Chapter VI. Fourth Dawn #3
“‘I’d been wrong to invite myself into this boy’s life.
Wrong to let him love me. He’d been an escape, I realized.
Something that was mine. Something to cling to as all I’d been faded away.
But what could I truly offer him? What could I be to him?
This had been selfish. And foolish. And I was lucky my indulgence hadn’t cost him more than a broken heart.
“‘Because break it I must …
“‘Laurent—
“‘I should have known.
“‘I turned, a knife of ice in my belly as I saw the shadow on the balcony. He was dressed in rags, his body still a ruin, fingers like scorched twigs. But the eyes staring from the wreckage of that face, I’d have known anywhere.
“‘Master Wulfric …
“‘Master.
“‘Wulfric scoffed, stepping through the open door, his invitation from the ball holding true. Laurent’s heartbeat quickened, blind eyes searching the gloom.
“‘… Celene?
“‘Ye dare name me Master? When thou hast deceived me so completely?
“I backed off a step, putting myself between Wulfric and Laurent. I was drenched in panic now, fingernails biting my palms, tongue dry as dust.
“‘How did you find me?
“‘I fell silent as a blood-red moth crawled from the folds of my once-beautiful dress, taking flight across the room. Wulfric held out his hand, his voice suddenly, terribly sad.
“‘I was … afraid for thee. I thought to keep an eye out. Help in thy escape.
“‘The moth landed upon Wulfric’s charred skin, sinking beneath the surface, my heart sinking with it. He looked at me then, lips parted, face twisted, and it was not his rage that brought the tears to my eyes. It was his disappointment. Though I’d lied to him, I was still in awe of my master.
He’d given me a place to belong, a belief greater than myself, something holy to be a part of.
Through all I’d suffered, all I’d seen, he’d offered what no one else could—a path to the salvation of my soul.
“‘Without him … I’d have nothing.
“‘I gave thee freedom, he whispered. I did not spy upon thy business, nor pry into thy mind. I trusted thee, Celene. To hold to the scriptures. Live up to the Vow.
“‘And I have, Master, I—
“‘Bonds earthly we sever. His servants forever. I warned thee, Celene Castia. Those black eyes fell on Laurent then, brimming with fury. We are not their kind.
“‘I know it, Master. My eyes are open, I came here tonight …
“‘I glanced to Laurent, his face filled with such fear and wonder and hope …
“‘Celene? he whispered.
“‘I came here tonight to say good-bye.
“‘I saw Laurent flinch then, as if I’d thrust a broken blade into his chest. Disbelief. Anger. Sorrow. All crossed his face in a handful of beats from that breaking heart. He’d put such faith in me. Such hope. But Wulfric spoke before he could reply.
“‘And well ye should. For good-bye this is.
“‘I held up my hand to stay his temper. Please …
“‘Ye killed them. Percival and Aleks. They burn in hellfire because of thee.
“‘No, no, I—
“‘Percival told thee to fetch me at the ball. If I had been there, Aleks would not have been burned. They would not have been followed. But seek me out, ye did not. Ye were in here. A snarl, pearl-white and savage. Protecting him.
“‘Master, please, I will go with you, I will obey you, I—
“‘Thou hast failed me, Liathe. Thou hast cost us our home and delivered thy siblings to the fires of the abyss. But though thy faith hath proved wanting, I shall not have thee suffer the same. Ye may thank God for that mercy at least.
“‘I cried warning, begging him stop, stop, but he flew across the room and slammed me into the wall so hard the bricks split. Laurent begged to know what was happening, but I couldn’t even whisper, throat crushed in Wulfric’s grip.
“‘But truth was, though he was steeped in centuries and countless souls, my master had been bitterly wounded by those flames. His muscle had been chewed clean through in places, bones brittle as chalk. And with a gasp, I broke free, fingers splintering, blood spattering. I kicked out and my master flew, crashing back into Laurent’s piano, timbers cracking, strings snapping in one last discordant hymn as I yelled at Laurent to run.
“‘Wulfric snaked to his feet, digging claws into his palm and flicking his wrist. But his veins had been boiled near dry by those flames, not enough left to form his blade. With a snarl he flew at me instead, punching, clawing, a savage hook knocking my mask loose. I collapsed into the piano’s wreckage, trying to rise, but Wulfric was on me in a heartbeat, seizing a fistful of hair and smashing my face into the boards, over and over.
“He flipped me onto my back, plunging claws into my neck, fingers closing about the rope of my tongue. I gargled as he pulled, muscle stretched, tendons snapping.
“‘I should rip this from thy lying m—
“‘The blow was a clumsy one, the boy delivering it blind as a newborn pup. But aiming for Wulfric’s voice, Laurent struck true, bringing the broken piano leg down on his neck and shoulder. Wood cracked, bone splintered, my master snarling in fury. And with a black curse, he lashed out at Laurent’s neck.
“‘The blow struck deep, red and red and red. With a bubbling gasp, my songbird fell, blood spraying as he collapsed into his piano’s ruins. And with a roar, I rose from those splinters and crashed into Wulfric’s back.
“‘We hit the boards, and beneath the choir of our snarls, the distant sound of gens d’armes shouting alarm, I could hear Laurent gasping, choking. I was desperate to break free, to save him, but Wulfric wouldn’t let me rise.
Instead, he seized hold of me in an embrace deep as death and plunged his fangs into my throat.
“‘He drank me then. Starving. Wounded. Dry as a thousand deserts. But though in consuming me, I knew he’d save my immortal soul, I’d no wish at all to die.
With no other weapon to hand, I plunged my fangs into his throat in turn.
And wrapped in each other’s arms, we raced to the bottom of our barrels.
“‘He was old. Powerful. Hundreds of years his keeping. But those flames had bit deep, his strength not what it was, and I had never been stronger. I crushed him to me, my master, my dark father, remembering what my true father had told me all those years ago.
“‘Castles are made of stone, Little Mountain. And so are you.
“‘And in our race to the bottom, I realized I was winning.
“‘Wulfric seized tight, desperate now, unleashing his sanguimancy upon me. My blood grew hot in my veins, pain become agony as it began to boil, but still I swallowed, still I drank. And though Wulfric fought, furious, I realized beneath his rage he was terrified that after all he had endured—the war, the blood, the centuries—it might end like this. Fear made him desperate, and he plunged into my mind, seeking pity now from she who’d have received none from him.
But it was too late to stop even if I wanted to, my whole body aflame with it; the power and potency of every shivering, burning mouthful.
“‘Communion.
“‘Communion such as I could never have dreamed.
“‘I could feel a tempest, seething beyond the cusp of his flesh.
Hundreds of voices, hundreds of souls clamoring against the bonds of his immortal shell.
And as that shell began to crumble, they began to flood through him into me.
A raging red deluge, smashing down upon me and threatening to undo all I was.
But still I held on, still I endured, the Mountain both my fathers had made me. And with one last gasp …
“‘J-J-Judgment C-Comes …
“‘… dread Wulfric, soldier of the Faithful, Lord of San Yves, survivor of Charbourg’s fall and keeper of a hundred shriven souls, crumbled to dust in my arms.
“‘All was fire. All was flood. The storm I’d felt in him raging now in me. The power, the potency, infused and distilled, the strength of hundreds, the might of Gods, the flame of faith burning bright as I hissed through bloody fangs.
“‘By this blood shall we have life eternal.
“‘It was his gasping that dragged me from it—down from that blissful red heaven to cold, grey earth.
Laurent lay with hand to throat, blood soaking his shirt through.
I could hear heavy boots, voices shouting his name, and yet I flew across the sopping carpet to his side.
My songbird gasped like a landed fish, white as chalk as I bit into my skin.
“‘Laurent, drink, I begged. Drink, please.
“‘I pressed a bleeding wrist to his mouth, praying God and all his angels not to let this poor boy die. He grabbed hold, shaking, swallowing red. Though I was but young in the blood, that blood was now impossibly thickened, all Wulfric’s power distilled within me. And as I watched, I saw the ravaged flesh of Laurent’s throat mercifully stitching closed.
“‘Merci, saint-père, I breathed, looking up to heaven. Oh, merci, mon dieu.
“‘You brought m-me back.
“‘Laurent blinked, bewildered, shaking like a leaf as he whispered.
“‘You are an angel.
“‘And reaching up, he cupped my cheek.
“‘His expression shifted, wonder to bewilderment, as his fingers drifted over my skin. I realized then my mask was gone; smashed loose in the battle against my master. That for the first time, my sweet songbird was seeing me as I truly was.
“‘And he was horrified.
“‘What …
“‘He snaked upright, fear and revulsion twisting that beautiful face into something awful. Laurent reached out again, fingertips questing over the ruins of my throat, the blood-slicked muscle, the naked teeth in slimy bone. I know now that my face was not half the ruin it had been before I’d drunk Wulfric to ashes. That his blood had returned something of what I’d been.
But to poor Laurent, I must have seemed a horror.
“‘What are you? he hissed, shrinking back.
“‘I hung my head then, bloody tears in my eyes.
“‘I am not your kind.
“‘Heavy blows rained on the door, wood splintering as it was kicked in. Master Laurent! came the cry, Almighty God! and men rushed into the room, burning torches in hand. At the sound of his name, Laurent scuttled toward them, face twisted as he roared.
“‘Get it away! Get it away, it’s a monster!
“‘I sighed then. Whispering the only truth I could be sure of anymore.
“‘No more than the monster he made me.’”
The Last Liathe fell silent, the rushing river’s song filling the void. Jean-Francois stopped writing, gazing across the river at this thing he so feared and despised. She seemed not much an abomination in that moment, but just a girl; small and pale and caught up in something far bigger than she.
That was the true horror of her, he supposed.
That looks, like Celene Castia herself, could be so deceiving.
“I sat in silence at the end of my tale,” she finally sighed. “The library about me echoing with Laurent’s cries, my skull with Wulfric’s whispers. I could see him reflected on the crystal carafe still, black eyes boring into mine.
“Traitor, he hissed. Deceiver.
“‘I’m sorry, Celene.’
“I looked up from his reflection as Dior spoke. Her cheeks were wet with tears, her kerchief sodden. She shook her head, mopping at her lashes.
“‘I’m so sorry that happened to you.’
“We shrugged. ‘Love is for fools.’
“‘Do you know what became of him? Laurent?’
“‘He died,’ I whispered. ‘When the Forever King took San Yves. He’d been wed by then. A lady of quality for his bride. They’d a son, just a babe when Voss broke down the gates of the City of Spears. I hope he was happy, before the end. I hope he didn’t suffer.’
“We pawed at bloody eyes, breathing deep.
“‘But we were long gone by then. Out into the lonely night. Wulfric’s power was mine, but so was his responsibility, and I was now the last Esana awake to search for that flame. Wulfric’s seekers had scattered after his fall, their bonds of blood broken.
But I knew their names. Their scent. And in a moldy taverne in the Madeisa sprawl, I found one, legless on whitepoppy, slurring a tale about a girl in Lashaame who healed the dying with her blood.
A girl with eyes like long-lost skies, and hair as white as yesteryear snows.
And ever Faithful, I set my tread to her side. ’
“Dior had sobered now, eyes downturned as she shook her head.
“‘Sweet Mothermaid. I’d no idea, Celene. What all this had cost you.’
“‘No more than you, mon amie. But as I said, these trials are sent to test us. And in the end, the most important question is the simplest.’
“We pressed one hand to our silent heart.
“‘What are you prepared to sacrifice for what you believe?’
“The Grail looked down at her own wounded hand, chewing her lip. The weight of the world on her back. The promise of all she might be and do for others weighed against the thing she wanted for herself. For a girl like Dior Lachance, that was no contest at all.
“‘Not even sure where I’m supposed to wear a troth ring.’
“She sighed, staring into the gloom.
“‘But you’re right. Love is for fools.’
“She stood then, and I saw the fire in her still burned. Again I was reminded of those statues outside Cairnhaem. The Redeemer, fierce and fearless, sword in hand, helm encircled with a crown. Her ancestor had died trying to fulfill the dream of uniting heaven and earth. The dream living now in us.
“And we could see despite it all, it lived in her too.
“‘Merci, Celene. You’re a good friend.’
“‘We…’
“We looked to the shadows then. Face hidden behind our mask.
“‘I try.’
“Dior smiled, embraced me godmorrow, kissing the porcelain of my cheek. And small, silent, far steadier than when she arrived, the Holy Grail of San Michon departed the library, leaving us in the gloom behind her.
“For long moments we stood motionless. Listening to the voices in our head. Staring into the shadows. Until the shadows moved, stepping forward now, a pale face emerging from that dark, her smile creasing a tiny dimple upon her cherub’s cheek.
“‘Well done, Liathe.’
“Maryn nodded, black eyes gleaming.
“‘Well done indeed.’”