An Immortal Dance

by Alastair Fontaine

  “Right. Well, it’s been a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for keeping me here. I’ll be out of your way in a few minutes,” he said as he stood up. “Do you know where I could find my clothes?”

  She motioned towards a tuxedo that he did not recognise as his own. The jet black fabric was far finer than anything that he had ever owned. Three golden buttons sewn into each sleeve glimmered in the sunlight. “I’m afraid your clothes did not survive the night. I hope this makes up for it.”

  “Are you sure? It looks expensive.”

  “Look around. You’re lying in the wool of multiple Peruvian vicuñas and are surrounded by Italian marble. That black rag of silk is nothing to me,” she chided him, pride mingling with vexation in her voice.

  “Well, thanks I guess.” He did not know what he had done to put her in such a mood. He was just trying to be polite. She turned away as he put the suit on. He found that he enjoyed the delicious smoothness of the material, clearly put together by a master.

  After he was dressed, she walked him to the entrance of her mansion. He had not seen her parents, but he assumed that they must have been somewhere in that vast compound. He saw beautiful works of art hung on marble walls. Flora of all sorts lined the halls. Beautiful oriental carpets were laid out on the floor. As he passed the ornate wooden door that separated Courtney’s palace from the rest of the world, he remembered a name.

  “Excuse me? Sorry to bother you again. I know this is going to sound stupid, but do you know anyone by the name of err… Belit?” he inquired.

  “It does sound stupid. What kind of name is that? Are you sure you’re alright Asr- sorry- Ambrose?” came the answer. His cheeks went a rosy shade of red. She didn’t even remember his name.

  “Forgive me, you’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  He walked through the field in front of her house feeling like a fool. In his embarrassment, he did not look back at thestately home. Instead, he took out his phone and dialled Finn.

  If only he had, he might have seen the tears that streamed down Courtney Rossborough’s face, ruining her eyeliner. Lazy, black rivers flowed freely down those rosy cheeks. He never saw the pure anguish on her face, nor did he see how she fell to her knees. He could never have fathomed the intense joy, the terrible pain, that he had brought to those lovely sapphire eyes.

  Of One Essence is the Human Race,

  Thusly has Creation put the Base.

  One Limb impacted is sufficient,

  For all Others to feel the Mace.

  The Unconcern'd with Others' Plight,

  Are but Brutes with Human Face.

  -Saadi of Shiraz, Iran. “Bani Adam”

  5

  When her eyes had shyly greeted that first, radiant dawn so many eons ago, there had been twelve of them. Twelve brown figures lying in the soft earth. Surrounding them had been great, brown pillars, rough to the touch and crowned magnificently in green. Creatures of myriad shapes and colours had inspected them with a bestial curiosity, welcoming them to that new land with a cacophony of festive songs, defiant roars, howled laments and ominous growls. She had felt the beating heart of the land in that discordant choir, and she had loved it. Belit had loved the kind embrace of the cold, mushy soil beneath her, thrilling to a skin that had never felt. She had loved that carnival of scents, foreign to a nose that had never smelled. She had loved the exotic sights that filled her vision, exquisite to eyes that had never seen.

  She had looked over at her new companions, observing the fear, the excitement, the interest in their noble faces. In their eyes, she had seen honest blues, wise greens and opulent browns. They were not the bent apes that she was to live amongst for centuries to come, nor their weaker, but far more attractive descendants. No, they had come into the world as a people both majestic and refined. Their brown skins shimmered in the glorious rays of the mighty sun, in stark contrast to white teeth that graced elegant mouths.

  Those early years had been so innocent, even in that savage Eden. During long days, they had roamed those lands together, playing silly games under the trees, bathing in the golden light and learning about their paradise. They had met sublime beasts, some delightful and others hideous, in their travels. They had discovered the sweet flavours of fallen fruit and the cleansing sensation of water flowing down their throats, though they did not require such sustenance. They had swum in cool lakes and climbed those great trees that had once seemed so forbidding.

  Yet, of course, the nights always came and they soon learned of the terror in the darkness. The land that gave them so much during the day turned hateful and cruel in that pure blackness. When the first nightfall came, their small tribe had been exploring the dense jungle. As the light faded, they began to notice maddened, hungry eyes staring at them from the thickets. They had thought nothing of it. None of the beasts had tried to hurt them in the light, fleeing swiftly as they approached. They had kept walking, deeper and deeper into the trees. As the sun continued to fall, they began hearing frenzied, menacing noises around them. Whilst before they had been chaotic and disjointed, now they were united, as if bent to some otherworldly will. Now, they screamed, louder and louder, furious at the impudent creatures that had dared to come into their wild domain. Still, Belit and her companions had kept walking, unbothered. They had been too enthralled by the novelty of their existence.

  Then, when the light had finally died. Belit had heard swift paws, pounding hooves, a crazed stampede and then a scream. An awful sound that shook her very essence. In the darkness, she had been utterly blind. As more screams echoed between the trees, she had felt those around her recover from their initial shock and run, madly fleeing the dreadful mass of flesh and noise. She had run with them, confused and utterly afraid. Behind her, she had heard the sickening sounds of breaking bones and tearing flesh. Even worse, she had sensed a crazed joy emanating from their assailants. Their fury had mixed with some deranged pleasure to produce chilling cackles and low purrs. She had run faster at the sound, desperate to get away from that horrid scene. At last, she had burst through the trees into a clearing, where sweet starlight shone brightly upon her. Only five of her companions had escaped the massacre, joining her in that safe haven. Some had been marked by tooth and claw, leaving only crimson ruins where flawless brown skin had been. They had looked at each other then, and wept. The traumatised survivors had held each other, tears and blood forming puddles around their feet as the screams continued late into the night and the jungle chanted its vicious triumph.

  The next morning, they had not dared to venture past the tree line, the scent of slaughter still sickeningly present from deep within the wilderness. They had sat in the clearing in silent mourning for the brothers and sisters that they had lost just hours before. Some had sat, nursing grotesque wounds, their shock numbing their agony. No mortal could have lived through such punishment, but her people were strong, possessed of a terrible endurance that she would discover in the long millennia to come. The survivors had eventually recovered from that bloodbath, but one lesson had been burned into their collective consciousness. Never again would those children of the sun wander into that primeval darkness, where madness and savagery reigned supreme and hungry hordes lay in wait.

  Over the next few centuries, Belit and her remaining companions had grown to love the jungle again. They had been slow to trust the beasts, fleeing at the sight of them, fearing that some amongst their number had participated in that merciless attack. However, they had observed over time that in the light, the beasts seemed unwilling, or unable, to harm them. There was no malice in their eyes, only a cold emptiness. As long as the sun was in the sky and its golden rays permeated through the treetops, the jungle was theirs and they could explore its vast, wondrous expanse. However, when twilight came, they would head for a clearing, where the starlight would protect them, leaving behind disappointed eyes in the thickets. They had memorised the site of every such haven, wherever they went, so as to never suffer another, devastating am
bush.

  For millennia they lived in that way, developing a complex, harmonious language that flowed with their musical voices, allowing them to share rich laughter between the trees and comfort one another during the nights. From time to time, they would see creatures that Belit would later understand were to become the first mortals. It had been hard to reconcile those filthy masses of hair and flesh with modern men. Belit’s people did not mix with those early humans, ignoring them for the most part, moving away when they came too close. Occasionally they heard their screams when one ventured too far into the darkness. Even in the daylight, the beasts would snatch any that strayed too far from their pack, pulling them screaming into the thickets. Yet Belit’s small tribe had roamed freely and unmolested, careful never to travel too far from the clearings. Those had been good days for them, and a part of her missed those innocent times when she had been young and the world was clean, untouched by mortal hands. She missed long conversations bathed in starlight and thrilling adventures under the sun. Eventually, of course, the apelings had developed into creatures identical to Belit’s people in appearance, but, with greater needs and darker souls.

  She recalled their unpleasant first meeting. A band of mortals had ambushed Belit’s tribe as they sat conversing in a pleasant glade. Warned by loudly shouted war-cries, they had shot to their feet. At first, they had been perplexed, looking at creatures that looked so much like them, but seemed so angry. Some of those unfortunate mortals had brandished pieces of flint tied to fallen branches, carrying them in rough hands. Others had just held large stones above their heads as they dashed towards Belit. She had wondered what game they were playing as that filthy mass hurtled towards her people. Then, she had felt a searing pain as a sharp point dug into her shoulder. Her companions had realised then that the apelings meant them harm. They had become enraged, easily breaking crude spears and throwing terrified figures to the ground. Belit and her people exacted harsh retribution on the insolent little monsters. At last, those that could still stand had fled into the trees, leaving broken shapes strewn on the ground, the result of the dreadful wrath of a gentle people. Belit remembered how her people broke out into savage cheers and cruel laughter, celebrating their victory. Her wound ached, but what had truly hurt was that she had actually thought that there might be more of her race in the world, a hope quickly dashed by those pathetic replicas lying strewn across the meadow.

  Their future encounters with those first mortals would prove more productive. The creatures, despite being physically weak, were incredibly imaginative. They had to be. In a harsh world where they lacked the gifts of her people, they had to adapt quickly to survive. Easily cowed into benevolence, they had taught Belit and her kin how to hunt beasts for their meat, something which they had taken to with great pleasure, remembering the sight of the grisly, rotting remains of their brethren. More importantly, the mortals had eventually created fire, a gift the significance of which they could not fathom. She remembered the elation that her people had felt when they realised that they could produce their own light. The shadows fled before their torches and the night no longer seemed so frightening. She remembered how one day, in his joy, Asr- no, she had to learn to call him Ambrose, had thrown a burning torch into the trees. Then another. Several more followed until roaring, orange flames consumed those wooden giants. She had stared at him standing there, laughing gleefully as they burned. At that moment, she had felt a strange attraction to him. She had loved the passion, the mischief, the pure energy that radiated from him, much like the flames that he had started. They had retreated to a boulder, far from that great wall of fire to watch as a column of black smoke rose into the air above the burning jungle. They had listened to the frightful noises of terrified creatures running from the flames, feeling a fierce satisfaction as the fires raged and at last, silence came over the thickets. He had put his arms around her for the first time then, holding her while they watched until all that remained were the charred remnants of earlier days. She had felt safe and warm in those muscular, yet gentle, arms. Smooth hands clutched her tight. She had looked up at him, admiring his strong chin, the lovely curve of his aquiline nose and the flames dancing in his eyes. He had noticed her gaze and looked down briefly, smiling as his hickory eyes met her sapphires.

  After that, the years passed and as the mortals spread around the globe, her people went with them. For eons, she had watched them grow and develop from the creatures that her people had routed in the glade to warriors, builders, poets, artists and dreamers. As they changed, so had she, taking their inventions and their ideas, living as one of them. It amazed her how in so short a time, the mortals had changed the world that she had known. She had always preferred to live amongst the more primitive tribes, those who settled in the reaches of the world that most resembled that vast wilderness where she had spent those first, happy millennia. Over time, her exquisite hazel skin had turned to ivory from years spent living in the icy Northern reaches of the world, where civilisation took longer to encroach. Inevitably, though, it eventually came. Occasionally, she would see one of her kin. When that happened, they would sit for hours, talking excitedly about the marvels that they had seen, the mortal lovers that they had taken, the adventures that they had been on and those innocent days gone by. It was a rare occurrence, with one exception. The man who now called himself Ambrose d’Artois had been the one constant in her life. Ever since that day when he had held her close, she had known that out of all of her people, their destinies were entwined. They had danced across the ages, separating occasionally, but always finding each other. When they talked, they would often wonder at both the greatness and the darkness in the mortals that they had lived with over the centuries. They were so fragile, their time so short, yet some of them used that spark of life to create empires, monuments, art to last the ages. In that way, they were just as enduring as Belit. It was they, who she had once looked at with such disdain, not her people, who had conquered the primordial darkness and made the world their own.

  On a winter day in the year that the mortals called 1946, Belit had felt something was terribly wrong. She had not felt his presence, which she had always been able to feel, no matter the distances between them, in all the time since. She had feared the worst and shut herself up in her palace of marble and gold, distracting herself with constant festivities. At last, several decades later, she had heard of a handsome enigma, a recent arrival in a nearby town, Hastings. Never could she have dreamt that it would be him. Yet after coming across a picture of the newcomer, her wild heart once again began to blossom.

  Since then, she had waited and meticulously planned their reunion, only to be surprised in her own home. She had used an alias so that he would not be shocked by her identity, ruining the moment that she had been longing for during untold ages. At first, it could not have gone better. She had so missed that tender dance, and those lips, but then he had fallen. Why, she did not know, but her concerns were alleviated when he woke up, seemingly fine. She regretted having been so frigid, but she had expected him to at least recognize her. Regardless, Belit had accepted the reality of her amnesiac sweetheart, and she had a plan.

  The wealthy daughter of an unknown magnate lay on a cushioned divan on the raised veranda of her stately home. Her lips curled lazily into a contented smile and she let out a small sigh. Courtney Rossborough and Ambrose d’Artois would be the cutest couple.

  И я не буду сожалеть,

  Что никому не рассказала,

  О том, что в этом мире нет

  Моей души и ей причала

  -Kate, Russia.

  6

  Finn’s familiar white Chevy coming to pick him up had been a comforting sight. Ambrose was confused and indignant. He could not understand what he had done for the lady of that fine house to treat him with such cruel disdain. She had seemed so perfect when she’d first walked into that magnificent room, but then she just had to open her pre
tty mouth. Even more annoying was that he’d probably lost his chance with Aisling. He would not be mentioning her to Finn. He wasn’t that stupid.

  What was wrong with him? Why did he keep fainting? Why was he so inescapably attracted to those sapphire eyes? Why couldn’t he remember his own damn dreams? Those questions nagged at him as he recounted what had happened to an incredulous Finn.

  “So you’re telling me you were in her house, and it was made of black Italian marble?”

  “Yes,” he repeated.

  “Do you know how much that stuff costs? Just bringing so much of it over to America must’ve cost her dad a fortune. He literally could have fed the entire population of China for a year with that kind of money!” Finn exclaimed.

  “Err... cool?”

  “Ah damn, did you even see the guy? No one knows who he is. Rumour has it that she’s his illegitimate love child, and he keeps her here while he lives it up in a bigger house with his real family over in France.”

  “Nah, he was MIA.” Ambrose didn’t put much stock in Finn’s theory, but he thought it might explain why she had been so cold to him. Maybe she just had family issues. He let Finn drone on about the wealth of the Rossboroughs and the unfairness of the world as he contemplated. Outside, the sky was dark, obscured by a mass of grey clouds. It would likely rain soon. He hoped they’d reach his house before that, he didn’t want to get his new suit wet. Trees with dwindling, golden leaves lined the edges of the cracked asphalt. A few other vehicles moved around them with their drivers staring into the distance ahead. He opened the window, and felt a rush of cold air engulf his face.

  “Hey! Could you not? Close it!” Finn scolded him. He quickly obliged.

  “Why so quiet? Is someone annoyed that he got in the house but failed to make a move? Aww...” Finn mocked him.

  “No! Of course not. You know me better than that. What the hell man?” Ambrose stormed.