The Eternals Read online

  I did not answer.

  “I know who tries to manipulate you, Jean. I'll tell you. Yes, yes I will. I'll tell you all you everything. Please, just let me be.”

  The man garbled like an idiot.

  “Please, Jean, have mercy. I'm royalty, you can't do this!”

  “Oh, but I can.”

  Worthington's cries rung around the throne room as I removed his heart and extinguished the life within it with a quick tightening of my grip. I'd love to have said it sated my need for revenge that it repaid Sunyin's death and the ruination of my life. It did not. Nothing ever would.

  I remained crouched over the heap of fancy, bloodied clothing that had been Lord Worthington until I felt the gentle pressure of a small hand upon my shoulder.

  “We should go, Jean,” Linka whispered in my ear.

  I stood, swept the hair from my face, and regarded the sorry excuse for humanity that gawped at what had just occurred. For a moment, I thought there would be further violence, and tensed, muscles rippling under my ragged clothes. But a tinkling, as of a small bell, broke the moment, and a procession of monks glided into the room. Heads bowed and faces set in grim respect the little fellows formed a corridor of serene calm through the agitated dandies. Through this came the orange sash of the head Sunyin who bowed to Linka and I and beckoned us follow. We did, allowing him to lead us through two cowering lines of enmity. Our footsteps echoed all the way out of the palace.

  Only when we'd cleared the shadow of the rising towers and stood upon the gravel of the final Zen garden did Sunyin stop.

  “I remember, Jean. It is though a memory passed down the generations, but I remember. You honour our brother by your actions even if they are not as we would do ourselves.” Sunyin bowed.

  “Do you know why I act as I have?” I replied.

  “I do.”

  “Then, why do you stay?”

  “This is our home. We would not last long beyond the walls of our beloved Shangri-La.”

  “I could protect you.”

  Sunyin shook his head and smiled kindly. “You cannot protect us from all your kind. Sooner or later someone would remember what the waft of a human scent meant to them. There is nothing you could do.”

  “But you can't stay here, Sunyin, the dandies will have their revenge upon you and your brothers once I depart.”

  “They will not. They will not dare lay a finger upon us after seeing what you did to their master. It will not be long before they stream from this place like the turning tide. You should depart before they do.”

  “That maybe so, but I have business to attend to with the Marquis first.”

  “I don't think that wish shall be fulfilled this day, Jean,” Linka said pointing to the sky beyond the city walls. I followed the line of her finger to see the glint of moonshine reflecting upon the polished shell of the craft that brought us to Shangri-La.

  “Our master has abandoned us. He will not return,” said a solemn Sunyin.

  “How can you be so sure?” I retorted before softening my expression.

  “From the beginning, we have known our fate. Consciousness stirred as our cells grew and manifested into what some might term a singular mind. From that point forward, we have remained one entity. The Marquis thought us oblivious to his machinations, cattle-like even. This is no longer the case, Jean. Thanks to you, he now knows we are aware and he will fear retribution. The Marquis is a coward, but a bitter one. He shall not forgive you for what he will see as the ruination of his life's work.”

  “Good, let him come for me,” I spat.

  “And you, child,” Sunyin said turning to Linka. “Will you be leaving with, Jean, or staying with us as one of the few enlightened.”

  “I…I don't know what you mean,” Linka stammered.

  “In blood we bathe our eyes opened, our bodies released.” Sunyin gazed long into Linka's eyes who met his stare with those blazing emeralds, but could not keep it for long. She lowered her head under his gentle eyes and walked a little way from the pair of us.

  “Look after her, Jean, she carries a heavy burden.”

  Sunyin's words were a cryptic dismissal, and I realised at that moment we were saying goodbye. “How can you be sure the Marquis will not return and exact his fury upon you?” I asked hoping to stall the inevitable.

  “We shall move blessed Shangri-La somewhere he will never find and live our lives in search of divine peace and meditation.”

  “Then, I wish you well, my friend, for that is a more noble cause than mine.”

  “Yours is a different path, Jean,” Sunyin said offering me his hand, “it does not make it any less noble.”

  “You are a good man, Sunyin. If only all humanity were like you. I think the wrong species died all those aeons ago.”

  “There is good and bad in everyone, my friend. One day you shall step from the night and realise not all people's hearts are cloaked in darkness.”

  Any response was cut short by two approaching monks holding a rucksack apiece. The head Sunyin took them and passed them to me, then bowed deeply before turning away. A nod to his brothers sent them scurrying past to open the mighty gates of Shangri-La.

  I watched Sunyin make his serene way back through the gardens until I could see him no more, hoisted the two rucksacks over my shoulders, and taking the still downcast Linka by the hand, departed Shangri-La. We stepped through the gates to hear them close with a bang behind us and for want of not knowing what else to do, headed towards the salty scent of the sea.

  * * *

  Walking through a country where all desired me dead, with a woman who'd soon have half the world searching for her, and knowing of no shelter from the oncoming day, should have worried me: it didn't. For some reason, I knew Sunyin would not have permitted us to leave if it meant harm might befall us. The assuredness of this belief filled me with a freedom I had never felt before, and I simply let my feet carry me away from the scene of Worthington's demise and further into the web of deceptions that had become my life. Linka said nothing, but never for a second slackened her vice-like grip upon my hand. The world was silent and for a time at least, peace found me.

  We walked through what endured of the once lush green of Britannia's rolling landscape until the glint of a choppy sea permeated the solidity of the night. The moon flitted across the liquid surface as though playing hide and seek with Poseidon. The stars, though bright in the heavens, could not cast enough of their souls upon the water for me to notice them, either that, or the water Gods drank the light unto themselves, their own personal drug, as blood was my own.

  We walked hand in hand until we stood upon the chalk cliffs that so mirrored our own countenances. A breeze swept off the water curling my love's hair from her face like a shawl of raven night. I leant in and kissed her cheek to which she smiled, the slightest lifting of the corners of her lips, but enough to enliven my soul, wherever it was. I pulled her close and stood facing the ruptured, liquid surface. In my imagination, I always remembered the ocean as a millpond, calm and serene, but this was altogether more feral, hostile.

  “Well, my dear, what now?” I said, pulling her close. Linka did not reply. The wetting of my chest through the fragmented remains of my garments said enough. I held her tight for what I wished an eternity, not caring if the sun rose, fearless, for if it was my last moment on Earth, I couldn't think of no better way to perish. The thought did not last long, however, for as I stared through my beloved's whipping tresses, I spotted the distinct outline of a small boat heading toward us. I watched the little wooden thing, so archaic, as it skipped across the heaving surface in a way in which I would not have thought possible. The boat, minuscule, no bigger than three men lain head to toe, must have possessed an incredible amount of power to plough through the turbulent sea as it did.

  Before long the boat had made its way close enough to the shoreline for one of its crew, or all of it, to wave in our direction.

  “We must go, Jean. The sun will soon rise.” Li
nka spoke softly without meeting my gaze.

  “Do you know this boat?” I asked.

  “I do, my love.” And with that Linka extricated herself from my clutches and stepped from the cliffs. For a moment, I panicked thinking her too delicate for such a drop, but soon saw myself wrong. Seconds later, Linka was already striding across the wet sands to the craft. I gave a deep sigh, stepped from the cliff-top, and allowed gravity to do its thing.

  Chapter Twenty

  -

  Blood

  “Must I?” I called.

  I garnered no response, so waded into the chest deep churning sea. Water and myself had never really mixed, and I was less than amused by my dilemma. However, to be pulled aboard the small boat by the smiling features of a Sunyin filled my dead heart with joy. I stepped onto the creaking, wooden deck disbelieving of my own eyes.

  “Sir,” said the little fellow with a polite bow, water pooling off his drenched body.

  “Please, call me, Jean. And you must be, Sunyin.”

  “I am a Sunyin.”

  “That's good enough for me,” I exuded, and shook his hand with vigour much to the smaller man's surprise.

  Linka had disappeared into a small cabin at the prow of the boat, but soon returned with a towel which she tossed over. “Here, I don't want you rotting,” she chuckled. “I see you've met Sunyin.”

  “Indeed, and I'm glad to have done so. Did you have an inkling he may have awaited us?”

  “I had an idea, but one can never be sure of these things.”

  “They said there would be three of you,” Sunyin said to nobody in-particular, as he stared back to the beach.

  “There will only be two,” Linka replied. I saw the tears well in her eyes and wished to wrap her once more in my arms. I did not get the chance as she walked to the back of the boat and looked out upon the heaving liquidity.

  “Then, we had best be on our way, Princess,” Sunyin said and set about the boat's controls. “You will not have long before the sun bleeds across the water.”

  “I suppose,” Linka shrugged her shoulders and sighed. “I wish Albert could have seen the sun before his butchering. Even once,” she added.

  “It would have been a better way to go,” I suggested.

  “Yes, better,” she whispered, through a smile more forced than the thrashing waves.

  “Have we far to go?” I asked Sunyin, eyeing the tempestuous sea.

  “A good way.”

  “Hm, I am not a nautical man. I would appreciate reaching our destination with as much haste as you can muster.”

  “I'll do my best, Jean.”

  “Thank you,” the best I could return.

  Sensing my unease, Linka took my hand and led me past the busying monk and down into the boat's dank hold.

  There was barely room to spin a cat in those close quarters, but Sunyin had somehow wedged three coffins into the enclosure. Linka looked at them one by one before tearing her gaze away.

  “Albert was a good man, Linka. I would have torn down Shangri-La if it would have brought him back, but it would avail nothing.”

  “I know. It's just…”

  “What, my love?”

  “It's just such a waste. He told them nothing even when they did terrible things to him.”

  “It is not your fault, my sweet dove.”

  “But it is, Jean!” she snapped. “Don't you see? It's all a fallacy and I'm the one responsible for it.” Linka threw back her head and burst into floods of tears.

  Tenderness was a trait I had become unaccustomed to, so instead of kind words, I opened the closest coffin and helped her in. Closing the lid on those tear-filled eyes was one of the hardest things I'd ever done. If I'd had a beating heart it would have stalled, but I felt only a ghost of the sensations I should.

  Hushed, I lifted the lid of the adjacent coffin and climbed inside. Sleep came quickly as my fingers searched the wooden interior for hers.

  * * *

  I awoke to a strong saline stench. Disorientated and fearing I'd somehow fallen into the sea, I must confess, I panicked. My enclosed bed rocked from side to side and shook me like a wolf with a bone. It came as a relief when I cast aside the coffin lid to see the wooden planked ceiling overhead and not a greying sky. My mind spiralled backwards to the previous day recalling events and coming to one dramatic conclusion: I wouldn't ever set foot in Britannia again. Far too many dandies rattled around the place, although to be fair, even one was too many. I lifted myself clear of my bed and saw the lid of the adjacent coffin to be already open. Linka had risen, and I set out to track her down.

  “Good evening.”

  “Good evening, Jean.” Linka stood, ship's wheel in hand like a true maiden of the sea. Sunyin lay close by on the wetted planks of the craft.

  “Is he all right like that?” I whispered.

  “He's out cold,” Linka replied with less care.

  “Poor little chap must be shattered.”

  “He'd sailed through the previous night and day to reach us, apparently.”

  “How did he know?” I asked, in childlike fashion.

  “The other Sunyins,” she said very matter-of-fact.

  “There is a lot more to these monks than meets the eye.”

  “There is, Jean. They are enlightened in a way we never shall be.”

  “I put it down to standing beneath the sun.”

  “Possibly,” Linka replied rather more serious than I.

  “May I ask where we are headed, my love?” I said, changing the subject to prevent a return to her former malaise.

  “There,” Linka pointed.

  I looked to where she indicated to see a monastery of some sorts, judging by the bell tower that crowned it, cast upon a rocky outcrop from a coastline I presumed French. The sea churned as though determined to consume it, but the building looked built of stern stuff.

  “You know this place?” I enquired.

  “I should, I spent all bar the last year of my life here.”

  “Ah, so this is where they hid you.”

  “Something like that,” she replied.

  “Do I sense there's not much love lost?”

  “Not much. One can gaze upon the sea for only so long without it twisting one's mind.”

  “I would not worry on that score, my little sparrow, you're as sane a person as I've ever known.”

  “Well, that's kind of you, my love. May I ask as to whom you compare me?”

  “Oh, mostly fools and crazy people, but it only makes you shine all the brighter.”

  “Hm, thank you, I think?”

  “You're very welcome. Is there some way of getting the boat closer to the rocks? I'd rather not swim if it can be helped.”

  “Do not worry, my love. There's a cove hidden to the naked eye, but I know it well.”

  “Should I wake Sunyin?”

  “No, let him sleep.”

  There was something about the set of Linka's jaw that made me quieten and leave her to her thoughts. I sensed the place to be less than a joyous memory and one too soon experienced to be forgotten. Instead, I took in the scenery. I spoke only for myself, but the place had a peaceful air. Whether it was the hostile elements it stood in stark resistance to, or the brazen yet understated nature of the monastery's build, I could not say, but I found it appealing.

  Linka's expert steering navigated the rocking waves, the little craft chug-chugging in relentless forward momentum, until we fell within touching distance of the off-pink, granite rocks that protected the place. There the waves rose in such a commotion, I feared we should be smashed to smithereens as the ocean heaved about us. Linka remained undeterred.

  The little boat coughed bitter, black smoke, as Linka threw it about with an abandon bordering on the suicidal. But when a passage became evident between the boulders, I saw why she'd navigated as she had. With a yank upon the steering, she turned us through ninety degrees, charged the boat headlong into the smallest of passages and into the very bowels of the
outcrop.

  At first, I thought Linka to have made some grievous error of judgement and that we should be shattered upon the rocks: I was wrong. The further she held her line the lesser the waves churned and the brighter the world became. The reason for the light soon became self-evident as we emerged into a rock cavern lined by several Sunyins all brandishing lighted torches.

  “Throw them a line, Jean,” Linka commanded with all the authority her position held.

  I fumbled about with the wet and rather grimy rope, much to Linka's amusement, throwing it to the monks, and only remembering at the last second to keep hold of one end.

  “What's so funny?”

  “You are, Jean. I've never seen a man so capable of extreme violence be so scared of a piece of string.”

  “It was greasy,” I protested. “And it was rope, not string, altogether more fearsome.

  “Oh, I'm sure. We are at sea you know.”

  “We were,” I corrected with a flourishing bow.

  “No one likes a clever devil.”

  “Well, that's me condemned, as I fill both criteria.”

  “Indeed,” she said, raising a sculpted eyebrow.

  “Princess!” came a call from the periphery of the cavern, distracting me from my tormenting. A yellow sashed Sunyin, identical to all the others except for a strange haze that covered both eyes and an ancient, lined face, waved his hands and bowed over and over.

  “Good evening, Sunyin,” Linka spoke just loud enough to be heard over the swishing water. “It is so good to see you again.”

  “But not your old home, methinks.”

  “Ah, you see as much as ever.”

  “Losing one's eyesight does not affect hearing one's heart.”

  “But I have no heart, Sunyin.”

  “You do, Princess, it just refuses to beat. But things change.”

  “I hope you're right, my friend.”

  “You should know by now we Sunyins are always right.”

  Linka did not reply, but instead introduced me to the monks whilst I bent to wake up our Sunyin.

  “Sunyin,” I whispered, “Sunyin. We have arrived, my small friend.”

  “He will not answer,” Linka said.