Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles (52 page)

“He’s gone,” she whispered.

Unable to speak the extent of his gratitude for the sake of the increasing swells beneath the ship's hull, he only managed a slight nod. Even that motion sent his head spinning and he groaned. Everything felt hot and closed in and he knew that this was just the beginning. Once they left the Thames for the sea it would grow worse.

Having felt useful in dealing with Fernando, Jeanie stared at the Angel’s tortured expression. He had suffered this crossing before, he must have, she reasoned, and he would have done so with the Good Father. It was a question, a glimmer of hope of how she could help, but she had to ask. “What does the Good Father do for ye in times like these?”

The question surprised him and he dared to pop open an eye. Jeanie’s features spun around. “Why?” he swallowed.

“Just answer the question,” she pushed.

“He’d try to get me to talk.” He licked his lips and let his eyelid enclose him in darkness. “He thought it would distract me.”

“And would it?” She felt a stirring of excitement at the idea that there was something she could do to help him and then it was swept away at the shake of his head. “What else would he do?”

Silence fell between them, making Jeanie wonder at first if he had fallen asleep, but the increasing rise and fall of the vessel only made his face screw up in discomfort. When the ship suddenly pitched upwards and then crashed down, causing her to catch herself with a grip on the sturdy table, she heard him groan as he toppled onto his side, hugging himself.

The swinging lantern sent flickering yellow light across the small cabin. Jeanie could see him shivering as he lay curled on his side. Panic swarmed up and gripped her in an attempt to cut off her airflow. Half crawling, half walking under the weight of her skirts, she managed to sit beside his head.

Turning, she rested his head in her lap, his long white hair splayed messily against the green of her dress. Smoothing the strands, she felt his forehead again and was stunned at the burning heat radiating off. A fever this severe would kill and she fearfully wondered if it would do so to him. The idea that the Angel would be taken from her after having waited so long to be with him filled Jeanie with dread. It was too much like the final days of her mother’s disease. Knowing naught else to do, Jeanie softly began to sing the songs she sang to her mother, all the while petting his face and forehead as he trembled in the wake of the illness.

Fernando had watched the casting off with interest, ignoring the fact that the Angel and his mortal had gone below. Now the Noble was above decks again, retreating to the beauty of the night on water. It had been a very long time since he had left England and this newer sleek sailing vessel caught a romantic string in his heart. He had always loved sailing. It was the only part of his initial trip here when he was mortal that he savoured. Only on that vessel more hands were necessary for its functioning. Fernando was amazed that only a crew of seven, including the captain, were needed for the schooner.

Leaning out over the rail, he watched the dark waters of the Thames speed past as the wind whipped up and clouds scurried across the sky, hearkening to an oncoming storm. A smile lit his lips at the ride he knew he was in for and turned to lean back against the wooden rail to stare at the tallest of the three masts. She was a magnificent lady.

The sails bloomed and shuddered in the wind. Rigging, taught between sheets and deck, hummed. Yes, the girl had done at least one thing right, and he was going to enjoy the trip as much as immortally possible. The only dampening to his mood was being driven away from talking with the Angel. Fernando was starting to regret his decision to introduce Jeanie to the world existing in the dark of night.

Pulling out Yang, he watched the light glimmer and dance upon the blade. A shipmate paused in his round, distracted by the nobleman and the knife. He quickly found his pace after a dark menacing glare from Fernando paled him. A quirk of a smile lifted the Chosen’s lips as the young man scurried to his appointed task.

Left alone with his thoughts, Fernando twirled the blade; its sharp point digging into his left index finger. Again, the speculations about the Angel arose. Swearing as he sliced his finger, Fernando ignored the quickly healing cut. A single bead of blood dribbled down his finger only to splatter against the deck. He shook his hand.

What was it that made his mind constantly go back to the Angel? He shook his head. It was like he was drawn to him, almost like a moth to a cold flame. He had seen such a reaction in the girls at Bridget’s house, and even he could not account his sire’s reaction. What made Bridget so interested in the Angel?

Maybe because there is something more to him than he appears.

Fernando gave a yelp and turned around, almost dropping Yang into the river. It took him a moment to recognize that the voice had come from inside his head and it was distinctly Bridget’s.

Embarrassed, he turned around to see if any of the mortals had seen his breach in façade. Finding that he was blissfully alone, he sheathed Yang.

Don’t do that to me,
he sent, angrily.

Sorry, love,
came the reply. Fernando could sense Bridget standing before her dressing mirror, concern filling her heart.
It’s just that when you thought of me, I heard you.

Fernando grumbled and turned to face the receding waters, leaning on the rail.
So you decided to pop into my head and answer my questions?

Don’t be angry, love,
soothed Bridget.
You initialized the contact. I just answered it.

Damning himself for a fool, he realized that Bridget probably sensed that and he knew he was too much out of practice to keep much from her. Luckily as the physical distance grew between them, their connection would become more tenuous.

He felt her frown.
If you didn’t want to talk with me then I’ll go.

Fernando let out a sigh. He did not want Bridget angry with him. He did not want possibly their last conversation to be a fight, even at this distance, and he remembered what she said about the Angel.
What do you mean there’s more to him than he appears?

Can’t you sense it?

A frown pulled his face and he realized that he could sense something different about the Angel, something that scared him.

He’s not scary,
replied Bridget.

Then what is he?
snapped Fernando. He did not like Bridget knowing he was afraid, especially of another Chosen.

 
He’s not like us, love. He’s Chosen, but there is something more to him. A power that I doubt even he is aware of.

Then he shouldn’t have been left alive.
The thought came unbidden and he realized how horrific it was. The idea of the Angel becoming one of the Destroyed Ones seemed terribly wrong and he did not know why. He had witnessed the Angel move faster than a Chosen, but that could that be due to his extreme age.

It could,
agreed Bridget.
Can Notus move that fast?

If the Angel’s sire, who was older, could move like that then he would not have been caught in the Mistress’ web. Nothing about the Angel made sense.

Fernando, you are in a unique position.

I know,
he frowned realizing that was what scared him. The Angel was so unlike any other vampire. It was as if the Angel was a light in the darkness and did not even know it.

Fernando, the distance is growing farther; I’m going to lose you soon.
He could feel her urgency.
Learn what you can and come back to me, love. And,
he felt her hesitate, as if suddenly afraid,
take care of the Angel.

He stumbled as the connection faded, but he could still feel Bridget’s presence across the miles. Fernando could not understand why Bridget would ask him to take care of the Angel. The Angel was more than capable, and then some, but a frown pulled at his lips.
A light in the darkness,
he shuddered not knowing where that thought came from or what it meant.

A speckling of raindrops struck the deck, giving prelude to the deluge to come. Glancing up at the sky, Fernando squinted into the wind battered rain and disappeared into the dry safety of his quarters below. The darkness was complete in his tiny cabin at the bow and for a flickering moment he wished there was a light.

H
e did not know what to expect when he decided to come back to the walled garden within the castle, but he had only moments before he and Notus took their leave of the High Chief and his court. It would be tenuous at best.

He knew that the High Chief was angry with him, and by everyone’s accounts, rightfully so. It was for his protection and for the peace of the realm that Notus was taking him back to Ynis Witrin. But he expected that it had to do more with Notus’ need to delve back into monastic life so as to find absolution for what he had done.

Notus would be furious knowing that his son was standing in the archway connecting the inner sanctum of the fortress to the beautiful garden bristling with new green growth and blossoming flowers. It was the green of her eyes he needed to see one last time and he doubted that Notus would understand. Or maybe he did? He lowered his gaze from the brilliance of the near full moon and frowned. Coming back to the place where they had first met and began their clandestine affair over a year ago suddenly seemed ill devised.

The cool night air enveloped him as he stepped onto the soft grass and entered the garden. Would she be here? A part of him desperately desired to see her, to embrace her, to taste of her lips and body. Another part evoked the new stabbing pain that he knew Notus’ spell had wrought. Divided, only she could answer his questions. Did she remember him? Did she still love him?

The nightingales’ song stilled into silence as he turned down the path and saw her there under the apple tree; its white blossoms glowing in the moon’s magical light. He halted, his breath caught at the sight of her chestnut coloured locks braided and beautifully arranged under a coif indicating her married status.

Swallowing hard, he realized that she had not noticed him. He could hear her soft whispers of love and encouragement to the unborn babe growing within her, its heartbeat strong and vital. For a desperate fleeting moment he wished the child to be his and knew it for a folly. Being Chosen meant never having children.

He stood in petrified silence, watching her until her gaze lifted and found him. It was more than he could bear seeing fear cross her face as she stood.

“I’m sorry,” he stammered, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Sensing his remorse, she stood a little straighter but did not approach.

“Do I know you, sir? You seem familiar somehow. Have I seen you at my father’s hall?” Her voice was clear and unafraid.

It was all the confirmation he needed. Notus’ wiping of her memories was complete. Sorrow filled him and he shook his head, unable to look into her green eyes.

“Yet there is something.” Her slippered feet padded along the gravel path towards him.

He had always admired her strength and now it offered him a glimmering of hope. Looking into her eyes, he saw hers grow round as she fully took in his appearance. All hope dashed to the ground, shattering to a thousand pieces as she hitched her skirt and fled. Knowing he had to stop her, he managed to catch her wrist, and turned her to face him.

“Please, sir,” she pleaded, her hands held together between them by his. “I’m a married woman. My husband –“

It was too much to bear. He had to know. “Do you not remember me?” he pleaded.

Frantically, she shook her head, sending stray strands of hair floating. It was the terror in her eyes that finally made him release her and he watched in misery as she turned and ran from the garden. When she was gone, he collapsed to his knees on the gravel, tears streaming down his face.