The nightmares began the following night, always the same, yet upon waking he could remember nothing but the terror of being buried alive, smothering in darkness.
As the day of the sacrifice drew nearer, Markos spent more time withNavarre , sitting outside the cage in silence whenNavarre seemed pensive, talking about his own childhood whenNavarre was in the mood to listen.
KnowingNavarre 's penchant for sweets, Markos made sure thatNavarre 's supper always included a tart or some other kind of confection. He changed the scrolls on the shelf each fortnight.
It was just after dawn on a bright spring morning when Markos made an unexpected appearance at the cage door.
"What is it?"Navarre asked, his heart hammering with fear. "Is it time?"
"Not yet," Markos said. "But soon. Katlaina was delivered of a healthy male child less than an hour ago."
A boy. All these months he had clung to the hope that he might sire a daughter instead of a son, that he might somehow escape the fate for which he had been born. There would be no reprieve now. The knowledge left him feeling cold and empty, as though he were already dead.
"When will they come for me?"
"When next the full moon shines."
Two days hence,Navarre thought. A cold sense of dread speared through him. Two days, and his life would be over.
"Markos..."
The guard shook his head. "Do not ask it of me."
"Please."
Markos let out a sigh of resignation. "I cannot promise, but I'll try."
An hour later, Markos returned carrying a small bundle wrapped in a fleecy blue blanket. "You have time for one quick look, that is all."
One quick look.Navarre devoured the child in a single glance, marveling at the infant's tiny fingers and toes, at the thatch of curly black hair, the soft skin that was only slightly wrinkled and red. He felt his heart catch in his throat as the babe opened its eyes and he saw that the boy's eyes were pale gray.
My son, he thought. Joy mingled with despair as the baby's fist curled around his finger.
Tears welled in his eyes as he imagined his son growing up in a room, shut away from the rest of the world.
"My son," he murmured, "forgive me."
Markos cleared his throat. "I must take him back before he is missed."
"I understand. Bless you, Markos, for letting me see him."
"Remember your promise," Markos said.
"I remember,"Navarre replied, his gaze intent upon the infant. "A dozen sons and wealth beyond your imagination."
"Do you... is there anything you want me to tell his mother?"
Slowly,Navarre shook his head. It had all been said.
The next two days were the longest and the shortest of his life.
At dusk the second day, he was taken into a large room and stripped of his clothing. Moments later, a servant was sent in to bathe him. His body was rubbed with fragrant oils and spices. His hair was brushed until it gleamed like polished ebony.
Symbols of fertility and long life were painted on his chest, and then he was dressed in a pair of skin-tight breeches made of delicate cloth of gold. A long cloak made of finely woven black wool lined with whisper-soft crimson silk was draped across his shoulders.
And then the priests entered the room. There were three of them, all clad in long gray robes, their faces hidden within the folds of their cowls.
"You will present these requests to the goddess Shaylyn," said the first of the priests. "You will beg her for a good harvest, for rain in due season."
"You will ask that our women and our beasts will be fertile, that our enemies will be weak, that our men will be strong in battle," said the second.
"You will ask that our crops will be fruitful, that His Eminence will live long, that our people will prosper in the land," added the third.
"And if I refuse?"
"The woman Katlaina will be drawn and quartered, her still-beating heart torn from her breast. Your son will be raised by strangers."
"How will you know if I've delivered your message once I'm dead?"
"The goddess has always granted our requests. Should she fail to do so, we will know that you displeased her," the first priest replied.
"And your mate's life will be forfeit," the second priest remarked, his voice as hard and cold as the stone floor at his feet.
"I will do as you wish,"Navarre said.
The three priests nodded. "We will pray for your soul,Navarre ," they said, their voices blending as one. "May the goddess Shaylyn accept your sacrifice, that your death will not be in vain, that our people may prosper.''
One of the priests offered him a goblet filled with wine. "May your death be as sweet as this fruit of the vine."
Navarrestared at the blood-red liquid for a long moment before he lifted the jewel-encrusted goblet to his lips.
When he had drained the cup, the priests stepped forward, one by one, and placed their hands upon his head. Then they left the room, and he was alone.
A short time later, two men clad in black came to escort him to the sacrificial chamber.
It was inNavarre 's mind to resist, but his body felt strangely heavy. Only then did he realize that the wine had been drugged.
TheTempleofShaylyn was located in a large building located across the river behind Stone Hall Abbey. He was hardly aware of the hands that grasped his arms as they led him across a narrow wooden bridge.
The night air was warm, fragrant with a myriad of scents. A million stars twinkled high above. He heard the questing call of an owl, the song of a cricket, the rush of water beneath the bridge. The wood beneath his bare feet was cool and damp.
TheTemple was made of finely hewn black stone. Narrow windows were set high in the walls, the glass black and empty, like sightless eyes. A single torch, set in an iron holder, sent shadows dancing across the building's facade.
The thick, iron-barred door opened without a sound, and they stepped into darkness.
"May the goddess bless you," said the guard on his right.
"May the people prosper," said the guard on his left.
He felt a whisper of air as they closed the door behind him, heard the harsh clang as the heavy iron locking bar was dropped into place, and then he was alone in the darkness.
It was his nightmare come true.
He swallowed hard as a hundred candles suddenly burst into flame, and he saw the statue of the goddess, just as he had seen her in his dreams. She was dressed all in white, seated on a white marble throne. Her hair was as black as the night, her skin as smooth and pale as the marble itself. He shuddered with dread when he saw the long black altar located to the left of the throne, and behind the altar, an open casket made of dark oak lined in black silk.
And then, very slowly, the goddess opened her eyes. She stared at him for a timeless moment, and then she was drifting down the stairs toward him.
He heard the whisper of her silken robes swishing across the cold stone floor, the frantic beating of his own heart. He wanted to run, to hide, but he couldn't draw his gaze from her face. She was a being of incomparable beauty, tall and slender, her movements as graceful as the wind. He felt the touch of her hand, as cold as a tomb, saw the horrible gleam in the depths of her fathomless black eyes.
Her voice was like the rustle of dead leaves. "Come to me, myNavarre ," she whispered. "Come, quench my thirst."
He wanted to refuse, but he could not speak.
He wanted to run, but he lacked the power of movement.
And then she was reaching for him, lifting him in her long slender arms as though he weighed nothing at all.
Fear rose up within him, choking him. "Please..." He forced the word past the terror in his throat. "Please..."
"Yes," she said, "you please me very well."
She placed him on the altar. He felt her hands move over his chest as she unfastened his cloak, felt her nails dig into the muscle of his left arm. She trailed her fingertips over his shoulders, across his belly, along the inside of his thigh.
"Yes," she said again. "You please me very well."
He couldn't move, couldn't take his gaze from her face, her eyes. She was beautiful, but her touch was as cold as death, and in the depths of her eyes, he saw the endless torment of hell.
"Have those puny mortals sent me a message?" she asked.
Navarrenodded.
"Will you tell it to me?"
"They ask that you will bless their fields, that their women and cattle will be fertile, that their crops will grow, that their enemies will be defeated."
"Always, it is the same."
She bent down, her eyes glowing, and he felt her tongue, hot and moist, skim over the wildly beating pulse in his throat.
"What of you?" she asked. "Is there nothing you desire?"
Through a fog of fear, he remembered his promise to Markos. "I ask that you bless Markos with a dozen sons and the wealth to provide for them."
"Nothing for yourself?"
He was trembling now. "Only that my death may be quick and merciful."
"I am not going to kill you, myNavarre ."
MyNavarre. That was what Katlaina had called him. For an instant, her image flashed through his mind.
"You're going to spare my life?" He felt a faint stirring of hope in his breast, a fluttering as faint as the wings of a fledgling chick.
"I'm going to change your life. I've killed all the others, but not you, myNavarre . You are not like the others, and that intrigues me. You do not grovel at my feet, nor do you weep and plead for mercy. But it is more than that." She ran her hand over his chest. "You tempt me,Navarre , in ways I have not been tempted in five hundred years."
"You're going to let me go, then?" That first faint ray of hope brightened within him, as radiant as the noonday sun. He was going to live. He would see Katlaina again.
The goddess looked down at him, a trace of pity in her eyes. "My,Navarre ," she murmured. "I'm going to give you a new life, one you never dreamed of."
Relief washed through him, warm and sweet, like honey kissed by the sun.
"I'm not going to die, Katlaina," he murmured, and he felt the sting of tears in his eyes.
"Oh, yes." The goddess caressed his cheek. "You must die, but for a moment only, my handsome one, and then you will be reborn into life eternal."
Only then did he realize how quickly hope could be crushed. "I don't understand."
"You will." Her voice grew deep, husky, ominous. There was a sound, like the rushing of many wings, and the candles went out, leaving them in darkness.
He was truly afraid now. The darkness seemed to grow thicker, heavier, yet even in that thick blackness, he could see her face, her eyes. Red eyes, filled with an insatiable hunger and an unholy lust.
"No!" He screamed the word even as he willed his body to move, to run before it was too late. But her hand rested heavily on his chest. Just her hand, holding him down as if he had no more strength than his own newborn child, and he could only lie there, the stone beneath him as cold as the grave.
She bent over him, her eyes glowing. He gasped as he felt her teeth at his throat. His heartbeat sounded like thunder in his ears. Her teeth pierced his flesh, her hands held him immobile. He felt a trickle of blood run down his neck, felt her tongue lap it up. Her touch stole his breath, his life.
He felt the weight of eternity, the loneliness of hell, the coldness of death. And then, gradually, warmth crept back into him, and with it a sense of well-being, of strength, of life.
He opened his eyes to darkness, and yet he could see clearly.
The goddess Shaylyn sat on the end of the altar. Her skin was no longer pale. Her cheeks were the color of ripe peaches; her lips were as red as... blood. His blood. She regarded him through eyes that no longer glowed, but were again a deep, endless black.
"Welcome," she said. "Welcome to the world of the undead."
Feeling weak and disoriented,Navarre sat up. "What happened?"
"I have given you eternal life, my braveNavarre . You need fear death no longer. You will stay as you are now forever. You will not age. You will never be sick. You will have the strength of ten strong men. If you are cut, you will heal."
"What nonsense is this?"Navarre demanded.
"I assure you, it is not nonsense." She stood up and walked the length of the room, then returned to the altar.
"I have lived in this place for five hundred years," she said, and her voice echoed off the walls. "Five hundred years! It is enough."
"You want me to believe you are five hundred years old?"
"No, myNavarre . I am far older than that. In the beginning, I needed to feed every night, but as the centuries went by, the need for nourishment grew less, and when I grew weary of traveling, I came here. I spoke to the priests. I told them I would give them peace and plenty if they would provide me with a living male sacrifice every five-and-twenty years."
She laughed softly, a sound like dead leaves stirred by an ill wind. "Foolish, puny mortals, so eager for something to believe in. As if I had the power to end sickness, to make their crops grow, to end wars and famine and pestilence."
She laughed again, a cold, brittle sound that raised the hairs alongNavarre 's arms and sent a shiver down his spine. "Mortal men are so easy to manipulate, so fearful of the unknown, so afraid of their own mortality."
She glanced around the room. "It has been a most satisfactory arrangement, but now I grow weary of being a goddess. I yearn to see the world again, to return to my homeland. You may come with me, and I will teach you what you must know, or you may stay here, and learn what you have become."
He did not understand her words, nor did he like the fear that congealed in his heart.
"What?" he asked hoarsely. "What have I become?"
"You are a creature of the night now, myNavarre . One of the undead. You have powers you cannot imagine, powers that will increase as the years pass. You must have blood to live. You will cast no shadow, no reflection. Sunlight is your enemy. Seek her light and she will most assuredly destroy you."
"And what of my father? And his father before him?"
She frowned, perplexed by the question. "They were sacrificed, as you were."
"And are they... did you do to them what you say you've done to me?"
Soft laugher escaped her lips as she shook her head. "No, myNavarre . Never in five hundred years have I spared the life of one meant to be sacrificed."
"Never?"
"Never." She ran her hand over his chest and shoulders, her touch sensuous, her fingertips lightly caressing the strong muscles that flexed beneath his dark skin. And then she held out her hand.
"Come with me," she purred, her voice low and husky and filled with the promise of rapture. "Together we will explore the darkness of your new world."
Navarrestared at her slim white hand, but made no move to take it. "Katlaina..." He whispered her name as if it would banish the terror from his heart.
"She will not have you now, my handsome one. Come with me! I will teach you to hunt the night." She caressed his cheek. "I will show you the world."
"No." He recoiled from her touch, from the predatory gleam in her eyes. "I don't believe you. I don't believe any of this."
She drew herself up to her full height, her eyes blazing dark fire because he had scorned her.
"You will believe, come the dawn," she hissed. "Be happy in your new life, myNavarre . Mayhap we will meet again one day."
He stared at her, certain she was mad, and then, as she dissolved into a sparkling black mist and disappeared before his eyes, he was certain he was mad.
He ran to the doors, but there was no latch on the inside. Hands curled into fists, he pounded on the wood.
"Let me out of here! For the love of Zeus, let me out!" He screamed until his voice was raw, but to no avail.
He felt the hours of the night passing, and then, to his amazement, he felt the coming of the dawn, felt the promise of its heat burning in his blood.
With a hoarse cry, he beat his fists upon the doors again. Tears of frustration scalded his cheeks, and when he wiped them away, he saw that his tears were tinged with blood.
Frightened and confused, he sank to his knees in the middle of the floor. His blood. He could feel it growing warm in his veins. What was happening to him?
He glanced up as a faint ray of sunshine struck the eastern windows, cried out as the brightness burned his eyes. And then a reflected ray of sunlight touched his skin. Pain shot up his arm and he scrambled to his feet, searching for a place to hide.
But the room was empty save for the throne, the altar. And the coffin.
He stared at it in horror and then, as he felt the heat of the sun on his bare back, he ran across the floor, climbed into the coffin, and closed the lid.
And still he felt the sun climbing in the sky, felt its heat drain his strength, felt his limbs grow heavy as the very life seemed to drain from his body.
His last conscious thought was that she had lied, for surely this was death. And then the blackness engulfed him, dragging him down, down, into a stygian sea of oblivion.