| | "Life in Seven Ages: Set the Stage for the Eighth" | Author: JB Stearns
| | Date: 12.12.08 | Current location: Mavigassey, Conrwall, UK; Brooklyn, NY | Rated ( PG-13)
| Genre: Historic fiction; "Friend of Bill"
Seuqel to:
Ch. 1 -Maria de la Gracia: My maker; I shall not want
Ch. 2 -The Gift of the "Glorious Dead": The Faete of Innocence
| Synopsis: This story follows the life of JB Stearns, a friend of Bill Compton's, indebted to him for his demonstration of kindness and his lessons in maintaining humanity in the face of its certain death. JB's maker was half Fae, Faerie. Her blood enabled him to have children. His new love in his 8th age carries his child, half-Fae, half vampire. To JB's surprise, Bill revealed that JB's wife is Fae - full blooded Fae. Her father covets the life of the unborn Faerie Vamp anticipating her special powers, her strength of mind as well as body. Her talents will serve her family well, and especially her grandfather whose fate, heretofore, has lurked far behind his expectations.
JB must set the stage for his 8th Age and determine the 1st age of his child's life. Who knows how many ages she shall endure. Her life may run at 7; but she could live on through 8 with her father. And what of his maker? Now that JB is a maker in his own natural right, will Maria de la Gracia lay claim to his first born - her grandchild?
---------------------
Whatever JB decides he must ensure that his true love's goodness and that of their child is not "interred with their bones".
I am telling my own story now.
Bound for Mavigassey, Cornwall, on board a US Naval carrier, I take leave from duty in Germany. It's World War II, nearly a century after my own Civil War and the world seems not to have learned a single lesson about humanity. As a Vampire, I know more about humanity than most of my human comrades in arms. Perhaps the few who have lived their human lives longer than I did could disagree, but their argument is not material here.
I am stationed near Wuppertal, Germany, a not so large town that retains its pastoral patina despite the industrial revolution. The German forests deserve their reputation. They embrace the town, even runt through it as does the Rheine. The Schweebebahn (a hanging monorail) had been born just 7 years after I died. It was still running. It was a sugar factory that started it all. The need to get to port quicker than the competition and to push orders through as fast as the rail would carry it - faster than the ships to Dusseldorf port. Initially it ran straight through the factory for rapid loading. Today the rapid loading of an inhumane sort was taking place on a different railway. Luckily for local folk in Wuppertal, the Schweebebahn remained innocent.
The undulation of water has a remarkably calming effect. Not that I don't appreciate the monotonous sound of the Schweebebahn, the kind that can lull you into day dreaming - for me, night dreaming. But, water provides a certain solace that nothing else brings. It truly washes away your fears, painful memories, and even your past. For a moment or two.
Of course I cannot leave my bunk until sunset. I bunk in the engine room, a job with a shift I requested. Nobody else wants to work the night shift and my shipmates and Captain have always accommodated. It's not easy to live among humans. There is so much explaining to do. The frustration and a longing to disclose often live alongside my fear of exposure.
Leave is not something I often request. My wife had stopped writing to me months ago. Two months and 13 days, to be exact. Her silence makes me ache. I fear her family has discovered my true identity, perhaps urged her to divorce me. Worse, I fear she may never talk with me again.
This is paranoia, I tell myself. We have often finished one another's sentences. We recite poetry, visit the graveyards of my days in Brooklyn and in Queens. We attend monthly art shows at my old Art Academy in New York. We like each other. This is not a marriage of convenience. It is a melding of hearts.
As sappy as it might sound, our favorite poembecame our vows:
My true-love hath my heart, and I have his, By just exchange one to the other given: I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss, There never was a better bargain driven: My true-love hath my heart, and I have his. His heart in me keeps him and me in one, My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides: He loves my heart, for once it was his own, I cherish his because in me it bides: My true-love hath my heart, and I have his*.
I dare not share this with other men, never with Vampires. Both would be able to taste blood, as they say of sharks. Men are chastised these days for having such depth of feeling.
But my heart does know the truth. That is why I have asked my old friend, Bill Compton, to meet me in Cornwall. An old town, Mavigassey, near the southern tip of England is a familiar port to many and not too far from where we will dock. Far enough.
Mevigasseyis an ancient place.Still populated by Druids and Witches. And, Vampires. There is a truce, some semblance of acceptance by the locals, and a peaceful nature about the village. Local shops even sell Witch's wands and Paganparaphernalia. It amuses me to see humans purchasing altar cloths and pentagrams as 'knick-knacks' and curiosities to take home. Makes them seem so brave, I am sure.
Bill cannot often break away from his Maker, Lorena. She is, as many have defined her, a "jealous lover". Not many of us remain with our Makers for too long. It is not considered wise to embark upon a lover's relationship. It is much more like a parental bond, a sort of mentor-apprentice relation than anything else. Maintaining long or deep bonds with other Vampires, or humans even, is not promoted by the powers that be. I think they would rather have us divided, than united, and certainly less human. It makes hunting and gathering a bit easier to stomach.
Lorena is enjoying a haunt of her own right now. And, as she is distracted, she cares not whether Bill sees me in Cornwall or at home. She understands I am no threat to her and she knows well that she also holds Bill's mind - if not his heart - in her hands. Lorena sees me as an attractive nuisance. Something she imagines could be an interference, but nonetheless a convenient distraction for Bill while she attends to other business.
I could not read between the lines of Bill's letter. Having written me at all demanded my attention.
I had insisted he come and was human enough still to wonder whether he would come as a true friend, and not just as a self-interested party. We had stayed a year inMevigasseyafter we first met. Lorena had come with him that time. She wanted a new view of the world. Often we Vampires trot the globe looking for new experiences and fresh blood - a place to hide out in plain view.
Bill and I have agreed to meet at the Shark's Fin, a village pub on the water we used to frequent - in 1887. The inlet serves local boats, fisherman and day trippers, mostly. The picture windows provide just that. The portrait of an idyl lifestyle.
The waitress at Shark's Fin does not recognize me for who I am. It is not odd to see sailors only at night. She is somewhat flirtatious. A sense of duty rings true. Her name is Clara Belle. If it were not for my true love, I might consider sampling her after closing. I could go for some hearty nutrition about now. Living on Vino de Bovine is not my cup of tea. But, it keeps me out of harm's way.
The sun has just set and you can still see the comforting reddish orange hues melt into the ocean. Here, however, they are imbued with purple. Something not often seen in the New York harbor.
Bill is late. The pit of my stomach churns. Clara Belle is impatient. I cannot even pretend to drink my ale. She knows this will not be a good night for her. I will make it up to her.
This is not an altruistic mission for Bill. I must remember that. What happens next may be a call to arms for us all.
You know that feeling on the back of your neck. Those antiguous hackles of the lupine variety.
I always sit facing the door. Old habit now. Looking up over the rim of my glass, I spy Bill at the entrance. Clara Belle greets him. Charming as always. He could have been a lady killer if he had wanted. He graciously accepts Clara Belle's suggestion of a dark ale, a house specialty.
He sits across from me without greeting. Our eyes confer first. I know I must take the first turn at conversation.
"Thank you, Bill. Did Lorena suspect - anything?"
"No." He hesitates. Looks around. Leans over the excuse of a table between us. "I think she thinks you're homesick. Lovesick. She ridicules you for that. Often." He smirks and leans back. more comfortably now.
"Oh. Well, I suppose that is good for us."
"Yes, it is."
"Bill. I need for us to get straight to the point."
Bill draws from his breast pocket a few photographs from home. They are of my wife's family's Independence Daypicnic. The seem ordinary. Tables laced with blueberry and pecan pies, lemonade, grilled meats set out for hungry folk, and my wife. Seated at the end of a table under an oak tree, her hands resting on her belly, slightly swollen. She had worn a white lace blouse overlaying the flowing folds of her ankle length skirt. Her sandals exposing her small feet, her hair worn in long scolders at the sides of her face - the rest piled on top of her head. She is smiling at me.
"You take this?"
"Yes. I did. For you."
"She knew that, I take it."
"She did."
"Did you talk about it?"
"We did."
Damnit Bill! Don't make me wait.
"Look, Bill, I want to know her situation. What she knows, what her father knows, and what she wants." Now I hesitate. "what she wants me to do."
My worst fear has been that she will want me to return her heart in hand.
The photograph is telling. A relief. Innocence is allows the lens to catch a glimpse of her heart on camera. You can see the glint in her eye, the cautious upward glance, yet almost mischievous. Her head remains, however, slightly downturned, her eyes upward, her right hand beneath the swell and her left hand protectively over the top of her belly. She is, in a word, beautiful. With this sentiment, I hate that I am not human.
Innocence’s condition cannot be made public. In human terms, she would be fodder for Church gossip, neighborhood ostracism, and the like. InVampire Society, she would be gold. And, therefore, gone before I could return to her.
There is no telling what what her kind would do. Faeries are not all sugar and spice, as the tales would have you think. There are many worth trusting with your life. My wife among them. And, there are those, who have that human quality - avarice. A deadly sin if ever there was.
There is no doubt I am the father. Innocence and I knew my maker’s special gift could be passed on. But it is impossible sometimes to control one's lust, especially when love enthralls you.
"How long can we keep it a secret, Bill?"
"Not too much longer. She is due in September. September 13th."
"We need to act fast, then. Where shall we take her?"
"We? We? I am not taking her anywhere, JB. She is your wife. What would that look like? What about Lorena? Do you forget what she is like?"
I do not want to anger him. He is, after all, acting - at least partly - in my interest. In Innocence's interest.
"Yes, I was using the 'royal we', Bill. Don't worry yourself. I will assume total responsibility. But I will need help. From someone."
Bill draws a sip of his ale as Clara Belle stares from the bar. He does not want to disappoint her. He might want to sup later.
"Bill."
"Yeah."
"What if we engage some of my navy comrades? They are invested incamaraderie. It's practically a national motto. We say there is not anything we would not do for one another. They could escort her to a base where I could visit with her. I rarely ask for leave. This is my first time. I am sure the Captain would accommodate me while we are in port. London and Norfolk are not safe now, but Cornwall is - relatively."
Spitting the ale into a festoon at the foot of the table, Bill agrees this might work.
They say there are Seven Ages to Life, from infancy to death. As Vampire, my life is the Eighth Age. An age unknown to humankind. As there are no lessons to prepare us for such a life, I can only make my way with the kindness of strangers, experiment, wit, and happenstance. My hope is that the strangers on board my ship will come to our rescue.
"Bill, I cannot leave my child's fate to chance nor cruel design of those who would seek to covet her powers. You know this to be true." I fake a sip for Clara Belle.
"My in-laws have a stake in her future for their future's sake. They are a dying breed. Whether my daughter is endowed with Innocence's Faerie strength and meta-intelligence or our Vampire powers, is not the question. The question is: Will she be invested with both?"
"She is an unknown quantity. You are right about that. That is why I am here. I will not lie to you."
I knew something was coming. This is not altruistic.
"It would beadvantageousto Vampires and Faeries alike to have access to this child."
"My child, Bill."
"I am sorry. Your child, yes. But you know as well as I that the Vampire Queen will want to have a meet with her. To determine her strength. To see whether she poses a threat or could become an asset. She will take her from you."
"Has she asked you to come here?"
"She knows I am here."
"I asked you, Bill, as a friend: Did she ask you to come here?"
"No."
Bill is nothing if not honest. Like me, he has worked to maintain his humanity. And, this I know I can trust.
"Alright, then. What does she know?"
"She knows you are married and thinks little of it. Says you are a traitor to your kind. She does not support integration."
"She is behind the times."
"You and I agree on this. But, it is her view that rules."
"I suppose, yes."
"Well, JB, she is biding her time. She did not interfere with my trip. I suspect it is the real reason Lorena did not choose to stop me."
Now that makes sense. Her agreement, despite her desire for new blood and new company, did arouse suspicion.
"So we are not acting in secret. I can glamour my Captain to permit Innocence on board a transport to Conrwall. That is not a problem."
"But can you glamour his superiors who have to sign that order?"
"If I have to. You can help with that, if need be. Can't you?"
"I can. I will. Then we need to arrange for Innocence to remain here in Mavigassey."
"No. Lorena knows you are here to meet me. This is the first place she will look."
"Yes. But there are Witches in Mavigassey who will be of service to us. You remember Raven, don't you? Her sister as well?"
"I do. You think they will remember us still?"
How could they not. Bill was charming, despite Lorena's presence. And Lorena thwarted their every attempt to 'get to know Bill better'. Perhaps a bit of rivalry could serve us well now.
"Where are they, Bill?"
"They run asouvenirshop selling 'Witch's Brew' and wands. What else?"
"Same tact. Hiding in the open."
"It works for most of us."
"Have you seen them since you arrived?"
"It is why I am late. We have a dinner engagement with them later tonight. Midnight, in fact."
"Ooh. The Witching Hour. They do have a sense of humor."
"They like to amuse."
Bill had arranged to meet them at their cottage on the cliff overlooking the harbor. They were descendants of a long line of witches dating back further than themedievalWitch, Ropista. They were not only honored but admired. They too believed in humane approaches to life and death.
We returned to our rooms in a boarding house where we had stayed during our last visit. The nice thing about coming to England is that the places you see today are often as they were - with a bit of wear - when we were last here. There is comfort in familiarity.
My child - our child - will enter her first age of life as I 'live' my eighth.Who knows how many ages she shall endure. Her life may complete its course at the seventh. She could live on through eight with her father.
And, Innocence? Would she want to join us?
I cannot think now of whether Maria de la Gracia will lay claim to my first born. Too much at once.
As I dress for our engagement with Raven and Grace, I think of the Bard's words,that "the evil that men do lives after them." I realize that in this eighth age of life, I am the one who never dies and must endure my regrets forever. One mis-step in negotiating the fate of Innocence and our unborn child will surely become not only a persistent memory, but a nightmare in my endless days of slumber.
I must trust Bill. I must wait to determine if we can trust Raven and Grace.
Whatever I decides I must ensure that Innocence and our 'true love' child is not "interred with the bones" of those who die in the seventh age - old age.
to be continued... |
| |
|
Share this
Leave a review or comment on my story by clicking "Start Thread" below.
