15. I Am Me. We Are Us
I Am Me. We Are Us
Earlier…
Charlie sauntered out onto the streets of Lasting.
His movements were those of the woman whose form he had taken.
The tilt of her chin was his. The sway of her hips was perfectly recreated.
The way he drew his left hand along his waist and fingered the pouch where his soul gems were held could not have been differentiated from how she would have done it by those closest to her.
From afar or up close, Charlie was her. She was Charlie.
Sometimes, if he spent too much time in any particular form–especially after absorbing a significant amount of the person’s essence–he could lose himself.
He became them. He was them. He was no one else.
Except there was the faintest voice that would tug at him, remind him that he was not them at all.
He was not his last form either or the one before that or the one before that or the one millionth before that.
It was easy to forget himself, herself, themself. And he’d spend a long time not being himself, herself, themself. He was Charlie and maybe no one else. Except for deep down where that voice said: I am me. But it was better–safer–to just be Charlie. To be small and silly and mostly unnoticed.
Because he’d seen his friends, his brothers, his sisters, his fledglings all change into other people even if their faces remained the same.
Turn from love to hate to love to hate. Madness reigned supreme in their eyes.
Their faces had twisted with alien emotions and dreams. They had been the ones that were not who they had been before.
They moved so far from those prior people that they seemed to him to be wholly new.
In response, he had merely withdrawn and disappeared.
Until he was Charlie and that was good enough.
But then he met Balthazar. Lord Balthazar Ravenscroft.
A mere 250 year-old Vampire who had slain a monster to free himself and his fellow brothers and sisters.
It should have been impossible. It was impossible.
Yet it had happened. And a part of him had shivered.
Maybe Balthazar wasn’t really Balthazar.
And maybe he wasn’t really him either. After all, both of them were considered less than nothing yet Balthazar had killed Roan Tithe, a Kaly slice, and more than lived to tell about it.
He had thrived. Maybe Balky had heard a voice inside of him too that had said: I am me.
Drawn like a moth to a flame, Charlie had befriended the exiled Vampire Lord.
He told himself it was because Balky was good fun and useful to boot!
Better to have someone that dangerous on his side in any event.
That was safest after all. If you knew where the raptor was because it was within your eyesight at all times, you were far safer from it than if it was somewhere out there or maybe underneath your bed.
And then there was Fiona. Butting heads with Balthazar over Arcius Kane.
But really they were at odds over their very different personalities.
Fifi wanted cool rationality to prevail and for there to be stability at all costs.
While Balky had insisted on emotions to rule the day and wanted to shake the pillars of Heaven.
She seemed to be wrestling with a voice inside her head that had said: I am me.
In the end, Fifi and Balky had realized they both wanted the same things and were working together to make it happen now.
Hurt feelings were shed like a snake shed its skin or how he shed his forms.
One of the most surprising people who were not who they seemed to be was Caemorn.
At first, he had played everyone’s favorite villain with zeal, but then he’d seemed to grow sick of the part.
A very clear voice must have shouted inside of him: I AM ME!
He’d been but a mask for the true villains of the piece.
And he wanted people to see his true face.
What he hadn’t–what no one, but likely Seeyr– had foreseen was that he would become beloved for who he actually was.
Seeyr, of course, was as she had ever been though now she was disfigured.
He imagined if she could look into a mirror she would not truly recognize herself any longer.
Not physically. But she didn’t need eyes to see either what was directly in front of her or what was a hundred years hence.
He wagered that she saw further and better now than she’d ever had.
She was herself. She was her. Someone who was not hiding and yet all hidden.
Then Ryder had come. With his loyalty and pack tactics, but underneath a darkness–that he couldn’t quite hide–swirled, especially when people like Lawson led the Weryn into ruinous situations.
The voice must have roared at him: I am me.
He was a monster at times, but so long as he was someone else’s monster it was all right.
And he had a bright smile and warmth that Charlie had thought had long ago been consumed.
When he showed who he really was, it wasn’t the monster that Charlie had remembered–and feared–but someone wounded and lost and in love. A friend again. Once more.
And, finally, there was Grayson. Proud, singular, and in charge.
Pretending to be a wounded boy. Or actually a wounded boy.
Claiming he only wanted to be who he had been when this new person he had become was so interesting.
I am me! I am not you! I am me! But Grayson wanted to do what was right for the group as he always had.
So maybe he wasn’t so different after all.
And now there was him. Charlie. Was he someone else underneath all of the weight of years? Was there some shining soul that was peaking out? Could he risk being seen as more? Did he want to try again? Or should he stay here as silly, nothing Charlie and let things play out awhile or forever?
But if I do that then nothing will change. And if nothing changes then we repeat the past. And if we repeat the past, there will only be pain. I am me. I must be me.
Charlie stopped by a delicate, tinkling fountain that was set in the middle of a square that was bordered on four sides by a pyramid, a longhouse, a mastaba, and a ziggurat.
The fountain reminded him of a delicious layer cake as water spurted up from a central statue of a young man playing a lute and splashed down in the topmost pool, running over the sides to another pool below that and then through fish statues into a third pool at the bottom.
There were coins in the bottom pool where people had made wishes.
What would a Kaly Vampire wish for? No Blood Slave would dare use their Master’s funds so foolishly.
He, surprisingly, got an answer as a Kaly Vampire came over to the fountain with a silver coin in her right hand that matched her eyes.
She had pigtails of pale, silver hair that were neatly done up on either side of her cherubic face.
With due solemnity, she lifted the coin to her lips, shut her eyes and murmured a single name.
She then kissed the coin and flipped it into the fountain before she turned and walked away.
Daemon. That’s what she said. Just Daemon. But you are all his enemies, are you not? Or do you wish to play another part?
He slowly turned around to search the faces of the Kaly Vampires that dotted the square in small groups, speaking in low tones, letting out a few stray lilts of laughter, but noting that the whole atmosphere was one of mourning or unease. Maybe both. They were waiting for the world to end.
But he had to focus! He was not here to look into their souls and understand. He was here to steal their forms and faces, their voices and powers, and move among them unnoticed, if seen.
His gaze lightly traveled to the central ziggurat.
There were two Kaly Vampires standing guard outside the frontmost door.
They wore Blood Armor. One had a magical stave while the other sported a blade.
Their weapons glittered in the darkness.
None approached it. None even dared look at it.
That didn’t bode well as that was where they needed to go to get Grayson.
Perhaps a less direct approach to get inside?
He’d have to get closer, but better to do that with the others alongside him so they could move if there was an opportunity.
Eyros, I need to know if any of these people would have reason to access the ziggurat where Grayson is being held, Charlie asked, surprised that he hardly hesitated.
Hmmm, let me see, Eyros sounded interested. It had been a long time since they had worked together like this, but they fell into that easy camaraderie of long days past. Should he trust this? That one. Ah, and that one there.
He indicated a tall, black-skinned man with a shaven skull and a woman who would have been crippled by old age if she were not a Vampire who stood together near the opposite side of the fountain. They spoke only a few words, but were mostly silent. Yet it seemed a companionable silence.
I don’t think it matters, Eyros said. Even if they could get in under normal circumstances, I doubt that bastard Artemis would allow anyone–even trusted anyones–to waltz right into his seduction of Ashyr.
Grayson cannot be seduced, Charlie said with certainty.
Grayson? Really, are we doing this? Am I going to have to call you ‘Charlie’, Mirryr? Really? Eyros sounded exasperated.
Charlie was surprised at how his heart started to beat more quickly. A few in the square glanced his way. He tucked a stray hair behind his ear and turned from them, acting as if there was something down a street opposite to where the others were hiding that had attracted his attention.
I thought you were dead, Eyros said softly and sadly. I mean you disappeared so early in the conflict, I just figured that or Weryn took you out before you had a chance to know what was really going on.