Blood of Eden
CHAPTER ONE
=============================PAGE 1============================
"Your efforts have proven rewarding. You are a most worthy servant", says the accented voice of the ancient Mystic. His accent is that of a British man, and in his voice there is darkness. His words are piercing, even when they are not harsh or filled with displeasure. The man paces slowly around the dark chamber with its veiled stonewalls. His face cannot be clearly seen, for it is veiled beneath the shadows of his black hood. His dark cloak is not quite long enough in front for his booted feet to catch, and it trails behind in such a manner that the backs of his black boots cannot be seen, though it only lightly brushes the rough surface of the moist, cool, stone floor.
The only light within the bare chamber comes from torches lit around the echoing room as they are fastened in outward positions to the wall by the handiwork of rusted iron braces and bolts. The ancient sandstone-like walls of a slightly gray hue have the smell of wet, rotting cement, a dull sweet odor that easily causes the feeling of sickness.
He places his pale left hand upon the cold wall as he pulls his hood back with his free hand, uncovering his face and revealing a very wan appearance and sunken eyes with dark shadows. His eyes are red as dark rubies in the dim light, and his long, straggly, greasy black hair hangs limply, resting around his shoulders and reaching about a fist’s length below.
Another man wearing the same attire with his hood pulled back turns in surprise at the sound of the voice. He had been conversing with the other Mystics and all of the others had left in anger, having not reached an agreement that was needed and important. He had just been about to leave when the man had appeared from the shadows as if he had been part of them.
This other man, equally pale, but seemingly much older, kneels quickly as he sees who had spoken. “Master,” he says, bowing his head low. His word was given a different accent, a Romanian accent. His voice is well developed and full of respect and fear. He speaks again in nearly a whisper. “I did not expect you so soon…”
=============================PAGE 2 ============================
“The offspring, she is…rather defiant. She has found a strength.” He turns from the wall and removes his hand from it as he turns to look upon his servant, the older man with short, dark hair and deathly ill complexion who is still kneeling with his head bowed in respect. He slightly nods his head toward his servant as he says, “You may stand.” He sees that the older man has something to say as he can read it in the man’s dark brown eyes. There is the type of hopeful look upon his white face that plainly tells something is on his mind.
The youthful Mystic eyes his servant for a moment, slightly frowning. Then he says, “Permission to speak.”
“You have seen her my Lord?” There is a hint of disappointment in his eyes.
The Mystic smiles darkly, remembering how he had kissed her. “I have.” His smiles fades and returns stronger as he also recalls how she had pulled away from his hypnosis. No one was able to do that, not even his own people…But then again, perhaps her amazing beauty had caught him off-guard and weakened him. It had been the first time he had really opened his eyes to her, really seeing her. Her body had been strangely warm as he remembers from holding her close. He remembers the pleasant feeling of her fear at his strange actions.
“Did she see your truth?” Again, dread is hinted.
He hesitates to answer, not wanting to leave the memory. “Close enough…Marian will find out, soon enough, the full extent of the Emperor. I may choose her as my bride…I think her blood may prove worthy in time.” He frowns. “But she has a weakness that disgusts me.”
“What is it, milord?” says the servant with concern in his eyes. His mixed emotions are showing through more clearly with every moment that passes.
The Mystic’s eyes cloud over and his dispeasure increases by the agitation. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply, slowly exhaling the musty air. The scent is so sweetly sickening, but he enjoys it. He answers loudly and coldly, “She has a good heart.”
“But Master, that can be useful if she is turned…It would change the going misfortunes and re-enlighten the elders—“
“Not if she is the Blood of Eden,” the young creature snaps. His anger is transferred to the very air around him and the servant begins to cower in fear. “But if I should take her, I should be shamed for what she is--except…” He looks down a lingering moment and then up again, regaining his composure. “If she is the Blood of Eden, it would bring great misfortune to us.”
=============================PAGE 3 ============================
"That was only a story told by a commoner. They weren’t even infected.”
“They were Rojan, though. Living as long as I have, I have learned to be cautious, not reckless. You're still so young; your years cannot match four millennia of knowledge. As Emporor and the strongest Alseer, I should understand, and so my mistakes are far fewer.” The man knows he sounded over-confident, but it does not matter. He is cautious. He knows that’s what counts. Still stern, he continues, "Oreima was a gypsy. True, not all of her predictions came true, but enough of them did to convince me it’s possible in any new bloodline.”
The dim glow cast upon his face and hair flickers constantly as it dances with the shadows where the yellow firelight cannot reach. He closes his reddened eyes and again takes in the sweet smell that is mixed with the light scent of the smoke from the torches around the room. He remembers the fragrant air of her living flesh. Her heartbeat had rushed in his ears and had gotten louder and louder till he almost could not contain himself. He had been able to feel each pulsating beat as it began at her heart and ran through her very body. And, as each pulse was initiated, something inside him was roused. It was as if the sight of her had hypnotized him, and he couldn't keep himself cautious...Her long, waist-length black hair, disheveled as it was, she was so beautiful...Her skin was so pale for a human, yet her body was so warm and fragile. Her emerald-green eyes -- the way she stared. He knew she couldn't see him clearly because of her concussion and all the blood upon her face. But her eyes held such a trust, such--such a sincerity. When he had looked into her eyes, he had seen beyond her angelic appearance even. He had even seen past her soul. Her eyes had drawn him in, attempting to drown him with the loss of his control. Lust had surged through his veins and it was all he could do to not bite her then...
Why had he never really, really opened his eyes and seen her like that before? He had been around her, but he had never really seen her. Had he not really, honestly cared?
No...He hadn't in the least.
He almost regrets all of the trickery bestowed upon her. She knows nothing. But yet, deception is his favorite sin. All of the lies, the confusion wrought by mazes of delusion, all of it would be something he could not give up doing to the inferior mortalistic human-creatures. Of course, he wouldn't lie to his own people unless he deemed it necessary, but humans on the other hand; their lives are so short, so replaceable-- so easily taken.
There is a momentary silence between master and servant as the Mystic ponders. He then speaks slowly from his gathering of thoughts. "I have never seen anyone so... so beautiful. She truly is not of this world..."
=============================PAGE 4 ============================
"Master?" the older man requests hesitantly. His eyes do not meet the Mystic's. He is instead staring low at the floor with his head slightly cocked to the left, dark eyes staring without blinking.
The Mystic pulls out of his trance, casting his deep red eyes upon the other, and replies, "What?"
The servant still does not look his master in the eye, and his own nearly black eyes stare ever-still upon the stone floor. "Does my...my relation Marian know about our way of life? Does she know what her mother knows?"
"Impaler, she only knows what I have shown her. She knows we are vampires, yes, but her mother is only a half-breed...All she could ever do was hear voices and reply to them." The Emperor places his left hand upon his servant's right shoulder so that he will look at him.
The Impaler then asks, "Does she suspect any of the truth?"
"Now is when her confusion will be the greatest. She saw me, but not the whole of me. And I couldn't -- didn't -- act like myself. Everything she knows will become confusion...Her trust will break, and soon enough her innocence may die. I should enjoy seeing her bite again, though I don't know what brought on the--" He sighs, changing his mind. "Never mind."
"The what, my Lord?" The older man doesn’t have the slightest clue what the Mystic was about to say.
"I shall say this, then. Even as a human, she is much like us, and she has a short temper at times. She has bitten in much the same manner we do, except she hasn't the infection to spread. I saw her bite her so-called sister -- Jamie, I believe? The virus is definitely in her, but it must simply be dormant..."
He falls silent after saying, "Perhaps only a active virus introduced would awaken the dormant..."
He thinks a moment, turning over the thoughts in his mind and weighing each idea that comes to hypothesize. He looks distantly into the flames of a torch on the far side of the room. They dance silently with muffled snaps and crackles as they leap about upon their tiny throne at the end of the clasp upon the iron and wood rod. When he speaks, he sounds as far away as his eyes. His words are clear and present, but his mind is deep in consideration.
"Do you know how long it took for my family to become as strong as they were? How many years?" His eyes slowly come to rest upon his servant again, who is staring back in respect. Upon recieving no immediate answer, he says slowly, "It began with my grandfather who was Rojan. He was the first to become Livier..."
"Your family is of the truest blood and noblest history, my Lord," the servant replies. "I do not know how long, but you are superior to the rest of us through them."
=============================PAGE 5============================
It's almost as if the Mystic hadn't heard him, for in his eyes is the same distant look that remains ever still. He is in wonder and awe. "It took a thousand years of war with those on the other side to attain their gifts. My father acquired them from my grandfather and fought another eleven hundred years until he bestowed his to me...When I was still human I had not been as the girl is now. At times, when I am able to enter her mind and know what she knows, sometimes there are impulses--strong impulses, that -- that are like what we feel. But she drives them out, something we cannot do so easily. Marian craves blood, but...she's still human. And yet she also hates it. She is only a third generation and yet she is so strong and unique, and her family is so short lived and cannot acquire the gifts as we could from the Akrie and the Rojans."
"Milord, none could be equal to you in only three-fold. It is impossible, that cannot be -- Milord?"
As the servant spoke, the Mystic suddenly became angry and was as if he were about to speak, but then suddenly he vanished into the air, leaving the older man to now stand alone in the empty stone chamber with the flickering torches that crackle quietly as they dance the dance of fire from whence smoke rises weightlessly. The musty sweet smell still looms thickly and heavily, and the room is quiet and echoed as well as cool, dark, and moist. It is still and silent, and the only presence remaining is the short-haired, pale-skinned man with a deathly ill complexion, wearing his black cloak and hood as he stares ahead blankly, searching the room and its shadows.
He closes his eyes and raises his hand as he turns to walk to the tiny entrance leading in or out of the dungeon-like chamber. "Aah!" he hisses, revealing now protruding incisors as he pulls his hood over his head, putting a veil of darkness over his visage as it blocks the torchlight from his face. His master is strangely sensitive tonight because of that human. He knew it was a bad idea for his master to visit tonight -- any night for that matter. Humans are disgustingly inferior, and tonight he'd spoken of the girl as if she was his equal! How sickening. Not even common vampires are worthy of him.
His own daughter had been half-vampire. He would have turned her, had he not been stopped. He hates her and what his bride use to be...If only he had not promised so long ago...
But he was bound by his word to his wife despite what the elders would or wouldn't say.
He then spits a bitter statement aloud, "They are below us, not our equals, Milord."
Blood of Eden Chapters
