Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
JADEON
We traveled over several nights, keeping our captive secret, staying in accommodations along the way, specially pre-selected inns and fine homes owned by other associates. Torn, I craved the naivete of my old life, and yet, was eager to unravel my family’s secrets.
I was both numb and seething with self-hate, secretly plotting her escape. The men seemed to feel it, their eyes sharp and hawkish on me.
I hated this. Hated them. And seeing my father in this new light burned like fire.
Along the way, I drank as though trying to drown the ghost of myself, letting the dark, liquid fire burn through my veins and silence the whispers I could not bear.
I ate with a savage appetite, shoving morsels into my mouth as if I could consume the emptiness inside me.
And mirrors—I avoided them for each reflection held a cruel witness to my failings.
I had been initiated, in a sense, into the hidden world that thrived within this woman’s circle—a trembling, nest of witches, as they called it. I could not bring myself to believe in these things, yet I could see it in their eyes, in the subtle sway of their movements, that they believed.
Weary from our journey, I was grateful when informed we had arrived in Salisbury. Limbs aching, I climbed out of the carriage and paused on the grassy bank, gazing up in awe at the overbearing structure before me. I caught my breath as my eyes absorbed the magnificent view.
A sudden stillness, as if even time bowed to this ancient place. Wonder swelling in my chest, awe anchoring me before the ancient stones, feeling both infinitesimal and somehow chosen, as if they stood for something greater in us all.
“Stonehenge,” my father’s tone respectful.
The megalithic circle of stones towered like grand rocky gods reaching inexorably toward the stars.
I stared in wonder, struck by the outer circle with its continuous lintels and estimated their height to be over sixteen feet.
Within the outer ring appeared a horseshoe of bluestones towering over the central sacrificial altar stone.
To the northeast, beyond the outer ditch of earthwork, stood the bulky heel stone as if guarding the stones as one of my father’s sentinels stood upon it.
I rallied myself and placed my mask over my face before proceeding toward the central stone where my father now stood. The sunrise was imminent.
The woman, who remained bound, blindfolded, and gagged, was shoved to the center, closely followed by Father De Mercy, who chanted ancient incantations and sprinkled holy water.
Typical. When some of it landed on me I wiped it off, annoyed.
The night chill was bitter. I regretted not wearing warmer clothes.
Lord Artimas guided me to the outer rim of the stones and in hushed tones explained, “Construction began in 2950 BC. The first pillars, transported by sea, established the most profound statement of human supremacy. The stones were dragged from the Preseli Mountains in West Wales. Later, Sarsen stones were brought in to intensify the dramatic effect of the first, designed initially so that during the midsummer morning, the sun rises between the central stone, on which a vampire is placed, and the heel stone.”
His words fell behind as I tried to keep up.
“Therefore,” he tapped my shoulder to get my attention back on him, “when the sun comes up and is at its most potent, it directs concentrated rays upon the nightwalker, who chained steadfastly to the central stone, is killed instantly, unable to escape the powerful rays that incinerate it to ashes.
“In time, we discovered that the ceremony can be performed all year long. However, it is not enough to scatter their ashes to the wind, as with certainty they could reform. We must separate and pour them into the naturally formed fissures carved into the top of the inner circle of stones—thus ensuring that the ashes never reconstruct. For if they did, they would easily revert to their former selves. The stones are so substantial they can never be breeched or shattered. They are indestructible. This ceremony has taken place since man first realized that such creatures exist, and we eventually fathomed how we could destroy them in order to protect man’s very survival. We fought back.”
It was all very convincing and for the first time since this nightmare had begun my guilt subsided. I hoped I had what it took to make my father proud. It was good being so close to him, even under these conditions.
Athena was positioned face up on the central altar, her long red hair falling over her face and down the sides on the oblong stone.
Chains were placed around her hands and feet and then pulled downward as the other end of the metal restraint was fastened with spikes and nailed firmly into the ground.
Her mask and gag were removed, and her gown, now dirty and torn, was pulled down roughly.
Her dress was purposefully ripped open to expose the flesh above her heart.
The men worked fast, placing large flamed torches in between each stone so that the monument shone with a mystical light, revealing its true magnificence.
From a distance, it would appear to be an intimidating Druid monument.
The wooden altar, taken from Cornwall, was now positioned close to the central stone behind us and the silver goblets and knives were placed upon it in an organized fashion.
When it appeared that all was in order, Lord Artimas took his place again at the head of the stone and picked up one of the knives.
I hoped my nerves were ready for the unimaginable.
“How do you plead?” Lord Artimas asked Athena as she sobbed.
“Do you admit to the murder of the innocent?” he continued, not waiting for her response. “Do you admit to serving Satan? It is with truth and honor that I command your spirit into the afterworld, where you will be judged accordingly.”
My eyes were transfixed on Lord Hawke, who accepted the knife from Lord Artimas and drew toward the altar. He proceeded to cut deeply into Athena’s wrist.
Wanting to look away, full of doubt and yet having seen what she was I sensed there was no choice in this.
My father lifted the silver chalice and placed it under her hand. Holding it steady, he caught her blood as it poured into the cup, filling it to the brim.
Not wanting to see anymore, I let my gaze wander.
Despite the spaces between the stones, they seemed to close in on us.
Having read about this place, I was not prepared for actually being here.
As I ran my hand over one of the cold pillars, fascinated with its hugeness, it was easy to become intrigued not only with how it got here, but also how deep it went.
The rough surface beneath my palm revealed an unfathomable past, a history stretching far beyond comprehension, and I stood in quiet reverence for the hands that shaped this sacred circle. The men who had dragged these stones from afar. A seeming impossible task.
But why?
So many questions.
“Jadeon!” My father redirected my attention to the girl again. He ordered me to stand with him and instructed me how to proceed. With grand authority, the hypnotic chanting began.
Athena had lost so much blood my mind could not fathom how she still breathed.
“It is with thanks that I, Master of the Stones, take nourishment from this evildoer, in order that her transgressions be absolved and taken into me.”
To my horror, my father lifted the cup to his lips and drank the very blood he had just drained from Athena.
Stunned, I questioned what my eyes insisted was real—as if some cruel illusion had been cast, because surely, he wasn’t drinking . . . her blood? My throat clenched, thick with dread and disbelief.
He then appeared to enter a blissful trance-like state, dazed and in obvious pleasure.
Studying the faces of the other men, I saw that their eyes fixed on my father, as if hoping they too would get a taste.
Lord Theron took a knife from the table and proceeded to cut off the woman’s lush red hair, quickly retrieving it from the ground and placing it at her feet.
Emotion surged that it had come to this, that she had to endure it. I ached for another way, some chance to bargain, to rewrite this with mercy instead of sacrifice.
Lord Artimas recovered.
Shifting my feet, my gait felt unsteady.
“Take your rightful place here at the center of the stones and drink,” my father commanded again. “Now, son, accept your birthright and partake of your first drink, for on this night and with this act, you are one with the stones, such an honor only bestowed upon the Master and his apprentice.”
Lord Hawke cut deep into her flesh again. I obediently held the cup under her and turned my head away, only to feel my father’s hand at the back of my head, redirecting me toward the blood pouring into the cup and overflowing onto my hands.
I peered down at the silver chalice and wondered if I had staggered into a nightmare. The men watched in reverence. Lips pursed, my head arched back, subtly avoiding the ridge of the cup.
This was diabolical.
My father placed one hand on my shoulder while his other forced the base of the cup to my lips.
I gulped it down, hoping such speed would prevent me from tasting, but both aroma and flavor were surprisingly pleasant.
Astonished by the sudden warm flush which was similar to the epicurean effect of wine, I swooned, swept away by the delirious sensations.
My head fell back and someone assisted me onto the ground.
Spellbound, I struggled with the loss of control.
Wave after wave of a strange carnal rapture enveloped me, transporting me to a time before, when I was Master of Ceremony myself.
This was madness. Having entered it, my mind sought a way out. The stones now spoke to me, a clear and familiar language. Panic-stricken, I was painfully self-conscious and so embarrassed but this drunkenness was impossible to shake off.
A blinding white, the connection my father had spoken of.
My mind continued to play tricks and I felt myself ascend.
Looking down, I clearly viewed this gathering of ancient rocks, designed and set in perfect fashion.
Despite the ecstasy, I struggled against the desire, descending with speed now, falling rapidly toward the earth.
I lay again upon the floor, enraptured by the stones’ power, sensing a merging. I became the stones.
If any trace of the boy I’d been still lingered, it vanished in that moment, as if he’d never existed at all. In his place surged a new force through my veins, electric with purpose, with knowing. Life as I’d understood it before felt pale, false, an illusion I’d finally awakened from.
It was the laughter and cheering in celebration that roused me from my trance.
My father’s voice instructed me to stand and complete the work.
Lord Hawke pulled me to my feet, and I opened my eyes, staggering toward the girl.
My cheeks were red, my pulse racing. I was utterly humiliated.
The admiring stares of the men and my father’s proud smile softened the moment.
Dizzy and still reeling with pleasure, I wished this entire spectacle was over.
Lord Artimas handed the knife over to me, instructing me to pierce Athena’s heart.
My stare pleaded with him.
“Take the knife and stab her heart. Forgive her for her trespasses. Remember, it is within your power to do so,” my father instructed. “Make it slow, so that she feels the full force of her punishment.”
I hovered over Athena and stared down at her.
“Do it!” my father ordered.
I raised the knife high up above her, unsettled to see that her eyes were focused upon mine.
“He knows who you are, Jadeon,” she said, “and he promises revenge.” Athena turned her gaze toward my father. “Lord Artimas, Orpheus is coming for you.”
I wanted to hear more. “Who is—”
“Jadeon,” my father said. “Finish it.”
I clutched the blade’s handle and lifted it high into the air. I paused. My father wrapped his fingers around mine, and with full force, he brought the knife down into her chest, piercing her heart.
Athena’s scream was deafening. My father pried my fingers off the knife, leaving it in place.
I staggered back, nauseous, fixated by the blood that poured from the wound.
A death rattle rose from the girl, and she became quiet.
A bright prism of light descended, seemingly emanating from the very stones.
Dawn arose, flooded the area, and danced around us.
As the first light of the solstice breached the horizon, it didn’t merely rise—it pierced.
The sun’s rays slanted through the ancient trilithons with precision, as if obeying a command older than time itself.
The stones seemed to breathe, to shimmer with something not quite seen, not quite here.
It wasn’t just dawn. It was a banishing of darkness.
I shielded my eyes, taking small glimpses at the blinding rays that magnified and reflected.
A beam of light focused directly upon where Athena lay, and with her screams came the melting of her flesh.
The light burned through her and within her.
Aflame, she burned from the inside out. The knife that had penetrated her heart fell with a clang.
My blurred eyes blinked at the central stone covered in Athena’s remains.
One of my father’s men gathered up the ashes. He worked quickly, dividing the residue out into cups, scraping it off the sacrificial altar.
It wasn’t over.
Even as we headed back to the stagecoach which had been stationed at the perimeter of the monument.
Out of its window was a clear view of my father’s loyal servant positioning a small ladder at the base of each inner stone, then climbing to the top rung.
He poured a few ashes into the cracks just below the lintels.
Lord Artimas peered intently at me. “Lord Theron and I have agreed that Alex and his daughter are to be married. Do we have your word that such a union will go unhindered?”
The lightheadedness made it difficult to focus.
“Well, boy?”
“Father, I—”
“I take that as a yes.”
Our carriage lumbered forward with a jolt as the horses responded obediently to the stagehand’s crack of the whip.
For Alex’s sake, I had to see a way out of this for him.
My eyes closed, and I rested my head on the leather headrest. Immediately, my father chastised me, saying that it was imperative I remain awake.
He warned that if I were to sleep too soon after the ritual I would suffer later from memory loss.
The thought sounded appealing, but the heel of his shoe convinced me otherwise.
Athena, the goddess of wisdom, would reign no more in her small kingdom of witches. All that was left of her, other than her ashes, was her taste in my mouth. I sucked my bottom lip with utter surprise at my own reaction and wondered when I would be able to drink like this again.