ETERNITY, COUNCIL. PART FIVE.

V

 

The year was 2008. Early January, 2008. A roaring New Year’s Party, hosted by One, was finally on the verge of subsiding. Arthur was sitting in front of the fireplace, swinging dangerously between deliriously happy and heartbreakingly distressed, a mug of ale in one hand, a flower in the other. It was a household flower. One had given it to him for Christmas. Facing him was Five, who was rebelliously not drinking any alcohol at all, showering her rare smile on everyone who passed, because Three was out of town. Four was passed out on a couch, and One himself, slightly tipsy, was whining about how he didn’t get more Christmas presents.

In the dying embers of joy, as One calmed down and promptly fell asleep in the middle of the room, the door burst open and Three came in, looking infuriatingly cheery and happy. Now, Three should never look cheery or happy – Arthur had already had several nightmares over the span of the last week.

“I found a Six,” Three said in a very disturbing, cheery voice.

Arthur was about to congratulate him (and to tell him to shut up/ask if he was drunk, by any chance), when he caught the face of the new Six.

Ishmael stared back at him.

“You’re still alive?” Arthur managed to voice, dropping the ale, which was caught by Four reflexively in her sleep. She mumbled something, hugged the ale, and went back to her alcohol-induced slumber.

“Yes,” Ishmael replied, glaring and on the defensive in an instant. Arthur blinked, and then, suddenly winging back into deliriously happy mood, embraced him as one would a brother. Ishmael squirmed uncomfortably, looking at Three for an explanation.

“Two’s very affectionate,” Three said amiably. Arthur let go of Six as if he had caught disease.

“I’m not.”

“He is,” Three said, making his way towards the last of the wine. “A celebratory toast, perhaps…everyone…?” He trailed off ever so slightly as he caught sight of Four, drooling onto the carpet and One, cheek snuggled into the rug – and then he stared at Five, who immediately assumed a blank expression and dragged her feet towards him.

“To the council!” Three said loudly, and then downed his wine in one go, as if he were at a bar…which he had been. Six shuddered a little.

“To the council,” Arthur and Five and Six echoed hollowly.

“Well, I’m off to bed; you’ll bed the brat, right?” Three asked Arthur, raising an eyebrow.

“I beg you pardon?”

“You’ll put him to bed?”

“I – well, yes…although I was certain I had heard…” Arthur’s eyes roved from Five, who was looking suddenly mischievous, to Six, who was staring at him in disbelief.

“Well, good night then!” Three called out, vanishing up the stairs.

“What’s gotten into him?” Five asked gleefully.

“Don’t ask me.”

*

“Who would you like for your story today, sire?” Three asked, a week later, when all festivities had ended and everyone was back to their normal selves again. One frowned, staring at his bookshelf, which made up an entire wall. They were mainly comprised of nursery tales, and also Harry Potter, which had been translated into several different languages – including French, Spanish, German, Chinese, Japanese, and Swahili. One had fun making Arthur read the Swahili one if he was in a good mood.

“Six!” One proclaimed, latching onto Six. Two gave Six a very smug smile, and then an apologetic look, and then left the room, singing merrily under his breath. One took no notice. One by one, the other Council members left, leaving the boy with Six.

One smiled.

Six smiled back, his teeth very white, his dark eyes already contracting at the coming hour of pain and endurance. “What story would you have…sire?”

“Hmm…I have One Thousand and One Nights on 3F,” One pointed to a shelf, which was labeled like a coordinate system. Six inwardly marveled at the level of organization that this “child” had, when One then explained, “Four and Five put this together. Isn’t it very advanced?”

“Yes,” Six conceded, taking the book off the shelf violently.

“Wait, you have to be gentle or else…”

Half the bookshelf collapsed. Glowering, Six climbed out of the book-mountain over to One’s bed. One frowned at him.

“Aww…put it back up, Six!” One ordered, and then turned over and fell asleep. Six stared a while at the books, then at the bookshelf, and then started towards the door. He heard snickering on the other side. “And don’t leave ‘til you’re done, Six,” One said suddenly, as Six jerked up, started, and banged his head on the doorknob.

“Yes, sire.”

*

“Did you have fun?” Three asked smoothly the next morning, when Six appeared, both irritated and covered with bruises.

“Tons,” Six sulked.

Behind his amused smile, Three was calculating. Six was strong, and fierce, and loyal, but how long could he stand a child’s tormenting? Stoic people were usually explosive when provoked, with the general exception of Two, who was somehow able to bear whatever nasty remark One snapped at him in times of frustration.

Six was almost to his limit, Three saw. And only the first night, too.

What good did that do all of them?

*

“I think we need a Seven,” Three said a few weeks later, at the dinner table. Three sat at the head of the table, because One insisted on sitting next to Two, and Four and Five sat facing them. Six was at the other head of the table, far away from the rest, sipping cold soup and trying to feel like he fit in, when there were at least five pairs of chairs dividing him from the rest, down the long banquet table.

“Why a Seven?” One asked curiously as Two handed him an eighth napkin with a slightly scandalized look.

Four got up to get more blood. Six followed her, having a feeling that he’d rather not hear whatever was about to come out of Three’s mouth. No one trusted Three, except for One, but no one could do anything about it, either.

“Seven is a magic number,” Three explained patiently, calculating all the while. “Magic makes our council strong, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose it does,” One answered carelessly. Not for the first time, Three wondered if this was really worth it – if it was really worth having a careless brat at the head, when all he really needed was one stroke and it’d be over…

Then he caught sight of Two, glaring at him.

That was why.

Two, the princely, the good-looking, the one that could always, always beat him in a fair fight (in reality, unfortunately, there were no such things)…One’s favorite, Two. And if One died, he had no doubt that Two would spend the rest of his life hunting him down, and kill him, or at least die trying. Two had the fiercest look in his blue eyes, a look that dared Three to try anything and live to tell the tale.

He was infuriating. But for now, Three swallowed his frustration and continued in a calm voice, “Therefore, it would be ideal to have seven members.”

“That does make sense. There are seven volumes in Harry Potter, and I have it seven languages, and Two read it seven times for me!” One chirped. Three seethed at the mention of that dratted wizard brat, but moreso at the mention of Two. Two. He was everywhere, always one step ahead of him.

“See?” Three smiled, even though his mind was livid. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Five stiffen, just slightly, and then relax.

“Okay, so we’ll just wait for a seven?”

Three sighed. “Yes, One. We’ll wait.”

*

Irina liked to take walks along the beach. Three gave her permission to wander where she liked, so long as she finished all her daily chores. She was walking along the coast of England, now, it was high noon, and she was just wondering what to eat for lunch when the sound of ragged breathing, and footsteps, approached. Quickly she turned, for this stretch of the beach was rather sacred to her, and no one had every disturbed her before. Not a single soul, not even Four.

A boy was stumbling towards her, breaking out of the distant forest, a pale boy, with black, black hair, and heavy-lidded eyes, who was looking rather desperate. Irina felt something familiar to him, but could not place it until he gasped and collapsed into the warm sand, face down. And that was when she realized why he felt so familiar: he was a vampire, just like her.

A vampire.

A new vampire.

“What’s your name?” she wondered, crouching down, and settling him in a more normal position, examining his fangs. He had a sense of age, even though physically he was not much older than she.

*

He had red eyes. She noticed this when they first opened, and he blinked up at her, and she resisted the urge to grin.

“Можете ли Вы меня понимаете?” she asked, and when he looked blankly at her – she did not blame him – she cleared her throat and switched. “Pouvez-vous me comprenez?”

“French?” the boy asked in surprise. Irina nodded.

“Yes,” she smiled in relief, “And you are awake…”

“Where am I?” the boy persisted, sitting up in bed, so that she had a chance to notice how thin he really is, and wondered what he had been running from. He looked so tired that he could barely hold himself up, so she placed one hand on his chest and shoved him back into the bed, shaking her head.

“You’re exhausted,” she explained. “One says you’ve traveled a long with, and without eating any food.” Secretly, she wondered how he had survived. The boy blinked impatiently and brushed his hand across his eyes – a few grains of sand scattered onto the floor. Standing up, she took a cup and poured him a fresh helping of drink.

“Drink this,” she pushed the cup at the boy.

“Where am I?”

“…you’re in Scotland,” Irina finally decided to reveal. One had not left orders on any of this – he just said something about making sure that this one didn’t die of thirst. “Scotland…where everything begins.”

Then she turned and left the room, fearing that the boy would ask her what she meant. She hardly knew herself, her heart pounding, realizing everything in an instant. The orders. The care they so lavished on this stranger.

They were going to ask him to join.

She could not allow one more soul to be destroyed.

*

Late in the afternoon, Irina came back to check on him, finding him quite well, looking stronger, having emptied the entire pitcher of blood. For a moment she felt queer, as she caught his profile illuminated gold and shining by the setting sun, and then she caught herself, reminded herself that she was acting stupid. “You are recovered?”

“Yes,” the boy answered loosely, “Thank you.”

Unable to help it, Irina smiled. For a moment, the boy’s bright red eyes focused on her face, darkened, and then he turned away.

She was trapped in the red. With an effort, she broke herself away, and, saying reluctantly, “It’s time for you to meet One,” turned to lead him out the door.

“Who is One?”

Face away from the boy, Irina allowed herself a small grin. Then she remembered Three, and the grin slid off her face. They walked briskly across one hallway and turn into another, through some kind of maze that she knew like the back of her hand, and then down a grandly spiraling staircase, to a set of double doors imposing themselves in the wall. She knocked five times – five, for her name.

“Enter!” she heard One call out. Behind her, the boy started in surprise.

Irina pushed open the right-hand door, bowing at One, who was trying to look grand and pulling it off reasonably well. The next second, though, One ditched the idea, and skipped over to the red-eyed stranger with a bright, easy smile, the kind of smile that she wanted to have.

“You’re old, aren’t you?”

Irina stepped out of the room, taking a backward glance at the boy. She stalled long enough to hear him mumble a name (Hito), and then, realizing that One was about to ask him the fateful question, slipped away, unable to bear listening to them talk. She prayed that he would not end up being Seven.

Last time she’d prayed, Three had taken charge of her.

She felt slightly sick.

*

“He found one?” Two asked, half-angry, half-surprised. Irina nodded. “A Seven? You can’t be serious…”

“When is One serious?” she asked, “It’s not One I’m worried about, truthfully.”

Two looked at her thoughtfully. “It’s Three…” he muttered to himself, and then, louder, “What is this one like?”

“He’s quiet,” Irina replied. “Quieter than you – quieter than Three, even. Quieter than Four, and very serious…and rather lost.”

“Lost?” Two repeated with interest. “How so?”

“He looks like he…just lost something precious,” Irina said after a moment. Two nodded. All of them had lost something precious, he guessed, except for maybe Three. He would never understand Three and his odd, immoral ways.

“Then…can’t you send him back?”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t connect with people very well.”

“But if you know he’s lost something…”

“I don’t know what he’s lost. It could be anything.”

“Well,” Two said after a moment, “You have to try.”

“Why can’t you –?”

“You’re the first person he saw,” Two pointed out, “Besides, I have to read One his bedtime story.”

“What happened to Six?”

Two said nothing, but he fixed his stare on her face, until she looked away in sheer horror, her mouth open. “It’s horrible, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t know…”

*

“You cannot possibly take this offer,” Irina said seriously.

Hito only stared back at her, face carefully blank, for a moment. Then, “Why not?”

“Because,” Irina cried out, “All that pain isn’t worth it! All that loss – and grief and–”

Loss and grief. She could remember her father, lying broken on the snowy plains of Russian, the white around him red, red, red. Her dear village burned to the ground without mercy, without pity, without compassion for the dying women and children. And Three’s cold, cold, cold eyes, surveying the wreck and destroyed peace of it without flinching the least bit.

“One is still a child,” she burst out, even though what she really wanted to say was Three is a cold-hearted murderer, “What does a child know about consequences?”

What did Three know about responsibility?

Hito just looked at her blankly. She didn’t know if her words had any effect on him, at all. She drew in a breath, in fright. If Hito was just as cold-hearted as Three – she shuddered to think of it. But something compelled her to repeat, “It’s not worth it.”

She turned away. If Hito had anything to say, she didn’t hear it.

*

“I am afraid, Arthur,” that night, Irina stayed in Two’s room. “Hito unsettles me. His eyes are red and blank, after talking to One. They don’t look lost anymore.”

Two shifted slightly from the position he was lying in, in a rare moment of laziness. “Well. You tried. And don’t call me Arthur.”

“Sorry,” the word comes out automatically.

Two heaved a sigh. He’d been sighing a lot lately. “One is very good at persuading people, you know. It’s a miracle I managed to stay with him for the past few centuries at all. I only wonder why Three didn’t talk.”

“That is strange,” Irina agreed, and then, chuckling lightly, “You care about One.”

“I do,” Two said neutrally. There was no shame, or defiance, or pride in his tone. “I can’t imagine life without him.”

“He’s the only happy person around here,” Irina pointed out.

“He is only nine years old.”

“He’s older than you.”

“Not really, he isn’t,” Two countered. Then, after a pause, “He is like my brother. My over-demanding, childish, extremely vulnerable brother, who I feel I must guard with my life, at all costs. He is like Henry.”

The look on his face, one of wistfulness, told Irina that it was time to drop the subject. With a glance out the window, and then at the clock on the wall, she left the room with a small “Good-night, Two.”

*

Something made her try again. Maybe it was the dream she had last night, where Hito Takeda was stumbling again through the woods, staggering out onto the golden sand, tumbling down, except this time he was human, and he was saying to her, I need your help. I don’t want to be left alone.

However, like before, while she waited impatiently, she made excuses for backing out. Just as she was about to succumb to the little angels and demons in her mind, though, the door opened, and Hito stood there, blinking at her owlishly. He looked funny when he was half-asleep, like a lost child.

“Good morning,” she greeted.

“Good morning,” he mumbled back.

“I thought you would rather find the breakfast table than wander around being starved,” she explained, stalling and stalling, “It’s a regular maze here.”

Hito nodded.

“If you’re late to breakfast, One will volunteer to cook for you,” she finished, grinning, although her heart wasn’t in it.

“I’m not staying for breakfast…if I can,” Hito suddenly decided to proclaim. For an instant, Irina’s face lit up in pleasant surprise. It worked? Did I convince him – did I actually convince him to go back to wherever he came from? She opened her mouth to congratulate him on his wisdom, but was cut off.

“I’m leaving so I can come back,” Hito said this in one breath. It is the most agitated she’d ever heard him.

“Why would you want to do that?” she cried in despair.

“Because I have people I need to save.”

Another group. He does have a family. He does care about something…so why would he have left them? Irina sighed. This made no sense, no sense at all. “The best way to save them is to not come back,” she deadpanned.

But she listened as Hito accepted One’s offer, and she watched One’s face light up joyfully, and she wondered what on earth Two was doing.

*

“Morning, Six,” Three said, sticking his head through Ishmael’s door. “Did you sleep well?”

“Rather,” Ishmael replied back, with an attempted smile, although his face was pale with realization and anticipation, and the knowledge.

“Would you like some breakfast?” Three offered innocently, as if nothing was going to happen. Ishmael felt as if he would like nothing better to stab this smooth, oily, completely cold-blooded creature – but his weapons were gone, and anyways, he could not hope to take on the entire council, all at once.

“No, I’m fine,” he replied. Civility was ingrained into his head. He hated it.

“Well then…”

“Is anyone else going to watch?” Ishmael demanded. Three’s lip curled upwards at an impossible angle, his face the picture of glee.

“Yes, everyone.”

“Everyone…”

“I will give you three hours to set your affairs in order,” Three said after a pause. “We agreed that it would be fair.”

“Of course.”

There was a brief shuffle, and then Two got shoved into Ishmael’s room, looking pale, slightly sick, more like a creature long dead than a prince. “Hello, Ishmael.”

“Arthur,” Six said evenly.

“I have to apologize,” Two started again after a moment of silence. “I did not realize – and if I had known…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Six flashed a brief smile, his white teeth splitting his mouth like a streak of lightning. “I am the first knight to go…”

“I will be the second,” Two sighed, “Three doesn’t like me either.”

“One loves you.”

“One is a child. I had hoped…but he is a child, in the end.” Two shook his head, his fingers trembled slightly, and then he continued, “Catalina loved your people.”

“I know…” Ishmael’s eyes dropped instantly, “I was caught up. Carried away.”

Two chose to ignore the statement, instead letting his eyes linger on every object in the room, from the exotic rug to the sagging pillows to Ishmael himself, on his dark eyes that were no longer fierce. “Are you at peace?”

“I don’t have any other choice.”

“I would talk with One.”

Ishmael pondered this. In the end, though, he shook his head. “I should have gone centuries ago…it is no matter.”

“You are at peace…” Two remarked in awe.

“It will only take a moment.”

“A moment.”

“Three said quick and painless,” Ishmael shrugged, “I have no incentive to fight it. The last of my enemies have fallen, and my parents are waiting.”

For a brief instant, Two’s eyes clouded over. “Yes.”

“I should thank you for the bookshelf trick,” after another pause, Ishmael tried to make a failed attempt at humor. “That was clever.”

Two chuckled. “Sorry. We thought you were going to stay.”

“But I’m not, I guess.”

Two opened his mouth to say something profound, but at that instant, Three wrenched open the door again to call out, “One wants you, Two. He says it’s a matter of utmost importance.”

“Go on,” Ishmael gestured at Two’s questioning glance.

“God be with you,” Two replied, and then he was gone, and that was the last time Ishmael saw Prince Arthur.

*

Pain as he never knew it spread through his body, as his eyes glazed over, and his mouth whispered to Three, “You said…quick…”

“I lied,” Three whispered back.

Treachery, Ishmael’s mind screamed at the horrible figure bent over him, his knife glinting red. It wasn’t heroic or glorifying to be stabbed through the heart. It was painful beyond belief, and the pain cracked him, so that he wasn’t stoic as he was supposed to be, but rather gasping and screaming words that didn’t exist.

“This is too much, Three!” Two shouted out, wrenching the knife away, “Show some respect, at least!”

“There’s so much blood,” One hid behind Two. “I hadn’t imagined so much.”

Behind them, Four was facing the other direction determinedly. Five cast her an apathetic glance and watched on, emotionless. That Hito was not here to see the monstrosity that was Three was a shame. She was certain to have persuaded him to leave then.

Ishmael, after a light entered and left his eyes, went still, and Three, humming to himself, walked away.

“That is the first,” Two muttered to Five.

“He is lucky,” she stated.

 

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