Screaming in the darkness. No sound emerges. Bolt transfixing my chest. Eyes flickering around in dreadful awareness.
A bloom of fire, and I jerk my eyes from side to side as five equidistant braziers blaze and settle. Sweet incense begins a slow passage through the unseen room.
Beyond the light there is a swish of cloth against skin, steadily moving to a position where I can see the source.
A gown of dark material clings to the form of a woman of darker aspect. Raven hair cascades across preternaturally white shoulders, framing a face of no little beauty, though 'tis harder now than when first I met her. The smile which once promised so much is now . . . The eyes I avoid. Best not see what lingering traces remain. Enough.
Often have I thought of you lady. In this place between life and death; never knowing that you entered here before I. Now I needs must take from you again.
She ascertains that I am indeed immobilised and begins a walk around the circumference of the design. Chanting begins, incorporating more than one voice. This is then to be a test as much for her as for myself.
I concentrate on the rain patter on the roof, pushing past my awareness of the scent growing stronger, of her and her master's voices, until the thunderous cacophony of drop after drop fills my senses. My grasp on consciousness begins to fail . . .
* * *
Turning from the water battered window I see that the noisy clamour comes from at least a dozen drunken coves off at the larger table. One of them notices my attention and glares in my direction. Grinning, I raise my mug to him. Mollified, he grins and raises in return. We down a swig and return to our respective pastimes.
Later, as the majority of the patrons have gone to their beds, hammocks, or gutters for those who have been forcibly ejected, she sits down opposite me. Weary though she is from the nights labours, her ready smile and sparkling eyes seem a promise of the dawn to me. It make what I have to say all the more difficult.
Afterwards she turns away with tears in her eyes, too proud to plead further. Even should I return, I know it will never be the same again. I buy a bottle of grog off the drowsy barman and head for the pier.
Cutting us off from any chance of escape, the brigateen pulls along to starboard, taking our wind. Grapples are flung across the intervening water as they match speed. We wait. Those who save gods for such a time pray to them, others merely recheck their weapons. The boarders begin their crossing and are cut down by our marksmen. Soon the swarm overcomes their fire and we are into hand to hand.
I step forward, skewering one on my blade as his comrade finds my left side with his dirk. A swift kick, a sword in the face and I have bought myself enough time to withdraw the weapon and staunch the flow somewhat. Holding it a moment I almost swoon, but push my weakness aside to wade once more into combat. Healing can wait for later, this is the killing time.
* * *
. . . returning slowly to the taste in my mouth, the voice in my ears, the boards beneath my feet. Stronger now, the incense is wrapped around us in almost palpable wreaths of scent. Her hands on mine around a chalice of stone. Meaningless to me, the last few words of the rite fall from my lips along with some half congealed gobbets.
Focusing on her at last, I see that the smile reaches her eyes now.
"Welcome", she says.
For how long, I wonder.
And this too shall pass.
* * *
More than half a century goes by...
* * *
I get there and they're all looking at me.
"What?" I say, grinning a bit to try and lower the tension, which feels like it's been hanging in the air for some time. "Something wrong?"
Their eyes open with equal amounts of shock, fear and despite. Still they say nothing. Bored now, I ignore them and look around the room. Everything seems to be in its place, but someone's missing.
"Where's Carol?" I say. Some now turn away, obviously sickened.
Morgan is the only one looking directly at me. Hatred is obvious in his gaze.
"What is your problem? What the hell is going on here?"
Shards fall with a tinkling smash. Edges. My brow itches and I raise my hand to it. There is something inscribed on my palm.
Morgan doesn't answer. Cere, her hair down for a change, elbows him aside and draws me off to a corner. "Carol wasn't in her room this evening. A servant was found dead there, her neck broken. Blood was all over the place, some of it kindred. They believe she has been abducted at best, diablerised at worst." She looks at me closely. "The word is that your sword was found in the gardens with her blood on it. Things do not look well for you, my friend."
Although I am already aware of its absence - the reason why I was late - I put my hand to my scabbard. "This is ludicrous! Why would I harm her? Everyone knows how we feel about each other!"
Flash of imagery. Blood on a snow white bodice. Hair tangled, running, chasing. Fear of the imminent sunrise.
"A lovers spat? Or perhaps something to do with your mysterious absences. You know that some still mistrust you despite your service to the clan." She places her hand on my arm. "Don't worry, I'll talk to the council in your defense." A raise on tiptoe to kiss my cheek and she is gone in a swirl of perfumes.
What was I doing last night? The blessing which allows my past to be a mystery to the strongest telepath is so because it is also a mystery to myself most of the time. This doesn't feel quite the same though. My hand itches and I rub it irritably.
After my intensive meeting with the council I am taken to a holding cell. The trial did not go well, and I am unaware of the identities of the "witness" that has so solidly backed up the charges I am accused of. They distrust the use of telepathy in my case, and so my repeated requests to check my veracity in this manner have come to naught. Even the clarity of my aura when possibly accused of diablerie is not evidence enough of my innocence of at least this crime. There are rituals for everything, it seems - other than to provide justice.
Not being allowed to hunt on top of my other troubles, I fall into a melancholy . . .
. . . rising again to the surface of my mind when the shouting comes closer. In counterpoint there is a rattling at the barred and shuttered window above my cot. Not sure which noise is of more interest I stand and place myself equidistant between the two possible exits.
"Give me a hand with this, you idiot." From the slowly buckling window comes the voice of Morgan, of all people!
I move over and add my strength to his. Soon the shutters are removed and he is pulling me through.
Taking in his grim smile and disarrayed clothing, a complete contrast to when last I saw him braying with the others for my final death, I realise that something of great import must have occurred. His next words confirm this.
"The Hunters are upon us. Half the council had been beheaded before they were anywhere near our grounds. One among us brings about all our downfall in as complete a manner as they can. I know now you have nothing to do with this."
"Dead? How? WHO?" I shout, grasping him roughly.
Pushing me off him he leads me away from the buildings towards the woods. "As you know, I rise earlier than most, and am about for some time before the majority of the chantry has risen."
"Yes, what of it?" I hurry to keep pace with him.
"I found the servants all dead. Poisoned. When I went to see if Samuel knew aught of it I found naught but his headless corpse. Others were the same when I checked on them. Then I saw her. . ."
We pass under the eaves of the trees. Shouts and the roar of fire fill the night behind us. Covering the grounds in such a manner we should have been seen easily from the chantry building, but I have taken care of such matters. Morgan is unaware of my efforts.
"It was Cere," he continues as we pause in deep cover. "She had a sword and some sort of device. She smiled and told me what she had done. T . . . I . . . I had to run to help any who were still slumbering. The mob were just entering the wards at the north and east edges. Many of the younger ones got out, and then I remembered you. By that time part of the chantry was aflame and they were inside. I could not find the shutter key, there was no time . . ." He begins to sob, red streaks spreading down his face and into his beard.
Pain in my head, my hand. I have played this game too long. Memories to the wind. Coin for coin.
"Where did she go?" My voice. Pure and unbound hatred all too evident. Something else as well. Will he notice?
"To the sea. No doubt a boat will . . . " Looking up from his sorrow he stares at my face in fascination. "How? You're not. . ."
A smile flickers on my lips. "Both yes and no, Morgan. Mostly no, though. Don't worry, you have done me great service this night and I bear you no ill will. Keep well." I am gone, a ghost of my presence fading behind me as I hurry towards the coast. Morgan stumbles to try and follow me, but cannot equal my power or fury.
I ride the wave until the woods break into the clifflands. Rushing over the rock covered ground I search for evidence of previous passage. No signs. To the jetty, then.
Below me the waves dance with abandon. White horses prancing in their neverending parade of motion. Avoiding the steps I run down one of the less severe slopes in great leaps and bounds. Shale spreads out ahead of me and I race it to the bottom with a complete disregard for my own safety. The jetty is now in sight, as is the schooner which has its last ropey cast off as I round the point. That Cere is aboard, I have no doubt.
Pounding across the salt encrusted boards I reach the end and leap for the stern of the vessel as its full sails pull it swiftly away from land. With a desperate grab I avoid falling back into the ocean and make it onboard.
Immediately my hand goes to my .. . "DAMN!" No sword! A seaman swings at me with a marlinspike and I step aside to smash his arm against the deck with a sickening crunch. Others move in closer with various weapons.
"Oh my. Looking for this, are we?" Cere's voice comes from amidships. My inability to see her does not stop me from knowing what she holds in one hand. My sword! No doubt used to slay those I had once called friends.
With a bellow I try to push through the numbers in front of me and make my way to the betrayer. They are not simply men though, with strength more so than that of mere mortals.
Battered, I am brought to where she holds court...
"Too bad, just too bad. You might have had a chance if I'd not locked you up like that. That would have been fun, catching me in the woods or coastland, now wouldn't it?" No chance is given for me to answer. Her face contorts into an ugly sneer. "You always did have that pathetically strict sense of honour though, didn't you. Probably would have just staked me and taken me elsewhere for trial. If you could." A gesture. "Release him."
Questioningly the sailors respond slowly. I rise in a like manner, expecting to be ordered back at any moment. Instead, she leaps at me with wild abandon. There is a flurry of blows. I go down. Her strength is prodigious and her training at least as good as mine. Consciousness fades. . .
Awakening again to pain and pressure. My own sword passes through my heart.
"Giants blood. You would be amazed at what the Pontifex can get hold of for the right person. Of course, the rituals I performed earlier and the blood of the elders helped also. Yes," she continues to my goggle eyed stare. "Final death by diablerie was Vienna's decision. We can't have our secrets being passed around to just anyone, you know." A laugh - still as gossamer light as always. "Don't worry, you've always amused me, and I'd never risk the chance of gaining your particular condition." Another laugh. "I put a few things together. Your beloved Carol knew, and so did the Regent and other higher ups. They respected your knowledge and realised the power your nature gave them over you. Not really trusted, though. Who in their right mind would trust a madman?"
"Kill me or I swear I shall kill you."
"Some time between here and eternity? Perhaps. Seek me in Vienna, if you're really that stupid. Enjoy your swim."
A kiss on my head and once again my sword is removed from my person. This time I am both aware and grateful, a marked contrast to previously. It follows me into the depths, the both of us leaving a swirling cloud of red in our wakes.
Despite the cold I burn, both with the impotent fury within me and the fire on my brow as her spell of forgetfulness passes. . . Trying and failing to stop her the first time.
