The cleaning crew worked in the shadows as they lived, protecting the secrets of Vampires. Although their existence was well known among the other species, there were other things needing protection. Long before the Darken arrived, during the time the Vampires ruled as Gods, they had the retainers. After the Darken, the purpose of the cleaners changed, but their importance remained. Their organization was tasked with keeping the illusion the vampires worked hard to form.
Sebastian knew the frightened woman’s face; it was the same face that he saw on countless occasions. Her name was Terri, and she was often sent to clean up Viktor’s mess. Terri’s demeanor with her short pixie cut red hair, and oval face was quiet and meek compared to her fiery appearance. The last time he had seen her was in the dark alley, the night Arel had been attacked.
“Forgive us, Sebastian,” replied Terri.
“Clean up the mess upstairs. Arel’s not to be touched,” demanded Sebastian.
“There’s another crew cleaning. We were instructed to clean down here,” Terri pleaded.
Looking over at the dried blood splattered around the room, she swallowed softly. Hesitantly, Terri’s green eyes rested on Arel’s body, her dress covered in blood lay on her thigh. The top of her dress pulled askew, revealing the soft skin of her breast. Arel’s brown curls wild, bits of dried blood speckled throughout. Looking over Arel, Terri rested her eyes back onto the floor at the side of the stained bed.
Over the years as working as the cleaner for the Cadell family, she knew Sebastian’s disposition well. Thinking of her words, she proceeded with caution, afraid to upset the distraught Sebastian anymore than he already was.
“I’m sure Mrs. Cadell would feel more comfortable in fresh clothes. If it’s alright I’d like to clean her up, give her a nice bath, some soft clean sheets.”
Nodding his head, Sebastian returned to his seat next to her, watching as the woman worked. Another cleaner brought fresh linen and clothes, resting them on a small table. Bringing clean hot water, she placed it on a table near the bed before slowly undressing Arel.
“It’s not too hot is it, Mrs. Cadell,” she asked as she dipped the fingers of her left hand into the water. She continued to speak to her, carefully explaining everything she did.
“I’m sure you feel much better, Mrs. Cadell,” whispered Terri as she finished washing Arel’s cold body.
Carefully with the help of another cleaner, the pair lifted Arel’s limp body off the bed, placing clean linen on it. They then dressed her in a simple embroidered tunic, tying her hair off with a silk ribbon. The other attendant carried the soiled linen and water away, leaving Terri and Sebastian alone with the body.
Kneeling beside him, she looked over his sad face. “Sebastian, maybe you wanted to clean up for Mrs. Cadell,” she asked, looking down at his shoes.
“I need to wait for her,” he replied, his eyes fixed on the still motionless Arel. The crew left him in the same position watching the body of his wife, undisturbed as he continued to grieve. He didn’t move as the night turned to day, a soldier in his position, steadfast and unmoving.
“Sebastian,” Aeron’s robust voice called to his son.
Unmoved, lost in thought and grief, Sebastian studied Arel. The stench from the blood soiled clothes permeated the air around him. Through the open door, the smell of incense and wood-burning drifted towards them.
“My son, it is time. The pyres are lit, you must change.”
Sebastian reached over, clutching Arel’s cold hand. Squeezing it, he brought it up to his lips, gently kissing the inside of her palm.
“I will be back, my love. We will lay the child to rest,” he whispered.
“Sebastian, we have to let her go,” said Aeron.
“No, we will lay the child to rest.”
Unwilling to argue with Sebastian, Aeron allowed his son more time to grieve. Resting his hand on Sebastian’s shoulder, he nodded in agreement. There would be another day to light the funeral pyre for Arel, he would not press his son.
There on the grounds where months before Isis had faced her justice, two pyres erected. A small platform perfect for the body of a child situated next to a larger one waited. Decorated with flowers and garlands, the elders stood around, waiting for the funeral to begin.
Sebastian stood washed and dressed in the familial garments his father often worn for their customary events. He had not worn it since the ceremony, remembering his mother and Beli. Aeron dressed in a vibrant silken tunic, gold rings lined his fingers, and a large thick necklace hung down his chest. His jeweled dagger dangled from his belt glistening as the rays of sunlight danced off it.
Two men led the processional carrying the small coffin covered by a white linen cloth embroidered with the Cadell family crest. A member from each house placed a small token on the platform for the child. As if orchestrated, their movements were seamless, each knowing their cue of when to step forward and back.
Sebastian followed by his father taking their place near the smaller pyre, his eyes avoiding the large platform. Carefully the men placed the little bed on the wood before heading back to the rest of the crowd.
It was Marcus who handed the fire to Sebastian to light the pyre where the child’s body rested. Ignoring him, Sebastian looked on into the distance. Aeron stepped forward, taking the fire from Marcus’ outstretched hand. After Aeron lit the first pieces of wood, other members of the clans stepped forward, lighting the fire all around.
The flames danced melodically towards the heavens as the other members of the family gathered around. Usually, the funeral song would have been sung speaking of the love and loss of the family member. It would have been Catrin’s honor to sing the song.
“Sebastian,” whispered Aeron, signaling to his son. Sebastian looked off at the orchard his thoughts focused on Arel.
“Sebastian,” repeated Aeron.
His eyes broke free from the orchard, turning towards his father before resting them on the funeral pyre. The air thick with burning fumes of incense and burning flesh. Turning, Sebastian walked back towards the house as the funeral pyre continued to burn. The Vampires watched until the last embers of the small fire died down under the dusky sky.
One by one, the heads of the clans walked to Aeron extending their condolences. No one question the whereabouts of Catrin, as Marcus had informed them, she had gone to the Darken in light of the events. The questions would begin tomorrow, long discussions over what would be done now that they had not survived the birth. It would be a matter of time before the Moruka would return.
Aeron stood in the night sky watching the smoldering flames die out surround by his men. Slowly the patriarch of the Cadell line returned to the solemn house. Marcus sat in the study, waiting for his good friend. With legs spread, the tops of his knees exposed as the kilt fell gently to the sides of his thigh.
“We should talk,” said Marcus handing Aeron a glass of fresh blood.
“Let us follow the traditions of Emi and Iona. The talk can wait ‘til morrow,” said Aeron.
Taking the glass from Marcus’ hand, he sat in a chair across from roaring fire in the fireplace.
“How did we get here, my brother,” Marcus asked as he took the seat next to Aeron.
Bringing the glass to his nose, Aeron inhaled deeply allowing the smell to fill his nostrils. Letting out a sigh, he leaned towards the empty fireplace waiting for his friend to say what was on his mind.
“He has to let her go. I know what he is feeling. The lost nearly destroyed me, empty full of anger seeking revenge. I tell you this as your oldest friend, we are brothers. You have to do something to help him.”
Sitting back Aeron, placed the glass to the side on to the nearby end table. His hands resting on the wood arms of the chair, his thoughts focused on the past.
“Aeron, him sitting in that room with her corpse will only make it worse. We have seen the effects of death we have shielded them from. You know what will happen to her if she sits too long.”
/> “He thinks he saw her heartbeat. I watch him, watching her, talking to her like she’s still here.”
Marcus took a long drink from the glass before speaking. Aeron knew his friend was thinking of what to say in response. There had been rumors of madness among their kind. Fear spread among the families that Sebastian suffered from such a sickness. The illness of living with the dead, rarely spoken of. Their heightened senses and acute intellect turned into a debilitating madness when living among rotten flesh. Some of the elders of the families had witnessed it first hand, keeping the sickness secret from younger generations.
“Did you hear or see her heartbeat,” questioned Marcus.
“No,” replied Aeron. His hands gripped the wood again, thinking of Sebastian’s run into madness. Aeron knew the love his son felt for Arel, she was his soul, and he had watched as the life from his soul disappeared.
“Maybe its hope that led him to believe he saw her heart. I would have given anything to keep my beloved away from the Darken that day. I can still hear her, smell her scent.”
“I’m sorry old friend. I know how difficult Arel’s presence must have been on you,” Aeron replied to Marcus. His large hands gripped the ends of the chair, squeezing and releasing as he watched the fireplace in front of him.
Rising from his seat, Marcus went to work, setting ablaze in the fireplace. Though neither of them was cold, the fire gave him something to do.
“Difficult for us all. We know the treachery of the Darken, I have not forgotten your sister died that day as well,” said Marcus as he settled back into the green velvet chair next to Aeron.
“We all lost someone on that day, but we are not strangers to death.”
Marcus again took a long sip from his cup, closing his eyes as the blood poured down his throat. Placing the empty glass to the side, he looked on at the fire as it burned.
“We’ve changed in these times,” spoke Marcus. “The days we would feed our full on the blood of our enemy. Long gone the times of Emi and Iona, what I would give for those days. To bask in the sun, live like the Gods we were.”
“Did they rule like Gods, was there ever a time we lived not in the shadow of the Darken, or are they stories we tell ourselves,” asked Aeron.
“I wish to hunt like the days of old, battle,” said Marcus.
“You wish to battle. I think of how I would have liked to sit by the fire with Amata holding Sebastian’s firstborn. She would have welcomed Arel, loved her as our own. Now I sit here with you wondering how I will free him from his grief.”
“It would be an easy matter to free him,” Marcus replied, turning to Aeron.
“He will watch that corpse rot before releasing her. Even then, I could not be sure he would let her go. His enemy, his Anam, his love” whispered Aeron.
“Perhaps a friend could convince him to prepare for her when she awakes. It would give time for her body to find its resting place,” suggested Marcus.
“Once I tried to keep him away from her, prohibiting him from going near her. For years, he searched day and night looking for her, that girl. He nearly died then; I could not try to make the same decision again.”
Aeron thought back on the day he came home to find a young Arel with Beli and Amata. Before walking into the house, the exotic sweet fragrance hit his nose, followed by the overpowering scent of the Resistance. He knew their fragrance, smelled long ago on the battlefield where he watched his people massacred. Furious Amata had invited them into their home, he threatened them. As the young woman fled, the girl defiantly screamed that Beli was perfect and they had to change.
It was that day he set his ordered forbidden any contact with the Resistance. He sent word to their camp that if they ever set foot near his home or family, he would massacre them all. The following week he smelled that same sweet fragrance, Arel in his house. It trailed to the tunnels beneath the study where he heard her warning to Sebastian. Despite the danger to herself, she came to warn him to protect his brother and mother from death.
As Aeron listened to Sebastian plead with her, he knew that his threats meant nothing. Turning the corner, he saw the shared kiss between them. Enraged he burst around the corner into the tunnel, cowering over the pair. The young Sebastian stood between them, protecting her from his own father, his blood. Defiantly she stepped from behind Sebastian telling the towering Vampire she wasn’t afraid of him and he had to protect his family.
Aeron watched as Sebastian pulled her into his arms, running through the tunnels. He stood there, listening as their footsteps faded away. Sebastian later returned to the house; they never spoke of the incident. His men had followed the two children, ensuring the safety of Sebastian. Returning they reported, Sebastian had brought her back to the resistance, promising he would find her again.
Word quickly spread that the Darken had destroyed the resistance camp, he was relieved. That year the Darken destroyed all of the known bases, effectively wiping out the rebellion. Despite his efforts to keep the news from his son, Sebastian learned of her fate. Aeron found him standing in the ruined field near the house where she had lived. Refusing to believe she had passed away, Sebastian promised to locate the young girl.
After his mother’s death, Sebastian changed. He refused to drink blood and barely ate. For days at a time, he searched for clues to where she could have gone. It had been three months to the day when Aeron’s men finally found him, returning him to his father’s estate. Catrin nursed her brother back to a healthy version of himself.
Catrin was gone, and Sebastian had again fallen into despair. Battle worn, Aeron, thought over the loss of his family, its remaining pieces fragmented. He had lost a wife and two sons, he would not lose another, whatever it would take he would ensure Sebastian would live. Looking over at Marcus, thankful his friend would be by his side again.
Marcus and Aeron had managed many battles together forging a name for themselves. Long before they were brothers through marriage, they were brothers on the battlefield. It was Aeron’s sister that had married into the Marc line, securing the ties between the families.
Although Marcus was a scholar by birth, the Vampire captivity forced him to make his mettle on the field. All Vampires, male and female, except for the younger generations had found their way into battle. From the time of Cadell’s ascent to the Vampirical throne, service in the Darken military was an essential obligation. All species under Darken rule had to serve in some capacity in the army. By the time Sebastian had been born, they no longer required the youth of their captives to serve. Things within the Darken had changed.
Aeron and Marcus shared love, hope, and grief together, depending on each other. Above his own kin, Aeron trusted no one more than Marcus. Vocal, Marcus readily shared his opinion and advice to his friend, even when unsolicited. Of his advice on how to handle the situation with Sebastian, Aeron was unsure.
Seven days and nights had passed since the funeral. Aeron had allowed his son to mourn without interruption. Marcus’ words were heavy on his shoulders. Aeron could not bear the thought of Sebastian’s heartbreaking any more than it had already. He knew he would have to act, there was a genuine danger of his son going mad from spending so much time with a corpse.
Quietly, Aeron entered the ward, donned in his ceremonial clothing. Dressed to lay Arel to rest, he wore his familial kilt. Behind him walked a young female Vampire, holding a crème and gold tunic for Arel. Aeron had decided he would honor Arel as his daughter. As Amata would have welcomed her, he would do what he could to honor his wife’s memory.
“Sebastian,” his father called to him, standing above his sorrow filled son. Placing his hand on Sebastian’s shoulder, he squeezed it hoping to rouse him from his trance. Unsure if he listened, Aeron continued with the purpose he had come. It was time for the last rites, laying Arel to rest.
“Sebastian, we have to let her go. I’ve already made the preparations. The others have arrived, they are waiting. Clothes have been put out for you to join us. It’s tim
e to let her go.”
The door opened, and four of his men entered carrying a large wood platform engraved on all sides. On the top of the bed, the Cadell family crest, where Arel would be laid. As they approached Arel, Sebastian stood to his feet, ready to fight them off.
“No,” he yelled his fist, pounding on the table as he leaned over her body.
The men waited, looking for a sign from Aeron on how to proceed. None of them desiring to push Sebastian any further. The strong Vampire they had served under, now broken, a war waging within him.
“Sebastian, you have to let her go,” pleaded Aeron.
“Not yet. I saw. . .” began Sebastian before trailing off. His voice soft, weak, almost unsure of the words he wanted to say. Caught between the present and memory, he looked off at Arel.
“What my son,” Aeron asked him standing as a barrier between Sebastian and the men.
“Her heart. I thought I saw her heart…beat.” Looking down, Sebastian placed his hand on Arel’s chest. He waited for some sign of its movement, a sign that she was not gone but fighting her way back to him.
Walking over to Arel, Aeron placed his hand on her wrist. His eyes watching her chest, the spot where Sebastian looked too. Arel’s wrist lay ice-cold, soft but cold.
“Sebastian, she’s cold to the touch,” said Aeron.
“They came back before, as a child, she died on the road on the outskirts of a forest. She came back...she just needs more time.”
It was hope Sebastian clung to, it would be his undoing if Aeron did not interfere. Bags hung low and dark under Sebastian’s once bright eyes. Aeron would follow Marcus’s advice.
“You must prepare yourself; she may be gone.”
Nodding towards his men, they left the room as silently as they had entered. The young female Vampire placed the tunic on the table near the bed before turning around, exiting the room.
“I have to wait for her,” replied Sebastian.
Aeron did not need to know how Marcus would separate Sebastian from Arel’s side, but it must be done and soon. There was no telling how much time was left before Sebastian could not return from his madness.
Sight Page 22