“That is most amazing,” Sophus mused. After a moment he asked, “Tell me though, what else do you feel?”
Mariah took stock. She felt everything, all at once. She was aware of everything in a way that would have overwhelmed her mortal mind, but she doubted Sophus meant that. The dust floating in the air, sparkling in the reflected sunlight, the sound of the stream that ran through the walls, the feel of the silk over her entire body, the stone beneath her bare feet. What else was there? She felt amazement at her new body, but Sophus seemed to expect that. Then it hit her. She felt amazingly, overpoweringly “… thirsty.”
“You are truly remarkable, my dear. To have gone so long before noticing, I have never heard the like.” Sophus was grinning again, but Mariah hardly noticed. Now that she had acknowledged the thirst, it constricted her throat, burning with the pain of need, nearly overpowering all of her senses. Her eyes narrowed and she began scanning the room for something to drink, poised, ready to dash at it to soothe the drive. Sophus chuckled. “Now that was the reaction I was waiting for.”
Mariah paused a moment, her mind resurfacing over the waves of pain and thirst. Her body continued to search for something to satisfy the longing, but her mind looked at Sophus, and pulled out of the crashing waves that strove to drag her back under. With a great deal of effort, Mariah regained control of her body.
She had not expected this when she had chosen to become a vampire. The stone-hard but perfect body, the strength, the silver-laced blood-red eyes; yes, those she’d anticipated. The amazing increase in vision and her other senses she could handle, but the thirst, the drive, was overpowering. For a moment she had been overwhelmed, had lost herself in her new body, and the part that scared her most was that she had enjoyed being lost. She had wanted to give in to the powerful urge to find and drink. It frightened her.
As she thought about it, the desire raged up again, trying to snag her and drag her down, luring her toward it, but fear caused her to pull back, to further solidify her control of her body. She sat rigid as she fought within herself for control, for freedom.
Sophus leaned back, watching with an amused smile. “Whenever you think you are ready, we shall continue.”
Her annoyance at his condescending tone helped to sharpen her focus, and she began to relax again. “Enjoying the show?” she asked wryly.
“Quite. It has been many long years since I’ve been so entertained. Well then!” Sophus clapped his hands with enthusiasm, a sound that reminded Mariah of a boulder falling off a cliff. “Shall we continue getting you introduced to your new life?”
Before Mariah could answer, the heavy wooden door swung open and in walked a tall, mortal Wayuu woman with long black hair that hung loose and straight to her waist. Iráma, the name presented itself to her mind, Sophus’s head attendant. Mariah was impressed with the ease and grace of her walk and her indifferent air.
The woman was carrying a bulging water bag and Mariah watched her, assessing. The beat of the Wayuu woman’s heart, slow and even, was clear to her. She even thought she could hear the blood moving through the veins. Mariah’s throat constricted at the thought, as Iráma watched her with open curiosity. This woman had been her friend.
“Iráma ….” she began through clenched teeth, not sure what to say.
“Do not thank me yet, waré,” Iráma said, shaking her head. Mariah nodded and concentrated on remaining on her chair.
“Come now, my dear,” Sophus said to Mariah as he stood to take the bag from Iráma. “Do you not wish to give your dear friend a hug?”
“I’d rather not,” Mariah said, focusing her vision on a spot on the wall. Sophus laughed and moved behind her, stroking Mariah’s dark hair.
“At least take in the woman’s sweet scent,” he urged. Before she could stop herself Mariah inhaled through her nose and immediately started coughing, dampening her bloodlust further. Sophus laughed and Mariah saw Iráma smile.
“What in the world?!” Mariah exclaimed when she had stopped coughing. “That has got to be the worst smell in all existence!”
“Yes, Iráma is one of a kind, that is certain. I’ve never encountered a worse-smelling human in all my long life.”
“At first he refused to take me in,” Iráma said with a smile, though she remained where she was. “When he did finally agree to let me stay it was with the stipulation that I stay, as far away from him as possible.”
“So not everyone smells so … my apologies, Iráma, but you smell horrid!” Mariah said apologetically.
“No,” Sophus said, still amused. “Most people smell delicious and alluring, some more so than others. You were among those. It stands to reason, then, that where there are some who smell overpoweringly wonderful, there must be some who smell amazingly repulsive.”
“Lucky me,” Iráma said dryly. “Eventually, once I had discovered what Lord Sophus truly was, I convinced him that I, of all people, was best suited to be his close assistant. He would never be tempted to kill me, and neither would any others of his kind.”
“If you please,” Sophus said to Iráma, gesturing to the bag in his hands. Iráma nodded and walked briskly out of the room, shutting the door behind her. “Now then, about your ... need. I must tell you that when I was young I spoiled myself, drinking only the best vintage. I found that gluttony, one of the seven deadly sins, while not deadly to me, was still extraordinarily ruinous. I have since developed my restraint and built up my self-control by allowing only occasional forays into the most delicious of foods.”
Mariah stared at him mutely, not quite certain she understood what he was getting at.
“To say it in less elegant terms, my dear — to live the good life, one must sacrifice.” He held the water bag to her, and she took it with unease. “Off the couch, please; they’re so difficult to clean. Now then, drink. It is goat blood, and though it will not satisfy completely, it will suffice.”
Mariah pulled the stopper out of the bag with trepidation and moved before the mirror where there were no rugs or furniture to worry about. She sniffed at it, uncertain what to expect. She was pleased to find that, compared to Iráma, it smelled wonderful, if lacking. Mariah tilted it to her lips.
The first warm drop to touch her tongue felt like an elixir of life, like fresh water on parched soil, like warmth to a freezing soul. Need overcame her and she could not wait for gravity to pour any more into her mouth. She clutched at the bag, sucking the still-warm blood out with a fury, like a starving woman shoveling food into her mouth. As Mariah drank, the world fell away. Sophus, the man from the dream, the cave, the shadowy memories, all of it spun away unnoticed and unmourned. The drink of life slid down her throat like silk, warm and fresh, and filled her with radiating warmth.
The moment she realized there was no more blood to be had from the bag, the world slammed back into her consciousness with a force that made her stagger. She looked ruefully down at the empty bag, feeling frustrated and unfulfilled. Laughter jolted her back. Sophus watched from his chair, as amused as ever.
“You must learn to not be so absorbed, mi corazón. I am afraid you have made a mess of yourself now.” He gestured to the large mirror.
Curious, she looked and immediately saw what he had meant. The ivory robe was splashed crimson, dripping from her mouth and throat, the blood standing out against her pale skin with an intensity that surprised her. As she examined it, Sophus joined her and wiped the blood from her neck with a silky cloth. His long, pale fingers lingered where they touched her, and she felt a fiery indignation at his presumption. She swatted him away and pulled the cloth from his hands. Or, she tried to pull it from his hands, but as he didn’t let go, the cloth tore between them.
“The second lesson is delicacy. You must remember that you now have the strength to destroy almost anything in this world, but with skill and purpose you can learn to create.” Sophus gestured grandly to the room in general, all filled with his stone creations. And indicating beyond, to the entire labyrinth he’d carved
and filled with his own cunning.
“Delicacy,” Mariah repeated with a nod. There was much to learn.
“Yes. As I mentioned before, anything worthwhile requires sacrifice. For us, the art of self-control is the greatest asset an immortal can have. With time and patience, anything we want will come to us. But, to obtain the required level of patience, of self-control, we must learn to sacrifice our greatest desire.”
“A sacrifice is giving up something good for something better,” Mariah said hesitantly. “I understand that, but I don’t see what is so wonderful that I need to sacrifice it.”
“Blood,” Sophus said with a wicked smile. “Human blood. It is like a well-made wine, strong and addicting and delicious. Most live off of it, becoming corrupted by their own selfish need of it, living in a cycle of desire and lust, satiating it only to succumb to the overpowering call of living blood again. It was that very greed that almost destroyed me once.
“So now I temper myself with animal blood, and though it may seem without substance and unsatisfying, I remain hale. And what is my reward?” Sophus gestured to the room around him. “It is this place, it is servants waiting to fill all my wants and needs, to belay my loneliness and to provide on demand that most precious delicacy. That sweet nectar that is all the more satisfying and delicious for the abstaining from it.”
“You’re saying that the more I drink animal blood, the more civilized an existence I can have?” Sophus nodded, and Mariah continued, a little unbelieving still. “And that by drinking human blood rarely, it will satisfy better?”
“Imagine, if you will, that you are suddenly home with your family around you. How would that be to you?” Sophus asked, again caressing her neck.
“I would love it more than anything else I can imagine,” Mariah said softly, ignoring his light touch as shadowed memories flitted forward, undefined but full of emotions, love, loss, longing. And guilt.
“Now, tell me truly, did you love it so well when you were there every day?” he whispered into her ear, looking into her eyes through the mirror. “When all that you had was at your fingertips, or did you take it for granted, that it would always be there, safe, for you?”
“I did not. I should love it more now for the absence than ever I appreciated it when I had it,” Mariah said, lowering her eyes to the floor to hide her distaste. “I understand what you are telling me, my lord.”
Sophus smiled cruelly as she stepped away from him. It was the first time she had given him the courtesy of a title, always before finding a way to avert it. Homesickness filled her, with the memory of the warm sun with the smell of sea and rain heavy in the air tumbling through her mind. But no matter how she longed to return, there was no going back. From here the only way to go was forward. For now, she had to stay with him; it was the only way to ... what? Mariah could not remember, but she knew it was important, desperately important. She would find a way to remember.
Chapter 4
As the small boat made its way around the peninsula, Mikhael and Elisa spent the time talking. Mostly Elisa told stories about things of little consequence. She spoke of the trivial little adventures the girls had had, which, as often as not, had involved Mikhael. Some of the antics they had used amused Mikhael, and he always enjoyed it when a particular tale roused a faded memory. She was pleasant to talk to, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of a dark specter lingering on the edge of his memory, just beyond recollection. It reminded him all too much of Theron watching, silent, from the back of his mind.
Mikhael guided the boat into a small bay as Elisa continued on with a story involving some heroic effort to obtain ribbons which had been subsequently ruined in a sudden rain. It came across as frivolous to Mikhael, but he supposed things had been different when they were younger and could afford to care about things like ribbons. He angled the sails into the wind to slow the boat as they approached the shore. The hull ran smoothly aground and Elisa’s story cut off abruptly. Mikhael hopped overboard and dragged the little craft entirely out of the water, well beyond the reach of the tide. The land felt stiff and unyielding after the gentle rocking of the boat, but he quickly adjusted as he tied off the first of the lines.
“Toss me that rope there, would you?” he asked, gesturing to a line near Elisa’s elbow. She threw it down to him and he moved off to peg it down. Elisa watched silently, beautiful in the sunlight with her hands folded neatly in her lap. If she was surprised by his immense strength, she didn’t show it, just as she had not shown any surprise or concern over his changed eyes, unusual skin, or unnatural temperature. Mikhael found it irritating. Has she no sense? he wondered to himself, and not for the first time.
“Where do we go from here?” she asked, looking at him through her lashes as he pulled his pack from the boat and slung it over his shoulder.
“South. Home is just over that little rise there,” he said, pointing, “a little more than ten miles. However, we may need to make a detour, depending on … the wind.”
“What do you mean?” Elisa asked as he helped her out. Mikhael gave her an appraising look.
“Theron, my master, wants me to bring back some food.” I suppose now is as good a time as any for her to find out, he thought to himself as he waited for her response.
“So, you’re saying that if the winds are good you will go hunting?” Elisa asked with a grin. Mikhael nodded and she continued. “What is it that you will be hunting?”
“Are you sure you want to know?”
“Try me,” she said, linking her arm in his free one. They started walking. Mikhael supposed it was briskly for her, but the lack of speed galled him.
“Humans,” he said, trying to gauge her reaction. She continued forward, not saying anything, though her heart sped up a little. Whether from nerves or the exertion, however, Mikhael could not tell.
“So you’ve become a cannibal?” she said evenly, her eyes forward.
“Not precisely.”
“Then what …?” she asked, returning his look. Her light eyes were wide, alluring and trusting. Mikhael stopped and turned to face her.
“It is more than that, worse than that. I consume their blood, it sustains me, it is the only thing that sustains me. They die for me to live.” Elisa searched his eyes. He couldn’t read her face but he found himself desperate for her to believe him. But to what end? Did he want her to run away screaming? Perhaps she would reject him, and a part of him felt that would be for the best, she would be free and safe. Another much smaller part felt relief. Would she leave him to be alone forever? The thought made his chest tightened, as though to cover the aching void her presence had begun to fill. No, he wouldn’t be alone, he realized, his hand tightening around the strap of the pack he still held. Theron was always there, watching. Smirking.
What was it he expected to happen? How did he expect her to react? How did he want her to react? Mikhael’s confusion with his conflicted feelings was cut short by a satisfied nod from Elisa. Without a word, she started forward again, Mikhael a step behind her. It would appear that she didn’t mind. More likely, Mikhael thought with both relief and trepidation, she simply doesn’t understand. He sighed, adjusted his pack across his back, and swept her into his arms.
“With your permission, señorita, it will be faster this way,” he said with a smile, doing his best to ignore the warmth and softness of her body pressing against him.
“Oh Miguel,” Elisa said coyly. “If you insist.”
The barren ground blurred beneath them as Mikhael moved. Suddenly the scent he’d been searching for came to him, faint in the dry air.
“What?” Elisa asked, as he paused to mark the place in his mind. “What is it?”
“I’ve caught a scent.”
Elisa gave him a wry grin and chuckled. “So now you really are a bloodhound.”
Mikhael didn’t understand the humor and it annoyed him. He felt certain she was referencing a joke he had once been a part of, one that he hadn’t cared for. “I’m going to take
you the rest of the way — it should only be a few more minutes — and then I will come back for him.”
“Do you have to leave me?” Elisa asked, caressing his cheek. “Why can’t you take me with you?”
“Mostly because it will be inconvenient to deal with both of you at the same time. Not that you’re inconvenient, but I doubt that he will be willing to go peaceably to his death.” Mikhael picked up the pace.
“It’s not because I’m a frail, beautiful woman, and you’re afraid I’ll faint at the first sign of trouble?” she asked, running her fingers through his hair. His breath caught in his throat at the caress of her fingers on his scalp and neck. He would have moved her hand from his neck if his arms hadn’t already been full of her.
“You may indeed be a frail, beautiful woman, Elisa, but I don’t think I could imagine you fainting at trouble.” He laughed. “If anything, I think you’d be right in the thick of it.”
She grinned back at him and they continued in silence. His mood darkened the nearer they drew to the lair, until he stopped some distance away from it. The empty, barren landscape spread out around them in gentle, rolling hills. The cave entrance stood silent in the distance, a dark gash in the hill that mocked him. He set Elisa on her feet.
“Wait here for me,” he said.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her hand lingering on his shoulder. “What is this place?”
“Listen to me, Elisa,” Mikhael said, setting down his pack and taking her hand. “You must not go any closer to that cave until I return, no matter what. Do you understand me?”
“Of course, Miguel,” she said, a little too quickly. “But why not?”
“There is nothing good in there for you. There was certainly nothing in it for me,” Mikhael said. “Promise me?”
“I will,” she said as she reached up and again ran her hand through his long, dark hair, pressing herself to him. “If you promise to come back to me.”
Aeonian Dreams Page 3