Blood Awakening (8 page)

Her voice trailed off. There was no point in
trying to convince Nachari of the rightness of her union with Marquis. She
needed to stick to the facts, the logical argument. “Is it not true that the woman
who ultimately bears the imprint of a male’s constellation on her wrist actually
has small traces of celestial blood in her veins? And is it not true that it is
the
celestial blood
that makes them compatible...in terms of having children?”

“Yes, that’s part of it,” Nachari conceded, “but—” 

“Then do I not possess more celestial blood than
any
destiny
the gods have ever chosen?”

Nachari hung his head. The compassion in his eyes
was as maddening as it was painful. “You have
pure
celestial blood,
Ciopori. No one would argue such a thing. But your blood is that of the goddess
Cygnus, is it not? Marquis’s
destiny
was chosen at birth by Lord Draco,
and it is Draco’s blood his mate will have running through her veins. The blood
of the dragon god is the only blood that is compatible with Marquis’s.”

Ciopori stared at the wooden planks on the veranda
for quite some time before regaining her courage. She lifted her head and tried
one last time. “Again, wizard, with all due respect: You just don’t know if it
can be done...because your males have never tried any other way. Until now,
there has never been any other possibility.” She sighed and held up her hand. “But
for the sake of argument, let us assume that what you say is true, and I cannot
give Marquis...children.

“I can still argue for him—at the end of the Blood
Moon—when the curse comes to claim him.” Her voice was beginning to waver. “Nachari,
surely those who have cursed you would not punish me.
I am one of them
. One
of the original females—
the very
reason the curse was enacted in the
first place
. Even the gods would have to concede to that point.”

Nachari glanced at the sky. “Ciopori, being who
you are, you must be a woman of great faith, are you not?”

“Of course I am. That’s just my point—”

“Do you believe that the gods know all and see
all?”

“Of course I do.
Of course they do
. Yes.”

Nachari looked her in the eyes. “Then they know
you are here, don’t they? They know that Marquis...loves you...and you, him. They
know exactly who you are and where you are from, yet they do this anyway.” He
gestured at the heavens. “Forgive me for being so blunt, but after
fifteen-hundred years of making him wait, why did the gods choose now? It is
almost as if they acted in haste to
prevent
the two of you from joining.
If you believe in divinity, then there is no coincidence.”

Ciopori blanched at his reasoning.
He was right
.

She shut her eyes and clutched her arms tight to
her stomach. If the gods truly knew all, then they had to know she couldn’t
possibly let go of Marquis now that she’d found him: They had to know that she
would fight for this warrior to the bitter end. She would never let such a
punishment stand.

Ciopori Demir was willing to enter the Valley of
Death and Shadows with him if necessary.

As if Nachari had read Ciopori’s mind, he held out
his hand. “Will you walk with me, Ciopori? There is something I need to show
you.”

Ciopori took Nachari’s hand and followed him back
into the house. They passed through the receiving room, entered a main hall,
and eventually made their way to the rear of a large mud-room that sat just
beyond the kitchen. The door to the mud-room opened up to a dark, circular
tunnel with a hand-laid cobblestone floor.

“What I’d like to show you is just on the other
end of this hall,” Nachari said, ushering Ciopori in front of him. And then
with the sweep of his hand, he lit a long row of torches, each one anchored in
rows at the top of the arched wall.

Ciopori drew in a deep breath as she followed the
wizard through the long, damp tunnel.

When they finally got to the end, there were two heavy,
wooden, arched doors—like one might find in an ancient castle. Nachari gestured
to the one on the left. “This entrance opens up to the Hall of Justice as well
as the Ceremonial Hall of our people.” He placed his hand on the thick iron
handle of the door on the right. “And this one leads to the Chambers of Sacrifice
and Atonement.” He cleared his throat. “You should prepare yourself for the...energy....
It is a place of great mourning and death.”

Ciopori took a slight step back, braced herself,
and then nodded. “I’ll be fine.”

Nachari was the one to pause then—lost in a frozen
moment in time. It was as if the weight of the entire world were sitting on his
shoulders, and he couldn’t bring himself to open the doors. As if his hands
were frozen in place.

When he finally summoned his courage, he swung the
heavy door open so hard that it slammed against the wall behind it, sending a
resounding echo through the already creepy room. He swallowed a lump in his
throat. “Come on.”

The moment Ciopori entered the chamber, she felt a
sudden drop in temperature. The room resembled a small, 1800s church: There
were several rows of pews, all lined up, each one facing a single platform
where a pulpit would have been, and the energy of the place was indeed heavy
with sorrow. On the solitary platform was a small altar made of multi-colored
granite. It had a smooth, hollow surface at the top, and an extremely dark
energy swirled around the base.

Nachari pointed to the altar. “At the end of the
Blood Moon, each male has two sons: one child of light to carry on the race,
and one child of darkness—the soulless one—who is brought here as demanded by the
Curse.” He pointed toward the hollow groove at the top of the structure. “The
child is placed on the altar by his father or Napolean, depending upon the
circumstances. Sometimes the mother attends, as do other family members, but
more often than not, Napolean performs the ceremonies himself.”

Ciopori felt sick to her stomach, but she didn’t
question the gods. The universe was a place of balance: Light cast a shadow. Day
gave way to night. Birth and death mirrored one another. The good could not
exist without the contrast of the bad to make it so. However difficult, the disparity
of two sons—one good, one evil—was a balanced punishment, and she understood
her ancient sisters’ reasoning...even if she didn’t agree with it.

Nachari and Ciopori walked silently through the
space. When they got to the other side, they were met by yet another door. This
one had crossbones on the front and an ancient warning written in the Old
Language:
Behold the portal to the Corridor of the Dead.

Nachari bit his bottom lip, opened the door, and
ushered the princess inside. “Don’t worry; that doesn’t apply to us.”

Princess Ciopori took a quick step back. “And you
are absolutely certain of this, wizard?”

Nachari’s expression was deathly serious. “Yes,
absolutely
.
I am not ready to leave this earth quite yet, Princess.”

Ciopori followed him through the macabre door into
what she realized was a confined entry-way: Just beyond the cramped space were
two steps leading up to a hatch, the final entrance to the death chamber, and
the hatch was covered with an enormous iron bolt that locked it in place. It
was obviously meant to keep whoever was inside the cavity from escaping.

The lingering energy of torture and agony was
almost tangible as Nachari reached up, took a large iron key from a rusted hook,
and unlocked the hatch.

Ciopori recoiled.

The interior was shaped like a cylinder—about
twelve feet tall, twenty-feet in circumference—and it reeked of the smell of
death...

And vengeance.

And  malevolence.

Without a doubt, she knew that the souls of her
slain sisters had become the very evil they had sought to punish. As all energy
only multiplied and attracted unto itself, every act of hatred and revenge—every
death meant to atone for their extinction—had simply added to their own
darkness and depravity. What happened here in this chamber was not justice, and
it was not penance.

It was unholy.

For the first time since she’d met him, Nachari’s
proud swagger faltered, and he stumbled back as if he could barely stand. His
hands and arms trembled uncontrollably.

Ciopori followed his eyes as he took in the
contents of the room: There were dozens of oval shower-heads perched around the
upper perimeter of the ceiling, and they were clearly positioned to wash the
sterile-looking walls. But...of what?

“Blood,” Nachari answered, easily reading her mind.
“The shower-heads are needed to wash away all of the blood.”

He pointed to a large drain in the middle of the
floor, which dipped down at the center. “It has been said by our people that
when the souls of our female ancestors are done punishing some of the males, there
is nothing left of them to bury or incinerate. What little that remains flows
down that drain like liquid. Others are left intact as a reminder to those who
must bury them...as was the case with my twin.”

Ciopori caught her breath and shrank back from the
door.
His twin?

Nachari forced himself to continue. “The male
enters the chamber on the last night of the Blood Moon: the night he failed to
provide the sacrifice of the Dark Child.” He shivered. “It is also said that
the walls are sound-proof because the cries are too agonizing to bear by those
outside. The punishment is too cruel. The death too prolonged.” He took a slow,
deep breath and steadied his voice. “The death curse has been known to take up
to twenty-four hours when the male is incredibly strong—never less than twelve.”

He turned away and placed his hand over his
stomach. His perfect face grew pale. His voice quivered despite his effort. “My...twin”—he
stopped and clutched at the wall—“and Marquis’s brother…died in here…less than
two months ago. For no other reason than he did not have a son to hand over at
the end of the Blood Moon.”

Ciopori winced. She had no idea what to say. Dear
gods…what were these males being put through? “Why didn’t he have a…sacrifice?”
she finally asked.

Nachari glanced at his trembling hands. “One of
the Dark Ones, a descendant of your brother Jaegar…”  He exhaled. “Wow…this is
harder than I thought…his name was Valentine Nistor, and he stole Shelby’s
destiny
before they could complete the ritual.”

Ciopori’s hand went up to her mouth and a tear
escaped her eye. “Dearest gods…”

Nachari slowly backed away from the chamber. “Ciopori,
you may be right about arguing with the gods. You may even be right about there
being some possibility—some way—for you and Marquis to conceive children
together that does not end so…badly. But if you are wrong—if there is even the
slightest chance that you are wrong—then this is where Marquis will end up at
the end of this moon. This is what he will endure if your argument fails.”

He turned to meet her gaze, and she saw everything
he couldn’t say in his eyes.

Bringing her here had been one of the hardest
things he had ever done. The grief and pain he was shouldering were beyond
imagination. Standing so close to the place where his twin had died was taking
something good,
something elemental
, out of him, but he was pleading for
his living brother’s life.

“Ciopori,” he whispered, “I do not often make
requests. In fact, I am forever chastised for my pride and arrogance, my
inability to humble myself before others...but with the gods as my witness, I
am begging you right now—do not interfere with Marquis’s destiny. I know that
you love him, and that my plea is purely selfish, but I cannot survive the loss
of another brother.”

Nachari turned away, locked the hatch, and rushed
out of the chamber.

Nachari Silivasi was in the tunnel retching when Ciopori finally caught up to
him. He hated that he had left her like that, but she was in no immediate danger—and
he couldn’t bear for her to see him fall apart.

As most vampires rarely ate food, there was
nothing for him to throw up, so his stomach just heaved painfully, convulsing until
he truly believed his ribs might crack.

Why had he done such a thing?

What had made him believe he was strong enough to
see Shelby’s last destination? Dear gods, the males in the house of Jadon never
had to witness the punishment—or see the death chamber. Napolean had always
sheltered them from the worst of the Blood Curse, and for good reason.

Try as he might, Nachari could not get the image
of his adventurous, good-natured brother—kneeling and screaming, flailing or fighting,
ultimately being murdered—in that cold, sterile chamber out of his mind. And
for what reason had he been so brutally slain?

His stomach started a new round of dry-heaves, and
he doubled over.

It was then that the princess approached him. She
placed her hands on his trembling shoulders, bowed her head, and began to chant
in a slow, repetitive cadence...her voice a haunting echo of the Old World. The
song was unfamiliar but beautiful, and even though it contained words Nachari could
not understand, as a wizard, he knew the presence of power when he felt it. Ciopori
was commanding the energy around him, and he felt her healing compassion seep into
his soul, relax his stomach...and ease his burden.

When the princess was done singing, Nachari stood
up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I
apologize for my…reaction.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” she insisted. “I
have been so selfish in all of this…” After a long, pregnant pause, she added, “If
I might, I would ask you one more question.”

Nachari raised his eyebrows and waited.

“Why in the name of all that is holy would a male
willingly submit to such an
evil
punishment? Why would he come here—turn
himself over—even if he had failed to make the sacrifice?”

Nachari leaned back against the tunnel wall. “The
punishment is not escapable, Ciopori: The only thing a male can control is
where he spends eternity. If he gives his life up with honor, then his soul
remains intact, and he will live on in the Valley of Spirit and Light. However,
if he runs and hides from the punishment, his soul is lost as well, and he will
spend eternity in the Valley of Death and Shadows. It is not a matter of dying
or not dying—the execution is inevitable. It is a question of where he will
spend the afterlife.”

Ciopori brushed a tear from her eye and took
Nachari’s hand. “Look at me, wizard.”

Nachari smiled as graciously as he could and stared
into Ciopori’s amazing golden eyes; it was easy to see why Marquis had fallen
so hard, so quickly. Although he had the feeling that there was far more to the
story than he knew.

Ciopori stroked his arm. “You have asked me not to
interfere with Marquis’s destiny, and I give you my word as a princess: I will
do nothing that might endanger your brother’s life. But in return, I must ask
something of you.”

 “What?” Nachari held his breath.

“Please do not deny me the opportunity to speak
with him once more...to know his heart...to say good-bye. Nachari, take me to
Marquis now, wherever he is. I have no way of finding him without you.”

Nachari closed his eyes and considered Ciopori’s words.
The last thing Marquis needed right now was to have Ciopori show up while he
was with Kristina, but there was simply no way he could deny her this one
request. For whatever reason, the princess clearly loved his brother, and the
two of them deserved a chance to say good-bye.

Nachari opened his eyes, squeezed her hand, and
managed a faint smile. “If we can get past Napolean, I will take you.”

Ciopori shrugged. “Oh, the king will object, but it
is of no consequence. I am not bound by his rule.” She paused then. “If
anything, he is bound by mine.”