by E. M. Knight
“May the night cradle him and grant rebirth,” the other humans repeat in unison.
I search their faces. “Now,” I ask. “Who’s next?”
Chapter Forty-Five
ELEIRA
THE CRYPTS
I grip Raul’s hand tight in mine as we follow Dagan through the unfamiliar halls of The Crypts.
We’re in a level much lower than where James took me when he kidnapped me. I have a sense of it, a sense of all the ancient wonder of this place, of all the secret knowledge and centuries of history, through my newly-minted vampire self.
Raul is understandably on edge. He and the larger vampire obviously have long-standing issues. Both must put on a show of civility, but it is a truculent peace. I fear it can fracture at any moment.
Yet if it comes to that? So be it. Raul has me with him. I will always stand at his side.
I sneak a glance at him. I don’t expect him to be looking at me—but apparently he had the exact same thought at exactly the same time I did.
Our eyes meet. He squeezes my hand. I give him a quick smile.
And then he just beams at me, so happy, so full of love, that for a moment I am swept away to a place where none of this uncertainty exists. For a moment I’m in a place where it’s just the two of us, complete in our love, oblivious to the outside world, two spirits, two souls completely and irrevocably in love.
Raul breaks eye contact first.
Am I being sappy? Did I imagine the whole thing?
Or does a connection really exist between us that goes well beyond the physical plane? It’s ridiculous to hope for, to even think of, to consider as a possibility… but how else can I explain the feelings he evokes in me? Those feelings that were there from the very first moment I’d laid eyes on him? The feelings I’d tried to deny and belittle as childhood fantasies, as nothing truly belonging to the harsh adult world… but the feelings that come up, time and time again, whenever I am with him?
Maybe there’s something to this whole destiny thing, after all.
Dagan leads us to an impressive door. It’s made of stone, and there are many intricate carvings around its outside frame. The symbols and hieroglyphs are unlike any I’ve seen before, and yet they bear a certain resemblance to the witch runes I’d glimpsed in the Book of the Dead.
He sticks a key into the lock and twists it open. “From here you go alone,” he grunts. He sounds… disgruntled. He pushes the door open to perfect darkness.
Raul steps to go first, but Dagan places a firm hand on his shoulder. “Not you,” he says. He turns his head to me. “Her.”
Raul stiffens. “I’m not letting Eleira out of my sight!”
“Unfortunately, Prince, on this you have no choice.” Casually Dagan brandishes his sickly weapon again. It’s in his hand for a flicker of a second, and then it’s gone, hidden once more in the folds of his uniform.
Raul turns on him menacingly. I feel a fight coming on. That’s the last thing I want.
I tug Raul back. “It’s okay,” I tell him. I meet the eyes of the larger vampire. “I can take care of myself.”
“Eleira—”
“I’m serious,” I say. A flash of irritation simmers to the surface, but I quickly quell it back down. “If you don’t think I can handle myself at this point—”
“It’s not that,” Raul interrupts. He glances at Dagan, who looks impatient, and then lowers his voice as he steps nearer to me. “If we separate, how do we know we’ll see each other again?”
“We will,” I promise him.
“What if it’s a trap, in there?” he asks. “You don’t know what these vampires are capable of.”
“If they wanted to hurt me, they’ve had plenty of opportunity before,” I remind him. “The Ancient fed me his blood, remember? Do you think they would do that and then—”
“Time’s wasting,” Dagan says. “Eleira goes alone. Those are the orders I’ve been given. I’m not letting you,” he sneers at Raul, “—get in the way of them.”
“I’ll be fine,” I promise. “Really.”
Raul hesitates… and finally nods.
“Where are you going to take him?” I ask, looking at Dagan.
“The Prince has an audience with his father,” Dagan says. “It’s for a sort of… diplomatic negotiation.”
I don’t like the dip in his voice when he coins the term.
Dagan nods to the door. “Go, then,” he tells me.
I face the endless darkness, take a deep breath, and—sensing nothing beyond the veil—step inside.
Chapter Forty-Six
ELEIRA
THE CRYPTS
A frigid cold grips me when I take my first step.
It’s the cold of a hundred winters, of a thousand blistering snow storms. It’s the cold a woman feels when she’s lost and all alone, in the depths of the arctic night.
It’s the cold no vampire should be able to feel so acutely.
In a flash, it’s gone, and I find myself alone in a circular room. The walls are made of ancient stone. There are markings covering all of them—a mixture of the runes I remember from before and their variations I saw on the outside door.
In the middle of the room is a well. The sides of it reach no higher than my knees. It’s an odd feature in an otherwise barren place.
I take a step forward, then turn and look behind me. There’s no door, no entrance, nothing at all breaking up the solid stone wall. Nothing to give any indication that it was possible to enter the room.
I sense another vampire’s presence.
I gasp and spin around. There, standing on the other side of the well—where there was nobody before—is Beatrice.
She smiles at me.
“Surprised?” she asks. “Don’t be. There is magic found in all sorts of places. And there are all types of different magics. Ones that even a witch as strong as you can be blind to.”
“This is a torrial,” I say, looking around the room. “Isn’t it?”
I’m not frightened. Beatrice could be hostile or friendly, and it would make no difference. I feel absolutely secure in my own strength.
In fact, it’s the vampire within me whose instincts I now trust most.
“Yes,” she says. “Of course it is. How else would you have arrived?”
“But you’re no witch,” I say. I can sense Beatrice’s power, and all of it comes from her vampiric half.
There’s a difference, a very, very subtle difference between a regular vampire and one who has The Spark. It was only because I’d spent time with Morgan…and, to a lesser extent, Victoria… that I could recognize it in Riyu.
“No,” she tells me. “I am not. Yet there are things that I know—things that I’ve studied. Things that I’ve been aware of since a long, long time before you were born.”
She is speaking without a shred of emotion entering her voice.
“You know who you are,” she continues, stepping around the well and coming toward me. “You know that you’re special. But do you know why it’s you? Do you know why you were the one picked to rule?”
I blink. Picked to rule? She must mean over The Haven… but somehow, she made it sound much grander than that.
“No answer,” she muses. “Shall I take that as a ‘no?’”
“There was something about the stars,” I say. “About the constellations. They predicted my birth.”
She laughs. “The stars predict a great many things, child,” she says. “Some of which come to pass... but most of which do not. Tell me, do you feel like you are living the life you were meant to lead?” She comes close and brings a hand up to gently touch my cheek. “Do you feel fulfilled? Do you feel secure in your purpose? Or are you floundering about in the great ocean, looking for an island where there is none to be found?”
“Neither,” I say firmly. I don’t know who this woman thinks she is, but I’m not about to speak to her of my deepest feelings. Despite the gift of The Ancient’s blood that was given to me, I’m st
ill on enemy territory.
Whatever Beatrice’s goals are, they’re undoubtedly different from my own.
“Hmm.” She steps back. “I did not bring you here to confuse you, Eleira. I only wish to offer guidance. I want to give you a sense of your importance to us—so that you can benefit from a full appreciation of all the myriad things that revolve around you now and in the future.”
“How can I trust you?” I say. “How do I know the things you tell me won’t all be lies?”
“Unfortunately,” she spreads her hands, “I can offer you no assurances there. All I can do is present you with the information I have. It is up to you what you do with it. But I think you’ll find that the things you learn today will not be such heavy truths.”
“So you brought me here to tell me things about myself,” I say flatly.
“Yes. I wish to help you understand, Eleira. The Haven vampires—they want to use you. That is why you came into their grasp. I will not say that theirs is a sinister purpose. I will simply ask you this:
“Have they once, any of them, given you the words of the prophecy that heralded your coming?”
My eyes narrow oh-so-slightly. “No,” I say carefully. “They have not.”
“And yet, it is a prophecy known to all the creatures of the night,” Beatrice says. “It’s not exclusive to The Haven. Your arrival into the vampire world concerns us all. All the covens who value their place in the world know of you.”
I take the smallest step back.
“You think I lie? Why did the Wyvern coven accept The Haven’s offer of sanctuary? Why did the other covens of North America refuse? Oh, you’re surprised that I know? Don’t be. We vampires are all connected, all of us linked. We could not exist as a species if we were fully segregated. We keep ourselves separated from the human world, yes… but even that will soon come to an end.”
“And what end is that?” I venture.
“Eternal night,” Beatrice answers. “Cast over the whole of the earth. An uprising of our kind, where we claim our rightful spot as rulers of the earth! There will be no more cowering beneath the ground. No more hiding from the sun. Soon, it will be the humans who cower in fear of us. We will not be hidden—we will be known! We are the greater species—is it not fair that we inherit the earth? It is up to us to wrest control of it from the usurpers, from those paltry beings who cannot begin to understand or appreciate the gift they are given. To take it back from those poor stewards of the earth, and to recreate this world into what it was always meant to be!”
Beatrice’s voice takes on a maniacal zeal. But there’s something about the image she painted—something about the idea of an uprising, of domination over mankind—that speaks to the vampire inside me.
I feel it responding, feel it becoming excited and restless by the prospect Beatrice speaks of. The ideas appeal to it—no more hiding! Unlimited blood! —but they are completely at odds with my moral conscience.
“No,” I say, taking another step back. “No, that is not—that is not what I want.”
“Your eyes betray you,” Beatrice tells me. “In them, I can see your true intentions. I can see how you fight against the instincts flaring to life inside you. I told you vampires are connected. I told you we are all linked. Do you know why, do you know how?”
She lowers her voice. “It is because a common substance animates us all. Look at your arms, look at your flesh, look at your body! You think it is still human? Humanity is but an illusion. It does not exist—not within us. A human soul enters a body at birth and is extinguished at death.
“But not with us! We are parasites, taking residence in these human shells. You will learn, Eleira, you will see, that the body you occupy is not you. The vampire you feel inside—that is you.
“And what a gift! It strengthens the muscles, it hardens the bones. It grants us extraordinary senses, it offers eternal life. Do not struggle against it. Give in to it fully! Only once you do, will you find peace. Only once you do, will you achieve nirvana. For some…” she frowns, “…that never comes. They spend their entire existence fighting. They want to hold on to the memories that made them human, instead of embracing their new existence as they should. They become… forsaken.”
Beatrice turns away. She walks to a particular set of runes and traces her fingers over it. Her voice takes on an inflection of great sadness.
“They become lost to us. You have not come across any like that yet, have you? Of course you have not. Your existence in our world has been brief. You will not find any such vampires in the covens. They cannot stand the company of those who remind them of what they are. So, they slip away and wander to the ends of the earth. Some seek salvation. Others seek redemption. But the cruel irony?” She turns back and meets my eyes. “When a vampire turns her back on who she is, all that she finds is destruction.
“They all meet their end soon after. Some lie down and crawl into the earth, where they cease to feed, where their bodies crumble and wither away into nothingness, until all that remains is held together by the thinnest gossamer strands. The force that gives vampiric life is still there, but it is so weak as to be useless. So those poor souls linger on, forever on the edge of perpetual death, without ever being able to cross to the other side. Theirs is an eternity spent in misery. They are convicted, and they can never rise again.
“The others? Some seek the fire. Fire destroys all, you know. They walk into the flames and let their bodies turn to ash. The ash is scattered by the wind. But still, that substance animating us remains. It remains between all the infinite particles of the vampire’s former body, even weaker than the strands holding together those who went underground. The vampiric essence is infinite, Eleira, and once it has hold of you, that essence can never be removed. It is like energy, or matter, never created, never lost, only changed in shape and form and substance.”
She looks me up and down. “Do you see what I’m getting at? Well, I don’t blame you if you don’t. These are things that take a lifetime to understand. A lifetime not just of theoretical knowledge, but a lifetime of practical, physical experience. The vampire life is so far removed from that of a human’s. We must all come to grips with it, in our own way. The journey leads to a single destination, for those who can endure. And that is acceptance. Acceptance of who we are and what we do and the powers granted to us by this amazing gift.
“Yet that is not the point. The point is this: All those vampires who’ve perished? The ones who find destruction in the end? Their essential energy is what fills the air, what fills the earth. And that energy, Eleira, is what gives rise to magic.”
She lets the words sink in for a long, solemn moment.
I consider them all.
Then, she continues.
“Witchcraft and sorcery and all the extra powers you have come from the same source. They come from us. You are drawing on the vampire essence when you cast your spells. It is far, far removed from its origin, of course… so many steps away as to be nearly unrecognizable… but those who have studied it? We know.
“The whole world of the supernatural is linked, Eleira. Just as the entirety of the mundane world is linked. Very few have the perspective, the patience, to become aware of that link. But it is how I, even though I lack The Spark, have been able to make use of certain torrials in my…” she clears her throat, “…studies.”
“And… what studies are those?” I ask. I have to admit, what she’s telling me is wholly fascinating. I do not think I would have found such a treasure-trove of information anywhere else.
Does Morgan know of this? She must, and yes, I get the feeling it is knowledge she would not have easily given away.
“Studies of the Great Prophecy, of course,” she tells me with a secretive glimmer in her eye. “Studies of our past and studies of the future. Reality is mutable, to an extent… but it is also predetermined. Certain things will come to pass whether we will them to or not. Great cosmic events, to which all vampires are intricately linked, hold
high significance for us. As a human, you might have been granted some impression of the size of the universe. Am I correct? In school, in your learnings, you would have been given some idea of the scope of all that entails it… of the scope of the whole of living existence. And yet how can someone with such a short perspective on life truly begin to understand? Humans are the lesser species, and they are crippled by their mortality. No, to truly understand, to truly appreciate, all that our universe offers, one must possess the perspective of the gods. And we are, Eleira, every one of us, truly God-like.”
“No,” I step away. This is the same type of zeal that Morgan frightened me with when she spoke of the power our collaboration would grant her.
“It is not I who gives us that title,” Beatrice tells me. She comes closer. “Who do you think the earliest humans worshipped when civilization came to prominence on this earth? It was us, and our ancestors, who first opened their minds to the possibilities afforded by this world. They gave it up, we made it real. There is nothing more. We are their vision of the perfect being, the perfect human, the absolute paragon of beauty and creation and life. While they suffer their human diseases and afflictions, while they grow old and sickly, we remain, locked into these perfect vessels of being for all eternity. Now tell me, if that is not the image of a god, what is?”
I shake my head roughly. This is getting too intense, too much.
“Think, child!” Beatrice stresses. “Who else is afforded such opportunity? Who else is given such a chance? We have remained hidden for eons. The existence of our kind should be celebrated. We should be known! We should be the ones to hold power on this earth. Why are we satisfied with hiding in the dark, with stalking the places humans dare not go? Seeking something greater is not outside our realm of rights. We have the ability to dominate, the potential to rule. Why deny ourselves such gifts? Why not go up, above ground, and claim all that which is rightfully ours?”