The Eternals Read online

  * * *

  “Are you all right back there?” Merryweather bellowed into the turbulence.

  We'd been riding for some hours and I was still convinced he dared not turn round in his seat.

  “Too late to ask that now!” I yelled back, as his words shot past my shoulder. I wasn't sure if he heard, and couldn't be bothered to call again.

  “Soon be there!” he called back half a minute too late.

  But I was lost in a world of blurring images both present and past. The Danube slipped in and out of my vision like some kind of spectral snake a constant, bloody reminder of my sins. I watched the moon disappear behind the rising peaks and felt, at least for a time, removed from heaven's spotlight.

  It wasn't until I heard gravel crunching under the horse's hooves that I realised we'd reached our destination. But it was not the one I expected?

  A long winding driveway curled its way to a most unimpressive building. Rotting vines covered mouldering brickwork, which gave the place a general demeanour of despair. So obliterated by vegetation was the building that if it not for the steeple that poked up out of the greenery, I would never have guessed it a church at all.

  Merryweather came to a sudden skidding stop before me. As luck would have it, my horse paid more attention to things than I, or I may have been extricating myself from Merryweather's mount's backside.

  “Just in the nick of time,” he declared.

  “What is?”

  “Not, what, who? The sun is close to rising, I didn't think we'd make it in time.

  I gazed up to see the first telltale signs of a lightening sky. A faint rose hue was just streaming over from the East. The sun would soon follow in its wake.

  Merryweather dismounted leaving the horse stood stock still a veritable statue. I did the same and followed him through the overgrown wilderness to a side door. He shoved it open, seeming most unsettled by some ivy that clung to his hair, and then shut it behind us with a bang.

  “My home from home,” he announced.

  “It's a little grim,” I noted.

  “A few overturned benches and shattered stained glass on the floor does not a home make.”

  “How very apt.”

  We waded through the clutter until reaching a partially covered trapdoor. Merryweather threw this open and descended. I followed like a dutiful dog into what had at some time been a tomb. Merryweather had smartened the place up with some purple, velvet drapes, quite wasted in the dark, and a small selection of oak furniture. He strode to a double-doored cabinet of dubious quality, where he retrieved a blood bag, which he tossed over as though without a care in the world.

  “You can take either bunk,” he breezed and indicated to the far wall which had three neat racks of coffins stacked against it.

  “I'll take the bottom one if you don't mind. Less distance to fall if I wake up disorientated.”

  “I could lock it, if it helps?”

  “You're all heart,” I replied with a huff.

  “I wish,” he said, as he leapt up to the top coffin. “I shall bid you adieu and see you in the evening.” Without waiting for a response he climbed straight into the coffin and shut the lid with a thud.

  Left in peace, I peeled away one corner of the blood bag, tipped it back, and drank as though my life depended on it, which it sort of did. I drained the whole thing in one go savouring every last molecule, then threw the empty packet aside. I took one more look around at my grotty surroundings and then slipped into the bottom coffin. It wasn't until I got settled and on the point of sleep that I had the distinct feeling I'd tasted that particular vintage before.

  Chapter Thirteen

  -

  Bitterness

  Exiting the derelict church came as a relief. The place made me uneasy. Merryweather's wretched snoring hadn't helped matters. I hadn't realised Eternals could snore until I heard him. At first, I felt sure he did it to antagonise, but as the day wore on and the decibel level rose I realised it was just his way. It mirrored him in life: annoying.

  We left with barely a word to each other and clambered back into our respective saddles; the two horses hadn't moved a muscle from the previous night. Whether they'd eaten or not, I could not be sure, but the pair showed no signs of discomfort.

  We cantered down the weed ridden gravel as starlight attempted to break through the wooded enclave. I'd been oblivious to it the previous evening, my mind elsewhere, and wished nothing more than to be far away.

  “Ready for your return into polite society?” Merryweather chuckled as he brought his mount to a momentary standstill.

  “What's so polite about it?” I countered.

  “You're surly this evening. Not that you aren't always.”

  “I find a miserable demeanour provides the advantage of possible future happiness.”

  “Interesting. How's that working out?”

  “I'm not sure. How long will we be together?”

  “That's a fine way to speak to your best friend. I've saved your bacon in a roundabout way.”

  “Excuse me!”

  “Hmm, say no more. Maybe in retrospect, I'm the cause of it?”

  “Well, it got me away from the idiots for a while, I suppose. Where are we headed, anyway?” I queried.

  “Back to the idiots,” said Merryweather, then sped off at a rate of knots, his blonde mop flying about him.

  * * *

  What remained of the countryside flew past as we homed in on the Comte de Burgundy's palace. I hoped in my heart it would be minus King Rudolph and his hierarchical ilk. The thought of having Rudolph's fat throat between my fingers with Vladivar egging me on and Worthington shaking his head in displeasure was awkward. My mystery letter senders also needed to be equated into any scenario. I still hadn't a clue who they were?

  My brain ached from all the confusion. So, I decided it best not to stew on such things as they almost always worked themselves out.

  “Fancy a stop off at the Marquis and Marquise' little castle in the sky?” called Merryweather, as we shot past a road that ascended into the mountains.

  “I think I'd rather eat my feet with a coriander dressing!” I hurled back.

  “Tut, tut, Jean, everybody knows one should only eat feet when dressed in rose oil!” He laughed at his own wit at such volume I heard it clear over the stamping hooves of our cyborg mounts.

  “Are you going to be this hilarious all evening?”

  “Every evening, my friend. There's no other way to be. One never knows when it may be your last witticism.”

  “True,” I replied through gritted teeth. “Especially for you.”

  Then, as if by magic, we'd arrived. From hours of seeing neither hide nor hair of anything or anyone, we were overtaking carriage after carriage of pompous, pomaded fools. It wasn't hard to imagine the eyes of each occupant upon me as we passed one after another. Fortunately, our steeds' stamping footsteps prevented my hearing their jeers. Well, almost.

  We came to a skidding stop at the steps of the Comte's palace, transformed since my last visit into a tasteless, pastel pink, which caused me to baulk. Almost like I hadn't been away at all.

  “Right, I'll leave you to it then,” said Merryweather, as he sauntered over and gave me a pat on the back.

  “What do you mean, leave me to it?” I replied, a touch perturbed.

  “I'll be buggered if I'm going in there with you. It was bad enough having to babysit you,” he laughed, then hightailed it off around the side of the building before I could grab him.

  A solitary figure, one given the widest of berths by those around him, I loitered in the shadows of a crimson-painted oak. A glance up to the entranceway then down the drive and back again settled any thoughts of a quick exit. After all, I had nowhere to exit to.

  There's no place for the faint of heart in a world where everyone could tear your throat out, so I took the direct approach. Sweeping my coat tails behind me, I set off up the stairs, more black peacock than wanted man. An additional p
eeved look completed the ensemble. Courtesans scattered like dust in the wind: I smirked. Two muscular doormen lowered their eyes at my passing: I sniggered. The narrow corridor became narrower still for those who pressed themselves up against its walls: I glared. All in a night's work and all that.

  The orchestra had started up with some Strauss the elder; no surprise there then. I didn't know whether the irony of The Vienna Blood Waltz would be lost on the others, but it wasn't on me. I burst into the ballroom with a snarl pulling at the sides of my mouth, prepared for anything, or so I thought. For all that bottled rage, all the pent up frustration, all the woes of my recent world melted before the image of the most delectable creature I'd ever seen. Linka glided from the far side of the ballroom, her hair an oil slick wake. Eyes like polished emeralds shone across the distance between us blazing a path through all those who pretended not to ogle her. The purple satin of her dress clung to her perfect form as though inked, and in that moment, I was hers completely.

  “Jean,” my name dripped from her lips like nectar from a hummingbird. She inclined her head and curtsied.

  I cupped her chin in my palm and lifted her with a gentleness that belied my reputation. “You should bow to no man,” I whispered, and bowed myself with a flamboyant swish of the arm. I heard a gasp from a woman nearby and knew my pose to have been effective. Linka just grinned and offered me her hand, which I took, and followed her onto the dance floor.

  We danced for hours as we had at our first meeting. It was like the intervening days had never happened that we had never left each other's arms. She made me happy, feel good. The urge to sweep her up in a loving embrace, to twirl around and around forever, was almost unbearable, but I practised restraint. Instead, we waltzed as though our lives depended upon it. We waltzed as though our hearts should burst, then waltzed some more.

  All eyes were upon us, but whose eyes they were, I neither knew nor cared. I could do nothing but gaze at the gleaming angel in my arms. Linka hypnotised me in a way no other woman ever had. Not even Alba could light a candle to such a goddess.

  “Does it please you to be with me again?” she purred.

  “It does.”

  “Did you miss me,” she simpered.

  “Oh, I don't know if I'd go that far.”

  Linka threw her head back and laughed as though she hadn't a care in the world. Her exposed neck of purest, white marble shone for a second and I thought myself liable to succumb, as I had with her sister. She spared me that agony with the return of her sparkling eyes to my own.

  “You are a most unusual man.”

  “I am me,” I replied.

  “That's what makes you so desirable. Most men quake before me, or treat me like I'm made of crystal. Not you.”

  “Are you made of crystal?”

  “I don't believe so.”

  “Good job.”

  “A very good job,” she beamed.

  “Aren't you a little too young to be finding older men desirable?”

  “I don't know is five-hundred years too young?”

  Startled, I relaxed my grip and pulled away. Linka just smirked and pulled me closer.

  “How the hell did your father keep you hidden away from the likes of me for that length of time?”

  “It's a secret,” she winked.

  “You have a lot of secrets.”

  “Don't we all?”

  “I have none.”

  “You had one,” she returned.

  I looked deep into her eyes but saw no sign of malice in her words, just play. “I guess I should thank you for that.”

  “You'll get your chance.”

  I was about to respond with some devastating witticism when four loud cymbal clashes stung the evening air.

  “Ladies and gentleman,” said the conductor. “Ladies and gentleman!” he said again, but louder. That seemed to have the desired effect as the murmuring crowds silenced. “I am pleased to announce the winner of this evening's most enchanting beauty.”

  I felt an almost uncontrollable desire to rend the man limb from limb. There was only one woman who could take that prize, and I did not wish her to be extricated from my arms for even a moment. I tensed and held onto Linka's waist a touch harder than I should have.

  “The winner is…the Marquise de Rhineland!”

  The crowd gasped, although not as much as I, as the Marquise tottered up to the speaker. It was a good thing she had a good seamstress as her ample curves fought to escape her figure-molesting dress.

  “Oh, god, she's going to make a speech,” I let slip, which caused Linka to snigger.

  “I would like to thank all of you my most gracious of friends for voting for me as your mid-winter queen.”

  “Mid-winter queen! What's she talking about it's nowhere near mid-winter?”

  Linka gave me a jab, “It's just a made up title, silly.”

  “Well, I suppose she is very made up. It's a bloody disgrace she won it though,” I grumbled.

  “It's fixed,” whispered Linka.

  “Fixed!”

  “Did you want me whisked away?”

  “No.”

  “Good, because now she must mingle and make a point of thanking everyone.”

  “Ah, the penny drops.”

  “Best for me to lose, don't you think?”

  She spoke it into my ear in her always playful manner.

  “You fixed it!” I gasped, pulling away.

  “I didn't want you escaping.”

  “Fair point, I wouldn't want to escape from me either.” She jabbed me in the ribs.

  “I would also like to take this opportunity to say a big hello and thank you for gracing us with her presence to the lovely Princess Linka. We've seen so little of her it's only her shadowy resemblance to the missing Princess Chantelle that distinguishes her.” The Marquise extended one arm toward Linka who winked and gave her ogling audience a curtsey.

  “Thank you, Marquise, for the welcome. I am honoured to be presented to such fine guests by so fulsome a celebrity as yourself.”

  If looks could have killed, then the Princess would've died many times over. The Marquise's face reddened to such a degree I though she would pop. Unfortunately for all, she didn't. She knew better than to risk a slanging match with King Rudolph's daughter; a Princess trumps a Marquise any night of the week.

  Linka slid back into my arms and turned her back upon the gawping mid-winter queen.

  The conductor, sensing it an appropriate time for the music to restart, went straight into a rendition of the Sugarplum Fairy. His orchestra did a superb job of drowning out the rest of the Marquise speech and I allowed myself to be twirled from the ballroom by my glowing partner.

  “You're a very naughty girl,” I berated.

  “I am indeed,” she said with another of her mischievous winks. “I'm glad to be out of there though. You're all mine now.”

  “Well, you have me, my dear. I'm glad to be out, too, to be honest. I found it rather like being a pearl in a gigantic oyster shell.”

  “The pink?” she suggested, her eyebrows raised.

  “A little too pink for my liking. The Comte de Pink has even less to distinguish it than burgundy.”

  “I hadn't thought of it that way,” Linka replied, then pretended to look troubled by it.

  To alleviate her false worries, I hurdled the balcony railings, much to her surprise, then returned with equal haste, a purple rose in hand. “To match your gown, dear Linka.”

  “Why, thank you, Jean,” she said with a curtsey. “I didn't know you could get them in this colour.”

  “You can't. You ask them to change.”

  “Ask them!” she exclaimed.

  “Yes. It's like everything in this damn world, false. But it allows for the odd moment of splendour.”

  “Be red,” she said to the flower in her hand. The flower changed before her eyes like blotting paper soaking up crimson ink. “Beautiful,” she cooed.

  “Nowhere near as beautiful as you.”


  “Very smooth. Are you like this around all beautiful women?”

  “When the need arrives,” I replied.

  “It hasn't,” Linka blushed, “I'm quite won over already.”

  I didn't know what to say to that, so offered her my hand and started to dance to the Strauss that had restarted with impeccable timing. The moon, that huge, pearlescent monocle, focused its beams down upon us and we waltzed as though the world would end any second. I'd have even said that if it had I wouldn't have noticed. I was intoxicated. She was the living incarnation of Venus.

  “Jean,” Linka whispered in my ear, as we twirled past the geraniums.

  “Yes.”

  “Will you stay with me tonight?”

  “Would your father not have something to say about that?” I returned.

  “My father is not here. None of the Hierarchy are.”

  “It seems odd he would leave so precious a jewel as yourself to gleam in his absence.”

  “Pressing business, apparently,” her eyelids dropped, saddened for a second. The world was all the dimmer for it until they flicked back open again.

  “I would love nothing more than to spend every second with you, but would it not have repercussions?”

  “Has it not already? Father was unhappy at my defending you, but could not dispute it.”

  “How did you convince him?”

  “I did not have to; he thinks me incapable of lying. I'm really a very good girl, you know.”

  “According to whom?”

  “Why, me, of course,” she laughed, and the world laughed with her.

  “But, why did you do it, Linka? You hardly know me. I could easily have done what I'm accused of. I have done worse in my time.”

  “You couldn't have committed such an act, Jean. If you had, how could it be that my heart screams its love for you?”

  I pondered her words, and what I had done, but could think of no apt response. “I think…”

  “What is it, my love?”

  “I think…”