News of a more violent purging of any who were deemed to oppose the Roman church curtailed my plans to travel south to Castile where I was told the stories of the New World originated. I had no desire to find myself face to face with Hunters again so soon. Instead I returned to Greece.
I traveled lightly, with one servant and a few precious belongings. Nothing seemed to hold my interest for any time, and I was feeling uncomfortable with myself. I kept away from the most populated places, fearing my unease would bring me to feed. It was back in France, in the nightlife of Paris, where I met a man who had plans to journey there himself. It was said that settlements were rising all over the New World, and that the hands of the church were not so deep into the affairs of the people there.
I determined to see for myself if what they were saying was true, if the New World was indeed free, if the hold of the Holy Mother Church truly did not extend so far, if even one such as myself could find peace there.
The logistics of it were easy enough, but required a more passable appearance than I seemed to possess. I made a pilgrimage of sorts back to my mountain hideaway, gathering items that would fetch a fair price, and would travel well. I paused long enough to call on Dovan and Justine, spending a few weeks with them before I began making my way to Portsmouth where my long journey would begin. As I went, I sold off some of the Family jewels, and various things I had collected over the years. By the time I arrived in Portsmouth, I had a small fortune with which to prepare myself.
I made the arrangements myself then upon my arrival, quietly, with extreme amounts of money to assure myself the solitude I would need to make such a journey safely. After all, I couldn't afford to have people stumbling into my room in the middle of the day, burning me with the bright sun. It was then a simple matter of waiting for the appointed day. September 13, a Friday as I recall, I boarded the ship with a small entourage of personal aides, a maid, a valet and a man to handle any arrangements that might be necessary. I had spent money on exquisite clothing and other necessities as well.
I purported myself to be a lady of some bearing, of some noble house or other, and kept quietly within my rooms, sending the maid or valet out for anything I might need, and paying them well enough for their services to ensure their silence about my peculiar habits. The journey was long, excruciatingly so, cramped in so small a space with so much temptation all around me. The closeness led me to weakness. As I slept by day I dreamed of the hot blood of the crew, or the sweet, young blood of the children in the cabin near mine. By night as I sat in my room with my servants asleep around me it was all I could do not to sink my teeth into their open and trusting necks. Perhaps the confinement intensified the need, or the nearness of them, the strong, unwashed scent of them.
The air aboard that vessel grew stale and unwelcome, choking in my throat. I wanted the freedom of the open sea, to wander in the salty air above deck, but couldn't bring myself to trust myself in my weakened state, lest I lose control of my frayed reins and bring down the wrath of whatever gods hold sway at sea. I even gave way to rats, feasting quite well upon them for the ship was overrun. It was little comfort though, and brought back the dreams of that day … that awful day of my greatest evil … and with that all the memories after, the Hunter, the fall … I feared I might revert to that madness which had drawn me up that mountain to begin with.
I was greatly appreciative then, when at last came the sounds of the crew preparing for landfall, and the distant, but distinct sounds of a harbor town, bustling with activity could be heard. It was late afternoon, the sun still hours from setting completely. I composed myself to wait patiently for the dark, to disembark in my new home, to finally see this New World for myself. I sent my servants on ahead, to find rooms and a carriage. Alone in my cabin I trapped several rats, feeding hungrily from them, and draining two bottles of formula before I was content enough. Then, with the sun barely hidden by the far horizon, I emerged, clad all in blue velvet and feeling nearly regal.
Even from the view of the dirty wharves and piers, it was a beautiful sight. Not quite a city, grown up from nothing in a few short years, Charles Town shores were crowded with various manners of people from all over the known world. It was small by the standards of the cities I had known, but when seen through eyes as old as mine, it was easily seen as a growing, thriving place that would one day dwarf those in the Old Countries. The night air was cool, refreshing, clean. There was no scent of old death hanging in it, no signs of others of my kind. I closed my eyes and savored the sensation. Then, the crew was urging me to disembark, gently prodding me toward the pier and the young maid who I could see waving to me from in front of the hired carriage.
It felt comfortable, peaceful. Even the hunger began to subside as we rode into the city and came to a stop before a graceful inn, with a warm and welcome fire on the hearth, and the smell of baked bread filling the air. My servants had arranged a room, with shuttered windows, in the back of the place, where I would be less likely to be disturbed. I settled in, immediately releasing the two male servants, paying them more than adequately enough to find them new lives there. The maid I retained a while longer, having grown quite accustomed to her company and feeling the need to maintain the front of ladyship. Therefore, she was quite required, as no lady was to be known to be alone in such a place.
Chapter 15
Her name was Lianna, a simple minded, but well-meaning and decent woman. She was by no means pretty, but neither was she unpleasant to look at. She was well trained to her duties, having spent ten years in the service of a family in London, and even when in the service of such an eccentric lady as myself, and she never questioned my rare “illness” which prevented me from going out in the day time, nor my odd habits and strange equipment. She was all of twenty-five when I first employed her after her mistress had dismissed her for what she insisted were only perceptions of impropriety. She had balked at first at the idea of leaving her homeland, but her reputation was sullied and finding other employment was difficult at best. I grew to like her in the following years as I made a place for myself in this New World.
I look back upon her now and count her as one of the true friends in my life. A woman who was neither afraid nor enamored of me, a gentle soul who managed somehow to only see the goodness in me, and find ways to redirect me toward it. Eventually, she came to know the truth about me, accepting it as she did all else about me. She became my companion, my conscience, my friend. We spent nearly a year in that first port town, growing used to the differences between the Old World and the New, making friends and establishing accounts to finance the coming years. I had brought with me the most easily disposable of my goods, jewels and such that would translate into a great deal of wealth. Some of it we sold, some of it we hid away for another time. Then, as a new spring brought an air of excitement to me, we began our journey.
At first I was content to travel the established roads between the colonies, visiting the various and varied towns and villages that represented the civilized half of this new place. We stayed nowhere more than a few months, save for the place where I told her my life story. We had found our way to a place called Andover, as we traveled north with an aim to visit the colony at Pennsylvania. The climate in Andover was not much to our liking, and the townsfolk were far from friendly. Indeed, they seemed intensely fearful and suspicious of outsiders among them. The religion that prevailed there was stricter perhaps than that of the Church I had come here seeking solace from, ruling even the minute lives of its people. I was uncomfortable and made no plans to stay there beyond a day's rest. Unfortunately, on our way out of town, the carriage we traveled in broke a wheel and we were forced to return to have it repaired.
We stayed to ourselves, holing up in the small boarding house and coming out only at supper. It was nearly two days' time we had to wait for the repair work, made all the worse for their holy day falling in the middle, forcing us to wait yet another day. I stood at the window of our room and watched as the town
became a ghostly shadow with the coming of the night. No one was about once the sun had gone down. I was afraid to leave the room, huddling beneath blankets by day, pacing like a caged animal by night. By sunset of that third day, I was most anxious to be gone from there, and I myself went to fetch the carriage from the smith's shop. He looked at me strangely as I paid him, and asked him to harness the horses, that I would return soon with my maid and we would be on our way. I bustled Lianna about, hurrying her in an attempt to avoid what I already could feel building.
When we returned for the carriage, several of the town's men had gathered, including their religious leaders. My heart began to pound in my chest and visions of Rebeka's tattered body filled my mind. I could feel what little color could occupy my cheeks drain as they approached us.
“It is a strange hour to be leaving town,” one of them said.
“Perhaps, but I do not wish to stay here another night.” I replied, accepting Lianna's help into the carriage.
“It would be better to leave with the daylight to guide you. The roads are not safe at night.”
“We will be safe enough, I assure you. Come, Lianna.”
One of them held Lianna's arm, preventing her from joining me. “Maybe you do not understand.”
“I understand you plenty, sir. Unhand the lady and let us be on our way.” I was getting scared. I had heard tales of the so-called “witch” trials that had been occurring in the area, and though I could never be considered a witch, these men had enough similarities to the Hunters of my past to frighten me beyond rational thought. My breath came raggedly, my heart pounded so loudly I thought it might beat a hole in my chest. Flashes of those horrible days and nights blurred past them and faces of those past tormenters appeared among them.
“Please, sir. Unhand me,” Lianna said, in that soothing, almost enchanting tone she had. “The lady is right … we really must be on our way. We've overstayed our welcome already.” I don't know if she realized what was going on in my mind, if she could sense the remnants of terror that filled me at that precise moment. She did, however, not relish the tenor of threat in the men's voices. “The Lady's father is close on to death, and still three day's ride from here. She hopes to reach his bed before his passing. Stand aside and let us be gone from here.” She spoke the lie with so much truth in her voice that no one said a word in response. With that, she climbed up beside me, gathered the reigns of the horses and released the brake. The men moved aside hesitantly and we began our departure.
I was shaking from head to toe when she finally stopped the carriage an hour outside of town. “Are you all right?” she asked gently, touching a hand to my face in concern.
“Don't stop. Keep going,” I whispered, struck with images of them following and attacking us in the night.
She drove us on, stopping only once to relieve herself and once to allow me to crawl inside the dark carriage to hide from the sun. When I woke later we were well away from the scary little town. We found a place the next night, a small town with friendly, open people. There, once safely inside our rented rooms, I sat with Lianna in the early morning hours and told her about the Hunters, about Rebeka, about what I was.
She took it well enough, listening silently, sipping on her tea. It was almost as if she had known all along that there must be an explanation such as this for my oddities, and upon hearing it had all her questions about me answered. It overwhelmed me, the events of my not so distant past, of the last days, the terror in my heart still beating loudly. She held me as I cried it out, stroking nimble fingers through my hair to calm me. When I was done, she quietly got me settled into bed, mothering me to sleep. It was a restless sleep, haunted by the dark men of Andover and the white-coated Hunters of years past. Whenever I woke she was nearby, humming a soft tune or unpacking our belongings. It was a comforting feeling.
In that small town we rested, talked, and made plans. She asked me what I meant to do with my life, a question I couldn't answer. She seemed to see everything so clearly. She spoke with ease of destiny and fate, as if she could see them.
We spoke at length about the people in my life, and I told her about the time I spent beneath the earth, and the strange thoughts about Adan and Jesse and the Hunter all being the same person.
“I have heard that in some places the people believe that when we die our soul does not necessarily pass straight on to God, but that we return to live again and again.”
I looked at her closely. I too had heard such things, but as with most mortal beliefs, I dismissed them. “Do you think such a thing is possible?” I asked, my head swimming with the possibilities.
She shrugged and smiled. “I would not know. If I were to have lived before, I do not think I would like to know. Once is hard enough, I think, without living forever or coming back again.”
With that she rose and left me to go make tea. I had to agree with her, once was hard enough. How many lifetimes had I prowled the nights? How many times had I longed for the peace of death? What would be the point then of death, if we were only to return and start again?
It was meant to be like so many other towns, a stop on the journey, but before either of us took notice of the passing time, we had spent nearly a year there. With spring almost upon us, we set our plans into motion, to follow this new land to its edges, to journey beyond the civilized places into the wild openness we had heard tales of, and perhaps make a place for ourselves out there.
Thus it was that in early May we purchased a wagon and loaded it with all of our precious belongings and set out into the new world. Our first plan was to continue on to Philadelphia as we had originally set out to do. From there, we followed the wagon trails, moving ever westward. Through the last vestiges of mankind's holdings in this world, out into the rolling hills and waterways, into a land of vast open spaces, tall, waving grasses and animals. Occasionally we would happen across a settlement or small clusters of them that would one day become a town. We kept moving, watching as a new country grew around us.
Once a year we would make our way to the nearest city, sometimes requiring a month of travel. There we would take in the news of the world, stock up on supplies, purchase new clothing and relax in the relative luxury of rented rooms. As Lianna grew older and it was more difficult for her to get around, we stayed closer to civilization, making a home in Philadelphia.
It was a time of great enjoyment in my life. I enjoyed her company, the journey, the simplicity of our lives. When she died, at the ripe old age of seventy-nine, I stood at her grave and cried. It was not the gut-wrenching loss I felt as Jesse left me, or that I felt when I found Rebeka dead, but a dull-aching pain that buried itself deep inside of me and would not leave. I miss her still today. Fifty years passed, as she followed me from town to city to country road, never complaining or questioning. I laid her to rest in the town she had come to call home. She had liked it there, where the summer was warm, and the spring brought bouquets of beautiful flowers. I laid her there and wept for her, then I moved on.
I traveled alone after that, by night, on foot, taking my time to go in no particular direction for any particular reason. I still had no idea what I wanted to do with my life, my gifts as Lianna had called them. I enjoyed making company of mortal souls, especially those with a calmness of spirit. It seemed to compliment my chaotic one. Often I spent only short times with them, leaving them with some trinket or gift to remind them of me, to thank them for their friendship, to ease my own conscience.
Then came the night when the uneasiness of my life returned. I walked in the city where I had laid Lianna, returned there for the anniversary of her passing, and I felt it … an old, familiar Presence on the breeze that told me that Brethren were near. He kept his distance, acknowledging my presence with a light mental touch before moving on. My private world was private no longer and the New World wasn't so new. I left town quickly, lest anymore of them be passing that way as well and less inclined to ignore me. I had come to love my peace and had no need of th
e battles such meetings could evolve into. Better to live solitary in the night than to spend each darkened moment fighting for life.
Of course, it isn't easy to do, to live alone, to avoid confrontations. Sooner or later they would come. It was in a city of those New World colonies where I was the most at ease, at the base of a mountain in the Carolinas, where the people were outwardly friendly souls. It was there that I would return again and again, to rest from my journeys and decide where I would go next. The town grew each time I went away, emerging out of the ground, with long, muddy streets lined with hotels and saloons, restaurants and shops that sold a fascinating array of goods.
I found my way back to it once the war between the colonists and the British had ended. I had no desire for the temptation of that much bloodshed, though I was perhaps more at ease with my own nature then than at any other time in my life. I spent the bulk of the war staying away from the battles, which largely meant staying away from civilization. It felt good to be among people again. There was a new opera house set to open, and a theater for the traveling bands of actors I had frequently encountered on my journey.
I found a place where a little liberal cash bought me a quiet room, darkened against the daylight to ease my “affliction” and a manager who knew how important the comfort of his guests was. There I settled in to be awhile, comfortable among the vibrant, growing city and her people. It was in this southern, humid city that Joshua came to me. He was young, scarcely two nights since he was born to the night, and filled with a hunger that I could feel echoing in the air around me. His creator had abandoned him without even a word to explain what he now was, or how to survive. He stumbled through the nights half blind with the need and terrorized by what his body craved him to do.
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