Knowledge Revealed (The Nememiah Chronicles Book 1)

by D. S. Williams

  My head was beginning to ache mildly; I'd never realized how much concentration would be needed to do this, to communicate with the spirits. The emotional drain was huge – all those people, all those voices calling out to be heard.

  Lucas drew me tighter against his chest and caught my chin, lifting my face to his. “Are you alright?” he asked huskily.

  “I want to do this, Lucas. It's something I can repay, for everything you've given me.”

  “You haven't eaten in a while. Do you want anything?” They were all very aware of my human weaknesses.

  “No. I'm thirsty though, I would like a drink.”

  Marianne flew from her chair and an instant later was at my side, a can of Coke in her hand. I accepted it gratefully, sipping the icy cold liquid and enjoying the coolness on my throat. Marianne had discovered Coca Cola was one of my addictions – I loved the stuff.

  The tension in the room was tangible, everyone seemed hopeful of a message from their own loved ones. Taking another sip of Coke, I closed my eyes, searching the voices again. I picked out the loudest strand, recognizing it as a voice which was exceptionally dominant and determined that I listen. I looked directly at Ben and he blanched visibly, becoming even paler than normal. “Ben, your brother Galen is speaking. He wants me to tell you how apologetic he is, for what your father asked you to do. He wishes he could have gone in your place, but he was destined for the church and you were always stronger and braver than he was. When you were sent—” My eyes widened as I heard Galen's next words, finding it difficult to believe what he was saying. “To the Crusades, he prayed for your safety day and night. He knew you were a strong and noble knight and he prayed to God for your safe deliverance from the holy war against the… Saracens?” I hadn't heard the word before and I looked to Ben, seeking confirmation.

  “The Muslims,” he explained quietly. “That's what we called them in 1189, when we set out for the Holy Land under King Richard's leadership, to fight Saladin.”

  It took a minute to recover my composure. If what Ben and his brother had said was true, the man sitting opposite me was born nearly nine hundred years ago. Shaking my head in disbelief, I returned to listening to his brother's words. “He wants you to know he's watched you throughout the years, and he was wrong about vampires. He told you they were Satan's spawn, condemned by God and destined to walk the depths of Hell for all eternity. He knows now that was wrong. He understands you were created without your consent, that when you were injured and nearly killed in the Siege of Acre, you were in no position to stop… Bathbesa from taking you. He understands you intrigued her, a Christian knight in a foreign world, and he's grateful she cared for you when the transformation was complete.” I frowned, mentally asking Galen to repeat what he'd said. “Galen believes you have truly proven your worth, and he believes God loves you and there is promise of an afterlife.” The image faded and I frowned, not sure that what I'd been asked to repeat made sense. It obviously made perfect sense to Ben – he was leaning forward, hands clasped together in front of his face as if he were praying. Rowena was rubbing his back when he looked up at me, flashing a grateful smile that was stunningly beautiful in its intensity.

  Lucas apparently sensed my confusion and leaned forward to whisper against my ear. “Vampires throughout history have been unwavering in our belief that we have no soul. We are under the impression we are destined to wander through eternity, with no hope of heaven or an afterlife. What you have just shared with Ben, has given him hope there is something else for us.”

  “Oh,” I breathed.

  The more I used the ability, the easier it was to control. I'd been completely fearful before and avoided it at all costs – now it seemed more of a gift, than a curse. Trawling through the voices again, I located another strand. It was a large group of people, more than I'd had in any other vision. They all spoke together, competing for attention and I had to warn them sharply that only one person could speak. An elderly woman stepped forward, and the others disappeared into the grey mist behind her where they continued to mutter indistinguishably. She spoke rapidly with a strong Southern accent and I turned to Striker.

  “Striker, your Mom is with me,” I grinned, “and about a dozen of your siblings.” Striker returned the grin, his eyes lit up and for the first time since I'd met him, he seemed completely friendly. “Your Mom's… yelling at me. She's asking why you insist on being known by your surname, when you have such a lovely given name, and don't you know how proud you should be? You were named after your Great-Granddaddy and he was responsible for bringing the family to America from Norway, and you should be… damned proud of your background, you fool boy.” I chewed my lip, realizing that in repeating his mother's words, I was actually beginning to mimic her articulation. When his mother told me his given name, I couldn't stop a giggle escaping from my lips, although I chose not to repeat it aloud. Did the others know he'd been saddled with such an unfortunate name? He certainly didn't look like a Hiram.

  “What?” Hiram growled suspiciously. Had he guessed what his mother had told me?

  “Nothing.” I paused, concentrating on the woman whose rapid speech made my head spin. She said something so quickly; I didn't understand it and asked her to repeat the words. When she did, I burst into laughter, taking a full minute to recover my composure.

  “What did she say?” Striker demanded.

  “She says you won't take any notice of her, but she's watched you… hunt, sees you taking on full-grown Grizzlies. She knows you're immortal and all, but asks you to please stop giving your poor Momma kittens, and maybe go after something a little less ferocious.” I giggled, before I could finish relaying her message. “She wonders if you might consider hunting deer… or squirrels.”

  The room erupted in laughter, Striker joining in. “Ate enough god-damn squirrels when I was a kid, growing up in Arkansas,” he muttered. He winked at me and I knew there was no way a man built like him would possibly consider hunting anything as mundane as a squirrel. I hoped his Mom wasn't going to nag me, if he refused to take her advice.

  Sipping the Coke, I picked through the voices again. Finding the one I was searching for, I listened carefully for a minute or two. I'd been watching Acenith from the corner of my eye; seen the look of apprehension in her eyes. She seemed almost frightened of any memories I might have for her. I didn't know why and didn't want to hurt her with anything I might reveal. “Acenith, your family is here with me.” I couldn't place the clothing they wore; only that it was very old, possibly even medieval. “They are sorry you were treated so badly. They didn't understand your ability, your capacity to help people with medicinal herbs and the placing of your hands to soothe and calm those who were in poor health. Witchcraft was feared, and they believed you were a witch and were frightened both for you, and of you.” Acenith watched me intently, her fingers gripped so tightly, I could see every tendon in her hands. “They understand now, that your ability wasn't harmful and they're apologizing for the trials you were put through.”

  Acenith was trembling; she gripped her arms around her waist as if she was trying to hold herself in one piece. Behind her, Ripley placed his hands on her shoulders and Rowena stood up hurriedly, walking across to wrap her arms around her friend.

  “Your mother, Odette, is very grateful Ripley had already noticed you, and was aware of your talents. They thank the Lord every day that he was there to save you and help you escape, when you were accused of witchcraft and sentenced to… trial by ordeal?”

  “A barbaric practice,” Ripley spat. “Medieval nonsense.”

  Inhaling a deep breath, I listened to Acenith's mother again. Behind her was a man who'd identified himself as Acenith's father, Alexandre, and Acenith's sister stood beside them. “Your sister… Marguerite,” I glanced at Acenith, unable to prevent tears filling my eyes and running slowly down my cheeks, “your sister begs your forgiveness for accusing you of witchcraft. She never stopped loving you.”

  “Can they hear me?”
Acenith sobbed, her turmoil evident.

  I shook my head. “I don't know— I'm not sure.” I spoke to her family for a few seconds, trying to get a handle on what could and couldn't be done with this strange ability, now that I was embracing it. “They can't hear you, but I can give them your message.”

  Acenith closed her eyes for a long moment, as if she physically needed to draw on her courage before she spoke. “Tell Marguerite she is forgiven. I love her, and she is forgiven.”

  I repeated her words to Marguerite, watching as the young woman dropped to her knees, sobbing hysterically.

  “Did you tell her?” Acenith demanded.

  “Yes.” I shut my eyes tightly; overwhelmed by the pain both Acenith and her family had suffered. Once again, the spirits forms disappeared into a grey haze and I sighed heavily, rubbing my temples to ease the pressured ache.

  “I think you've had enough,” Lucas warned.

  “Not yet, Lucas, please.” The voices were diminishing, although a number of people still shared my head. It was easier to locate the strands and I selected the next one, listening to the voice. I didn't have to close my eyes now, could do this with less concentration than before. “Ripley, I have your mother, Lady Caroline with me. She has the most beautiful grey eyes. She wants to thank Lucas for saving you.” I lifted my gaze to Lucas; saw he was watching me curiously. “Ripley's mother knew he was beginning to lose hope after so long trailing through the world with no sense of family, no sense of hope after becoming a vampire. He had lost everyone he'd ever loved and she knew you would be Ripley's salvation, that you would accept him and offer him the support and love he needed. She thanks you for saving her son.” I turned back to Ripley, catching the open inquisitiveness in his gaze. I wondered if he could read my mind when I did this, after he'd had so much trouble getting into my head.

  “Yes, I can hear them,” Ripley confirmed, glancing around at his friends. “It's the first time I've gotten a clear voice from Miss Duncan's head, and I can hear our families, as she hears them. I can hear my mother speaking, as clearly as if she were standing in the room with me.” He brought his gaze to me, his expression apologetic. “I was beginning to believe you were schizophrenic – your head seemed to be the equivalent of Grand Central Station in rush hour. So many voices, no way of searching your mind for your own thoughts amongst so much traffic. Now I can understand why. Please, go on.”

  “She wants you to know how much she and your father loved you. She knew they were going to die, after being accused of treason; you were all going to the gallows. When they heard you had died in prison, she thought her heart had broken. It was only after—” I swallowed deeply. “After they'd been executed, they discovered Wallace had saved you, by creating you as a vampire within your cell. He made it seem as if you had died of natural causes, before the guards had the opportunity to execute you. Wallace arranged for your body to be transported away from the prison and buried, allowing him to oversee your rising three days later.”

  Ripley nodded. “Lord Stuyvesant saved my life that night.”

  “Your mother and your father, Earl Ripley, couldn't be prouder of the man you have become, and what you have worked so hard to achieve in your life. They are pleased by your decision to try and control your bloodlust, your willingness to make your existence a better thing.” Once again, the vision slowly faded and I leaned against Lucas's chest, my head aching in earnest now. This was proving to be a drain, involving so much emotion, and so many voices.

  “Miss Duncan.” When Ripley spoke, his voice was filled with genuine emotion. “Charlotte. Thank you. I don't believe I can ever repay you, for what you've shared with me this evening.”

  I smiled. “You're welcome.”

  “Charlotte.”

  I turned to William, saw discomfort etched into his striking features, and he let his eyes flicker down to Katie before returning his gaze to mine. “I think I would prefer not to hear any memories.”

  “Of course. But any time, if you should change your mind.”

  He smiled grimly, the muscle in his jaw clenched. I couldn't imagine why he didn't want to contact his family, although if he'd only been a vampire for a short period, maybe they were still alive. Which still didn't explain why Katie was here with him. If a four-year-old child was being kept in the loop, what had happened to other members of his family? I decided to listen for his ancestors later, and see if they were available to me, but for now, I was happy to abide by his wishes.

  I felt Lucas press a gentle kiss against my neck and I smiled up at him. Nothing would be a surprise here; I already knew what to expect, having met these particular people more than once in recent weeks. I pulled the strand towards me and saw the faces clearly in my mind. Lucas resembled his father, with the same dark hair and broad shoulders. “Your parents, Patrick and Mary are here, they're happy to have the opportunity to talk to me and they… like me, and think you and I are two halves that make a whole. They are very proud of the man you have become, and they were pleased that Florien created you, because it meant one member of the Tine family survived. They are all happy and together in the afterlife. Margaret apologizes for getting sick in the first place… she suffers guilt because she brought the illness into your home, and I don't think she understands that it was something she had no control over.” I smiled. “I'll have to talk to her about that.”

  Lucas pulled me closer, wrapping me in his arms and I gazed into his eyes. “And Charlotte is here, she wishes you could have stayed with her. She wants you to know she had a happy life, she married, and had four children, three boys and one girl, but she never forgot about you.” I paused for a moment, watching surprise blossom in his eyes. “She's happy that you found me, and wishes us a very happy future together.” I raised my hand to touch his cheek, brushing my fingers across his jaw. “She sends you her love, and she wants you to know that she had a very long, very happy life.”

  The image faded and there was a stunned silence for a minute. Lucas continued to gaze at me, his focus intense.

  Striker was the first to speak. “So I'm confused. What was the part about Charlotte? Who's Charlotte?”

  Lost in my own thoughts, I was too drained to speak and it was Lucas, who answered Striker's question.

  “Charlotte was my fiancée, before my creation. When I met this Charlotte,” he touched my cheek with exquisite gentleness, “I thought perhaps her sharing the same name was destiny, in some way. Now I'm quite sure of it.” He looked down at me, his eyes softening. “How long have you known?”

  “For the past few weeks,” I admitted quietly. “She's come to me quite a lot, it started when I moved into the cottage, but since I've been here, she's been talking to me regularly.”

  “Charlotte,” Ben spoke. I hadn't heard him move, but he'd knelt beside us, taking my hands in his. “From every one of us, we thank you for the gift you have given us. We have lived so long without our families; to have them express their thoughts through you was probably the most extraordinary gift we have ever received. On behalf of us all, I thank you.”

  Chapter 13: Cravings

  After my disclosures, everyone discussed the shared memories my visions had inspired. I remained silent, lying against Lucas's chest with immense satisfaction and extreme tiredness coursing through my body, in equal proportions. Lucas held me close and I worried about how he was coping when he'd been so close to me for such an extended period. Thinking he might be finding the proximity uncomfortable, I tried to wriggle away, but Lucas held me against him with an iron grip.

  “I'm coping, my Charlotte,” he whispered, his cool breath against my ear making my skin break out in delicious goose bumps.

  Soon afterwards, my stomach made itself known by grumbling, at a noise level loud enough for everyone to hear. Rowena vanished into the kitchen and delicious smells began to waft through to the living room a short time later. My mouth started watering long before it arrived, and by the time Rowena appeared and handed me the tray, I was ravenous
. She'd fried a steak, and it was accompanied by a pile of freshly steamed vegetables and a baked potato and I wolfed it down swiftly, despite the potato being slightly undercooked and the steak being slightly overcooked. Rowena was doing her best to cook, despite her inexperience, and I would never dream of hurting her feelings.

  “We obviously aren't feeding the human often enough,” Striker observed. “Maybe I should go and hunt up a whole cow for her.”

  I screwed up my nose in revulsion. “Thanks, Striker, but no thanks. I'm full. If you're peckish though, why don't you go rustle up a squirrel?”

  There was a moment of stunned silence, and then everyone burst into laughter. Striker looked non-plussed for only a few seconds, before he grinned.

  “It seems Charlotte has quite the sense of humor when her health is improved,” Ben announced, amusement clear in his deep voice.

  Marianne left the room and was back within seconds, handing me a fresh can of Coke. I accepted it gratefully, taking a long swig.

  “You know, out of all the things we give up when we become vampire, that's one thing I wish I could taste again,” William said quietly, eyeing the soda.