Aeonian Dreams

by Morgan J. Muir

  “Miguel?” Elisa stroked his face. “Miguel, are you all right?”

  Mikhael pushed himself upright and leaned against the rail, his entire body aching from the force Theron had used.

  Get this ship back on course! Theron barked, prodding him ungently. With a grunt, Mikhael pulled himself up and began the work of angling the ship back toward Theron. Elisa watched him silently and, once he’d again taken up position by the wheel, leaned her head on his shoulder. Her presence soothed him, and the deep physical aches in a body that otherwise knew no pain began to ease.

  “He hurt you, didn’t he?” she asked, trying to draw him out of his shell. He clenched his jaw tighter, afraid of the words that might otherwise come out.

  As the sun set, she pulled off his heavy jacket and began kneading his shoulders. He secured the wheel and turned around, pulling her into an embrace, hungry for a kind word and a moment of forgetfulness. He breathed in the smell of her hair, the softness of her body against his.

  “Oh, Miguel,” she whispered, “this needs to stop.”

  “Why?” he mumbled as he kissed her neck.

  “I can’t stand seeing him hurt you like this.” She held him tighter, her hands stroking down his back.

  Mikhael’s gut tightened in fear at the words he had to say. If she was ready then he had to try, even if Theron waited for him on the other side.

  “Then we must escape.”

  She pulled back from him. “Escape? Escape from what?”

  Mikhael pulled away and looked into her face. “Don’t you see how he holds us captive?”

  “I see how you can’t abide by the rules,” Elisa said testily, “and we both pay for it.”

  Mikhael stood, dumbfounded, as she continued. “You know he’s touchy about certain things; you were the one who warned me about it! Why can’t you just control yourself and not make him so angry?”

  “You think I lack self-control?” he asked flatly.

  “Of course I do! I can’t believe you’d be stupid enough to bait him on purpose!” she said, poking at his chest.

  “Did the thought never enter into your pretty little head that I don’t want this life?”

  “What’s there not to like about it? Theron gives us everything we could possibly want!”

  “Except the freedom to think our own thoughts or choose our own directions,” Mikhael snapped back.

  “I think anything I please and he never forces me.” she crossed her arms defiantly.

  “That is because you don’t see beyond your fashionable dresses and shiny baubles to challenge him with anything of import!”

  “No, it’s because I’m not stupid enough to go at him head-on,” she retorted hotly.

  “You’re missing the point, Elisa!”

  “No, I don’t believe I am! I get what I want because he likes me. I follow the rules and don’t antagonize him. I bring joy to him, unlike you who constantly fights and pecks at him until he snaps, and you always wind up hurt. Then I have to jump in and soothe the both of you. It’s all your own fault!”

  Mikhael turned from his golden-haired companion. All his own fault. Of course it was. It always came back to this. He owed it to her, everything, because of the choices he’d made. Him and his damned honor. Honor had set him on his original quest. Honor had led him into the demon’s den. Honor to a half-remembered promise had dragged Elisa into this hellish life along with him. And now he wasn’t free to even choose honor or not. He wasn’t free to even think his own thoughts or dream his own dreams.

  He sighed again and retreated a little further into the lonely prison of his mind as he returned to the wheel.

  Elisa watched him, satisfied that she’d cowed him for now. She wished he would be sensible, but it was always the same pattern. He’d grow more and more discontent until he’d lash out, and then there would be an altercation. Miguel would sulk for a while, but then he’d behave. For a little while there would be peace, and then it would begin again.

  I wish I could change him for you, she sent to Theron.

  It is enough that you try, precious one, his sensuous, smooth voice embraced her mind.

  I do try, she returned, reveling in the touch. I can usually head it off now, too.

  You’ve done well. Theron stroked her like a cat. He almost never thinks of the woman anymore.

  As it should be. Elisa smiled to herself and began humming as she watched the shore slide silently by.

  ***

  The gentle winds toyed with the field of flowers that surrounded Mariah. Pointedly ignoring the distant flames—had they grown larger again?—she looked around her one last time, scanning the horizon for any sign of Kasha. Their encounters had been few and far between, but whenever she had the time to do so, Mariah searched for her. The woman was a wealth of knowledge about this place and always left Mariah with a new challenge that stretched her skills, and often awoke memories.

  Considering the memories moved her around, and she stood on the balcony overlooking the gardens at Casa de la Cuesta. Kasha had met her here a few times, but even better, Mariah had caught glimpses of Álvaro playing in the halls. The large plantation home was a good place for hiding games, and a couple of times Mariah had managed to nudge him toward her favorite spots. She wandered the halls for a bit, and then tried a few of the gardens. Unable to find either Kasha or her son there, she moved on to her home.

  The Álvarez hacienda was probably her favorite place in all the world, and the dream world reflected her attitude. Everything was always bright and cheery when she visited. The flowers always in bloom, the ground clean and the walls white. Sometimes the shadows of the past would flicker before her, but as soon as she saw her son, everything else fell away.

  Mariah lived for the times when she could visit Álvaro, and more and more the real world, Sophus and everything that came with him, had begun to feel like the dream. Occasionally, she had entertained fantasies of returning to Álvaro anyway, certain that now she could control the vampire that she was. But every time she had begun to really believe that, Sophus had been there with another dying woman whose blood reawakened in Mariah the need to stay clear of those she loved. Mariah scowled. It bound her closer to him.

  But there had been countless days of joy, watching her son grow. When he fell and scraped his knees, she was there to tell him it would be all right. She encouraged him when he had difficulty with friends or with his lessons. She had watched as he rode his first pony and whispered advice into his ear. And nearly every night, when he went to sleep, she was there singing her lullaby.

  Mariah’s reflections shattered as Álvaro burst out the door, with Emelia close on his heels, and little Norita toddling along behind them as fast as her legs could take her. They charged off to the stables, no doubt to ride their ponies. Pushing all her other cares aside, Mariah followed.

  ***

  As Álvaro grew, he knew that Bethany was not truly his mother and he knew that he had never met his real mother, Mariah Álvarez Cordova. But he knew with a certainty that she loved and watched over him. And sometimes, just as he drifted off to sleep, he thought he saw her face, smiling down at him, singing a beautiful lullaby.

  Chapter 12

  1750 – Guajira Peninsula

  Smiling, Mariah watched Álvaro’s face fill with joy as Benito led the docile gray mare around the corner and into view. Almost nine years old, Benito had decided the time had come for the boy to have a real horse rather than the pony he and Emelia, his foster sister, had shared for so many years. Bethany had furiously objected, insisting that a horse was far too large for such a young child. They had finally come to an agreement when Benito insisted that both Miguel and Mariah would have done so, gently reminding his wife whose child Álvaro really was.

  Mariah had been watching Álvaro and Emelia play at the time, and though the children couldn’t have heard the adults, Mariah had no such difficulties. She agreed with Benito; it was time her boy had a real horse, though she appreciated Bethany’s cav
eat that he could have one only if it was docile. Much to Emelia’s dismay, her mother had staunchly refused to allow her daughter a horse of her own. Of course, if Mariah knew her son, Emelia would be riding Álvaro’s mare so much that she wouldn’t need her own anyhow.

  Álvaro could hardly contain himself, appearing to use every ounce of self-control he possessed to not charge up to the horse and his foster father. Mariah listened with only half an ear as Benito gave instruction and reviewed rules for the new horse. A manservant appeared with tack and handed it to Álvaro, who began immediately to saddle the mare with Benito’s gentle guidance. He was a good man, and Mariah liked him. He’d always been gentle and sensible, but stern when needed. He had a good head on his shoulders, and Mariah had little doubt that he would raise Álvaro to be the kind of man Miguel would be proud of.

  A stablehand brought around Benito’s gelding as they finished saddling the mare. Álvaro had grown tall for a boy his age, but he was still not quite tall enough to easily swing into the saddle the way he’d been accustomed to with the pony. He struggled to get his foot into the high stirrup, and Mariah chuckled as he tried hanging on with one hand while using the other to lift his leg. Once he managed to get his foot set, he hopped around a few times, trying unsuccessfully to pull himself up. Benito waited patiently, holding the mare’s head and trying not to let his amusement show.

  I remember my first horse. I had the same problem, Mariah mused out loud. Álvaro paused, his head cocked to the side. Just take a deep breath and take your time. That’s what my father always told me. Get a good grip with both hands and pull. Just keep pulling until you make it. Álvaro nodded slightly, tightened his grip on the saddle above his head, took a deep breath and jumped. He struggled to pull himself up, unused to the method of transferring his weight up his left leg from so low. You can do it! Pull! Mariah cheered him on as he slowly pulled himself upward. Suddenly he was standing straight in the stirrup. Shooting a triumphant smile to his foster father, he swung his free leg over and gathered up his reins. Benito congratulated him and smoothly mounted his own horse, and together they rode out of the courtyard.

  Full of pride, Mariah watched them go, feeling the past pulling at her. The ghost of another man rode out of the same courtyard, away from her and into the rainy night ….

  Shaking herself free of the memory that she knew would trap her in the past, trap her in the cycle of mourning that she had fallen into so many times over the years, Mariah returned to her body. She opened her eyes to the bright cave. She had gotten so used to closing her eyes to avoid dust over the years that it had become disconcerting to see the wall before her. She would notice all the cracks and crevices, the movement of the shadows, as a strange visual overlay to whatever she saw in the ethereal world. It was disorienting, distracting, and an unwelcome reminder of why she could not be truly in her son’s life.

  Mariah sighed. She had returned earlier than normal, which meant a longer time with Sophus. It wasn’t that she minded his company so much as there were so many other things she preferred to do. It was more of a chore than anything. Perhaps she would find an excuse to avoid him tonight.

  Well, we all earn our keep here one way or another, she consoled herself as she stood. After nearly a decade, she still found it a bit unnerving that she never felt the least bit sore after sitting still for so long. Nevertheless, she stretched and moved all her limbs and joints, fearing that if she went still for too long she might get stuck. It was one of the few things that kept her returning to her body.

  There were footsteps coming down the hall, soft with a slight shuffling limp. Wuchii, and by the sound of it, she carried a load. Before she could knock, Mariah opened the door for her old friend, and old she had become. The last eight years had not been gentle with the older woman.

  “Ah, you are kind,” Wuchii said as she walked in carrying a basket full of clothes and linens.

  “Let me get those for you,” Mariah said, taking the basket before Wuchii could protest, and closed the door.

  “Are you certain?” Wuchii asked with a grin. Mariah shook her head and set the basket on a table and began to sort and fold the laundry.

  “You know I like to have something to do. I spend far too much time still as it is. Go, sit down,” Mariah gestured to one of the chairs and Wuchii eased herself into it.

  “These old bones aren’t what they used to be,” she said happily.

  “These damp, drafty stone halls don’t help you much either, I’m sure,” Mariah voiced the complaint that Wuchii could not.

  “The work is good for me; it keeps me moving,” Wuchii said with a shrug. “It seems like more than it really is.”

  “It is more, and you know it. You’re just too cautious to say anything. Even Iráma takes a turn tending the sheep now. I haven’t been able to decide if that makes her smell better or worse.” Mariah grinned and Wuchii snorted in amusement. A friendly silence fell between them as Mariah whisked about putting the linens and clothes away. She shut the last drawer and turned thoughtfully to her old friend.

  “It worries me, though,” Mariah said, almost to herself. “Sophus always has me with him when a new girl comes to us, but the last few years we have lost more women than have joined us.”

  Wuchii nodded sagely and stood up. “It is a good thing, Mariah.” She picked up the empty basket and left.

  Mariah stared after her for a moment before changing into nicer clothes. Whatever did she mean by that? Wuchii knew full well that the other women had been leaving by way of the two vampires. Despite the years, Mariah remembered each woman clearly. They had ranged from that first, scared girl, who had believed she was really going home, to the older women who were literally already on their death beds. Others had accidents that they couldn’t recover from or illnesses that would have taken their lives anyway. The only truly odd thing about it, Mariah supposed, was that the deaths were happening more and more often.

  Mariah put her hair up and donned some jewelry. Of course, with fewer women to replace the ones that had passed on, the ones who remained were getting older and more fragile. But eight years shouldn’t make that much difference, should it? Mariah chewed on the thoughts as she wandered to Sophus’s chambers. She knew he would be aware by now that she had returned, and he would come to her if she did not go to him first. Mariah hated having the man in her rooms. He always made her feel like prey being stalked in there. Often, Mariah wondered who was the stronger of the two, who was faster, who would win in a fight. She hoped she would never have to find out.

  Mariah didn’t bother knocking at Sophus’s door; she knew he had heard her and she detested the subservient position knocking put her in. Besides, Sophus never knocked before he entered her rooms, and she resented it. She pushed the door open and was surprised to find the large sitting room empty. She sat down on one of the chairs, picked up a book, and looked around again, hoping for some clue to his whereabouts. It was not unusual for him to be elsewhere, but he would be happier if she was waiting when he arrived. On the table next to Sophus’s favorite chair sat two goblets. Curiosity got the better of her and picked one up, sniffing it. Human blood lingering on it. Behind the plush chair she saw the discarded bag that had held the blood. She picked up the empty bag, puzzled. It was unlike him to drink so much and not share any with her. Odd, too, that he would just leave the bag to dry. The bags were time-consuming to make and needed to be taken care of so that they didn’t dry out and harden.

  Mariah darted out with the bag, already hardening, and gave it to the first woman she saw, instructing her to take care of it. Sophus would be upset if it was ruined. He didn’t like it when his things got damaged, especially through carelessness. Mariah returned to the still-empty room. It was just so unlike him, he was neither carless nor wasteful. She walked back to the goblets and picked up the other. It, too, had been used recently, but as Mariah sniffed at it she knew it wasn’t blood. What, then? The scent was so familiar, like a memory hidden just beyond her sight. Cring
ing, she touched her tongue to the metal. Metal tasted even worse now than when she had been human, and the goblet tasted very much of metal. Metal and … grape?

  Mariah looked at the glass in shock. Wine? She sniffed it again. It was a fine vintage, but why ever would Sophus have wine here? She’d never known him to give anyone such a fine drink. Except her, perhaps. What was going on? The door to Sophus’s bedchamber opened and closed behind her.

  “You’re back early,” the silky voice said, as she gently set the cup back on the table.

  “Can’t I do things differently from time to time?” she said. “I wouldn’t want to be too predictable for you, not with your scheming mind.” She grinned and flopped back onto her cushioned chair, flipping her book to a random page. She peered up at him over the pages as he walked toward his chair. His light curls shone with golden highlights in the sunlight and hung lazily about his shoulders. He wore a light robe belted loosely about his waist, leaving his pale, muscled chest bare. Not for the first time, Mariah supposed he was beautiful, perhaps even entrancing for someone who didn’t loathe him.

  Sophus looked her up and down as he sat across from her in his favorite seat. “Did you need something?” he asked.

  “No,” she said, her eyes on her book. “I’m not disturbing you, am I?”

  “Indeed not. I have something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about for some time, and I think now is as good a time as any.”

  “I see,” Mariah said. She faked a sigh and set the book down as though it was a great sacrifice to give him her attention. She folded her hands over her lap and looked up at him expectantly.

  Sophus picked up his goblet from the table and brought it up to his lips. He paused and frowned into the empty cup before setting it back on the table.