A Third Reality - Chapter Two: London

London is, naturally, a wonderfully bewitching place, and when my senses were raised to levels beyond my imagination, so did the grace of the destinations that I traveled to. In the dark of English night, one such as myself could feel ultimate solitude, and in such, ultimate togetherness with my kind. I could stare up into the gorgeousness of the night and question upon the possibility and origin of the constellations above. The sparkling specks of light that shine their way through the black darkness in multitudes of millions represent, in a way, my own life thus far. The luminous points of unclouded space rung through the darkness and spun a web like a spider where they glowed like fresh dew. They may not even have existed anymore, but their brilliance remained, glowing out like the embers of the very fire that I sat before. Yes, the stars are stunning, in their very own way that nothing else can duplicate; though a full, cold moon would capture my senses away from any amount of celestial diamonds. The chalky orb makes my blood run hot and cold at the same time, allowing my body to rest yet filling my muscles with an extreme dose of adrenaline. That perfect sphere, rotating ever around our imperfect world does so like a smooth magnet drawn to a pile of nails, ever following and repeating the motion, yet not realizing that it is supreme. The moon awakes my senses as it awakes and sleeps at every change in the tide. The moon is my goddess, my love. She alone binds my soul to this unfortunate future that destiny had chosen for me. She alone holds my strength in check. Without her I could be anything or everything that I wished to be, however without her, I would be reduced to inexistence. She nurtures my life in one of her great craters, forever deepening into the depths of her white soil. She holds my life, my death, my existence and my inability to exist. As I stared out the window at her magnificent form, only partly warmed by the fire that could have licked my very skin and left my flesh untouched, I wondered, what in the name of Mother Mary can she possibly have planned for me? And often I thought indeed I could hear her reply, “You have no idea, Alemeth, no idea at all.”

It was such a night on the eve before my world was to change forever. I sat in a small room that Camuel had rented for the both of us for the night wondering upon my human existence and wondering what in the world I had gotten myself into. The familiar smells of humanity drifted in an out of my nostrils, playing with my mind.

“A penny for your thoughts, m’ boy,” The voice came from the moth-eaten cot beside the wall. I must have looked rather suspicious, for Camuel hardly ever said anything that was simply conversational.

“Camuel, you and I both know my thoughts are not worth quite that much… I was merely thinking about…” I laughed at the irony, “Just thinking about life.”

A rougher laugh than I had mustered emerged from the figure at the wall. So harsh it may have long ago been sand-paper. By now though, the grit has been worn off and the laugh is the chalky and rough remains of what lays under the sand. “Alemeth, Alemeth… It does not do well to allow your thoughts to drift on the past. Those times are over and you must be thinking of the future.”

The old voice spoke with and of wisdom but I could not seem to force my nostalgic mind off the events of my life. It seemed important, somehow, and no matter how I tried it had become a second nature to dwell upon my mysterious past. The future is a scary world, that can hold your most frightening monsters should you allow it; while the past is a comfort, filled with long, safe memories. Apparently, Camuel could read these thoughts on my face and spoke.

“Alemeth, there will come a time when I can no longer help you, when I will not be here to protect you from this cruel world. When this a time comes, looking back will mean your doom. And it will be imperative that you look to the future. Do you understand what I’m saying Alemeth? A time will come when you must look forward.”

The feeling of exhaustion that so often played across his old, tired eyes was now replaced by a look of urgency and a panging guilt that showed how much this meant to him. However, the moment was soon gone and the expression was imprisoned by the usual lonely tiredness held in his old face. Again my face must have deceived my emotions, for again he answered the question I had in my mind.

“M’ boy, we are immortal, but just because we shall never die is no reason to have notion that we shall ever live.” The words rang in my ears for a considerable time after he said them, as though there was some discernable echo in the small, tightly packed chamber. The sentence bade unanswered questions rise to the foremost part of my mind. Before I could ask them, however, the subject was irreversibly closed.

“Bah, you won’t want to hear an old soul ramble on about questions that you will never really know the answer to.”

He coughed. A deep racking sound that echoed like the queries throughout the entire shack and sent chilly memories of sickness into my mind. But it was his words that ran true in my heart. Never die… Never live… This truly must be a curse straight from hell.

“Camuel… There is no way? Is it certain that we shall never die? There must be some way around it.”

“I do not wish to speak of it.” There was a pause. He was withholding information from me; information that would be crucial to my survival.

“Do I not deserve the right to know? Could not I ask the first night dweller I came upon should I choose to walk out these doors now?” The look on his face surprised me. I was sure that it must have never before crossed the leathery visage. It flickered. Could it be… fear? In a matter of time smaller than an instant, it was gone.

“There is. The only one who can kill you is she who gave you this… life.” His eyes were closed as he leaned back in his comfortable chaise lounge and said this matter-of-factly as though it was to make perfect sense. The only thing it did for my notions was completely confuse the ideas I had gathered thus far of my new and complicated immortal culture.

“Are you saying I have a mother? Camuel, you already deni-”

“I know what I said and what I did not say!” He practically boomed, “The only one who can physically breed vampyres is the queen. Most vampyres have different fathers, but a common mother. You are a special and illegal case, and it would do well for you to consider her your mother as well.” His tone left little to the imagination as to the consequences that might arise if I did not. “The queen has been here since the beginning of time. No one knows exactly when or why she appeared, but the most popular legend tells of how when God created Adam and Eve, he also created Czarina. She wanted rights for the female civilization and she wanted man and woman to be equal from the moment they stepped onto Earth until the moment it was gone. However, for her beliefs, and ultimately for her gender, she was punished and became the first creature of the night; the first and most powerful vampire among us.” He took a long sip from the crystal glass of wine, and I knew without needing his reaction that it tasted only of dust. “She is the only one who can end our lives, thus ending forever our struggle against eternity. You can, I assume, see how this would create many problems with… others. The assassinations attempts are endless, but none prevail for only one knife can kill her, and that knife is hidden deep within the tombs of England, where the imperial guards watch it day and night.”

There was a longing in his voice that I had never heard before, and again his eyes were filled with a deep sense of departure. It was as though he no longer realized that I sad on the floor in front of him and was instead telling the story to some long lost love or previous friend. It was as though he had a connection with someone deeper and more emotional than I, and was instead telling them about the knife, and the origin of Czarina. Realizing this, I rose to go to bed, but his vulture-like head snapped in my direction and he frowned at me knowing that I had seen and heard everything.

“Enough of an old soul’s chatter, I understand that you will have tired of my yapping and obviously you yearn to sleep. I apologize Alemeth, for my rambling. Perhaps you were too young to know such things; we shall not speak of it again until you are older. Go to bed Alemeth.”

Knowing the note in his voice, I simply nodded and lay down on my stretched out blankets on the floor. They were thin, and I could feel the chill of the wood below the itchy wool, but my mind was on his words and his face, still painted and etched into my mind as though carved into wood.

“Camuel, I don’t under-”

“You don’t need to understand boy,” he said, taking the words straight from my mouth, “all you need to do is close your mouth and your eyes. Go to sleep now.”

At this I quieted, and contented myself with gazing out the window at the moon, hoping she could answer my questions. By the time I had come up with the nerve to ask the question again, Camuel didn’t reply. Weather he was simply not willing to voice the answer, or actually truly asleep didn’t matter, because soon I followed suit.