Aeonian Dreams

by Morgan J. Muir

  The request sent of pang of remorse through Mikhael. I should never have left her, he thought, and the dark shadow lurking in his memory seemed to agree. He pulled her close. “At any cost, mi morena.”

  Mikhael felt the blond-haired woman stiffen under his hand and her eyes tightened for a moment. She pulled away and gave him a radiant smile. “I’ll be waiting, Miguel.”

  Content that she would stay until he returned, Mikhael kissed her forehead and set a quick pace back toward his victim. The scent was easy enough to pick up again; the man had not washed in some time and the smell was strong. In his short time as a blood-hunter, Mikhael had learned to distinguish from scent alone many characteristics of a person. Women tended to have a slightly sweeter yet salty scent and men more feral; healthy people smelled clean and crisp, where the ill smelled rank and somewhat sour though the tang differed by the illness, the old smelled different from the young, the angry from the peaceful, and so much more. The scents were as varied as those of nature, and Mikhael enjoyed guessing the traits of his prey before he came upon them.

  The game was another compromise he had come to with Theron, who enjoyed playing a far more macabre game with his prey. To him, humans were no more than cattle and, assuming control of Mikhael’s body, he would play with them as a cat plays with a mouse. It disgusted and infuriated Mikhael. Theron demanded that Mikhael provide him with some form of amusement, though, and the guessing game satisfied his master. But for how long? Mikhael wondered.

  His quarry came into view, and Mikhael paused, assessing the accuracy of his assumptions. A single Wayuu man wandered alone. He was not herding any animals and did not walk with the determination of a traveler. He was simply going. This is going to be too easy. Theron will not be pleased, Mikhael thought as he approached the man.

  The traveler looked up, and his eyes widened in shock at Mikhael standing before him, beckoning him to follow. The man said something in a language Mikhael did not understand, and again he cursed his faulty memory. He knew that he had once known many languages, but now he could only speak limited Castilian, which was Elisa’s mother tongue, a bit of Greek, courtesy of Theron’s constant presence in his mind, and his own native English. Like so many things, the Castilian frustrated him as he found himself forming words without knowing their exact meaning, only their general idea, such as “mi morena.” He knew only that it was a term of endearment, and he hadn’t known even that much until he’d said it. It had felt right to say, yet the way Elisa had reacted seemed so strange. As though he’d said something very wrong and she didn’t want him to know.

  The traveler followed Mikhael with an indifferent air. The sound of the traveler’s feet on the dirt, the air of each breath, even the hushed whisper of the moving cloth, was noisy enough that Mikhael was able to keep track of him reflexively. He didn’t know this Wayuu, and for that he was grateful. Once, early on, he had been unfortunate enough to come across a man he had known, only briefly, in his previous life. The struggle between Theron and himself had been epic. In the end his own body, spurred on by Theron, had betrayed him. Mikhael had killed the man.

  Mikhael’s jaw tightened at the unpleasant memory. He had to admit, though, that it had done much to strengthen Mikhael’s resolve to recapture control of his life. He wasn’t sure exactly how he would manage to do so, but he did know that it started with Theron. He would remove that parasite from his mind, even if it was just a small bit at a time. After all, what did he have but time?

  As they neared the entrance of Theron’s lair, the empty landscape broke through Mikhael’s cloud of thoughts.

  “Elisa!” he shouted, dashing forward. Where could she have gone?! “Elisa!”

  The area around the cave was so barren there was simply nowhere she could be hiding. The native spoke quickly, gesturing to the dirt at the mouth of the cave. A very clear set of dainty tracks led into the cave, filling Mikhael with dread. Leading to Theron.

  You had better not have hurt her! Mikhael shouted mentally at Theron as he raced into the cave. Haunting laughter filled both his mind and his ears as he turned through the dark corners. The native man followed as quickly as he could manage.

  “I have not done anything she did not wish me to do,” the deep, silken voice said from the room just ahead of him, sending chills up Mikhael’s spine. The voice was oilier in person than in his mind and it made Mikhael feel as though he’d bathed in grease.

  You loathsome beast, Mikhael thought as he entered the gloomy, filthy chamber. He stopped just inside, a fallen torch flickering at his feet.

  Grinning from across the room, the object of Mikhael’s hate sat in a large chair set on a dais. Mikhael glared back at him. Theron had been a man once, and then a vampire, whole, beautiful, and powerful. Now he was little more than a grotesque torso and head, broken and wrong, and barely able to move without assistance. The ragged remains of where his limbs had been torn from his body mercifully remained hidden within the draping shirt he wore, but it was the vile look on his face that repelled Mikhael, and he turned away. Whatever had possessed Sophus to leave Theron in such a state, Mikhael neither knew nor cared.

  Elisa knelt near a pile of rotting corpses and bones, her arms held tight around her stomach. Mikhael knelt beside her and gently touched her shoulder. In the torchlight, the carved images in the pillars that held up the ceiling seemed to dance with glee at her agony. She looked up at him and her perfect, golden hair gleaming in the light contrasted starkly with her pain-filled, tear-stained face.

  “It burns,” she whimpered as he gently pulled her hands away from her body. On the inside of each wrist were mirrored crescent cuts. Venom-filled bite marks, courtesy of the limbless fiend sitting on his throne.

  “It will,” he said softly. Pulling her into his arms, he tried to give her what comfort he could as the venom spread through her veins, burning her mortality away one layer of tissue at a time. He glared over her head at the smirking remnant of a vampire.

  You can’t be upset with me, Mikhael, Theron told him, brushing gently through his mind. You left her here knowing that I would try to lure her in. You even tried to warn her. You’re just lucky she asked to be changed, or I would certainly have killed her.

  Don’t try to justify yourself, you devil! Mikhael bared his teeth and growled. Behind him, the man pulled up from his rush in to help.

  Ah, dinner has arrived! Theron announced, gleeful. Well, what are you waiting for? Go get him.

  “Some day, Theron, I will destroy you,” Mikhael growled as he unwillingly disentangled himself from Elisa, who whimpered and tried desperately to cling to him. He strode over to the unfortunate traveler and dispatched him without any ado, taking the limp body to the dismembered one to drink.

  Theron sighed. “Why do you do this to me? You know I hate it when they’re already dead.”

  Mikhael drank what was left after Theron had finished, and carried the body out for the carrion eaters with the rest that he’d removed. He would have buried them; he wanted to, but it was another thing Theron simply would not allow. No respect for the dead, as only the weak die. Mikhael shook his head at the stupidity of the philosophy. It had been a relief when Theron had allowed him to start cleaning the centuries of death from the cavern. By the time Mikhael returned, Elisa had finally given in to the pain and begun screaming. He rushed back in to her.

  This is the worst part, Theron lamented. We’ll have no peace for days. The things I do for you, Mikhael.

  Mikhael glared at his tormentor as he gathered the woman into his arms, giving what little support he could.

  Chapter 5

  Sophus walked patiently around the room as Mariah stared intently at the chess board. She’d read several of the books Sophus kept on the game, but still could not divine his strategy and had not yet beat him. Gingerly she moved her rook into position, determined not to break this one. She’d gone four games now without inadvertently breaking any of his pieces, and that was nearly as exciting as winning.

&nbs
p; Sophus returned to the table, deftly moved his bishop and, too late, Mariah caught the split. It was either give up her queen or lose the game. Sighing, she moved her queen obligingly, and Sophus swept up the piece nearly before Mariah had let go.

  “Checkmate,” he said, stroking the contours of the captured queen. Frustrated, Mariah scowled down at the board, trying to see where she had gone wrong.

  “You came at me too strongly,” Sophus explained, and sat down beside her, setting her queen beside his king. Too close. She managed not to cringe away as he leaned back on the couch, grinning.

  “Tell me more of this life. What else should I know?” Mariah asked, trying to divert his attention and moving away to more easily face him. He raised an eyebrow, eyeing her critically.

  “What is it you wish to know?” he asked.

  “Everything. What are our strengths, our limitations, our purposes, what should I be watchful of? I’m sure there is much to know and who better to instruct me?” She despised being so close to him.

  Sophus closed his eyes thoughtfully, resting his head against the couch-back. “Where to begin ….” he murmured. After a few moments, his eyes popped open. “Ah yes, come with me.”

  Mariah stood gracefully, aware of Sophus watching her. He smiled and walked to the door almost faster than a mortal eye could have followed. Mariah missed a beat, but by the time he’d opened the large wooden door she had caught up to him, and they sped down the hall together. Mariah recognized the passages; he was leading her to the pastures. Again she marveled at the effortless speed with which they walked and wondered how long a journey overland might take.

  “My lord, what is required to change a person into an immortal?” Mariah asked as they walked.

  “First and foremost, it takes a great deal of self-control. In this life, self-mastery is power,” Sophus said without looking back.

  They reached another large, heavy wooden door before Mariah could respond. Sophus threw it open and stepped back to allow Mariah to enter first.

  Beyond the door lay a large meadow on the plateau, bathed in sunlight, and sprinkled with grazing animals. No fences kept the animals in, but the impassably steep drop-offs that surrounded the pasture had the same effect. She wondered idly how often an animal wandered over the cliffs. To Mariah, the bright sunlight made everything appear to glow. The colors were deeper than she remembered, more intense, and another color emanated from the sunlight that she’d never noticed before. The almost purple hue lent a somewhat magical aura to her view.

  Mariah took in the sights. Every movement of the vegetation, every wavering blade of grass, every twitching leaf registered all at once. The sound of the goats chewing, the birds flitting among the branches. The scents of the earth, the flora, the fauna, the wind. Even the salty tang of the distant sea all registered in her mind. Mariah inhaled deeply, taking it all in, mesmerized by the beauty of it all.

  The shadows shortened then lengthened across her view. Time meant nothing to her, for she was enthralled in her senses. Slowly, as though from a great distance, Mariah became aware of someone watching her.

  “You should remember to blink,” a voice said. Mariah dragged her eyes and sluggish mind from the sights toward the voice. There was a man there. He was familiar. He was dangerous …. Mariah blinked as the man had instructed, and her mind cleared.

  “Your eyes do not require you to blink, of course,” Sophus continued when the recognition return to her eyes, “as your body does not require you to move. However, I have found that, like so many other things, the lack of work deteriorates oneself. In the case of your eyes, if you do not blink they will get dusty, and your vision will slowly cloud, and you won’t even notice it until one day you decide to blink.”

  “You sound as though you know,” Mariah said.

  “Indeed I do. One of the many follies of youth, I’m afraid. My colleagues and I believed that we were greater than the world, greater than nature, and not beholden to her laws. We thought that we were super-human, super-natural. Surely anything as mundane, natural, and human as blinking was not only beneath us, but degraded us. There have been many of our kind who ruined themselves one way or another by thinking that their prominence was both inherent and permanent.

  “To answer your previous question, our strengths are as many and varied as we are. There is almost nothing in this world that can damage our kind. Our only real threats are other immortals and nature, and nature is only a threat if you allow it. As for weaknesses, as you have so aptly demonstrated, we are easily distracted. We are also vain, selfish, and greedy as a whole.”

  Mariah nodded. “It would seem that we are what we were before, only more of it.”

  Sophus nodded his agreement then gestured out to the sunlit pasture. “After you, my lady.”

  Mariah stepped into the afternoon sunlight, careful not to let herself be distracted this time, but it was as though she were seeing for the first time. She turned back to Sophus who was standing just outside of the doorway and gasped.

  “You’re … beautiful!” Mariah had no words to describe what she saw and Sophus smiled benignly at her. It wasn’t just that he was beautiful; he had always been that. Something about the way the light shone off his skin made him almost glow, as though his skin captured the sunlight before releasing it back into the world. The patterns of light that moved across his smooth and lustrous skin — like silk, she thought — were mesmerizing. The pale curls in his hair held even more shine, if that was possible. She yearned to reach out and touch it, to know if it would be as sleek and beautiful to touch as it was to view. Mariah couldn’t find words to adequately describe what she saw. Did the dark-haired angel from her dream look like that in the sunlight too? Mariah smiled slightly at the thought. Would she? Mariah frowned at the unbidden thought of that woman, and turned quickly away. Sophus stepped in behind her and put his loathsome hands gently on her shoulders.

  “So are you, mi corazón,” he whispered into her ear. Mariah looked at her hands, irritated to realize that she was still wearing the ivory robe, the blood stains on it now old and dark. How long had it been? To her chagrin, she remembered that she wore nothing else beneath it. Growling she ripped the bloody sleeves off. The sight of her skin arrested her mid-movement, glowing with pale health in the sun. She rotated her wrists back and forth, mesmerized at the motion. Dropping the cloth, she turned and flexed her hands in the evening sunlight. Admiring their beauty, she was lost in watching the skin slide over the bones, muscles and tendons like a pretty new trinket. Mariah then held her hand still and, to her amazement, discerned what appeared to be the slightest movement in her veins.

  “I thought our hearts didn’t beat,” she said, confused.

  “Indeed they do not.”

  “But … I see movement,” Mariah said, indicating her veins.

  “So there is, and it is moved along by our hearts.” Sophus nodded. “Nature is a master artist and engineer. She designs bodies to be efficient, fabulous machines. The transformation that we undergo doesn’t change the general layout of the machinery all that much, just the alchemy. It makes us more efficient in many ways, more perfect. As you said earlier, we are what we were before, just more.”

  He moved to face her, brushing his fingertips across her lips. “For example our mouths still produce saliva, but now it is venomous to mortals, poisonous to other creatures, and yet healing to yourself. We still have blood that moves through our veins, delivering life to our bodies.” His fingers ran along her jaw toward her neck and she turned away. He dropped his hand and continued as though he hadn’t noticed. “However, our blood is so powerful a healer that, were you to rip off a limb, both ends would seal and not a drop of blood would be spilt. Any tear or rip that could be made in our flesh would heal almost instantly.

  “I do not know the exact mechanics of how our hearts move our blood, but I do know that, if you sit still long enough and focus on that noble muscle, you will sense its movement. It is, however, very subtle and takes
a great deal of effort to find.”

  Mariah nodded, contemplating this new information. The light changed and she noticed for the first time that the sun had set.

  “Easily distracted,” Sophus chuckled. “Come, let us get inside before you notice the stars come out.”

  “Why?” she asked. “What would happen if I looked too long at them?”

  Sophus smiled and opened the door. “You might find them looking back.”

  Mariah ducked inside, unable to resist a glance back up at the sky, at the few stars that had begun peeking out at her. Before she could get caught up in them, she turned away. She needed to think without distraction and without him watching her, reading into her every expression. There was so much she needed to straighten out, needed to remember before it was lost or she slipped up. There was so much about her new life, her new mind, and her new body that she needed to adjust to. Mostly though, Mariah wanted desperately to simply get away from Sophus.

  When they neared Sophus’s chambers, Mariah turned from him and darted into her own rooms. As she shut the heavy wooden door almost in Sophus’s face, she was afraid the force would break it and was immensely relieved when it did not. Her relief lasted only a moment as she realized a mere wooden door was no deterrent to a being who could carve a palace from stone with his bare hands. She waited, holding her breath for a long time. The light in her room faded as the night darkened. At the sound of the faint footsteps walking away from her door, she let out a small sigh of relief.

  The realization that Sophus had probably known she’d been standing, waiting, beside the door the entire time struck at her like mocking laughter.

  She screamed in her mind, clenching her fists, wanting to scream her frustration out loud, to throw something, to pound the walls. She shook in anger without seeing her surroundings, as she fought the compulsion that would lead to the utter destruction of everything in her little sanctuary. More than she cared about the objects in the room, she did not want Sophus to hear, and she knew he would. Their rooms were directly connected through the tunnels in the ceiling that brought the light into the caves, and he would know. As she worked to stuff her anger back into its box, she was left with empty despair. Emotionally drained, she dropped onto her bed, staring blankly at the details of the dark ceiling.