Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else belongs to me. No harm intended or money made from this fic.
Notes:
~ Chapter ~
::Thoughts or telepathy::
Author's Note: PG13 for violence. Don't forget to check out the Reviews section!
Additional Note: The chapter underwent a slight bit of reformatting based on some feedback. I hope you find this arrangement more pleasing, Eleia!
Dedication: I'd like to send out heartfelt thanks to three wonderful ladies. This chapter is for you! To Juliana, ever the first to read my crazy ideas, always ready with a calm reassurance, or insightful question. To Karen, who cheers me on from across the vast water and simply, seriously, sincerely tells me to keep writing. And to Elisabeth Carrey*, for faithful and often surprising reviews, and for 'balance'. =)
* For those of you who do not know Elisabeth, her marvelous VD fic Always can be found on Twilight Tales (www.ttales.net).
~ Thirteen ~
They were in the attic. Alone, the fools.
The hunter, the one who had signed the Post-It, was guarding the Enemy. They were an incongruous sight; two striking young women, one blond, the other redheaded. They looked more decorative than threatening.
But then, appearances were so misleading.
The redhead spoke up, taking a step forward and raising a blade made of laminated wood. "Nigel Emery." The pronouncement was acknowledgement and challenge all in one.
Ah, yes. That was what humans were calling him these days. Nigel Emery. Dark Power. He rather enjoyed the conceit of it.
"Crystal Baron," he returned. His voice was a deep growl and strangely artificial, like a synthesized sound effect. "You sent a challenge. I answered."
"And so good of you to," the human purred. The air whistled as she flipped her sword up to guard position. "Shall we begin?"
And she rushed him. A stupid tactic to take when one's opponent was larger and stronger than one but the human made up for it with sheer ferocity. He shifted position slightly and brought his blade up to parry the blow. The wooden blade sounded dully against his metal one.
They each backed away two steps and began to circle each other. By silent signal, they met again to exchange a flurry of sword strokes then disengaged. He took her measure, as the fight progressed, but had a feeling she was not observing him as keenly.
The one she called Nigel had met his share of arrogant humans in his time, but this one was unique in that she was nearly as good as she believed herself to be. Her style reflected her nature: headstrong and brutally direct. She knew the art of swordplay, no doubt, but she did not have as strong a grasp of the psychology of it. In her mind, the focus was on her own abilities rather than her adversary's skill and every attack was meant to defeat.
He, on the other hand, had learned long ago to gauge each opponent carefully, taking note of both strengths and weaknesses. He had seen too many skilled fighters brought down by their overconfidence to let his guard down. It was not a matter of survival but of pride. To win, he told himself, one must never let one's ego surpass one's good sense.
The laminated wood held an edge very well, as he found out when she managed to get a thrust past his guard. Blood welled up, as red as any human's, before the wound closed. A feral grin fixed on her lips.
He repaid her with a long, deep slash in her left side. Hissing in pain, she backed off momentarily. Her face set into an obstinate look and she bent carefully to pull a knife from her boot. Her fiery green eyes clashed with his as she dared him to react to this. He simply held out his sword in invitation. Holding the second blade in guard position before her, she reentered the fray.
Slash and parry, feint and thrust, upstroke and down, back and forth, they fell into the hypnotic rhythm of the dance of steel. Each scored nicks and cuts on the other's arms, legs, bodies, but the hunter was tiring and her wounds did not heal instantaneously. Drops of blood and sweat flew when she moved. Pain slowed her down.
He had been enjoying himself but was quickly becoming bored.
The next time she lunged, he sidestepped and moved behind her. The falchion carved a bright arch and then the rich red hair fell onto the floor. She whirled to face him. Her eyes dropped to the mass of hair then rose to his face furiously. Her lips drew back in a snarl.
She attacked, but he was changing the rules of the game. Her swipes did not find him; he was too fast. He bashed her with the flat of his blade and felt the fragile bones in her hands shatter. First one, then another weapon slipped from her fingers.
In a rage, the fool human actually swung at him with her arm. He caught her hand and, crushing the already fragmented bones, broke her forearm. The twin bones there snapped like twigs and she screamed once, sharp and short.
She turned, trying to keep him in her sights but wasn't quick enough. Without warning, he stood behind her. Grabbing a handful of her shorn hair, he jerked her head back.
"I win," he said before he simultaneously plunged his blade into her body and dug his teeth into her bared neck. When he released her, she slid off the sword and onto the bare wooden floor, lying in a pool of her own blood.
He raised his blade in mock salute and turned his attention elsewhere. To the Enemy, who was staring at her companion with wide blue eyes.
"And now, my dear, for you," he advanced on her, throwing aside the falchion. He wouldn't need it. He stalked her step for step as she backed away. She didn't whimper or cry out but he could sense the terror emanating from her.
"So you are the human who will bring an end to vampires. I wonder if you taste any different from other humans? I look forward to finding out." He stood over her and paused, enjoying the way she all but cowered in his shadow.
Downstairs, the grandfather clock began to toll the midnight hour.
Solstice.
The blonde, who had looked terrified, straightened at the sound. A strange look crossed her face, slightly blank, but with dawning recognition. And, disturbingly, serene competence. She leaned forward and said clearly: "Naii sempoe e'ya ...Kier Achmed." I know you… Kier Achmed.
That shocked him; first, that she knew his Name. No earthly being – save the others of his kind – should be able to Name him. And secondly, that she spoke in the language of his brethren.
She reached over and enfolded him in her arms; that was the third – and final – shock.
He felt his being unravel, dissolve. His consciousness was like a whirlpool that swirled into oblivion before caving in on itself.
In the next instant, Kier Achmed – Death's dark brother, one of the seven, Old One, immortal – ceased to exist.
"And now, my dear, for you."
Elena backed away a step. The blooded sword landed with a clatter on the floor.
"So you are the human who will bring an end to vampires. I wonder if you taste any different from other humans?"
All too quickly, she met with the wall. A furious part of her mind cursed for idiotically backing herself into a corner, but the larger part of her attention was frozen, watching the other continue to advance.
Her heart sank and hopelessness clogged her throat. She emptied herself, released her consciousness of this body, sent her awareness out, trying desperately to reach that one beloved presence. ::Stefan... goodbye...::
"I look forward to finding out," the resonant voice rumbled. She stared at him, uncomprehending.
::I love you...::
Just then, the clock struck midnight.
One...
Something swelled within her, filing her. She felt calm and drew herself up, no longer afraid.
Two...
Something... something was telling her what to do... showing her... him. "Naii sempoe e'ya ...Kier Achmed." The words flowed out of her mouth as naturally as her own name.
Three...
Without thinking about it, she reached out and pulled him into her embrace. The feeling inside her grew and poured into him everywhere they came into contact. She felt it swirl there, in him, seeming to take him in.
Four...
The body she held lost substance. All the Power in him and that was him – from the lives he had taken and his centuries of existence – spun invisibly in her grasp. At first, it was almost pleasurable. It flowed into her, filling a space she hadn't realized was echoingly, achingly hollow. She felt rejuvenated. Strong. But when she was filled to bursting, the maelstrom still raged, undiminished. It hurt…
Five...
The Power struck out at her like a live thing; sharp needles of pain, and phantom, excruciating lacerations along her skin, or dull, debilitating aches deep in her bones. It strained against her hold, demanding to be unleashed. She could not control it...
Six...
The world tore asunder. A frigid wind howled, the earth trembled insistently. Rain fell but strangely did not quench the fires that sprang up. Lightning danced across the sky, thunder growled menacingly.
Seven...
Elena stood frozen in the midst of it all; head flung back, agony twisting her face.
Eight...
The contents of the attic rattled and were flung about in the chaos.
Nine...
It was the Solstice. She half-glimpsed something – reached for it–
Ten...
Elena caught the opening in the Veil, wrenched it open– "Gilbert means... "
Eleven...
A promise.
Twelve...
Lapis lazuli eyes opened wide.
I remember now.
Power streamed through the gap into the spirit realm. Slowly, slowly, the wind died down, earth stilled, the rain slowed to a drizzle and the fire fizzled out. The skies cleared up; lightning ceased and thunder retreated. The attic settled down into a mess.
Elena let the opening slip from her hold, barely noticing it close seamlessly. She sank to her knees and buried her face in her hands. Warm fingers encircled her arms, the grip firm but not painful. She knew, without looking, who it was. She needed time right then and did not bother to acknowledge him right away. Nor did he rush her, merely continuing to lend his presence and silent support.
Eventually, she peered up at him. Locks of golden hair straggled into her face, but she did not notice them. There was horror in her lapis eyes. She needed affirmation of what she now knew.
"What am I?" she demanded in a whisper. Jerrick's grip never faltered and his face was serene, calm.
"A promise, Elena. You are a promise. To nature. To me."
Author's Note: So. What do you think?