Chapter XIV. Father of Whispers
XIV
FATHER OF WHISPERS
“A QUIET DEEPER than any I’ve known gripped the city of my forebears as I stepped into the night. Beyond the lull of a tomb, the still of a statue, the hush of dark before dawn. No breath of breeze. No song of sea. The City of Lions was filled with silence that night.
“Silence absolute.
“And yet I felt a Pull in the hollow of my chest, a dark undertow, dragging me in like a drowner. The wrongness of it struck me, the dread and feyness of all this, and yet I followed that Pull through the night. I knew where it led. What I’d find there.
Red coils seething still in the reflection of my mind’s eye.
“‘GAbrIEL.’
“No guard stood upon the chateau ramparts as I passed out onto the cliffroad.
The midnight city was laid out beneath me, but not a soul on her streets could be seen.
Walking her boulevards and thoroughfares, the crunch of my heels upon the cobbles the only sound, it seemed as if León had been utterly emptied of life.
But as I strode on, yet drawn by that Pull, I heard it.
Soft at first, but rising ahead of me beneath the cold blanket of night.
“The beating of some colossal heart.
“Le Chemin des Anges lay ahead, those angels encircling Le D?me silent and still. For centuries had they stood vigil about the cathedral, two now toppled by Aaron’s rage.
Yet foremost among them, still he remained: my namesake, looming in the dark before me.
Staring up at his face, I was again struck with certainty I’d seen it before, the scent of brine and blood rising in my nostrils, the sound of Dior weeping and the song of wild pipes—
“‘GAbrIEL.’
“I climbed the cathedral stairs, that great pulse rising in my ears. And stepping across the threshold of Le D?me, at last I discovered the source of that dreadful drum.
“León’s people. Every citizen—mother and maid, babe and baker, priest and pauper—were there gathered, on their knees about that altar.
Their eyes were closed, faces serene, utterly motionless save for the rise and fall of their chests and the choir of their pulses, united as one.
Somehow every heart in that cathedral was beating all in time, the rush and swell of their blood strung together in a terrible red hymn.
The space was dark as tombs, lit only by the candelabrum on the altar, flame glittering on every ring and necklet and pin of gold—gold, not silver—but down in the front rows, I saw my grandfather and his court all assembled, my heart twisting as I found Lachlan and Baptiste among them.
“‘GAbrIEL.’
“That voice. The same I’d heard at duskmass, in my dreams, reverberating on the arched ceiling above, the curved walls around, layered upon itself as if not one but a multitude spoke, and seemingly everywhere at once.
I searched the gloom with paleblood eyes, the grim silence of the thousands around me chilling my blood as I roared.
“‘Where are you? ’
“‘IN THE HEART OF EVERY FATHER,’ came my answer, spoken in unison by each man and woman and child in that cathedral. ‘IN THE brEATH OF EVERY BABE. IN EVERY DREAM AND DROPLET OF MY DOMAIN DO I ABIDE. AS ALWAYS I HAVE. AS ALWAYS I WILL.’
“And looking to the altar, as if into some haze from long-lost summers of my youth, I saw him. As if some veil had been torn from my awestruck eyes, and a truth I’d always known was at last remembered, flooding the dust-dry halls of my long-broken heart.
“Tall. Sinuous. Flawless. Alabaster skin, pale as the raiment he wore, like some priest of ritual lost and midnights forgot.
His robes were parted at his throat, smooth chest unveiled, that V-shaped line of cloth cutting low and perilous.
Long dark hair swept back from a kingly brow, spilling down his shoulders like rivers of shadow.
Yet his eyes were the darkest part of him, windows that opened into an emptiness so profound the light seemed simply to die in his gaze.
To name him handsome was to name the tempest a spring breeze. The firestorm a candleflame.
“He was bleakest beauty.
“He was death divine.
“‘Who are you?’ I demanded.
“‘KNOW THEE, WHO I AM. WHAT I AM.’
“I shivered, his reply once more spoken by every mortal mouth in that church.
“‘SAY IT NOW, BLACK LION OF LORSON. SWEET SON OF LEóN.’
“Eyes black as hell bored into mine.
“‘SAY. MY. NAME.’
“His face I recalled at last, memory rising in my addled mind—not just the face of that statue outside, but that same face I’d seen in Maryn’s tomb beneath Maergenn.
Those five figures encircling the Redeemer on his wheel at the moment of his death.
Their fanged mouths open in anguish as he cursed them to eternity.
Their bodies clad in priests’ garb, a different sigil hung around each neck—wolves, bears, skulls, ravens.
“Serpents.
“The Five. The first vampires, damned by the Redeemer they’d murdered to walk this earth forever. And his name slipped my lips in a cold whisper.
“‘Ilon. First of the Whispers.’
“I looked about us; that cathedral of dreamers, near dumb with the awe and horror of it. I understood now why duskmass was mandatory in the City of Lions. What must have been hidden in the communal cup these folk supped from every eve, in the wine we’d been offered at my grandfather’s feast—masked from our senses by the scent of Odette’s moonsblood, the Fool’s sliced fingertip—the riddle unraveled.
My mind boggled at the scale of it. The terror of it.
The power it must have taken to hold a grip upon so many minds.
No ambition so trifling as the Dyvok. No mere court of thralls.
“A city of them.
“‘How can this be?’ I demanded. ‘There’s holy water at every door in this barony. We stand on sacred ground even now.’
“‘BY MY WORD DIDST THY FOREBEAR LAY THIS CITY’S FIRST STONE,’ the people answered. ‘BY MY PATRONAGE WAS THIS CHURCH BUILT FROM DUST. THE FIRST WORD OF WORSHIP SPAKE NEATH THESE GABLES WERE NOT UNTO HIM. THEY WERE TO ME. THIS HOUSE BE MINE.’
“The vampire tilted his head, speaking with the mouths all about us.
“‘NO POWER HATH THY REDEEMER HERE.’
“‘I don’t believe it. All these years, all these people, my famille, my mama…’
“I shook my head, horrified.
“‘All yours?’
“He stared then, and it seemed a hundred seasons bloomed and withered before the congregation replied. ‘NOT ALL. FOR LONGEST YEARS, I RULED FROM SHADOWS, CHILD. A PRIEST HERE. A BARON THERE. I AM ILON, FATHER OF WHISPERS. NO THRONE NEED I TO SADDLE A KINGDOM.’
“‘But Charlotte…’ I looked to my cousin, knelt among the other thralls. ‘The broods she burned. How the hell did mediae of the other lines ever get a foothold here, if you’ve ruled this city since its first brick was dragged from the kiln?’
“‘HEAVY WEIGHS ETERNITY’S CROWN, CHILD. EVERY NIGHT THE SAME SONG. EVERY SONG, THE SAME REFRAIN. SOLACE IN SLUMBER, SOUGHT I. A CENTURY SLEEPING ’NEATH THE STONES THY FOREBEARS LAID, TO ESCAPE IMMORTALITY’S WEIGHT.
YET IN THAT TIME, OTHERS SLUNK INTO THE SHADOWS I ONCE RULED.
I COULD FEEL THEM. SPAWN OF DYVOK. CHASTAIN.
VOSS. STAKING CLAIM WHERE NONE WAS EARNED.
YET ’TWAS NOT ’TIL HE SET BEGGAR’S TREAD UPON MY STONES I TRULY BEGAN STIRRING FROM EVENTIDE’S ARMS.’
“‘… He?’
“‘THY FATHER.’ The monster smiled, bloodless and razored. ‘LICKING HIS WELL-EARNED WOUNDS AND SEEKING SUCCOR AT THY DAM’S MILK-WHITE TEAT. KNOW THEE, THE TRUTH OF THY LINEAGE, CHILD? KNOW THEE, THE DOOM WULFRIC AND HIS ILK TRIED TO UNLEASH AT CHARBOURG? ’
“I thought of my vision then; that great black hand rising from the mountains to the north, tearing the sun from the sky. But I gave no reply.
“‘AND SO I ROSE AT LAST. SHAKING OFF SLUMBER’S DUST BUT SLOWLY, AND WEAK FROM A CENTURY IN LIGHTLESS BLACK. THY SWEET COUSIN I USED TO BURN THE CUCKOOS FROM MY NEST. AND IN YEARS SINCE, I HAVE MADE THIS CITY MINE ONCE MORE. NO LONGER A PRIEST HERE. A BARON THERE. ALL LEóN’S CHILDREN BE NOW MINE. THIS BE A NEW NIGHT, AFTER ALL.’
“He fixed me with those eyes, deep and perilous as the sea.
“‘HAIL ITS NEW KING.’
“I stalked a little closer, the fingertips of my right hand brushing against a weight in my hem—the second vial of Dior’s blood, still hidden in the stitching.
“‘There’s only one king among your kind,’ I hissed.
‘It was Fabién who led the attack on the Charbourg in the Wars of the Blood. Fabién who crossed the Bay of Tears and crushed Nordlund. He stands poised even now to claim the Fivefold Throne. This whole empire trembles at the mention of him. They don’t even know your name. ’
“‘NOR DO I WISH THEM TO. WOLVES HUNT IN PACKS. RAVENS, FLOCKS. BUT ALONE DO SERPENTS ABIDE, CHILD. I AM FATHER OF WHISPERS. ACROSS ALL ELIDAEN DOTH MY brOOD HOLD SWAY. ASHEVE. SUL ILHAM. MADEISA. LEóN. LET FABIéN RULE THE WASTES IN HIS WAKE. THE GET OF VOSS MAY HAVE THE CROWN. THE CHILDREN OF ILON HAVE ALREADY PLUCKED ITS JEWELS.’
“The vampire spread his arms before the Baron and his court, that dread angel unveiled.
The glow of the stained-glass windows behind him burned like fire in my mind, but in truth, his was a black majesty, and he a dark sun, surpassing all need of light and warmth.
And God help me, a part of me longed to be crushed in his gravity.
“‘Why tell me all this? What do you want?’
“‘ALREADY HATH THY GRANDFATHER NAMED MY DESIRE, GAbrIEL.’
“He smiled then, chill trickling down my spine.
“‘THEE.’
“‘… Why?’
“Ilon’s hand rose to the man knelt before him, timeworn face upturned in adoration. The vampire gifted my grandfather’s cheek a slow caress, sorrow staining his smile.