Chapter 66
Chapter Sixty-Six
I gave myself over to it.
Inside the mausoleum, the same one that had been Sunaria’s resting place when I was a boy, I found some solace replaying my time with her, pretending she was near.
I’d returned to Santiago de Compostela, hoping to remember in detail that first vision when she’d appeared to me.
Being on holy ground, the tombs had not been torn down, and as though God had taken pity on me, I remained undisturbed.
And so I slept – on and off – for sixteen long years.
Unconsciousness, my only respite, freed me from the harsh, glaring grief.
On the rare occasion when I roused, I’d consider with fascination that I could survive without frequent feeding.
It did result in exhaustion and a loss of will, but as such the drag of sleep came easier.
As society encroached, the noise outside my self-imposed prison increased. For the most part, I blocked it out, but as time and the elements wore away at the boundaries of my sacred resting ground, the time came for me to rise.
The faces of the two boys were preserved in my memory, though they’d have grown in years. They’d dressed as young Lords, so that at least would winnow away other suspects. Such a lead offered me hope that if I found them, I’d find Sunaria’s murderers.
I made my way to Palos.
Stopping off at a private residence, I found a change of clothes, grateful for the opportunity to freshen up. And feed.
The journey to the port provided proof of my longevity. I’d not changed like the landscapes around me, society ever enduring, ever evolving.
Upon my arrival, I arranged for my oak chest to be delivered to the largest sea-going vessel in the harbor and stored in my private cabin.
That feeling of being watched again stirred a familiar feeling, but I shook it off.
Returning to England possessed my thoughts, and I ruminated on what I’d find. Unfinished business beckoned.
Strolling along, I was captivated by the way fashions had changed, though the people seemed the same.
They still went on with their miserable lives, working and playing as though completely unaware that within them time ticked away towards their inevitable demise.
With nothing in common, the reality that I was an outsider rippled through my veins.
Even at this late hour, the place was crowded, and I pushed through the horde. Thick fog enveloped us, obscuring the docked ships, swirling around them.
A tall, slim figure loomed at the entrance to the pier. The man stepped out of the shadows, moonlight dancing upon his face, illuminating his features.
“Hello, Father.” Jacob tilted his head and smiled at me.
Almost three hundred years since his death and he stood there. His complexion was pale. His translucent brown eyes held my gaze. A young face, but irises that reflected the wisdom of his true age, evidence of his transformation, and proof that he’d not died that night in my arms.
And yet I failed to react.
The agony of loss remained as fresh as the day the scar was inflicted. Fear and dread collided, and the sharpest truth cut through me – I had never known.
I hated myself for not sensing it, sensing this was Sunaria’s work.
“When I left the room?” I finally asked.
Jacob nodded.
This time upon our reunion, there were no open arms, no words to convey the relief I felt in seeing him.
Because I felt nothing.
Centuries had gutted my heart.
His appearance now devastated the last of my will to care, because I had cared too much and it had destroyed me.
“It’s taken me all these years.” He sighed. “This takes some getting used to.”
All this time, I’d grieved for the son I thought I’d lost.
“I was searching for answers,” he responded to my silent ruminations.
“You took your time.”
“Forgive me.”
I looked away. “Sunaria?”
“She made me what I am.”
I swallowed hard. “I told her not to go back to England.”
“I sensed her passing.”
“How long have you been in Spain?”
“Years.” He glanced at the boat. “You do realize the fashion in England includes the wearing of wigs.”
“The women?”
“The men. Thanks to Louis XIII.”
“Of course,” I said, “a French aristocrat.”
He smiled. “Stay here with me.”
The thick evening air was stifling. I stared at the boats in the harbor.
He followed my gaze. “Don’t get on that ship, Father.”
He used that term of endearment like there was no wedge between us.
A bell pierced the quiet.
“It’s over,” he said. “Let her go.”
I met his gaze. “It’s the only way I’ll have peace.”
He looked away. “What will you do?”
I smiled without answering his question.
“Don’t follow that path – it won’t bring her back.” He stepped closer. “Come with me. We can make a new life together.”
I felt conflicting emotions, betrayal being one of them. I tried but failed to empathize with him. Sunaria had deceived me, breaking the promise that I’d kept, and I hated her for it.
Jacob sighed.
Sunaria had tried to tell me on the very evening I thought he’d passed away, as I had climbed into my coffin deep within the depths of Belshazzar’s.
And yet I still loved her.
“Come with me to London,” I said.
He shook his head. “Things are never what they seem.” He held my gaze. “You know that.”
“I don’t know who to believe anymore…who to trust.”
According to the book I had read in a Stone Master’s library, Sunaria’s ashes were buried within the pillars of Stonehenge. I was going to retrieve her.
I’ll retrieve all of them…revive every single vampire.
From the ship’s deck came a last call for passengers. My life had been a series of regrets, and here now, I had to make another choice, either follow through on a promise, or come to terms with my darker side.
“You’re heading for its very center.” Jacob read my thoughts.
Two last-minute passengers scurried up the ramp to board.
“Where have you been all this time?” I needed to know.
“Searching for the truth. True spirituality has nothing to do with religion.”
I shrugged.
“There are secrets about our kind, truths that will dazzle you.” He opened his mouth to say more and then stopped himself.
“Go on, then, what are they?”
Not here, not like this.
As if his philosophy warranted more time, more reverence, from the figure before him. But he was no man, not anymore. We were the same now, cloaked in the illusion of perfect immortality, and yet beneath it all, still exquisitely broken.
I’m dead inside.
He held out his hand to me again.
“Her face haunts me,” I said wistfully.
A lone sailor was standing port side with both his hands on the wooden drawbridge, ready to pull it in.
“Trust me, Father,” he whispered. “I never stopped loving you.”
The ship swayed and creaked against the dock.
I started up the ramp and then paused. “Jacob, you were my rock. You know that, don’t you?”
I turned back to face him, but he was gone.
A chilling breeze billowed my overcoat as I walked the deck of the Blue Rose.
I was alone again, feeling dazed but strangely calm. I almost felt sorry for them – my enemies in England.
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