The Longest Night
It was the longest night, when autumn finally gave way to winter and the world turned in darkness for longer than any other part of the year. For Maria Toudou, who had just given birth to her one and only child, she knew it was also the last night she would live.
It had been worth it. Her death for this one life. In another part of the world, she knew they were lighting fires for the birth of this child. My hope.
The labor had been incredibly easy, but that was true of all births attended to by Ysabelle Sena, a midwife gifted in the easing of pain. It was a small compensation, the freedom from pain. All Maria cared about was that her child had come into the world with a cry of wonderment, joy to her ears. Even with the pain in her mother's face, Maria felt that this was enough.
She could feel herself slipping in and out of the darkness, but then a firm squeeze from her sister, Margaret, and she opened her eyes. Blue and stormy met green and calm, "Maria, she's beautiful."
Ysabelle brought the child forward, tipping her so that both her daughters could get a look at the newest member of their family, "All ten fingers and ten toes."
She put on a brave face, Ysabelle did. Though deceptively fragile looking because of her small stature, she had a will of steel and for both of them to see her making an effort to keep her resolve was disconcerting.
Ysabelle Sena had survived much in her years. She had outlived her parents and two siblings through one of the major purging of witches in Europe. Twenty years later she had survived the accidental death of her husband, succumbing to weakness only once, resulting in Maria's birth thirteen months after Rafael's death.
Maria looked so like Ysabelle that the mother could have almost claimed the child a clone, except for the green eyes, proof of that moment of weakness between grieving widow and a dead husband's older brother.
I would do it over and over again, Ysabelle thought as she placed a kiss on her daughter's cold cheeks. What are we if have nothing to leave in this life?
It was the same thought she had when Maria had told her she was pregnant. Her headstrong daughter had always known the risks of having a child; doctors had warned her of it for years. But it had always been in her youngest's nature to defy the gods. It was amazing she had survived to adulthood, Ysabelle thought. A shiver ran along her spine as she glanced at her daughter, her face paler than death. Not such a surprise then for one who has time and time again tested the gods.
Maria felt it then. The pain, the worry, the utter sadness. Her words were not comforting, "It is what I wanted, Mother."
Ysabelle nodded, but that did in no way stop the tears from falling. Her baby, her Maria was dying.
The Goddess has much planned for you. May you find the peace that comes with this task, Roman de Luca, the head of Solomon International had told her when she was little older than a child. She had nodded with the fearlessness of the young, accepting what the gods would ask of her – and like her own father accepting what Roman asked of her.
As Ysabelle placed the baby in her hands, Maria did feel an immense peace come over her. If I die before I wake… I leave my daughter for my place to take; she rearranged the English rhyme to her liking.
She saw it then, a light behind her mother. Blinking, the room again came into focus. The light was still there, but blocking it now was Father Juliano. Father, do you see what I have brought into this world? Hope for the future of humanity.
Ysabelle heard the footsteps as someone entered and turned. Juliano. Do you come to judge, or do you come to erase your sins?
"Come see your granddaughter, Juliano… She has your eyes," Margaret said, still holding Maria's hand in her own. Only Margaret would dare acknowledge the clandestine relationship aloud.
As he stepped forward, the light caught in Juliano's green eyes, regarding his niece with little kindness. They were tenuous allies at best – and only when it came to Ysabelle and Maria.
Margaret's own blue eyes narrowed as she saw the jagged blade of his knife before he concealed it in the folds of his robes. Juliano was no fool. If he had thought to kill Maria in her weakened state, he was immediately diverted from the plan when he found both Ysabelle and Margaret there. Separately he did not know if he could take them, together he knew that he could not prevail.
He came closer, his hands crossed in front of him, coming to stand at the empty spot by Maria's right. Across from him Margaret kept her vigil. Slowly he lowered his face to finally look at his own daughter. Her eyelids fluttering as if she were fighting to keep awake. Daughter whispered to father, "Look, Juliano. She's beautiful."
The light was brighter now. And moving towards her. Will I become the devil he thinks I am, or will I go to heaven? Maybe Uncle Rafael will greet me… and I won't be alone.
Lying there, he knew he was undone. There was no way he could kill his only child, no matter what sin had brought her into this world. Leaning forward, Juliano placed a kiss on her forehead and glanced at the baby in her arms, the little eyes still closed. What has become of you, Juliano, that you would take the life of an innocent babe? One whose only sin is being born from a Seed.
His niece on the other hand, there were days Juliano could kill his niece. He straightened again and regarded Margaret whose smile did not reach her eyes. Had she read my mind? It was a residual Craft among the Sena women, but never a strong one.
They were too alike, he and Margaret, his brother's daughter. So quick to judge – right often enough that they made no attempt to change their character – and so slow to forgive. Margaret had always looked at him with Rafael's eyes, blaming him.
He had to remind himself that Margaret was not his concern at the moment.
"You're cold," Juliano noted as his lips left Maria's forehead. He glanced toward Ysabelle who had come to sit on the bed next to Margaret, her eyes filling with tears. She did not say anything, instead twining her hand in their daughter's hair.
"It'll be fine. Everything is going to be fine. Mother. Margaret. Juliano," Maria's eyes fluttered again. What will you do with your life, little one? She asked the baby silently. She hugged her close and took the smell of her in … she smells like life.
"Ysabelle, what's wrong with-" Juliano inquired.
"Will you do me a favor?" Maria interrupted, her head turning towards her sister. The light was so bright!
Margaret's hands were warm as they came to Maria's cheek.
"Anything for you," Margaret replied.
"Make sure they name her Robin. Hiro likes that name," she said her breath labored as she pushed the words out. "And tell her… tell her I loved her."
Juliano thought that his brother's death had changed him, but as his daughter lay dying, holding Robin in her arms, he knew that he had not understand pain until this moment.
Silence reigned between them. Juliano glanced towards the doorway, finding that he felt as if he were the odd man out. It was time for him to leave, to give the women their final privacy.
Maria had other plans and spoke again, "Mother, Margaret, I would like a few moments with Juliano."
Ysabelle's eyes widened with hurt but a look passed between the three of them. Leaning her face close to Maria's, mother and daughter shared a few words and then in a flurry, Maria was left alone with her father and her child.
"Will you give me last rites?" She asked suddenly, her breath labored as she tried to sit up. Juliano arranged the pillows behind her and they looked at each other, green eyes betraying their kinship.
"I thought you were no longer a Catholic," he whispered, but reached for a chair, taking the seat closer to her bed.
"It still comforts me," she said.
He pulled out a rosary and wound his hands around it, saying a prayer over her.
The light was incredibly warm, warmer than Margaret's hand had been, warmer than Ysabelle's breath even. It hovered behind Juliano and Maria reached out for it with one hand, her other hand firmly holding Robin in place.
Juliano swallowed seeing the contentment on her face. "I think that God has already taken care of your future, child."
"Yes, I think He has – no matter what evil you feared inside me, " She brought her hand down and lifted her daughter off her chest, "She is our future… yours, mine, everyone's."
"Toudou-" The order had been given for his extermination. Solomon top brass did not take insubordination lightly.
"I understand," she said. "Will you take care of her, when they come for him?" The light touched her face and she smiled brightly. I am not afraid.
"I will try."
"Thank you... Father." She lifted the babe in her arms, towards him and all he could do was nod as he finally held his granddaughter. She was a tiny thing like Maria had been. She blinked, and emerald eyes stared into his. For the second time in a little over twenty years, he understood the concept of unconditional love.
He glanced back at his daughter, to tell her his revelation but it was too late for his admission. His heart stopped for a second as he saw that she stared at him with unseeing eyes, the look of peace on her face.
Closing her eyes, he prayed, "God be with you, my child."
Boston, Massachusetts
"Scholars believe that the Catholic savior was most likely born in spring," Henri said casually as he and Sienna shared some of her mother's spiked cider. He flinched as the taste hit the back of his throat.
Roman Lucas, their father, moved from the window and turned to regard the three people in the room. His daughter Sienna sat uncharacteristically quiet as she used the cider to keep her hands warm.
Roman's second oldest, Henri hated silence even more so and continued in his attempt to draw Sienna out of her reverie, "Perhaps we should start demanding that Christmas be celebrated near the summer solstice instead of winter's."
Sienna continued to ignore him, her eyes locked somewhere on the opposite wall, the oil painting of the nativity dominating. Carlo gave it a secondary glance, wondering if the child born that day over two thousand years ago would have preferred to stay in heaven had he known God's plan.
He wondered about the child born this longest night. What did her future hold? And his old eyes settled on his son, Carlo. They passed each other in their move to exchange places, Roman to take the seat and Carlo to take the spot by the window.
Carlo gazed out into the back of their home. The acolytes had lit the pyres, five of them in the shape of a perfect star. From his vantage point on the third floor, Carlo could make out Sienna's mother walking the perimeter of the star, creating a rim of fire. They all wore white, but his stepmother Amara was the only one who could drag the fires from the pyres.
Carlo thought it was an odd mixture of old and new as he watched the telltale flash of Amara's cell phone as she pulled it from her robes to her ear. The phone on his father's desk rang and Roman picked it up.
"Yes? I saw… Juliano called?... I see. And the child? … Perfect. What was… Robin…. Robin Sena. A good name… Yes, continue…. I'll make the arrangements," He placed the receiver back on its cradle and settled back in his seat.
An ocean separated them, but Carlo knew that Maria had passed from this world into the next. He shivered and would have sworn that he heard her voice in his head. But even he did not have that strong a gift. The dead spoke to him, to Roman even, but they were the dead that roamed the old house, the streets of Boston – not the dead of thousands of miles away. For a moment, he wished he had that power.
"Maria died giving birth toa girl child," Roman whispered. "They have named her Robin Sena."
Henri stood and in passing Sienna, he squeezed her shoulder. She was about four years younger the Maria and the two young women were close friends. She seemed to crumble under her brother's touch and he grabbed the cider from her hands as doubled over, crying into her hands.
Roman hated tears. He looked again at the oil painting, and remembered the young woman whose smile had lit up a room. Ah, Maria, braver than any of us in the end, the thought to himself wiping the sting of tears in his eyes.
"Tonight is not just the longest night of the entire year," Henri whispered to his brother as he came to stand by him still holding his sister's cup. "It will be the longest night for the next 10,000 years."
Carlo remained impassive; fire reflected in his storm blue eyes. Henri gave the cup to Carlo, and he drank it quickly throwing his head back.
Henri continued, "It means that this will be her darkest night. No other night will hold such fear for our little Robin, Carlo. There will always be more light in her future than the day she was born."
It did little to comfort Carlo's soul.
Italy, Christmas Day…
Most of them wore white, Maria's favorite color. They walked the hills outside of the village she had lived in all her life, hundreds of them from far and wide.
"My Maria would have wanted it this way," Ysabelle whispered as she stood next to Juliano.
He could hear the tears in her voice, even though he dared not look in her direction, those blue eyes had always been his greatest weakness. Instead he continued to stare at the pyre set in the middle of the field, his Maria – her Maria – ah their Maria lying in state on a bier of cypress. With Maria's death, his greatest sin was ended…. But his greatest grief had begun.
He heard a cry and turned to see Margaret walking towards them, the baby cooing in her arms. He fought the urge to take Robin away from her aunt. The young woman stopped a few inches from them, her blue eyes locking with Juliano's and pain crossed her face. He knew what she saw, Maria's eyes in his older face.
Though both headstrong like their mother, Margaret had always been the stronger daughter. When her father had died, Margaret had not even cried. Something in the five year old child had turned against God that day and Juliano knew that she was following a path he could not stop her from taking. He wondered then, if his younger brother looked down at them – Rafael had been the true saint among them – and still saw something worth saving.
Robin is worth saving, I believe, Juliano thought and instinctively reached for his granddaughter.
"Mother, everyone is ready," Margaret spoke, handing the baby to Juliano. They shared a glance. For Margaret, Juliano was the only one who understood the loss of a sibling. Ironic that the death of the one person they loved the most gave them an understanding into each other.
Though Juliano understood their pain was nothing compared to Ysabelle's. He had loved Maria, but never been a father to her – his devotion spoken for by Church, Solomon, Roman Lucas.
Ysabelle had raised both the girls alone, and while Margaret had the security of being her father's child, Maria had born the stigma of being a bastard – born over a year after Rafael had died. Ysabelle had protected her daughter with a vengeance.
Juliano knew that Maria had figured out their real relationship – she was a smart girl, or perhaps Margaret had figured it out and both had taken it with aplomb beyond their years. After all their most important roles had always been as Ysabelle's daughters, nothing more important.
Until they became of age, silly man, Ysabelle had said in one of her rare moments when they could actually speak to each other without twenty years of guilt between them.
His eyes settled on Toudou Hiroshi. Hiro. His eyes narrowed at the man who had used Maria. She had been such an innocent, duped by what she thought was kindness, but Juliano knew his type – Toudou was a creature of some higher god. Juliano understood the concept, Solomon had ruled most of his life. For Hiro it had been science. He does not even care about his own child.
He looked at his granddaughter, searching in her green eyes any signs of Toudou and finding to his satisfaction that there was nothing there – wisps of blonde hair grew in patches and her eyes were completely Maria's. Like your mother before you, you may as well have passed completely from a woman. There is no hand of man in you, my lovely Robin.
Toudou, as if he knew he was being watched turned to regard the odd trio of guardians they made around Robin. He was afraid of Juliano – the man was the greatest hunter ever produced by Solomon, and Toudou was no fool. Juliano had named the girl Robin Sena, and Toudou had not fought it, reluctantly foregoing any connection between him and the child.
It made him look like a coward to Juliano, but he hoped that it would protect the girl. Robin, I do all of this for you and your mother. Remember me kindly when the time comes.
He turned to watch the setting sun behind the pyre. He had been one of the first ones to arrive on the scene and he had gotten a good look at Maria. As in life, there was calmness about her he had always admired. Truth, he had found her fascinating because she was a child of the Sena line, but in a very short period of time he found himself falling in love with the angel she was. In the end they had made their peace, and it was enough to know that they had settled everything between them – even if the rest of the world did not.
Juliano was distracted from other thoughts of Toudou when he felt the heat flowing from Ysabelle beside him. For a second he looked around the crowd with the eyes of a hunter instead of a priest. If she uses her Craft, will I be able to take her down?
He calmed as he finally did stare into her blue eyes. There was grief plain to see, but no madness. He had seen enough madness in his time: the emptiness in the eyes of one who had come to their Craft late in light. Ysabelle and her kin came to their Craft early, some around the same time they began to walk.
He had waited to see if Maria's power would manifest early, and when she had passed her thirteenth year without even the slightest show of Craft, Juliano had prayed for three days straight to his God in thanks.
Today he truly wondered for the first time in his life… if having Craft meant that she would have had some power to survive her daughter's birth, would he have wished it otherwise? He pushed the thought into the deepest recess of his soul with all the other things he did not want to rehash.
Margaret stepped forward, following a few steps behind Ysabelle. The sun was low in the sky and it would only be a few moments before they would light the pyre. A wave of emotion shot through Margaret as she remembered the last time she had spoken with Maria. She faltered in her step -
"You won't tell anyone will you?" Maria had asked, pressing her hands into Margaret's. They were in Margaret's house in Rome, and Maria had dragged her older sister up the stairs to her private room.
"Does he even know?" Margaret wondered, staring at her sister's lovely face.
Maria nodded, "Yes he knows... and you… and Sienna. Sienna knows… So the four of us, always the four of us."
"Goddess, Maria, what were you thinking?"
She shrugged, "I wasn't. I just wanted to feel loved for the first time, really, really loved, Margaret. You understand that, don't you?"
"So it was just once?"
Maria blushed, shaking her head, her hand finding the roundness of her belly the most fascinating thing in her young life. "It was only supposed to be once… but, oh, Margaret, it was so-"
"I don't need the details, sister."
Maria giggled and then her voice just above a whisper asked, "You don't hate me, do you?"
Hate? There could be no hate between these sisters.
Ysabelle's eyes scanned the crowd as she continued in her steady move forward.. They narrowed as she fell on the man who dared to get close to the bier. Hiroshi Toudou. The man her daughter had married, the man who Ysabelle blamed for all this, even though part of her knew it was irrational. She made a step towards Toudou and found a hand at her elbow.
"Mother."
Ysabelle blinked as she and Margaret locked gazes, "Margaret. They're all here."
"Yes, Mother, they're all here."
It was Margaret's turn to scrutinize the crowd one last time. It was then that she saw him. He stood close to the pyre, a little behind Toudou, but no one could miss him and his family. Roman de Luca – Lucas, Margaret corrected herself, Roman Lucas. They had changed their name in America from the Italian. They were a mix of anyway as Roman always had an eye for exotic women. His first wife was Japanese, and his second was Greek.
Roman caught Margaret staring and nodded by way of greeting. In due time, he would catch up with Margaret Colegui. He glanced once back at his oldest friend. Something in Juliano had changed with the death of the girl. He no longer belonged to Solomon completely, Roman understood. I should have let you go a long time ago, old friend.
Next to him, Sienna sniffled and he passed her a tissue. Jesus H. Christ, Maria, why did you have to die? We were supposed to live forever! Rule Solomon! She lifted her gaze to the various Hunters standing at the perimeter. Even from the distance between them she could make out Colin – he was the only one who looked at the pyre instead of Roman.
Henri shivered as the winds picked up. The cold didn't bother him, but the enormity of the occasion did. He watched them all, these people who were players in a game. The Colegui priest, the Sena matriarch, Margaret of the knowing eyes, Hiro Toudou – ah even Hiro had a place in this game. And of course, the heart of Solomon itself, the Lucas Family. He had always desired an exciting life, but he never thought that the death of a good friend would be involved. He frowned. His pain was nothing compared to the men Maria had loved. That is why I always stayed away from the beautiful ones.
Nicholas Lucas, age three, buried his head in his mother's hair. Andrea smoothed his dark blonde hair with one hand as she stood next to her husband, both of them looking to the pyre. Nudging him with her shoulder she managed, "I'm sorry."
She did not elaborate on what she was sorry for. They had loved each other for too long to play any kind of games.
Carlo continued to stare forward, not daring to answer. Earlier as he had Walked to the field he had finally seen Maria's ghost. She had smiled, oddly enough, and spoken only once before disappearing. He did not expect to ever see her ghost again.
But he knew the words would haunt him forever, "Carlo, she is in all your hands now."
Ysabelle and Margaret came closer to the pyre, the heat emanating from the older woman in waves. Margaret brushed her mother's white hair from her face, and placed a kiss on her cheek. "Let it be done, Mother."
Ysabelle agreed. She walked up the wooden ladder, until she stood right above Maria's head. They let her long blonde hair free, framing her beautiful face and falling over both shoulders. It was Margaret who had chosen the simple sleeveless white dress, her favorite – she will feel no more cold, nor heat, nor pain – but it was Ysabelle who had placed the long lace shroud over her body.
Standing for the final time, over her daughter she promised silently, God and Goddess be damned. You have taken too much from me. Too much I will no longer allow this without exacting my own price.
Margaret came up another ladder, the setting sun forming a halo around her. Leaning her face forward she placed a kiss on her sister's cheek, her lips over the shroud, "Robin will never want for anything, Maria. Ever."
With shaking hands, Ysabelle folded the shroud, letting the final rays of the sun touch her daughter and following the sun-kiss with her own., "Even fire will not burn you away from my heart, sweet child."
Gingerly, mother and daughter made their way down the ladders until they were again on firm ground. Ysabelle faltered in her step, and Maria was there to catch her. When Ysabelle turned one last time to look up at her daughter's final resting place she touched her hand to wood, and the flames came. Her Craft.
It burned slowly, as all of Ysabelle's fires did. Then she felt another movement, another person putting power to her flames. Amara Lucas, dragged the flame from the pyre and created a pentagram in the ground. My deepest regrets to you and yours, a voice whispered in her head as the flames became ten feet high.
Only one other person there had that kind of power. Over the fire, Roman Lucas' eyes danced with his own Craft as he met Ysabelle's gaze head on. Maria had always put much worth in Roman's approval. And today, because of that respect, Ysabelle was willing to hold truce with the man responsible for the deeds of the Solomon Organization.
But they both understood it would last for only so long.