Page 37 of We Were Eternal Once

Your lip curls as you stare at the handprint on the door. It is a rudimentary symbol, as though someone doused their hand in paint and slapped it on the wood just before it dried. It’s ugly compared to the complex arrangement of tiles and textures that Alexandria loves. Had I not known this marked the meetinghouse, I would have assumed a horde of children lived here.

The door swings open before I can make a comment on the ugly mark. Essemteu stands at the threshold, his smile wide as he looks from you to me. I wait for the rebuke, for him to say ‘Not her.’ Instead, he steps aside and ushers us in.

I try not to stare as we move through the atrium into the courtyard. Linen sails and trellises hang overhead, shading most of it. I wonder if they’re thick enough to block the sun entirely. Could one of our kind walk to and fro, should they wish? Are they old enough to resist the call of sleep that comes with the sun?

In the center of the courtyard is a fountain without water. There is a ring of red where the water should go. I don’t need to taste it to know it is human blood.

We follow Essemteu to the first entrance to the right. I cast a long glance at the other porticos. Why did they need so many? Did they all live here?

We are greeted by the largest gathering of our kind I have ever seen. It draws my attention away from the mosaics on the wall or the large rugs that cover the floor. Instead, I am drawn to each creature like us.

Theon lounges on the bench, his expression no less haughty amongst our kind. His green gaze meets mine and he smirks. I glance to you, but you’re too busy scanning the room to notice. There are ten of our kind here, counting Essemteu.

Two women, eight men.

“May I announce,” Essemteu says loudly, as if he needs to grab the attention of the room. Their hungry gazes locked on you the moment we entered. Do they feel you, just as I did? Does the hair stand up on the back of their necks? Or is there a different thrill, a different sign of your importance?

“Aletheia and Melinoë.” He sweeps his hand toward us.

There are introductions, but only a few matter to this story. There is Theon, who sips on a glass of cow’s blood. There is Ardashir, with a smile to rival Essemteu’s. His smile is all teeth, predatory. Bastianos sits near Theon, his cup cleaned of all blood. Dione and Zahra are the two women. They sit near each other, their heads tilted in consideration as we enter.

“We were just discussing the role of humans,” Theon says. The room sinks down three steps in the middle, forming a circle of chairs and benches. Each of us sit there, facing each other. No head of the table, no throne, no one higher than the other. You and I settle on an open bench.

“Blood?” asks Essemteu. “We’ve several varieties—both human and otherwise.”

“We already dined,” you say. Human and otherwise. That is the first I learned of alternative blood sources and the split in the group. Essemteu warned us of it, but I did not fully understand the implication until then.

“As I said before, humans are the inferior species,” Ardashir says, turning that feral smile on Theon and Bastianos. “To deny this is to deny the hierarchy of society. If we ignore that some are more equipped to lead due to their breeding, society collapses.”

“Your society, perhaps,” Zahra murmurs around the rim of her glass. Dione hides her smile behind her hand.

“You hunt humans!” Ardashir says to her incredulously.

“As did you before you were made,” Theon says. “Regale us some more of your tales of battle on the eastern frontiers. You were trained to view humans as inferior long before they became food.”

“He has you there,” Zahra says, tipping her glass to the two men. “I reject your premise of hierarchy, however. Hierarchy says men are above women, and unmarried women are the lowliest of all.”

“This again,” groans Theon.

“This again,” mimics Zahra. “Shall I remind you that before you were made, you were a human born of a woman. Ardashir, if you want to argue superiority, use something concrete. We are faster, we can see in the dark, we paralyze humans with our venom…”

Venom. I know that word, but I don’t understand it in our context. Venom is like the cobra in the market, boxed up by the charmers for fear of a lethal bite. Venom is the brown spider whose bite can rot off your leg. Where is our venom, and how do we use it?

I want to interject, but Zahra is still speaking. “And,” she says, her gaze sliding over to you, “the only living Elder is a woman.”

The room is silent as they all turn to you. No two have the same eyes, each glittering in the dim light.

Theon is the first to speak after several long moments of silence. “That we know of. Tell us, Mother of Silence, are you the only remaining Elder?”

“Your memory is wanting for a scholar, Essemteu gave you my name not a moment ago,” you say. Why do you hate that name so? What does it even mean? But my curiosity is replaced by triumph as Theon sinks into his chair, cowed. Good.

Dione snickers, Bastianos guffaws, others squirm. The static in the air rises again and I wonder if that misstep will cost me what I came for. Will you turn from this meeting and never return? Will we leave Alexandria, and the hope of learning my origin lost with it?

I will kill Theon for this.

“Am I expected to know the whereabouts of the other Elders?” you ask, your brows rising up your forehead.

“So they live? Others?” Ardashir asks, leaning forward in his chair. His grip is so tight on his drink, I worry he will shatter it.