Requiem of Humanity

by Catherine Stovall

  After the last human left, the doors flung open and the other vampires carried the injured in. They filed in, the strong helping the weak. Jenda realized she was searching the doors for both Matteo and Patrick. She liked the redheaded vampire quite a bit and she hoped he was safe. Twelve humans were in critical condition. The injured vampires were all healing rapidly and only needed the blood to help them on their way.

  The silence in the room was unnerving. In the human world, there would have been cries, sobs, and even some angry voices after an attack. Here, everyone was calm. The humans lay in the cots, allowing the vampires to administer first aid. Celeste’s bedroom became a makeshift donor room to keep blood supply close and plentiful. The amount of control in the room was eerie. With her newfound senses, Jenda could feel the undercurrents of emotion rippling through the air. She could feel the vampires’ anger and the humans’ fear. Yet no one cried out or demanded that they strike against the Dracul.

  As Jenda made her way to Celeste’s side, she still watched the door. At last, she saw the two men she waited for impatiently return. Matteo and her dear friend Patrick came strolling in with a tiny girl between them. Jenda recognized her immediately. Not caring if the girl was afraid of her or would hate her, needing only to know that she was okay, Jenda ran to their side. To her amazement, the girl did not look frightened at all. She stood proudly between Matteo and Patrick, smiling at Jenda.

  “Are you okay, Miss? I am terribly sorry about what happened. I didn’t mean to. I was scared and I am just so sorry.” Jenda was extremely ashamed of almost killing the poor woman, and she stammered like a child.

  “Jenda, I am fine. I actually asked Matteo and Patrick to allow me to visit with you before they returned me to my family’s home tonight. I wanted to thank you. You did not mean any harm and you caused no harm. If my blood gave you the strength to help save the Lady, I am honored to have given it.” The girl was sincere, and Jenda could feel the gratitude and appreciation like a fluffy cloud around her.

  Jenda began to protest. She wanted to tell the girl that what she had done was horrible and wrong. She was barely able to stop herself in time. Celeste broke in and silenced Jenda. She apparently deigned that this would be the perfect time to drift from her comfortable lounge to join into their conversation.

  “My dearest Agi, I am so honored that you were able to help our Jenda. You have provided a special service to me, my dear, and I am eternally grateful to you and your family.” Casting a knowing look towards Agi’s midsection, Celeste grew thoughtful. “When things quiet down here a little, I would like very much for you and your husband to visit with me.”

  How Celeste knew everyone’s name was beyond Jenda, but at the moment she was so relieved the girl was okay it didn’t matter. Agi looked shocked but pleased that the Lady herself was thanking her, and she stammered a blushing response that Jenda didn’t quite understand.

  “Patrick, Matteo, you are both needed here. Have one of the servants here escort Agi home so that we may begin.” Celeste cast a worried glance towards the open doorway that led to the gardens. The night was still black, but their time was short.

  Agi was quickly whisked away and Celeste whispered in Jenda’s ear as the girl left the room, “Remember, always treat them with kindness. They are so very fragile.”

  Celeste walked to the far side of the room and all eyes followed her. She still walked gracefully, despite the stiffness from her wound. Jenda could tell it pained her to move so fluidly. It shimmered off her in little tremors of emotional sound waves. She would not let it show outwardly—Celeste needed to be strong for her people. She motioned for a vampire that Jenda didn’t recognize to come to her side. Their shadows melded together and the sight caused Jenda to remember the statue.

  As if reading her mind, the vampire pulled a thick cord and the horrific beauty of the statue filled the room, the only sculpture left in one piece. Either the Dracul did not realize its existence, or they were too afraid to smash it. It seemed to Jenda she could sense the life still crawling beneath its surface. She knew that her vision was only a foretelling and that the souls of the statue’s subjects resided somewhere else, but the sculpture seemed to breathe.

  The room full of humans and vampires let out a collective gasp. Out of the seventy-five inhabitants, the majority were vampires that lived in the castle as either guards or residents. Some were visitors to the castle, and others had come from nearby homes when they heard the Dracul invaded Vajdahunyad.

  The rest, probably twenty in all, were humans. Donors, servants, and the wounded ones from the battle huddled together in the center of the group of vampires. Though they trusted their vampire beneficiaries, they feared so much power gathered in one place. Remaining here surrounded by predators was against their natural survival instincts. Yet they stayed out of love and loyalty.

  The strong relationship between the two species continued to touch Jenda’s heart. She had noticed it the first day they arrived—the humans and vampires respected and even loved each other. This was the reason she was still here, still willing to fight. The two species could exist in harmony together, and she could not stand by and watch as a few fanatics tried to destroy everything people like Celeste had built.

  Celeste let the astonished cries die down before she raised her voice to ring loud and clear. “My children, the sons and daughters of Adam, and those of Lilith, the time has come when we must fight. Tonight the Dracul has descended upon us like thieves in the night. They wished to steal away our peace, our harmony. They wish to turn us from each other so that the streets of Budapest will run with blood. We will not bend.”

  A chorus of murmured agreement followed. The electric mood of the room buzzed through Jenda in a pleasant kind of way.

  “My faithful ones, lay your eyes upon this statue. This is our mother and our father. This is Lilith and Cain, bound for eternity by the demons. Lamashtu, Vampire Princess, carved this with her very hands. Its purpose here is to remind us of the paradise we lost. Its purpose here is to remind us not to feed the fires of hell that will condemn us. Do you wish to walk the path of the light, or do you wish to descend into the darkness?”

  Celeste’s cry went up and a cheer echoed through the room. Jenda was nearly percolating with the energy that bounced off the bodies and into her. Her gift to feel the emotions of others became nearly overwhelming.

  Celeste’s voice grew low and steady again.

  “Tonight the Dracul have launched the first attack on our Castle Vajdahunyad since its creation in 1907. Not even the soldiers of the great wars attacked our portion of this fortress. Those human murder machines took chunks out of the wings of the castle inhabited by humans alone, but they sensed the power that resided here. They found that a greater monster lived beyond these walls. We will show the Dracul the same power.”

  Celeste paused for effect, and then her true call came out to them. “I say go forth, my children, gather your arms and your men. Go forth, my children, and rebuild what is ours. Go forth, and let us prepare. Let us rejoice. Let us battle!”

  The last word was a powerful shout that not only came from Celeste, but also erupted from the whole group. Even the humans were on their feet with their fists raised high. Jenda too rose and shouted the words. Deep in her soul, she knew this was her calling, more than anyone else in the room. She would be the one to fight this battle. To win would be to save humanity and vampires alike, but it would mean the death of the one person who was always by her side.

  The emotional high and Celeste’s powerful words drew so much of Jenda’s attention she did not notice Matteo standing quietly behind her. When at last the room began to calm and people broke off into little groups to discuss strategy and tragedy, Matteo whispered into Jenda’s ear that he needed her elsewhere.

  She didn’t question him. His look told her that she should leave immediately. Glancing out the open doors, she could see they had little more than an hour until sunrise. Something in the pre-dawn haze whispered to
her that she belonged to neither the night nor the day. It told her of timelessness and eternity. She quickened her step, knowing that the others did not have the luxury of time as she and Matteo did.

  They met up with Patrick and Celeste at the door. Celeste looked worn. For the first time since Jenda met her, the woman looked old. Her face was pale and drawn, and she moved with an obvious rigidity from her wounds. Jenda was relieved when Patrick offered Celeste his arm as they carefully maneuvered through the rubble in the hall. No one spoke as they ventured through the castle.

  The smell of sulfur still wafted in the dark air. The bodies of the slain were gone, but pools of blood still stood dark as oil on the marble floors. Tears slid down Celeste’s face in silent droplets. Her tears were for her fallen friends and for the blackened rubble, which were once her fortress walls.

  At last, they reached a set of stairs much like the ones leading to the donor station. Jenda knew even in the dark and disorienting aftermath that these stairs were different. Together, and still in silence, the group descended. Instead of entering a pleasant room with modern lights and tasteful decorations, Jenda realized they were in a real dungeon.

  The room was completely bare of furniture. Old candle scones hung on the walls high above them, providing a flickering light. Heavy iron bars ran the length of two of the walls. From every four-foot section a pair of iron cuffs and shackles dangled loosely. The gray stone floors and walls were cold and held no color other than ancient rusty stains. Through the darkness of a doorway on the right Jenda could see movement. Without seeing, she knew from the hatred and despair that seeped out of the blackness that the prisoners were in cells there.

  She couldn’t help herself. Her teenage mind still took over now and again. Without conscious intention, she said, “Wow, it’s an honest to goodness dungeon. Soborgne would trip out.”

  Celeste looked less than bemused, but Patrick was trying to stifle a laugh. Matteo didn’t even hear her little outburst. His attention focused across the room to where Imre stood next to a slightly pudgy girl shackled and chained to the wall. Jenda didn’t recognize the girl, but it was obvious that she was a witch. Her eyes were almond shaped, with crescent pupils dissecting the glittering gold iris in two.

  15

  Jenda’s temper immediately flared up. She strode towards the girl with purpose. Jenda’s voice shook with rage as she accused her. “You. You and your stupid little friends did this. You almost killed us all out of jealousy and spitefulness. How could you?”

  The girl stood without fear. “I did what was asked of me. You vampires are nothing without the protection of the Coven. Housing you degenerates under this roof was an insult to all the children of the night and a violation of the law. You are a disgrace to everything we have spent millions of years creating.”

  Jenda raised her hand and smacked the girl hard across her face. Not even Imre could react. The blood welled up from the girl’s lip and a searing red handprint shone against her cheek. Seething, Jenda’s teeth extended down to bite into her own bottom lip and her eyes blazed like black fire. Her body shook and trembled with rage. Matteo tried to pull her away but she jerked herself free.

  “Do you know what I did to your little friend Arianna? I broke her skinny little neck after she tried to stab me with her pretty little knife. Her blood was too polluted to drink so I broke her like a little doll.” Jenda stared into the girl’s eyes, willing her to see what happened to her friend. She held her gaze, trying to force into this girl the pain that she felt.

  The darkness cheered. For the second time this night, it captured Jenda. As she glared down at the defenseless witch, it pushed her humanity aside. It called images into her mind and whispered words of devilish encouragement into her ears. Jenda was reaching for the dagger. She must kill this one the same as she did the other.

  “Enough.” Celeste recognized the danger just in time. Her voice shattered the spell that darkness had cast over Jenda.

  Patrick and Matteo grabbed Jenda and pulled her back from the girl. She didn’t fight them now. She let them tug her backwards. With a little distance, Jenda was starting to calm, but it was taking more self-control than she imagined she possessed. She thought she was safe from the madness, but she was so very wrong. Her only comfort was that Matteo didn’t take his hand away from her. He stood holding her lightly just above the elbow, waiting to restrain her if needed.

  Celeste approached the girl, nodding curtly to Imre. Her voice was grave as she spoke. “Marguerite, what have you done?”

  The chubby girl still did not look down. The surety of her fascist and radical ideas fed from her youthful stubbornness. She would not admit that her actions were wrong. “I have done what your law and ours requires, Lady Celeste. You lock me up as if I were the one who concealed known criminals and abominations beneath my roof.”

  “Where are your sisters, Marguerite?” Celeste was keeping her tone even, but the rigidness of her body told Jenda that she would prefer to slap the girl herself.

  “My sisters are dead.” At last, a little emotion shone from the girl, but only in a quick flash. “Fanta was killed in the battle when that one there beheaded her, as if she were a common leech.” Marguerite, unable to point, jerked her chin towards Patrick to indicate he was the one to kill her sister. “Then you heard that tick just now. She broke Arianna’s neck.”

  Celeste looked to Imre for confirmation. He was in charge of ensuring the bodies of the dead were collected and either prepared for burial, sent home to their families, or disposed of discreetly. Imre confirmed it was true. Fanta and Arianna were amongst the dead.

  Celeste continued her line of questioning. “You said you did what you were told. Did the Coven order you to assist with the Dracul’s attack on our peaceful home?”

  The girl laughed and the sound was crazed and manic. Coming from her small round body it seemed so out of place. She looked so young and innocent on the outside, but apparently her insides were as black and rotted as the corpses beneath the Père Lachaise Cemetery.

  “The Coven? Do you think the Coven would sacrifice its sacred self to either defend or defy the precious Lady? No, we came under the rule of the Dracul to make sure the outsiders were punished.”

  Marguerite looked proud of herself for a moment as she took in the shocked faces of her captors. Then, suddenly, someone else was in the room—a woman that Jenda was sure was not there only moments before. It seemed as if she had simply appeared out of thin air. Marguerite no longer smiled. Her eyes grew wide with fear, tears streamed down her cheeks, and she began to cry pitifully. Jenda thought she heard her whisper the word “mother.”

  The woman did not walk. She seemed to glide effortlessly an inch off the floor. The golden fur trim of her long red cloak trailed carelessly behind her through the dirt. Her hair fell in loose waves of silver down her back. Jenda’s extra sense felt nothing. She couldn’t detect the slightest hum of life, despite the woman’s obvious presence.

  Celeste turned and inclined her head slightly in greeting. “Thank you for coming, Meredith. I offer you my condolences on your loss.”

  The woman lifted one delicate hand and placed it on Celeste’s shoulder. To Jenda’s amazement, her creamy skin bore the same swirling gold runes as Jenda had seen throughout the castle. On the walls, doors, and floors the runes looked as if they sat just below the surface, but on a living creature, they seemed to become a part of her.

  Meredith’s voice was like the breeze she spoke so quietly, yet it floated through the room, touching each person. “Celeste, my old friend, it seems we both have lost much on this night.”

  Marguerite’s loud clamors shattered the magic of Meredith’s presence and voice. “I can’t believe you, Mother. How can you offer her peace? She hordes away these abominations, she has broken the laws!” Her voice was venom as she shouted and fought the restraints.

  Meredith’s voice, no longer gentle, filled with power and echoed back at them from the stonewalls. She threw up a han
d sparkling at the tips with gold. “STOP! Do not speak to me of abominations, child. You, a girl who bleeds the blood of the most powerful of witches, you dare speak to me of Dracul law. You are no daughter of mine. I mourn not the loss of three daughters on this night. I celebrate the loss of three traitors.”

  Marguerite couldn’t answer, could not protest. An invisible force threw her hard against the wall and pinned her there. Motionless and mute, she listened while her mother spoke of her as if she were already dead. Tears streamed down the girl’s face and Jenda saw a hint of gold reflecting there. Vampires cried blood and witches cried magic—whatever consumed them was what they shed when their hearts were breaking.

  When Meredith spoke again, her voice was again gentle and calm, even if her words were cruel. “What say you, the People of Vajdahunyad, what shall this wretched child’s punishment be? Celeste, how many lives did my daughters cost you tonight?”

  Celeste looked worried, and she approached the other woman, gently pleading with her. “Meredith, how you choose to punish your daughter is not for us to decide. I know you are a fair and strict woman. We hold no grudges with the Coven for the mistakes and decisions of wayward children, even if they cost lives. I know you will handle this fairly.”

  How could any mother despise her child so much? Jenda thought of her own adoptive mother, Janine. A stab of pain deep inside her caused her sight to double. Jenda couldn’t imagine her adopted mother treating her with such callous abandon as she was witnessing. It all seemed terribly cold, even if the witchling deserved it.

  Janine would have fought for her child, tried to find a way to save her, no matter what horrible thing she did. She would have cried and begged Jenda to tell her why. Meredith, on the other hand, lost two of her three daughters in one night, and Jenda was almost certain that she would see the third executed without a single tear.

  Jenda wished she could see the woman’s face. Meredith had kept her back to everyone except Marguerite, Celeste, and Imre since entering. Her hood hid her face even at an angle. Maybe if Jenda saw her face she could see some hint of sorrow or sadness. Some resemblance to the mother she knew in Janine. She did not understand why it was so important that she catch that one glimpse, she just knew that some part of her was insisting.