Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
JADEON
I was ready for him.
I waited in the fractured stillness within the pillars of Stonehenge, exhausted from my journey but determined to stop this madness.
The night chill helped me to focus. After three and a half days of travel in Orpheus’s carriage, my confidence had risen and my strength was surprisingly good, despite eating and drinking little.
Leaning against one of the central bluestones, I scanned the horizon, wondering from which direction he would appear.
A noise startled me. But it was just an animal or a bird.
Again I steadied myself. The dark hour of the morning offered little light other than that from the few stars.
Large towering trilithons glistened. My mind played tricks upon me.
In the distance, the figure of a man fast approaching came into view.
My wait was over.
Orpheus lingered at the furthest edge of the sarsen circle. His eyes gleamed in the darkness, staring.
In the blink of an eye, he breached the circle and stood dangerously close.
“During part of the ceremony,” he said, “they cut off her hair, her long and beautiful hair. You should have seen her. She was exquisite. Her ashes now lie in the stones behind you.”
I followed his gaze. His sinister expression turned calm. “You are to become the next Stone Master. You are destined to continue these rituals.”
“And you are destined to continue to murder the innocent,” I said.
“No one is innocent. No one, not even your Catherine.”
“She is of no consequence. I am here now. Our arrangement is made.”
“I shall put you out of your misery.” Orpheus drew near, grabbing hold of my arm. He pulled me onto the central altar, forcing me down. The towering stones loomed.
Orpheus pushed strands of hair away from my face.
I longed to fight back, but I had to place my faith in this fragile gentleman’s agreement, trusting, perhaps foolishly—that he would honor what this moment appeared to be.
“You look so similar to your brother. You share the same bone structure, same eyes.” He climbed upon the altar stone, sitting astride me.
I swung my hunting knife and buried it into Orpheus’s stomach. Thrusting it deep, I pushed him away and scrambled off the stone.
A strong arm dragged me back. His blood covered both himself and me and the wetness of it made my hands slip against him.
Orpheus held me down.
He pulled out my knife and held it against my neck. The sting from the tip persuaded me to hold still. With his other hand, he lifted up his shirt for me to see his injury heal. The wound closed with eerie swiftness, erasing the cut as though it had never been there.
Orpheus smiled, amused.
All that I had read in my father’s books came to mind, and I cursed myself for not believing. What a fool to think I could take him on.
He threw the weapon to the ground and held me. “Impressive. I never knew you had it in you,” he said.
With shocking speed, he bit into my neck.
I will not die like this.
With the sharp sting, I struck out, shocked by the assault, alarmed by my irregular heartbeat. He was locked against me.
I fought to stay awake.
Flashes of thoughts came and went.
“Jadeon, Jadeon!” Catherine called to me. I wanted to warn her, tell her she was not safe. Unable to speak, I willed her away.
Wait, where was I?
Confusedly aware that none of this was real and yet somehow entirely real at the same time.
I had somehow escaped this thing. “Catherine?” I called to her from the door of the chapel. She appeared at the altar, an ethereal vision of loveliness.
I was calm.
“Rest a while,” she said. “Here, you must drink, and then you can lay down and place your head upon my lap.”
I felt the ridge of the cup. Its cold stung my lips. I gulped the thick, warm elixir.
I know this taste.
So tired, pulled down by exhaustion, I tried to recall how I came to be here. Sleep dragged at me until I surrendered.
When I awoke, horror struck me that I still lay on the stone. My eyes were open to a bleary vision of Orpheus peering down, in his hand a silver chalice.
I had drunk from that cup.
“You dreamed of her,” he said, “as I dreamed of Sunaria when I was turned.”
I sat bolt upright, aware that something was wrong. I looked down at my pale hands, startled by their lack of color, and turned my gaze to the imposing pillars, wary of the sharpness.
“Head south for Salisbury Cathedral,” Orpheus said. “Hide deep within its chambers. If the sun touches your skin, it will kill you.”
I leapt off the central stone and searched the ground for my knife. It was gone. My surroundings were foreign. Something had drastically altered.
“Best hurry. The sun knows your name,” Orpheus said.
I was relieved to still be alive. “But I thought you—”
“I am not a gentleman. I, like you, am a vampire, and therefore, I do not keep my promises!”
Orpheus was gone.
“Alex!” I screamed.
I sprinted toward the center of Salisbury.
On eventually reaching the cathedral, I recalled visiting it as a young boy, and from memory—and indeed necessity—found my first new hiding place. The doors to the cathedral were open allowing me to swiftly enter the large tenement.
Overwhelmed, tears rolled down my cheeks and onto the floor.
I staggered down into the basement and pushed open the door leading to a burial chamber where I crouched low.
My world dissolved. Praying with what strength I had left, my mind was full of thoughts for Alex, Catherine, and my father.
On returning to the castle, I would be a dead man.
The very thing my father hated above all.
My father would be furious.
“You found it, then?” Orpheus’ voice startled me.
“What have you done to me?” I yelled.
Tears streamed down Orpheus’s face. “You see, it’s like this,” he sobbed. “I miss Sunaria, I cannot go on without her. I have done what I came here to do, and now it is over.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked. “Alex? Is he safe?”
“I am here, am I not?”
“Then we are even?” I said and rose, readying for my attack.
He paced, a broken man, lost to his pain, as grief consumed him.
“Jadeon, at first darkness, go back to Stonehenge. There you will find my remains upon the altar stone. Separate and pour my ashes into the stones. If I cannot be with Sunaria in this world, then—”
He was gone.
The room was dark. I had been so intent on finding shelter that I had not realized this before. I looked around for the lit candles and was shocked to find none. I could see in the dark. My vision clear, I glanced around the room again, taking in my surroundings.
I cringed at the sight of the coffin, the lid half off, exposing its red velvet lining.
I studied my pale hands, wary of their luminescence, bit my lip nervously and flinched with the jolt of pain.
I examined my teeth, running my fingers along my incisors, alarmed to feel they had become sharp. Impossible.
An unfamiliar hunger came over me, and with a refined sensory acuity, I scanned the cathedral for the presence of others.
Horrified, I cried out. “What have you done to me?”
Dizziness made me stagger. I craved the dark. Daylight outside irritated me. I would not sleep in that box, but I had to sleep, hide, disappear. Crawling, now sobbing toward the coffin, I climbed inside and pulled the lid over me, entombing myself. Within the blackness came immediate relief.
Drifting off, grateful for sleep’s insistence, my circadian rhythm adjusted and my senses enabled the ability to gauge the passing of time. Unconsciously, I waited for the day to be over.
Crazy dreams.
I awoke with a jolt, alarmed to feel the sides of the coffin.
Irrational thoughts.
I bolted up and banged my head. With panic, I pushed frantically at the coffin lid and jumped out, refusing to look back.
I stole out into the night and returned to Stonehenge.
Approaching with caution, I stared down at the central altar and beheld the pile of ashes strewn over it. Orpheus had gone through with it. He had stepped into the sun’s path, surrendering his life to end this once and for all.
Some relief.
I scooped up a handful and allowed them to fall between my fingers. The breeze caught a few. Eager to get it over with, I separated them and poured the remaining ashes a few at a time into the fissures at the top of each of the inner stones.
Marveling at my ability to climb the stones, I reassured myself it was done, then wiped my hands on the grass.
It was a dreadful thing I’d been asked to do, solemn and unholy, and I hated the thought of his ashes on my palms, like the remnants of a curse, clinging to the lines of my skin.
I was desperate to return to Cornwall as soon as possible but aware that I would never make the journey if I did not restore some strength.
Impatient and overcome with hunger, I huddled in the corner of the Salisbury tavern, awaiting my order of fresh soup and bread.
I craved the warm liquid to quench my thirst. My jacket was securely buttoned.
I was eager to hide my stained shirt, hoping that my unkempt appearance would not arouse suspicion.
The sparse dim room was virtually empty. A few regulars nursed their goblets. Their voices carried and yet their mouths did not move. A horrible insanity came over me as I perceived that it was possible to read their minds.
My skin was chilled, yet my insides burned up.
Staring down at my hands, I became fearful of my pallor, but was jolted out of my quiet panic by the tavern server who first placed a cup of water before me then slopped the thick broth down.
Its steam arose carrying with it a reeking odor.
I dipped my spoon into the dirty soup and tasted it.
I gagged.
I checked the room to ensure my reflex had gone unnoticed.
I stared at the cup of water and could not understand my repulsion.
My experience had dulled my appetite. I yearned for something else.
Something unspeakable. As the cravings dragged, I tried to understand them.
Not only was I drawn to the other guests, but also felt a powerful pull toward the tavern wench.
I withdrew and headed toward the woods.
My death had been nothing more than a pause.
When the realization settled, I fell to my knees and wailed, aware that what I once had been—human, mortal—was now lost. I grieved for my past. Then it came again, that terrible craving that held on fast. Fighting with my will and reasoning with it, I bit into my hand and drew blood.
Like a child I suckled, experiencing a sense of relief for the first time.
I had to eat. I could not eat. My urgency to return home was heavily outweighed by my desire to merely survive.
White eyes glared from the forest. The fox snarled at me then continued to gnaw through his hind leg which was ensnared in a man-made trap.
When my stare had subdued the creature and his fear paralyzed him, I knelt beside the red-furred animal and nuzzled in.
The fox’s blood-soaked fur tasted foul. He sprang to life, a last-ditch effort to survive as claws scratched at my face, slicing through.
Grappling with him, he was easily overpowered.
Raging guilt; I had always hated hunting, hated hurting innocent creatures. I let the fox go. It scurried into the night.
If there was a hell, then this was it.
My screams reached the blackness.
Lying on my back, the stars were familiar.
Ursa Major, shaped like a plough, shone brightly.
Catherine’s favorite astrological alignment.
I followed the two stars to the right of the constellation and found the North Star.
This would guide me home. Mustering my strength, I crawled onto my feet and started running.
Hours from home a whiff of blood carried in the air and beckoned.
I followed the fading lights to the lone cottage and peered through the window at the young man asleep in the rocking chair.
He snored. An elderly couple lay where they were slain.
The murderous robber had arrogantly fallen asleep in their favorite chair. I eased open the window and climbed in.
The odor was terrible. Old food still simmered on the hearth. Unable to resist, my eyes fell upon the buccaneer’s neck, hypnotized by the blue that ran through it. My taste buds tingled, mixed with my bloody saliva. I fought with my desire and lost.
Unable to control myself, I nuzzled into his neck, amazed that he did not stir. How, I wondered while suckling, could such an attack not awaken him. I lapped at his blood, grateful for the bestowal, taken regardless.
At last, it was a wonderful sensation, a rise in my mood and a sense of wellness. I luxuriated in the feed. Then they came—powerful images, portraits of memories and lingering thoughts.
Something inside me died.