The Eternals

by Richard M. Ankers

  “Oh, hush, or you'll blow a fuse. Your face is as red as a beetroot.”

  “Is there no wonder?”

  “And you did no such thing. The others took care of it all.”

  “That makes no difference.”

  “It makes every difference. You didn't even have to look at her.”

  “I couldn't look at her…what with my blood pressure.”

  “Excuses, father.”

  “Excuses! Excuses! He's the one with the excuses.” Rudolph looked set to pop, his one fang ready to burst the red balloon that was his face.

  “I thought we agreed Jean had no part in that unfortunate incident,” Linka soothed.

  “You agreed, not I.”

  Rudolph crossed his arms and pouted. His fang stuck out into nowhere, which prevented the pout having the desired effect, and only went to make him look more ridiculous than ever. I felt that if he'd been wearing his crown he would have taken it off, put it under his arm, and run away crying.

  Linka took a pace toward her father, who visibly paled, and took an equal measure back. “That's enough, you're looking stupid and you know how I hate that. It's so embarrassing.”

  “But, your sister!” he implored.

  “I don't want to tell you again, father.”

  “Your sister!”

  “Father,” Linka's voice rose just enough to emphasise her anger.

  Rudolph became entranced by his daughter's unwavering stare. It was almost like he'd forgotten I was even in the room and berated from a script.

  “Now, have you a hug for me?” Linka reached to embrace him. The gesture was the final straw for her father whose head lowered to his chest in defeat. He remained where he was for a moment or two more before shuffling over to Linka and allowing her to hug him. I noticed he did not hug her back but instead remained limp before her affections. “That's much better, isn't it?”

  “Yes, Linka,” Rudolph spoke in hushed tones.

  “Now, Jean,” she said releasing her father.

  Rudolph hung there for a moment as though a marionette held by one string. The man was an utter wreck before his daughter. I had known him to be a sorry excuse for a leader for a long time but never expected him to be so pathetic.

  To expedite the situation, I offered my hand. Rudolph gawped at it open-mouthed, then shuffled and took it in his own tepid grip.

  “Pleased to meet you,” he quaked.

  “You too, Your Majesty.”

  “Please, call me Rudolph.”

  “Why, thank you, Rudi, I shall.” Rudolph's body quivered, but he remained silent.

  “Will you be here long?” he asked.

  “I don't know. Will we be here long, Linka?”

  “As long as I feel like,” she replied.

  “As long as your daughter feels like.” I passed the message on to Rudolph with a half smile.

  “I hope my staff convey you the utmost courtesy throughout,” he said, a shattered man.

  “They will,” said Linka, answering for me. “Now if you don't mind, father, I think I'll show Jean around the palace.”

  “Hm.”

  “If you don't mind.” Linka shooed her father away with a gesture. He responded as though in a daze and melted away without another word. I watched the pompous oaf slink around the corner like a scolded dog.

  “Sorry about that.”

  “Don't worry at all, I enjoyed it.”

  “You can be quite callous at times.”

  “Me, I'm innocent!” I protested.

  “Never that,” she chuckled, turning from where her father had fled. “A perambulation, perhaps?”

  “Yes, I think I should enjoy that.” I took her by the hand. “And, thank you,” I whispered into her ear.

  “For what?”

  “Leaping to my defence. Nobody's ever stuck up for me like that in my entire life.”

  “Well, I suppose someone's got to do it,” she chuckled, “Might as well be me.”

  “Might as well,” I agreed, as she led me away.

  The grandiose nature of the palace staggered. As though transported back in time to an actual mediaeval castle, rather than a supposed one, I saw the palace as in aeons past. Linka pointed out this and that commenting on one portrait or another, but my eyes and mind wandered. We strolled arm in arm through the lower levels of the opulent palace as though on a lovers tryst. I made the odd comment out of politeness, but felt more comfortable when we moved outside into the beautifully featured gardens.

  “I must say this is all in good taste.”

  “Sorry, my love, I was miles away,” Linka replied.

  “Oh, nothing, I just mentioned the gardens. They're magnificent.”

  “Thank you, they are of my own design.”

  “Really! Then, I'm doubly impressed. I didn't realise so many flowers could bloom at night. I always thought, with the odd exception, that nature slept when we arose. It is an everlasting regret.”

  “Of mine also,” Linka sighed, setting her verdant eyes upon me. “I so wanted it to be like a sunny day over the Rhineland. This was the best I could do.”

  “Well, I can honestly say I'm staggered.” I stooped to cup a bell shaped bloom between my pale fingers.

  “That is a hybrid.”

  “Of what, may I ask?”

  “It is part bluebell part tulip. Shake it if you like.”

  I didn't understand what that was meant to achieve but gave the flower a waggle anyway: it chimed. “My goodness, that's incredible.”

  “I like it,” Linka mused. “When the North wind blows straight down the Rhine, I hear the Arctic call in the flower's tones.”

  I watched as Linka closed her eyes and inhaled so deep I thought she might float away, so much air did she consume.

  “What interests you in a land so far away?” I enquired.

  Linka opened her eyes and looked into my own a faint trace of water pooling in those emerald depths. “I believe they see the sun for a whole six months without night. Do you not think it magical, Jean?”

  “I do, my sweet petal, but it shall only ever be a dream to such as you and I.”

  “I suppose so.” Linka gave such a sigh as if she carried all the burdens of our ailing world upon her slim shoulders.

  “You seem even more disenchanted than I.”

  “It is nothing, she whispered.” Then, with a sudden change of spirit asked, “Should you like a stroll along the riverbank?”

  “Are you not frightened I may throw you in?” I said, then immediately regretted it. If Linka realised my quip's poor taste she did not reveal it.

  “I think I can handle you.”

  “I'm sure you can,” I laughed. It felt good to do so. This most radiant creature had affected my soul, or would have, if I'd had one. She was unlike anything or anyone I'd ever met. Only Alba could light a candle to her, my poor, sweet Alba.

  “Which do you prefer?”

  “What?” I shook myself from my reverie.

  “Which do you prefer, Danube or Rhine?”

  I took one look at the sparkling waters of the liquid byway; there was only ever one winner. “Rhine,” I answered.

  “Why?” Linka pressed.

  “Why would I want to see the blood-like falsity of the Danube, a bulging jugular chugging through the countryside, when I can have this?”

  “But why, Jean? Why, exactly?”

  “It is real,” I said without a second thought.

  “So you would choose reality over perfected fabrication?”

  “I would.”

  “Then you are the man I hoped you to be.” Linka kissed me hard on the lips.

  “If I get that kind of reward for answering your questions then ask as many as you wish.”

  “Always, you jest.”

  “Not always,” I said. “Just when I'm with you. The rest of the time I'm sarcastic bordering on caustic.”

  “This suits you better.” Linka inhaled, as a faint chiming filled the clear evening air. “The wind has c
hanged. Can you smell it, Jean?”

  “Smell what?”

  “Just inhale,” she said and punched me on the arm.

  I feigned injury, but did as she said. I took a lung-bursting breath, and there it was the smell of something different. It was a something hard to place. I took a second deep breath to make sure of my first impression.

  “So?”

  “It is the smell of purity. It is a smell I shall forever identify with you.”

  “You are smooth.”

  “One tries.”

  “But you are correct. That's exactly what I think when I breathe it. Nobody else believes it unusual at all.”

  “That is easily explained.”

  “It is?”

  “Indeed. They are happy to live within a dream whereas you and I dream only to wake. Whilst we still have something to wake to, anyway,” I added, as an afterthought.

  “Are you so certain that this world is on the brink of extinction?”

  “I am. The evidence is all around us.”

  “In what way?” Linka probed.

  “There is no more natural world, or at least, very little. The pull of the sun no longer has the strength it once did. The tides have changed, and not just literally, soon the oceans shall no longer flow but stagnate. I believe our sun near death. Although we cannot view it the effects of its weakening spell our doom. But, I can tell you one thing, my sweet angel.”

  “What's that?” Linka interjected wide-eyed at my rambling.

  “That God willing, and my still being here when it happens, I shall step out into the sun in its final moments of life; I shall stand proud before that golden energy and blinding light that shall engulf itself and all of us with it in cosmic catastrophe, and I shall be glad I did. I shall know what it is like to feel warmth on my skin and the sun in my eyes and I shall pass into infinity with a smile on my face.”

  Linka said nothing, but nuzzled her brilliant white self into my black eclipse and held tight.

  We stayed that way an age. Linka seemed reluctant to extricate herself, whilst I gazed out at a world I'd thought closed. Cumulous clouds bobbled along overhead as though frothing on an aerial waterway. Reeds whipped back and forth along the river's edge with casual bows to the North wind. I even thought I saw a small bird dart into the flora. Anything and everything seemed possible in Linka's embrace even the re-emergence of an environment long lost.

  Happiness can come in many forms. Mine came in that of a swan who'd chosen to fold her wings about my dark self. Linka was so unlike everyone else. I knew she had to be mine, but the shadow of her sister's death hung a curtain of insecurity over our love. I didn't know why she'd lied for me, for a lie it had been, and whether she still would have if she'd known the truth. Either way, whilst fortune allowed us to remain together, I was grateful.

  “Your Highness!” came a call from the gardens.

  A manservant of some form or another bumbled his way toward us. Linka ignored him.

  “Your Highness,” he repeated cresting the riverbank. “Your presence is requested.”

  “My apologies, Albert, I did not realise it you. It is good to see you.”

  “And you, Princess,” he replied, bowing deep.

  “Might I enquire why father recalls us?”

  “Your father's guests have arrived. They are in the rear wing taking refreshments.”

  “What do you think, Jean?”

  “About what?”

  “Bed, or ballroom?” she said with a wink.

  “Hmm, let me think!” I pretended to deliberate. I must have for too long by the thump I received to my upper arm. “I wish you wouldn't do that,” I protested.

  “Do what?”

  “Punch and wink. I'm frightened the wind might blow and you'll stay like that punching and winking forever, my beautiful automaton.”

  “But if I didn't punch you, I might never get to kiss you better.” She spoke in hushed tones, but I got the distinct impression from the butler's horrified look he'd heard.

  “That doesn't account for your twitching eye, but bed,” I said with no such decorum.

  “Then it's time to put your sneaking boots on. Albert, can you give us five minutes to make our escape?” she asked.

  “But, Your Highness.”

  “Just tell them you couldn't find us.”

  “They are watching us now.”

  “Damn!” she exclaimed, an inelegant but honest response. “In that case, Jean, I suggest a more brazen approach.” Linka took a firm grip of my arm. “Lead the way, Albert.”

  “With pleasure, Your Highness.”

  We followed Albert back through the gardens and towards a large glass conservatory that seemed to mill with a multiplicity of figures. Like many-hued snowflakes gathered in a drift men clad in all manner of military uniforms coagulated.

  “Ah, the warmongers,” Linka exhaled.

  “That's my least favourite kind of monger,” I replied.

  Albert stifled a chuckle, and I grew a sudden liking for the man. He had also been exact in his appraisal of the situation. At least a dozen pale faces glared at us through the polished glass many of which I didn't recognise. Then, I felt myself pale as a thought occurred.

  “Are you all right, my love?” Linka enquired.

  I couldn't answer for my eyes scoured the assembled masses hoping not to see a black stain smeared against the otherwise garish costumes and brocade.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing,” my unconvincing response. But it looked like I'd struck lucky, or he had, and that Crown Prince Vladivar was exempt from the assemblage.

  In typical Linka style she struck straight for the heart of the masses piercing them like an arrow. I, her dark shadow, trailed in her towed wake. Albert had wisely ditched before entering the conservatory; another notch on my belt for him.

  I thought we might make it straight through the crowds of pompous fools and out the other side when I heard a most unwelcome voice.

  “Jean! Jean! Jean! Jean!”

  “I heard you the first time, Merryweather.”

  “Sorry, old boy, I was trying to break the tedium,” he whined.

  “What the hell are you doing here amongst all these military types?”

  “They might look military types, but there hasn't been a war for centuries. What's the point?” he added. Anyway, this lot couldn't fight their way out of a paper bag.

  “I resent that remark and you along with it.” A tall, blond haired figure sporting a bushy moustache pushed past the other guests King Rudolph in tow.

  “Oops, didn't see you there, Lord Worthington. You must have known I didn't mean you though. You Britannians can start a fight over an empty teacup.”

  Merryweather paled as Worthington advanced upon him. The man was fast. He had dear Walter by the throat so suddenly that it was only the crowd's belated hush that indicated anything had changed.

  “Are you not supposed to be a Britannian yourself?” Worthington hissed.

  “Well, by adoption, but I'm still a pacifist at heart.”

  Worthington responded by squeezing harder.

  King Rudolph, looking like a watermelon in his full military regalia, took a noticeable step back from the far taller and more powerful Worthington. I, on the other hand, had a score to settle with the man responsible for Sunyin's death.

  Worthington didn't have a chance to let go of Merryweather, as I tore him from the floor, smashed him through a table of hors d'oeuvres and up against the far wall.

  “I'm not a Britannian, Worthington, but I definitely know how to start a fight.” I said it in as calm a voice as I could muster.

  Worthington immediately let go of his burden allowing Merryweather to slide down the wall into a heap of some sticky food stuff.

  “Wh…what can I do for you, Jean?” Worthington tried to say it without appearing a scared fool: he failed.

  But before I could say anything in return Merryweather was up on his feet and snarling most uncharacteristica
lly into his former attacker's face.

  “Do you know how hard it is to get honey out of velvet? Do you!” he roared.

  I was so taken aback I released the moustachioed fool. He didn't know who to back away from first. It was most amusing.

  “Boys, boys,” came the pampering tones of King Rudolph. “Can we not have one night without some sort of misdemeanour?”

  “I think the boys may have a genuine grievance with each other?” Linka's dulcet tones cut through the scene like a knife.

  “Yes, I have,” I growled, turning back to Lord Worthington. “A very good friend of mine met an untimely end because of you. Would you like me to tell everyone why?”

  “Well, er, um, I don't know what you're talking about,” Worthington mumbled, as some of his associates plucked up enough courage to surround me.

  I looked from Worthington to the semi-circle of clustered figures, then to Rudolph who gave a nervous smile, then to Linka. She had that glint in her eye that touch of wickedness I so adored. In response, I offered Lord Worthington my hand, who sighed and took it. Pulling him to almost standing, I looked him in the eye, grinned, making sure to bare my fangs, and swung my right fist. The crash of glass that accompanied his flying through the conservatory wall even took Merryweather by surprise. He stood there open-mouthed covered in food and drooling like a rabid dog.

  “Anyone else?” I snarled, turning to Worthington's colleagues. As one, and in true bully fashion, they backed away.

  “Well!” Linka raised her voice above the mutterings. “Time for bed, I do believe.”

  “I do believe you're right,” I replied, taking her proffered hand.

  Linka and I passed out into the candlelit hall entwined about each other like yin and yang, beaming smiles plastered across both our pale faces. The last thing I heard before ascending the stairs to our room was Merryweather's whining voice.

  “Good grief, I never thought he'd actually hit him.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  -

  Luxurious

  I woke to the novelty of creaking bed springs, and the smell of white jasmine hanging in the air. Linka's svelte form slipped from my grasp and wandered over to the curtained window of her bedroom. She toyed with the material, running it between her fingers, before throwing back the drapes with such ferocity I thought they may fly off the rail. She seemed unbothered that anyone may see her bereft of clothing.