After a long, gruelling...week...without TS4, I am back now the face bug is fixed!
CONTENT WARNING: The usual discussion of murder, death, and of poor parenting, and one small instance of potty humour for the easily-squicked-out. Also a chapter to bear historical context in mind with again.
Julian
This meeting is long overdue.
Over these past few years, I've gained a nonchalance about Jacobism I never thought I'd have in my entire life of being a Shepherd. High Priest Briar Thorne is busy attenting to other matters, so in his place is his second-in-command, Edmund Thorne- another Thorne in the side of Jacobism. I already know almost everything that's about to slip off of his sly tongue, and I couldn't care less. I took little pride in anything I did for the church these days.
"These past five years have seen the largest fall in revenue and the lowest number of new converts in decades. It's also seen a reported increase in witches and decrease in witchfinders- something which I personally believe both of you to be at least partially responsible for."
I couldn't begin to explain to anyone what kind of regret I felt...more than fifty years of being blinded by the shadow of this perversion of true Jacobism. Made to believe that magic could only be used for cruelty. Made to believe people deserved to be shamed for minor mistakes. It didn't matter that it wasn't something I was directly responsible for; the blood was on my hands for the witches' blood that had been spilt over my time of being the Eye of Jacob. There isn't a day that it isn't looming over me, but I cannot make this about my guilt.
"I'd strayed too far from Yacothian Jacobism, Edmund-"
"High Priest Edmund-"
"I've strayed too far from Yacothian Jacobism, Edmund. All I cared about was shaming people for their wrongdoings, collecting their money, and being wrapped up in blaming all Henford's issues on witches. I should have done no such thing."
"The fact that you have stopped blaming witches at all is precisely what's caused all of this, Julian. This is the first time in decades that the Henford census has shown more of the population lean more towards Peterism than Jacobism. If you have any ideas on how you plan to rectify this, please, do share them."
I cough in my throat, and straighten my back.
"I don't."
He looks at me as if I've just nailed a cat to the wall by its ears.
"Nothing at all to fix the mess you two have caused, Julian?"
"Not a thing," I reply, without a hint of emotion. "Let the Jacobans be Jacoban, let the Peterans be Peteran. I've spent the past five years trying to guide people instead of mislead them. Perhaps you and the other High Priests should follow suit. If people would rather be misled than guided, then that is on them. I'm not The Watcher Themselves, Edmund. I can't change people's minds if they no longer decide Jacobism is for them."
"Very well. If I may propose my own rectification to you both, then."
Edmund is trying to look all official with his leather-bound journal. How mortifying.
"We have given you both enough time to try and turn this around, and neither of you have made any improvements. In these dire times, we have had no choice but to make a partnership with Lord Eduardo Volpe. We have offered the last of the Jacobans a chance to assist the Watcher, and improve their chances of being spared upon the Eve of Retribution...by becoming witchfinders."
Preposterous. Clementia beats me to a snappy reply.
"You can't be serious! All of this just to scrape in a little extra Simoleons? You're that desperate to let Jacobism stray away from its Yacothian roots? You realise there are people higher than you, don't you? What will the Yacothian Proxy think of this?"
"It won't matter!" Juniper spits. "Yacothia is thousands of miles away from Henford. They don't care what we do as long as we bring in revenue and converts. You think they have eyes over every country in the world?"
"Who are you to speak for the Proxy?" Clementia snaps.
I cut in before she can dig herself too deep. "The Proxy may not have eyes on every country in the world, but we all know someone who does. Tell me, Juniper, what does the Watcher think of your willingness to throw the women of Henford under the horse and carriage-"
"Enough!" she yells, slamming her hands on the table like a toddler. "If you both refuse to help us gain converts and witchfinders, then neither of you will have anything to do with the Jacoban church for the remainder of your lives. Is that clear?"
"Then who's going to run the cathedral?"
"Someone with more charisma and loyalty than the two of you put together. Myself."
Clementia and I share a gasp. She looks devastated, and her sorrowful eyes dig deeply into my own, as if she feels more sorry for me. She needn't feel sorry for me. I've lived my life, and I'd be glad to live the rest of it away from this mess.
After a pause, Clementia and I give a simultaneous response:
"We refuse."
Edmund's face falls into a scowl, and Juniper's rises into a sneer. She's wanted us both out of the picture for a while, hasn't she?
"So that's it, then, is it, Juniper? As a woman in power in the Jacoban cathedral, you're going to gladly have the only other woman in power within the cathedral removed?"
"This has nothing to do with gender, Clementia-"
"No. It has everything to with you being a traitor who'd rather suck up to men who would gladly have you slaughtered than stand by a fellow woman!"
Edmund silences the room.
"Julian Jourdain and Clementia Morgan, I hereby relieve both of you permanently from your duties within the Jacoban cathedral of Finchwick, and from the Jacoban religion itself. You will not be seen in the Finchwick cathedral for the remainder of your lives. Julian, any revenue you have acculumated is now the property of the Jacoban church. Is that understood?"
Clem's eyes gloss over with tears, but she remains stoic. To have us nowhere near the Jacoban church on top of everything- it's far from necessary, but Edmund doesn't care what's necessary for anyone but himself. Juniper in charge of the cathedral...I dread to think of it all. I dread to think of the future of Jacobism, but I suppose now, it is not my problem. Let them destroy themselves if they so wish.
For me, it strangely doesn't feel like anything lost. At this point, Jacobism was a mess of meaningless ideas and perversions of what the Book of Jacob tells us. Whatever Jacobism is now, or even had been all along...I don't know. I'm no longer being misled. I'm no longer misleading people. If you'd have asked me before the past five years if I'd gladly give up this position, I'd have given it up for no-one- yet I feel more relieved than anything, even without a single penny to my name. It was all money I'd amassed in awful ways, anyhow. I didn't deserve it.
For the first time in over fifty years, I am truly free, in some sense. To believe what I want, and to do what I want. The two of us do not bother to appeal in any sense, and we leave without a word. The cold winter air bites at our faces the moment we step outside.
Clementia is trying to hold back tears. "You can come and live with me, if you like. My home is small, but I have space for you."
"I don't want to be a burden on you, Clementia-"
"You've been like a father to me, Julian. You can stay at my home for as long as you need to- even if it's the rest of your life."
"I appreciate your kindness, Clementia.Until I can find some way to pay you back, I would appreciate it....though I worry about you."
"Don't worry about me, Julian. I'll be alright."
I don't believe her, but I take her word for now. Perhaps I'll rest a few weeks, adjust to living a normal life, and then maybe I'll show the Henfordian Clementia the beauty of how to protest, Champs-les-Sims-style. In Henford, if a higher power puts you in a situation you don't like, you tolerate it. Maybe drink a cup of tea. Shrug your shoulders. Blame someone you consider to be below you instead of the people above you.
In Champs-Les-Sims, you take to the higher power with all of the power you have. You show them the hard way that they'll regret their decisions. You give them no choice but to back down.
Violeta
I don't know what to do with myself- not after the news I've just heard.
I could see something was different about him when he came in. His hair was slightly darker, and there was a faint ring of brown around his irises. They brought back distant memories of our first encounter one hundred and thirty years ago. Not only that, but there was a hoarseness in his voice, as if he were trying to learn to breathe again.
Emotions...how I despise them, and how they come flooding back in a nauseating combination of fear, anger, pure devastation, and dark speculation. It didn't make sense to me at first. There was no conceivable way that a vampire could just turn back. I'd only ever heard rumours of a cure, the ones the Strong bloodline would always threaten us with. At first, I wondered if they'd covertly followed us to Henford and managed to slip the cure in somehow, maybe using a human who'd taken the cure as fodder...but then, would the Strongs go to that length just to get back at us? They had the entirety of Nebelstadt for themselves. What more did they want?
Then it came to me- the only other person with deep alchemical and medical knowledge, and a much more understandable motive to do such a thing. Samuel Annorin.
I didn't know whether to mention my theory to Oskar. He was already struggling as it was. Halfway through talking to me, he started choking on something. Once I'd patted him hard enough on the back, he'd spat out both of his fangs, revealing two regular teeth that had grown in their place. He said he'd had an aching pain there for days, and he assumed that was what was happening.
Despite my feelings, I'd tried to comfort him as best as I could, but he could tell I'd taken the news badly. I didn't want him to worry about me.
He asks me if it's possible for me to turn him back. The trouble is, I didn't think it was. The body struggles to take to vampirism the first time. If I did it the second time, I think there was a good chance it would have just killed him outright. Once I refused, he said nothing more, and bid a polite-yet-downtrodden farewell for the night.
I kept telling myself to look at the bright side. He could finally go out in the sun again. He could go back to eating whatever he wanted and fully enjoying it. It would be fine. After all, I'd still have another thirty or forty years with him, wouldn't I? Possibly? Unless...what if I didn't? What if something were to happen in twenty years' time? Ten years' time? Five years' time?
No. For his sake, I have to be optimistic.
I have to be.
If I find out that this was Annorin's doing, I'll finish what Oskar couldn't. I don't have Katlego looming over my shoulder, nor do I care for what others think is right.
If Annorin had a hand in this, I'll rip him to pieces.
Daniel
Volpe's mansion is as enormous (and as hideous) as I expected. I keep trying to shake away the fear. I'm not afraid of him, exactly- I'm afraid of what he'll do to my family if I refuse. I'll have no choice but to go along with whatever he asks me to do.
There's no way out of this. Either I refuse and let my family die, or I agree and let everyone who cares about me come to hate me for the hand I'll have in the deaths of hundreds of innocent women...and I can't be the only one in this situation.
His entire home was ugly shades of green and teal everywhere you looked. His wrinkled scowl is more comical than it is intimidating.
Everyone in Henford thinks the Tartosan accent is the most beautiful accent in this rough region of the world...just not when it's coming from Lord Volpe's lips.
"So, tell me, Daniel- in your eyes, what does the role of a witchfinder entail?"
"Killing innocent women?"
"There's nothing innocent about these women, Daniel," he spits. "These women killed my entire family in a fire over a false accusation! There's nothing 'innocent' in that!"
"Oh. I get it. So your family gets killed by the witches, and so you'll kill my family if I don't kill the witches?"
"Goodness. You're just as difficult as your father was. Let's hope you're a lot better at witchfinding, shall we?"
Of course he dodged the question. I should probably be watching my tongue, but it's impossible.
"There is more to witchfinding than killing people, Daniel. It's no different than the culling of, say, deer or badgers. Sometimes one thousand have to die so one million can survive, yes? You think I'm forcing you into something cruel and heartless, when in reality I am giving you a chance to grow as a person. You must be about...eighteen? Twenty?"
"Nineteen."
"Then witchfinding will give you the chance to really become a man. To protect your family from the women who would burn them alive given the chance."
"So I'm protecting my family from women who would never think to hurt my family for a man who would think to hurt my family? Make it make sense."
All I can think about is Eli, the moment we shared in the snow, the kiss...I can't stop thinking about it. The warmth in your chest that spreads throughout when they touch you- I wasn't really sure before when I'd fall in love, but I didn't expect it to be him. The moment repeats in my mind over and over, and Lord Volpe's words turn to background noise. If he finds out about this, he's going to hate my guts for it. So is Josiah. So is Father. If I don't, they'll be dead.
"Young men like you have no direction, no motivation and no goal. All you want to do is read books all day long and drink yourselves to death. Everyone has become selfish, sidelining their work for something as petty and as temporary as a fleeting thought of joy. No-one wants to work anymore, Daniel. Give it one hundred years and no-one will be working, but there'll be plenty of whinging and whining about not having any money, won't there?"
"You don't have to work.."
"I worked hard for what I have."
"You have what you have because your family ruined the lives of hundreds of Tartosans to get it."
"You'd do yourself good if you kept your mouth shut, boy. Don't forget what's at stake."
"There's a handful of women that have been spotted performing rituals out in the forests. Micah has all the details- you'll be paired with him until you can make it out there on your own. What is your swordsmanship like, Daniel?"
"I learned from my father."
"I see. Well, off you go- and don't think about running off, either. Micah will have an eye on you."
* * *
Micah seems too nice to be a witchfinder. He's oddly cheery about the fact that we're off to kill a group of women who likely haven't done a single thing wrong. The sickly feeling in my stomach is swirling. I can't believe what I've gotten into...the only upside to all of this is that Micah seems friendly enough.
"Trouble is, witches have gotten smarter these past few years..."
"How many witches have you caught, Micah?"
"Me? Countless. I lost count a long time ago, my boy," he says, chuckling to himself. "But it keeps my pockets lined. Have to feed my family somehow. Some new-fangled steam tech put me out of my job, and this was the next best thing. Trust me, Daniel, a lot of people here aren't mean-spirited in any way. If you want to blame anyone, blame the system, not Volpe."
"Volpe will kill my entire family if I don't do this, Micah. It's safe to say I'm blaming Volpe."
"And their lives matter more than a stranger's does, yes?"
"So you've never wanted to escape this life? Do something else?"
"Nothing else pays as well as this, boy. This day in age, we have no choice but to do things we don't want to do to get ahead...or even just to survive-"
He stops for a moment, reacting to a crunch through the winter-frosted grass.
"First rule, Daniel, never make assumptions when you hear a sound- just because it might be a fox, doesn't mean it isn't actually a witch..."
I think back to what Father used to do- the way he'd stalled Volpe over and over until he quit. If I could at least try to stall him, it could work, but then Volpe is probably wise to Father's tricks, so I suppose it isn't wise for me to repeat them. For now, I just have to play along, and do as Micah tells me to.
Oskar
I realise that I've left it far too late to tell Eli what is happening. I was hopeful that Violeta could turn me back, but she refused. She said if she did it a second time, she thought it would kill me. I'd have taken the chance, but I can't force her. Acceptance will be a long and gruelling path, but I have no choice.
"It doesn't take an expert to know something's going on, Oskar."
"I apologise, Eli. I should have explained this to you before. My humanity is returning to me, Eli. I'm not sure entirely how it happened, but very soon, I will be fully human again."
"So, what, did you get some kind of vampirism cure?"
Cure?
"I do not know, Eli-"
A cure.
I'd speculated as such, but I forced myself not to speculate and worsen my anxiety. The trouble is, Eli is likely correct. Violeta's scowl when I explained everything to her...She had some kind of inkling as well, didn't she?
The Strong bloodline used to threaten us with a cure all of the time, but I highly doubt they'd come all the way to Henford to somehow discreetly slip a cure along to me somehow. I only know of two people who could be capable of crafting a cure, and that's a certain herbalist with a certain owl, or a certain young man's brother or father. Still, I've not seen any of them for ages. The only conceivable a way a cure could have been passed along to me is - Could it have been in someone's bloodstream? One of the witchfinders, perhaps? Would Katlego really go as far as to set me up like that? No, no, Katlego wouldn't go anywhere near a witchfinder. Would Owen? Would Samuel-
"Eli, when was the last time you spoke to Owen?"
"A few weeks ago."
"And did he say anything about a possible cure?"
"No, nothing at all...you don't trust him, do you? Owen wouldn't do that to you, Oskar- Look, if you want me to, I can ask him if he knows anything."
"That would be appreciated, Eli."
"Are you going to be okay, Oskar?"
"I don't know, Eli. I'm sorry, but I do not want to mislead you...I genuinely do not know. Anyhow, I'm off to Lunvik. There's someone I want to see there, an old friend. I don't know if he's even still alive, but I'd like to find out."
"I highly doubt that I have the energy to run or walk there, so I'll have to borrow Griselda, even though she hates me. Is that okay with you?"
"Be nice! She doesn't hate you. She's just nervous, that's all!"
Of course, Eli. Stand up for the horse rather than your father! He'd marry that horse if it were legal!
"You can borrow her. Just make sure she comes back safe, okay?"
"Yes, yes, Eli, of course I will. You're acting like I would leave her stranded for the wolves or something."
"Don't joke about her like that!"
Griselda snorts at me, but she seems to respond to my touch in a more positive fashion. Perhaps it's because I'm no longer a vampire? Can she sense that? She seems oddly calm as I climb atop the saddle.
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous. I don't know what to expect. Either way, Lunvik is a nice enough place, even if there's no-one left there. A part of me hopes there's at least another werewolf out there who isn't Reynold, anyhow.
* * *
Some time later
???
I know I'll never meet another werewolf again. I've known this for years, and yet every night without fail, I find myself walking the same path around Lunvik in forlorn hope. It's rare I see anyone else here at all, let alone any of the Lunvinchenaîné. For all I know, I could be the last of my blood in Henford. All I'd done since losing Blythe, Reynold and Clementia was survive. What else was there when you were most likely the sole survivor? I'd spent two whole years looking for my children after they'd vanished, and they never came back. They never will.
Tonight, however, turns out to be far different. For the first time in countless years, I see someone else in Lunvik, laid beside a horse near the old park. I recognise the coat- no doubt it was someone from the Bloodmoon war, but who could still be alive from then? Was it someone of my own blood, I wondered? After so many years, was I finally to meet another of Lunvin's children?
I notice the horse nuzzling him, and he's seemingly unconscious.
A burning curiosity rises in my stomach. The hairstyle looks familiar, yet I never remembered it being mostly brown. When I turn him over to check on him, I can't believe what I see. Not a werewolf, sadly, but still a surprise- a vampire. Not just any old vampire, either. My old friend, who I hadn't seen in almost forty years- Oskar Nivelheim, a hero to witches, vampires and werewolves alike. I had no doubt that he was still alive, but I would have never expected to find him anywhere near Lunvik after swearing he'd never return to the place.
Though I wonder if he's even still a vampire. Oskar loved being a vampire. I can't imagine he'd ever have wanted to cure it, surely. I put my fingers to his wrist, and there's a faint pulse, at least. I lift him on top of the horse, and try to lead her back to my home.
Alistair
I lay him on the sofa when we got in, and put the fire on for a little winter comfort. I check on him every now and again. Thankfully, he's breathing more steadily now. I wonder what happened?
My emotions are a chaotic haze. Glad to see an old friend, confused to see him in the state that he's in. He doesn't have any marks on him, so he wasn't attacked, at least.
What are the odds? I never thought I'd ever see Oskar again. He always spoke of the adventures he'd go on after the war, but all I recall was him moving back to Nebelstadt. I didn't think he'd ever leave after going back. Oskar is a man with all sorts of wild dreams, but he's a man of comfort more than anything. He loves the thought of going out and doing everything, but actually putting it all into practice is something else entirely.
I hear something stirring and mumbling behind me.
"Ah. You're finally awake."
He's too groggy to react properly to seeing me again, and slightly raises an eyebrow, muttering a slurred version of my name.
"I found you unconscious near the old park. What are you doing all the way out here? And what's going on?"
He doesn't seem to be focusing on me, and his words come out in a droning, broken-up fashion. I understand it all perfectly; I remember it well from the old days. It always happened if he was overwhelmed by something.
"You're in Lunvik, Oskar. I brought you here because I found you unconscious nearby. It's me, Alistair. Do you remember me?"
He doesn't say anything.
"Is the fire too overwhelming? I can put it out if it is."
He nods sideways. I don't say anything for a while, and just let him come around a bit. Eventually, he opens up a little.
"I don't know what happened. I was heading out to Lunvik one minute, next minute I'm here. I'm regaining my humanity, and I despise it. Someone, somehow, has managed to cure my vampirism indirectly. But that's too long a story to explain right now. I came out here looking for you."
"For me? Well, it's been a while, hasn't it?"
"Indeed, but I'm not here primarily to catch up, Alistair. I'm here because your children need you."
What? What's he talking about?
"Oskar, my children are dead. How do you even know that I had children?"
His demeanour changes suddenly to something much more aggressive.
"Because I had to do your job for you! Did you not think to tell your own son how to control his power?! Your son may be dead to you, but I can assure you, he is very much alive- as is your daughter!"
My breath catches in my throat. Part of me wants to strangle him for that comment, but I can't. I know better than to lash out at someone like him. Even as a human, he'd overpower me easily. I can't take my anger out on him. I try to breathe through it, balling my fingers into fists. Now is not the time for the wolf.
"Your son lost control, and your daughter almost died as a result. I had to teach him what you couldn't, and even then it was far too late. If you'd have done your job as a father, you could have prevented your daughter's near-death!"
Reynold...No, it can't have. He'd never hurt Clementia, let alone try to kill her. After all of this time thinking that they were dead, they weren't. They've been alive all these years. They must be in their early thirties now. They must not ever want to see their father ever again. I must say, I never thought I'd find myself on the end of Oskar's paternal wrath, but I deserve it.
"What are they doing now?"
"I promised Reynold I wouldn't tell you what Clementia is up to these days, but your son has a partner and a daughter, and he's the abbot of the Peteran monastery in Withernham. Even after all you've done, he still wants to give you a second chance."
An abbot? My son? And Clementia- I wonder what's become of her? Why won't Oskar tell me? I know better than to force him to tell me. I can see it in the firelight- the sliver of white left in his hair, and the growing ring of brown in the middle of his grey eyes. I felt as if I'd walked through a portal back in time. It's surreal how different he looks not being so pale. Despite his ire, he sounds incredibly weak.
"Alistair, if I thought you were beyond redemption, I wouldn't have come all the way out here to see you." His tone shifts into something less aggressive, but no less assertive. "I'm still honouring the pact after all these years, and you're still my friend. Your son needs you, Alistair. You aren't the last of the Lunvinchenaîné, but Reynold hardly knows anything of his heritage because you didn't teach him enough of it."
Oskar is right. I did wrong by my son and by my daughter. I didn't even pay much attention to Clementia growing up. All I cared about was my son, the one with the wolf in his blood, and even then, I taught him nothing of it. I hoped that he wouldn't become like me- a bloodthirsty soldier. I hoped if he knew nothing of the wolf that he'd never give in to it. I'd made an enormous mistake.
"If Violeta hadn't taught me anything about being a vampire when she turned me, I can't even begin to imagine how differently everything would have turned out. The amount of innocent people that would have died because of my inexperience would have been much higher."
I raised him a devout Peteran, and it seems it stuck with him. I wonder about Clementia? I doubt she even believes in a Watcher anymore. To think Reynold is a father of his own child now. What if he or she is a werewolf? He'll need to know everything I can teach him, otherwise history risks repeating itself. Part of me wonders if they even want to know me at this point, but I know Oskar will give me no choice but to go to Henford. It'll feel strange seeing it again. It's been years since I lived there.
I notice him looking up at his own handiwork on my shelves. He'd carved them from some thick broken branches when we were still soldiers, with nothing but a knife and his wildly-vivid imagination.
"I suppose you're wondering why Blythe isn't here."
"I already had an idea of why. I didn't wish to ask, but- I'm deeply sorry, Alistair."
"And thank you, Oskar, for coming out here and telling me, and for helping my son. I thought them dead after two years of non-stop searching for them both, and to know that they are alive...it warms my heart. I'm beyond thankful for everything you've done for me- both during and after the Bloodmoon. I'm glad that you're still around."
The tears flow down my cheeks. After all of this time, Reynold and Clementia are still alive- but they've matured a lot, I'm sure. Perhaps neither of them will want to know me.
"But who knows for how much longer?"
His words feel like a knife to my chest.
He was always so confident. It's devastating to see him so defeated.
"It's no good to think like that. None of us know when our time is up. We can't spend our lives obsessing over our own mortality, though I can only imagine how difficult it must be to have to get used to a whole other life again. It'll be difficult, Oskar, but you have Violeta, and you have me. I know we haven't spoken in many years, but if you ever need anything, you only have to ask."
He stares into the fire, and doesn't respond to me.
"When was the last time you slept, Oskar?"
"No idea."
"And the last time you ate?"
"No idea."
"Well, it's no wonder you collapsed if you haven't slept or eaten in so long. You're going to have to get used to doing all of that regularly again or you're going to make yourself unwell," I tell him. "There's a spare room upstairs. Go and rest."
"I can't. I have to get back to-"
"Whatever it is can wait. Go and rest, okay?"
* * *
He doesn't wake for almost a whole other day. The next night, he's finally out of bed. He doesn't seem much better, but he won't until he eats something. At first, he protests that he's not all that hungry, and his stomach protests louder. I give him some roast chicken, and he learns in curiously, poking at it with its fork.
"This will be the first meal I've had in years that I can taste properly," he says, chuckling. "It had better be good, Alistair..."
For a moment, I notice him wince at it, but I remember that after one hundred and thirty years of dulled taste buds, it's probably pretty overwhelming. I notice his eyes light up soon after.
"It's perfect," he chirps. "It's so succulent, so tender...I feel like I'm back in my mother's house again. And the seasoning! It's incredible!"
Within moments, it's gone. He looks at me like a dog asking for seconds, and I point to the enormous plate of chicken and vegetables next to me. I'd hoped to have some for tomorrow, but he demolishes the lot in one go. At least we're over the awkwardness of yesterday, I suppose.
"I suppose I should ask what you've been up to."
I forget that Oskar is incapable of giving a short answer, but it seems he's led an interesting life since, and is still collecting children like they're cigarette cards. I didn't expect trying to murder a billionaire physician to be on that list, but who am I to judge?
"I still can't believe it. My son, an abbot, and at such a young age as well."
"You have a lot to be proud of, Alistair. Reynold is a wonderful young man. In fact, his partner is my daughter, Áine. And yes, your granddaughter has your blood, if you were wondering. She's a rambunctious little thing, though I haven't seen her for some time."
The more he speaks of her, the more I want to go back to Henford. I would love nothing more to than to see my children again.
"Oskar, about Clementia-"
"I made a promise, Alistair. If Reynold wants to tell you more, that's up to him. And if Clementia wants to see you again, then that is up to her. I don't know much myself, anyhow. I don't really talk to Clementia."
"I see. Well, change of subject- how are you adjusting to humanity?"
"I'm not."
I probably shouldn't have asked.
"How would you feel about staying here for a short while to regain your strength? You can send a letter back to your children and to Violeta, of course, but I think you could do with a break."
"A break? Alistair, I have a business to run. I have people to look after. I don't have time for a break."
"I really don't want to be so blunt about this, Oskar, I know this is hard for you- but you're going to have to accept that you won't have the boundless energy now that you did as a vampire. Your work is going to slow down, and you're going to have to slow down as well. You can't go three weeks without sleeping anymore. I know it's probably difficult for you having to adjust your routine so drastically, but if you don't eat and you don't rest then you're just going to end up collapsing somewhere else."
He laughs to himself in an awkward fashion. "I'm starting to think I don't have a choice."
"That's because you don't," I reply, in jest. "Just a week or two until you're back on your feet, Oskar. That's it. Then we can both go back to Henford. How does that sound?"
After a pause, he gives me a nod of agreement. "Only if you promise to make more of that chicken."
"Of course," I reply. "You could do with some meat on your bones anyhow."
He leaves the kitchen without another word, but I hear him grumbling to himself as he heads up the stairs. Chamberpots...Disgusting...Pointless...Waste of valuable time...
The past week and a bit has been stressful for him, but I'm not surprised. Even without considering Oskar's eccentricities, this would be incredibly tough for anyone to deal with. It didn't take him long for him to regain a healthy appetite, and he looked a lot better as a result. He was no longer the gaunt-faced sickly-looking man he used to be. It seems his transformation is complete now. There's not a tinge of white left in his hair, nor any grey left in his eyes. If anything, there was something heartwarming about seeing him like this.
It took some gentle convincing, but I took Oskar to the top of the mountain in Lunvik on a day where the sun was about to break the clouds. It took a lot of explaining that he was no longer a vampire, so he wouldn't be affected by it. I can't imagine having not seen the Sun for so long.
When it finally broke through the clouds, he freezes for a moment, covering his face. Once the initial shock is over, he lowers his arm, and his eyes light up as the warmth of the sun covers the mountain.
I notice his eyes start to glitter before tears fall down his cheeks. Over one hundred and thirty years limited to the darkness, and now finally he was able to see the light again.
I'd originally planned for us to head straight back home, in the worry that it'd be too emotional for him, but he doesn't let me. We end up there all evening, and he doesn't let us leave until the sun sets. We discuss all we've been up to in the meantime, and reminisce on moments passed.
And just as I lift my hand about to get up, he coughs in his throat, and I sit back in the grass again. "We're not leaving until it's all the way down."