Chapter IV: The Awakening
The room felt like a furnace.
A massive oak table stood in the centre, fifteen feet long with seven benches stacked neatly to either side. Originally, there had been eight, but the missing wood crackled like matches, the waves of heat glistening from a colossal fireplace at the far end of the room. As if the fire were not enough, eight candle-stands had been placed sporadically about, the beeswax melting at an alarming rate, the flickering light casting shadows on several books, a 13th century cupboard, and a broom which had been abandoned in a hurry. Careful with their last few steps, Lucian avoided the broom and headed directly for the dining table, nodded at Raze and painstakingly lowered the basin to the floor. As he straightened, he noticed the absence of dust. The vampire may have scarpered, but to his credit, he had put himself to good use before leaving—probably for one of the storage rooms. No point in seeking him out if he did not have the stomach for their task.
"Carve the meat, then bury the second carcass," Lucian instructed beneath his breath, his gaze roving intently about the room, searching for the only occupant besides themselves. Only a second to find her, though she was by no means in the same spot in which he had left her. In the shadow of the cupboard, she rested, her body curled away from the fire, frozen in the same position she had been in the catacombs. Spindly arms, the shape of bones showing clearly through the skin. He had seen vampires at their worst before, but even those had been preserved to some extent, their bodies kept in storage and their blood protected.
A wonder she was not dead.
Beside him, Raze was growling softly, his silver eyes fixed on the blood-seer's face, his teeth edged to the point. Even the man's neck was taut as a lycan fighting the instinct to kill. It was an instinct that Lucian had fostered in every pack member, though Raze was by far one of the strongest claimants to his mantra. For a moment, Lucian closed his eyes, inhaling the razor-sharp scent that had jumped from constant obedience to unyielding vigilance…and then he spoke.
"Not today, old friend," he commanded, deep words rolling off his tongue, for once granting Raze that title which spoke of the many centuries between them. Like a quiet touch, the word breaking through the stiffness, dispelling the iron force in the dark lycan's stance. He could not fault Raze for his reaction. It could be difficult, reigning one's temper in the face of the unknown. As if seeing for the first time, the man blinked and then breathed deeply, the sound of a great creature finding the surface after losing his footing. As if nothing had happened, he turned on his heel for the door, once again focused on his next task, as if the survival of the world were based on completing it.
When the door closed behind him, Lucian relaxed, the tautness of his own frame easing away as if it had never been. If he had been forced to, he would have guarded this latest item of trade…even from a member of his own pack.
And eventually, he would have to guard it. Once he brought the blood-seer to the home den, he would have to soothe an entire pack. Teach them that tolerance was required for the greater good; that there was an advantage to be had from having a bloodseer in their reach. For like those before her, this woman could read blood, almost to the point of prediction. She could see the prospect of memories, the likelihood of choices, the path of a life as it might turn out. It was only harsh irony that Viktor had executed them all before they could flee their own fate. The blood of seers spilled as they spilled their secrets.
The Purge, it was called.
Taking a step towards the fire and warming his hands, he studied her face, tracing a path across the floor with his eyes. Though she slept, he was starting to believe Tanis had not moved her. Fleeing warmth, she had dragged herself to the floor, hauling her fragile body as far from the candles, flame, and light as she could get. The pale skin appearing in even worse condition under the shadows. The rat smell growing with the heat…and for all that she breathed, he was starting to have a very strong aversion to touching her.
Yet he had dealt with far more disgusting things in his lifetime. It was like skinning the deer…a chore that had to be done. Instead, he found himself checking the position of his knife, making certain the blade would not be in his way. He flexed his fingers, raising his arms above his head and stretching, taking care to loosen any taut muscles in his back. This was worse than Tanis. Only a foot away from a vampire, and all he needed to do was pick her up.
Except he was dawdling. Ten seconds later, he had dropped into a crouch, resting his jaw on his fingers and the upside-down V that they formed. In part, he understood what was stalling him. How many years since he had touched a vampire woman without breaking her neck in the process? Without stabbing her, gutting her, shoving her into sunlight. Four centuries to be exact. And in theory, this task was far less complicated. All he had to do was pick her up. Think of her as a deer, wrap an arm around her back…and pick her up.
Surely picking up a woman was easier than killing her?
A moment passed.
He blinked, realising he had to think before answering that question. Where had his compassion gone? He had once been kind…discerning of those who required care. Surely this woman deserved a measure of sympathy. Eighteen years in the catacombs. Hunted as an exile for only God knew how many centuries before that. It was enough hardship for several lifetimes…
Hardship.
He understood that…
Feeling as though he had just climbed a second mountain, he bent forward and carefully slipped his left arm around her back, gently taking hold of her legs beneath the knees. The eyes remained closed, the flesh wrinkled around sunken cheeks. Shallow breathing and barely a hint to show she was alive. He began to rise, drawing her up with him, her body weighing less than a child. Less like a woman than a putrid bag of bones. Her head lolled against his shoulder in the midst of her slumber, and abruptly, his jaw tightened, every muscle recoiling, a strong feeling of repugnance washing over him…
Her skin was touching him.
Glad there was no one to see his discomfort, he quickly took the last five steps to the table and awkwardly set her down, gradually removing his right arm from beneath her knees. Like a mummified statue, she remained in her curled position and with care, he lowered her gently to the wood, keeping her spine towards the fire. Almost immediately, she shifted in her sleep, lips parting slightly, her fingers starting to clench.
Damn.
He froze, a wolf caught in the trap, one hand underneath her back, holding his breath as she settled into the new position. A bead of sweat trailing down his brow, an itch rising along his back…all manner of things tempting him to move, yet he remained motionless, watching and waiting, eager to get this over as quickly as possible. There was a faint sound of rasping as she inhaled again, sleep still gripping her body, her mind unaware of the ceremony he was about to perform…one made all the more wretched for the lack of tubing. He did not enjoy being trapped, and like the temptation to move, he now felt a strong, albeit impulsive, urge to just hit her over the head. Anything to make her settle faster…except the blow would likely kill her as well. The seconds continued to tick by in his head...four seconds…eight seconds…ten…
Finally, she stilled.
Tasting blood, Lucian removed his arm and took a careful step back. Normally, he would not be so tender…but her body was in the most decrepit condition. She had to remain sleeping for as long as possible, for every scrap of energy would be needed once the ceremony began.
He was not so much a monster as to ignore that.
Or was he?
In the corner of his eyes, he became aware of the flames. The thought of himself as a monster. Biting and ruthless, unable to quench his own bloodlust. After the war began, the Elders had done everything in their power to taint his name. Lucian, the most ruthless keeper of the lycan hoard, the fiendish demon that terrorised the masses. The newer generations believed he had always existed in the wild. Those from the older days believed he had gone mad. Rabid. It was an infamous caricature, the smallest of vampire children being aware of his wickedness. His so-called death, and the legend that followed him. The vampire's version of Ivan the Terrible.
Again, the woman shifted and he focused on the back of her skull. Whatever lay in her past, she could thank Viktor for the execution of the blood-seers. For that…if she did not wake fully, he would count it as mercy and kill her while she slept. A knife through the back of the head. Quick and painless.
Silently, he drew the skinning knife from his side and stepped forward, cutting through the woman's shift, the tattered cloth parting easily to reveal a mottled spine covered in pale skin. He held a portion of the shift up to the light, studying its texture. The style was generic enough, the cotton fabric appropriate to any number of women. He might have known more of her background if it had been a different fabric. He shifted his attention lower, the light flickering against the dark patch of skin burned into her flank. It was the reason he had placed her on the table rather than directly in the basin. Reaching out, he touched the edge of the mark and then held the skin taut, tracing its outline…
In direct view of the firelight, it looked as if the brand were only a century old, the flesh seared with ink, the mark gouged and barely faded. Like the lycan version, the shape was circular, almost three inches in diameter with the initial of an elder in the centre. The only obvious difference being the tiny symbol of an open eye in the outer ring, rather than a roman numeral. An open eye that stood for bloodseer.
As for the elder's initial…
H.
What did H stand for?
Disconcerted, he left the brand alone, knowing his questions would have to wait until after the Awakening. Drawing her body up a second time, he gingerly lowered her into the wooden basin where she slumped forward, the frail body barely fitting into the confines, blood pooling around her emaciated legs. The words of a treatise drifting through his mind as he studied the veins in her back…
"It is said…
…one need only commit the first hint of new blood. The vampire will spread it, turning dust into water and waking the heart, rousing the veins and forcing the body into life. As the veins heal themselves, the awakened one regains strength and memories. Veins must be 'tempered' along the spine, slowly and precisely given blood over the course of a night. Painful, yet bearable in that the body heals as quickly as it is tempered."
Behind, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching, the handle turning as the smell of a lycan entered the room. Raze had finished burying the second animal. Fiercely collected, the man was again staring at the blood-seer with a mixture of hatred and unease…but by his smell, he was ready for what lay ahead.
And so it begins, thought Lucian, rising from the ground only to kneel by the stone fireplace as if in supplication, the skinning knife already in his right hand. He held the blade out to the flame, the fire eating along the edge, flickering from side to side, disinfecting every trace over burning wood. Entranced, he passed the rest of the treatise through his mind.
As it was written…
"...only in the case of a half-sleep should the veins then be tempered by hand. The body must be woken by hand. The new blood spread by hand. For those who cannot turn dust to blood, they must have it turned for them."
And in order to do that…
Almost casually, he removed the red-hot blade from the fire.
… she would need a shock.
He turned towards the table, carrying the blade before him with care. Immediately, Raze got out of his way, taking a step back. Lucian only had eyes for the blood-seer. Kneeling by the basin, he ran a gentle hand along her spine, the skin dry and unbroken...but that would change soon enough. Lines would run down her back, her arms, her side, her throat. He would make her feel every vein as if it were a stream trying to bear an ocean. As if her body were made of a hundred cords, tightening and twisting until she resembled only muscle.
Every precise cut would force her to seek after the deers' lifeblood. He would strip every vein from underneath, forcing her to heal it, forcing the process to spread along the spinal and cerebral veins. There would be much pain, but only when he was sure that new blood was mingling with the old, and that her mind had returned in completeness would he halt…
…until then, she would simply have to feel the weight of his knife upon her back.
"Hold her down," Lucian murmured quietly to Raze, a very tiny part of his conscience regretting the pain he was about to inflict on this woman. "…and cover her mouth before she starts screaming."
She would not thank him for saving her life, but he did not need her gratitude. He would wake her from the sleep, and she would resume her trade for him. The first blood-seer ever to aid the lycan cause…
Already he could feel the tides changing.
…o…o…o…o…o…o…o…o…o…
A few doors down, Tanis crouched behind an empty winecask, still nursing the shallow burns he had received while sneaking out of the dining room. If he had his full strength, it would have healed by now. Like the blood-seer, it had been many years since he had fed normally. And at least she slept through most of the years, he thought bitterly. Or at least half-slept. He grimaced slightly, thinking of her teeth on his wrist. Her teeth on his wrist. It wasn't right that Lucian made him feed her. She wouldn't even absorb the blood anyway until…
Abruptly, a muted scream came from the other room.
He stilled, listening, his face paling for a moment as he realised Lucian had begun the Awakening. There was no sound of movement or scuffling. Only the keening of an animal. He remembered that scream. Unable to stand it, Tanis covered his ears and tried to block out the sound. She had to survive the procedure. She had to survive. The moment she died, Lucian would find him and kill him…and if not Lucian, then the hunger.
She had to survive…please let her survive…
…but for what?
Clutching at his ears, he began to tremble.
He had sold her to a beast.
A/N: My goodness, Lucian's being dreadful to this woman.
Regarding the chapter, as you may have noticed, it took me a bit longer than expected to post, and as with the third, I'll be double-checking it over the next day or so. Please feel free to read and review everyone, as reviews keep me writing. (Alright, I will tell the truth a second time...even if there were no reviews, I'd write the story anyway, but reviews make me write it faster.)
Speaking of which, many thanks to ThranduilsDaughter for the most recent review!
Reference:
I hope the half-Awakening makes sense. Just in case, here's a quick explanation.
Because the blood-seers' veins are still awake and circulating, they've been circulating clotted blood for as long as she's been half-asleep. (It's a bit like trying to circulate sludge through a pipe.) When she drinks new blood, she can't really spread it or mingle it with the old blood because her veins are basically clogged. Lucian, when he goes in with the knife, is trying to clear them up a bit as well force new blood into areas where it might not reach otherwise. He stops when it becomes clear, her body's started spreading the blood. I would imagine it's a rather messy process...and I doubt the blood-seer would like it very much. (Hopefully, Lucian is more civil in chapter five. We shall see.)
Note: This is largely different from a full Awakening because in that case, the veins are in the same prime condition they were in at the time of hibernation.