by Gwynn White
The girl walked up the two steps in front of the altar and lay upon it as water dripped from her partially soaked dress. Ximena watched with cool fascination.
Petra held up the artavus. “I give you my blood freely so that you may have a life without end. So long as you abide by our laws, I will never refuse you my lifeblood.” She winced as she cut her wrist deeply, knowing she would have need of a full supply before the end. All watched as it spilled into the amphora, rich and dark and full of a life none of them truly understood.
Aurelia shook upon her altar, and Petra didn’t know if it was from cold or fear. When enough blood had been spilled, Petra wrapped her wrist in the white cloth that had been set out on the altar and brought the amphora to Aurelia, who took hold of it, though her hands could barely grasp it.
“Have courage,” Petra whispered to her. “It’s almost over.” She knew from her research that the order of elements did not matter, as long as the poison was ingested before a human’s death. So to save Aurelia from pain, she had decided to give her the blood and poison at nearly the same time. And the draw would follow close behind.
Aurelia nodded as Petra helped her rise enough to drink from the amphora. She shuddered at the taste, which Petra well knew to be sickly-sweet and metallic.
When she had consumed all of it, Petra set it aside and pulled the stopper from the phial of mortanine.
“This is the final element, Aurelia. Drink this, and you will never die again. Are you ready?”
Aurelia bit her lip. “It will hurt?”
“Yes, it will hurt at first, but I will hasten you with a draw of your mind. When you are near death, the draw will begin to soften the pain into a kind of ecstasy. At the moment of your death, you will feel no more pain.”
Aurelia nodded, unable to say more. Petra lifted the phial to her lips and poured it into the girl’s mouth, regretting the pain it would soon cause.
“I will begin the draw now. Cling to me and don’t let go.” Petra took a strong hold of her head and dug in, drawing as fast as she ever had in her life, nothing in her mind now but the thought of quickening the girl’s death.
When Aurelia’s jaw went slack and her arms limp, Petra began to see the girl’s thoughts emerge. Strange numbers and letters appeared—ciphers perhaps?—and then faces materialized in the darkness. Petra didn’t recognize any of them as they looked down upon her, shouting and ridiculing. Then there was Guy de Chauliac himself, pulling her away from what appeared to be her family, comforting her. He brought her another cipher to figure out, and then another, always smiling, always laughing. “I love you, Uncle. You’ll never leave me, will you?”
“No, my dear girl, but you will…”
And then she was gone. Aurelia fell limp against Petra’s arms, her eyes closed in peaceful repose. Petra curled her into an embrace, wishing she could have given her a more painless end.
“I’m so sorry, sweet girl,” she whispered. “Forgive me this one transgression. Let go of the life I take and embrace the immortal you will become.”
It seemed the entire night had fallen silent at the moment of her passing. When Petra finally laid her down to rest against the hard stone of the altar, she wiped tears away and looked up at Lucius, the only one who could possibly understand her sadness. And he did. She saw it in the slump of his shoulders, in his unwavering stare.
Petra sighed and turned to Ximena, whose former coldness had been wiped away in the face of Aurelia’s death. She stood as stone-like as the altar she hid behind.
“Ximena, I chose Aurelia to turn first because she was so young and frightened. But now I come to you with the same questions. Do you understand the Aeternitescentia is irreversible?”
“Yes.” Ximena’s voice faltered, but she steeled her gaze and summoned up her courage.
“Once the mortanine is administered, you must either become one of us or you will die permanently. Do you acknowledge and understand this?”
“Yes.” Her voice was stronger now.
“Do you wish to choose the Sanguinea or Essentiae eternae, Ximena?”
Ximena glanced up at Clarius, who nodded.
“Sanguinea,” he burst out, his tone impatient and commanding.
“Hold, Clarius.” Petra held up her hand to him. “You know the law. You will not speak for this woman. She must choose of her own free will.”
“I choose Sanguinea,” she said, her voice once again filled with the same coldness as before.
“Ximena, the name I choose for you is Phaedra, which means bright in the ancient language of my youth. And since the sigil of your namesake’s esteemed husband is marked by lions, your surname shall be de Leon.”
Petra expected resistance, but the woman seemed pleased, even inclining her head in acknowledgment. It occurred to Petra, then, that this woman had as changeable a personality as Clarius. She wondered if this was why he had chosen her, because he recognized himself in her. Whatever the reason, it did not bode well for the Essentiae. The last thing her eternae needed was a volatile, headstrong woman coming between them and Clarius. Petra had enough trouble quelling his bloodlust year after year.
For a moment, Petra considered rejecting his novitiate, but she knew it would end in a bloodbath and threaten the balance of power between the two eternae. No, she must be patient and plan carefully. She could never be rash or foolish. His bloodlust made him more powerful every passing century. He could not be killed with cunning or strength alone. It would have to be a full-on assault and the most intelligent strategy they could devise. For that she needed a small army, one she would carefully build over centuries.
“Clarius, approach the Altar Aevitatus. It is time for your novitiate’s Aeternitescentia.”
They had discovered centuries ago that to turn a true Sanguinea, she had to let Clarius drink from the novitiate during the Aeternitescentia Ritual. They had yet to learn why this was so, but Petra hoped to find out more as advances were made in science. She suspected it was the violence of the kill but had no direct evidence to support her theory.
While Clarius always had difficulty keeping his bloodlust under control during the rituals, Petra saw immediately that tonight was different. Clarius leapt into the pool, splashing water all over the prone body of Aurelia, his silver eyes flashing with need. Lucius stepped forward, awaiting Petra’s command to strike. She waved him off and pushed against Clarius’s chest as Phaedra moved to the opposite side of her altar to put distance between her and Clarius.
“Stand back, Clarius! I must give her the mortanine first. Unless you wish her to die permanently?”
“Hurry up, woman. The blood… her blood, it calls to me.”
Petra rather wanted him to suffer, but she did not wish the same for Phaedra. She might not trust the woman, but she didn’t hate her as she hated Clarius.
“Lay upon the altar, Phaedra, while I prepare my blood for you.”
Clarius himself pulled Phaedra up into his arms and laid her on the Altar Aevitatus. He was rough with her, but she did not cry out. As Petra removed the cloth from her wrist and sliced more deeply this time, Clarius loomed over Phaedra, licking his lips as he pressed her arms down.
“Soon you’ll be one of us, but now it’s time for my first taste of you,” he said, his smile ghoulish in the flickering torch lights.
Petra was grateful, at least, Aurelia was not alive to see what Clarius would do to Phaedra. She would learn soon enough just how hideous he could be, but she wanted to shield the girl as much as she could on this night.
Once Petra had spilled enough blood into the amphora, she set the ritual objects aside and let her blood freely flow from her wrist. It no longer mattered. Soon she would be dead alongside Phaedra, Aurelia, and Clarius.
She brought the amphora to Phaedra, careful to stand on the opposite side of the Altar Aevitatus from Clarius. She caught his gaze, surprised to see him looking at her when he had been so fixated on the object of his prey. The look in his eyes told her he was remembering their kiss, that he was re
ally waiting for her blood—not Phaedra’s. She looked down at the woman, who was shivering with the fear she should have felt all along.
“Phaedra, I give you my blood freely so you may have a life without end. So long as you abide by our laws, I will never refuse you my lifeblood. Clarius, lift her up so she may drink.”
He curled his arm around her back to lift her up as Petra administered the blood herself. Phaedra’s hands were shaking too much to hold the amphora. She began to spit it up, but Petra held to her shoulder and gave her an encouraging smile.
“Slowly, Phaedra. You must drink it all. This is the taste of immortality. Bitter, yes, but sweet in its way.”
This seemed to calm Phaedra. She focused her hard gaze on Petra, as if begging her for help.
Oh, no, my dear. Nothing and no one can save you from him now…
Petra glanced up at Lucius, then. Going through the Vellessentia with him for the first time in centuries upon centuries filled her with a strange mix of anger and guilt and desire. She felt his love and his jealousy like a palpable current moving through the air. This both pleased and horrified her, and when she realized Phaedra had finished drinking, Petra couldn’t bear to feel his eyes on her any longer.
“I will give you mortanine, Phaedra, which will complete the process. Then Clarius will…” Petra glanced up at him, not wanting to frighten the woman further but not finding any comforting words to lessen the horror.
“Finish you off,” Clarius said, his smile only reaching one side of his face as it curled up in pleasure at Phaedra’s obvious terror.
“Clarius, please,” Petra admonished. He wasn’t listening. He was back to staring at his novitiate’s neck.
“Come, Phaedra, drink,” Petra said, tipping the poison into her mouth as she sputtered and coughed, blood staining her lips. “Now, Clarius, ease her suffering instead of sating your lust.”
It took only a moment before he was tearing at the woman’s neck, her screams mixing with the sounds of his lips sucking from her neck. Blood stained her beautiful skin and gown, and she reached out for Petra.
“Try to relax. The pleasure of the draw will come soon, Phaedra.” Petra regretted her words, knowing they reminded Lucius that the Sanguine draw provoked as much pleasure in her as it did pain. And there, Petra saw it in Phaedra’s eyes. The desire for more washed over her features as she descended swiftly into death. When the time came for her own turn at Clarius’s mouth, would she be able to hide that moment of rapture from Lucius?
When Phaedra’s eyes closed for the last time, Clarius turned to Petra. “I’ve had better,” he said, wiping the dark blood dripping from his teeth and lips. “And she’ll soon be mine for the taking.”
18
The Leave-taking
August 13, 1345
Clarius, you will release your novitiate and step away from the altar.” Petra said, attempting to keep her tone level as she felt Lucius’s eyes on her. She sensed his anger growing like a storm, threatening to touch down at any moment. “Essentiae and Sanguinea, we will now begin the Renascentia Ritual.”
Petra took the amphora and artavus and brought them to the altar while Clarius vaulted onto the central altar. This time Petra dug deeper with the blade, the pain intensifying as the blood poured from her veins. She felt herself weakening, and it scared her this time. For how would she protect Lucius if she died too soon?
When she had bled enough, she took up the amphora and ascended the steps out of the pool into the cool night air. She offered her blood first to Silvio.
“I give you my blood freely so you may have a life without end. So long as you abide by our laws, I will never refuse you my lifeblood.”
He bowed his head to her and drank until she pulled the amphora away. When she did the same for Nicon, he whispered, “The situation is dangerous. Let me know if you need me.”
Petra nodded, grateful he would offer assistance to her even though she was not in his eternae. She worried she would have to take him up on his offer.
When she stood before Lucius, the depth of his agony lay as a raw wound in his eyes. There was no need for words. She had none to give to ease his pain. She wanted to fall inside herself and disappear. She wanted to kill Clarius and end this madness once and for all. But she could not. Lucius had to move past this. He had to be a part of the Vellessentia if they were to survive through the millennia and build their army. No matter how much this grieved him, she had to fight the pull of his anger and bitterness.
“Lucius, I give you my blood freely so you may have a life without end. So long as you abide by our laws, I will never refuse you my lifeblood.”
Lucius hesitated, and she worried he would refuse her blood. “I don’t think I can watch this, Petra. I can’t—”
“You must. If you leave now, it will put us all in danger. I would survive, but you and Aurelia would not. I couldn’t bear that. Please.”
“Never again, Petra. I would rather die.”
She squeezed his arm, hoping Clarius wouldn’t notice. Even with her blood staining his lips, Lucius looked like a god. She wanted to reach out to him, to wipe away that blood with her fingers, but she dared not. It seemed Lucius wanted to do the same. He reached up to stroke her cheek with his thumb, but she shied away, fearing it would inflame Clarius’s anger. Lucius’s expression fell and his hand dropped to his side as he looked away from her. She could do nothing more but retreat to the pool and face her executioner with her lover looking on.
She had barely set the amphora on the altar before Clarius was there dragging her toward the Altar Aevitatus, the lust in his eyes reaching its breaking point. She felt the energy and desire coming off his skin in waves. It thrilled and terrified her as always. The terror came from knowing that no matter what happened, she would never escape death from this point on. The desire was the anticipation of the ecstasy she knew was coming. There was no experience in the world like it, not even with Lucius—a fact she hoped to conceal from her lover for an eternity.
“You’re mine, Petra. Body, soul, and blood.” He had barely pressed her body onto the stone altar before his sharp teeth had penetrated the delicate skin of her throat. She had promised herself she would not cry out no matter how rough he was with her. She would not make it harder for Lucius to endure. So she bit her lip and screamed silently as the pain burned through her body. The blood loss made her woozy.
With a jarring snap, Clarius jerked away from her. In a haze of confusion and growing madness, she shook her head to clear her mind and that’s when she heard him speak. He was calling out, his voice echoing across the water and off the stones.
“Want a taste, Lucius? A taste of what you can never truly have?” Then Clarius’s bloodied lips were on her own, and he was kissing her. She struggled against him, disgusted, terrified, knowing what such a sight would do to Lucius.
She heard her lover’s scream. A guttural cry of anguish and burning wrath. Shouts erupted everywhere, and Clarius finally released her from his kiss.
“Stop!” she tried to shout, but it came out too weak to be heard by anyone. She tried again. “Nicon, keep Silvio back. Lucius, don’t come near us.”
He was already in the pool, striding swiftly toward them, the artavus held high in his hand. Clarius shoved her aside and faced Lucius head on.
“No, Lucius, stop!” Petra shouted. “The law forbids you. I forbid you.”
He could no longer hear her voice. He saw only his enemy now. Petra fell off the stone and grabbed hold of Clarius’s arm, pulling herself along with him through the water.
Petra put herself between them at the last moment, hoping it would stop Lucius from doing the unthinkable. But he had already thrust the dagger forward, and she felt it dive deep into her abdomen. A scream rent the night air, and it wasn’t until she saw Lucius’s horrified face that she realized the cry had come from her.
“No…” Lucius whispered, his mouth agape with shame and dread. The artavus fell from his hand, and she tried to focus her
mind away from the pain but found she could not. It took her breath away.
“Thought you’d finish her off first, did you?” she heard Clarius say as if through a dream.
Lucius seemed not to hear him as he stared at her without moving.
She closed her eyes, bit her lip, tried not to cry as she realized there was only one thing that would force him to leave. Yes, say it. Spurn him to save him. “Go, Lucius. I don’t want you here. I don’t want you anymore.”
He brought the back of his hand up to his mouth, as if to silence all he wanted to say—or perhaps, all he could not say.
“Petra…” he whispered, and then he backed away, shaking his head, his eyes dark with despair.
She watched him as he moved away from her, every step a dagger, only this time to her heart. When he finally turned toward their fields and his shadowy body disappeared into the darkness, she let her tears flow unchecked down her cheeks.
“Draw me, woman!” Clarius shouted in her ear.
“I’m too weak,” she whispered, as she clutched at her stomach, the blood from her wound staining the water around them, her legs failing her. “Lift me up to the altar, Clarius. Do it now.” The shooting pains in her wound felt like she was being stabbed over and over. To her surprise, he did as she asked and laid her atop the hard stone.
“My strength is gone, Clarius. I cannot draw you.”
“That bastard will pay for this.” He shook her hard. “I’ll kill him!”
“Touch him, Clarius, and I will never draw you again.”
His stare burned into her, a searing brand of his coming vengeance. “I want you to die slowly, Petra, knowing he was the one who killed you in the end. I will make sure he knows it too.”
“You can’t do that. You must be quelled. You must drink—”
“No.” He pushed her away and scoffed. “This isn’t finished. At the next Vellessentia, I will call for a Vindicatio, and I will have his head.” With that, he left her, his Sanguinea filing out silently behind him.