmth could begin to set in, the curtain to his room was yanked open, followed by an ineffectual "Knock, knock!" from Nandor. Guillermo turned his head only slightly as Nandor entered the tiny space and moved to sit down in the desk chair; still facing the bed from the last many times Nandor came to check on him.
"Hello, Guillermo," Nandor greeted in his higher sing-song voice that passed as apologetic. "How are you feeling?"
"Well," Guillermo replied weakly, "almost every part of my body is in agony, and I still can't walk or use my left arm, but at least-"
"Yes, that is very good, wonderful news," Nandor cut him off. Which was fine, really, because Guillermo didn't know what he was going to say as the 'but' to his current state.
"How would you like for me to be telling you a story today?"
Nandor had been visiting Guillermo multiple times a night since he was brought back to the house from the hospital about a week ago (which required the hypnosis of several hospital staff in order to get out of the impossible medical bill, and an extremely long and awkward car ride courtesy of the documentary crew). Often times, he would merely loom in the entryway and make a curt comment about how Guillermo ought to be healing faster so he could get back to work, then let a tense silence settle around Guillermo's answering grunt of pain before scurrying away. But about once nightly, in the final hours before the sunrise, he would linger, settling into the rickety wooden desk chair and attempting small talk for a short while before offering to recount a story from his years long past to Guillermo. It was something that happened far more often in the early years of Guillermo's servitude, when he was still in utter awe of Nandor; finding every story thrilling and every aspect of the former warlord breathtaking. Now, he'd grown intimately familiar with most of Nandor's tales, so he just let his master's rich, deep voice wash over him, a blur of campaigns and coups and sackings and pillagings lulling him to sleep.
"I have a different story for you today, Guillermo," Nandor said. "It is one I have not told you before. And I wish to share it with you in a... different way."
Guillermo quirked an eyebrow at Nandor in question. "What does that mean?"
Nandor grinned, baring sharp fangs, clearly excited about whatever he was scheming. "I will share a memory with you. Through the ether. Into your brain," he emphasized with a flourish of his hand in front of Guillermo's face. "And you will be able to live it, as if you were there!”
“Wh- huh?” Guillermo stammered, dumbfounded. Nandor had mentioned compelling victims through the ether before, but he’d never heard much more of it, certainly no mention of sharing memories. It seemed to be the one side of Nandor’s vampiric abilities he wasn’t eager to show off. “Okay, I guess, that sounds-“
“Great!” Nandor concluded for him. “Let us go, then!”
Before Guillermo could form a ‘what?!’ on his tongue, Nandor was pressing the palm of his hand firmly to Guillermo’s forehead, and everything went black.
-
Squinting against blinding sunlight, Guillermo lifted a hand to shield his eyes as they adjusted to the sudden brightness and his scenery gradually came into focus. Pale sand stretched out ahead of him until it merged with the horizon in a shimmering heat mirage, and his peripherals were crowded with figures and the vague shapes of simple brick structures. He realized he was kneeling; suddenly aware of hot, coarse sand under his knees and bare shins. He glanced down at his body- his, but clothed in an unfamiliar and uncomfortably revealing garb; plain beige fabric wrapped snugly over one shoulder and around his torso, hanging to just above his knees and secured by a rope around his waist. To his left, dozens of others knelt in the sand, an extensive line of people dressed in a similar fashion. Some had their hands tied and appeared battered and bruised, while others were unharmed and unrestrained, but held themselves with the weight of defeat as they stared vacantly at the ground.
A looming figure appeared to his right, stepping forth from somewhere behind him. He turned his head and craned his neck to find Nandor, looking exactly as he did when he entered Guillermo's bedroom just moments ago. His gaze was fixed straight ahead, focused and statuesque.
“Wh- master, where are we? What's going on?" Guillermo asked with an edge of panic to his voice.
“Nasiriyah,” Nandor answered stately, “1292.”
Guillermo began to wrack his brain for any knowledge that might indicate where the hell that was, but was quickly interrupted by a steel grip around his left bicep hauling him to his feet. The new man next to him stood tall and brawny, dressed in metal scales that hung to his thighs draped over a tunic, leaving his arms and lower legs bare. A sword hung sheathed at his hip, and he had a simple fabric cap rather than a helmet. He was one of countless others that had appeared behind the crowd of kneeling civilians.
The soldier grunted a brief command in an entirely unrecognizable language before yanking at Guillermo's arm to drag him along as he began to march forwards. Unprepared for the give of dry sand under thin sandals, Guillermo stumbled and tripped with his first steps, causing his convoy to shout at him in agitation. Frantically, he looked over to Nandor, who was already moving to offer a firm but much gentler grip on Guillermo's other arm so he could regain his footing.
"There is no need to panic, Guillermo," Nandor attempted to console him. "None of this is really happening, so you are in no real danger. You are merely reliving the memory of this man-" he gestured vaguely at Guillermo- "who is now dead. Because this was many centuries ago. And also because I killed and ate him."
Guillermo stared at Nandor. There were surely traces of confusion and distress lingering in his expression, but more than anything, he was now transfixed by the sight of his master walking beside him in broad daylight. The sun was vastly more illuminating than a full moon or any number of burning candles; making Nandor's dark hair shine brilliantly, the occasional gray catching the light and glistening silver. His face was lit in striking detail, but still unnaturally pale, his complexion only further washed out by the unrelenting sunlight. He could've been a figure cut out from another picture book and crudely pasted into this one; with his cold lifeless skin and heavy layers of dark luxurious fabrics, against the backdrop of beige sand and sepia bricks under a burning sun.
Nandor finally met Guillermo’s eyes, briefly, and he saw in them the subtlest undertones of molten gold, never visible to him before.
“What?” Nandor said in his scandalously offended tone, presumably thinking Guillermo’s intent staring was judgmental. He dramatically released and shook off Guillermo’s arm, which he seemed to have forgotten he was still holding, Guillermo’s balance long since restored.
“Why do I look like me, then?” Guillermo asked, shifting Nandor’s attention.
“Because you are reliving the memory, not him, and you are you, you are not this guy.”
“Yeah, but… if I’m reliving his memory exactly, shouldn’t I be, like, trapped in his body?”
“I-“ Nandor faltered. “No, because- because that’s not how it works!” He was clearly growing frustrated by Guillermo making him think too hard about this.
“So did he trip over the sand back there, or was that me?” Guillermo knew he was pushing it, but figured it couldn’t hurt to try. “What if I tried to do something totally different from what he did, like what if I fought back against this guard, or what if I-“
“Okay, okay, sheesh!” Nandor cut him off. “So many demanding questions! It is vampire-only ether magic, Guillermo, you could not understand it,” he concluded, obviously deflecting from the fact that he himself could not understand it. “Just go along with it, and pay attention, we are getting to the important part.”
They approached the crest of a slight incline, over which they could see the cluster of buildings and passageways of sun-baked brick that made up the center of the village, and a flurry of activity culminating by the bank of an enormous river. A hot wind carried the tangled sounds of anguished shouting and wailing from the distant crowd of people to Guillermo's ears, filling him with dread. Nonetheless, his eyes were glued to the scene as his guard led him closer.
He could soon see that hundreds upon hundreds were herded together in a mass surrounded by heavily armed soldiers, spanning over an extensive stretch of the riverside. It then became apparent that the edge of the primary crowd was a considerable distance from the water itself, and right up against the shore was a smaller cluster of people and several armored men, their backs to him as they faced downstream.
The huddled citizens barely glanced over as Guillermo and the others being marched in behind him were added to the end of the crowd. They were mere yards away from the smaller separated group, which he could now see were mostly adult men, and were significantly more bloodied and beaten than the majority of the other civilians. As Guillermo's guard released him and went off to join the formation that fenced in the whole crowd, Nandor began to speak.
"This was a city called an-Nīl. Al Quolanudarian forces conquered it for a time, while the Ilkhante were fracturing around us and we were expanding westward to establish our dominance in the region."
The soldiers near the water then turned towards the crowd, and among them, the most decorated of them all, was Nandor. He didn't appear much younger than the Nandor Guillermo knew, but he looked remarkably different. His skin was flush with life and deeply tanned, lustrous where the midday sun caught the curves and swells of his exposed arms. He had similar but far more ornate armor than the other soldiers, and was the only one with a tall and regal-looking metal helmet.
Vampire-Nandor stepped forward to stand beside his human warrior self. "This was me," he clarified unnecessarily, pointing at his doppelgänger.
Guillermo could only nod dumbly, mouth agape in awe as Human-Nandor began to speak, exchanging what seemed to be a question and confirmation with one of the soldiers who just arrived. With his undead self standing beside him like some kind of ghost of Christmas future, the differences in the human Nandor were only more pronounced. Guillermo couldn't help but notice the warrior's full and vibrant lips, uncannily like his master’s, only when his mouth was smeared with blood.
Guillermo's Nandor returned to his side as the human Nandor turned his attention towards the mass of civilians as a whole. He began to yell, his voice deep and ferocious, resonating mightily over the crowds downstream.
"What're you saying?" Guillermo asked the Nandor next to him in a hushed tone. Though it wouldn't make any difference, Nandor's commanding voice compelled him to speak softly beneath it.
"Oh, you know, 'submit to our great power and receive mercy; fight back and your blood will water our crops and we will feed your flesh to our dogs and maybe make a nice flute out of your femur bones,' et cetera, et cetera, that kind of thing."
"...Uh-huh," Guillermo said with a sharp edge of sarcasm, "sure. That kind of thing.”
He looked on in fascination as the warlord concluded his speech. One of the soldiers beside him moved to grab the nearest of the bound and battered men.
“This village has largely surrendered to us already,” Nandor explained. “These are the ones that tried to fight back.”
The defeated man was shoved towards Human-Nandor, who grabbed him roughly by the fabric of his robe. As he did so, he very briefly looked directly at Guillermo from over the man’s shoulder; fierce, dark eyes making his lungs instantly tighten in fear.
“We are making an example of them," Nandor said.
Human-Nandor, lifting the man off the ground by the back of his neck, took a stride forward to stand beside the river and dangle his victim over the flowing current. He bellowed some final statement as he unsheathed a short sword dangling at his hip and raised it towards the sun for all to see. Mesmerized in horror, Guillermo held his breath as Nandor brought the gleaming blade to the man’s neck and drew a deep gash across the skin in one swift motion. The man writhed in Nandor’s grasp, trying fruitlessly to gasp in air as the wound across his throat gushed; a thick, dark cascade of blood falling over his frontside and darkening the water beneath him. The current was deep and vast, but ran slowly, gathering into an impossibly dark crimson before gradually dispersing into a brighter red downstream.
Guillermo felt as though he were watching in slow-motion as Nandor held the man up until he stopped thrashing and an astonishing volume of the river had been polluted with his blood. Finally, Nandor hollered something, which the soldiers all around them echoed back, cheering and shouting with apparent glee. Nandor gave the now-limp body a mocking shake before dropping it into the water with a loud splash.
Guillermo focused in on the warlord’s face, now splattered with blood but still invigorated and brightened with triumph. With difficulty, he pulled his eyes away to look at the other Nandor. He was rigidly fixated on the scene, his expression still and indiscernible. There seemed to be a solemness in his eyes, but it was hard to be sure.
Guillermo turned his attention back to the riverside, where the next man in line was being wrangled towards the same fate. Most of the onlookers were silent as body after body was bled out and tossed into the water by Nandor and his other soldiers, but at some point the sound of hysterical sobbing reached Guillermo’s ears. He couldn’t bring himself to look for the source of it.
His eyes locked on one of many facedown bodies drifting with the scarlet current, he realized he was out of breath and extremely lightheaded. He collapsed to his knees while taking a shuddery breath in.
At the edge of his vision, he sensed Nandor turning to look down at him. A hand was placed on his shoulder, and he closed his eyes.
-
Guillermo felt himself return to his body at present, aches and pain included. Discombobulated and exhausted, he sat up as best he could.
Nandor was across from him in the desk chair, leaned over with his elbows resting on his knees.
“I never use a title I have not earned, Guillermo,” he stated earnestly.
“Huh?” Guillermo mumbled, not fully back to himself mentally.
“You have heard me call myself ‘he who twice turned the Euphrates itself red with blood’, yes? I did not make that up, that would be so disgraceful!” Nandor elaborated defensively.
“Oh,” Guillermo said, “right… so that was the Euphrates river, then?”
“Not that you would ever read about it in the history books,” Nandor continued bitterly, ignoring Guillermo’s question, “because that fucking guy, Rashid, made a whole point to erase Al Quolanudar’s triumphs from all the records.”
Guillermo watched Nandor stew with his resentment for a moment, then asked, “So what was the second time?”
“Right,” Nandor exclaimed, snapping out of his wandering thoughts. “I will show you!”
In the blink of an eye, Nandor was pressing his hand against Guillermo’s forehead again, and he fell back against his pillow.
-
He awoke in a dark room in an unfamiliar bed. The mattress, which looked like a stack of densely packed wool on the ground, was oddly similar in comfort to his tiny bed in his closet-room at home.
He sat up, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the intense darkness. Under a thin linen blanket, he found himself to be wearing nothing but a pair of loose, lightweight trousers. It was quite warm nonetheless, a few small open gaps in the brick walls serving as windows, letting in hot air and the faintest glow of moonlight.
He startled as he suddenly noticed a figure sitting on the edge of the bed, faced away from him, but he soon recognized the long dark hair, half-up in a small bun.
“Where are we now?” Guillermo asked, less afraid now as he recognized the situation.
“This is the same city, another memory of the same man,” Nandor’s voice explained. “It is a few years later. Al Quolanudar still rules this city, but my army and I have since returned home.”
Nandor took a deep lamenting breathe in before continuing. “I have just recently been killed and turned, and driven out.”
“Oh,” Guillermo said sorrowfully, at a loss for words. They sat in heavy silence for a moment before Nandor finally shifted and turned towards Guillermo. Guillermo became suddenly very aware of his bare torso and clutched the blanket up to below his chin.
“Guillermo,” Nandor began, intense and serious, “this memory might be much scarier than the last.”
Guillermo tilted his head at him, unsure how much more distressing a memory could get than watching dozens of people have their throats slit open before bleeding to death and floating down a river.
“After being driven out of Al Quolanudar, I fled aimlessly west until I came upon this city. I didn’t know what I was or what was happening to me,” Nandor said, “all I knew is that I was hungry, and food only made me ill.”
Guillermo whipped his head around at the sound of swift footsteps in the distance. Oh. The pieces were starting to fall into place. He looked back to Nandor with fear in his eyes.
“Remember, you can not be harmed, you are safe,” Nandor assured, “and I have made sure you will not feel any pain in this memory.”
Guillermo nodded, still fearful but developing a gnawing curiosity.
The frantic shuffling of searching footsteps grew closer.
“And it will be over very quickly,” Nandor said, right as a pair of faintly glowing golden eyes on a barely-illuminated figure appeared in the open archway across the room. Guillermo tensed up in panic, the air stolen from his lungs.
The figure stepped forward and locked onto its target.
Memory-Nandor, a starving, lost, wild vampire, held himself in a stance reminiscent of a wolf stalking its prey, his shoulders hunched up threateningly and limbs positioned to pounce and grab at a split-second’s notice. He snarled, baring his fangs, and a low guttural sound emanated from deep within his chest.
Nandor crept closer, growling and occasionally sniffing deeply. Then, nearly at the foot of the bed, he froze, braced his legs, and pounced. Guillermo was paralyzed in utter terror, his heart racing erratically. For just a moment, Nandor paused with his face only a fraction of an inch from Guillermo’s, and Guillermo found himself locked into feral eyes. His pupils were blown wide with hunger and desire, ringed by glowing yellow irises which Guillermo so rarely got to see. He should have been horrified- and he was, to some degree- but he was also being pinned down by Nandor and couldn't help being enticed by his wild eyes and thrilled by his closeness.
Then Nandor was ripping away his blanket and snatching him up, holding him against his chest with one arm around his middle in an impossibly strong grip.
It was unclear if the action was Guillermo’s or that of the man whose memory he was living, but he fought back desperately as Nandor darted out of the building and took off across the sand. His futile squirming and kicking lasted only a moment, though, before he ended up with his arms around Nandor, clutching at the flesh of his upper back for balance as he ran with unnatural speed. The wind lashed at his bare skin and he squeezed his eyes shut. Then suddenly the air was still again, and Nandor was kneeling down. Guillermo released his grip and pulled away, but found himself held firmly in place upon the vampire’s lap.
Disoriented, he darted his eyes frantically about. Above him, stars shone clear and bright against the endless void, exponentially more than he could ever dream of seeing in the light-polluted skies over New York. A gentle breeze brushed the back of his neck, the air cooler and more humid than the rest, and he realized there was also the sound of flowing water right by his ear. He tried to turn his head, but it was being held rigidly back to expose the column of his neck. Straining his eyes to the left, he saw another figure standing in the dark.
“This was not the first person I killed and drank,” Nandor said suddenly from aside, “but it was the first time I truly recognized what I was doing when I did it.”
Guillermo let himself look at Memory-Nandor again. Ravenous eyes roamed his victim’s face and neck; lips parted in bloodlust and a quiet growl still rumbling low in his throat, but he was hesitating. He released the tight fist in Guillermo’s hair and moved his hand to cradle the side of his face with surprising tenderness. A cool thumb stroked the warm, flushed skin of Guillermo’s cheek, and Guillermo's pulse quickened for reasons besides plain fear. Nandor repeated the gentle motion many times over, seemingly noting the stark difference in temperature between his finger and the human's soft cheek, and a resolved sense of despair overtook his face.
“I finally realized what had become of me,” Nandor said as Memory-Nandor met Guillermo’s eyes with one final look of sorrow. “The bloodthirsty monster I’d always been on the inside was finally reflected in what I was on the outside.”
Guillermo couldn’t respond to Nandor’s uncharacteristically poetic statement if he wanted to (though he'd have no clue what to say), because Memory-Nandor was now pushing his head to the side and tearing into his neck.
Nandor was right, it didn’t hurt, but he felt the twin points of fangs sink through his flesh; a dull pressure that spread across his throat as his head lolled to the side. Finally, he could see the flowing river, darkening below him where his blood trickled over in rivulets.
The last thing he saw before returning to himself, as Nandor held him tenderly and drained him relentlessly, was the water of the Euphrates glistening crimson in the moonlight.