She tumbled, stripped of her skin, her muscles, her bones, her identity. All that remained was Diomedea, the goddess whose soul she’d inherited.
“Do not let him bleed you,” the goddess said.
Saba could see her now, as she appeared before the young huntress, a swallow perched on a tree branch. She was a bird, but not a bird. She was a being, but not a being. She was Saba but not Saba.
I don’t understand.
“The one who’s feeding on your soul as we speak,” Diomedea said. “Do not let him take the essence.”
How can I stop him? Saba didn’t need to voice her words, for thought alone was enough.
“He does not know I am here. Once you reveal that truth, he will worship us.”
Diomedea sat on Saba’s shoulder now, though Saba was without body. The bird used her light as her perch.
“This is our final form,” Diomedea said. “We shall not change again. When this body dies, I shall die, too. So please, sister, get up.”
Get up.
“Get up!”
Saba felt the light she’d become expand, as though filling the space above her, boiling the river of blood away. She was below it now, at the beginning. She found herself exiled from the Land of the Dead, a newcomer to the drink of life. The ante-chamber in which she stood was set on a blanket of moss, faceless moss this time. A great pool of water sat before her. It wasn’t a lake or a quarry, but a bath with clay walls covered in scenes of the living. She witnessed the huntress in many of the scenes, her longbow strapped to her back, her belt of arrows about her waist. But this huntress wore sandals laced high. The figure wasn’t Saba, she knew it. The body was her original, hers now a mere copy of something greater.
Saba stepped to the bath, the water inviting and cool. She knelt beside the tub, looking into the water. Her reflection was there, though the face belonged to a stranger.
“They are all you,” Diomedea said, standing tall now beside her, the warrioress she’d been in her days on the earth. “We are all you.”
I am you?
Diomedea bent down, taking Saba’s chin in her hand, her eyes two spots of fire in her godly aspect. Saba didn’t shy away from her touch, but when the goddess leaned in, she shrank at the source of her, the spark of soul she’d implant in Saba to make her who she is.
My daughter confessed it all to me, telling me she thought it a dream, a delusion from the trauma of his bite. But I believed she sold her vision short. I didn’t doubt Diomedea came for her, especially as she danced on the shores of death, her life but a snippet if the vampire were to have his way. Saba believed something else altogether.
The spark of the goddess scorched Saba where she stood, her wail a vibration outside the sphere of sound. Saba fell to the ground, the bed of moss as welcoming a respite as she could hope for.
“Drink,” Diomedea said. “You must drink to return.”
Saba felt her essence rise up from the moss, held on the air before being dropped into the bath of crystal green water. Her submersion was quick, she barely getting wet. She opened her mouth wide and took in the drink, the liquid passing over the fire in her heart, the scorch in her soul. The water quelled the fire, but she wouldn’t be reborn without the scar, the ache of Diomedea’s violation. The goddess made Saba in her image, but didn’t dare change her soul. To her, she was the final vessel, the only way back to him, the demi-god who’d ruled her forever.
* * *
Finn came to me first. He found me up from my cot, standing as though I’d made a full recovery.
“She’s gone,” he said. “Saba’s been taken.”
My look inspired fear, for he realized then this wasn’t something I could stop. “By whom? Peter?”
“Not Peter, but him.”
Still I struggled to make sense of his words.
“The one who took me.”
Horror claimed me at the knowledge, and I dropped to the table beside me. This other one, this vampire on the loose, the one Evelina claimed wasn’t Vincent, had taken my prize, and I was broken for it.
I told Finn to raise a party, to fetch my father, Freyit and Andor if he could. “Get the best trackers,” I said. “We must find her before …”
Finn confirmed what I was thinking with a look. He wanted to get to Saba before the vampire took her off the island.
I left the tower with the boy, using his shoulder to balance as I went. Once we reached bottom, the sunlight scolded my head. The darkness in my studio had done me some good.
My father intuited my need, and was on his way toward me when I came down the path. “The twins have reported to Andor,” he said. “Someone has taken Saba.”
Finn obeyed my father, who told him where to find members for the search party and assured him he’d join him straightaway. Gerenios looked to me for more.
“I can’t say,” I said. “I don’t know who it is.”
“Impossible.”
“She doesn’t believe it’s Vincent—”
“And you?”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
“This is serious, Dagur. The law has been broken and there shall be hell to pay. The New Men will not let this stand.”
“I know, father, but let me deal with one crisis at a time. We must find Saba before anything else.”
“Have you called on the others?”
He meant my kin.
“I barely just heard the news,” I said.
“I’ll send for Lucia. She’ll reach her mother.”
I thanked him, and allowed him to walk me to my cottage where I was sure to find a search party forming, and a worried wife who’d beg me to do the impossible.
Evelina reached me as Gerenios led me to my yard’s hedge. “I’ll see to the others, and make a plan,” he said to me.
I thanked him again before turning to the only one who could answer my pleas. “Where has he taken her?”
“I’ve called Peter back,” she said. “As well as sent Veor and Lucia to search the four corners of the island. I still don’t feel him.”
“Enough now,” I said. “Who is this?”
“There is only one, isn’t there? One Vincent showed you, one he told you might return.”
I wracked my brain, too preoccupied with my worry to recall Vincent’s words. Evelina leaned in and whispered at my ear, “He sleeps until the end of your lifetime.”
“My death?”
She nodded. “Is nigh.”
I recalled the underwater show, the ship beneath the sea, the vampires all gone, save one. The Toltec floated in stasis, a trick of the Aztec working to save him. The conversation came to me, penned again here as it was in my record.
“Did the blood turn Huitzilli to stone?” I’d asked Vincent.
“It changed them all,” he replied.
“He’s unbreakable.”
“It seems he is.”
“Is he still alive?”
“Perhaps he is in stasis, I cannot say for sure. Would you like to meet him?”
Meeting the Hummingbird didn’t frighten me as much as it had then, but knowing he’d taken Saba after abducting Finn from his home made my thoughts turn in on themselves. My fear changed to cotton in my mouth, and I could barely speak.
“We shall find her,” Evelina said. “He’s come for me. I’ll make myself known to him before long.”
“Why didn’t he just come to you?”
“He’s hungry, my boy. He’s like a man who’s spent a year in the desert. He doesn’t long for family once he’s escaped, he longs for water.”
“How will—”
She raised a hand. “Once sated, I’ll rise to this challenge.”
I obeyed and took Evelina into my home, where Netta greeted me with a hug from which it took some coaxing to break free.
“Let me give to you,” Netta said to Evelina, as the vampire readied herself for my offering.
“It must be kin,” she said. “To find Saba, I must be full of my own.”
My wi
fe turned away, wanting to hide the sting of Evelina’s rejection. I knew that feeling, and pined for her. Netta could never be kinblood. They’d always see her as separate from me, despite her cleaving to me, and the years of binding love we’d shared.
“She’ll get over it,” Evelina said wryly before yanking on my shirt, and pulling my skin up into her mouth. My wife had drawn the curtain, though I’m not sure it was for the sake of the young children as much as her own.
Evelina’s feast was quick, and by the time Netta came in with a cup of nectar for me to replenish my strength, our yard was populated with Gerenios’s team.
“We’re off,” he said to me.
“I’ll be in touch,” Evelina said to him, as she made her way over the fence. An arrow from a bow could barely match her exuberance, as she shot through the trees and disappeared.
Andor scoffed. “Your foremother isn’t as skilled as we are. Put your faith in us, Dagur. We’ll bring Saba back.”
“When we do,” his brother said. “She’ll never have to fear again.”
I didn’t hold them up to discuss his meaning, but gave them my blessing and my hopes, as the band of them cut up through the trees, the line of New Men commanding the forest as if it had sprouted up for them.
Freyit and Finn were in the rear, the young hunter carrying Saba’s longbow, strapped to his back as it had always been on hers. I didn’t mind seeing it with him, but regretted its not being with her.
“Come,” Netta said. “Let them find your girl.”
My wife put her arm about my waist, and pulled me closer. “Will they?” I shuddered at the thought, my Saba’s eyes the only thing I saw when I looked up to the sky.
“They must,” she said. “She’s the only reason you have.”
“For what?” I pulled away from my wife and looked at her face, her sad eyes mocked by the crow’s feet that marked her diligence and commitment to my kin.
“To stay alive.”
“How can you say that? I love you as much as her, if not more. It pains me most to leave you, my dearest Netta.”
Her mouth curved into a smile. “You may fool yourself with your words, but you can’t fool me.”
I pulled her to me, holding on to her as if I’d fall if I didn’t.
“When Saba was born, you too found life,” she said.
“How’s that.”
“She’s your reflection, my husband. Can you not see that?”
I shook my head, my wife’s meaning escaping me.
“You are every bit a god as Saba is a goddess.”
I hadn’t shared those details with my wife. She couldn’t know unless Saba had told her the truth. But that wasn’t the case. My daughter had spoken to no one but me about her destiny.
Netta gave me a knowing smile. “I see more than you’d like to think. My people have gifts, too.”
And with that my wife planted a kiss on my cheek, then turned away to tend to the male newborn we’d yet to rename.
* * *
The New Men hunted together all the time. They’d a routine, a way about them that seemed to bring the best results. Andor took the lead, his brother at his side. The others followed blindly, letting their leader track the vampire’s trail. They began in his yard, from the ravine, up past the path Finn’s arrow had cut through the trees. He hadn’t retrieved the arrow then, but pulled it out as Freyit stood beside him, towering head and shoulders above the descendant of man.
“Do you feel her?” Freyit asked.
Finn shook his head, unable to understand.
“In time, she’ll reach you.”
The Hematope put his arm around the young hunter’s shoulder, urging him to follow, as they caught up to the others.
Finn spied every birch tree as they passed, looking for clues that would lead him to her. He was sure she’d give him a sign. He looked for the crimson mark that would let him know she too had suffered the bite. It was during that search he recalled most things, the vampire’s mind trick losing its grip once he’d taken another. The bond between the vampire and Finn was loosening, stretching out, his grip no longer the thing.
The New Men carried on, despite the snow that tumbled from the sky with as much gusto as ever. A storm could be whipped up in no time, and the trail would surely be lost. Finn pulled his fur tighter about him, the chill creeping through his bones. He decided deep down, she was gone.
“Go past the traps,” Andor called to his team.
Gerenios’s voice boomed across the plain. “We’ve got to go up,” he said. “The beast has surely gone up.”
“No,” Dion said. “The sea’s the way. I smell him.”
Andor’s brother had led the troops through their battle with the nimrod. Long ago, he was made a part of the warrior class, losing an eye for it. He took a spike above his temple, blinded in an instant. But his sight didn’t falter for long, for the Hematope’s fabric knit itself back together and he recovered, only a scar remaining, proof of their power to heal themselves. Dion was tougher than most, and admired throughout his clan.
Gerenios bowed to his wishes, following the troop of men to the sea’s edge.
Finn wanted to believe they’d spot her there, too, sailing away on an ice floe like him, but deep down he knew she was in far more trouble.
“Hen es blued.” He spoke to no one in particular but Freyit caught his meaning and delivered his message.
“Her blood is on the path,” he said, pointing to the marking on the stone.
“It’s animal blood,” Andor said, and Dion confirmed the same.
“Hen es blued.”
“Tell him he’s wrong.” Andor pointed to Freyit.
“He’s not.”
Gerenios stepped forward, admiring the trail of blood along the stones, beginning with the first at the young hunter’s feet.
Andor looked over, and Dion pushed Gerenios out of the way to see. “How do you know it’s hers?” His tone was belligerent, but Gerenios gave him a pass.
“The pin,” my father said. “Look at the pin.”
He was just about to ask what pin, when Finn bent down to pick it up. The butterfly brooch made of copper, given to Saba from Hannah who’d originally traded a rabbit’s foot to secure it, was bent, with a drop of dried blood on its pin’s tip.
“How’s this?” Andor scratched his head.
Finn smiled. “Et spore.”
Freyit put his hand out for the brooch, and Finn passed it off. The skilled hunter put the tip of the pin to his tongue, then held the brooch to his nose. He pulled it into him, distinguishing between the most complex and common scents, categorizing them, filing them away as one, forging his own odorous map.
“Freyit takes the lead,” Andor called to the group milling about as their leaders decided on the call.
All of them raised the points of their weapons at Freyit, and bowed to him. “All for,” they chimed together in unison.
“Come,” Dion called. “Let’s see where the fox leads us.”
He was the skeptic, unconvinced the blood belonged to Saba. He’d desired her once, too. But she was a child playing at a man’s game, and for that he couldn’t take her to wife, an easier conclusion than admitting she’d never let him.
The New Men got as far as the first shelf of Mount Isjörn before they had to turn back. The storm had picked up, robbed them of their vision, putting a wall of snow between them and the climb.
Freyit dragged Finn from the ridge, the young hunter unwilling to give up the chase. The group was convinced she’d been taken up the mountain, another crumb found along the ridge. Freyit spotted it first, stuck in the snow. It was the feather Finn had given her, his pledge to partner with her for life if she deemed him fit. It broke him to see it strayed from her hip, where he’d tied it himself.
“Et ecton scops belerning,” he’d said to her when he gifted it to her.
She smiled at the feather, the raven’s quill a sign of bad luck in her world. She knew Finn didn’t know better, and she
didn’t want to hurt his feelings. She couldn’t know his words spoke of marriage, his gift a vow not to be broken. He’d hoped the plume would adorn her hip forever, and her heart, too.
“No,” Finn said, tearing himself from Freyit’s hold. “Up, I go.” He pointed to the rocky ledge above them, as he pounded on his chest. “Eh an sam, eh an sam,” he repeated.
Freyit could read his words on his face. “He’s willing to go up alone.”
“Then let him,” Dion said, turning his back on the mountain.
Gerenios and Andor weren’t as quick to follow, but soon convinced Freyit he had to leave the young hunter to his vices. “His ways aren’t ours,” Gerenios said. “Dagur isn’t here to lead him, and it’s not up to me to stop him. Saba is his through and through.”
Freyit didn’t contradict his leader often, despite their competitive natures, but spoke up for Finn. “I’ll lead him up,” he said. “At least several shelves higher.”
Andor stepped forward, in front of Gerenios. “If that animal should be up there with her, what will you do?”
Freyit smiled. “Certainly not reason with him.”
Gerenios nodded, his eyes stuck to Finn. “Saba is mine, too,” he said. “For that, I’ll stay.”
“This is lunacy,” Andor said. “We’ve given enough to them.”
“We must take back what’s rightfully ours,” Gerenios said.
“She’s one of theirs.” Dion spat out the words as though poison.
“Is Hannah?” Andor said, turning to his brother.
The two Hematopes faced off, the one unaligned with the world he’d been forced to live in. The other making the best of a bad situation.
“This isn’t for Hannah,” Dion said, pointing up to the ridge. “Your wife’s back home sitting by the hearth, waiting to feed you your evening meal.”
Andor dropped his eyes to the ground, and called, “Fall back. We’re headed home.”
Grief For Heart: The Vincent Du Maurier Series, Book 4 Page 15