Chapter 12: Spring Festival, Part III

Vidal was the first of us to rise from the floor upon which we’d all taken to sitting as the sounds of roaring chaos whirled around outside, entering our dormitory through open balcony doors. He released a prolonged, deep sigh through pursed lips, and passed Lucho and María to stand before me, beckoning impatiently for me to stand.

My eyes followed his waving hands and apparent distraction, his head tilted down and to the left with eyes looking vaguely towards the bazaar, for a contemplative few seconds before focusing in on me. A gut feeling told me he was upset, really rather angry, and why aside from at a pain I reckon we were all feeling I didn’t know, but came to know as soon as I rose to my feet.

Vidal’s first instinct, it seems, was to shove me to the floor. What violence! He roared and growled like a mangy, caged, and upset beast. His arms flailed and he took a few steps about at random, stomping his boots against the floor in a show of overflowing, juvenile emotion.

María looked as if she desired to speak up, peering upon Vidal in some shock and with an extended arm, but froze upon seeing him notice her and afford her a furious expression.

Pleadingly, I spoke up and said “Vidal, just talk–talk to me.” and this seized his attention from María who looked relieved, and resettled herself in a cross-legged position.

He responded, saying “I’ve never felt this lust, this hunger before, Jack. What happened? What did they do to us? What do you know? What is this!” He spoke ‘this’ with such emphasis as to cause his hands to stutter and fly up and out at his sides. Through reddened cheeks and wide, wild eyes I sensed a looming depression in him.

“This is a violation of Yoisen’s Contract, Vidal–”

And before I could finish he very quickly cut me off, asking “What is Yoisen’s Contact?”

To which I responded, in the same low-level tone with which I had begun, opting not to field the spike in annoyance that exploded and arose at the audacity of his interruption of my reply, “–an agreement with a figure alike in potence to the Mother, whose access to batteries of energy removed the necessity for feeding.”

“What?” Was all Vidal managed to muster as his visage, now more confused than upset, swirled as if being kneaded by invisible hands.

“For centuries this agreement allowed us to live without needing to eat–to feed, excuse me.” I said, noticing Lucho aiming to pipe up in my periphery. I went on, “Saying ‘to eat’ is misleading, because we require vita in order to go on, you remember vita from my sustaining Santiago, correct?”

Vidal nodded, and thereafter I watched his eyebrows shoot up in apparent realisation, which I assumed was his remembering Santiago still existed. The bastard, forgetting such a gem yet healing in preparation for his deserved, yes, still deserved, retirement.

“Until this transgression is mended, which will require a summoning, convincing Yoisen to forgive us, and more than likely delivering him Adorjan’s head, and the heads of every single one of his followers, we are going to have to go hunting.”

“If he forgives us. You may not recall, but this is the second time the agreement has been violated.” María Christina reminded us, although to me it was less a reminder than a history lesson.

I responded, saying “Could you briefly explain?”

“Perhaps before your time. An Ascended Elder at Yhortor, denied the next echelon, revolted and burned a nearby Human settlement to ashes amidst their Autumn festival. I suppose he wanted to garner the Temple-Keeper’s attention, a show of power to demonstrate his worthiness. Ire overtook his knowledge, and brought ignorance as a means of satiating greed.”

“How did they solve that instance of this crisis?” I asked.

“Some agents of the Mother captured the malfeasor, and summoned Yoisen on the steps of Her temple, offering him and his cohorts to the daemon, who accepted and warned that another violation would bring damnation to them all.”

“And so damned we are.” Lucho said. I went on to continue the original discussion, aiming my utterances at Vidal, but not before a quick comment to María.

“Ire overtook his knowledge even of the process. For, promotion is based upon age. Three centuries for Elder, a millennium for Archon.” María nodded twice, and then I turned to Vidal, “We all need to feed before our bodies degrade into an emaciated state, and we risk finding ourselves as piles of soot on these fine floors.”

“How do we feed–and feed upon what, Jack? How do we acquire vita?”

“I’ll show you, Vidal. This tavern is not without its occupants, merely without them on this floor. Let’s go to the lower level and find an occupied room, likely now the home of many scared, sleeping drunkards.”

I stood with him and left, leaving the lovers behind to find for themselves a meal. The look on Lucho’s face as I turned to see if they’d follow conveyed to me a certain distaste with the affair, as if… as if he were experienced. Intriguing–it isn’t possible under the contract.

Vidal and I stopped at two doors before the third yielded a sleeping man, an older, pot-bellied labourer. He reeked of beer and sweets, which repulsed Vidal, but I insisted and kept a hand on his shoulder, reassuringly, and opted to demonstrate.

A simple manoeuvre, albeit discomforting at first, the ripe air around his resting form was replaced by the euphoric sensation of consuming his blood. A natural pair of canines grew out from my top row of teeth, and extended down to just about the middle of my chin.

From those two piercing straws I stole a third of the vita from his system–likely a killing blow–and then prompted Vidal to follow, but he couldn’t help but speak before doing so.

“So they’re real–my God they’re real. They’re real?!” He was, of course, referring to the stories of Vampires and Ghouls, blood-suckers and such fantastical nonsense as the musings of misunderstood eye-witnesses and mystics. I dismissed it and his head-canon with a waving hand, ushering him to follow suit, and so he did.

The relief from the abdominal anguish faded instantly upon completing my consumption. The rich, lavish sensation of blood was refreshing, but familiar. It seemed the natural, ethereal flow from Yoisen’s pools now had a marker of comparison. It felt natural, as if some constant I had previously missed because of its constancy, like forgetting the air is air that one breathes to live till it suddenly stops being all-encompassing, became a rare resource.

Vidal rose after moments, blood trickling down his chin, staining the neck and chest of his tunic, panting with eyes locked shut and hands, with fingers splayed, aggressively gripping his sides. The fellow had been left, now, with a third of his former, natural supply of life essence, a sure demise.

“It’s alright, Vidal. It’s okay.” My amazement at his reaction was short lived, overwritten by a realisation that it had to do with the shortness of his status as one of us. He hadn’t yet grown fully accustomed to the flow, and so underwent this theft with a refreshing ability to experience. That elation I saw in him must’ve been so unlike my own, so much greater.

“Fucking God Jack, fucking God.” He repeated it thrice more, and finally slowed his breathing to its normal pace. Eventually, he looked upon me with violence in his eyes. I only shook my head, conveying the obvious: We cannot go on a hunting spree.

“Repetition will kill its newness and kill its ecstasy. Time, albeit difficult, a necessary discipline, is a must, here.” And through so obviously gritted teeth, he complied, and returned with me to the workroom.

When we arrived, I saw Lucho on the edge of the bed, tying on a pair of new boots. María was missing. Without needing to ask, he spoke to us.

“She’s gone to find your Lorena, and care for the now-needy in our district. I’ll be joining her soon. We’ll catch up in a few days, Jack. Take this time to recover, and to rebuild whatever’s been damaged.”

“What of the crowd? What of the assassins?” I asked.

“Dispersed and disappeared. I reckon Adorjan’s cur crawled back to him as soon as the bombs went off. As chaos ensued, their mission was achieved. After a while we stood and watched, making sure order had been restored. The priest was pissed, but, ah, nothing missed there. Amusing really, to watch him fawn over the safety of that sanctified desk they call ‘relic’.”

I walked with Vidal to the balcony, and together we peered over the edge to view a sparse collection of guardsmen picking through a shallow sea of trash, discarded pieces of clothing, and spilled drinks across the bazaar. Stalls had been toppled, front windows smashed, and a few bodies left unconscious.

The sacrificial table was in the process of being loaded back onto its cart by the priest, assistants, and sentinels. As we finished our survey, and turned, the noise of trotting led us back into the room.

“Good morning, so early a morning, and good luck to you both. María will send Lorena here when she’s found.”

“Before you go.” Vidal said, to my surprise, “What’s she been doing for you in her absence?”

Lucho had started to leave when Vidal trapped him, prompting the man to smirk, and say “Peacekeeping. She has a natural aptitude for cracking skulls.” And with that remark, Lucho disappeared beyond the threshold.

“We should check on Efrain and the staff…” Vidal suggested, turning to me.

“I suppose.” A new disinterest carried itself with my words, evidently propelling Vidal to question me.

“You smiled with him just yesterday morning, proud to declare him our Manager–not just some morning assistant. What’s this then, Jack?”

“I don’t know Vidal. I do, however, know that caring has suddenly become a chore.”

“Well, I don’t feel it. So, please try, Jack. Try until we fix this mess.”

He turned to walk onwards, and I followed close-on-heel. We descended quickly to join the tavern floor. There, Vidal and I found Efrain with two of our bartenders, and the chef, still in the midst of a discussion on the hysteria and aftermath thereof.

“I can’t believe it… I just… I just can’t believe it–still! This is madness! Praise to God, give us your forgiveness!” Efrain pleaded, awash with some existential crisis.

“Let him give it to you on his own, Efrain.” I offered, grabbing his and the other’s attention. They all stood as we approached them, with Vidal soon after dismissing their formality, reassuringly saying “This is no time to be so serious about us, please.”

Reluctantly the four found their seats again, and I dragged chairs over from an adjacent table for me and Vidal. Sitting, I planted my feet on the table top, and leaned back as far as I could manage without sending myself to the floor.

Sceptically, Vidal eyed me before addressing Efrain directly. “How much damage did we suffer, aside from the obvious?” An accompanying hand brought my attention to the door and front windows, of which all but one had the glass entirely smashed. The counter we’d set up was in twain, and foodstuffs and drink soiled the floor thereunder.

“Leo took a fist to the eye. He tried to save the counter, and got attacked for it by some screaming, fearful people. He’s in the back on ice.” Efrain explained, although his saying ‘on ice’ prompted me to chortle, earning a disapproving look from everyone at the table.

I neglected to apologise, leaving us with an awkward seven seconds that Vidal ultimately broke, asking “Are you going to say ‘sorry’?”

To which I replied “Absolutely not. It was spontaneous. Be displeased if you must, however I shan’t repeat that altogether overused, and so rendered meaningless, phrase.”

Three blinks, and a disbelieving stare, occupied the following seconds, before Vidal visibly cringed and shoved down his discomfort, looking away from me and at the table where he puffed out some air, and adopted a countenance that said to me, without saying: Fuck that.

“Yes, well… right… we’ll get it cleaned soon. We just wanted to sit and work through all this.” Efrain said, sounding as though he hoped to push past the tension.

“Please take your time. I’ll stay and help you when you’re ready.” Vidal replied, standing and walking over to the bar. “Would anyone like some water?”

I drowned out the ensuing conversation, and pushed myself to my feet, walking over to the nearest broken window. Peering through the new hole, the lightness of the passing air prodded my hair, teasing it as if to suggest it could push it over my eyes. That fixation almost made me laugh, what a strange thing to notice.

Through the void of glass I spied, distantly, some guardsmen beginning the grand project of clearing the square of its turmoil, and around them others quelling businesspersons, having arrived to check on their property, upset at the vandalism and accidents.

Beyond even them I spied a couple, holding each other close, as they wept together. The one man’s face looked bloodied, but it had dried, and was perhaps not his own. The other man clutched his right arm, gripping it with a certain strength that conveyed some great pain.

Further then, and finally, I spied that man… that craggly, broken man… that elder, cane-wielding man… that man whose fixation, twice now, carried itself about that great sequoia, that beautiful tree of God. That man spied me, and eyed me, and walked off in some laughter upon my aspect questioning of his looking.