Chosen asc-6

by Jeanne C. Stein

  The others must have been waiting for me to lead them from this chamber of horror. As soon as Turnbull and I pass through the door, they follow. Quiet. Subdued. Still not over the shock that the fate of the world for the next two hundred years is in the hands of someone so inexperienced. My question is of a different nature. How did they plan to control Lance? Had he won, he would have been the one making the decisions.

  I think about his relationship with Underwood and have my answer. The only difference is that this time it would have been Chael pulling the strings, I’m sure.

  Lance was weak. Chael made the mistake of thinking because Lance had been a vampire longer than me, he had more cunning, more guile. I wonder what they promised Lance to get him to face me. Or what they threatened him with. I watch Chael as he takes his place once more among the tribal heads. He should have paid more attention. Learned from history.

  Avery and Underwood underestimated me, too.

  Turnbull assumes emcee duties, his words pulling me out of my own thoughts.

  The challenge has been executed. The Tribe of Thirteen hereby bestows on Anna Strong the true and worthy title of the Chosen One. The decisions she makes bind us all. The fate of the vampire community rests in the hands of the Chosen One now as it has since the beginning. We swear allegiance and loyalty.

  He bows toward me. Then, one by one, the others follow suit. Some bow stiffly, a small display of resistance. Some bow deeply, not caring one way or the other who is leading them. Chael inclines his head but not his body. He’s the one likely to present the petition Frey warned me about.

  He’s the one likely to continue to cause trouble.

  I acknowledge his pretentiousness with a nod of my own. He may be a thousand years old, but he refused to fight me. My confidence is undaunted by this posturing.

  Turnbull waits for the circle to be complete. Then he waves a hand toward the door. We will adjourn for an hour. He glances at his watch . We will meet back here at one a.m., when petitions will be heard. Refreshments are available in the living room.

  He waits until the exodus is complete and closes the door behind him so we have privacy.

  “Refreshments?” I raise an eyebrow at him.

  “These old-time vampires don’t go anywhere without a blood host along. I’m sure there are extras if you’d care to partake.”

  I flash on this evening—Frey and then Lance. “I’m fine, thanks.” It sounds as though I’m turning down a glass of wine or a martini instead of human blood from a live host. When did I become so jaded?

  I’ve come around from behind the desk, and he and I take seats in the circle. He draws a breath, exhales slowly and with deliberation. “I know this wasn’t easy for you. I told Chael what he did was despicable—bringing in a challenger with whom you had personal history. He even knew you two had had a falling out. He still thought Lance could beat you.”

  He seems to have something else on his mind. I can guess what it is.

  “I was telling the truth about Williams. I had nothing to do with his death.”

  He meets my eyes, taking measure, considering the person he sees here and the person he helped in Denver. “I believe you. You may be hotheaded and arbitrary, but you tell the truth.”

  I smile. “That again? You still believe what Warren Williams told you about me?”

  He laughs. “More than ever. You challenged one of the thirteen. I’ve seen it firsthand.”

  There’s something different about Turnbull. Something I hadn’t noticed before for obvious reasons. I was facing a fight to the death. Now, however, I know exactly what it is. When I saw him in Denver, his hair was darker and his build was different—thicker through the middle. A disguise technique he used so he could stay in his home in Durango. A new look for each generation.

  “Hey, you’ve lost weight!”

  He laughs. “Didn’t need the body padding here. It’s a relief to be rid of it for a while.”

  We lapse into silence. I wonder if I should try to reach Frey on his cell. Let him know I’m still among the living—so to speak. The evening isn’t over yet, though. Maybe I’d better wait until it is.

  Turnbull sits with me. At first, we don’t speak. Neither of us opens our thoughts to the other, but I’m not uncomfortable with it. After a few minutes, though, my mind turns back to a familiar theme, and it occurs to me that Turnbull may be the only one willing or able to answer the hundred questions I have about what just happened.

  I’m not sure how to begin, but asking, “Turnbull, what exactly am I?” seems as good a place as any.

  He raises his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

  “The Chosen One. How did it come to be? Who chose me? Why? Before becoming vampire, I was a single woman from an upper-middle-class background. I had—have—a loving family. I work an unconventional job, sure, but what qualities elevated me to the head of a tribunal of the most powerful creatures on earth? Everyone is sure of what I am, no one can tell me why.”

  Turnbull shakes his head, and I have the sinking feeling he’s not going to be any more help than Frey.

  “You don’t know, either, do you?”

  “I’m sorry, Anna,” he says. “There isn’t much I can tell you. It’s like any belief passed down from one generation to the next. There are forces at work beyond the realm of our understanding. I suppose the reason there is a Chosen One is pretty obvious. If vampires were allowed to run roughshod over humanity, the world would erupt in chaos. I have to believe that whoever or whatever is behind the grand design recognized this. It placed the burden of decision making on the shoulders of one. How that one is determined is a mystery. But that you are the one was recognized by Avery immediately. And by many others who came in contact with you before this gathering made it official.”

  “How are the tribal heads picked then? How were you picked?”

  He smiles. “At last a question I can answer. There is a right of succession. Avery picked me as his successor just as he was picked centuries ago. It’s the first duty of a tribal head, to pick one to come after him.”

  “And have you? Picked a successor?”

  “Not yet. It would have been Warren Williams.” A shadow passes over his face. “You never told me who is responsible for his second death.”

  “It was a sorcerer. Julian Underwood. He has paid. He is dead.”

  Turnbull releases a breath.

  We are silent for a few moments before I ask, “What happened to the last Chosen One?”

  I expect the answer to be obvious. Staked or beheaded. Turnbull raises his shoulders. “I don’t know. I didn’t think to ask. This is my first gathering, too. Would you like me to find out? Among these old souls, I’m sure someone has the answer.”

  “No.” There’s no hesitation in my reply. “I think I’d rather not know what fate has in store for me.”

  CHAPTER 48

  When the doors open again and the twelve file in to take their seats, it’s obvious how they spent their hour. The smell, the heat radiating from vampire bodies only warmed by feeding and sex fills the room like some exotic incense. I have a mental image of the human hosts in the other room lying sated and replete, the detritus of a Roman orgy.

  Turnbull asks petitioners to rise and present their requests. There are only two. Chael and Brianna, the female from Australia. Chael waves Brianna to go first.

  Brianna is a small woman, compactly built, with a ruddy complexion and curly red hair. She looks to be in her thirties, which is to say, she was in her thirties when she was turned. I have no idea how long she has been vampire. She has handed her petition to Turnbull, who in turn passes it to me.

  I don’t bother to look at it. Tell me, I say.

  She glances to Turnbull. As he mentioned at the beginning of this gathering, I am here because of the death of the one before me, Aiden. He was in the six hundred fortieth year of the second life. He was a benevolent man, well loved by those in our community. He should not have been taken from us.

&nb
sp; Her thoughts falter as she is caught in a wave of emotion.

  By the hand of a Revenger, was it not? I prompt gently.

  I want to move things along. I want to go home. Weariness has been a constant companion for the last few days, and it threatens to swamp me now. Both physically and mentally, I am exhausted. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep my thoughts hidden from the constant prying of thirteen powerful, probing and inquisitive onlookers.

  Still, I wait for Brianna to gather herself and continue. At last, she does, with a small bow. My apologies. Aiden was more than a friend and mentor to me. We were lovers, sealed for the last two hundred years. So it is of particular importance to me that I be allowed to avenge his death.

  I sit up a little straighter. It is a dangerous thing to mount an attack against a Revenger. It risks unleashing consequences far more disastrous to the community at large than what might be gained by punishing one responsible for the death of a loved one.

  I agree. You are correct. It is not against a Revenger, though I would not hesitate to kill Aiden’s murderer if the opportunity arose. No, it is against a werewolf. The Alpha Male of a group that hunts in the forest near my home in Brisbane. He is the one who told the Revengers that Aiden walked daily in the forest. He is the one who orchestrated the ambush.

  And you have proof?

  He brags about it. He was angry because Aiden was protective of the forest and forbade his pack to hunt there. Now he does so with impunity because he thinks there will be no consequence. We who have been long on the earth need to protect what is here from those who have no respect for nature. This Alpha would kill every living creature for sport.

  I’m as much impressed by her vehement defense of the forest as I am by her passion for her lost love. I wonder if I will ever form that kind of attachment.

  But I can’t base my decision on her declaration of love. Love is too often deceptive and illusory.

  What does this Alpha do when he is not in wolf form?

  Brianna looks confused by the question. What does he do?

  Is he a teacher? Does he have a family? Is he known as a good man in the community?

  Does that matter? Her voice takes on a hard edge. He killed one of us. Aiden cries out for retribution. I demand it.

  Brianna’s façade of bereaved lover slips a little as her anger surfaces. It allows me a moment to penetrate her mental barrier, see the truth that flares and is suppressed in the time it takes for our hearts to beat once, twice.

  I block out everyone else and send her a message. It was not the werewolf who betrayed Aiden. I saw the truth in your heart. It was you. I don’t know why. I don’t know why you came before us today with this story. I can only imagine you have some grievance against the wolf. Or you wish to make him a scapegoat. Withdraw your petition, and I will let your deception go unpunished. Pursue it, and I will make sure the others know that you are responsible for the death of an ancient.

  Brianna’s eyes lock with mine. She wants to argue, test me. She glances away, toward Chael, perhaps sharing with him what I said to her. It doesn’t matter. For the moment at least, I am the one in control.

  At last her shoulders relax, her expression softens. Her communication is open to all.

  Perhaps I have been too hasty. That the wolf bragged about his part in Aiden’s death was told to me secondhand. I will withdraw my petition until I have proof.

  She steps back and returns to her seat.

  I release a breath and sit back a little in mine.

  Too easy. Was this some kind of test of my psychic powers? A demonstration to warn the next petitioner to guard his thoughts more closely? Did I make a mistake in keeping Brianna’s deception private? Was the concession interpreted as weakness rather than compassion?

  Fuck.

  There is so much I don’t understand.

  Chael’s eyes watch, his lips pressed in a grim smile. He is savoring my confusion, and I know the farce with Brianna was orchestrated. He sees me as gullible and weak.

  And he is next.

  CHAPTER 49

  Chael wastes no time getting to his feet. He has no written petition. He faces me squarely, feet apart, hands at his side. His face is composed. He must have been in his early twenties when he was turned, his Middle Eastern ancestry evident in his dusky complexion and angular features. He is powerful, of that I have no doubt, but I remind myself that he is also a coward. He refused to face me when I challenged him.

  He searches my face, trying to find vulnerability. I wave a hand at him to begin.

  The decision you made barring Brianna from avenging the death of Aiden shows us how inappropriate it is that you have assumed this position of power. You continue to place the welfare of lesser beings above those of your own kind. For centuries, we have been relegated to the shadows. Like the First who walked the earth, we are still creatures of the night.

  He pauses, as if waiting for me to argue. I have no intention of debating him. Do you have a point you wish to make?

  A spark of temper blazes hot and fierce before he smothers it. He smoothes the anger from his face and continues. My point is that we are the most powerful creatures on earth. We are stronger than any mortal. We will be here long after man has destroyed himself. But if mankind is allowed to rule and ultimately destroys itself, our food source is gone and we perish as well. We should be guardians, protectors of the earth from those like Brianna’s wolf and from those mortals who threaten the future because they cannot see past the puny span of their lives.

  A pretty speech. What is it you are proposing?

  I am proposing what is our right. It is time we seize control.

  I see. And how would you do that?

  He gestures to the circle. We represent every corner of the globe. Thousands of vampires exist in our communities. We have already assumed positions of power in many places. We can form alliances to increase our control. We can become what we are destined to be—rulers over all.

  Excitement shines from his face and eyes. His body trembles with the zeal of a religious fanatic at an old-time revival. He is serious.

  I glance at the others. Some are caught up in Chael’s passion. They flash teeth and fist.

  Others are hesitant, watching me, waiting to see my reaction before revealing their own.

  I shake my head, slowly, deliberately.

  Yes, Chael, you are correct when you say I am new to the vampire existence. However, no matter how long I exist on this earth, I will never agree to a plan that relegates mortals to nothing more than a link in the food chain. Even if such a thing were possible, which I seriously doubt considering there are seven billion people on earth, an insurrection such as you propose would do nothing except incite violence against us.

  I pause a moment, thinking of Frey. I have a good friend who is a Keeper of the accumulated knowledge of otherworldly creatures. There have been attempts made to eradicate us many times in history. I do not want to see a new crusade launched against us.

  Chael listens, his body tense, his expression black. What has happened before has no relevance now. We would strike first at the Revengers and any others organized against us. We would wipe out the opposition, ruthlessly, make them examples for the rest. I tell you, mankind will fall easily because most are weak and cowardly. We will turn those who are strong and add them to our ranks. When it is done, humans will live in compounds to service our needs—both as food and as servants. They will be treated humanely. More humanely than they treat each other, and the earth we all inhabit will thrive as it did in the garden.

  Wow. He does know how to make a point. My immediate response comes from the human, the practical Anna. Chael failed in his attempt to orchestrate an attack on me, whom he finds so easy to belittle. How does he think he can wage war against humans, who outnumber us by billions, in the open, with all the technology of war at their disposal?

  The idea of my family being relegated to a gulag is loathsome. When I look at the faces gathered round me, I re
alize I am the only vampire with relatives still living. The only one with strong ties to the human community.

  For the first time, a glimmer of understanding.

  Maybe that’s why I’m the one sitting in this chair.

  I gather my thoughts, knowing now how to answer him.

  I agree we need to preserve the earth. We will be here long after present generations have passed to dust. But we need to do it as guardians of humanity, not wardens. We are integrating into society. We must continue on that path, working with mortals. There may come a day when we need no longer hide our true nature. But it’s not today.

  Chael bares his teeth and shakes a fist at me. You think me arrogant. I say, it is you who are arrogant. A new vampire who has barely seen thirty mortal years. You have no knowledge of what has come before. You are not worthy to tell those of us gathered here what is in our best interest. We could strike you down and be done with it.

  A gasp goes up from those gathered around us. Even those who grudgingly acknowledged my position after the challenge shrink back into their seats as if distancing themselves from Chael. He sees it. The tradition of the Chosen One is sacrosanct, and he has crossed a dangerous line.

  Turnbull rises. You are out of order, Chael.

  I wave Turnbull back to his seat. I will answer Chael. He is right that I do not have centuries of experience to draw upon. But listening to you makes me understand why I may have been chosen to sit in this chair. I have not forgotten the urgency of a limited, mortal life. I still sense among mortals the basic urge to seek wisdom and do good. I look around and see what man has achieved. They have built the cities we vampires merely inhabit. They have created engineering marvels, split the atom and explored the heavens. And still you give them no credit.

  What have vampires created? Our unbounded lives seem to have made us shallow and hedonistic. We lack the wisdom of mortals because we lack the urgency to create and innovate that burns in mortals because of their “puny life spans.” Mortals don’t need us. We need them. You forget that we are the parasites. Herd them into pens like cattle and you will destroy their spirit. Then the world will be a dull gray place and we will suffer for it.