Maxim Darko: The Greatest Gift of Evil. A Vampire Chronicle

PROLOGUE THE AWAKENING 2017

The roar of hurricane force wind, buffeting the descending 747 airplane, sounded muffled inside of Maxim's scale encrusted ears. Freezing supersonic air swirled violently inside of the plane's wheel-well, violently blasting Maxim's scale covered skin. The wind seeped into the microscopic slits between the thick dark scales, that protectively encased his ears, and eyes. His inner-ear sensed the changing air pressure and signaled his brain to bring his body out of a self-induced coma. A soft voice in his head whispered. "Wake my son."

Maxim was curled in a tight fetal position inside of the airplane's wheel-well. The interlocking scales that covered his body, gave him the appearance of a mythical sub-human creature from the Dark Ages. The scales protected his body from the elements, and slowed his blood flow, which conserved the heat that flowed through his veins. Allowing him to tolerate the freezing high-altitude temperatures. While the scales covering his eyes and ears were dark, and thick. The scales covering his body were almost translucent. To protect his delicate skin, the protective scales were genetically, and instinctually programmed to automatically deploy when Maxim felt stress or danger.

He willed the scales covering his eyes to retreat, one slow millimeter at a time. When he began to make out light, he stopped the progress of the retreating scales. Maxim feared the sun, excessive sun would damage his eyesight, leaving him weak, and vulnerable to his many enemies. At this point, he could only make out shadows and outlines. During the day, dark opaque scales covered his eyeballs to protect them from the accursed sunlight. The scales gave his bright blue eyes a dark gray tinge. Through concentration, he willed his opaque scales to move under the thick protective scales. Once the opaque scales completely covered his eyeballs, he relaxed, and allowed the thick protective scales to fully retreat into his skull. His eyes rapidly adjusted to the darkness. A slight movement caught his eye. The tail end of a black mist, interspersed with glowing bronze runes, was slithering out of a small crack in the wheel-well. My Dark Mother, he thought. Good-bye for now Mother.

He shook his head to clear his fuzzy mind. Dreams had filled his mind while he slept. The dreams always came to him when he was at the deepest point in the coma. Deep happy dreams, interspersed with intense disturbing, dark dreams. It was the dark dreams that lingered in his mind. The happy dreams revolved around his mother, and of his youth spent in the mountains of Inner Carniola, in Southeastern Europe.

During the darkness of the 14th century, Maxim had been born in the Village of Golo. His mother had named him Maxim Darko, after Darkon, which meant, the greatest gift, in her native Carniolan tongue. She believed her handsome newborn baby, with his large intelligent blue eyes, and the beginning of blonde curly hair showing on his bare scalp, was a gift from God. When the mid-wife had handed her the new-born baby, she cried. She had immediately handed the baby back and fell to her knees to thank God for the easy birth. And for the handsome son, he had bestowed upon her.

These warm memories reminded Maxim of his childhood home. He had been raised in a simple wooden hut with a straw thatched roof, and dirt floor. Images of his mother standing in the warm smoky kitchen, wearing a rough homespun gray dress brought him pleasure. The dreams also reminded him of food. Buried deep in Maxim's mind was the taste of food. On the rare occasions when his father had a successful hunt, he had savored the flavor of roasted meat, along with fresh cabbages, potatoes, carrots, and bread. His mother had baked, the best bread in village of Golo. Only God knew how he wished he could still eat bread. Since his transformation centuries ago, he had not eaten solid food.

He shuddered as the dark memories of his dreams, slowly blotted out the peaceful images of his mother. Normally, his fully alert mind could hide, or quickly flush the memories of the plague...of the burnings of the children. But his relaxed, comatose mind, had allowed the terror to seep into his consciousness. This dark episode of dreams had been particularly bad. It would take days for him to shed the dark memories.

A blast of cold wind ripped his mind to the present. For a split-second he thought. Who am I? Where am I? Shaking off the coma-induced sluggishness, he reminded himself. I am Maxim Darko Golo of Inner Carniola. One of the four survivors of the black plague.