Chapter 17
Alone
Earlier…
Eyros waited by the gate to Lasting. Alone.
He held himself still even as he wanted to pace.
It was not like him to spend useless energy.
Better to remain seated–or even lying down, if possible–instead of standing or, gods help him, moving about aimlessly.
A cup of blood wine near one hand. A favored Acolyte by the other.
His most amusing and interesting Children nearby.
That was how things should be. But he stood by himself instead with no one and nothing to comfort him.
He rather wondered if since the other Immortals had been killed–or in the case of Mirryr, gone away–whether it was a more honest assessment of his true state.
Had he felt any genuine pleasure since this madness of the War?
Or had he instead felt a sickness spreading through him?
Old hurts had created new ones. Too much blood and death.
He had thought he did not need the other Immortals.
He had far superior company in his own people.
But having spoken to Ashyr, Weryn, Wyvern and Mirryr had been… invigorating. More than that.
He had felt something frozen in him start to warm.
He shouldn’t have been so eager to help them.
He should have shut Ashyr down immediately.
But he hadn’t. And now, here he was, waiting to help them.
He was going to let them into his city with his people even though they had been his enemies not that long ago.
This is foolish. Yet I am doing it.
The wind stirred his long hair. It flattened the crimson shirt against his chest and his black pants against his legs.
He wore no shoes. He curled his toes against the cool grass and moist earth.
As he shifted his weight slightly, he felt the long blade, Serria, slide across his back.
The ruby in its hilt was, in fact, a soul gem. Or he suspected it was.
But, regardless, the blade had chosen him and he would use it if he needed to against any bloody Kaly Vampires that would try and get into Destiny.
Could it be that the blade knew that one day he would have Kaly blood running through his veins too?
Was that why it had called to him? In any event, he would use it if he had to now that he was unlocking even a single gate into Destiny.
Why am I doing this? It is unwise.
He let his eyes go unfocused. He could feel Ashyr’s heart beat slow then fast then slow again.
The turning of his body was fascinating to experience this way.
It was different than it had been with his own Children.
From human to Vampire was like seeing a light shift from red to blue. But Ashyr was different.
There was this sense of awakening, recovering, igniting.
Ashyr was still weak as a kitten, but he was turned.
He’d made it. Artemis was overcome. For now.
But would they make it here? He’d promised to open the gate and he would even though that meant reigniting the hostilities between himself and the Kaly slices once more.
He’d hunkered down. He’d battened down the hatches.
Where had that phrase come from? Regardless, it was true.
But doing this would start up things all over again.
Remind the Kaly slices that I still exist. That I am still here and a threat. A single, lone threat.
He swept the minds of the other Kaly Vampires he could reach in Lasting.
It was not perfect. There were large blank spots where the Kalys had managed to shield themselves from him.
But without Artemis those were less than before.
Yet there was still a risk that they would feel him in their minds.
They’d know he was interfering. Opening the gate to Lasting–when he had closed down every gate–was really insane.
Really and truly insane to get involved like this.
Their minds were filled with fear and confusion.
They were hiding, too. But now they’d been found out and they didn’t know what to do.
They’d retreated to Lasting and now that wasn’t safe either.
He’d retreated, too. He didn’t want to admit that.
But it was true. Right now, his only goal was to keep as many of his people alive as he could.
Including himself, of course. No more dreams of pouring water on the fires of war or calming things down by other means.
He was trying to simply wait things out and protect as much as he could.
But then he’d read Ashyr’s–or Grayson’s–mind, and not just his, but Weryn, Mirryr and Wyvern’s, too.
Ryder, Charlie and Fiona. This is so ridiculous! Why do they not go by their real names?
Why did they reject their true names? Why did they hide from themselves?
But he already knew the answers to these questions.
They were all three–or four really since Ashyr apparently valued being Grayson–rejecting what had come before.
Who they had been. What they had done. They truly felt that the only way to not make the same mistakes as they had in the past was to simply not know those pasts.
And, evidently, he was the king of that in the future.
Convinced that as Balthazar he wasn’t really Eyros and could have clean hands.
Clean hands? What did he think he’d done during this War?
He’d done only what he’d had to do to survive!
Why did he think himself a villain? Why did he fear to know himself?
What was darkly amusing to him was how he was the same both here and in the future.
Circumstances might be different, some new lessons learned, but he was the same as he had ever been.
And it was those circumstances that truly matter.
Because they certainly couldn’t happen now.
Kaly being all cuddly with him? Them confessing their darkest secrets to one another?
Depending on one another for emotion–good gods!
--support? He could never have even imagined such a thing let alone attempted to bridge the gulf between them in the hopes of such a relationship.
They’re rejecting themselves. I’m rejecting myself. Maybe rejection is the way to go since it seems to be working so well.
And it was surprising at how hurt that made him feel, but he should have been angry and insulted. But he was simply hurt. Because he had looked far deeper than Ryder, Grayson, Fiona or Charlie’s minds than they knew, not to mention through their eyes, to this future and it was good.
It is better than that.
And compared to now? It was perfect.
Daemon returned. Nightvallen alive. Humans know about us. New Children. New friendships. New opportunities. So much to learn and enjoy. And we’re doing it together. Not alone. United.
He was never one to admit defeat. But he was defeated. He was reduced. Hiding like a blind mole in his burrow, hoping to be left alone with his other little moles that clung to him for warmth. How pathetic it was.
Part of him was quivering at the very idea of helping them. It would bring danger to him and his people. He should have ignored them. Gods, why hadn’t he ignored them? But that was all part of this being reduced business. No longer the great Immortal Eyros, but a quivering mess.
But has the War taught me I am not some great hero? I’ve lasted so far–longer than many others–but to what end? We’re all afraid. I can feel my people’s fear. It is like a miasma. It has physical heft. We huddle here. Reduced. Fallen.
Charlie was playing quite a good Artemis now. He, evidently, really could use those Kaly powers. But he was nearing his limit in taking over all those skeletons. But it was quite a nice play to have them turn on their “masters” and put their knives to their throats.
Good show, Charlie!
Eyros grimaced, hands tightening into fists, as Charlie’s control of the skeletons slipped. But then, out of nowhere, Ashyr–Grayson!--took over and kept the illusion going. How had he done that?
A few drops of Kaly blood… Good gods, he will have three powers. Ashyr, Weryn and Kaly! While in the future I just have two! That’s not fair… And I’m not even embracing my Kaly powers. Why am I being so foolish?
He wrenched himself away from that useless thought pattern.
It was not good to think about that right now in any case.
If they actually made it here, he was going to insist that they stop all this playacting at being other people and that when they went to the future they were to shake him.
He needed power. He needed to be safe. More power equaled more safety! He couldn’t be afraid…
“Master?” Elgar called him softly, but firmly. “Why are you at the gate to Lasting?”
Eyros grimaced and pinched the top of his nose. Elgar hadn’t even attempted to shield himself, but he’d been so involved in his own self-pity and reflection that he hadn’t noticed. This was bad.
“Elgar, didn’t I tell you to remain back in the city?”
“Yes.” A single word, no prevarication. That was Elgar.
“But here you are. Not in the city as I commanded,” Eyros reminded him.
He heard the soft shush-shush of the grass as his beloved fledgling came to him.
The gate to Lasting was in a rather pretty spot on a hill right before the treeline.
The moons shone down upon the white stone arch that was three times his height and many more times his width.
It stood like a sentinel. He had no gates directly into his main city.
That would not have been strategically wise.
See? The Immortals had no trust in one another!
They did not. They could not. But in the future…
“I am not, Master,” Elgar finally answered as he took his place–as always–by Eyros’ side. “I am here.”
“Yes, so I see. But why are you here?” Eyros asked, his stomach churning.