“You make me want to dance!” I say, flinging myself away and I bound into a chasse.
I dip my head back, relishing the way the moonlight strikes me like a chord. I am enthralled, charmed by the lawlessness. I am unsettled in the forest. It is like a dark hamlet in my thought, and I can envision fairy creatures, dryads and nymphs, watching excitably. They want us here. Perhaps, they’d called us here to be immersed in the magic of the woods. To be alone and oh so ephemeral in our youth.
He watches me and my upsurge of ballet, smile fading.
“Look at you. You are so free,” he says.
“Not so much as you.”
I twirl then sway against my momentum, my hands crumpling around my shift skirt. I stop and breathe out, a cloud diffusing before my mouth. “This is not me, it’s…”
I glower, putting a hand to my forehead. “It’s not who I am. Rather, who I’ve been up until this point. When I am not with you, it’s all just a memory. I go back to who I was before.”
His jaw is set and he stares silently, allowing me to have my ire.
“In that house, I am a captive,” I say, tone prickly. “I am no one. A ghost.”
Benjamin saunters to me, so that he stands right before me. “You are who you say you are. From what I’ve seen, you are intelligent, kind beyond reason.” He chuckles. “You want more for your life than what you’ve been given, and you have your entire life before you.”
I smirk, feeling the transient pomp of what he says. Right before me, he stands, as beautiful and wickedly charming as a rogue with a crown. He stirs the longings within me. I cannot deny it. But is this truly who I am? Or am I putting on a false face for him, hoping that I can keep up?
“Benjamin, you do not know me. You have known me for all of a fortnight and still have asked for my hand in marriage. I am not as smart or kind as you might think. I cannot ignore who I am any more than you can. And I am…I am cold and detached.”
“Aren’t you the one that said yes?” His lips curl, and he draws me closer, his arms twining round me protectively.
“Someday, you’ll have to stop living in your sadness, let it shed from you like a skin. And when you come out, you’ll be renewed. You will not make excuses for yourself. You will not doubt yourself. You will live like it is your birthright to capture the world.”
Tears bundle on my lashes, and I cannot help but feel overwhelmed. By what, I do not know. All I know is that his words snare me, inciting a fire that will never be extinguished.
“And then you’ll dance through the night.” He raises his arm. “Just like you did a moment ago, but you won’t stop to doubt yourself.”
He frames me into position, hand cupping mine. Then he begins to hum a modulated tone in a resonating tenor. He pulls me with passion, and we circle round in a dance common to the King’s courts, a gentle minuet.
We dance beneath the splendor of the night. A few moments later we couple into laughter again.
We spin at last and land on the grass, falling over the other, entrenching ourselves in grime. The wet earth soaks through our night clothes, spiking our skin with a chill that soaks to the bone. We lie together, my head resting in the crook of his arm, cheek settled on the rise and fall of his chest. I drape my arm round his middle possessively and listen to his heartbeat.
“Do you really believe it?” I ask him on impulse.
He stares up through the arcing bows and jags of tree branches, up towards the glittery, symphonic skies. The stars reflect in his eyes, and I cannot help but watch breathlessly. He is a mystery, someone I’d only subconsciously desired. By looking at him you would not expect him to have a tongue like he does, with his misplaced wisdom. But he does, and he is swathed in mysticism.
“I believe that we would not have attracted one another if we did not want the same things. People with similar wants seem to find one another, don’t they? You are meant for something more than being married off and bearing children to a man you hardly know.”
“Then why is that what is pushed upon me? It is the only life I’ve known. It is what this culture, my family, even the King of France would expect of me, isn’t it?”
“Well,” he chuckles, “that is the song of the caged bird. It was born there, put there by a hand that is in higher power, something that controls its position and place. It sings its sorry song, always longing to be freed.”
My eyes narrow, and I listen intently.
“And I am the bird?”
“Yes. But what would you do if you were freed? Some birds, their wings are clipped. They are permanently damaged. The experiences they’ve been through, the constant cutting of their wings, keep them stuck in that place. Stuck in that cage. They’ll never be free of it, and they accept it. They don’t long for more because their wings are cut. You, you are still innocent. You have not been pressed down so much that your curiosity has died. Your wings still work.”
My limbs course with electrical currents, and I feel the rushing of my blood, great pumps of it threading from my heart, his words exhilarating to my mind. They are like drugs to me. I do want more, so much more. I want to live outside the laws of the world and what they tell me I should be. I do not want to exist in a box. In a cage. I want to do different, to search the earth and its mysteries of knowledge. To question it all and not be told what to think simply because it is the commonly accepted thought.
“Do not hinder yourself with sadness and defeat,” he whispers in my ear, almost seductively.
I tilt my chin and stare into his eyes as he already stares down at me. As I lean up, our lips conjoin. His are supple and sweet, and we exchange our passion so deliciously that I do not want to move. I do not want this moment to end. Love. It squalls in my heart, a word so underrated in explanation for what I feel.
Alphonse
The days in this house have not become me. I am anxious and only a small space nearer to having Claire as my own. I want to get back to Paris. It is like a sickening addiction, and I cannot help myself from obsessing over the dark mysteries I have yet to understand. I saw my father watch Giselle as if she were a jewel he wanted to shine. Benjamin, no doubt, did not notice because of his own infatuation.
The words of Monsieur Vauquelin echo in my head. She is someone important to them, to their ancient science and a promise of their intended outcome. I sweat in my bed, beads of it thick on my back and belly as I wonder after what it is they want, and what I have done. The mattress beneath me, stuffed plump with goose feathers, is lumpy and I finally sit up, unable to settle.
I must speak with my father. In the middle of the night, I drag myself to the chambers father is staying in. I enter wordlessly and the shut of the door jerks him awake. He squints at me through the moonlight that comes in from the far window.
“Good God, Alphonse, what is it?”
His small black eyes peep back at me from the pillow and he sits upright. I go to the candles and strike a match, letting the flame reach their wicks. The shadows pour out. I grab a chair, swing it around by its wooden rung, and seat myself before my father.
“I have to know. I have to understand,” I demand.
A ripple of irritation courses through him. I have yet to be this bold. But now, I cannot live in this world of shadows being blind. I need answers.
“What do you have to understand? You know that you are doing sacred works. That should be enough for you.” His voice is groggy, sloshing with fatigue.
I shake my head in stiff little twitches.
“I cannot keep doing this. I have other wants. How does one know what they do is right if they have no base for their faith?”
I look down. I think he will be disappointed that I do not just keep quiet and do as they ask me. That I must question and vie for more. Will he shut me out of their operations? If I tell him that I want a life with Claire, will there still be room for the dark works that I have been inducted into? Will he play me for the fool as he does Benjamin? I almost laugh to myself then. I am no fool. I
have killed for their cause. I am the one father chose, not Benjamin. I am stronger than him, and I will continue their work after my father is gone. Father should be investing further in me.
“Many people go their whole lives never questioning the purpose or plan of their god or the duties that their master puts upon them. They simply believe. Why is this a struggle for you now?”
“I do not want to be a follower of something I am blind to,” I round. “I want to know what it is you are doing with the people. I want to know why.”
“Yes and so suddenly? You need immediate understanding?” Father lets out raspy chuckles, his chest cavorting with the effort.
“Before it was…simpler,” I explain, rolling my hands together.
“Simpler?” His grin becomes wide. “Simpler as in, you did not have a Claire to think upon before, correct?”
My eyes narrow. “So, what if that is the reason? I have a right to know.”
“You have no right to any of it, Alphonse.”
When he tells me this, it feels like a slap. It stings me and numbs me all at once. I stand, my limbs shaking with rage.
“I have the blood of many, far too many, on my hands! All for you, Father. Now, I stand here, asking you to give me some form of understanding, and you give me nothing? Not even a summation of what you and Monsieur Vauquelin are doing beyond those closed doors in Paris? Do you truly think that I will follow you forever like this? That I will not cave in on myself from madness? What then? Will you kill me? Will I be nothing to you, just as Benjamin is nothing? Will you root me out and cast me aside?”
I am aching with fury, my chest spasming with adrenaline.
“I could ruin your experiment. I could go to the authorities and turn you both in and let you rot in prison like dogs. I could take everything from you. Everything!”
Father’s eyes droop into a sinking resolve. I have never seen him like this. I have either deeply offended him or saddened him immensely, but when he speaks, he is strangely calm. “I will address a few things. First, Benjamin is my son. He is not nothing to me. I do not involve him in these things because he is not fit for it. His stomach is too light for the things we deal with; wouldn’t you agree? Secondly, you would do well not to threaten me. Thirdly,” he sighs and then shakes his head and groans, “I will tell you only enough so that you do not feel I have slighted you. And if that will stop you from coming into my room and ripping me out of a nice slumber during the midnight hours, well, it will be words well spent.”
My heart thunders in my chest, and I seat myself once more.
“I will tell it like a story, shall I?” Father grunts and lays a hand to his temple as if it is aching and then raises a finger. “And let me finish before you start firing off that cannon of a mouth.”
I nod. I have waited so long for this moment that I can hardly believe it is here. It feels like the air is electric around me, as if a primordial aura now rests upon us, and the earth itself waits in suspense for the words to be spoken.
“Humans were never meant to be expiring creatures. We were supposed to live on forever. Then, one anomaly, one flaw in our design, and we mutated into lesser creatures. Creatures that die. This flaw continued to be born into generation after generation until there were only a few people left with this immortality. Now, this immortality, from what we know, can be traced back to ancient creatures and humanoids. What separates them from us is that they are magic, born flawless in their energies. Have you studied the elements? Alchemy? No matter. These creatures exist with much of the same makeup that you and I have, but with this specific element to their blood. Magic. We only call it that because we have yet to understand it.”
He pauses to assess my face, but I am hiding my thoughts until the end as he instructed. I will not deter him in any way. But damn, my body is ice. My head spins.
“Regardless, in ancient times a cabal formed to protect the knowledge of the magic creatures. These humans caught whatever holders of magic they could find and did long experiments with their blood and body parts, attempting to discover how to correct the flaw in humanity.”
He swallows.
“In this process they made the discovery that humans were built up of our matter and elements, but also, an unknown force of energy. Our souls. Even the magic creatures have them. They are the “us” we are when we are parted from our bodies. This assisted the people in recalling their past lives. Our souls are endless, and our bodies were meant to be endless, don’t you see? Now, we are set in a trap of death and being reborn. It’s a fatal mistake.”
I am confused. None of it makes sense.
“Somehow, the members of this ancient cabal wrote it in their souls to remember everything so that when they died, they could resume their previous activities. Monsieur Vauquelin is one of them. The last, as he’s said. He is unable to find the rest of his people. Although, he continues to do their work. The sacred work of attempting to create a person of immortality.”
“You said that it was impossible with our flawed designs?” I snap.
“Ah, but the cabal had a theory. They recognized that these magic creatures were able to live forever. They knew that there had to be a key to unlocking our bodies true potential. Thus, they began their experiments. All they needed was the blood of a magic creature who possessed this alternative flawlessness. But the formula, as you could call it, is very particular. It is nasty if you get it wrong. If you infuse the blood of a magic creature into that of the wrong human, you get varying results. Some humans are not strong enough, or they are too strong and are able to resist. And because there were so many kinds of magical creatures, their bloods are different. Their bloods can have different effects upon people. Especially the monstrous ones. They can create certain powers or cursed beings.”
“So, that is what he’s doing? Trying to find the correct combination to create an immortal human?” I say it and I feel ridiculous.
This is a ghost story. A fairytale. A dream of madness and opium.
“Yes.”
His response is crisp and succinct. There is no mistaking it.
“What the fuck?” I whisper and hang my head in my hands. “Of all the things…”
My father’s brows raise, and he smirks, crossing his arms over his chest. “What? Not what you expected?”
“I’d sooner…I only…I don’t know what I expected but it was not this,” I squeeze out the words. “Wait, he has the blood then, the magic, now? Where did he get it?”
Father sighs.
“I gave it to him.”
I am bewildered, “How?”
“Well, throughout my travels I have seen many a strange thing. None that I could prove or catch until I pulled up my nets one afternoon. I believe we were in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. My men and I were starving. We finally saw fish in the water, threw out our nets and low and behold, there was a woman with a fishtail. I boxed her up. I knew she’d fetch us a healthy sum.”
“Yes, no matter, you’d just caught a siren. Money is the first thing I’d think of,” I say, sarcasm edging my voice.
It takes everything in me not to ask what she looked like, if the legends are true.
“You don’t know the people that are out there.” He grits his teeth. “Men wasted away, only living for themselves and gold all to piss it away on whores and ale. The way it was, that was the only way to survive at that point. I didn’t have time for ethical reflection. I thought I could make enough to finally settle myself and give you boys a better life. This was only a few months after Benjamin was born. You were still in France with your mother. When I realized how much wealth I could accrue from selling the creature, I knew that things would be good.” He shuffles in his bed, and looks down. “Somehow, Monsieur Vauquelin found me. In the pirate ports, you find easy selling but also willing buyers. I assume that is what he was waiting for. He sought me out and offered me more than enough. After that, I sailed back to the Island where Ben’s tribe was. I had no need for his mother and took
him with me. I assumed your mother would take care of him.
“Alas, your mother left. Angry that I slept with another woman and that I was asking her to look after another child. A child that wasn’t hers, no less.” He laughs, as if finding humor in the rotten memory. “I had to hire a nursemaid but you both turned out all right.”
I rise, intending to leave. I have much to think about, to make coherent in my mind. After listening to him, I feel like my head is now heavy and near broken.
“What, that offends you?” Father mutters.
“No,” I say, unwilling to reminisce on my mother. “This whole conversation is asinine.”
“You wanted to know.” He exhales sharply. “Now, tell me, do you think you were more likely to ‘cave in on yourself from madness’ before or now that you know the truth?”
I shake my head, unwilling to respond. He knows my answer.
“This is lunacy. I need proof,” I utter.
“Don’t push your luck boy,” Father growls. “This is it. This is what you’ve been waiting to know. Now, you know it. You should be thankful I even told you. Vauquelin may not be happy with me for it.”
“Why does he trust you?” I ask.
“Damn it with the questions, Alphonse! He trusts me because I have proven myself. Just as you will in due time.”
I sigh and sling my hands in my breeches.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to get back to bed. I was deep in sleep before you brought your damnable questions in here.”
I nod and go to the candles. I stamp the flames down with the candle snuffer and lie the instrument on the table. Blackness envelops my sight and I fumble my way in the general direction of the door. When I find its latch, I hear him stir.
“Alphonse,” his tone is oily. “We are the ancient cabal. The only ones in the world who hold this knowledge. This world is home to mystery beyond our wildest dreams. Remember that.”
The Blood of Caged Birds (Mortalsong Book 1) Page 10