The Journal of Vincent Du Maurier Trilogy (Books 1, 2, 3) (69 page)

I approached him, and still my mother stayed. She
kept inside him until the last possible moment, waiting until my venom began to
work its way to his spleen—some foolishly believe the heart is the center
of the matter, but the spleen in fact stores the wrath, and the venom transforms
the house in which it lives. Our hardening rises from the spleen first and
foremost.

“I have a gift for you,” I said.

“I do not fear you,” he said.

“One must be worthy.”

“I am,” he whispered.

With Thetis driving his will, he got under my skin,
his ego tempting my wrath. I bit into him, as I remained undecided about his
fate. To drink his blood was most tempting, but my mother reached up from
within Byron and drew me to him, persuading me to release my venom, inoculating
both his soul and mine.

The Flight of
Gerenios

Vincent seemed taken with the memory of his
encounter with Byron. I didn’t ask how after so many years of meeting people he
could become so connected to one living person. He confessed his mother had
drawn them together but she seemed only part of it.

“She was,” he said, reading my thoughts. “Thetis was
merely the storyteller, setting up the characters. We were the ones who played
out the action.”

“Do you miss him?” I asked, though he could have
seen the question on my mind.

“Terribly.” His voice sounded hollow.

“Will you see him—” A thunderous knock banged
at my door, and I practically flew off my stool.

“Dagur!” The voice called.

I spun around the studio in search of Vincent, but
he had vanished.

“Coming,” I said.

I raced to the door and wrestled with the bolt
before unlatching it. The sheets of transcription fell to the floor in my
haste.

Gerenios stood on the threshold, out of breath and
shaken. “You are safe,” he said. “Good.”

“What is happening?”

He pushed past me, flinging the door closed behind
him. He flew to the window and brought down the shutter, sealing me off from
the light. “It’s too dark,” I protested.

“Shush,” he said. “You must remain still.”

“What is happening?”

“Freyit has tracked it coming over the mountain.”

“What?”

Gerenios swung around and grabbed me by the
shoulders. His touch was nothing like Vincent’s but his urgency undeniable.
“You must remain quiet.”

I whispered this time, “What is going on?”

“There’s something you don’t know about the
attacks.”

“The hunter has returned?”

“It’s not simply a hunter,” he said. “But a nimrod.”

“What’s a nimrod?”

“Freyit saw it first, from the watchtower in the
south end.”

“Saw what?”

“It came in like a mist,” he said. “But when it
stopped at the edge of the wall, he saw a figure clear as day. It’s the size of
three men.”

“Impossible.”

“It is not, and it’s coming for you.”

“Why me?” Hard as I tried, I could not hide the
panic in my voice.

“You must trust me, Dagur. The colony has set forces
up all around your tower. It will not get in.”

Gerenios worked to bolt the window where Vincent had
perched on the sill, admiring the suspended sun.

“I don’t understand.”

“I know,” Gerenios said. “But you must trust us. We
have planned for this.”

“What are you talking about?”

Gerenios put his hand on my shoulder and stopped me
from getting up, trapping me on my cot, barring me from shuffling across the
floor.

“Nothing is getting in or out,” he said, raising a
hand to his lips.

With Vincent having breached my tower, I hardly
found Gerenios’s words comforting.

“I don’t understand any of this,” I said. “Tell me what’s
happening.”

Gerenios shrugged and said, “Impossible.”

“No,” I said. “I’m not your prisoner. My guardian
didn’t leave me here to be kept in a cell.”

“What do you know of him? Has he returned?”

“My guardian?” All at once his identity seemed
obvious, and I thought it was Vincent.

“Has he returned?” Gerenios’s hands were resting on
my shoulders and he shook me when he spoke. “Has your guardian returned?”

“I don’t know.”

Gerenios sighed and released his hold on me. “You’d
know him if he returned.”

I stood up, and Gerenios blocked me with his body.
“I just want to show you something,” I said.

“I’ll get it,” he said. “You stay put.”

“It’s on the table. The texts I’ve been
transcribing.”

He crossed the studio to my drafting table and held
the light over it. “There’s nothing here.”

“Of course it’s there.” I got up and rushed to his
side, tossing the sheets from the surface of the table and then dropping to the
floor to rifle through the sheaves that had fallen. “They’re blank,” I said.

“What are?”

“But it was here,” I said. “He must have taken it.”

“Who?” Gerenios lifted me off the floor with a
single hand and held me by the collar. “Who took it?”

I looked into his face, and saw the man who had
watched over me for more seasons than I could count. His loyalty was plain, but
I lied and said, “My memory is playing tricks on me. I haven’t begun a new text
yet.”

“Has he returned?”

“Who?”

“Your guardian,” Gerenios said, urgently.

“No.”

“Yes,” he said. “I can see that he has. Why are you
lying, Dagur?”

“I’m not. I don’t recall my guardian so I can’t know
if he’s returned.”

“Who has come?”

“No one.”

Gerenios gave a soft nod, and guided me back to the
cot. “Sit,” he said with a sigh. “There’s something you need to know.”

He was about to shine light on some of the things
Vincent had left obscure.

“We started this settlement many seasons ago, before
you arrived, as you know. You never asked why we are named the second colony,
but there was a first.”

“I never thought,” my voice got caught in my throat.

“We escaped the first settlement,” he said. “Much
like this one, something began hunting us there, too. Most of the colonists
were killed before a small group of us left in the middle of the night, braving
the wild seas to come here.”

“Where was the first settlement?”

“Far away from here,” he said. “You heard it mentioned
in those journals.” He glanced back at my shelves to where the original texts lay.
“They called it the Nortrak once upon a time.”

“How long ago did you leave?”

“Too many seasons ago now.”

The air in the studio grew cold as Vincent’s deep
timber struck it. “Not like this,” he said.

I looked at Gerenios, who seemed unmoved by the sound
of Vincent’s voice.

“You have come,” Gerenios said, turning to greet the
shadow as it rose up in the far corner.

“Of course,” Vincent said. “I gave you ample
warning.”

“It’s time to leave,” Gerenios said. “The nimrod has
returned.”

“We shall not leave this time,” Vincent said.

“But he comes for Dagur.”

“He will not have him,” he said, “and no other settlers
will suffer his wrath.”

“Do you swear?”

“I do,” Vincent said. “But I see your word is less
honorable.”

“He must know.”

“He will in time.”

“He doesn’t understand.”

“He is not your responsibility anymore,” Vincent
said, moving into the realm of the candlelight. I cringed at the face he wore,
his metal teeth gleaming in the shine of the flame.

“I’m sworn to him,” Gerenios said. “And to her.”

“She sees your commitment but cannot ease your loss.”

“I love the boy,” he said.

Gerenios had never spoken of love, and when he
mouthed something else, Vincent tightened his mystical grip about his larynx as
he had often done with me, and cut off the sound.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

Neither of them paid me mind, as Gerenios stepped
forward for a face off with Vincent.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” The vampire
flexed his fingers, and his claws grew in a split-second.

“No choice,” Gerenios whispered, reaching for the
dagger at his side.

Gerenios was a large man, one I always saw as the
warrior type, but standing in front of the vampire as he was, he shrank down to
nothing. The tension between them was great, but they weren’t true enemies.

“Everything in its time, Gerenios.”

“The boy must know the truth,” he said. “You said
once his guardian returned, I could tell him.”

“Peter has not yet returned, has he?”

“You have come in his stead, but he is with you.”

“I have come alone,” Vincent said, “for the nimrod who
has risen once again belongs to no one but me.”

“Where are the others?”

“Close,” he said, giving a nod in my direction. “He
isn’t ready yet.”

“Have you found her?”

“No.”

“What is to be done if you don’t?”

“We will find her.”

The men seemed to drop their guard anew, neither one
aiming to injure the other.

“You will tell him, then?” Gerenios asked.

“All in good time.”

Gerenios took in a deep breath and backed away. “As
you wish,” he said.

“He is safe for now,” Vincent said. “Do as I have
advised, and the nimrod will not advance. Go back and lead the others. Your
colony will not fall tonight.”

Gerenios said no more, but dropped his head in
obedience. He left without a backward glance, and not a word to me. He sealed
the door from the outside, his steps growing faint as he bounded down the
stairs to the earth below.

Once Vincent and I were alone, I attempted to
question him but he muted me again. “I see all of your questions,” he said.
“They will be answered by the end.”

I tried to keep my inquiry at the forefront of my
mind but soon all my questions, save one, scattered to dark recesses, into the
tombs in which thoughts go to die. I wanted to ask how Gerenios had lived so
long, seeming so young.

“You must return to your work,” Vincent said. “I am
in the midst of my story and only your pen keeps it unfolding.”

The scene I’d witnessed between he and Gerenios was
half forgotten already, and I returned to my stool at the drafting table.

“Take up the pen,” he said, holding it in midair for
me. “Let us return to the facility in the Nortrak, shall we? I have said that
Byron was one of the breadcrumbs Thetis had dropped for me to find. My mother
had a plan, and my visit to the facility was a part of it. She needed to reveal
certain things to me, events I had forgotten …”

Youlan’s
Reveal

The reception chamber into which I had landed was
unchanged, though I had fallen off a steep mental cliff and lost my bearings.
The sterile room was empty, for I could sense Laszlo Arros’s abandonment, but
the screen I had vandalized remained cracked.

When a
wall panel to my left
opened, Youlan stood in the doorway, a long tunnel laid out behind her.

“Come,” she said.

“Where is Lucia?”

“Come.” Her voice had
not changed.

I rushed her and sent
her flying through the corridor. She crashed to the ground with a smile.

“Come,” she repeated,
pushing me off her. I had never experienced her strength on the ship, but I
could see how hearty she was. She rose from the assault and stood with fists clenched
and feet spread. “Come.”

I raised my hand and
drew a talon along her neck, and then placed a firm grip around her throat. “I
will not follow you until you tell me where I can find Evelina’s child.”

Heat rose on her skin
and her eyes fired, violet and brilliant. “You,” she said. “Come.”

“Me,” I smiled. “I
will rain hellfire down on you before I take one step to follow you. Now, where
is the child you took?”

Her head bent from
side to side, slowly. “Lucia is with Youlan.”

“I have no time for
games.” I stepped forward but she shot back, out of reach.

“Where is she, Youlan?”

“I am Kaysu.”

“Kaysu?” I said. “Is
that code for something?”

“It is my name.”

“Why did they call
you Youlan on the ship?”

“Youlan is with Lucia.”

I anticipated her
move as I made mine, pinning her against the wall. With my hand on her throat I
detected the sincerity in her second attempt. “I am Kaysu,” she repeated.

The spitting image of
Youlan, she spoke the truth. When I had met Youlan on the ship, in Captain
Jem’s quarters, she was an inch taller. Kaysu was a replica, an imperfect one,
but a twin nevertheless.

“Where is Lucia?” I
pressed her into the wall.

“Come.”

“You will take me to
her?”

“Come.”

When I released my
hold on her neck, she dropped to the floor, but did not lose her balance. She
turned on her heel, and bolted down the corridor, disappearing around the corner.
I followed with no other leads for finding Lucia, her scent deadened by the
stifling atmosphere below.

Kaysu reached a hatch
at the end of the corridor and waited for me. “Place your hand here,” she said,
pointing to the pad on the wall. “It is the only way to go forward.”

I obeyed and the hatch
popped open. “Come,” she said, as she walked through the doorway into a
corridor identical to the first.

I sensed my Lucia, her
scent seeping through a small vent at the end of the second corridor. If I could
have torn down the wall to reach her, I would have.

“She is through
here,” I said. “How do I get there?” I lunged forward but Kaysu backed away.

“Come,” she said.

I pressed Kaysu into
the wall nearest her, and swept her up, putting my arm about her waist and pulling
her to the ground, pinning her down with my boot. “Take me to her,” I said.

I admired her for a
moment, as she melted into the floor, her body giving in to my power. She had Youlan’s
waxy lips, but their pinkish hue made me curious. I drew close to her mouth and
tasted metal, not blood.

“Where is the child?”
I crushed her beneath my full weight, and pushed my face up against hers. “Tell
me now or I take off your head.”

“Come,” she said, the
word squeezing out of her taut mouth.

“One more time,” I
said.

“Come.”

I pushed my body off
hers, and as I raised a set of claws to slash her neck, a voice rose up behind
me.

“Kaysu belongs to
me.”

I did not heed the interruption,
for I had finished with games. My hesitation was brief before I launched my
blades into Kaysu’s neck, cutting her head from her body with one swipe. Her head
rolled away, as her decapitated body relaxed beneath my boot, her gory innards greasing
the cement floor. Without turning to see the one to whom Kaysu belonged, I
moved to the vent, and tried to pull off its grill.

“Come,” the new one
said, having rushed to the side of her fallen sister.

“Take me to the
child,” I said.

She held up the head
with the face that resembled her own, before letting it fall to the floor and kicking
it to the side.

“I am Youlan,” she
said with a grin.

“Another clone?”

“Clone?” She scoffed
and tossed a glance to the side. “I am original.”

She bore differences to
Kaysu, the most prominent one being her cherry-red lips.

A dart of fear caught
me, as I pictured her feeding on Lucia. She noticed the change in my expression
and shook her head. “My master would kill me if I touched the child,” she said.

“Laszlo Arros?”

“Yes.”

“Where is the child?”

She huffed and looked
past me. “You didn’t remember me,” she said, as she moved toward me like an
alligator through a swamp, slow but certain.

“Where is your
maker?” I asked.

“Shall I take you to
him,” she said.

“Lead the way.”

She did not move. “He
has been waiting for you,” she said.

Her stare piqued my
wrath. “Let us go,” I said. “I am willing to follow you.”

“You would not follow
Kaysu.”

“I followed Youlan to
get here, and I will follow you—”

“I am Youlan.” She
bore insult badly. “Do you really not recall who I am?”

“No.”

“Shall I remind you?”

“I would prefer if
you took me to see Laszlo Arros so that I may pull his spine up through his
throat and leave him a cripple.”

She let out a sordid
laugh that echoed up the corridor. “You said you would be funny the next time
we met.”

“You must be
mistaken. I care little for humor and would never promise it to anyone.”

“You did.”

“How long ago was
that?”

She pulled her wrist up
and looked at her watch. “Several minutes ago,” she said, “in your chamber.”

I am certain I
scowled at her, but she took it as an invitation to step forward and pull me
into an embrace. I pushed her off and sent her flying back onto the floor.

“You spurn my love,”
she said.

“What love?”

“For Lucia,” she
said. “For you.”

“Who are you?”

“The result of a pregnant
soul.”

“What?”

“You seek your most
recent offspring, but shun the others.”

“You are not mine,” I
said, missing the point entirely. She had figured out that Lucia was mine.

“I, like Lucia, make
you immortal,” she said.

I moved toward her
and she did not back away. “Of what foolishness do you speak,” I said. “You are
nothing to me.”

She smiled and said, “You
come into the womb to destroy the children you have made. I ought to peel away your
stony flesh and burn your bones.”

She crouched to the
ground and then used force to propel her body through the air like Huitzilli’s,
tossing herself like a snake from one branch to the next, ungraceful but
effective. She passed over me, dragging the tips of her adamantine talons
across my head, and landed with a crash, digging those same talons into the
floor to stop her momentum. I turned to face her, poised as a bear might rise
to greet a man.

Her smile was gone
but her irons were out. “Do you recognize me now?” She asked, dropping her head
to the side as though straightening out a kink.

“No.”

Hate brightened her violet
eyes, as her metal gleamed in the fluorescent light. “You are everything to me.”

“You are nothing.”

“You told me you
would say that.”

“You have imagined a
past that does not exist.”

“No.” She leaned
forward. “I am Youlan.”

“Where is Laszlo
Arros?”

“Everywhere.”

She pointed upward to
a hidden camera in the ceiling of the corridor which moved when she spoke. “He
is omniscient.”

“I see,” I said. “Let
us not delay, then. Take me to him.”

She stood up and
straightened her back and walked calmly beneath the camera, jumping straight up
and yanking the whole thing out of the wall. She brought the small device up to
her face, and nodded at it.

“Take me to Lucia or
I will take out your spleen and feed it to you.”

Her expression
shifted, a sting rising to her eyes as she bit the corner of her cherry-red
lip. “That’s hurtful,” she said. “Laszlo Arros would never say such a thing.”

“Take me to him.” I
rushed to sever her head as I had done with Kaysu, but she held the camera out
and pointed it at me. My joints and muscles stiffened as if settling on rigor
mortis.

“Now,” she said. “We
have time.”

My body seized up
despite my fight to dodge the paralytic. I thought her psychic magic far stronger
than mine, and she proved me right, reading my thoughts. “My strength is yours,”
she said. “We are bound by Laszlo Arros.” She smiled. “Shall I tell you my
story.”