The Children of the Sun

by Christopher Buecheler

“Why do I act the way I do? I am Eresh. Not Eresh-Chen, and not yet an elder, but my bloodline is very strong and my sire highly respected. If his duties did not keep him occupied at all ends of the globe, he would have been on the council all along, and I with him. As it was, I was a very good apprentice for Abraham for almost two decades. I deserve the position I have been given.”

  Sasha made a coughing noise that might have had some relation to a laugh, and she said, “Her sire might be respected, but he is no more well-liked than she is, and his duties keep him so occupied mainly because nowhere is there a populace he wouldn’t exploit for his own gain.”

  “Oh, forgive me,” Leonore spat. “I forgot that I stand in the company of a woman of the people. Saint Sasha, patron of the working man, with her three-million-dollar apartment in Turtle Bay, and her hundred-thousand-dollar car.”

  “I won’t deny my wealth,” Sasha said. “It has taken me decades of work to amass it, as each year I give the bulk of my earnings away. Your sire, on the other hand, has a yacht for every day of the week.”

  “More than twice that number, if you must know,” Leonore said. “I fail to see how that should in any way impact my eligibility as a councilmember.”

  Sasha didn’t seem to have an immediate answer to this. At least, she didn’t speak again. Leonore, to Two’s surprise, did not continue needling her. Instead she glanced at Two, eyebrows raised, and shrugged.

  “They wanted to take it from me, you know … the council seat. There were suggestions that the council should reach out again to the other Eresh in America, the ones older and supposedly so much wiser than me. I went to Malik directly and made my case, and he agreed that there was no reason that I should not assume Abraham’s vacant seat and choose an apprentice of my own. I earned it. I deserve to be where I am. I say what I feel, and I’ve no interest in making friends with those who would have cast me out.

  “I am interested only in influencing council policy in a way that will most benefit my strain. I don’t care if that makes the others hate me. They have council positions as well … let them exert their will as they can. The Ay’Araf have managed to install a near majority and were pushing for more. Do you think they would have acted in my best interest?”

  “We were not pushing for more,” Sasha growled from behind them, and Leonore gave a short, sharp laugh but did not otherwise respond.

  Two considered all of this for a moment and then asked, “So how come when I came along, you wanted me dead? I was an Eresh … part of Abraham’s line, even.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry … was I supposed to pity the little princess who’d lost her prince? Who are you? Let’s be honest, you’re a junkie whore pulled from the gutter and made Eresh-Chen by a man who had spent the last four hundred years ignoring his duty to his people. He tried to kill Abraham, got what he deserved for it, and then you came along and threw everything into disarray. When you decided you wanted back in the club, you just tugged a few Ashayt heartstrings and had Naomi ready to give you the blood in but a few weeks. Then you show up at the council and want me to feel sorry for you? You’ve had everything handed to you on a silver platter.”

  Two felt her blood rising at this assessment, but she managed to keep her voice calm as she said, “That’s an interesting way of looking at it.”

  “It is what it is,” Leonore said. “Of course, your accounting of it would be different, but that’s just the thing. You don’t know me. I don’t know you. We both think we know each other, and that’s been good enough for both of us for … what is it, four years now?”

  “Almost,” Two said.

  “Did you want to be my friend, Two? Did I somehow miss that? Perhaps we should agree to be … how do the humans put it? … ‘BFFs’?”

  Two frowned. “No, I guess not.”

  Leonore nodded. “We will go on being whatever it is that we are. I am Eresh. You were once, but you aren’t anymore, and your primary concern is and always will be the well-being of your race.”

  “See, you’re wrong. I don’t give a fuck about my race. If I never make a fledgling, and the Theroen line dies out because of it, I wouldn’t shed a single tear.”

  “I see. So, I should like you because you are self-absorbed and uncaring?”

  “No, I … Jesus. I don’t care if you like me. I just don’t give a shit about the strains. We’re all vampires and we’re all people.”

  “How lovely for you,” Leonore said. “Just remember that every time you throw your arms around someone, it’s one more chance that you’ll be stabbed in the back.”

  Two considered this, then gave a grudging laugh. “I wish I could convince you that not everyone’s an asshole.”

  “Were that it was so easy,” Sasha grumbled, and there was a wistful note to her voice that Two would have, in other circumstances, found amusing.

  Leonore had reached a heavy metal door. She stopped in front of it and turned to both of them.

  “You can’t,” she said. “You can worry only for yourself and your lover, or you can worry for the fate of all vampires. It doesn’t matter to me. I chose my priorities long before you were even born. You do what you want. Anyway, we’re here.”

  “Where’s here?” Two asked.

  “Here is a long-barred entrance to a maintenance shaft, which in turn leads to a manhole, which opens up into a fenced-off section in the middle of the Ramble in Central Park. Do be careful, ladies … I wouldn’t want you to get mugged.”

  “Good,” Two said. “I need to call Theroen. I left my phone in my purse, which I left up near the altar, so I’m sure it’s melted and gone by now.”

  “I’m sure you can find a phone once you get out of the park,” Leonore said. “For my part, I am headed directly to my patron’s apartment on the Upper West Side – one of four in the city, Sasha, since I know you’re keeping track. He’s in Beijing this month, but he won’t mind.”

  “Are we splitting up?” Two asked.

  “Is there a reason not to?”

  “Well, there’s the army of psychopaths trying to murder us all. Other than that, no … we’re good.”

  “There is something to be said for safety in numbers,” Sasha said, and the tone of her voice made it clear how little she appreciated this fact.

  “We all have people to mourn right now,” Two said. “I know we’d all rather do it alone, but I think—”

  “Who do you have to mourn?” Sasha asked, her voice angry and filled with disdain. “Once again, you’ve come through free and clear.”

  Two whirled on the Ay’Araf woman, sudden tears springing to her eyes.

  “Who the fuck do you think you are?” she shouted. “Tell me, when have I ever gotten off easy? Name the fucking time! I had to stab one friend to death and shoot another in the face. I felt the man I love get torn away from me and went halfway around the world to bring him back. I lost Stephen, and I’ve practically lost Naomi, and now I’ve lost Jakob. Oh, what … do you think you get exclusive rights to grieving for him? Fuck you. You think it doesn’t hurt me that he’s gone?”

  “He was my patron,” Sasha said. “He saved my life, took me in, gave me everything I have …”

  Two wiped her tears away. “I know that. This isn’t a competition, Sasha. Jakob was my friend and my teacher but he wasn’t my patron, and I’ll never love him as much as you do, and I don’t want to. I’m so sorry for your pain. I’m so sorry that it happened, but don’t act like I’ve had it easy. Don’t you fucking dare.”

  They stood there for a moment, staring at each other, and then Leonore coughed.

  “Right,” she said. “So … I’m off, then.”

  “No,” Sasha said. “Two is correct. Separating right now is a bad idea, much as we would all like to.”

  Leonore made a sound of distaste and said, “Have we a plan, then, or shall we simply sit in this passageway until the lantern dies? Are we to subsist on rat blood until the two of you decide it’s safe to go out?”

  “We’re not staying here,�
�� Two said. “I think we should go to my apartment. Theroen will be there with Naomi, and that’ll make five of us. Maybe the last five council members, for all I know.”

  “What a lovely time we’ll no doubt have together,” Leonore commented, her voice dry, but she turned and lifted the iron bar from the door. “Shall we?”

  “Yeah, we shall,” Two said. “We’ll need you to hail the cab. My skirt’s all fucked up and Sasha’s covered in blood. No one’s going to stop for us.”

  Shaking her head and muttering, Leonore opened the door. Together, they exited out from the tunnels and into the maintenance shaft, and soon found themselves climbing up through a manhole and into a dark, wooded part of Central Park. Beside them stood a little-used gardeners shed, its door hanging partially ajar.

  “Either of you have a phone?” Two asked. Sasha shook her head.

  “Like you, I left my purse in the inferno.”

  “I believe that makes three of us,” Leonore said.

  “Fucking great,” Two grumbled.

  They walked along a gravel path for a bit and came to a ten-foot wrought-iron fence with a locked gate that separated the maintenance hatch from the rest of the park. The top of the fence had been lined with razor wire.

  “Not psyched about climbing that …” Two began.

  “We’re not climbing anything. Stay here.” Sasha turned back in the direction they had come. A few minutes later, she returned with a shovel and approached the gate. It was held shut with what looked like a common bicycle chain. Sasha hammered at the chain with the edge of the shovel. Once, twice, and a third time before it snapped in half and fell to the ground.

  “Subtle,” Leonore said. “At this point every rapist in the park knows you’re here.”

  “You have no idea how happy it would make me to run into a would-be rapist,” Sasha said, and she shoved the gate open, tossing the shovel aside.

  “Let’s just focus on getting the fuck out of here,” Two said. “I think that’s something we can all agree is a good idea.”

  Neither of the other women said anything, and Two chose to believe they shared her views. The three of them set out into the Ramble, following its winding paths in the general direction of Central Park West and its unending stream of taxis headed south.

  Chapter 12

  Haven

  Theroen and Naomi exited the cathedral from the second floor, climbing out onto a rickety iron fire escape that groaned under their weight. They made their way off the rusting, paint-flecked metal and onto the copper roof above the Church’s office wing. Below them the street was chaos, a roiling mass of gawking humans interspersed with the occasional black-clad member of the Children. Up the avenue, police cars and fire trucks were visible, making their way toward the scene.

  “Oh, this is so … so blatant!” Naomi cried. “It’s as if they don’t even care about witnesses.”

  “They’re dealing with that now,” Theroen said. “Look.”

  Several of the figures in black had formed a line along the road, holding assault rifles to their shoulders. One of them cried, “For Allah!” and began shooting into the air. The bystanders panicked, running up the street, directly toward the incoming vehicles. The police cars in the lead had no choice but to stop lest they run down innocent civilians.

  “Good God, that’s smart,” Naomi said breathlessly, watching as the scene played out below her. “They’re buying themselves more time and deflecting the blame.”

  “This will be reported as a terrorist attack,” Theroen said. “The people in charge … they will assume it was al-Qaeda or the Muslim Brotherhood.”

  “We have to get out of here,” Naomi said. “I … Theroen, I’m hurt badly. I think there’s a bullet in my left arm. I need blood and rest, and maybe a surgeon.”

  “Naomi, I cannot leave her,” Theroen said, glancing back toward the door. “I … truly, I want to help you, but I must go back. If she … if they … how could I live with myself?”

  Naomi turned her gaze toward the exit as well. “The staircase was on fire when we left. I do not think it will be passable by now.”

  “All the more reason to attempt—”

  “No, Theroen, you don’t understand. They won’t even try it. Jakob knows of the secret passage below the cathedral. Most of the senior members do.”

  Theroen glanced over at her. “I was not told about it …”

  “You’ve not been a senior councilmember for very long,” Naomi said, and her voice sounded tired and weak. “Please, Theroen … we’re not trying to keep things from you. We’re happy to have you among us. It just didn’t occur to us that the Children would be brazen enough to attack us as a group in the very heart of Manhattan.”

  “No, of course not,” Theroen said. “This is beyond anything we could have anticipated.”

  “The passage exits out in Central Park,” Naomi said. “Unless the Children have penetrated to the deepest level of our society and have access to information known only by a handful of people, there is no possible way they can have that exit covered. Two is safer with Jakob and Sasha than with any other vampires in this country … even than with you, if I’m honest.”

  Theroen had a basic understanding of sword fighting and had for a time studied martial arts, but he was not even at Two’s level, much less that of the two Ay’Araf. He understood that what Naomi was saying was true, but he struggled to accept it. Leaving Two to her fate in the cathedral below felt wrong on every level. At last he gritted his teeth and nodded.

  “Very well. We must get you someplace safe, then,” he said, and Naomi gave him a grateful smile.

  “I’m not the only one who’s hurt,” she said as they began to move along the rooftop. “I think the bullet went right through you, but you lost a lot of blood, and I can’t imagine it’s comfortable.”

  “It’s fine so long as I don’t move my arm.”

  “And if you do?”

  “If feels like someone is stabbing me in the shoulder with a hot poker,” Theroen said. Naomi gave a small laugh.

  The northern edge of the cathedral abutted a row of several brownstones, the roofs of which were only a few feet above where they now stood.

  “Can you make it up?” Theroen asked, and Naomi nodded. She reached out with her good arm and thrust with her legs, vaulting over the lip and up onto the roof. She turned and extended her hand to Theroen. His right arm had been nearly incapacitated, and he accepted the help with thanks. From there, they made their way first north and then east, putting distance between themselves and their attackers. Finally they came to the roof of a building on the edge of Sixth Avenue.

  “We can get down there,” Theroen said, pointing to a fire escape. “I’m not sure we’ll have an easy time getting a cab …”

  “We don’t have to,” Naomi said, heading for the fire escape. “My new apartment is just a few blocks up Fifth, on the corner of 62nd.”

  “New apartment?” Theroen asked. “I didn’t know you’d moved.”

  “Nobody knows,” Naomi said. “I hadn’t told anyone yet. I wanted to get away from the place in the Village. There were too many bad memories. Stephen and Thomas, and … other reasons.”

  “It was too close to Two and me,” Theroen said.

  Naomi frowned and began to descend, trying to avoid using her left arm. It seemed she had no intention of commenting on Theroen’s statement. He waited until the way was clear and then began to climb down the ladder as well. Soon they were both on the sidewalk, and Naomi glanced at her watch.

  “Almost three. The walk won’t be so bad. Fifth doesn’t have a lot of bars and restaurants. There won’t be many people out at this hour to wonder why we’re hobbling along the sidewalk and not calling an ambulance.”

  They walked in silence for a time, and when Naomi made a sudden, sobbing noise and put her hands to her face, Theroen did her the favor of becoming intensely interested in the surrounding architecture. Eventually she gained control of herself again and spoke.

>   “I can’t believe they’re gone,” she said, her voice hoarse. “William and Mother Ashayt. I can’t believe those murderous, hateful … merde, there isn’t even a word for what they are. Not in any language I speak.”

  “They are like all zealots,” Theroen said. “Blind and unthinking automatons that run on faith alone. These people represent a particularly ruthless sect. If we are to survive, we may have to become just as ruthless.”

  Naomi considered this and sighed. “I don’t know if I have it in me. I feel like … oh, never mind.”

  “You can speak without fear of judgment,” Theroen told her.

  “These past few years have hurt me,” she said, and in her voice Theroen could hear an aching, bottomless sadness. “They’ve hurt me badly, and tonight is … I don’t think I’ve even begun to process it.”

  “You have lost much in your life,” Theroen said. “I am sorry for the part I had to play in all of it.”

  Naomi shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Of course it matters,” Theroen said, and Naomi made a scornful sound.

  “I’m not sure I believe you, Theroen-Sa,” she said. “I’m not sure anything matters. So many people that I loved are dead, and I’m still here. Despite everything. Despite … no, I don’t think anything truly matters.”

  “It depends on how you define it, I suppose,” Theroen replied. “To this planet, even our long lives are but the blink of an eye. Even the many years that Mother Ashayt walked upon this Earth are but the passing of an instant. In that respect, it is certainly possible that nothing really matters. Why, then, do we press on? Why do we not accept the inevitable, that endless blackness that came before us and will follow us when at last we go to our end?”

  “Why indeed?” Naomi muttered. They were walking now along the stone wall that separated Central Park from Fifth Avenue. Theroen glanced over at her.

  “We make our own meaning,” he said. “Each one of us decides what matters, because it would be unacceptable to us if nothing at all mattered. We could not live with ourselves or with each other if nothing mattered, so we choose.”