My Soul Immortal

by Jen Printy

  He steps away without meeting my eyes. “Bye, Jack,” he whispers then slips out of sight. I hear the click of his bedroom door shutting.

  I lean against the sink, resting my forehead on the cold mirror. Moisture pools in my eyes. I look straight into the mirror, past my likeness, past the reflected room, directly into a pair of emerald-green eyes. In my magnificent delusion, she’s whole and healthy, standing in front of me, behind a pane of glass. I cannot continue to exist while knowing that saving her is within my grasp.

  “So sorry, love,” I whisper. “There’s no other way.”

  I tug my shirt over my head and walk into the living room. In the weak glow of a streetlight, Artagan reclines on the couch, looking at home as he thumbs through a magazine. What a difference those four short weeks have made—the happiest, scariest, and most painful of my life.

  “Let’s get out of here. I want to get this over with,” I say.

  Artagan stands and tosses the magazine on the couch. I shadow his steps out the door.

  Within an hour, we’re on a train. God only knows where we’re heading. Somewhere northeast of York is all I can figure. The gray curtain of rain streaks in diagonal patterns across the glass, blurring the scenery beyond. A suggestion of pink bleeds into the eastern sky and hints at morning. Looking past the reflection of my drawn face, I see Leah’s enraged expression staring back at me. Her emerald eyes spark wildly. I can even hear her words in my head. Jack Hammond, don’t you even think about sacrificing yourself. Turn around now and come back to me.

  I shake my head. Too late to change my mind, love. I exhale and glare out the window, trying to look beyond the furious likeness.

  “Beer?” Artagan asks, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Yes. Can you see if they carry Prize Old Ale?”

  He nods, stands, and leaves. When he returns, he shoves a glass of amber liquid into my hand. “No Prize.”

  “Course not,” I grumble.

  “Thought you might need something harder anyway.”

  He’s right, of course. I hold up the glass. “To what I’ve always wanted.”

  Artagan brings the glass to his lips but stops before he sips. “Leah.”

  “No. To Death.”

  Liar, says the voice in my head—her voice.

  I gulp down the woody-tasting liquid in one swallow. The burn ripples down my throat, followed shortly by a numbness leaching through my body. I roll my shoulders and crack my neck, hoping to loosen the tension stored in my muscles, but the tautness seems cemented in place.

  “I grasp more of your situation than you might realize,” Artagan says. “The legend you’ve heard about me isn’t entirely accurate. After being handed down through the generations, the story has been shortened and modified. Portions are true. Olluna was an immortal who fled her village and died, but that’s where the truth and the legend diverge.”

  I recall the fictional version of my story that Ian the waiter shared as gospel. As truths and legends are wont to do.

  “Blackmuir Wood was a refuge for the Endless in 1406. That is what immortals were called in those days. The humans believed the woods to be haunted or some such rubbish, so they never entered. A small sanctuary for the immortals was established there. My family lived with them after my mother was accused of dabbling in witchcraft because of her ability to heal with herbs. If you know your history, you know it wasn’t a splendid time to be accused of that particular crime. We were strangers, but the Endless took us in as if we were one of their own. The life was good, peaceful. After my parents’ deaths, my brother left to seek a different life, but I stayed.

  “Olluna wandered into the settlement one night. I remember how her hair gleamed like silver in the moonlight. She was the most enchanting creature I’d ever seen, skin like alabaster, eyes of sea-foam green. She stole my breath and heart in the same instant. I never believed in love at first sight before seeing her. Shortly after her arrival, Brennus died, and I became one of the Endless.”

  “That’s right. You weren’t always immortal,” I whisper. The wheels in my head begin to spin.

  “No. Thus, the reason I’m not carded at every pub I walk into.” He chuckles. “Frozen at age forty-two. It’s you, the ones born immortal, who have it rough, always looking nineteen,” he says, a suggestion of sarcasm hidden in his voice.

  How did I forget the difference between my apparent age and Artagan’s? Long ago, Artagan had been a soul immortal just as Leah is. Excitement builds in my gut. “So why won’t this work for her? Why couldn’t Leah become an immortal? You did.”

  Artagan dismisses the idea with a flip of his hand. “For two reasons. Number one, only council members can pass on their immortality. Do you know which one she’s related to?”

  “No, of course not, but you must.”

  “Members only know their own relations—a carefully guarded secret.”

  “But if I searched and found who it was…” I say, my voice elevated.

  He’s shaking his head before I can finish. “Through millennia of tangled family tree branches? Research of that vast scope could take months, even years. I’m sorry, but I can’t give you that kind of time.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek, and a metallic taste fills my mouth. My hand rolls into a fist, and I hit the back of the seat in front of me. A man grunts, then shoots me an annoyed glare from between the backrests. I return the scowl, and he turns around.

  Artagan lowers his voice to a hushed whisper. “Number two. Killing an immortal is damn near impossible. I’ve tried. So have you. Immortals as old as the council members aren’t ancient by chance. They’re cunning and suspicious of everyone.” Artagan finishes his scotch with a long swig.

  “Soon after, I took my inherited seat on the council. I chose to continue to live at the settlement. My new duties summoned me away often, but my time spent with Olluna kept me sane. Over the next months, I courted her. She loved the flowers that grew high in the mountains. I would pick them for her on my journeys home. Eventually, she came to love me, too, and I asked her to be my wife.”

  A burning ache flares in my chest. What I wouldn’t give to be able to call Leah my wife, to have a future that included me on one knee, Leah saying yes, and a wedding. I shudder at the thought and reach for my glass then realize it’s empty.

  A steward walks down the narrow aisle, managing a refreshment cart. I raise my hand to catch the man’s attention. He slows and looks down with a pleasant smile. “Yes, sir?”

  “Scotch, please.”

  “How would like that, sir? On the rocks? With water—”

  “Neat, and make it a double.”

  Artagan eyes me, impressed. “I’ll have the same,” he says.

  I pay the man and send him on his way. I take several swallows of whiskey, letting the warmth numb some of my pain before I turn to Artagan. “What happened?”

  “Olluna and I were married in the spring—her favorite season. By the end of year, we were expecting our first child. Those two years with Olluna first as my friend and then as my bride were the happiest time of my existence, until one afternoon, when an urgent message arrived from the council. The note was from Vita, calling an emergency gathering.” His voice turns hard as he finishes.

  I sneer. “How could you have trusted her?”

  “You must understand—I didn’t know Vita’s nature then. She appeared to be indifferent, not evil. I didn’t know Vita’s hatred for Brennus had passed to me. She hid her true nature well, until she struck like the viper she is.” He pauses. “Back then, we met in a castle ruin in northern Italy’s Apennines. When I got to the council chamber, Vita wasn’t there. No one was, except Thanatos. He was confused by my sudden arrival and told me no message had been sent. I traveled through shadow and was in Blackmuir Wood within moments, but I was already too late. The settlement had been destroyed. No one was left. I searched the forest for Olluna.

  “I found her crumpled and bleeding at the bottom of the white cliffs. They’d thrown
her down. Our baby lay dead in her arms, born too early. He was mortal. I buried our son, whom I named Lugus, at the bottom of the cliff and then carried Olluna up into the mountains to a cave I knew well. I cared for her, but her spirit was broken and couldn’t be healed. She cried every night for our dead son. Sometimes, I’d catch her rocking an imaginary baby in her arms, singing to the emptiness. She died on the night of the first full moon, lying as an angel on our baby’s grave.”

  His voice breaks off. He pinches the bridge of his nose, closes his eyes, and sits silently. I watch him, unable to tear my eyes from his still form. His expression tells of the turmoil raging inside. Artagan’s pain is a harsh reminder. My plan has to work. I can’t go back to a life without her. My manic energy spikes. I fidget in my seat, having a difficult time sitting still. I wish my sacrifice were over; I want Leah safe, and honestly, I’m not looking forward to the pain of dying. Taking another long swig, I let the alcohol settle my angst once again.

  When Artagan begins again, his voice is strained, as if he’s attempting to restrain a wild beast inside him. “She’d already eaten the hemlock. Following her death, I headed to where the men came from—a small town on the wood’s edge.” Blue flames of rage behind his eyes break free, and his stony facade crumbles away. A savage grin takes the place of his heartache. The look sends a shiver straight through me like an icy blade. “In the dead of night, I walked into the village. I took the children first, allowing them to meet the angels from their sleep. Their mothers needed to feel the pain of losing a child, just as my Olluna did. The women were next. With my fraudulent pleas to save themselves, I led them from the village and sent them running up to the top of the white bluffs. The men thought the women were possessed by demons and chased after them. But by the time the women reached the edge of the cliffs, I had complete control of their minds, and they followed my whispers to their deaths.”

  Artagan chuckles unsympathetically and takes a long sip of his drink. He bears no resemblance to the man he must have been before Death and tragedy sank their talons into him. Instead, a callous monster sits by my side.

  I can’t purge the pictures of dying children and tormented mothers from my head. “How can you be so cavalier? You killed children. None of them had a hand in Olluna’s death.”

  “Walk a mile in my shoes, Jack, then judge me. Until then, you may keep your opinions to yourself.”

  I bite my tongue. Play nice. Remember, you need him, not the other way around. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

  Artagan nods once. “When the time came to take the men, I stalked through the field. Back then, I sported the black cloak everywhere I went—the fashion. When the moon peeked out from behind the clouds, the night appeared as day, and a glint of silver caught my attention—a scythe, probably forgotten from the afternoon harvest. I lifted the long-handled blade, and the steel sang. I shifted the tool up and down in my hand, taking my time and testing its weight, and then I glared at them across the faint glow of the field.

  “As I approached, most of the men charged. Brave, but foolish. They had no chance. I saved the man who led the horde against Olluna until last. I wanted him to see the pain and destruction his judgment caused.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but Artagan’s glare stops me.

  “The man huddled at the craggy edge as I approached, and then, like the coward he was, he jumped to meet the same fate as his wife. He didn’t expect me at the bottom. He wasn’t dying until I said so. I let him beg before I sent his soul to hell. That day, I was the judge, jury, and executioner. In the end, every building was ash, just as they’d left my home.”

  The train begins to slow.

  “This is us.” Artagan stands.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  A cold, biting wind hits me straight in the face when I step from the train. The raw air cuts me like a knife, causing my eyes to water. My breath pushes steam through the air. The conditions seem too wintery for summer—proof that we are at the earth’s northern fringe. A sign over the door of the white-painted brick station swings from its hooks. Achnasheen. Wherever the hell that is.

  My footsteps echo across the wooden beams of the platform, crunch along the gravel path, then thud down onto the uneven cobblestones. I trail Artagan past the whitewashed houses that blend into the overcast skies of the vast moorlands. Pairs of eyes peek through gaps in closed curtains, disappearing from view when I glance their way.

  “Not a friendly place, is it?” I say.

  Artagan shrugs. “They’re frightened by us.”

  “Frightened? Why? Unless they know who you are?”

  He nods, and his lips gather into a small smile as he spies my wide-eyed stare. “We have a longstanding covenant with them. The villagers here don’t die by our hand in exchange for their silence. Only Time reigns here. In the last three hundred years, the understanding has never been broken, and not a single person born in Achnasheen has died before the age of one hundred and ten.”

  “So why are they scared?”

  “We’re still Death’s council. No covenant can change that.” He smirks. “I’ll never forget the priest that kept spattering us with holy water like he expected us to burst into flames. Otmar finally had enough and grabbed the flask. By the end of the meeting, the agreement was forged, and we all had a good shower.”

  With a laugh, Artagan opens the wrought-iron gate that separates the town from the expansive moors. We trudge over the rough ground. A flock of black-faced sheep bleats their complaints of the trespass. The westward wind howls against us, but we continue to head toward the vacant skyline. The town soon disappears, and in the middle of this godforsaken place, Artagan sits on a rock emerging from the deep-purple heather.

  “Have a seat,” he says, pointing to the adjacent rock.

  I look away. Completely aware of the pair of sapphire eyes staring me down, I focus on the nothingness around us. “No, I just want to keep moving and do what I came here to do.”

  “You need to know who you’re dealing with. Sit.” He takes out a box of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. He turns it over and taps the bottom of the box then offers me one of the slender cylinders that slide into view. When I refuse, he shrugs and lights a cigarette for himself. After taking a long drag, he releases the smoke slowly through his nostrils. Then he smiles.

  I slump onto the jagged rock in defeat, letting my elbows rest on my knees.

  “As I’ve told you, the council consists of nine members. Thanatos is the head of our little family and the oldest member. Rules and protocol are important to all of them. So keep your mouth shut and follow my lead. Your request will be brought to a vote. Understand, if the votes don’t go your way, I’ll be forced to take Leah. There won’t be a thing I can do about it.”

  I glare at him. Molten anger hurtles through my veins, sending my hands into fists and forcing me to my feet.

  “Relax. Sit. You’re going to need to keep your temper in check if our plan is ever going to work.” Slowly smoking his cigarette, he stares at me before continuing again. “Vita’s vote is easy to predict, and her twin, Domitilla, will follow her lead. That will give you an easy three votes—Vita’s, Domitilla’s, and mine.”

  “Vita voting for my plan. Ironic.”

  He nods with a grin. “On the other hand, I’m sure Akio and Kemisi will vote no. Akio’s love of immortality clouds every decision he makes. He won’t understand why anyone would be willing to end the gift of eternal life.”

  “Gift.” I snort.

  “He won’t know what to make of you. That’s for damn sure.” Artagan chuckles. “Kemisi, on the other hand, will be sympathetic, but because of her past, she’ll vote no.”

  My eyes narrow. Artagan reads the question that must have been evident on my face before my mouth can form the words.

  “Understanding and agreement are two very different things. I don’t think Kemisi believes in love anymore. She’ll be convinced you’d regret your decision. Furthermore, I’m certain she couldn’t ag
ree with me if I said the earth is round. I’ve burned a bridge or two. I don’t think they can be mended.”

  “I’d never regret giving my life for Leah’s. Besides, I’ll be dead.”

  “It’s best not to argue semantics with a woman, especially Kemisi.” With a wry smile, he points to the scar on his face.

  “She gave you that scar? How?”

  “She didn’t. The misunderstanding was with Kemisi, but the scar came from Death. He usually sides with his daughters,” he says apathetically. Artagan stares out into the bleak surroundings.

  “What are my odds?”

  “Anything’s possible. I wouldn’t have brought you to the middle of nowhere if I didn’t think it was a real possibility.” Artagan takes another long drag on his cigarette. “However, the others will be difficult to predict. An immortal wanting to take the place of his mortal love in death hasn’t come up before, as you might imagine.” Expressionless, he folds his arms across his chest. “So you’re sure about forfeiting your life for this girl?”

  “Yes.”

  He stands. “All right. Let’s get moving.”

  Over the next rise, a remnant of a once-magnificent building juts out of the horizon. Squinting into the wind, I study the ruins. Half the west wall has crumbled away, leaving the overcast sky in full view through the tall arched windows.

  “There,” he says, pointing in the rubble’s direction.

  “Is it an old castle?”

  “Monastery,” Artagan corrects.

  As the ruins grow closer and closer, Artagan falls quiet. The last quarter of a mile, neither of us talks. His head hangs low, and he stares at the uneven ground. I welcome the silence, which gives me time to say my good-byes. I let the memories of Leah swirl in my head. Thousands of rainy days led me to her, and I would gladly suffer any pain just for one second with her. Regardless of the deep ache brewing in my chest, I remember everything and hope I can take each moment with me. The simplest details surge to the foreground—how her golden hair dances in the breeze, the way her hand felt in mine, and the sparkle in those emerald eyes.