Requiem of Humanity

by Catherine Stovall

  She could feel the tips of Jonathan’s teeth pierce her neck and she knew it was all over now. After all this, she would die in his hands and her final thought was of Matteo’s shining blue eyes and Soborgne’s husky laughter. Prepared to die, she went limp in Jonathan’s arms. She would not give him the satisfaction of a fight or of her terror. As he took his first deep drought from her veins, she began to build the stairs in her mind. She would die with her mind locked inside her world.

  19

  Matteo chuckled lightly and bowed to Soborgne in a very formal tribute, “Signora, your little snack seems to have gotten your strength and beauty on its way to recovery quite well. I dare say your memory of me is not flattering but clearer than before.” His reference to Soborgne’s attack on the servant girl made her blush despite the situation.

  The man stood in front of the bars holding a serving tray laden with food and a crystal decanter that contained a thick red liquid. The light from her small, battery powered lantern cast amber reflections on to the man’s translucent skin. Soborgne could feel the hunger rising deep inside her. A wild animal clawing its way to the surface, the need burned inside her. She hissed at the man in a ferocious display of hate.

  Matteo took a step forward and spoke in his usual calming tone. “Now Senorita, is that any way to treat a humble admirer?” As he spoke, he pulled the keys to the cell from his pocket and began to unlock the door. Soborgne crouched into a predator’s stance, ready to attack if he came to close. Her mind was only half hers now. The old Soborgne wanted to beg for mercy and appeal to the man to free her but the new Soborgne wanted the fight and longed to rip his throat open and lap up his blood.

  The man was now inside the cage with her. He gently set the tray down and inched it towards her. He locked eyes with her but moved slowly as if someone trying to tame a wild beast. His voice came in a gentle wave of reassurance, “I will not harm you. You must understand that the gift you are being given is not meant to hurt you. It will make you strong and beautiful forever. You will never die an old woman, battered by time’s brutal hands.”

  Soborgne relaxed a bit but remained in her defensive posture, crouched like a jungle cat ready to spring if the man made any sudden gesture. He held his hand out and beckoned her to come nearer to him and the food. Soborgne, still eying the bottle of crimson liquid, flexed her muscles once and then carefully inched forward. Suddenly a loud screaming shattered the fragile truce between Soborgne and Matteo.

  Matteo flinched, momentarily distracted by the scream and Soborgne pounced. She dug nails and teeth into flesh. At the last second, Matteo had thrown his arm up in a defensive gesture and Soborgne had sunk her teeth into his forearm. Matteo easily shoved her away and sped from the cell in a blur of shadows, slamming the door closed behind him.

  A young girl came running into the room screaming, “Matteo, Master Matteo. Jonathan has her.”

  The girl collapsed at the foot of the stairs, exhausted and panting. Matteo did not bother with the girl. He was a blur of black as he rushed the stairwell. Soborgne stood staring at the servant girl who panted heavily on the stone floor. The thrumming of the girl’s heart was vibrating through Soborgne’s head. The blood she had tasted from Matteo sent the flames searing into the back of Soborgne’s throat and she snarled fiercely. Blood, blood, blood, was all she wanted. She could taste its coppery sweetness in her mouth. She licked at her fingers and lips where Matteo’s blood still lingered in sticky red droplets. His blood made her veins burn with the familiar fire but she couldn’t help wanting more.

  The girl’s blood would be saltier and it would bring her no pain. Soborgne had no idea how she really knew that but the difference between vampire blood and human blood was great. She preferred human blood. She wanted human blood. During the night, she had sensed scurrying creatures in the darkness and had thought she might catch one and consume it. Almost as soon the thought had developed, it suddenly disgusted her. No, she wouldn’t be chasing rodents.

  Soborgne lashed out at the bars separating her from the girl. She was gnashing her teeth and her hands curved into lethal talons in her desperation. The servant girl looked up and her eyes were wide in terror. She leapt to her feet and ascended the stairs as quickly as she could. Soborgne was alone again. Hunger pulsed through her like a ravenous beast that would not be sated.

  Soborgne turned to face the interior of her cell and saw the crystal decanter. She grasped it up like an addict who has found a scrap of drugs hidden in their drawer. Clawing the top off, Soborgne drank deeply. It was cold now. None of life’s heat remained in the thick liquid but she didn’t care. Her thirst flamed as she kneeled on the dirty floor and gulped the liquid greedily.

  The empty container clattered to the floor, Soborgne savored the last drop. The beast inside her wanted more but the insanity of hunger had subsided. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and then licked the smear of red from it. Carefully she removed the covers from the other dishes on the tray. A large slab of steak lay on one of the plates, its red juices flowing onto the bone white china. She did not feel the same distaste that she had at the thought of rats when she saw the meat. Picking it up with her bare hands, she sucked the still bloody meat until only a dry pulpy mass remained. It didn’t have the same flavor as the live blood or the blood in the decanter had but it was good just the same.

  She leaned over to look inside another dish and caught her reflection in the silver of the tray. Not thinking of the greedy hunger now, she flung the contents of the tray away and stared at the familiar looking stranger in the blurred reflection. Surely, this was not her. Her normally darker skin was so pale that she could see the blue of her veins beneath it. Her eyes shone red with crimson light and there was blood smeared on her face and dripping from her chin. She began to weep as she stared at the thing in the reflection. When she realized her tears were tinged in red, she tried in vain to stop. In horrible disgust, Soborgne cast the tray against the wall.

  It took her a second to realize that there had been only one loud cracking sound when the tray had hit the wall. There was no subsequent clattering of metal on stone. She looked towards where she had thrown the tray and was surprised to find that it was now embedded in the wall. At least four inches of the tray had cut into the wall and now it hung there as if it was a silver shelf built as part of the wall. Soborgne stood on wobbly legs and went to examine it. The wall was not weak. She pressed on it, first gingerly, then with more strength. It did not give. The tray hadn’t hit the softer mortar between the bricks; it stuck directly in the center of one of the massive old stones. Had she done that?

  20

  Matteo could hear both Jenda’s screams and her thoughts as he reached the upper hall. She was repeating the same name repeatedly in her head and it was his. Jonathan was hurting her, he meant to rape her and then kill her. Matteo couldn’t explain the fury and protective rage that was churning inside his gut. As he burst through the door, shattering the ancient wood to splinters, his vision was clouded with a crimson haze of hatred.

  To anyone else it would have looked like two teenage kids caught up in a passionate swoon but Matteo had heard Jenda’s thoughts and he knew Jonathan for what he was. Jenda was limp in Jonathan’s arms but she wasn’t whole. She was shimmering in and out of Matteo’s vision as if she was an apparition. He could no longer read her thoughts and he feared that he was too late.

  Jonathan broke away from his feeding and growled defensively at Matteo. He let Jenda’s body dropped to the floor by his feet and turned his hatred full force on the interloper. He lunged forward and spat blood in Matteo’s face.

  Matteo’s eyes glowed like fiery embers in their sockets and his rage leant a dangerous spike to his normally even voice. “I told you boy, if you harmed her you would be answering to me.”

  Jonathan’s youth gave him as much disadvantage in the fight as his size. Instead of planning the attack, he simply challenged Matteo farther by kicking Jenda’s limp body and laughing out right.
The sickening thud of the blow sent Matteo over the edge and he leapt at the younger vampire. His mark was true and the fight was short.

  Jonathan tried to fight against Matteo’s larger form and pure rage but it was like watching a chihuahua fend off a pit bull. Each time Jonathan tried to strike Matteo he missed. His frustration made him desperate and he charged at Matteo head on. Jonathan’s intention must have been to tackle his larger opponent but he hit thin air instead. From his new position, Matteo snatched Jonathan to him just as Jonathan had done to Jenda when she tried to run away. Matteo barred his teeth and in one quick lash ripped Jonathan’s throat open. The blood spilled out in a crimson fountain, pooling beneath the two men.

  Matteo would not drink the blood of another vampire. It was distasteful and usually only done by the insane or the very young who could not resist their blood lust. Even if he did practice what he considered cannibalism, he would not soil his body with the blood of this one. He had always been a nasty little creature but to attempt the forcible rape of Jenda and to drink her sacred blood had made him even more tainted.

  The boy’s screams were cut short by the wound in his throat and only a sick gurgling followed as he tried in his last moments to cover the gaping hole. Matteo pulled a sharp looking silver dagger from his belt. He lifted the boys head by the hair. Jonathan’s mouth worked as if he were trying to speak but only more wet bubbling sounds escaped his body. His eyes, wide and darting, began to lose the red black hue and return to gold. Then as Matteo began to severe the head from the body, Jonathan’s limbs thrashed and his eyes turned the milky white of a blind man’s.

  The gruesome task completed, Matteo discarded the head several feet from the body to which it belonged. His eyes then searched for Jenda. At first relief and then panic filled him. She wasn’t lying where Jonathan had left her. He searched frantically around the room until he found her. She had dragged herself behind one of the sofas, trying to shield herself from further abuse and from the terrible sight of Jonathan’s slaying.

  Matteo scooped her up into his arms. He cradled her more carefully than any mother ever cradled her newborn babe. Whispering sweet and comforting words, he carried her to the bedroom. Jenda couldn’t speak, she couldn’t move. She wanted to say thank you, she wanted to tell Matteo she was sorry for calling him those terrible things. Yet, she couldn’t make her body or her voice respond. She was a prisoner inside herself.

  “I understand, my little Baobhan Sith. It will be okay.” The compassion in Matteo’s voice helped her calm down but her mind was filling with the old familiar fog. Matteo’s body tensed and his grip tightened on her limp body. He could see the cloud hovering just above her conscious thoughts when he tried to read her mind.

  He laid her down onto the bed but Jenda didn’t move. She stared blankly ahead; her green eyes were clouded with terror and shock. Matteo began to panic. She was fading. Her fragile human mind wasn’t capable of taking in the horrors she had been exposed to. Her system had rejected the blood before but he must try again. She would not make the transformation in a catatonic state.

  Matteo leaned over top of Jenda, still whispering to her, trying to comfort her. He didn’t know if she could hear him or not but he was so consumed with worry that it did not matter. “My little one, my Baobhan Sith,” he crooned, “You must trust me now. You must drink.” Matteo pulled the dagger from his belt that he had used to behead Jonathan and made a neat incision across his right wrist. Jenda saw and heard nothing. She merely stood inside her own mind surrounded by the thick fog trying to call out to Matteo.

  Matteo gently lifted her head and cradled it in his arm. He pressed his wrist to Jenda’s mouth crooning the whole time, “You must drink little one. Drink to be strong.” Jenda’s body reacted on its own. Her subconscious understood that it would not survive without the thick red liquid that flowed into her from Matteo. She swallowed automatically, human instinct to survive. The blood burned her veins but she felt nothing. Her mind was separate from her body and there was no pain, no fear, only the fog. She nursed from the gaping wound like a baby nursing from its mother.

  Finally, Matteo pulled away so that she didn’t drink too much of his poisonous blood. Jenda’s only movement was to lick a small droplet from her lips. She laid silently, eyes staring blankly in front of her as if she saw only the fog that surrounded her. Matteo tried to see through it. He was desperate to wipe it away and find a conscious, coherent thought. He was afraid he had failed her, afraid that he had let her die. For the first time in a hundred years, he bent his head and wept. Red tinged tears streaming down his face, Matteo whispered, “Fight it Jenda. Fight back. If you shall fulfill your destiny you will have to fight.”

  21

  Jenda stood in the midst of the swirling white fog. She turned in a slow circle, trying to find some hole or at least a thin spot in the dense haze that surrounded her. There was no space that wasn’t clogged with it. She could feel herself beginning to panic. Her heart was pounding and tears welled in her eyes. She couldn’t escape it. She was lost in the murky smog, so thick that she could feel its weight pressing against her. It was going to crush her.

  Then suddenly she felt the first twinge of pain. It started in her stomach and spread like a wild fire up into her chest. The fires of hell were tearing through her body. Her heart labored against the thickness of her own blood. Her veins were tubes of hot lava. She held her hands out in front of her waiting to see her own flesh melt from the heat within. Another wave of liquid pain burnt through her and her own screams shattered her ears.

  Jenda curled around herself, pleading with no one but the fog to make the pain stop. She fell into a fetal position, hugging herself tightly. Each spasm of pain burnt into her, reaching farther than the last. Soon every inch of her body screamed as if she was being burnt alive upon the witch hunter’s stake. The fire inside her grew unbearable. Even her eyes burned as if they contained white-hot cores.

  As Jenda thrashed and screamed, Matteo watched in horrific awe. He wanted to help her but didn’t know how. He wanted to find Belle and plead with her to help the girl but knew that was folly. Besides, even if Belle could stop the blood burning she wouldn’t. Matteo sat, trying to hold Jenda onto the bed. If he could prevent her from hurting herself during the muscle spasms and pain then maybe she would be okay. Vampire blood, after all, could heal a human as surely as it could change them into a fledgling.

  The spasm continued for approximately five minutes but to Matteo it felt like a century had passed. He watched her slowly become more at ease though the pain was still there. He could see it in her face. Her pretty features were contorted into a mask of torment. He wanted to smooth away the lines and creases. He wanted to heal her and keep her safe. In all the years he had wandered the earth as man and monster, he had never felt so fiercely protective of any creature. Then, as if she were a fading projection, Jenda’s physical form began to flicker.

  Matteo jumped from where he kneeled beside the bed and stared in shock. Jenda’s body flickered from solid to transparent and back to solid. When she was transparent, it wasn’t completely. He could still see the color of her coppery hair, the color of her clothes. It was if she were a reflection in water. You could see her but see through her as well. His mind raced backwards to when he had burst into the room and saw her in Jonathan’s arms. She had seemed transparent then as well.

  Jenda’s body burned a little less though the pain was still a vibrant red poker jabbing at her soft flesh. She stopped thrashing and simply shut herself inside her own mind. Trying to block out the red-hot embers inside her, she began to build her world. She built the steps and climbed them. She colored the sky in bright blue and imagined the sun beating down on her skin. Its rays warmed her heart that had felt so chilled since the day she had lost Soborgne. She began to paint the green grass around the spot she had chosen for the crystal tree. Then she heard him calling to her. The voice was warm and familiar but also frightened her a little. He called her name urgently aga
in and again.

  As Jenda’s eyes slowly opened, she saw Matteo’s face looming over her. His eyes were the exact blue of the sky that she had painted. She wanted to reach out to him but her body wouldn’t listen. The burning in her veins had calmed to an electrifying heat but none of her limbs seemed to be under her control. Then she felt the wave of nausea hit her like a fist in the stomach. She lurched, still pinned by her unyielding muscles. The bile built in the back of her throat and she choked.

  Matteo swore a string of curses in Italian as he dragged Jenda’s rigid body upright. The minute she found herself vertical, the thick, frothing liquid spewed from her. She gagged and choked as violent shudders ripped through her body. He wasn’t attracted by the blood and wasn’t sure if it was because it was his own or that it, to put it politely, was slightly more than pre-used. He was thankful to whatever Gods that might smile upon a soulless beast for that small favor. If the change came over him now it would mean death for Jenda no matter his choice. If he stayed he’d slay her himself and if he abandoned her she would choke to death on her own vomit.

  At last, she spit out the last of the vile substance and her muscles unbound. Weak and disoriented, she shook with fear and curled up against Matteo’s granite chest. Weeping soundlessly, she finally mustered the strength to ask, “Am I going to die? Did you poison me?”

  Matteo looked into her green eyes and saw the terror and pain swimming in them, like emeralds half bathed in sun and half concealed in shadow. He wanted to weep, to scream, to smash everything in the room, but most of all he wanted to crush her fragile body to him.

  “Jenda, no one has poisoned you. I gave you my blood, that’s all. I swear, though it may feel like you are dying, you are not. Tell me what you remember.” He spoke quietly, trying not to look too deeply into her eyes again less he go insane.