by James Moore
Melsinde snarled then, casting the chalice aside, and the roses came alive, twisting and twining over each eave and gable of the Mansion of Venus, a Sleeping Beauty hedge-wall of briars and thorns that snagged and caught, trapping invaders and spearing thorns through the hearts. The trapped Kindred screamed as their thorny prison wove tighter, then screamed no more, staked, and the briar hedge began to drain essence from them, blood red roses blooming on every vine as the bodies withered away into mummified corpses and skeletons. Those Kindred not already caught by the thorns fled in terror, the ones within the circle of brambles taking the last refuge they had left — the Witch House.
“Into the Manse!" screamed the Goddess. “Bring me their hearts!”
Seeing Carl lying upon the ground, Ilse was filled with a fierce blood fury. Then she saw a target worthy of her anger — Thadius Zho. The dark mage, the man who had murdered her, ran back around the side of the witches' lodge, fleeing the questing tendrils of wood and thorn, his imp capering and turning cartwheels at his side.
Ilse ran forward, her hands curved into claws, intending to rend him as fiercely as the maenads had rent their victim. The rose canes parted for her as she reached them, the tendrils of thorns whipping up one after the other like an archway of swords and falling closed in her wake.
She slammed the door open that Charnas and Zho had taken and followed the stench of sulfur and lavender, her senses heightened to a fever pitch. She heard screams throughout the corridors of the witches’ dark and twisted lodge as the magicians and sorcerers found their intended victims and those who had profaned the sacred mysteries met their fitting end.
At last she came to a door painted with a linden tree and doves, without a lock, yet barred against her. She slammed against it with the full force of her mind and fury, the bar giving way, and then strode through, slamming it behind herself and sealing it with the hex sign Astrid and Cassandra had used.
Zho and Charnas were there, Etrie clutched in the mage's hand.
“Lisle!” cried the tiny creature. “Lisle!”
“Give him to me," Ilse growled.
“You might as well, Thadius,” Charnas said, sitting atop a dresser. “After all, you’re gonna die pretty soon, or at least wish you could. This House hates you, and you don’t have a bolt-hole — unless you want to make another bargain and give me your soul.”
“I do not want another bargain, Charnas.”
“You don’t? Why not?" The imp flipped over on the dresser-top to lounge on his stomach, then cradled his chin on his interlaced fingers and grinned. “You got immortality, didn't you? What, you don’t like the idea of immortality as a heap of little bloody pieces after ilse gets through with you, not to mention what the witches outside want to do or that nasty Goddess of theirs. Hell hath no fury—”
“Shut up, Charnas!”
“It’s gonna hurt..."
The mage collapsed to the floor, the pride and anger draining out of him at the imp’s horrible truths. The homunculus pried himself from Zho's hand and ran across the floor to hug Ilse around the ankle. At the touch of the tiny arms, ilse felt her fury ebb somewhat, or at least gentle as she did not want to harm the sweet little creature, the repository of Etrius’ innocence. She reached down and picked him up, cradling him in her hands to protect him from any possible harm.
ilse then saw Etrius’ chain of office clutched in the mage’s other hand, the Eye of Saulot still set in the center stud. “Give me the Soul Gem, Thadius.”
“No," he said softly.
“Give it to me."
“No.” He spoke with quiet desperation, opposing her with the last of his power and will.
Ilse felt the blood fury return. “Do you wish to destroy everything? Everyone's last chance for happiness?”
“Gwyneth— Ilse— No, please, you don’t understand...” The blood burned behind her eyes, and she saw the dark marks on his soul. “Of course I don’t understand. I may have loved you once, but I don’t know what could have possessed me to do anything so stupid. Now give me the gem. Carl may be dead, but if not, there's still time to finish the rite and save him along with everyone else."
“No, you don’t understand." The dark mage looked up, his one blue eye pleading, the green pentacle on the patch in place of the other eye a mockery of the men she’d loved. All of them. Even Zho. “The rite you would do — It would not lead to the world’s salvation, but its destruction." He pointed to Charnas. “The imp would gain everything. All of you would become alive again, yes, but House Tremere would still be linked by blood, and Etrius would be at the Eye of the Pyramid, but younger than me. Charnas would gain not only the souls of my heirs, but those of Etrius as well. An entire House of mages." Thadius Zho’s weathered face was stricken, and in it she saw the face of the man she had loved. “Charnas would destroy the world.”
“Oh, please, Thadius,” the imp said, leering down at him from the top of the dresser, “how many times do I have to tell you? I’m not the type of demon who likes destroying worlds. I prefer the phrase ‘remake in my image.’ And who's to say that would be a bad thing? I mean, look at this one. Anyone could do a better job. And if that anyone were me? Well, at the very least, it would be more amusing."
Etrie stood up in ilse’s hand then. “But we already thought of that!” he squeaked. “I would be joined with Etrius and Carl, and I’m older than you, Thadius, older than Etrius, older than any of the men of this world!”
Zho blinked his one eye, a horrified light of realization dawning in its depths. “You mean...”
“That’s right!” howled Charnas. “You really screwed the pooch this time, Thadius old boy! The magic midget is one hundred percent correct. Might as well tell you now so I can enjoy watching you squirm before the witches play Stretch Armstrong with you.” He cackled with delight, then pointed to Etrie. “That little critter is the Mandrake. The Mandrake, the oldest thinking critter on the planet, though, unfortunately for him, without a soul. Oh, well, that's God for you. All these little oversights we demons can take advantage of. But if Etrius and everyone do their little rite, it’ll not only work the way you knew it would, it would also cut me and the Lord of Misrule right out of the loop — previous claims and all chat — and the only consolation prize we’d get is that since our contract with you would he null and void, we’d just clear it all out, give you back your eye, give Ilse here a life she wouldn’t need, and take back everything we ever gave you, including your immortality and my own cute little self.” Charnas giggled, then shoved Zho with his fingertips. “But hey, we could still be together. You’d die, your sins would drag you down to Hell, and when and if your soul gets put on the auction block, I intend to be right there in the first row and at the top of the bidding.” The imp fluttered his eyelashes. “And you thought I didn’t like you.”
Zho clutched the chain and the Soul Gem and stared up at Use. “Please, Gwyneth, I would take it all back if I could, but I can’t. I never meant to hurt you — I never meant to hurt anyone — I only wanted to save my soul."
“At the price of ten thousand innocents,” Charnas put in. “I don't know about you, but that's the way I like seeing souls saved.”
“It was just one...”
“I know. That’s how it starts. Just one. Like potato chips."
Seeing the imp’s childish cruelty and Zho sitting there, Ilse remembered herself in the baths, the words she had had with Merrill, and half the anger and fury drained out of her.
Charnas looked up and beamed. “Ooh, boy, I think someone just had a moral epiphany.” The imp looked at Ilse. “Just realized you’re no better than him, didn’t you? Sucks, doesn’t it?"
The fury returned, but not for Zho. “Go away, Charnas."
“What, and torment you no longer?” The imp whined. “Aw, c’mon, it’s my job!"
“What—?” Zho began.
Ilse blinked away a tear of blood. “I have sins on my conscience too, Thadius. Things I should not have done, and I didn’t even do
them to protect my soul.” She paused, her throat catching. “That's why the rite was so important. It would have made up for some of the things I’ve done.”
“And you can still do it!” Chamas beamed. “Sacrifice ten thousand to save one, sacrifice one to save ten thousand. Hey, Hell doesn’t care. It’s all the same to us. And the law of potato chips always applies.”
Ilse tried to ignore the imp, but couldn’t block out the poisonous truth he spoke. If Carl and Etrius did the rite, with the knowledge that it would send Thadius to Hell, then their souls would gain that taint. The Mark of Caine, the sign of a brother’s murderer. And looking at the one remaining eye of Thadius Zho, Ilse realized that they were just that — brothers. Brothers in spirit. If one was damned, then all were damned.
She knew what she had to do. All her death she had done what was best for the good of the clan, whatever were the wishes of the Council, and not what she knew in her heart to be right or true. She now saw where that path of power led.
Ilse set Etrie on her shoulder, letting him hang on to the silver chain which held her Key, then walked forward, holding out her hand. “Give me the necklace, Thadius.”
He clutched it. “It’s my life.”
“I know,” ilse said, “but you owe me that much. Repay this one sin on your conscience. Do what is right.”
Hand trembling, Zho slowly lifted the chain of office, then set it in her palm, dropping his head into his hands.
Chamas applauded sarcastically, still grinning. “Ooh, a good deed. An angel got its wings. Makes you feel warm all over, doesn't it?”
Ilse ignored the imp and went to the central stud of the necklace, examining the catch, then slipped her nail under the seam and pried it open. The Soul Gem tumbled out into her palm, round as a marble. The Eye of Saulot, the mystic third eye of knowledge and healing.
Ilse dropped the chain, then raised Zho’s head up, flipping up the patch to find an empty, torn socket hidden behind the ugly green pentacle. Before he could raise his hand to hide his maiming, Ilse slipped the Eye of Saulot into the socket,
where it fit as neatly as a glass eye.
Zho winced, lids clenched tight, tears running down his face, then opened his eyes, both of them. His right eye was still blue, but the left was now red, a gemstone, the Soul Gem. As ilse watched, the color reversed, red changing to green, ruby to emerald. He blinked, and then he had the two mismatched eyes she remembered, the eyes that all of her men had had.
Ilse took the Key from around her neck, the Iron Key to the House of Secrets. “You are of the blood, Thadius. You can escape into the House Between the Worlds. It will hide you, for mysteries are neither good nor evil, and it keeps all of them.” Her throat clenched, and she swallowed. “Go, and when you have redeemed your soul, return, and we will do what must be done.”
He took the Key and stood up. “You were always too good for me, Gwyneth."
“I’m ilse now," she said. “Go. Please, go."
He nodded once, and Ilse sat down on the bed of the witch’s room. As Zho ran off to lose himself in the rambling corridors of the Witch House and then the House of Secrets, Charnas glanced back and leered. “Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. Isn’t this a great game?”
Ilse only wept, and Etrie, on her shoulder, hugged her, whispering in her ear, “It’s all right, Lisle. I love you, and Etrius loves you too. He will understand."
Use looked at the discarded chain of diamonds on the floor and only hoped he would.
Both Etrius and Carl.
And she hoped that Paul, whoever or wherever he was, would understand as well.
Epilogue
And so it ended, with a prolonged scream that trailed down to a final echoing whimper. No sooner had Etrius called out with a voice of unspeakable agony, then everyone went crazier than before. The Kindred he’d brought with him were forced to flee from the woman/goddess who ruled the Hexenhaus and her pack of savage women. The witch-woman called to her minions and stalked the remaining vampires as if leading the Great Hunt of legend. The Tremere ran after Zho, completely ignoring Kurt, save to push him out of the way. The stunning flowering masses that surrounded the Hexenhaus built a net of vines and thorns that snared many of the Kindred from both sides of the battle, draining them of blood and sending them into torpor.
And while everyone ran their own ways, Kurt climbed through the tangled prison of foliage and thorns, snapping the vines that tried to attack him and gaining several small wounds.
At the center of the clearing before the witches’ place of power, he found Etrius, still tied to his pole and crying tears of crimson sorrow. Looking at the man, Kurt knew that he had made a hideous mistake. This was not the face of an enemy. This was the face of a good man, a true kindred spirit. In Etrius he saw not a powerful member of the Tremere’s Council of Seven, but rather a man who wanted more than anything else to simply be human again. A man who wanted to be free of his own Damnation.
“I am so very sorry, my lord. I did not understand.” The bonds that held Etrius were strong, but hardly enough to stop Kurt. He had the advantage of leverage and could pull them away easily, where Etrius had well and truly been pinned in place. The heavy strands of thorns that imprisoned the Tremere elder tore into Kurt’s hands, but gave way before he surrendered to the pain.
The Archimage of Clan Tremere fell free from his bonds and would have fallen to the ground if Kurt had not reached out to catch him. Etrius was nearly bloodless, likely having burned away his own vitae just as Kurt had done in Crowley’s haven.
Looking upon the man whose dreams he had ruined, Kurt could do no less for Etrius than ilse Decameron had once done for him. He bared his fangs and slashed his own wrist, offering the blood in his body to Etrius. The man drank deeply, and Kurt made no protest. Etrius stopped himself before he would have done permanent harm to Kurt, and Kurt was saddened. Surely if anyone had the right to take his life, it was this gentle soul.
Numb in mind and body both, Kurt stepped away, going to sit among the fading beauty he’d helped destroy. The plants faltered, withered away, and left only weeds where once a magical forest had been. The beautiful and deadly rose bushes became simple wild roses again. He watched the passionate blooms fade and die and felt their loss as trenches cut across the scarred field of his soul. For a very long time, he sat and stared, hearing and seeing everything around him, but simply beyond caring.
While he sat, the Tremere returned. He heard ilse
Decameron’s voice and Etrius’ and Carl Magnuson's as well, but he did not listen to what he heard. For a time he lost himself in memories of Jackie, bittersweet thoughts that filled him with agony and despair....
Eventually, he became aware that someone stood directly before him. After wishing the person would leave him be — until he realized his wish would not come to pass — he looked up from where he sat and stared into the face of Etrius.
The man gazed down at him and reached out with a hand that was surely strong enough to shatter rock. Kurt did not flinch, accepting that this one had the right to decide his fate. The hand clasped his arm and gently urged him to stand. When he was upright, Kurt lowered his head, unwilling to face the kind eyes that stared into his own.
“Ilse has told me all that she knows,” Etrius said. “She has told me of Thadius Zho’s ignorance of certain facts, and that you, too, had your reasons for stopping my actions.”
“Again, my lord, I am truly sorry for what I have done to you.”
“I have already forgiven you, Kurt Westphal.” Kurt looked up, surprised by the words. “Will you now forgive yourself?”
“I — I don’t know that I can, Lord Etrius." Kurt’s eyes burned, and his vision grew red and blurred with the sting of his tears. “God help me, I don’t know that I can!" His voice broke on the last word, and a jagged sob cut through him. Etrius reached out to him and held him in a powerful embrace, supporting him when all the foundations of his life had been shattered. Kurt wept openly, with no considerat
ion of his place in the Ventrue and no thought of anything but the losses he had suffered and the damage he had caused.
When he was able to see and think again, he pulled away from the Tremere Councilor, ashamed of what he had done. Etrius stared at him again, with eyes that were too kind for one who had suffered so much. “If you would like, you may visit me in Vienna, Kurt. We can discuss what has happened and perhaps even find you a place among the Tremere.”
I...I might well take you at your word, my lord. I shouldn't be surprised if I find myself in Vienna soon. Thank you.”
Etrius nodded and gave Kurt’s shoulder a farewell squeeze. “Melcinde will likely be back soon. I would be away from here before then, Kurt Westphal."
Then the Archimage turned away, and a woman Kurt remembered glimpsing in the witches’ circle rushed up to him. Her dark hair was tangled with leaves, and her eyes glistened with welling tears. Etrius slipped his arm around her comfortingly; perhaps she was his consort. Kurt watched with the Councilor with a painful envy in his heart of that comfort, now denied him. In the distance a group of Tremere waited for Etrius, turning and following behind the Councilor as he walked towards an east-facing doorway of the Hexenhaus. Kurt nodded to Carl Magnuson when the man waved a good-bye, and nodded again to Use Decameron as she acknowledged him. As the last of the Tremere walked through the threshold of the door, the lodge where they had come to celebrate began to fade, changing into the trees that had been standing atop the Brocken for centuries.
And then Kurt turned away from the Brocken himself. The sun would rise all too soon, and he had need of shelter from the morning's light. Perhaps another day he would seek death, but not this one. For now he sought after the only thing that seemed to matter anymore — Jackie was out there alone, facing a world that was far too dark and unforgiving to be faced alone. He would find her, and from there only time could tell where his path might lead.