Saying Goodbye to the Sun

by David McAfee

  I started to shake uncontrollably, unable to speak or even think. My illusions were torn away, and I realized despite my burning hatred and many murders, the only death I truly desired all those years was my own. For the first time, I saw myself for the coward I was. I put my face in my hands, but I could not even cry. I was cold, and dead, and so very alone.

  Then I felt her hand on my shoulder as she again asked me if I wished her to summon the doctor. I forced myself under control and told her some story about how I had just left my position in one of the slaughterhouses just outside of town. The blood belonged to those unfortunate cows that had been butchered that night. She believed me, and so she went to go on about her way, giving me a smile and telling me to have a wonderful evening, then.

  I stopped her and begged her name, which she gave me and you already know. I then asked if I could accompany her, adding that the city at night was no place for a beautiful young woman to be traveling alone. This much was true. Even in 1854 there were many Bachyir in Boston. If she continued to walk the streets at night, she would soon fall prey to one of them, for she stood out like a rose among dandelions. Nothing attracts the dead like true and living beauty. Many Bachyir feel a subconscious need to destroy everything that reminds them life can be beautiful. I could not let that happen to her.

  And so I walked her home, and the more we talked, the older and fouler I felt. She had that effect on me; I could see my own reflection whenever I looked into her eyes. For her part, she never recoiled from me, though she sensed something was amiss. I could see in her face the questions she longed to ask, but Raine was very shy then, and lonely, a sharp contrast to the Raine we know today. Her questions went unasked, and thus unanswered. This suited me because I did not wish to tell her the truth. I feared what I would see in her eyes once she knew it.

  Raine and I became friends of a sort. We would meet at night, of course. Often we would talk into the wee hours, and many times I went straight from her side to my own place of rest. During these times, the Hunger that so often gnawed at me over the last six thousand years seemed less potent. I found I could often ignore it altogether. This time in my life was the closest I have ever come to true happiness since I last saw my Neelie that early morning so long ago, and I came to the decision that the Council could keep their next assignment. I was going to stay right there, and to Hell with all of them if they did not like it.

  Such a thing was never meant to be. Less than half a year later, Raine took ill with Tuberculosis. These days, they have vaccinations and medications for it, but in the mid 1800’s, Tuberculosis was a death sentence. There was no stopping or slowing it, and I watched helplessly as it took her, leaving her weak and wasted.

  I knew I should not do it. I knew I should leave her be, and let her die. Even as I bit into her flesh and tasted her blood, I knew it was wrong. But I could not bear it if she died, not when I had only recently rediscovered what I had lost. I could not let her go, and so I Turned her. I did it without asking the permission of the rest of the Council. Being on the Council myself, I am above such considerations. Though there was quite a commotion when I presented the news to them that Ramah the Bloodletter had finally produced a child. Lannis and Algor were especially vocal in condemning me for not seeking their approval, but in the end I think Herris was simply too pleased that I’d finally fathered an offspring to dwell on the issue for long.

  Raine’s opinion was never sought, although when she discovered what I had done to her she reacted with as much anger and disgust as I could have imagined. She refused to speak to me at first, and I thought I had saved her only to lose her again. Then the Hunger took her, as it does so many, and she was lost. She has become as vicious as I ever was. Raine has spent the last hundred and thirty-two years doing her best to live up to my reputation. Her life as a Bachyir has been as bloody and violent as any.

  ***

  Ramah no longer looked at his shoes. His gaze was fixed instead somewhere on the wall ahead of us, perhaps on one of the tapestries. Maybe in his mind he saw his life as it had played out. Perhaps he was adding up the twenty-nine years that had ended in five minutes of blood. Perhaps he saw the face of his mother as she died, or maybe even the face of Raine as he changed her into his child.

  I don’t know what time or area of the world his mind occupied, but I could tell he was not fully in the room with me. As he went on, he spoke as if he was talking only to himself. Perhaps he was speaking to the moon that had somehow spanned the centuries, even as he had spanned them, to continue to look down upon us from among the stars. I waited for him to finish.

  And finish he must, more for himself than for me, I knew. This visit was not about warning me or making sure I was prepared. This was about Ramah. About his need to share the things he had witnessed and done. It was something sacred that somehow made him more human. I knew he hadn’t intended for his tale to be so lengthy, but once he started telling it, the words had poured from him, probably unbidden for the most part. They had waited so long to come out he’d been unable to stem the flow.

  No, this visit was not about me at all. Ramah had come to Confession, and he’d made me the priest, as strange as that may sound.

  “I made Raine a killer” he continued, “A destroyer of men and women, although to my knowledge she has never killed a child, as I did. I am thankful for that, at least. The guilt upon my shoulders is already heavy enough. Raine has added to it, to be sure, but also to her own. I grieve for her as I think of the things she will someday feel. For in Choosing her I passed some of my own essence into her, as she has also done to you. It is an inevitable part of being Chosen; the one who changes you invariably imbues within you a portion of themselves in the act of Turning.”

  Shit, I thought, remembering that Lannis had a hand in my change, as well. Ramah nodded, as though reading my thoughts.

  “Yes,” he said, “Lannis finished your transformation, and so you also bear some of her black essence. I beg that you tune it out if you can, it will only lead you further into darkness.”

  Ramah stood, his bones creaking as he did so. had they creaked when he sat down? I couldn’t remember, but it didn’t seem like a vampire’s bones should creak at all. Weren’t they immune to the ravages of time?

  “I would have you do something for me, Vincent,” Ramah said. “This thing that I ask must not be revealed to any other. No one on the Council must know of it. If they find out, it will be the death of you. You must swear to me that you will tell no one of it.”

  I swore I would not, and Ramah asked me his favor. Even in my inexperience, I knew it was in direct violation of the Council’s wishes, and would surely earn me a horrible death if I got caught. Worse than that, however, was the very real possibility (Ramah admitted this was so) of being turned into a Lost One for defying the Council.

  It was easy for him to ask it of me. As a member of the Council, he was immune to their judgment. I was not, and even though I still had no real sense of who I was and what I had become, I had no desire to trade it for the life of a Lost One.

  Still, I could not fault him for asking, because it was something he could not do himself. Would I make the same request if the positions were reversed? Yes, I probably would. So I promised him I would try to do as he asked. He asked for my oath that I would do my best, and I gave it without hesitation.

  It was an oath I spent many years thinking I had broken.

  Chapter Fourteen:

  The Taint of Lannis

  Ramah and I sat in the dark for a long time after he’d finished his story. Neither of us said a word. I spent that time reflecting on what he’d told me. I don’t know for sure where his mind was, but I’d be willing to bet our thoughts ran along the same path. That little village on the edge of what Ramah had called the Eastern Wastes. I couldn’t shake the images his words called to my mind. Especially that of the girl, Akele, the child he killed in his bloodlust. I could feel pity for him for all he’d been through, or for the love he lost, or even
for the millennia of guilt. But that single child’s death kept me from feeling too sorry for him.

  After a time, he collected himself and asked if I had any questions. I only had a few hundred, but most were inappropriate or stupid, so I refrained from asking them. It was a solemn, if horrific, occasion, and I needed to take it seriously. So I tried to think of a productive question, and I surprised myself by coming up with a few of them.

  “Yes, Ramah,” I said, “I do. The Council is going to send me after Raine, right?” He nodded, “Is it likely she’s gone back to Boston?” Again, he nodded, “Would you have any idea where in Boston she might be?”

  “No,” he said, “If I did, the Council would send me to deal with her myself. I never went to her home. When she took ill, I found her in the hospital, and that is where I changed her.”

  “What was the name of the hospital?”

  “His Holy Cross, I believe.”

  It wasn’t much, but it was a beginning. At least it narrowed down a starting point.

  “Raine left a number of things behind when she fled,” Ramah continued. “You will be given full access to them. Perhaps they will help you to find her.”

  I doubted it. Most likely a building or address that had existed in Boston a hundred and thirty two years ago would not still be the same. Even more likely it would no longer exist at all. Still, at least I knew where I would start my search. Boston, Massachusetts, site of the infamous Boston Tea Party.

  Perhaps I could even go see the harbor. It would probably be beautiful with the sun shining on the water and the sky above the ocean lit by the fiery orange glow of sunrise… I caught myself. I would not be able to see the city by day. If everything the Bachyir had told me was true, then I would never again see sunlight. I would never need my sunglasses again, or sun block. I would never again sit out to tan, or go for a jog in the afternoon. All that was behind me. My entire life was a memory. Ramah’s twenty-nine years had added up to five minutes of blood, what would my twenty-eight years add up to?

  Raine, that was all. There was nothing ahead but her. I would stay focused on that goal and think about the rest later. Hopefully I could get to her before that guy Carl did.

  Thinking about Carl brought to mind another question.

  “Ramah, who is Carl Sanders? He and Kagan were chasing me when I found the door to the halls and… and… Ramah?”

  Ramah’s face had gone dark. I shrank back against the wall at the seething anger in his eyes. They had become so hard and intense I could almost see the meager candlelight being sucked into them, like two tiny twin black holes in the room with me. I tensed, thinking he would attack me. My back pressed against the stone of the bedroom wall, and I sat with my ass on the mattress, with nothing but air standing between me and a very pissed off, ancient vampire.

  Then, as swiftly as it had come, the look vanished. Ramah’s face softened. His eyes dropped to the floor, and he shook his head sadly. Puzzled, I remained where I was.

  When Ramah spoke his voice was soft, despondent, and his eyes had once again found his feet. “I am sorry, Vincent,” he said. “I have no right to be angry with you. You could not know.”

  “What? What could I not know?” I asked, but he only shook his head. He stood up, and faced me as I moved closer to the edge of the bed. The anger and fury had gone. Poured out of him as easily as water from a glass. Replaced by the same melancholy, tortured face that spoke of his guilt and the loss of his daughter, which I think he blamed on himself.

  “The story of Carl Sanders is one for another time,” he said, “Someday I will tell it to you, but not tonight. Now I must be getting back, there is business still in the Council Chamber to which I must attend. We shall send for you shortly.”

  He made his way to the door and gripped the handle. I heard the click as the mechanism released, and the room grew brighter as the light from the hallway joined the light from the candle. The two combined to bathe the room in a flickering glow that sent shadows dancing along the far wall. Ramah paused at the doorway, then turned to regard me one last time.

  “There is one thing more I need to tell you, Vincent.” His voice had dropped in tone, and held a stern quality that shivered my spine and sent my flesh rippling. “This is a deadly game, and some of the players are more dangerous than you could possibly imagine. You must be wary of all, but two in particular. Lannis has her mind set that you shall succeed in aiding her ends, and Algor is with her. Be especially wary of him. He is dangerous in the extreme. Perhaps the most dangerous of all.”

  With that, Ramah left, closing the door softly behind him. I watched him go with that same mixture of pity and disdain, and could not for the life of me figure out why I was so divided. I guessed perhaps it was nerves, and that made a convenient excuse. I would find out the truth soon enough.

  I sat puzzling to myself about the abrupt shift in Ramah’s demeanor when I mentioned Carl Sanders. Obviously didn’t want to discuss it, since he’d left almost immediately afterward. Could it have something to do with Raine? I thought about asking another Bachyir, but I didn’t want it getting back to Ramah that I’d been asking around, and I had a feeling that it would. News travels fast, they say, bad news even faster. When you’re a newbie vampire with a shitload of more powerful vampires pushing you around, there’s no such thing as good news. Ramah had told me he would tell me the story some other time. I would just have to wait.

  Only he never did.

  ***

  Not long after Ramah left, there again came the sound of shuffling feet in the hall, and another knock on the door. This time the knock didn’t tap quietly into the still, dark room, but thundered into it like a cannon shot. Whoever was out there wanted my full and immediate attention. Best not to piss them off.

  “Come in,” I said, knowing they would anyway, with or without my consent.

  This time when the door opened the shaft of light was not so glaring, as my eyes had gotten used to the light of the candle. A hooded figure entered the room, bent at the shoulders, stooped and weak with age. No cane, though it seemed like he needed one. Shuffling, the figure closed the door, cutting off the extra light from the hall. This darkening of the room seemed to suit my visitor just fine, and the figure settled easily into the chair opposite the bed.

  “Do you know me, Boy?” he said in a grating whisper. I thought the look and the voice reminiscent of the Emperor in the Star Wars movies. I could almost hear Vader’s heavy breathing in the background, and I thought about Jacques in Shakespeare’s As You Like It saying ‘All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.’ I felt like one of Jacque’s players at that moment. Where would the next act lead me?

  When I didn’t immediately answer his question, my guest leaned forward in his chair and thrust a splotched, bent finger at me.

  “I asked you a question,” he said, angry.

  I shook my head as I put all thoughts of Jacques and Vader out of my mind and forced myself back to the present, which was plenty intriguing enough. He leaned back into his chair and folded his arms over his chest, apparently satisfied that even if I didn’t know him, he at least had my attention. He was right, too.

  “I know you, Vincent,” he continued in that same harsh whisper. “Quite well.”

  Big fucking deal, I thought. These days who the hell didn’t know me?

  “You are not surprised.” He chuckled, “I did not think you would be. It would seem to you as though you had met the entire world by this point, would it not? And they all know you, don’t they, Vincent? Is it unsettling to have so many strangers know your face, your name, and your business? I bet it is, although you hide it well. Yet you have met me, Vincent. We were introduced recently.”

  I sent my mind backwards, trying to recall all the people I had met in the last week or so and sort through them. It had really been a confusing time, and there were many names and faces that seemed familiar but I could not place. There had been few actual introductions, and so I ended up w
ith a few names I remembered hearing at one point or another.

  I went through the list, surprised at how small the number was. I remembered names and eliminated them for one reason or another. I knew it wasn’t Kagan or Raine, and Ramah had already come to see me. The jailer had never introduced himself. Herris had, of course, and then he had gone on to introduce the rest of the Council…

  That was it!

  “You are a member of the Council of Thirteen,” I replied.

  “Good, Vincent. Very good. I am Algor, Fifth of the Council of Thirteen,” he said in that same dry whisper. “Now, for the tricky question. Have you any idea why I have come?”

  “No.” I still couldn’t see his face, but I had a feeling if I could peek under his cloak I’d find him smiling.

  “I have come to warn you. I am sure you know that the Council means to send you after Raine very soon, Ramah would have told you as much. There are those among the Council who do not believe you have the necessary heart for it, myself included. Yet Ramah has managed to convince enough Councilors to allow it. And so you will go.”

  So what? I thought. Get to the point.

  “I warn you now, Vincent Walker,” Algor continued as if he could read my thoughts, “if you fail to do as commanded by the Council, your punishment will be severe indeed. I have already petitioned Herris to allow me to deal with you should you fail, and he has agreed. Believe me, you would beg me to turn you into a Lost One before even a single night passed.”

  He reached one gnarled, twisted hand to the hood of his cloak, grasped it, and whipped it back. I couldn’t hide the gasp that escaped my lips, or my shocked expression.

  Algor’s face is not something you ever forget. A mottled purplish blotch, like a huge liver spot, covered his eyes, nose and most of his jaw. Unlike liver spots, however, the stain on Algor’s face had texture, like an oil painting, the rises and falls clearly visible among the bruised-looking flesh. The areas of his face not afflicted were a more normal hue, slightly pale from spending millennia in the darkness, giving him a spotted appearance. A lump of flesh about the size and shape of a chicken’s egg hung just over his right eye. It stuck there on his forehead like a lump of clay. A similar, smaller lump jutted from his lower jaw, half in and half out of the purplish stain on his face.