Silent Heartbeat

This is a fairly long story, about 6200 words. It’s already been proofread for most grammar/spelling mistakes, (but if you see any, please point them out!). I’m concerned mostly with the last scene, which I wasn’t sure how exactly to write, but I’m sure there are problems with the other parts of the story. This isn’t just a tentative first draft, so by all means, be ruthless with your criticism. That said, Enjoy!

——

I don’t pretend to be an expert on death. What horrors people visit in the other world, I can hardly guess. I have been alive far longer than most, and plan to remain that way for some centuries to come. I merely see the mark death leaves on us. When the dead return to the living world, they are pitiful, broken, heartless remnants of their former selves, haunted, bound by fear, and by a newfound awareness of their own mortality. Perhaps the other world was unkind to them- I would not know. I cannot know. But we can see terror the void inspires in the living. So imagine the terror it must inspire to those who have been there. And now imagine the gratitude they must feel towards the one who pulled them from the abyss. You see, I give the dead life again, and life is a binding gift. They are wretched, groveling shadows of their previous selves, begging with their every breath to return my generosity.

There was but one exception- the rare individual who found within himself the strength to redeem his shattered life…

• * *

Stiff and cold, Elias awoke from a dreamless slumber, unable to remember when or where he was last awake. His entire body was numb with cold, and aware only of its own oppressive heaviness. Grey shadows swayed on the back of his eyelids. Where was this? His head felt thick and cold, like it had been locked in an ice chest. He was lying on something hard, but what exactly it was he couldn’t tell. Sensation began to crawl through his body, down into his arms and though his fingers and toes. Something wasn’t right. How long had he been out? An uneasy felling tugged at his insides. His eyes flickered open, despite leaden resistance.

“Ah yes, he’s up.”

Elias’s eyes weren’t working too well; grime had encrusted them while he slept. Everything was a dark blur. He tried to wipe his eyes clear, but his hands and arms didn’t appear to work either. The effort left them feeble, exhausted, and strangely cold.

“Try not to move. Your body has a lot to get used to.”

Elias did not recognize the voice. This wasn’t his dormitory; wasn’t right something about the air. This could be the academy’s nursing office, he thought. But why would I be there? He couldn’t remember anything. He felt numb. If he had been hurt badly, his uncle might have transferred him to a city hospital or a private healer, where a deluge of spells and potions would be suppressing any pain. At least nothing hurt.

He tried to relax, but a nagging sense of unease still pestered him, like a splinter in his thumb. Something was missing. Everything was so very still. He tried to put the thought from his mind, focusing on the vitality that still trickled into his limbs. From farther away, he could hear someone’s labored breathing.

Breath!

His chest heaved in panic. A wet mass parted from his throat, lodging itself in his upper chest with a sickening squelch, and a violent spasm wracked his side. But his throat was now open. Air pushed into his lungs the first breath Elias had taken since he regained consciousness. The effort, though, took everything from him. He didn’t even have the strength to hold the breath in. His lungs burned as air sputtered feebly from his lips, leaving him limp and exhausted, gaping like a dehydrated fish.

“I told you not to move,” the voice said, now a touch irritated.

Elias didn’t know how long he lay there in silent panic, eyes closed, still as death, yet somehow alive. Time was indistinct without the pulse of his heart or the rhythmic bellows of his lungs keeping pace with the passing moments. He heard noises from time to time: footsteps and hushed words, but he didn’t want to listen. At one point, someone was rubbing potion on his side, and at another a tube was shoved down is throat, purging his lungs. His body made no protests.

All the while his mind frantically chased about stories of reanimation, demonic possession, zombification and anything else which could account for a silent heart. They were dark fields of magic, outright denied by the magelords, mentioned only in rumors. Stories crept up occasionally about how a friend’s friend had disappeared, and his blood offered as tribute in a necromantic ritual or his body used as a medium to converse with demons or somesuch. Nobody actually believed them, but Elias had always suspected that magic had sinister side. “Magicians are a breed best left to their own devices,” his uncle had always told him.

Though his speculation led him nowhere, one thing was certain: Elias was growing stronger.

Then, finally, the voice spoke again. “You may open your eyes now, Elias.”

His vision had cleared up considerably, though it wasn’t until a rough hand wiped his eyes clear that he could truly see. Standing above him was a pale, stone-faced man who could have been any age, dressed in a long white smock. His eyes were the only venue of expression his face appeared to possess. There was something strangely familiar about that face, which Elias couldn’t quite place. “What’s happened to me?” He croaked.

The man began to swab Elias’s throat with cotton, showing no sign he had heard.

“Where is this? What’s going-” The man gave Elias’s throat a sharp pinch, immediately silencing him.

Elias considered pushing the question, but decided against it, turning his attention elsewhere. The room was wide and cold. Twin chandeliers lit a marble-domed ceiling. He lay on a stone table or an altar, which felt frigid against his bare back.

Then, a woman’s voice came from somewhere to his right. “That’s a difficult question to answer, Elias Kershaw. You may find the answer alarming. Most do, in any case. Come now, sit up.”

The stone-faced man backed away, leaving his field of vision.

For Elias, sitting was a strangely conscious activity. It felt like his muscles had forgotten how to move and needed to be reminded again. He had the strength to lift himself, but as he rose it felt suddenly like something was dragging him back down, that his body was liable to sink through the stone altar, into the depths of the earth. A rattling gasp shook his ribs. But then he saw the woman who had been speaking to him. Her gaze was striking, captivating. It seemed to hold him there, stable and safe, beyond the reach of any harm. And then the feeling passed. He looked away, unsettled. “You’re a sorceress…”

“That’s right. I am Lady Marie Alameda, that man in the corner is my servant, Armand.” She the woman inclined her head, pausing briefly. “And this is the great hall of the Chateau Florentine, my home.”

“What am I doing here?” Elias demanded, “Why isn’t my heart beating?”

“Calm yourself. You’re still weak.”

“Answer me.”

“You have been dead for the past twelve days.”

What! Elias tried to stand, but the movement required more energy than he thought possible. Instead he sunk to the floor catching himself on his hands. The chill of the tile floor seeped upwards, through his palms and arms, into his silent chest cavity. “I am truly sorry. This must be hard to believe,” said the Lady.

“No, I’m alive. I’m talking to you now.”

“You’re alive now because of me, Elias. Please, try not to tire yourself.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Oh?” Alameda raised her eyebrows, mouthing a noiseless incantation. The effect was immediate. Elias’s arms buckled then collapsed. His very life seemed to evaporate. A sick wave of dread engulfed him. He convulsed. He felt himself draining away, pieces of his mind slipping into nothingness. Weight pressed in from all sides. Visions loomed before his eyes- the flash of a knife and a spray of blood. Falling. Falling.

And then it all came back. Vitality flowed back into him, setting every nerve ablaze. Muscles drank it up like a dry sponge. The lady knelt next to him, hand pressed against his clammy cheek. He lay rigid, not daring to move for fear that he might fall again into that nightmare. He had glimpsed the unthinkable and it terrified him.
It left no room for doubt.

“Don’t worry, death won’t take you so long as you’re in my care. I’ll be sure of that.”

Elias found his voice again. “How did I die?”

The Lady sighed. “It was a Saturday evening. You and some of your friends were visiting the local taverns near your academy. On you way home, you ran into a group of thugs, cutpurses. You were drunk, and so you put up a very loud fight. Without a choice, they slit your throat.” She said, sliding her hand from his face.

“That can’t be. I don’t drink!” Elias protested.

The lady paused, and then shrugged. “You did that night.”

Elias lay stunned as the Lady turned away. Was this how he had died? Drunk in a bar fight? And yet all his plans, his desires, his future had been swept away by that one mistake. Through stale tears, he looked at his hands and flexed them slowly. They still moved. No matter what mistakes he’d made, there was one undeniable truth. He was alive again.

Lady Alameda had given him a second chance- an opportunity to undo that one mistake. What could he possibly do that could justify such kindness? He wouldn’t disappoint her. Most would sell their souls for this opportunity. He had to show her that this gift wouldn’t be wasted, scorned, lost like his first life. But how? How could he repay such generosity?

The answer was obvious. He knelt. “My Lady, please, let me return a small piece of your kindness. I owe you a debt. Anything you ask. Please just give me a chance to repay you…”

Lady Alameda smiled, warmly, kindly, proudly. “As you wish.”

• * *

Most people have a greatly exaggerated perception of death. Death is merely what happens when the body becomes unable to sustain itself. Whether it’s due to trauma, disease, or the gradual wear of the decades, the organs become less efficient. Vital energy can’t be maintained, and we eventually we die. What I practice is a very specific kind of necromancy. I can manipulate this vital energy, this lifeforce, drawing it from one individual and place it in another. Reanimation is one of many tricks this power enables. However, it is by far the most delicate. When reviving a body, I naturally give lifeforce infusions to the brain and the lungs and the legs and the arms- the useful parts. But I am careful to avoid the heart. Why? Simple. It ensures loyalty among my servants once gratitude wears thin. You see, as long as their hearts remain still, they depend on my intervention to sustain them. They cannot be coerced, bribed, bought, or intimidated, so long as I hold their life in my hands.

#

“I’m dropping you off here.” Armand said as he pulled the carriage to a stop. “I will wait here as long as I can. The police will arrive quickly if someone activates their resonators. “

“Of course,” Elias said, looking calmly out the window.

“If you are delayed or captured, the lady will not be able to assist you. Do you understand?”

Elias turned his head and found Armand looking intently at him. This was the third time his instructions had been repeated. Of course he understood.

“All right then. Go. Good luck.”

Elias nodded, opened the carriage door, and stepped into the sidewalk.
The road was wide and clean, unsullied by the stench of horse droppings. Regularly placed lampposts prevented shadows from ever growing too long, even in the small hours of the morning. Elias knew the neighborhood. His uncle lived in one of the mansions, and he remembered every visit. It was strange to look at the buildings that he had not seen since he left for school, since he was a child. This neighborhood held only the most prominent individuals- sorcerers, mostly. Like their owners, the large houses always seemed to command reverence. He remembered walking down this street as a child, awed by the scale of it all. It looked so much smaller now.

Elias shook his head, keeping his eyes foreword. He had no time to get lost in memories. He was aware now- aware that his body was running on borrowed time. Aware that every moment, every movement, every twitch, siphoned away a little more of his lifeforce. Aware that, with each passing moment, a small part of him died. Only the destination mattered. And the destination was the house of his Uncle, Anthony Kershaw.

Though Uncle Anthony lived among sorcerers, he did not practice magic. His philosophy had always been that it was not the magicians who were rich, but those who managed the magician’s money. He was a banker. And while his philosophy had served him very well, earning him a spot on the highest of society’s rungs, it also brought him occasionally at odds with some very powerful people. He had often commented that his power existed only so long as the sorcerers were willing to put up with him. It was truer than he realized.

Elias paused in front of his uncle’s house before stepping onto the patio. He rapped his knuckle on the knocker. Then, as he waited for an answer, he noticed the runes inscribed upon the threshold. He obviously couldn’t read them, but he knew confinement spell when he saw one. They were often placed on the cargo holds of ships to prevent thievery and, at times, captains who feared mutiny would enchant the entrance to their cabins. Though blessedly dormant at the moment, this confinement spell could be activated by any number of things- a powerful magical item, an attempt to break down the door, or a command from the master of the house.

It was not his uncle who eventually answered the door, but his drowsy butler. But upon seeing Elias, his eyes suddenly widened. “Young master Kershaw!” he exclaimed, “My you’ve grown. What brings you here so early in the morning? Last I heard you were off at the Academy.”

“I have something to discuss with my uncle,” Elias said shortly, “If you would please take me to his study. I know he’s up. I saw the light on.”

The butler hesitated a beat before answering. Fortunately it was dark, and he couldn’t see the subtle changes to Elias’s face. “Very well, young Master. You’re always welcome in this house. I’ll lead you to Mr. Kershaw right away.”
Elias nodded and followed the butler into the mansion. The decor was anything but humble. A whole manner of trinkets, antiques, artifacts, and rarities lined the hallways, victims of Uncle Anthony’s expensive tastes. Elias remembered running through his Uncle’s house as a child, wide eyes taking in every eccentricity of the decor. It seemed then that every time he visited, there was something new to discover, a new story to be told.

Focus. He needed to focus.

The butler told Elias to wait outside while he talked to Uncle Anthony. He sat down in a plush chair and closed his eyes. When resting, he found that his vitality didn’t drain quite as quickly. However he was still alert. His eyes snapped open when the door reopened and the butler beckoned him in.

Uncle Anthony was more or less how Elias remembered him. A little more fat. A little less hair. The same night-robe and spectacles. The same glass of white wine resting in his hand. The same silly grin. “Elias, my boy, it’s been so long!” he said, stepping from behind an orderly desk, arms outstretched “Oh ho, It looks like you’ve seen better days. You’re as pale as those wharf ghasts your father tells me about. Tell you what; let me offer you a drink. I’ve been waiting since you were ten to have a proper drink with you. That was what, thirteen years ago? You’re finally old enough, eh my boy!”

Elias forced himself to smile, and gave his uncle a brief hug, “No thanks, Uncle. I don’t drink.”

“If you say so,” Uncle Anthony said, shrugging and easing his way into an armchair. He set his wine down on a nearby table. “Sit. Sit. So, what brings you here so early in the morning? How are your studies going? It’s navigation, right?”

“Yes. But actually I came here to talk business.”

Uncle Anthony’s face dropped a little. “Oh? You father needs more money?… Or is this for you? Wanting to finance a venture of your own, I hope. I’ve always found trading the most unstable of occupations; your entire fortune rests on the whim of the winds! Why your father went into that business is utterly beyond-”

Elias held up his hand, “Actually it’s neither.”

“Well good, because it seems that if my money’s not importing marble Adonises from the Balkans, it’s bailing out you father’s company.” Anthony let out a jolly chuckle.

“Actually, I represent one of your clients. The Lady Alameda”

Anthony instantly stopped laughing. His eyes narrowed into a dangerous glare. “What? How did you get involved with her? She’s a recluse. You shouldn’t even know she exists, much less—”

Elias ignored the question. “The lady believes her finances are being poorly managed. She wants compensation for her losses in the Roseheart and Kershaw Company.”

Uncle swelled upwards, “And she will be compensated, damnit, just as soon as business picks up! I have already discussed this with her. Why she would send you here to…” His eye then caught something just above Elias’s collar. “By the gods, are those stitches on your throat? What’s that witch done to you?”

Elias stood as well and took a step foreword. He was a full head taller than his Uncle.

“Stay back, I say!” Anthony shouted, pulling a pistol and a ward from his pocket. The ward wouldn’t be a problem so long as Elias didn’t plan to use magic. The pistol, however, was a different story. “I don’t know what Lady Alameda did to you, but you’re no longer my nephew. I’ll shoot, damnit!”

The pistol shook in the banker’s hand. Elias advanced regardless. It fired.

Elias stumbled backwards. He could feel the bullet puncture his rib cage. He could feel it tear through his lung. Juices seeped from the wound. It didn’t matter. Only the lifeforce mattered. He leapt foreword, swatting his uncle’s gun arm upwards. Another shot grazed his temple. And then, with brutal strength and a surge of lifeforce, Elias slammed his fist into his uncle’s gut. Vomit spilled from the banker’s mouth onto Elias’s clothing. The pistol spun to the ground, firing yet another shot out into the far wall.

The banker dropped to the floor with an anguished moan, clutching his gut. Elias gave him no chance to get up, kicking in his uncle’s stomach. Soft tissue shifted beneath his foot. The white wine in Uncle Anthony’s vomit was tinted with red.
For the briefest moment, Elias stood dumbfounded, watching his Uncle flounder in agony. He could feel his own lifeforce seep away through the wounds on his side and temple. And for a moment, the shortest of moments, he though he could see his uncle’s lifeforce pooling on the floor with the blood and vomit.

No. Focus on the task. He took a brief glance around the room and grabbed his uncle’s ward, which had fallen to the ground. Then, looking around the room once more, Elias turned away from his crippled uncle and walked deliberately through the door. The fight had taken a lot from him, and his wounds were taking more. He quickly dispatched the butler, who came running down the hall after hearing gunshots. Elias was dismayed to find the confinement spell on the threshold activated. He was about to try rushing it, relying on his uncle’s ward to protect him- a risky proposition at best. But fortunately he found that, as the only conscious individual in the house, and a blood relative of its owner, he could disarm the spell with a simple command.

Finally free, Elias loped into the night air. He tried not to think about what he had done. All that mattered was the lifeforce steadily draining from his limbs.
Armand beckoned him into the carriage, waiting to take him home, where the Lady could fix him.

• * *

The first mission I task to my servants is often more for their benefit than mine. Simply, I find it useful to show them early on exactly where their loyalty lies. They learn the nature of their condition, and how lifeforce binds them to me. And in the process, they discover who they are capable of betraying. Normally I do not often send my trusted vassals out to assault bankers, no matter what blunders these bankers may have made with my wealth. My disagreement with Elias’s uncle was a happy convenience, and little more. The important thing was that I demonstrate to the boy a simple truth- there was no one he would not betray, that there was no cause higher than his own life, and that his life belonged to me.
Or so I thought.

• * *

Elias awoke naked on the altar in Lady Alameda’s home, a bandage wrapped around his waste and a cake of dried blood on his temple. He had no clear idea of how long he’s been out, his consciousness hanging a hair’s breadth away from nonexistence, forced to revisit those last few moments. A knife slicing across his neck. A bullet lodging itself in his lung. His uncle’s blood pooling on the floor. Compulsively, he rubbed at his temple, scraping away the scab. A thick glop of blood oozed down his fingers and clotted on his palm, taking with it a thin trickle of lifeforce. Elias didn’t care. What were a few drops of blood compared to what he had done? Without a heartbeat supplying it with fresh blood, the wound quickly resealed itself. He sat up.

“I’m glad you’re up,” said a voice from the far corner of the room. Leaning against the wall, calm and expressionless as ever, was Armand. “Lady Alameda is occupied with business.”

There were some trousers lying on the altar. Elias slipped them on. “Very well. Is she going to meet us?” he asked.

“Eventually,” said Armand, closing his eyes. He looked like a statue, entirely motionless, his face carved into an apathetic frown.

“You’re like me, aren’t you?” Elias asked, after a beat.

“Undead? Isn’t it obvious?”

Of course it was. Elias looked away. His eyes seemed drawn to his hand by the slowly spreading bloodstain, which oozed down his wrist in a stream of rusty iron. His blood. His Uncle’s blood.

It was Armand who ended the silence, “Rough first assignment?”

Elias didn’t move his eyes, “I had to do it. I had to. I owe it to her.”

A pause.

“I meant your injuries.”

“What? Oh, yes.” Elias looked up, quickly wiping his palm against a pant leg.

Armand was now staring at him, not suspicious, but sorrowful, his eyes pale cracks in his stone-faced mask. Elias shifted uncomfortably. He wanted to know something. “How did it happen to you? You know, how did you…”

“Die?” Armand said, closing his eyes with a quiet laugh. “After a century and a half…” he trailed off. “Why should you think it’s important?”

What would it be like to exist for so long, Elias thought, to watch the decades wear against you body, to see everything familiar torn down and rebuilt by the living? I’m young. Armand was right; what did it matter how he died? Whatever killed him had long since passed away. Whatever business his death left unsettled had by now settled itself. Small wonder nothing ever stirred him from his stupor. Except, apparently, for me. “Are there others… Like us?”

“Not many.” Armand said, “The Lady cannot sustain more than three or four of us at a time. There’s one other, but she’s out on assignment. She’ll be back with us in a few weeks, if at all.”

“But we can’t die.” Elias protested, “I’ve been shot twice and my throat was cut.”

“What good is lifeforce if you’re head is smashed open or your muscles have rotted away? Some things not even the Lady can fix.” Armand laughed softly, “That’s the mistake that most of us make. We get careless, assuming we’re invulnerable. I was the first of the Lady’s. I’ve been around for so long because I already made that mistake, and learned never to make it again.”

“What’s that mean?”

“We used to be lovers, the lady and I, when I was alive. What she saw in me I’ll never know, but she was willing to share her power with me, to give me some of the lifeforce she took from others. Otherwise I would have grown old, while she stayed young and beautiful. So beautiful. She had more than enough lifeforce to spare, enough to keep me with her, preserved in the prime of my life. It was perfect. But I became careless. I thought I was invulnerable. Lady Alameda has powerful enemies.”

Armand stood silently, staring at a spot on the floor. How many times had Armand told that story? Was it true? Elias looked hard at the older man, trying to imagine him in the prime of his life, to imagine Lady Alameda, so aloof and imperious, falling in love with a common man.

“The next thing I knew,” Armand finally went on, voice dull. “I was on the altar, still and cold, just like you.”

He remembered, what it felt like. Like he was lying on glass, suspended over a bottomless chasm, knowing he should fall, and unable to see what held him up. A thought struck him. “If she’d wanted to, couldn’t she have restarted your heart?”

“Perhaps. A century and a half and I’ve never asked her. It changes you, death does… You know the first thing I did when she revived me? I dropped to my knees and groveled at her feet. That was when she stopped loving me, I think. I saw the way she looked at me. I’ve had a long time to think it over. She saw who I was beneath everything: a coward, and nothing could change that for her. I don’t know…”

“Why didn’t you ask? About restarting your heart, I mean.”

“What would come of the answer?” Armand said, “If she was willing and able, she would have done it already. If she can’t, asking would be pointless. And if she doesn’t want to… Eventually you realize that it just doesn’t matter anymore.”

“But-”

“Take it from me: it won’t serve you to dwell this. Whether she can’t or she wouldn’t, what’s important is that she won’t. The sooner you accept this, the better off you’ll be.”

Elias’s hand rolled into a fist and his mouth snapped open. No words came out.

Armand looked back to the ground. “Are you ok?”

“Of course not!” Elias wanted to shout. He wanted to break something. Of course he wasn’t all right. He had been killed for no reason, and then brought back with a debt he could never repay. He felt like he should be crying, but no teas came. “I brought this on myself, didn’t I? You heard how I died. A bar fight! A damn barfight. It’s the kinda thing that never happens to you. You at least had someone to die for! Me? Look at me! I had nothing. I was nothing: just another shithead following in daddy’s footsteps. And now, now I’ll never be anything…” Elias trailed off. He felt numbness seep into his muscles. Armand was giving him the most peculiar look, sad, pitying. But there was more than that. He remembered that look somewhere before… He was sure of it.

And then it all came back to him, like the memory of a dream aroused by a passing sight or sound. I was walking by the docks with Jason Halbroak leaning on my back. Jason was drunk; I was struggling to keep him upright. Then suddenly a cold hand seized my wrist, wrenching me towards alleyway. Jason toppled ground. I shouted. I had no time. I couldn’t see the sidewalk anymore. A dagger flashed. A fierce, searing pain spilled across my throat. But for a second I saw his face: stoic, inanimate, penetrated by two sorrowful, pitying eyes.

Elias shot to his feet. “It was you!” he shouted. There was no controlling his rage. He charged towards Armand, fists closed. His lifeforce was burning a way, but he didn’t care. He felt independent, powerful, alive. Lifeforce pounded within him.
Armand moved with greater speed and precision than Elias thought possible. Shifting to the side, he dropped his weight and drove his shoulder into Elias’s gut. Bile burst from Elias’s throat as he fell, legs flailing in front of him. A few seconds later, Armand had him pinned with his back to the floor, their faces inches apart, chests heaving in unison. Elias couldn’t move. He coughed, spilling a thin, yellow juice onto his cheek. His muscles felt like wet rags, wrung until no more water would come out of them. Is this what he had become? “Why did you do this to me?” he groaned softly.

Armand shook his head. “Why do you think we do anything, Elias?”

For minutes they lay there, Armand holding Elias motionless. Neither struggled. Neither breathed. How had it come to this? Lady Alameda took everything from him so she could promise to give it back. She would hold that promise in front of him like a carrot in front of a donkey, and drive him until there was nothing left. He saw Armand now for what he was: broken, pitiful, heartless. I’ll never become that way, he thought. First I will ask. If that fails, I will fight. And if that fails, I will die.

“What are you thinking?” Armand whispered.

Did he guess? Could he read something on Elias’s face? Elias didn’t answer. He was taken by reckless impulses. He had to do something that nobody would expect. Yes, he was up against powerful magic, but he had one advantage: he was willing to die. He was already dead. He didn’t know if that would be enough, but it was the only advantage he had, the only advantage he ever would have. He might succeed. He might fail. What was important, though, is that he would try.

• * *

Looking back I can’t remember seeing any signs of dissent in Elias. For two weeks, Elias behaved as he should have. He was obedient, humble, attentive; I could not have asked for a better servant. The first sign of trouble came from Arman. I think something happened between them, though to this day I still don’t know exactly what. Never before had I known Armand to keep a secret from me. Perhaps I should have seen it coming. I don’t think I would have believed it before hand, in any case. I couldn’t have anticipated that fateful day.

• * *

Lady Alameda finished the incantation, cutting off the flow of lieforce into Elias’s body. He flexed his arm and pushed upright on the altar. The Lady had been explaining his next assignment to him while infusing him with lifeforce, but he hadn’t been listening. He wouldn’t be completing the assignment in any case. He had decided that, this time, when he left the room, he would be either free or he would be dead. He felt strangely serene. He waited for his own action.

“Armand will tell you what you need to know,” Lady Alameda finally finished, moving to the door of the great.

It was now or never. “My Lady, a word please,” Elias said, moving to get up.

From the side of the altar, Armand stepped in front of him and whispered, “Elias, don’t do this. You can’t succ-”

“Is there something I should know about?” Lady Alameda stopped at the door, but didn’t turn around.

“You should have done this a long time ago,” Elias whispered back. Then he raised his voice. “I was curious, My Lady. Do you plan to ever restart my heart?”

Lady Alameda turned around and walked slowly back towards the altar. “Why do you ask?”

“Never mind why,” Elias said, walking past Armand, “answer me.”

Her course began to curve into a wide circle around Elias. She was smiling, her eyes narrow, watching his every move. Her pace was slow, controlled. “In time, perhaps.”

“When?”

“You are a puzzling creature. That is for me to decide.”

“Decide now.”

“Go with Armand, he’ll prepare you for your next assignment.”

“No.”

The lady made a short, bark-like laugh. “No? I don’t believe you understand our arrangement. You are mine. Do you know where you would be without me?” Her voice dropped do a dangerous growl.

“I’d be alive.” Elias softly said.

Then he rushed her, catching her throat in his hands, and drove her to the floor. Her eyes were wide with shock. He had the advantage. But not for long.

Lady Alameda mouthed a noiseless incantation, and suddenly Elias’s arm buckled, the lifeforce drawn from them. But his hands remained locked to the lady’s throat. She was weak after infusing him with lifeforce, but now she was taking the lifeforce back. He felt his hands go stiff, and then he felt nothing at all. His arms no longer belonged to him; they were just there, attached to his body as if by chance. But they were still locked around Lady Alameda’s throat. “How does it feel,” he grunted, “To have your life is someone else’s hands? Give me mine, and I’ll give you yours.”

The Lady made a gurgling yelp. “Armand!”

Elias didn’t look up. He heard Armand step up beside him. Lady Alameda looked up at him eyes, bulging. “I’m sorry,” Armand said, “I’ve been doing this for too long.”
Perhaps now Lady Alameda realized that Elias would die before he took his hands from her throat. Light was being siphoned from the world, leaving only a dark blur for Elias’s eyes. He couldn’t tell anything anymore. Perhaps his hands had slipped form Lady Alameda’s throat. Perhaps they would stay there, locked together in death. His head throbbed feebly. It was all up to her now. Both of their lives rested in her hands. His mind was slipping away. A knife flashed before his eyes. He was falling, falling ,through the floor, swallowed by the earth. Back to the nonexistence from where he had come.

Thump. Thump.

Elias’s eyes snapped open, like a jolt of electricity had passed through his body.

Thump. Thump.

The pulse deafened him. His head felt like it would explode from pressure. His bones ached.

Thump. Thump.

His hand slipped from the Lady’s throat, every muscle screaming for relief. He gasped, ravenously drawing in breath after breath of the cold air.

Thump. Thump.

He was alive.

Nothing ever felt so good. Elias lay there for some time, hand pressed between his chest and the Lady’s. She was unconscious, and her neck was covered in dark bruises, but she still was breathing shallow and uneven breaths. Elias could hear the soft, wet rattle in her throat. She looked old, tired, lines drawn on her face. It was how Elias would remember her: fragile, unconscious, helpless. He would be long gone before she woke up.

Elias slowly picked himself up. Blood rushed from his head, nearly causing him to topple over again, but he remained upright. But then he saw Armand lying sprawled on the ground in front of him. She used his lifeforce to revitalize me, Elias realized, looking down at Armand’s strangely peaceful face. His were eyes closed, and the faintest hint of a smile was frozen on his lips. “Rest well,” Elias whispered. He then walked to the door, left the hall, and never turned back.

• * *

I cannot pretend to be an expert on life, though I have been living for so very long. I have seen empires rise and fall. I have seen babies born. I have endured plague and invasion. The political games of the magelordes and politicians no longer interest me. I thought that I was above the petty struggle of day-to-day life. Yet this boy, this one boy, nearly brought my world crashing apart. I thought I knew how people behaved, what drove them. Yet, after over a century, they can still surprise me. I am not too old to learn. For one having lived so long, I sometimes forget what life can still teach me.

• * *

Elias knew that he had to leave this coast. Too many people wanted him. Lady Alameda. His uncle. His parents. He needed to start a new life somewhere else. Elias watched as the shore receded into the horizon. The fresh ocean brine blew across the deck of the ship. He stayed on the deck long after evening had turned into night, staring up at the stars. Constellations shone on the deck of the ship: ever present signs, leading ships from harbor to harbor. For hours into the night he remained, leaning against the guardrail so he could feel his heart drum against his chest.

END