Whispers in the Dark: Part II
Continued from Whispers in the Dark: Part I
Amelia's perspective
"Marriage is forged from love, purpose and trust. It is supposed to be strong as metal and yet is delicate enough that it needs to be nourished like a plant or it will wither away and die. It it nothing short of a miracle and therefore should be honored as a single most powerful bond in life." Amelia looked at Matayas' body laying on the ground, nearly drained of his life force. He had so willingly given it to her. "So you see," she continued, her hooded green eyes boring holes into Father Stephan's head, "that starting off my marriage with betrayal is hardly a good indication of the future. But you say that the entire bloodline is in danger. That is the only reason I grant you an audience." Stepping around to the side of the alter, her imposing stature loomed over the priest. "You have precious little time to tell me what it is that burns through your mind."
Father Stephan wasted no time, his long thin white scraggly beard hung down like a goats and shook as he spoke. "Lady Amelia. Have you heard the tale of your consort's birth?"
What more was there to hear? Her expression must have confirmed her ignorance. "Ah, I see." Father Stephan breathed out, coming to stand in front of the alter while his eyes followed the ones of the Virgin Mary. His manner was cool. Unrushed. After all, when you only truly fear God than what was an Elder's wrath to you?
"All religions come to consume the previous. For instance, this painting here which hung in Matayas' ancestral home, is actually not of the Virgin Mary at all. Boldog Asszony, a goddess associated with birth. It was only later when the Catholics could not destroy her cult that they turned her vestige into the Virgin Mary, adding a few elements of Christiandom but, incorporating a figure that the Hungarian people would recognize and accept before she got a slow makeover."
Amelia rolled her eyes, her attention closely monitoring Matayas' heart and breath. It would be taxing to wake him if he fell into slumber. "Surely you have more to tell me then this feeble attempt at an art history lesson?"
"Of course. Of course." He said slowly, his eyes still raised to the icon with reverence. "It is said that at the precise moment of Matayas' birth this holy painting cried blood. A terrible omen foreshadowing the birth of leader that would bring pain and suffering down on his people and not peace." Amelia took a breath, her eyes piercing through the very soul of the priest who could clearly read her displeasure in her eyes. "How dare you waste my time with such garbage. If you knew Matayas at all, you would see how drastically you err. I thought that you had more sense then this Stephan but I see that your time away from us has made your mind unwell."
Stephan did not look offended, clasping his hands behind his back as he stepped forward to her. "WIth all due respect, Amelia. My time away from the coven has prevented me from seeing the treachery of tyrants like Viktor and madmen like Marcus. Must you survive another despot before you are made to realise that Matayas will only bring more pain upon your house?"
"I will hear no more of this." Amelia sliced the air with her hand, emphasizing her unwillingness to continue.
It was a lost cause. She would have none of this argument. "No, of course not. I am sorry to trouble you Amelia. And hope, for the sake of the coven, for your sake, that I am wrong."
The issue was forgotten through the ceremony. Matayas had risen and Amelia continued on as if nothing had transpired between her and Father Stephan. It was only later, much later, when the ceremony was finished and the demon attack thwarted that Father Stephan's gasp had her attention. The icon. No. She thought. It is impossible. It was crying blood. She had to go examine it for herself. Matayas asserted that it was the blood of the beast. "Indeed, the blood of the beast." Of course it was. Her hand came under the priests nose. "See? Put this foolishness behind you now and do not take my present happiness as a sign of leniency."
"It is time to leave Matayas. I am keen on presenting you to the coven as my husband." Her tone was pointed as she looked at the priest and uttered the words. They left in haste. Or, rather, Amelia had ushered them out. Father Stephan sighed warily and prayed for them while writing in his journal. Hours passed and a day burned into the sky only to drop under the horizon again. Only when moon shone brilliantly in the sky did he hear light footsteps brush over the stone floors.
With his back to the entrance, he looked up for a moment in realization to who his unannounced guest was before looking back down to finish writing on the smooth parchment. Melting a little wax under the dancing candle flame, he let it drip onto the page before sealing it and stamping it with a variation of the coven's crest. Instead of the bat being elegantly twisted into a crest, a knot work cross twisted around the coven's crest.
"I knew that you would come back."
"It was not the beast's blood." Amelia stood in the doorway, her voice strained and her face obscured by the shadows. "But you knew that."
"I knew that before you even put the blood under my very nose." Father Stephan turned around, watching, astounded, as Amelia stepped into the church her green eyes made a terrifying luminescent shade by the tears and resolve shining in her eyes. Had she been holding a sword instead she would not have looked so threatening. "Whose blood was it?" She demanded quietly.
He shook his head, getting up and going behind the alter to pull out a gold chalice. "That is not for me to know. But when you left, I collected the tears." Taking out a mortar and pestle, he tipped the chalice over. Flecks and a small clump of coagulated blood fell into the stone bowl and he began grinding it into a powder.
"They've dried by now. Not to worry." Not to worry? What did he expect her to do with it? "How do I stop...how do I stop whatever is happening?" Her elbows bent as she leaned her hands against the alter and closed her eyes. "You have the visions? Hear the voices?" Father Stephan's voice lifted with a curious and cautious questioning that made her wonder if she could even begin to trust him. She opened her eyes and held his gaze as she contemplated answering him in silence. "Yes."
Father Stephan nodded his head and continued to slowly grind the blood into a powder. "Use them. Only those who have been the damned or resided in their adobe can see them and hear the language of The Fallen." Silence. It was encrusted with trepidation. "I have..." Amelia sighed, remembering that night on the cliff when the demon had struck her through her daughter. The memory was so vivid that she could hear the rain bounce off her sword and the wind slap her wet hair against her face. "I have been to...." Could she say it? How could she not? How could she, after all they had been through and seen, not be able to say it. "Hell." She ended flatly. Father Stephan's brow raised as he crossed himself. Amelia scowled, her jaw tensing with annoyance that she could not temper. It was as if she was feeling Matayas course through her and considering that his blood ran mixed with her own through her veins, it was no certain surprise. Did he know where she was right now? Would she lie when he asked? "I am not the damned. Merely killed by a demon and brought back." Merely.
"If that is so, Amelia, than why did you not go to heaven? We are all the immortal damned simply by being vampires." She scoffed under her breath, causing Father Stephan to glance at her a moment before looking back down to his work. "You do not think so?" He asked philosophically.
"No."
"Hmmm. Alright. Here we are." The powder slid back into the chalice after the priest poured a thimbleful of wine in it and he handed it to Amelia with expectation. Although she received the cool chalice, she was uncertain what he wanted her to do with it. "Surely you do not think that I am going to drink this?"
Leaning slightly over the alter, he whispered almost conspiratorially. "How else will you know who the blood belongs it? Imagine, Amelia, what you might see." He urged. "The icon cried blood." Where the Priest saw an icon, Amelia saw wood and paint. And yet, she could not account for her heart beating so strongly in her breast. What if something were to happen? Gingerly, she lifted the chalice to her lips and then with reckless courage, threw her head back to drink the blood.
It. It. Burned. Amelia gasped, the chalice fell to the ground with a loud clatter and then rolled down the steps. "It..burns!" Quite literally. She grabbed her midsection, her eyes widening as she watched in horror as her skin turned patches of grey as they flaked and burned. Her skin regenerated as her body fought against the damage. All but the stigmata on her hands vanished as the burn ate through the center of her hands. Her head swam with visions of a war before time. Hushed whispers echoed in her head, ethereal voices told a story of a future that made her cry out loud to the heavens through gritted teeth and anger. "No!" I will not allow it!
Her eyes fluttered to the back of her head as her heavy limbs rushed down to meet the ground. With a jerk, her head tugged left and right as the images thrashed in her mind. And then it stopped. Her body went limp, her fists unfurling to reveal an open palm with a wound that was not yet healed.
"Amelia?" Oh dear God. Stephan's hand moved closer to the body as his own seemed to recoil away. If he had...if she was..."E-e-e-e nomini patri et fili e s-s-s-spiritu sanct-t-t-i..." He began praying-for himself. "Amelia?" Her chest didn't move, she did not look like she breathed. No, no, no. Stepping closer, he knelt down before her, his face slowly drawing in to get a better look at her hands. But as his hand touched hers, Amelia gasped loudly, her eyes shooting open and she grabbed him by the collar. Bringing him closer to her face, her voice was urgent. "You must go to the New World. Los Angeles. Find the Regents. Tell them what I tell you. Show them what I show you. Quickly. There is not much time. It is not safe here." She finished morosely. With no time to waste, she bit into the flesh of her wrist, watching as the blood bubbled up before the wound closed. "Here." Stephan looked reluctant as he carefully cradled the wrist in his hands. Like communion, he drank of the wine from another god before crossing himself. Carefully chosen images played in his mind like a movie. Nothing less than what she wanted him to see, to tell, and nothing more was filed in his mind. And yet, his eyes flew open.
"You can see-"
"The future."
"The blood of the icon." He said in awe. "It has shown you what damnation lies in our path in the nights to come."
"Not if I have anything to say about it." She hissed, each word like a bite upon the air.
"It means to conquer us? What do you mean to acco-"
"Go now Stephan and do not stop for anyone or anything. Go now before there is nothing left to save." She finished grimly with a scowl on her face. Stephan only nodded as he scuttled around like a mad monk, collecting a few objects before running out of the church. It was then that Amelia thought she saw a shadow quickly move away from the entrance that Father Stephan vanished through. Furrowing her brow, she cautiously watched for it again. Nothing. With a sigh, she wandered over the bible that lay on the alter. In it, secrets and truths that the world was blind to. How would have ever guessed that their destiny was written prophecy on a page? Flipping through the pages, Amelia came to those that foretold their destruction. The ball in her throat grew tighter as her cold eyes wandered over the words. They would need to find it. They would need to understand-if they weren't to late.
She stained the corners of the passages with a small spot her blood. She left the bible in plain sight. Nothing that was not hidden was ever truly found. At the entrance of the church, she found herself looking into her reflection in basin of holy water. "I am sorry, my children. But this is a war that I cannot fight alone. As I will be unable to do what is right for the coven in the future, I turn to you to right my wrongs and guide us away from our enemies. Forgive me." Her fresh blood stained the pool and basin, erasing her image. Pulling the hood of her elegant velvet opera cloak over her head, she stepped back out into the cool night, missing Matayas' shadow as it slid away unseen.