A Place to Belong: Chapter 19

Chapter XIX

When I Lost You

The black marble of the vault was smooth and shiny. Strangely pristine considering the depths it was buried under and the time that it stood there. There were no hinges, no slots, nothing that could indicate a door of any kind. All that I could see were letters carved into the stone that didn’t even look like letters to me. Glancing over at Isadora, I gestured at the stone, hoping that she may know something about it. 

“The letters are Etruscan,” she confirmed, stepping forwards and so I stepped back to give her room to work. Her gloved hands were close to the surface of the stone, but she actively did not touch it, instead tracing her fingers in the air over each mark. “I never learned the full language, just enough to be able to understand the death markers left behind, but I recognize some of these symbols.” 

“What do the ones you recognize say?” Diego asked, his posture showed a tension that I had never really seen in him before. He’d been fearful, even cowardly, before. But that had been a learned behavior. This was something different, it was as if he was feeling a sense of unease at a spiritual level. More than once I saw his hand twitch, as if he wanted to raise it to himself and make the sign of the cross. 

“Diego, did you ever notice that when christians cross themselves, it's really a St. Peter’s cross they’re making?” I asked, casually. He turned and looked at me, confused. 

“What?” he asked, and I watched as that confusion I’d forced upon him took over some of the tension and smiled inwardly. 

“Well, you touch your forehead, then your chest, then each shoulder,” I explain, while mimicking the motion. “If you measured it out, it would be an upside down cross, like the one St. Peter was crucified on.” 

“Why… Why are you bringing that up?” Diego asked me, obviously realizing I was correct and not being able to counter my argument. Either that or doubtlessly confused why I was making such a remark at the moment, but I preferred to consider it due to the former rather than the latter. 

“Because a blind man could see you’re tense,” Callie said, sighing slightly. “Same reason he made me go first.” 

She glowered at me slightly, crossing her arms. 

“You manipulate the people around you, which is why people keep thinking you’re Ventrue when they first meet you,” she said, the admission looking almost painful on her face. “But you do it in such a tactical and obnoxious way you could only possibly be Tremere. The weirdest thing is why you do it.” 

“And why is that?” I asked her, wondering if she’d finally come around. 

“You do it because you think it’s what’s best for them rather than what’s best for you,” she said, her voice almost disappointed. “Another reason you’d never be able to be a Ventrue.” 

“Because he won’t abuse people’s trust for his own benefit,” Isadora’s voice came from behind me, dry and flat, with only a hint of sarcasm as she stared at the sigils, working each one out in her mind. “The horror.”

Callie just rolled her eyes. 

“In our society, it is a horror,” she spat. “A kindred who looks out for others is a kindred who has no one looking out for him. We’re the only ones we can depend on. Some of us are lucky and have sires who care whether or not we make it, even if it's for the selfish reason of ‘look how many children I’ve made,’ but it’s still someone looking out for you.” 

The room got quiet, and a little bit colder too. I thought for a moment that I saw Isadora’s hand begin to shake slightly as she deciphered the sigil she was working on. Callie ran her hand through her hair and blew out a breath. 

“Listen, for once, I’m not trying to be a bitch,” she said, and either her acting was improving or she was being genuine. “But you aren’t as lucky as I am. None of you are. Isadora was abandoned by her sire, but she’s smart and resourceful enough that she was able to take care of herself not only when her sire left, not only when her clan left, but also when her faction left. Self-reliance made woman. And as much as she and I clearly do not get along, I respect the hell out of her for it.”

She gestured to Diego. 

“Diego doesn’t have his sire, but he put himself, heart and soul… or whatever’s left of them, into the Anarch movement. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to survive alone, and so he made himself as useful as possible to the group he most aligned with. Did he trust them as individuals? I doubt it,” she continued, and I saw Diego squirm slightly, probably not comfortable with how much truth was coming out of Callie’s mouth. “But he knew that he could trust the ideology if not the people. Then there’s you.” 

Callie gestured at me, and I felt Isadora stiffen behind me in a way I remember my mortal friends may have when someone was tearing into me and they were resisting the urge to defend me. 

“You don’t have a sire, that you know at least, and especially not one that’s of any help to you,” she started, not aware of how wrong her assessment was, but also how right she was at the same time. “So you fall back on the same thing all Tremere fall back on. Your logic, your pyramid, your wits. All helpful, but you don’t have a place in the pyramid right now because it’s in shambles after the Camarilla left and the Anarch Tremere haven’t been able to rebuild it yet. You think that building these two up will get you friends? Allies? People who will have your back? It’s smart that you didn’t try that with me, because let me tell you something: Kindred don’t support each other.” 

Callie was on a roll now, and as I felt Isadora prepare to whirl on her, I gently placed my hand on her arm. Isadora calmed, at least physically, and returned her attention to the door. Diego looked uncomfortable, but when I caught his eye, he nodded and backed down before starting anything. And Callie… Callie hadn’t noticed a damned thing. She was too far gone in her speech to notice that her audience knew much more about what she was preaching than she did. 

“I’m probably the best friend you’ve got here,” she was saying, though I’d be remiss if I didn’t consider ‘she was projecting’ as an alternate dialogue tag. “Because despite all my lies and manipulations, I never once actively lied about what I was. And you knew it. You always knew what I was. The problem is, you don’t seem to know what you are.”

“A cog in the machine of this ancient war?” I asked. 

“Yes!” Callie cried out. “Yes, you are a cog. And maybe one day, you’ll work your way up to being a piece in the chess game. But if you keep trying to appease others, make friends, you’ll just end up discarded on the ground, trash to be cleaned up. Stop going against the grain and recognize that this is too big for us to shift. Especially from our current positions. We are infants to these older vampires. We’re cannon fodder who can only hope to be smart enough, quick enough, and lucky enough to survive. Marcus has protected me this far. He wants me to succeed, and you know what? You three are growing on me. So I want you to succeed, but right now, that’s not likely to happen because you’re so focused on ‘doing the right thing’ instead of doing the thing that’s right for you.” 

“And what’s that?” I asked her. 

“Surviving!” Callie insisted. “You keep talking like the game we have to play ends at a certain point. ‘Play their game until’ insert placeholder event that may never happen, or if it does, create new placeholder event here. The game never changes. It just offers you more rules to choose from the older you get.” 

I looked at her for a long moment, and finally understood the grief she was carrying. Diego lost his family, his religion. Isadora lost her clan and her support. Even I lost my friends and aspirations. But for each of us, those things weren’t truly gone, they’d simply taken on new forms. For Callie, what she’d lost had never evolved for her. It had never taken on a new form because she was trying so hard to hold onto it, she never gave it time to grow. 

She had lost her identity. 

“Shadow and Death release all,” Isadora said, breaking the silence. We all turned to look at her curiously. She looked back, then looked at the door, before looking back at us again. “Oh, sorry. I finished the translation. It says that ‘Shadow and Death release all.’ There may be more, but I think that’s the key to unlocking it.” 

“What is?” Diego asked, eyes still flickering over to me and Callie, but clearly wanting to keep moving forward. “A riddle?”

“No,” Isadora said, removing her glove, which took a bit of effort considering it went nearly up to her shoulder. “Put your hand on the door, Diego.”

She pressed her hand to the stone and waited, clearly expecting Diego to do as he was told. He looked at me, but I just shrugged and nodded. 

“The baroness sent us to get Isadora because she knows what she’s doing,” I said, plainly. “It would be pretty stupid in my opinion if we didn’t listen to the expert at the front door of what she’s an expert in.”

Diego sighed, gritted his teeth, and stepped forward. Reaching up with a shaking hand, he pressed it gently against the black stone. A sound like molten rock hitting icy water filled the air, and the scent of decay washed over us. I watched the black marble ripple and flow, pooling out and away from what looked like a doorway. Callie stepped back, though I stood firm. The stone flowed down to create a threshold on either side of the door, but didn’t flow further. When it settled, an eerie green light began to glow from within. 

“Every horror movie I’ve ever watched is telling me someone is about to die,” Diego said, his voice quaking slightly. “And every children’s movie I’ve ever watched is screaming that this color combination means the most evil person in the story is through that door.” 

“As long as we don’t see any singing hyenas I think we’ll be fine,” I said, stepping up to the doorway, then paused. “You know, come to think of it, they were one hundred percent goose-stepping. I’m amazed that got past the censors.” 

“Back then everybody knew nazis were the bad guys,” Isadora said, her tone dry and flat as she stepped up and entered the vault. I followed behind, then heard Callie whisper something to Diego as she came in after me. Diego, after a moment’s hesitation, entered last. 

The green light spilled from brasiers hanging from the ceiling above us. They were made of copper, but the light seemed to be some kind of sorcery, as there was no fire within them, which was good since it would have set my beast to frenzy. The light was cast over several daises, each displaying a different object that set my teeth on edge. There was a heavy veil of energy in this room that reminded me of the aura surrounding Isadora, and to a lesser extent, Diego. 

“Oblivion is thick in this room,” Isadora said, her eyes half closed in an almost meditative state of calm. “I see now why a Hecata is needed to sift through it. If left to your own devices, you’d think everything was the object the baroness sought.” 

“You can tell which one it is?” Callie asked, and even in the green light, I could see how much paler she looked than usual. 

“No,” Isadora said, stepping further into the room, holding her hand over the item at the first dais, some kind of urn with gilded filigree worked into the clay. “But I can move from item to item. Feel the spirits of each one. Then, only then, will I be able to tell you which is the correct item.”

I leaned back against the nearest wall and waited, watching Isadora do her work. Diego tried to mimic my calm, but his eyes kept flicking towards the door in a less than subtle indication of his desire to flee the dark power of this place. Callie was exhibiting even less patient behavior than Diego. She watched Isadora like a hawk as the other woman moved from item to item, like a butterfly fluttering from flower to flower, seeming to time how long she spent at each one. 

First there was a pendant, then a bronzed hand, which I hoped was cast from a mold but deep down I knew better. Isadora took a longer moment at a stone tablet than the rest, and Callie practically leapt at her. 

“Is that it?” she asked eagerly. 

“No,” Isadora said, flatly, causing Callie to practically collapse from disappointment. “I was just reading.” 

“We don’t have that kind of time,” Callie hissed. “There are Garou out there, and a wight apparently. Plus, we don’t know there aren’t any other things down here that are more dangerous than those!” 

“Very well,” Isadora said, a sadness in her voice. “Though I may take the tablet to read later. Or at least a rubbing.” 

She moved on, clearly indicating she was stating intention, not asking permission. She paused at a mask that sat on the next dais, but before Callie could ask the inevitable question, Isadora moved to the next dais. 

Her hand froze over the next object, hovering a few inches above it, seemingly unwilling to touch it. I peered over to get a better look at the item. It was either a short staff or a scepter. It looked like it was made of iron, but considering the time period we were dealing with, it had to be bronze that was tarnished horribly. The head of a man was carved into the top, also black from tarnish, except for the eyes, which were inlaid and set with some kind of cloudy white stone, as if they were the eyes of a corpse. Letters similar to the sigils on the door were worked into the entire length of the scepter. 

“This is it,” Isadora said. “This is what you were sent to find.” 

She didn’t look at anyone when she spoke, and there was something about the words she chose that seemed strange to me. Before I could ask her about it, Callie rushed up, gripping the scepter and lifting it adoringly from its dais. Isadora did nothing to stop her. 

“Amazing! Okay, great, we’ve got it, now… wait… who’s the man on top?” Callie asked, her excitement overwhelming. 

“Charun,” Isadora said without inflection. “He was a psychopomp in Ancient Etruscan mythology.” 

“A crazy guy?” Callie asked, eyeing the staff warily, holding it slightly further away from her body than she was a moment before. 

“A psychopomp is a figure in a mythology or religion that guides spirits from the land of the living to their afterlife,” I explained. “The Valkyries in Norse mythology, Hermes in Greek, and even the Archangel Gabriel in Christianity.” 

“He was the one who announced life, not death,” Diego said, shooting me a look. “He was the one who told Mary she was pregnant with Jesus in the first place.” 

“True,” I said, shrugging. “Made all the more tragically ironic by the fact that Gabriel is known as the angel of death for kings. Some of the best foreshadowing I’ve ever seen done and lost on the masses.”

Diego’s brow furrowed, but his expression was one of silent horror at the realization rather than defiance against my claim. He looked over at Isadora who looked back at him and just shrugged. He dropped his head and sighed. 

“You know, I hate hanging around with you two. You take everything I love and just… ruin it. With ‘fun facts’,” he said, hooking his thumb over his shoulder at the door. “Can we just go now? I’m sick of the spooky underground caverns and the room full of death stuff that is further destroying what remains of any peace my religion brought me.” 

Callie rushed towards the door, scepter still clutched in her hands. I turned to look at Isadora, to ask her if she wanted to take a moment with the artifacts, but she was already moving to the dais with the tablet. For a moment something seemed off about where she was standing as she did, as though her path was wrong, but I heard Diego warning Callie to let him go first, and turned to follow the sound. By the time I turned back to Isadora, she was already standing next to me. 

“Ready to go?” she asked, and I sensed a tension in her voice that hadn’t been there a moment before when she was talking to Callie. 

“Yeah,” I said, eyeing her curiously. “Ladies first?”

“Of course,” she said, a smile on her face that didn’t reach her eyes. She stepped out of the room and began walking across the bridge. Her steps were hurried and her gait was stiff. I waited until she reached the other side before starting my way across, wondering what had changed for her in that room. 

Resolving to ask her when I got a moment alone with her, I picked up my pace. I was about halfway across the bridge when I heard the sound of straining wood and a splintering crack. Had my heart still beat in my chest, I would have felt it sink into my stomach. I ground my feet into the track and tried to push myself forward, to outrace the inevitable…

But there was no chance. 

The bridge collapsed underneath me, dried wood splintering and cracking under its own weight. For a brief moment I hung out in space watching the shocked looks on my coterie’s faces as gravity began to overtake me. Callie’s expression of stunned surprise, Diego’s mad dash and the whipping tendrils of shadow that fell just short of grabbing me, and Isadora.

Isadora’s scream pierced the air as darkness swallowed me, like the shriek of a banshee, her keening wail echoed off the rocks as I fell, surrounding me as the last desperate cry for me that I would ever hear. I reached for her as she shrank into nothingness, desperate to not abandon her, but then she was gone. 

I tried to cry out for her, but my voice was cut short as something slammed into my back and I watched a mountain grow from my stomach, capped with the crimson of my vitae like a red snow. A stalactite had burst through my guts, pinning me like a butterfly to the ground, unable to call out for help, unable to escape myself, just trapped in the dark, staring up at a sky of black. Never to see the moon again. Never to see the stars again. 

Never to see her again. 

Hell. At this point, I’d even wish to see the sun again. 

As I felt my vitae leak from my wound the world around me clouded over with a blackness I knew wasn’t the mercy of a swift death. 

Peter must have been an idiot, my last thoughts flashed across my mind before I passed out. Who would choose crucifixion as their means of death?