I Am Forever (What Kills Me)

by Wynne Channing

  Although—Uther says it’s my responsibility to protect everyone now.

  “Do you have any questions, my lady?” Uther said, busting up my pity party.

  “Oh, uh, no. You’ll be with me, right?”

  Three maids gently pulled my veil and splayed it out behind me.

  “I will be right behind you. When the doors open”—he gestured to the thirty-feet-tall wooden doors, which made me feel like a shrunken Alice in Wonderland—“all you have to do is walk down the carpeted walkway to the altar, go up the stairs, and sit beside the Empress.”

  A sonorous drumbeat shook the doors and vibrated my insides. It began slow, like a giant stomping the grounds, and increased in tempo until strikes rained against taut drum skins.

  “Ready, my lady?”

  The thunder stopped. I had no idea what to expect, and fear washed in to fill the void that Lucas had left.

  The doors crept apart. Oh wow.

  I could not have expected this.

  I gazed out at an open gray space as long as a football field. There was too much to see. But none of it moved, so I took it in, as I would an immense painting.

  There was the Empress, at the end of a strip of red carpet, seated on a stone platform bound on all sides by stairs, like a truncated pyramid. There were vampires, maybe tens of thousands of vampires, in the stands, all wearing red so that it looked as if the arena was bleeding. And there were more vampires on either side of the carpet, like wedding guests waiting for a bride.

  There was nowhere to hide from their stares. I was exposed. I thrust my trembling hands into my abdomen as if I was giving myself the Heimlich maneuver. Breathe. No wait, I don’t do that.

  It was eerily quiet, so that when Uther whispered, “Go on, my lady,” it embarrassed me to think that someone might have heard him. I took a shaky step onto the softness of the carpet, the jingle of the gems on my dress making me feel even more self-conscious.

  Then the drums began again. I timed each of my steps to the steady sound.

  The Amphitheatre was cold, pewter-toned and primitive like the Roman Colosseum. The bricks that formed the domed ceiling darkened at the center; looking up at it reminded me of falling into the well.

  A wall of soldiers flanked the path. The walk seemed unending.

  When I scanned the faces of the vampires on the ground, they dropped their gazes as soon as our eyes met, as if bowing with their lashes. They were all so beautiful. Porcelain skin. Radioactive eyes. The men wore scarlet high-collared jackets or suits. The women were in gowns.

  Beside the aisle, a hundred feet from the platform, Pavone was in a long red dress with what looked like birdcages as shoulder pads. The wired sleeves were so big that she took up two seats. I smiled at her and she lowered her eyes, the corners of her mouth forming subtle slopes.

  I climbed the stairs, putting two feet on each step before daring the next. The jewels against the stone reminded me of the ping of my chains when I was the Monarchy’s prisoner. The Empress watched me ascend. The lace appliqués on her see-through dress strategically covered her body parts; the floral patterns, raised and fuzzy like moss on a tree, slithered around her pale torso.

  Perhaps sensing my unease, her eyelids fell with the faint drop of her head, as if she was drifting off to sleep.

  I reached her side and turned to face the crowd. The drums crescendoed and then ceased. Uther and a procession of clerics split into two lines and climbed the stairs on either side of the platform. They formed two rows behind me, with Uther at my back. Meanwhile, a parade of more vampires was coming down the carpet and filling the front ten rows at the base of the platform.

  Then, at the end of the cavalcade, I caught a glimpse of his solemn face and his green eyes.

  Thank God. Lucas had come.

  I lost him behind an androgynous vampire wearing red-rimmed glasses that were clearly for show, since vampires had supernatural vision. Desperate to connect with Lucas, I focused on the lineup. He wasn’t craning to see me.

  He came back into view. He had dressed for the occasion. I could see his shoulder—his red suit with a gold belt across his chest. His hand rested on the handle of a long samurai sword. They gave him a weapon? Why would you give an angry guy something sharp?

  I knew he wouldn’t do anything to endanger us, but I wondered if he had some crazy escape plan. Hard to pull a disappearing act in front of tens of thousands of vamps while wearing a dress as twinkly as a Christmas tree.

  He slowed enough to come into view and our eyes met.

  Wait. What the hell?

  His brown hair was long, chin-length. He was broader. He had the same handsome features, if on a slightly fuller face. The same lips and the same feline green eyes.

  Holy crap. That’s Lucas’s brother.

  Taren. The brother who’d stayed with the Aramatta while Lucas left with his banished father. My feverish need to talk to Lucas about seeing Taren collided with the painful awareness that I might not see him again.

  A voice on a speaker echoed through the Amphitheater. I searched for the source and found a lanky cleric at a podium to the left of the platform. He spoke in a language I did not understand. More soldiers formed perimeters around the arena and the platform, and my three female guards stood on the bottom stairs.

  “You may sit, my lady,” Uther whispered, standing behind me.

  The stone throne was sculpted with circular patterns and a rounded back; the Monarchy’s emblem was carved where my head would rest. I didn’t know if I could sit in this getup. I swept my veil to the side and lowered myself onto the throne beside the Empress. I clenched my teeth. It was like sitting on thousands of jagged pebbles. This is why some vampires look so constipated. Their outfits are literally a pain in the butt.

  Taren took his seat in the front row, so I was able to examine him while the cleric sermonized in a monotone. Taren sat so rigidly, arms at his side, muscular shoulders pressed down, that he looked like an unsmiling Ken doll. He had Noel’s hairline and chin. It made me sad to think that he’d never see his father again.

  “The high cleric is citing the passages from the Sacriva that describe your coming,” Uther said behind my back. The high cleric angled his bony body toward me, gesturing with an open palm as if serenading me.

  “Oh, okay, thanks.”

  Taren watched me, as did everyone else.

  I glanced over at the Empress, poised, regal, her hands resting on the stone arms of the chair. I straightened up and folded my hands over my knees. If I didn’t look god-like, I wanted to at least appear calm.

  The high cleric’s tone darkened and the pace of his words slowed.

  “He is now proclaiming the divine rules,” Uther whispered. “As you are the First, you will now be henceforth referred to as the Divine.”

  The vampires in the crowd shifted and created an almost imperceptible wave, as if they were leaning forward in anticipation. I was suddenly afraid. Something was happening, something bigger than I could comprehend, and I could sense the air change.

  “The Divine will not be touched. The Divine will not be cut. The Divine will not be blasphemed against. The Divine is everything and all.” Uther affirmed every statement with increasing emotion. The vampires, mouths open, eyes wide, hung on every word. A tremor moved through the dome. The crowd rustled like wind through trees as thousands moved and murmured.

  “You belong to the Divine. Your existence is to serve the Divine.”

  The high cleric thrust his arms up and shouted his final words. They were the same, over and over. Uther repeated them with pride.

  “Hail the Divine! Hail the Divine!”

  The dome erupted. I thought the cheers would raze the walls. The vampires were on their feet, frenzied, clapping, reaching out to me. Blood striped their crying faces.

  I was overcome. I was terrified.

  Individual cries punctuated the roar, like pinpricks of voices, each calling for my attention. And I wanted to recognize them.

  I p
ushed the heels of my hands against the seat to steady myself and started to rise. The crowd reacted, increasing in volume; it was like hearing waves crashing on a shore, then over my head. My knees wobbled until I locked them. I panned the audience and raised my arms.

  From the corner of my eye I caught flashes, like the snaps of a camera. Suddenly the Empress was moving. A screech pierced the general noise.

  I blinked and saw the glint of whirling knives flying at my face.

  There was no time. I covered my face. Something solid and strong hit me in the chest and launched me back. I fell back onto the seat with a dense weight on top of me. I cracked my head against stone. Everyone was screaming. A gauzy film blurred my vision. I tried to sit up but a powerful force shoved me down.

  What is happening?

  I looked to the ceiling and right into the Empress’s wide eyes. Her lips were twisted into a snarl, her fangs hooked and inches from my face. She was hunched over me, her arms positioned over my shoulders, like a lion on its prey.

  “Empress?” I choked out.

  I had seen this expression before, this fury—when I killed the general.

  “Your Highness!” Taren yelled, appearing beside us, sword drawn.

  She pushed herself from the chair, reached over her shoulder, and removed a silver piece from her back. She took one look at it—it wasn’t a knife but a four-pointed star—and tossed it to the ground.

  She turned from me. Three more stars were still impaled along her spine, like fins. “Protect the Divine!” she shouted.

  The Empress took the hits for me.

  To my left, one cleric had a star piercing the side of his face while another yanked one out of his chest.

  On the field, vampires were scrambling in the aisles. Except one. He stood, pointing at me.

  “The Divine deceives you!” he cried. “She won’t protect you. She won’t keep you safe. She’s an instrument of slavery!”

  His dark, greasy hair covered his eyes and spit flew from his large jaws. A soldier rushed him, but the vampire grabbed a chair and rammed a leg through the soldier’s eye socket. The chair leg punched through his skull and a chunk of scalp popped open like a trap door. The vampire took the soldier’s sword and slashed the nearest victim, releasing a gush of blood.

  “False god! You worship a false god!” he screamed, stabbing another vampire.

  Chaos reigned in the stands. Vampires were hysterical. Soldiers had rushed into the crowd, wading against bodies, tossing them aside. Those in the stands retreated. They leaped over balconies and scurried up the aisles.

  A horde of Aramatta engulfed me.

  “Is the Divine all right?” Taren asked.

  My three personal guards shielded me from the field; through their legs, I saw soldiers wrestle the vampire to the ground. Blood poured out of his hooked hose.

  “Is the Divine all right?” Taren repeated, this time crouching beside the chair.

  He means me. “I think so.”

  “Then rise and we will take the Divine from here.”

  The vampire being besieged by soldiers screamed in another language and then in English. “Hail the rebellion! Hail the rebellion!”

  “Hold on to this,” Taren said. He slapped one end of his smooth scabbard into my palm and pulled me to my feet. “Keep your head down.” Cushioned by soldiers, we ran down the stairs. A slit of pain shot across my hairline as the veil ripped away from my head.

  I lost Taren for a moment in the crush of leather and padded tactical gear. The panicked crowds pressed back against us.

  “Out of the way!” Taren yelled.

  He knocked a vampire down and grabbed another by the collar to toss him aside.

  “Where are we going?” I shouted. A female vampire fell against Taren, tears running into her mouth, and he shoved her back with a grunt.

  This is nuts. There’s no way we’re going to get out of here.

  “Taren! Where are we going?”

  He snapped his head toward me, shocked maybe that I was calling his name. “There’s a side door for royalty,” he said, pointing to a door about thirty feet away.

  I pulled the scabbard from his grip, thrust it out in front of us, and parted the bodies. They swept to either side, crying out and falling against one another. Then I grabbed the belt across his chest and led him through the path.

  “Excuse me!” I hollered.

  I used the scabbard, moving vampires as if I was dividing blades of tall grass, until it broke against a vampire’s back.

  We have to get out of here. Almost at the door.

  Forging ahead, I pushed a vampire from my path and sent him somersaulting into others. “Sorry!” I yelled.

  At the door soldiers surrounded me again, like a flow of water around a rock. Taren reached around me and pressed his hand against a security pad. A light above his fingers turned green and we all shuffled backward so he could pull the door open.

  We rushed into a black-and-white ballroom, my slippered feet sliding against the speckled marble floors. The yellow candlelight and opulence of the room contrasted starkly with the madness outside.

  About a dozen soldiers had made it inside, and only two of my three guards.

  “Clear the way,” Taren ordered. Six soldiers simultaneously unsheathed their swords and marched ahead of us. As we crossed the floor and filed into a hallway lined with low-hanging chandeliers, the noise from the Amphitheater faded.

  “Was the Divine wounded?” Taren asked. He stared at me with those familiar green eyes.

  “No, but I think I hurt some of those guys back there. I heard someone’s back crack.”

  Thank god they’re immortal.

  “They want the Divine to be safe,” he said, gesturing to the soldiers to go left.

  “I’m sorry that I broke your scabbard.”

  “The Divine apologizes for nothing.”

  “Did you see what happened to Uther? He was sitting behind me.”

  “I did not.”

  “We need to go back. What if he needs help?”

  “The vampires can handle themselves in an evacuation.”

  “What the hell happened?”

  He ignored my question and walked ahead through a set of double doors.

  We were attacked.

  The Empress stood in the center of a vast room with a cathedral ceiling. A tangled tuft of her hair stuck up at the back, and the skirt of her gown had torn, exposing her knee, as white as bleached bone.

  A group of vampires were huddled in the corner, wringing their hands.

  “We were attacked,” she said. Her rage echoed in the room.

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Taren said. Without a scabbard to sheath his sword, he handed it to the nearest soldier and approached the Empress, his hand on his chest and his head bowed.

  “We—were—ATTACKED!”

  A chill stung my face. Her voice cemented me to the floor.

  “At the Divine ceremony.” She paced the floor. “In front of everyone. The terrorists tried to strike the Divine.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “Tell me. How did you let this happen, Lieutenant General?”

  Taren is lieutenant general.

  “The Aramatta searched and cleared every guest—”

  “You cleared the terrorist?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know who that was?”

  “It looked like the South African senator, Your Highness.”

  “That’s right. Do you know how long the senator has served the Monarchy? Seven hundred years! And then he comes in and does this!”

  She snapped her fingers. A vampire ran up and handed her a flat silver flower. She held it up, shifted her fingers, and the flower’s petals separated. When she tossed it, it broke up into six parts, which all skidded across the floor.

  Each piece was a four-pointed star. Bloodied. With the Empress’s blood. Four points. Meant for me.

  “Was he under suspicion?” she asked. “Was anyone watching him
in Pretoria?”

  “We have a battalion in South Africa, your Highness. We were preparing an attack operation in Johannesburg. The senator was not on our radar.”

  Johannesburg. It’s where Samira had suggested that we hide when we first went to her to escape the Monarchy. Obviously their secret lair wasn’t so secret.

  The Empress rocked back and scrunched her mouth as if she was getting ready to spew fire; instead, she thrust her head forward and hissed through her bare fangs. Her fists were so tight that I first heard and then saw the drops of blood falling from her hands.

  “Lieutenant General,” she said through her teeth.

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “You are going to handle this.” She stabbed the air with her index finger, her other nails still puncturing her palms.

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “I want increased security around the palace and the Acropolis. Choose your most trusted soldiers and they will join the Divine’s guard.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “You have battalions stationed where the terrorists are hiding. Attack them. Destroy their camps. Destroy their communication bases so they cannot coordinate. Anyone who is not with the Monarchy is an enemy of the Divine and shall face death. The terrorists think they can strike us at home. The terrorists think they can hurt our precious Divine.”

  She acknowledged me for the first time. I must not have looked god-like to her then, with my round eyes, my frizzy hair, and my arms crossed protectively over my abdomen. She held my gaze for a moment before turning back to Taren.

  “They will pay the price,” she said. “Kill them all.”

  No one saw it coming. Not with the noise and the excitement. What a perfect time to strike. I was so distracted. If it hadn’t been for the Empress, I’d have gotten those stars in the face.

  My mind reeled as the soldiers led me through the palace corridors. I thought of the Empress. How she threw herself in front of me. Then rose, defiant, enraged. And pulled the blades from her flesh without blinking.

  The rebel was right. I couldn’t protect anyone. They were all protecting me to protect themselves.

  “Something bad is going to happen.”