by White, Gwynn
She needed to get herself together. Keeping the peace between the expanding eternae rested upon her shoulders alone. She had to keep them all from each other’s throats, or this night would end in violence. Petra straightened her back and smoothed back her hair. She would get through this, if only for Lucius and for Adélaïs’s sake.
When she entered the cavernous dining hall, she gazed at all assembled. It was Lucius’s absence she noticed first. Adélaïs had already entered. She sat shyly away from the others at one end of the long, wooden dining table while Clarius and Silvio gulped their wine at the other end. Nicon, a Sanguine she had turned thirty years ago, was talking quietly with who Petra could only assume was Clarius’s novitiate. A single glance at the sensual beauty told Petra the woman hailed from Spain, given her manner of dress. She wore a midnight blue velvet overdress with red accents at the elbows and neckline along with a gold and white underdress with fitted sleeves. Her hair was held up in an elaborate caul on either side of her head with an attached circlet made of gold and sapphires. Clarius had obviously spared no expense.
The novitiate’s unyielding gaze burned cold despite the fact that she was looking at the embodiment of her chance at immortality. Petra could only imagine what lies Clarius had spun in the woman’s ear about her.
Nicon pressed a hand to the hilt of his ancient katana sword and bowed in deference to Petra when he noticed her arrival. Petra bowed in return. Of all the Sanguinea, Nicon had been the most respectful to her over the years. She rather liked him. He had once been a celebrated Samurai in the Kamakura shogunate when his name was still Daiki and he lived in Japan.
“Ah, my immortal mother,” Clarius called out, raising his glass to her and forcing Silvio to do the same, which ended up with Silvio spilling his wine all over the floor.
“Clarius.” Petra inclined her head but gave him no further deference as she swept into the room, her Vellessentiae gown and short train settling around her. “Why don’t you introduce me to your novitiate.”
“This is Ximena from Valencia, Spain.”
“My lady,” Ximena said, her voice strong and her gaze piercing. “I was named for the famed wife of El Cid who ruled Valencia after his death.”
“The military leader who originally fought for King Ferdinand in Castile?” Petra asked, remembering that period in the 11th century. To this day, he remained one of the most famous Spaniards who ever lived.
The woman nodded proudly.
“Welcome, Ximena. Has Clarius made you aware of what will happen here tonight?”
Clarius scoffed at that.
“I have explained all to my lady Ximena, Prima Vita,” Nicon said with a stiff bow.
Petra smiled in acknowledgment. “Thank you, Nicon. Mademoiselle Adélaïs here hails from Avignon, France.” Petra waved her over, and the girl moved to stand beside her. “She is niece to the pope’s private physician.”
Clarius glanced up. “Did you meet the pope, girl?”
“Yes, Monsieur. On many occasions.”
“Is he as decadent and foolish as they say?” he asked, laughing at her shocked expression.
“I don’t—I mean, that is to say…”
The girl’s voice shook with fear, but Petra took her hand in hers and pressed her forward. “Adélaïs is to be my right hand in all things. Clarius, what skills does Ximena bring to the Sanguinea?”
Ximena stepped forward and answered for him. “I am accomplished in deciphering the ancient texts of my people.”
Something about the way she said it made Petra wonder if she wasn’t being entirely forthcoming about her skill set. It would be just like Clarius to tell one of his Sanguinea not to reveal too much to her. She would have to keep an eye on Ximena.
“You will speak when I say you can speak, woman,” Clarius said gruffly.
“You do not know the extent of my knowledge, Clarius,” Ximena said defiantly.
He scoffed at her. “And you do not know your place here.”
Petra thought this woman too proud, but she had learned to play the game to get along in a world ruled by men. Ximena would find this still true in the Sanguinea eternae, where Clarius was master of all. She would, however, see glimpses of the rule of women with Petra’s Essentiae. She wondered if the woman would eventually feel caught between the two eternae and want to defect from the Sanguinea at some point. Time alone would tell. It struck Petra that crossing this woman would unleash a tigress, but she would not be cowed by a novitiate too arrogant to be humbled by the prospect of immortality.
Petra gazed impassively at the woman for a long uncomfortable moment. “Know this, Ximena: on this night, I will become your mother, your source of life, your Prima Sanguis. If I cease to exist, you will die. You are here solely at my pleasure”—Petra locked eyes with Clarius—“and I am the one who will decide tonight if you may pass into immortality. You would do well to remember this.” Her warning was as much for Clarius’s sake as Ximena’s.
The woman looked to Clarius for guidance on how to respond, but he and Petra were playing war games with their eyes. It was obvious to Petra that he was struggling not to fly into a rage, but in the end, Lucius saved him the trouble. He flung open the double doors and strode into the room with a vengeance.
He wore a favorite of hers, his mink brown doublet with red velvet siding, which always brought out the rich, deep browns of his eyes. Petra half-expected him to be wearing a sword at his hip, but he only reached out to her, encircling her with his arm possessively, which suited her fine. She leaned up to kiss him, and his immediate response was to draw her more deeply into his mouth. She welcomed it, wanting to repair the damage of their earlier fight. When he pulled away, he gazed into her eyes with a strange look. She worried he smelled Clarius on her, or tasted the basil and honey yet left on her tongue. If he suspected it, he said nothing, but nodded at the others in turn and spared a singular smile for Adélaïs, who tried to smile back through her nervousness.
“Ximena and Nicon,” Petra said, walking forward with Lucius, “allow me to introduce our other Essentiae, Lucius.” It seemed strange to her even now that Nicon and Lucius had never met.
Lucius’s greeting was forced and Ximena’s curtsey short, but Nicon’s smile and bow were genuine, at least.
“Petra has told me much about you, Lucius. It is an honor to finally make your acquaintance.”
“I have heard similarly about you, Nicon. You are most welcome in our home. And, you, Silvio,” Lucius asked, raising his chin in a cool greeting, “how fare you?”
“I am well, Luc—” Silvio stopped himself before he made the mistake of calling Lucius by his former slave name. “Lucius, I mean.”
Lucius shook his head to dismiss the gaff and walked further into the room. When he finally laid eyes on Clarius, the smug grin on his enemy’s face was enough to wipe the pleasant smile from his own.
“So, Lucius, you come at long last to witness a Vellessentia. Why now?”
“In honor of our new Essentia, Adélaïs, Clarius. No more, no less.”
“I see you have not changed.”
“No more than you. Still the man you always were.” They all knew what Lucius meant, that he believed Clarius could never change, no matter how much Petra’s blood had quelled him over the centuries.
“I am far more as you will see tonight when I bathe in your lover’s blood.”
“You will treat her with the honor she deserves, Clarius, or I will have your head.”
“Are you really such a monumental fool, Lucius? What do you think we’ve been doing all these years? This was always a bloody business, no matter how many pretty rituals you surround it with. I take Petra’s life at every Vellessentia, a penance she will owe me for an eternity.”
“And what price do you pay for her losses, you bastard?” Lucius’s voice rose with the color of his face.
“Oh, I’ve paid the blood price, Lucipor, with every murder I’ve committed and every drop of blood I’ve spilled.” Clarius was del
iberately provoking him with his old slave name now. “I lay all of this at your feet, Mother Petra. A testament to your gift of immortality. A mountain of dead, bloodied and cleaved.”
Petra watched in horror as Lucius lurched forward, white-hot rage flashing in his eyes.
17
The Aeternitescentia
August 13, 1345
In the space of a single moment, Lucius took Clarius by the throat, Nicon drew his sword, and Petra pulled Lucius’s mind into an Essentian draw. Clarius raised his fist to strike, but Petra’s sudden draw reduced Lucius’s strength so fast he let go of Clarius’s neck and fell to his knees.
“Pull Clarius back,” Petra commanded Nicon.
She knew Nicon saw she was attempting to break the two men up, and he moved to yank Clarius back with both hands, his sword clattering loudly onto the marble floor in the process.
Petra moved around to face Lucius as he gasped and tried to pry her fingers from his head. But she held on harder, drawing his strength and probing deep within his mind. Whether memory or wish, she did not know, but what she saw took her breath away. Petra witnessed Lucius drawing from the heart of a stranger in a darkened alleyway with a full moon high overhead. It was a man, afraid for his life, screaming from the pain and the fear. It was over in a moment’s time, and Lucius left him for dead in a pile of refuse, running through the night, away from what he had done, away from the pleasure and the guilt and the power of the draw.
“Let go, Petra.” Lucius’s voice was hard as steel, and in his eyes, she watched his anger shift from Clarius to her. Then his thoughts exploded into her mind. She saw his desire. To kill… to kill her. And hate… Oh, goddess. The hate he felt for her in this moment made her fall to her knees before him. Who was this man he killed? Was she glimpsing a true memory?
“Don’t make me do this to you,” she whispered. “I will release you, but you must promise me you will not lay a hand on Clarius again. If you do…” She shook her head, wishing she didn’t have to say the words. “I will have to punish you under eternae law—our law.” She begged him with her eyes not to force her hand. Never once in their history had anyone invoked the vindicatio, a ritual that was both trial and punishment for transgressions against other eternae. But Clarius was now well within his rights to call for one.
When Lucius looked up at her as the pain of her draw shook through him, she withdrew. The abject misery he felt at her chastisement was spreading through his eyes and falling through his thoughts. His rage was gone in an instant, replaced by a deadness, a defeat she hadn’t seen since the first time Clarius had forced Lucius to watch as he took her life. A great pain struck her in the chest, and she wanted only to bow before him and beg his forgiveness, but she could not. She had to remain strong in order to keep the appearance of her power. This alone kept Clarius and his Sanguinea from killing Lucius and imprisoning her. Petra glanced over at Adélaïs who looked on from the corner where she cowered with horror. Petra gave her a reassuring smile, but she knew it fell horribly flat.
“Lucius,” she whispered, leaning down to him, “Adélaïs is terrified. You do not want her to see you spill blood in anger tonight. Fix your thoughts on her, my love. Do not let your need for vengeance put her in danger.”
Lucius searched Petra’s face, seeming to seek an answer to the unspoken question in his eyes. He sought her love, and she answered with a soft gaze and an outstretched hand. When he took it and glanced at Adélaïs, Petra realized she had finally gotten through to him. As they rose together, Petra looked at the Sanguinea each in turn.
“We have two novitiates with us tonight who are unaware of our past grievances. It is best we do not frighten them, or they may not wish to join us.” She took a moment to glance over at Ximena, who stood by Nicon with anger flashing in her eyes. Clarius, on the other hand, was pretending to be relaxed and bored as he sipped more wine and looked innocently at Petra. “That goes for you too, Clarius.”
Clarius gave her a cool smile. “I’m not the one with a temper this evening.”
“Silence!” she shouted, shooting him a glare that would have made the old gods quiver. “It is late. Time for us to begin the Vellessentia.”
As she said the words, she noticed the sun’s light through the open window had long since faded, replaced by an indigo sky filled with ominous clouds. Petra turned and reached for Adélaïs to take hold of her hand. Together the two of them led the way outside into the garden. The silence of the others behind them told Petra she had won the battle. But would she win the final war tonight?
“Ximena and Adélaïs, come forward,” Petra said, when they had reached the large courtyard where they would hold the rituals. The servants had long since lit the torches, giving the entire courtyard a warm glow. The eternae stood waiting outside the inner cella and its accompanying pool of water. “Novitiates, each of you will take a torch and walk on opposite sides of the pool.”
Petra turned to the group, even though she was unable to look Lucius in the eyes as he stared hard at her. “Now to the cella. Let us begin our eternae rituals.” She followed behind them all as each took a torch and silently marched to the cella, the inner sanctum of their ceremonial grounds. Many of the rituals she had cultivated over the years were a culmination of Roman, Greek, and Christian elements. Such was the result of living for centuries in countries far and wide among cultures she both loved and loathed.
Many of the mosaics upon which they walked were of the Greek and Roman gods of her youth. If she couldn’t forget those days, she didn’t want Lucius or Clarius to forget them either. She risked a glance toward her lover. His eyes, dark and shadowed against the flickering torch lights, were watching her. Hating her? Petra knew he felt she had betrayed him. She knew because she believed it too. Couldn’t he see she was protecting him—protecting all of them? Would she believe this if their roles were reversed?
She put her feelings aside and attempted to mentally prepare for tonight’s rituals as she picked up the ceremonial artavus and the small, shallow amphora that would hold her blood.
She had just about made it to a place of calm when a gentle tug at her sleeve came from Adélaïs.
“Madame Petra? I’m afraid.”
“I know. I am sorry we frightened you. Our quarrels go back millennia, and I confess we are not used to having guests.”
“What if my courage fails?”
“It is death you fear. But this is only one death, one single mortal death. Your turning will be first. You will see nothing else of tonight’s rituals, and when you wake, my brave girl, you will be awake for all time. So focus on me, and I will guide you through.”
“Yes, Prima Vita. I will try.”
“Now take your torch in hand and let’s begin.”
Once they had all lined up, Ximena and Adélaïs began their silent march toward the cella. They moved toward opposite sides of the pool, which shimmered in the moonlight, casting glimmers onto their faces. Petra loved this moment of the ritual, when all was reverent and quiet—even Clarius—and the pain had not yet begun. The cella was a sacred place for her, no matter what village or country they lived in. Here she had died and been reborn countless times. It was a symbol of renewal, of immortality, and a testament to their extraordinary lives. And, tonight, she would turn two more souls. She envied them their innocence, their newness. How would immortality change them? Would it make them cruel? Would the endless days fill them with despair? Would they change the world for good or ill?
When each eternae stood below a lit torch attached to the columns surrounding the pool, the novitiates made their way back to face Petra, Adélaïs with a look of fear and Ximena with a look of defiance. Petra drew nearer to the novitiates.
“We are gathered here at our thirteen hundredth and forty-third Vellessentia with two novitiates who await their first turning, their first Aeternitescentia. We welcome you both, Adélaïs and Ximena. We also welcome Lucius, my fellow Essentia who is joining us for the first time. You honor us—and
most especially me—with your presence here tonight.” She bowed her head to him, hoping he felt the sincerity of her words.
“Adélaïs and Ximena, at this ritual, you must choose which eternae you wish to join: the Essentiae or Sanguinea. No one can make this choice for you, but you must abide by the current and future laws of the eternae you choose.
“First I will speak the laws. First Law: you must not reveal the existence of the Essentiae or Sanguinea to any human without the consent of your eternae’s leader. Second Law: It is forbidden to turn a novitiate without consent. Third Law: It is forbidden for any immortal to force a novitiate to choose an eternae. Fourth Law: It is forbidden for an Essentiae and Sanguinea to draw from each other. Fifth Law: It is forbidden to kill another Sanguinea or Essentiae without consent of the leader of your eternae. Sixth Law: If you break any of these laws, all will gather at the next Vellessentia to decide your fate in a Vindicatio Ritual. Do you understand these laws as I have spoken them?”
“Yes,” the women said in unison.
“Do you agree to abide by these laws for as long as you live?”
Once again, the women spoke together. “I do.”
“Then enter the pool and take your places next to the Altarae Aevitatis.” She waved them down toward the center of the pool where the three shallowly submerged, wide stone altars lay. In front of these stood a taller altar where the ritual amphora and artavus were already laid out. As the novitiates descended into the water, Petra picked up the ritual objects from the table and entered the warm water herself, moving to stand before the altar. She addressed Adélaïs first.