by Lund, S. E.
Chapter 115
Julien returns later in the night while I’m asleep, but he wakes me when he starts to undress, removing his vestments, the large wooden cross knocking against the dresser top when he removes it. He stands naked before the window for a moment as if he’s deep in thought, and I wonder what’s going through his mind.
He’s been eight hundred years away from the priesthood, and now has held a mass. The first one I bet he’s done since he left the church.
I turn over and watch him stalk to the bathroom and listen as he splashes water over his face and then returns, slipping into bed beside me. He doesn’t touch me, his back to me.
“Julien,” I say and reach out, laying my hand on his back.
He turns over and in the light from the window, I see his cheekbones, his blue eyes, and dark arched brows.
“I can’t be with you tonight, Eve,” he says and yawns. “Not after all that.”
“You can’t even hug me? I need some reassurance.”
He moves closer and pulls me against his body, my head on his shoulder, my arm around his chest.
“How are you feeling? Was that your first mass since you left the church?”
He sighs heavily. “No,” he says and I feel his heart beat under my cheek. “I did it once before today, when I was the only person available. But it feels wrong.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, feeling bad for him, wanting to comfort him. I try to let the walls down between us, but he’s blocking me for some reason.
“Julien,” I say, rising up on my elbow so I can see his face better. “Why won’t you let me in?”
He lies back, his arm behind his head. “I can’t be with you, Eve,” he says once more. “I need distance. I need to process everything.”
I lie back down on my back, several inches of space between us and it feels like a million miles. Without being able to connect with him, I have no idea what he’s thinking or feeling. All I know is that I need him and want him. I want to lose myself in him, but he won’t let me in.
It only adds to my sadness, my throat closing, tears brimming once more in my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I wish you could understand…”
“Show me and I will understand,” I say, but I know it’s no use. This thing he has with the church is beyond my understanding. I was never a believer. I can’t be one. I accept that he has faith, but it’s a divide that neither of us can cross.
That doesn’t make it hurt any less.
“Good night,” he says and I want to lash out in anger, but I hold myself back. He doesn’t need me being difficult.
“Good night, Julien,” I say softly and roll over so that my back is to him.
I barely sleep the rest of the night.
* * *
The next morning when I wake up, Julien is already up and dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling on his socks.
“You’re up early,” I say and yawn, stretching. Usually, I look forward to the day, but not today. Today, we’ll likely resurrect more of Soren’s brethren. I don’t want to do it, but I see no alternative.
“We have to get busy. We’re doing an early mass because Soren wants to raise the rest of the Twelve as quickly as possible. We’re going to do three at a time until they’re all back.”
He turns to face me, his eyes haggard and I suspect he didn’t sleep well either. “You’d better get up and get ready. You’ll need to have some blood to prepare yourself. It’s going to take a lot out of you.”
I nod and slip out from beneath the warm coverlet, and pad to the bathroom. I feel Julien’s eyes on me, and some of his longing for me slips through whatever barriers he’s put up between us – or Soren has put up for him – and it sends a thrill through me. It heartens me to think that whatever has happened, at least he still wants me.
But it must be confusing for him, this priesthood without the celibacy clause that Soren has instituted. It must be so against his grain.
I wash and dress, and soon, the two of us are ready for the day. We drink down a glass of preserved blood, clinking our glasses together before we do.
“Here’s to getting this plague stopped,” Julien says, his eyes meeting mine, his expression serious.
“Yes,” I say. “And to the cure.”
“To the cure.”
We drink and then place our glasses on the sideboard. Some servant will arrive later when we’re out and clean up, so now that we’ve both fed, it’s time to go to the Cathedral for mass.
* * *
Over the next two weeks, Soren resurrects the remaining members of the Twelve, one after the other. Julien is still a priest and although we sleep together in the same bed, he doesn’t make love to me. It frustrates me, but I understand that Julien can’t. Soren’s way of giving me reason to cooperate. On the final night, I’m exhausted by the time we arrive back at the compound. I’d like to go right to my rooms, but Soren invites us for dinner and he makes it clear it’s an invitation we can’t turn down. While I’m tired and want a hot bath and bed, I know I need real food as well.
We sit around the table and eat the venison, roasted root vegetables, and dark bread, drinking in some burgundy wine as accompaniment.
Julien sits beside me, still in his vestments, and we are silent, listening to the resurrected angels speaking to each other. They caught up mentally after each resurrection, our connection through the blood still strong, and now they are busy talking about the strategy moving forward.
So as much as I would love to be back in my rooms, I know this is important to know and don’t want to leave.
Soren relates how far the plague has spread to the latest who we resurrected and the other angels murmur about the human cost, and how long it will take to recover. I am surprised at their expression of remorse for how far the plague has spread. For some reason, I thought that they didn’t really care too much about the human cost, and cared more about what it meant for them and their position in the new post-apocalypse world Blackstone has created.
But I can sense their real concern, their real heartbreak, at the stories we hear from several of Soren’s lieutenants, who report on the death toll, and of Blackstone’s factory farms where humans are both slaves to work the fields and continue producing food, while at the same time, donating blood.
Some are chosen specifically for blood, while others are chosen for labor and spend their days in backbreaking work, tilling the fields using rusty old machinery that has sat idle for a century once the era of fossil fuels was ushered in.
Farms are once again running on brute animal power – horses, oxen, and men – pulling tillers, sowing seeds – whatever. It seems as if Blackstone and his people enjoy the return to pre-fossil fuel era, but to me it means back to a pre-technological era where humans were not much more than oxen.
Now, we’re – they’re – not much more than blood bags for vampire overlords.
That’s true, Eve. That’s what Blackstone has brought humanity down to. I don’t want it. But it will take some more finessing on our part to stop this plague.
I drink my wine and don’t respond. It’s enough for me to feel the emotions and know the thoughts of the Twelve as they sit around their leader and discuss the coming battle with Blackstone.
Soren believes that a lot more humans will die before the plague is stopped and before Blackstone breathes his last breath. I also know that Soren wants to be the one to stick a stake through Blackstone’s heart and that of his son. The hatred I feel from him is so much stronger than I imagined.
I think that Soren’s been preparing for this battle for years. That was why he established all his training camps, teaching humans how to fight vampires effectively. Taking the brightest and best soldiers, turning them into vampires, and gathering them for a huge battle he anticipates will come all too soon.
I sit at my seat, a few chairs down from Soren, and watch him speaking with his soldiers and the other Twelve. He is the serious general now, talki
ng strategy, and how even if they stop the plague, which they plan to do very soon when Dylan brings the cure to them, they will be fighting a war for ascendance over Blackstone.
Of course, I didn’t think of that – I thought that they would defeat Blackstone, get the cure to the plague and it would all be over. It seems the reverse will be the case. Dylan will turn over the cure, the plague will be stopped, and then the war with Blackstone will start.
At that moment, Dylan and another of Soren’s lieutenants arrives in the room and takes a seat. Dylan is wearing a cloak and has a broadsword in a scabbard on his hip. He shrugs the cloak off before sitting at a spot beside me, leaning in to kiss my cheek.
“Sister,” he says softly.
The man with Dylan is young, strong, and has scars on his face as if he’s seen many battles.
“What news?” Soren says and motions to the servant to pour wine.
“We’ve heard tell of Michel on the road to New York City,” Dylan says, his voice low and deep. “He’s stopped in at several churches along the way, giving sermons, holding mass and communion.”
“And? What was the gist of his sermons?” Soren says, his brow knit. He turns to the other and shakes his head. “Not that I have any doubt.”
“Not good,” the lieutenant says and drinks down some wine. “Mostly that you’re a false god and that you’ll lead them all to sin. He’s trying to undermine you at every turn.”
“Damn him,” Soren says and motions to his own glass. The servant moves slowly to his side to pour but Soren is impatient. He grabs the flagon of wine from the man, shoving him out of the way, his eyes flashing in anger. He pours his own wine and slams the flagon onto the table. “Damn him to hell,” he says and glances around at the other angels. “The last thing I needed was a rebellion on Michel’s part. What the fuck did I do to lose him?”
He looks in each of our faces but no one has anything to offer.
“He has to be found. He has to be brought back into the fold. Or, he has to die. There’s no other option.”
The others discuss Michel’s rebellion, their voices rising and falling but I can barely listen, for I’m filled with dread at the prospect of Michel dying.
“This is war, Eve,” Soren says out loud. All eyes turn to me. “Even if we stop the plague, humanity is still in it for a long bloody time. People will die. Perhaps Michel will as well, if he won’t cooperate.” Soren eyes are filled with determination.
“Yes, Eve,” he says quietly, but his voice carries, and everyone listens raptly. “The coming battle will be very bloody. We’ll need everyone to pull together. That’s why I want you to find Michel and bring him back to me. I need him on my side, not fighting against me and Blackstone. If he thinks that will solve anything, he’s wrong. It’s a choice between me and Blackstone. There is no other way. He has to realize that truth or die. I can’t afford to have him fighting against me.”
“And you think I can change his mind?” I say and shake my head. The others turn to watch me. “I don’t have that kind of influence over him.”
“You alone can bring him back,” Soren says. “I’ll send you soon. But first, we have food to eat and wine to drink. And something special on the agenda.”
He raises his glass to Dylan and to me, but I refuse to toast with him, for my dread is so heavy on my heart that I can’t imagine toasting anything.
I glance at Dylan, whose color is high, his cheeks flushed. He stands and holds up his glass.
“I want to make a special toast to the coming battle. I’ve been working with Blackstone for the past month, while they’ve been perfecting the plague virus and trying to ensure they can control it more effectively. Lucky for me, I have a few friends among the scientists working there – old professors who I worked with at college. We’ve been working on the antidote. I think we have a version we can test and if it produces the results we’ve seen in the lab, we’ll have this thing licked in no time. It’s just a matter of producing as much of the antidote as we can as quickly as we can.”
“Can you show us?” Soren says, leaning back in his chair, his expression open and calm now.
“I’ve brought along something to show you, so you have proof. Note that this is only on a small scale. We barely have any of the antidote produced and will need to get a lab up and running immediately if we want to have any quantity to stop the plague before it reaches Ghawar.”
“Consider my vast wealth at your disposal,” Soren says with a smile. “Please, continue on with your demonstration.”
Dylan leaves the table and goes to a bag he left beside the entrance. From inside the bag, he pulls out a glass vial with a clear amber liquid in it. He returns to the table and moves his plate, cutlery and glasses out of the way so that he has an empty spot in front of his seat.
While we watch, he takes the lid off the vial and pours it out onto the tablecloth. At first, we see nothing except the viscous liquid pooling on the linen and then soaking in, spreading out from the original spot. He quickly returns the stopper into the mouth of the vial and puts it on the table.
“Watch,” he says and as we do, the liquid, which I assume is petroleum oil of some quality, soon starts to grow dark, as if it’s changing state.
“You can see that there are still nanoviruses in circulation even now. They’ve found the oil and are starting to denature it. It shouldn’t take too long.”
A moment passes and the blob of oil grows darker and the surface starts to dim, turning from the shiny amber to a dusty-looking grey-black. It changes shape before our eyes, and is now more of a pile of dark particles, like dust.
Dylan reaches into the pile of dust and rubs his fingers in it, lifting them up so we can see that the oil has been completely transformed into some kind of useless carbon dust.
“See how quickly it is destroyed?”
He takes a linen napkin and wipes his fingers off. Then, he reveals a small dropper with a clear liquid in it and sets it aside. He repeats the previous actions, pouring out an amount of petroleum oil from the vial onto the linen tablecloth, but before it starts to turn grey, he empties the dropper of clear liquid onto the oil.
Nothing happens except the oil seems to absorb the even more viscous liquid into it. No greying of the surface, no darkening of the oil. It remains amber.
He takes a candle and dips the flame towards the oil, and it burns.
Everyone oohs and ahhs at the sight for we’ve witnessed the cure to the plague. Dylan holds up the vial and smiles at Soren.
“So there you have it,” he says and turns to me, smiling. “A cure for the plague.”
Everyone claps and Soren stands and raises his glass high. “To Dylan and the scientists working with Blackstone for their treachery. It wouldn’t have been possible without you, Dylan. You’ll be well rewarded.”
“When?” Dylan asks, and his tone seems impatient.
“Why not right now?” Soren says and glances at the others. “We’re all here. Eve’s here. We can work a little resurrection magic amongst the fourteen of us, don’t you think?”
The other angels nod and Dylan turns to me. “Eve,” he says, his face hopeful, his eyes wide. “Will you help?”
“Help what?”
“Sarah…” he says, as I remember that Soren promised to resurrect Sarah if Dylan succeeded in bringing him the cure for the plague.
My God…
Chapter 116
“Of course!” I say and hug him when he comes over. He squeezes me and presses his face into my hair. “Thank you, sister,” he says, and I hear the emotion in his voice, which is close to breaking. He was afraid I wouldn’t comply but of all those we resurrected, Sarah will be the only one I really want to bring back to life.
We end our embrace and Soren motions to us to sit back down.
“Bring her in. We can do it now,” Soren says and two guards leave the room. Dylan sits back down and his hands shake visibly even from where I sit. My own heart starts to speed up in excitement. The
thought of resurrecting Sarah is a happy one and I turn to watch as the guards roll in one of the containment tanks.
Soren stands and goes over to the tank, resting his hands on the side. He looks down at Sarah, and I can just see a peek of red hair from where I sit. Dylan stands and goes over to stand beside Soren. His eyes are already wet, his face flushed with emotion.
“Come, Eve,” Soren says. “Let’s do this. I need you to share blood with us all so we can combine our powers. Julien, you can do the honors.”
Julien stands and goes over to the sideboard on which a silver chalice sits. I see now that there is a sharp knife beside it. Soren had this planned all along – did he know that Dylan was coming with the cure?
Julien brings the knife over to me and I hold out my wrist, allowing him to cut the skin, my blood dripping bright red into the silver chalice. After a few drops have filled the bottom of the chalice, he moves on and repeats this with Soren and the Twelve and then returns to me so I can take a drink. We all drink from the chalice, all fourteen of us and instantly, I’m assaulted with their combined consciousness, all at once and I don’t know how they can do it. I don’t know how they can bear the weight of so many minds joining at once. It’s far more than I have ever experienced and I feel dwarfed by their minds, ageless beings who have been in existence for thousands upon thousands of years…
Still, they seem to coalesce around a single goal – resurrecting Sarah. Soren places his hand on her chest, and the Twelve gather around and watch, with Dylan standing close by Soren. Dylan turns to me and motions to me to join him. I go to his side and he puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me close so that the three of us are standing, staring down into the tank where beautiful pale Sarah lies naked in the tank gel, her hair floating so peacefully, her lips slightly bluish, her eyes closed.
In their minds, the Twelve and Soren debate whether to restore her to immediately before the event or earlier. It might be harmful for her to remember those moments before she died. They go inside of her inert body, their minds searching out hers as life is restored to her flesh – how, I have no idea -- but I can feel it as they feel it. A bright light similar to previous resurrections surrounds her. Her heart beats slowly at first, lub dub, lub dub. She doesn’t need to breathe for the gel contains an extremely high oxygen level and so it passes into her lungs and into her blood even as she is lying there, her chest unmoving. It is enough to keep her from dying completely, to keep her brain from dying. They search out her memories and find the moment, the last moments she laid down in memory as she struggled for breath but none came, and the look of panic on her parents faces as they realized that they couldn’t save her…