Forever

by Natalie J. Case

  I broke free of the hold the priest now had on my arm and began to go to her. I ran, feeling the Change begin and welcoming it. I was nearly upon them when I felt the blow to my head and neck. I fell in a pile of skirts and hair and limbs, the Change faded before it had fully come and my eyes rolled closed upon the sight of my frightened woman-child.

  I awoke in a dungeon cell in what I assumed to be the local lord's castle. It was nearly dawn and the high window just above my reach would soon let in enough light to kill. Through the bars I heard her crying, a sound that broke my heart, tore at my soul. I called her name softly and she came, crouching beside me, kept apart by the cold steel.

  Her beautiful face was smeared with blood, and her feet were bare, and bloodied as well. Her dress was torn, her hair in disarray … still she stirred something inside me. I reached through the bars and held her, whispering sweet nothings to reassure her, to make her believe that I would take care of her. My head was pounding with the after-effects of the blow to my head, and I could feel blood crusted there when I reached up to touch it. The wound had already healed, but the blood had dried in my hair, matting it to my neck. Her wounds had likewise healed, but she was frightened and skittish. God only knew what they had done to her while I was unconscious. For the first time her mind was closed to me. I didn't press, I simply held her and tried to calm her.

  I watched the approach of sunlight as it crept down the wall, spilling in a puddle of light that slowly moved toward us until I had to release her. We moved away, each into the dark corners where we couldn't see each other, but where the light didn't reach. I held my breath and tried not to listen to her fear beating wildly with the last of her supper, tried not to think about what might be in store for us both. Fear was not an emotion I had been intimate with before, although I had been occasionally afraid, never before had fear gripped my insides as it did at that moment, paralyzing me. I had no idea what was meant for us, but I knew it would not be pleasant. I felt the Change coming, and with it the strength of my birthright, a chance for freedom. But, there was nowhere to go. The day was full upon us, and even if I could get free of the cell, there would be nowhere for me to take Rebeka.

  The sounds of men approaching drew me out of my inner thoughts, brought me from my crouch in the corner to my feet. Keys in the heavy iron doors and several men entered each of the cells, moving to stand in the center of the sunlight. They were “armed” with great gold crucifixes and I could hear the sounds of fear and anguish coming from Rebeka. I tried to maintain a cool demeanor, somewhat indignant at the treatment. “I demand to know what is going on! Why have we been caged like animals?” I was slapped hard across the face for my trouble, a stinging blow that nearly knocked me into the wall. The cross was shoved in my face then, as if that would hold me to my place, keep me from attacking them. I almost lost control of myself, I could feel the Change roaring to be released, but I bit my tongue and willed the fire to subside. It would serve no purpose at that moment.

  Rebeka hissed loudly, and I looked sharply her way. The men were attempting to drag her into the sunlight. Her face was contorted by the Change and her fear, her eyes blazed as she fought them. But, ultimately, we were outnumbered and I could smell the flesh of her hand that they held in the direct line of the late afternoon sun. She screamed in absolute terror and agony and I felt my stomach twinge in echo of what she must surely feel. I rubbed a hand along the scars on my right arm from my own experience and shivered. I could hear her calling my name in my head, repeating it like a mantra that would save her. I wanted to go to her, hold her, calm her, avenge her. I could feel the need for the kill, the hunger growing inside me, and for the first time in years I wanted to release it, indulge it. I spoke her name softly, across the air where the mortal cannot hear. It seemed to calm her, or perhaps it calmed me.

  They were coming at me now, their crosses and holy water used as weapons. They seemed disconcerted that I ignored them, and their relics, intent instead upon my lovely Rebeka. The lukewarm water splashed in my face, drawing my attention back to them, but not in the manner they expected. My eyes flashed angrily and I wanted to lash out at them, but I inhaled sharply and calmly wiped my face with one sleeve. “You're wasting your time.” I said calmly. “Those trivial symbols mean nothing to me.”

  It mattered little what the reason for that truth might be … it was enough that the fact of this disconcerted them more than the reality of Rebeka's dark, unnatural nature. They were certain that I too was a demon masquerading in human clothing, a truth only verified by the burning of my flesh as they dragged me into sunlight, but none of their “normal” purifying rituals affected any response but anger from me. That did not keep them from trying however, until the flood of sunlight falling through the windows faded, and they withdrew, afraid perhaps that our powers might increase with the dark.

  Chapter 9

  A full moon lit the cells that night, bathing my wounded Rebeka in the softest of lights. I held her through the bars, whispering to her. “Stay with me a while longer, Rebeka. I will get us through this. Rest now, tomorrow they will come again.” I fed her then from my own wrist. I thought only of keeping her alive, and what new torment the morning would bring. She was weakened by her fight, her hands burned by sunlight, her face red with her tears of fear and pain. I told her stories of the ancient times, before the coming of the Church, of the hunters. I told her of my Jesse, of Moira and Leonard. Near to dawn she slept some, falling into the near comatose sleep of our kind. I drifted too, unable to truly sleep, but riding a nightmare out of that cell for a moment or two. Then came the dawn, awakening me with a distant pain and the knowledge that Rebeka needed me.

  I rose to standing, pulling instinctively away from the light and looked wildly around me to find Rebeka crouched in the dark corner of her cell, in full Change. One of the hunters held a cross tightly to her raised forehead, burning the flesh there as he murmured some Latin phrases beneath his breath. She screamed in agony, clawing at the man until he backed off into the pool of light. I lunged for the bars, forgetting the daylight for the moment, intent on wrapping my arms around him as he came close enough.

  Disembodied arms pulled me away from the bars, dragged me to the dirt floor in the center of the light and held me there until I ceased my struggling. Then I was dragged to my feet, doused again with holy water and the great incantations began. I did my best to ignore them, concentrating instead on Rebeka, sending my thoughts of strength and hope, which only served to anger them more. Once the hunter who had detained me in the streets came close enough and I felt the Change come swiftly. I reached for him and came close to getting my teeth into his neck before a hard blow to my stomach knocked me backwards. That brought on more crosses and holy water and Latin prayers. I forced myself to calm, willed away the Change. My insides twisted around me as I listened to Rebeka's torment in the next cell. I was trapped, and there was nothing I could do to help her, or myself.

  At some point that day they decided that they could not treat me as they had the others of my kind, that I was some different manner of demon beyond the ability of their rituals and crosses to purify, and instead chose to torment me as they would a mortal in hopes of obtaining my confession. They filled my cell, five of them and the interrogator. They chanted, effectively blocking my perception of what occurred in the next cell. He read to me the charges, many of them lies. He asked me if I would confess my sins so that he might recommend mercy. I was silent.

  My dress was torn to the waist to lay bare my back. I was chained to the wall, my breasts and cheek held against the cold rock wall. They whipped me with a cat-o-nine-tails until my back lay in bloody shreds and I drifted in and out of consciousness. All the while they chanted their ridiculous Latin phrases. My mind stuck on them, struggling to translate them in an effort to block out the interrogator's words. “Delictum meum cognitum tibi feci et iniustitiam meum non abscondi.”

  As they unchained me, my knees buckled and I fell to the floor. My hea
d swam and I am sure I must have been babbling back the translations of their words. “I have acknowledged my sin to Thee, and my guilt I have not concealed….”

  More water was splashed in my face to rouse me from my disorientation. “Do you repent? Do you confess your sins?”

  I shook my head, not really in answer to his questions, but in an attempt to clear it. I heard a scream and jumped. “Rebeka!” I am sure it was little more than a croaked word, but I felt her respond. She was alive. I turned my attention back to the priest who was now regarding me with a look of disdain.

  “Forget the girl,” he said. “Your concern now is your soul. Mercy is in your hands. You have only to confess yourself and you will be cleansed. This can all stop now. It can be over.”

  I held my tongue and he nodded to one of the men standing beside me. A wooden cup was lifted to my mouth, and I could smell a sour wine. I clamped my jaw shut and it took two of them to pry it open. I managed to spit out the first mouthful, but then I was forced to swallow lest they drown me in it. Before it had passed my tongue I could taste the poison, a drug which would shortly bring fever and violent, racking pains. “I can see you are familiar with this method,” he said, a smile on his face. “Perhaps then, you know what will follow? Are you prepared to cooperate?”

  The chanting renewed, “Domine, ne in furore tuo arguas me, neque in ira tua corripias me.” I covered my ears. The drug had begun to spread its fingers through me, creating images in my mind and causing muscles to contract onto themselves. “Are there others like yourself?” he asked. “Like her? Where are they? How many are there?”

  I don't know if I answered him, to tell the truth I can't remember many of the questions at all. I know the kind though, aiming to brand other innocents as Vampyre or witches, to release me of my guilt by laying it at the feet of the others. When the pains reached my stomach I began retching, vomiting out an odd mixture of formula and food and wine in a puddle at their feet. I fainted once or twice, welcoming the cool of the blackness in my mind.

  With each waking I could hear Rebeka screaming or crying and pleading, and the ever-present chanting, each time the sound ripped my heart and filled my being with rage, each time I would reach inside me to the Change and some new torment would begin. It was as if they knew exactly which moment to start something new, and which of their bloody implements would best suit the purpose laid before them.

  I was tied to my chair when I could no longer hold myself upright. I was hurting from a hundred wounds that seemed to no longer be healing. I was hungry. How long had I been there? When had my last meal been? Where was Rebeka? I couldn't concentrate more than a moment or two on any one thought, my mind rambling haphazardly until I felt the stinging blow across my face. “Why do you insist? Why do you make us treat you this way?” He leaned in close to me, his face in mine. His breath smelled of wine. I forced my eyes to focus on his face. “Make your confession, I will make it all end.”

  I squinted up at him, taken suddenly with the thought that I had no idea what it was I was meant to confess. I started to laugh.

  It seemed to anger them more. He moved away and one of the others took his place, an odd looking instrument in its hand. I could smell the blood on it from its last victim. He approached slowly, his eyes intent upon me. Two others came from behind, one pulling my head back against the high back of the chair, the other holding my right arm tightly. I saw then what the instrument was for and my fingers clenched into a ball instinctively. Patiently the one with the tool pried my fingers open, laying claim to one and setting the instrument to the nail. I held my breath and tried not to feel the tormenting pain as he slowly and deliberately pulled the fingernail from its bed. He held up his prize for me to see, then dropped it in my lap and proceeded to the next.

  Tears streamed down my face and I believe I screamed, but little sound was made. My hand was on fire, a thing alive. I wanted to shake it, to run from the pain. Never in my life had I felt anything to compare to that. He released me and moved back, blanching only slightly as the Change took over my face. I no longer controlled it, and it responded to the pain freely. The smell of blood only intensified the needs that compelled the Change. But I hadn't any strength, I had only the pain, and as swiftly as it came upon me, the Change left again. The next day they repeated the process on my left hand … and shortly after that they began on my feet.

  Whenever I became too disoriented, too distant they would splash me with their holy water. After the fingernails I lost the true sequence of the things which followed. The torment continued forever. My head was dunked in a barrel of cool rainwater and held under until my lungs would explode in agony and my heart pounded in my chest as if it would follow. I was subjected to things that even the darkest of our kind would never imagine. All the while they demanded I repent of my sins that I might be cleansed of my demons and my soul released clean. I have no idea how long it went on, I lost all sense of time and place as I drifted in and out, withdrawing into the preternatural sleep of my mother's people when the pain was too intense, all the while whispering Rebeka's name. Days and nights blurred together, the faces of the priests became one, their voices drowning all rational thought.

  I lost myself at some point, calling out to Rebeka, to Moira, to Jesse … anyone who might somehow hear me. I thought once that Jesse came, Crenoral lurking in the shadows behind him, then I felt the cold slap of leather against my bare thigh and he was gone. The others came and went as well, Mother and Adan, the small child I had left on the roadway. Reality withdrew and there was only the pain, the terror, and the need to find Rebeka.

  When at last it was quiet, and my senses told me I was alone, I opened my eyes. It was daylight. I had crawled into the dark corner purely by instinct in my sleep. I held myself very, very still and listened intently. Somewhere very far away I heard faint music. It must be Sunday morning, I told myself, and my tormentors have gone off to church to praise their god and themselves. My broken body howled its pain at me, and I could do nothing to ease it. I wondered if Rebeka too were in such a way. I lay still and listened for the sounds of any left behind to tend to us should we awaken, then, in growing alarm, for Rebeka. There was nothing, no sound to tell me she still lived. I squinted through the glare of the puddle of light, but couldn't make out anything. I climbed slowly to my feet, shuffled in painful steps to the very edge of the light.

  Still, there was nothing. I called her name in a voice gone hoarse from my screams of pain. Nothing. My heart sank into my toes; my mouth went dry. I forced myself into the light and over to the bars, clinging to them as the heat found its way past the already present pain. I held to the bars as my sensitive eyes adjusted and slowly focused on the cell.

  She lay nearly naked, her clothes ripped in her struggles for freedom, her face calm, the Change gone from it, the fury leaving behind only the peace of common death. A three-foot long wooden stake, nearly six inches in diameter impaled her heart, as if they meant to kill a man three times her size. Her hands were curled around it, as if she had been attempting to keep it from her or welcome it to her chest. I whimpered, reaching through the bars as if I might touch her, then backpedaling into the darkened corner as the sunlight became more than I could bear.

  I huddled into myself, crying her name, and trying to find some shred of strength. I was tired, wounded … hungry. I looked up, my eyes just making out her form now that I knew where it was. Something was born inside me. The thoughts in my head were not pleasant ones, but it was a method of survival. I knew I had to survive, more than that, I wanted to survive, to wreak my vengeance upon these Hunters.

  I let the Change come, sweeping over my weary form, offering me some respite from the pain of my wounds. I let the anger and pain and fear that had been building in the time of my captivity spill out from my soul, infecting my entire being. I didn't think about my plan, or what it would mean, how I would deal with myself later … or that I might yet die at their hands. I let the Change come, reveling in the feeling,
baring my teeth, and breathing deep, invigorating breaths of the stale air.

  When I moved, with the speed of the Change, I took a rat. It wasn't much, but it would start me in the right direction. Then I challenged the sun again, braving the fire to force the bars enough to squeeze through into Rebeka. I knelt beside her, touching her pale skin, her soft, blonde hair. Even in death she was beautiful, her body only beginning to decompose. I kissed her cold cheek, then pressed my lips to her neck. It was truly unthinkable … to drink from one so long cold, and one with so little really to offer. Her last real meal had been days before, and what I had given hadn't mattered in the end. So much of herself had been spent in her efforts to live.

  I bit gently, as if she might somehow yet feel it, and drank in small, garish sips, pulling back as the cold, thick fluid touched my lips. It sat cold and hard in my stomach, small comfort, but enough. I sat back against the wall and let it warm inside me, felt it spreading slowly, giving me some semblance of strength. As I waited for the rush of energy, I trapped two more rats. The more I fed the louder the hunger within me growled. I stood and squinted up into the sun. It was close to noon I guessed. I stooped and picked up the limp, lifeless form of my Rebeka.

  The anger surged then, fueled by my snack and the feel of her light frame in my arms. I roared in anguish as I forced the iron door open and emerged into the darkened hallway. The guard died with a broken neck before he was fully aware I was there. I pulled him to me and drank deeply, feeling the warmth return to my body, my wounds beginning to heal.

  Up the stairs, hundreds of stone steps carved from the very earth. At the top, servants stopped and stared, but stayed a great distance from me. I reached out for one and drew her very close to me, where there was no denying the demon I am. “Fetch me two dark cloaks and I shall not kill you today.” My voice was harsh, filled with fury. She shook from head to toe and nodded fearfully. She returned with the requested garments and I donned one, then draped the other over Rebeka. “Leave this place, all of you, and tell the others as well. Anyone found alive here tonight will die.”