I sensed that Emrys did not pay much attention to Sibelle’s physical looks. I never got a clear picture of her face, even though he knew the color of her eyes and hair.
Suddenly back at the mall, completely in awe, I saw things from his perspective again.
Emrys stepped out of the bathroom and began to walk down the long hallway toward the food-court. The three girls were walking directly toward him. She had her eyes on her sister, asking about sunglasses. He kept walking toward them prepared to step to the side at the last minute. A fleeting moment of electrical energy passed between them as they breezed by one another, their arms almost touching. He kept walking when he heard her gasp. She felt it. The Signatus had already started working. He sensed her eyes on him as he walked away and turned the corner. He knew it was just a matter of time, and he would have to make eye contact. Then he would know for sure.
I dreamed then of the notebook that Emrys carried with him. He had written some poetry of his own through the years, intrigued by the fact that Sibelle’s prophecies sometimes came as a rhyme. He even wrote down some of his favorite poems so he could open a page and now and again enjoy beautiful words. One of his favorites was called “Solitary Reaper” by William Wordsworth, and he had read it over many times. One of those times, I was able to read it over his shoulder, so to speak:
Behold her, single in the field,
Yon solitary Highland Lass
Reaping and singing by herself;
Stop here, or gently pass!
Alone she cuts and binds the grain,
And sings a melancholy strain;
O listen! for the vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.
No nightingale did ever chaunt
More welcome notes to weary bands
Of travellers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian sands:
A voice so thrilling ne’er was heard
In spring-time from the cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.
Will no one tell me what she sings? -
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago:
Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of to-day?
Some natural sorry, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may be again?
Whate’er the theme, the maiden sang
As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o’er the sickle bending; -
I listened, motionless and still;
And, as I mounted up the hill,
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.
* * *
Fiona was right. Most of the dreams were beautiful, and it was plain to see which memories meant the most to Emrys. They gave me personal glimpses into his mind; all of his desires, dreams, emotions, good and bad. Now that neither of us had any secrets from each other, there would be no reason to ever think we’d held anything back. We gave one another everything there was to give - so far. As I started to wake up again, many of my own thoughts had begun to stir regarding the very near future: the ceremony we would go through making us husband and wife, and the intimate things we would share soon thereafter. My waking this time brought with it a new hunger as well as thirst.
Squinting through the smallest possible opening between my eyelashes turned out to be - not such a great idea. It seemed as bright as the sun on a hot summer day, and my eyes burned as if they had caught fire. I had to close them immediately and replace the cloth. Emrys sat near me on the edge of the bed, and though his scent was as delicious as ever, a new tantalizing aroma gave me an unexpected wave of thirstiness and along with it came a quiet clicking sound. Instantly reminded of what I had become, I ran my tongue over my new teeth, marveling at their sharp, pointy tips.
“Yes! Give me more!” Calling out in a dry whisper, my voice cracked; my throat suffered from a drought. But there would soon be crimson rain. The liquid gurgled as he filled the cup again, and I hurried to sit up – it seemed a bit easier now. Emrys was ready and holding the goblet for my groping hands. Drinking with joy, his blood renewed me with an ever-increasing strength. I knew now without looking that my face glowed just as Fiona’s had. I wondered how my hair looked and instantly felt foolish, knowing Emrys could hear my thoughts. After all, I had yet to meet an ugly looking vampire, but couldn’t help being curious about my own changes.
“It is a rather normal question; wondering about the changes taking place within your new self,” Emrys said, helping me hold the heavy goblet to my mouth. “But believe me; your hair is beautiful and quite lustrous.” He cleared his throat and then said in a mildly chiding tone, “Elizabeth, it was beautiful before you transitioned; even you know that to be true.”
He was right. That was one quality I believed in: my long, dark hair. I would never cut it off - no matter how old I got. Now that age didn’t matter, well, that made it even better. I could sense him smiling at my silent acknowledgment.
“How much longer, Emrys, before I can open my eyes?” I asked in a soft whisper. I couldn’t wait to look into his eyes again; I missed him so.
“You have one more dose after this one, my dear. This is proceeding much faster than Amrita’s transformation. She struggled so with the light and skin tenderness. I do not recall my transition being nearly as difficult as hers, but then, that was such a long time ago.” He used his softest velvety voice.
I drained the goblet and licked my lips. My thirsty craving was abated for now, though quenched only temporarily. I knew full well that eventually my blood hunger would return forcefully with my new addiction.
“I do believe each taste is better than the one before,” I mused, lying back down on the soft pillow.
Emrys got up and I heard his footsteps as he walked away, I presumed, to the table. His steps no longer a stampede, but more like a distant echo of drumming.
“I will wait for you to sleep again, my love, and then I will go collect my clothes. I shall be quick about it, I promise. I wish to be ready for our ceremony the moment you are,” he said in an excited but low voice, returning to the side of the bed.
He patted my hand and kissed my forehead - both lips and hand hot on my skin, but the burning sensation had lessened a little. His touch was electrical as always, but mingled now with heat. I was falling asleep as he spoke, barely conscious.
“Hurry back, my sweet Emrys,” I mumbled, no longer able to stay awake.
Seconds later, I fell into dreamland again.
* * *
Amrita sprawled out on a four-poster bed, surrounded by feather pillows. Her blue-gray eyes looked up at Emrys trustfully, though within her eyes he could see her anticipation of the initial pain ahead. She would never readily admit it was fear, but she knew he would not deliberately hurt her. I felt his apprehension coming from deep within as he looked at the glass decanter filled with his blood. His blood equaled his memories, and he remained hopeful that Amrita’s dreams would consist only of his good memories, and that she would steer away from all he remembered of her vile conception and her equally vile father, Idris.
When he leaned in and gently pierced her neck, I could taste the blood he drank. I was touched by the tender brotherly affection Emrys had for her as he emptied her quickly. He enjoyed her hybrid taste; but he also knew that fresh human blood would be deliciously sweeter. Although he had never actually tasted it, he managed to deflect those intense cravings with an ample dose of the refrigerated variety.
He watched her closely when he was finished. She looked pale and barely breathing as he lifted her head to drink from his cup. She swallowed in her half-dazed sleep, only a few sips, but enough to begin the transformation process, and then he watched her sleep.
He knew what she wished to dream about, and this was exactly why she chose him to
turn her. She wanted so badly to know their mother, and Emrys was the only one who could give that to her. It was his gift to her: his seventeen years of memories with Phoebe.
While he sat watching her dream, he thought about their mother. He especially hoped Amrita would enjoy the memories that took place when she was a baby. He used to watch their mother as she held her tiny new baby girl so lovingly to her breast. Though it broke his heart to see them, knowing their time was so short; he saw how she spent all of her time pouring as much love into the child as she could. It seemed Phoebe held Amrita always, never leaving her side, allowing very little sleep for herself. She sang to the baby all the time; endless songs of love and hope, her voice ringing out one beautiful melody after the other.
Tears fell from Emrys eyes as he sat with his sister while she dreamed, and though he tried as hard as he could to release the anger and hate he felt for Idris, it was memories like this that drove his emotions out of control. He vowed he would never let anyone hurt his family again. I knew these memories would lead to the last time he saw his mother, and I only allowed myself the shortest glimpse, feeling the hurt and overwhelming sadness right along with him. I wasn’t sure if I could stand to see their goodbye, but I let my curiosity take me there.
Emrys stood near the wide brick gateway under the arch where the sculpted raven perched. He watched his mother kissing her daughter as she slept soundly in her arms. Phoebe’s silent tears streaked her face. Blinking back his own tears he looked up into the sky. Thick, gray, threatening rain clouds swirled around them. Even though it was only noon, the sun remained shrouded like a corpse wrapped tightly in a burial garment, barely visible and giving off no light. The waiting carriage lurched forward as the horse gave a quick kick, breaking the momentary silence surrounding them. And then in the distance was heard the familiar clicking and cras-cras of the ravens as they hopped from branch to branch in the high trees. After a deep, heavy sigh his mother placed Amrita into his arms, giving her one last tender kiss on her soft pink cheek.
“Keep your sister safe, son. She belongs to you now. Always remember how much I love you, and please remember to tell Amrita how very much I loved her too. Forgive your father, for this is the way of the Ravens.” She looked up into Emrys’ eyes as she spoke; her son now taller than her, and said, “I am proud of you my son. I know you will make a good home for your sister and become a great and wise leader to your fellow Ravens when the time comes.
He could not find his voice, except to whisper that he loved her too. He was sure they had already said all there was to say before they came outdoors. Afraid if he said one more word he would break down again, he only gave her a thin smile and a nod as she reached up to brush away his tears. This was the last time he ever felt his mother’s touch.
Through his blurred vision he noticed her forced smile. This was the smile he would remember forever. Phoebe pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders, and turning, climbed into the waiting carriage. He couldn’t watch as it drove away, but he could not block out her sobs. He turned, went through the archway, and walked toward his home. Glancing up at the massive brick castle, his eyes were drawn to the upper floor - over to the far right side. There, staring out of the window was his father. His hand flat to the windowpane, his expression tortured, watching as the carriage made its way down the tree-lined drive. Ambrose stood motionless long after the noise of the carriage could be heard no more.
Emrys walked slowly carrying his sleeping sister, trying not to look up at his father; forcing himself to concentrate on the noise coming from the crunching stones underfoot - now and then interrupted by the lonely cries of the ravens. If he looked up one more time, he would snap.
From this point on, Ambrose was never the same. He kept to himself more often than not, rarely ever leaving his rooms. He somehow managed to teach his son all the rules which had been handed down to him. He taught him the art of sword fighting, and how to use all the weapons known to that era. As the years went by it became apparent that Ambrose had been preparing Emrys to take over as Regent. Emrys tried reasoning with him about his premature decision, but eventually it became evident: Ambrose had become incapable to handle life itself, and he could no longer remain in his role. He argued with anyone who got in his way, found it difficult to make the easiest of decisions, and sometimes he simply broke down and wept in the middle of important meetings. His heart was broken beyond repair. Many times Emrys found his father muttering to himself incoherently, and at times, he heard him quoting sad poetry. Most often, he would repeat over and over again the last three lines of “The Raven” by Poe:
And the lamplight o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor - Shall be lifted - nevermore!
And sometimes all he would say was, “Quoth the Raven, Nevermore.”
Before Emrys could be Regent he had to be turned. Normally, this would have been done by Ambrose, father to son. But he refused to let his son be exposed during the quickening to the emotions involved in the murder he had committed, or the unrelenting sorrow from losing his mate. He explained to Emrys that he had already endured enough pain with the loss of his mother.
“My son, please understand my reasons,” Ambrose pleaded, during a few moments of clarity. “Hate is a terrible emotion, and murder does not reward you with satisfaction of revenge. It must be painfully clear that it did not improve my life at all. I would not have you experience these things, even through my memories.” With a deep, heavy sigh, he whispered under his breath, “Nevermore”.
Emrys was saddened at his father’s decision, and yet a part of him felt that under the circumstances, with Ambrose seemingly in the throes of losing his mind, it was a good decision. He smiled at his father and agreed with a nod of his head. “Yes, I understand.”
They chose Tansy to make the transformation. I felt all the excitement that Emrys had felt just before his time came and watched as he explained to his young, now ten-year- old sister, that he would be busy for the rest of the day, and they would play chess another time. He had been teaching her for the past few weeks, and she was impatient for her next lesson.
“Amrita, I will be busy for a while, and you must stay in Zoe’s room until I come for you.” Emrys patted the top of her head as they walked together down the long hallway.
“But, Emrys!” she said, in a high-pitched voice, “Where shall you be going? And why is it that I cannot come with you?” She looked up at him, rounding her blue-gray eyes in her most beseeching manner.
“You know I cannot go anywhere while I transition. I shall be in my room. I have explained all of this to you two times already, and you shall have your turn when you are old enough!” He took in a big breath, exhaling slowly. Having to repeat himself so often sometimes made him feel exasperated. “Please behave and do not whine. That sounds quite unbecoming in a young lady.” He held out his hand to her. “It will only be for a few hours, and then we will play chess again, I promise.”
She took his hand and held it, spying his thumb ring. With her other hand she twirled the ring in circles as she always did, marveling at the bright red designs inside of each square. He had given her a beautiful silver and ruby-red bracelet for her last birthday, but ever since she was a toddler, she begged him almost daily for his thumb ring. It had been his father’s, and he never took it off, nor planned to part with it.
He walked with her to Zoe’s door and gave it a light rap. Zoe was Tansy’s sister, and she often watched out for Amrita when Emrys was busy.
“Okay,” Amrita said, using her sad voice. “But does this mean you will be terribly different after you are a full Raven? Will you still be my Brub?”
“I will always be your brother you daffy little girl! All it means is that from now on, I shall remain twenty-seven,” he explained. Wondering now, exactly how different he would feel, he hoped the craving for blood would be as easy to control as his father had told him.
“Eventually
you shall be older, and you will choose to become a Raven as well.” He wasn’t sure how well she understood the whole concept yet. Explaining eternity to a child was very daunting, and even though the women helped him take care of her, Amrita preferred to be at his side whenever possible. Perhaps she feared he would change and be like his father. She was deathly afraid of Ambrose, which Emrys assumed was because he remained a mystery to her. Since he seldom left his rooms unless everyone else was asleep or away, she had only been able to catch fleeting glimpses of him on rare occasions. As far as Emrys knew, not once had Ambrose ever spoken to Amrita. It made him sad to think that his father could hold anything against an innocent child, but he kept those thoughts to himself.
He knelt down so they were face to face and hugged her closely, reminding her that he expected her to behave and act like a lady. Zoe opened the door; Amrita gave him a sweet grin, and then skipped happily through the doorway, her long brown braids bouncing behind her. She turned and called over her shoulder, “See you later, Em!”
Back in his room he watched without fear as Tansy prepared herself. She sat opposite him with her wrist draped over a bowl, and the sharp knife she had just used on her lap. Her chair sat near a wooden table bearing the same goblet from which I had recently consumed Emrys’ blood. Beside it stood a beautiful candelabra holding four tall candles, only one of which burned. Each time I had a glimpse of Tansy she was smiling. Pouring the bowl into the goblet seemed to be the trickiest part of the preparation, but she managed without spilling a drop of blood. She wrapped her wrist in a clean white cloth and came to Emrys, her sharp teeth already visible.
I felt the peace when Emrys was emptied, and as he drank from Tansy’s cup, the enjoyment of his new immortality was exquisite. For the most part, his memories were crystal-clear, but even better than being able to see them; the actuality of feeling what he had felt - his senses, his emotions, and his thoughts themselves – were absolutely illuminating. Eventually, I had the same feeling as I had upon waking up in my new life - that I had traced all of Emrys’ life from beginning to the present. The movie was over now, the credits were rolling, and soft music played in the background.
The Ravenswynd Series - Boxed Set Page 21
