“It has come to my attention that we appear to be running low on some various assets. We seem to be going through them more quickly now that there are two of us.” He flashed her a smile and continued. “In the past I have managed to arrange for a restocking on my own, but you could use some real interaction out in the world.”
“Are you suggesting I don’t get out enough?” She raised an eyebrow.
“You get out plenty, but your body doesn’t. You also don’t interact with anyone besides myself and the women here.”
“The ones who aren’t scared stiff by the very thought of me, you mean,” she said wryly.
“Indeed,” he said with a smile. Just then the door to the bedchamber opened and Mariah heard the soft footsteps of bare feet trying to sneak out along the edge of the room behind her. She didn’t bother looking. Mariah could tell who it was from the step and the slight sweet scent.
“I hope you’re not suggesting I need that kind of interaction,” Mariah said once the girl had slipped out.
“It certainly wouldn’t hurt you any,” Sophus said suggestively, nodding toward the vacated bedchamber.
“Thank you, but no.” Mariah was somewhat surprised. Sophus had many times over the years made plain his desire for her through his actions, but he had never made such a bold overture. The thought made Mariah queasy and she hoped he would accept her refusal.
“You are missing out,” he said dismissively. “At any rate, that was not what I was after. As you know, our most precious commodity is living blood. It is a convenience to have it so close all the time, so very accessible. I had a good balance established, but your addition to the family has thrown that off.” He put his hand up to silence Mariah’s protest before she could form it. “I am not suggesting that I wish you to leave; I enjoy your company and look forward to many years more of it. However, to have that and continue in the lifestyle we have become accustomed to, we will need to establish a new balance.” He paused, looking at her.
“I am listening,” she said cautiously, concerned that he referred to more than replenishing their herd of goats and sheep.
“The best way to maintain the life I have established here is if the women who come, come willingly and of their own accord.” Mariah did not like the direction she saw this taking. “As I am sure you are aware, most of these women have come to escape the sorrow of loss. The loss of their men, their sons, their loved ones.” She definitely did not like this at all. “There are not enough women coming to us. It is time to once again set in motion events that will entice their return to us.”
“You want me to go and kill off a bunch of their men?” Mariah asked, incredulous.
“Of course not.” Sophus shook his head. “That would be far too suspicious. In the past, they killed themselves off, but now there is something even better. A greater, more powerful enemy who wants nothing more than to dominate them has come. No, they will kill themselves in the pursuit of the most noble of causes: their freedom. We will help them keep it, as I promised them so long ago. And they will pay for it, as they promised me. We simply need to stir the pot a little to speed things up.”
The pieces came together. Sophus was going to orchestrate another rebellion against the Europeans. It had happened three times before. Sophus had given them the means to hold out against the invaders and fanned the flames that drove them forward. It was because of Sophus that her father had died; Cyrus had gone to help the Wayuu in their latest rebellion. Her father had been badly injured and sent to Theron as a sacrifice. Miguel had gone to bring him home, but had taken Cyrus’s place instead. It was because of Sophus that Mariah had lost her father, her husband, and her son. It was his fault that she was even here. She clenched her fist, hiding her anger from Sophus.
She no longer cared that Sophus was supposed to be the way for her to rescue Miguel. She would get him back, but she would also destroy Sophus. She didn’t know or care how, but she would do it.
“So what is it you want me to do?” Mariah asked as sweetly as she could manage.
“I am going to go in to the villages to stir up emotions. I would like you to come with me to learn to do the same. Will you do that for me?”
“Of course.” Mariah excused herself and walked swiftly out of the room. She wanted to destroy something. Anything. She ran down the hall, heedless of the direction she took. She couldn’t get lost here if she tried; she knew it all too well. When she hit a dead end, she turned and fled in a different direction. She could feel the pressure of the earth above her as she descended farther and farther into the depths.
A chamber full of blank stone slabs and statues finally stopped her. She plunged her hands into the first slab she reached, tearing away the pieces, carving her pain and anger, her hurt, and her loss into the stone. Willing it to hold her emotions. She lost herself to the work of carving. She recognized the face of her beloved husband emerging from the stone, and sank to the floor, sobbing with dry eyes.
Mariah did not know how long she stayed there after her cries had ceased, sitting beneath the half-finished statue. Sitting so still she might as well have been a part of the statue. She did not journey outward; she just sat still and stared across the room. Time passed in what might have been hours or days. Slowly, bit by bit, her mind became bored and sought distraction, watching the shadows move and the light fade, a mouse scurry across the floor. A part of her began to register the sounds. The rapid heartbeat of the rodent, the click of its nails in its crevice, the footsteps from above echoing down the caves.
“What am I going to do?” she whispered softly. Only silence replied. Silence, and a rhythmic, purposeful stride coming toward her. Mariah jumped up and pulverized the most distinctive features of the statue’s face, turning it into that of a rather bland-looking man.
“What indeed,” Sophus said from the doorway. He wore an immaculate white shirt with a ruffled collar and a rich, dark cloak draped about his shoulders. “He’s certainly not the most handsome creation you’ve made.”
“No, he isn’t,” Mariah replied with a steady voice, grateful that her perfect, unchanging body meant her voice never creaked with emotion or grew hoarse from crying.
“Come, we have another sick one who needs our mercy,” Sophus said, extending her his hand.
“There has been a rash of them of late,” she said, ignoring the proffered hand. “Hopefully whatever is making them ill will soon pass.”
“One can hope,” Sophus said with a shrug. He turned to head back toward the living levels but stopped, looking back over his shoulder. “Are you coming?”
“In a minute,” she said with a nod. “I just wanted to finish this bit and then clean up.”
“Don’t be too long. She will likely die within the hour.” Sophus swept up the stairs, his elegant cloak floating behind him. Mariah went back to chipping random pieces off of the statue until she felt Sophus was far enough away. When she focused back on the statue, it had turned into a replica of the man who had just left. With a low growl she broke the bust from the stone and flung it across the room where it smashed into another statue, shattering both.
With a sigh, Mariah began the task of moving the rubble to the corner. She moved so quickly that it took mere minutes, but for her it remained dreary work and she entertained herself by guessing at the parts of each piece of stone. This one was an ear, a nose, three-quarters of the head she had carved, a knee. As she picked up the last knuckle of a finger, she froze.
Straightening slowly, she brought the piece closer to her eyes to examine it. It was as pale as the stone, and to every appearance may have been, but this was no stone. The smell, underneath the dust was … subtle, odd. The feel of it … so familiar, but Mariah simply could not place it. She tucked the strange object into her pocket and quickly finished moving and sweeping the debris.
When Mariah arrived in the room held in reserve for the sick, she recognized the young woman who had snuck out of Sophus’s room. How long ago was it? Mariah had thought only a
matter of hours had passed, possibly a few days, but the girl was thin, pale, and wasted. Most of the younger women they had helped to pass on the last few years had been in a similar condition, though none of the older women had contracted this wasting sickness. The thought made Mariah pause, and she touched the finger in her pocket, wondering.
Sophus was waiting for her, sitting by the side of the bed with the young woman’s hand in his. He looked up when he heard her enter. Mariah shut the door gently, not wanting to wake the sleeping woman. She always felt better when they died in their sleep. The frightened face of the first young woman they had killed came to her every time they prepared to dine on one of the living. She shut her eyes and forced the memory away, back into one of the deeper recesses of her mind.
“I’m glad she is asleep,” he said in a low, quiet voice that the sleeping woman could not have heard. “She is frightened of you.”
“Most of them are,” Mariah said, taking a seat on the other side of the bed. Despite her sallow color, the girl was still very beautiful. Her face was relaxed, and she looked happy, with her face turned toward Sophus. “It is a shame we have been losing so many.”
“It truly is,” Sophus said, meeting Mariah’s eyes as though he felt she could have prevented it. He stared quietly at her for a moment that stretched on, and Mariah refused to drop her eyes, refused to give in to the power of his gaze. The sleeping girl stirred, causing them both to look down at the same time. Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled up at Sophus.
“You will take care of …?” she asked hoarsely in her native tongue.
“Of course,” he replied sweetly. She nodded and closed her eyes, the question having taken all her remaining energy while at the same time lifting a great burden. Mariah could hear the girl’s heart strain, pumping, with great effort, the sluggish blood.
“Well, let’s get on with it,” Mariah said impatiently. She hated taking the girl’s life, but it was obvious that her death was imminent, and blood from the dead was just plain unpleasant. Certainly worse than goat’s blood. Mariah brought the girl’s wrist to her mouth as Sophus leaned over the neck. Mariah’s mouth began to water, and her throat constricted with a burning thirst as she waited for Sophus to make the first bite.
As soon as his teeth split the girl’s neck, she began to struggle weakly. The girl’s heart struggled to speed up with the fear and pain, and Mariah bit into the soft flesh. The blood called to Mariah and the need took over, and it was all she could do not to pull away in disgust at the taste. It was living, human blood, delicious and entrancing almost beyond her comprehension, but there was a lingering, foul tang beneath it that Mariah took for the sickness that had consumed the girl. It had been in all the sick women the last few years. It was an unnatural, yet familiar, flavor mingled with a lack of some sort in the blood itself. In a way, the goat’s blood was more fulfilling.
Mariah gave herself over to her need. The flow lessened until there was nothing left for the body to give, and it was all Mariah could do to keep from attacking Sophus, a competitor, over the body that was hers. Mariah knew he felt something similar, so without looking at each other, they took a moment to compose themselves.
“There is something I would like to tell you,” Sophus said into the silence, a strange sound in his voice. “If you would meet me in my chambers, I will take care of the body.”
Mariah nodded and left, still not trusting herself to look at him without attacking, her hands clenched and held firmly at her sides. It never got any easier; the urge was always so strong but she had matured over the years and knew now how to handle it. Mariah spent the time waiting for Sophus to return composing herself, waiting in her customary chair across from the large one that Sophus enjoyed.
She pulled the knuckle out of her pocket to further examine it. What could it be? It wasn’t stone, it was harder than stone and yet somehow soft at the same time. It gave when she touched it and returned to its shape when released. It couldn’t be wood or metal and the detail was amazing. The skin texture was as detailed as her own skin. She stared at it, comparing it to that of her own hand. The answer eluded her, just on the edge of her thoughts, tantalizing and yet beyond her reach. She stashed the finger as Sophus entered the room.
“It is time to get to work,” he said briskly, without any of his typical ado. “I have an errand of sorts first. Then we will go together to the native villages and you will learn how this is done.”
“Where will you be going first?” Mariah asked. His sudden change of behavior had thrown her off balance, and she did her best to mask it.
“First, I will be visiting Theron to tell him of our plans. His companion will be useful in this, and I wouldn’t want to leave them in the dark. I intend for them to sow discontent among the Europeans.” Sophus walked to one of his favorite statues and leaned against it, not looking at Mariah.
“How long do you think this will take?” Mariah asked, already planning. If she followed Sophus in her spirit body, could she find the location of Theron’s home? Perhaps she would then be able to find it again on her own. Maybe she’d be able to find Miguel intentionally and not by chance.
“Why? Do you have something pressing to do?” Sophus asked sharply, taking Mariah aback. He had never been short with her before. She walked over and gently touched his shoulder.
“Sophus, what is wrong?” she inquired softly. He spun around and grabbed her wrist in a vice-like grip, but she held her ground and refused to pull away.
“You,” he growled at her.
“I don’t understand,” she said hesitantly.
“I have always preached to you moderation and control, and always I practiced what I taught.” Sophus scowled, pulling her closer. “But you! You come and bewitch me, intrigue me, even ask me to let you join my world. My carefully built and balanced world. My lonely world. I brought you here, shared everything I have made with you. I made you my equal, my companion to belay the loneliness.” He snatched her other wrist and drew her in farther, and she began to worry.
“But haven’t I been those things to you?” she countered. “When have I done less than you asked of me?”
“You haven’t,” he said, “but you won’t let me get truly close to you. Instead you tease me, then hide from me and distance yourself, and it is endangering all I have built. I indulge more than I should to ease the torture you cause, and it is ruining me.” His grip changed from her wrists to wrap around her waist, and before she could pull away, he was kissing her fiercely. She wasn’t prepared for her reaction. A flood of emotions and desires every bit as intense as her lust for blood washed over her, and she was kissing him back, pulling him to her as strongly as he held her to him. The passion and lust that had lain dormant inside her burst forward as Sophus pushed his tongue between her lips and she drank in the taste of him. Emotions she had never felt this intensely consumed her, things she had not felt since before she had entered this life. Feelings she had felt for ….
Miguel! His name seared through her mind like a fire, pushing back the overwhelming flood of emotion, damming it back into its place, and Mariah jerked forcibly away from Sophus’s kiss and out of his arms. Or she tried to. His arms were vice-like behind her as she tried to push against his chest with her arms. They stood there, starting at each other. A moment of panic seized her as she realized she was not strong enough to break his grip though he was not strong enough to pull her back in. Slowly a grin spread across her face, and Mariah ducked down beneath his arms too suddenly for him to adjust and moved just out of his reach, ready to fend him off.
Sophus stood there, startled, then threw his head back and laughed. “How fiery you are, mi corazón! Truly, you do not disappoint. It has been centuries since I have had such a fabulous kiss.” Sophus chuckled again and gestured toward the door. “Go. We have much to do. This will keep until our work is done.”
Mariah fled, wiping the taste of him from her lips the moment she was out of view. She found herself outside, in the grazing
fields surrounded on every side by steep, sheer drop-offs. She climbed to the highest point and paced in agitation, staring off to the north. She knew Miguel was out there still, somewhere, but she realized she had stopped seeking a way to reach him. Over the years, she had found solace in watching their son grow. She couldn’t even remember the last time she had been out in the warm sun, something she used to love, despite Sophus’s aversion to it.
The sun was setting behind her as she pulled the finger from her pocket and looked it over, but her mind wandered back inside. To Sophus and the kiss. She remembered every bit of it. The way he had felt, pressed against her, and the feel of his lips, the taste on his tongue, all burned in her mind. Anger welled up inside her. How dare he! She scowled, about to throw the strange finger she held. She checked herself as a thought worked its way into her mind. The way Sophus’s lips had felt against hers and the way the surface of the finger gave. The taste of Sophus lingered in her mouth as she brought the bit from the statue to her nose and tested the scent.
Mariah stared at the knuckle in wonder. She turned back to the setting sun. To be certain, Mariah extended her hand into the sunlight, slowly turning it until the knuckle lay exposed. It shone, pale, translucent and almost luminescent in the fading light, matching her own skin as though it were a part of her. She dropped it as if it had burned her.
The image of a limbless torso, surrounded in a miasma of darkness with a talking head came to her in a rush along with the remembered words “I have come for my limbs that you so kindly removed and hid.” The limbless creature had not uttered the words, but they had come from him nonetheless. Sophus had even said he’d ‘disarmed’ Theron, but Mariah hadn’t expected that he was being literal. This thing, this part of a finger, was Theron’s. Was Theron. Sophus must have hidden them in his statues!
Quickly, Mariah snatched the thing from the ground, and shoved it back in her pocket. Fear that Sophus might be watching, might see that she had found out his secret, sent a chill down her spine. But how long would it be until he realized the statue she had destroyed had contained it? Before he realized it was missing? Sophus had been right. It was time to leave.
Aeonian Dreams (Zyanya Cycle Book 2) Page 12