Lover Unbound(130)
"You will follow me now." The Scribe Virgin led the way to the arcade, floating above the marble, making neither sound nor any particular movement, a tiny apparition of solid form.
The three of them proceeded down the colonnade to a pair of gold doors V had never been through before. The things were massive and marked with an early version of the Old Language, one that bore enough relation to the current written symbology that V could translate:#p#分页标题#e#
Behold the sanctuary of the Chosen, sacred domain of the Race's past, present and future.
The doors opened unhanded, revealing a pastoral splendor that under other circumstances might have calmed the shit out of even V. Except for the fact that everything was white, it could have been any Ivy League-type college campus, the buildings Georgian-formal and spread out widely amidst rolling, milky grass and albino oak and elm trees.
A runner of white silk had been stretched out, and he and Phury walked on it while the Scribe Virgin ghosted along about a foot above the thing. The air was at the perfect temperature and so absolutely calm there was no sensation of it passing over exposed skin. Although gravity still held V down, he felt lighter and somewhat buoyant… as if, with a running start, he could go bounding off across the lawn like those pictures of men on the moon.
Or, shit, maybe this lunar-walk sensation was because he had some brain-fry going on.
When they crested a hill, an amphitheater was revealed down below. As were the Chosen.
Oh, Jesus . . . The forty or so females were dressed in identical white robes with their hair up and their hands gloved. Their coloring varied from blond to brunette to redhead, yet they seemed to be all the same person because of their long, lean builds and those matching robes. Split into two groups, they lined either side of the amphitheater, presenting themselves at a three-quarter turn with their right feet out slightly. They reminded him of the caryatids of Roman architecture, those sculptures of females that supported pediments or roofs on their regal heads.
Staring at them now, he wondered whether they had hearts that beat and lungs that pumped. Because they were as still as the air.
See, this was the problem with the Other Side, he thought. Nothing ever moved here. There was life… without life.
"Come forward," the Scribe Virgin commanded. "The presentation awaits."
Oh… God … He couldn't breathe again.
Phury's hand landed on his shoulder. "You need a minute?"
Fuck a minute; he needed centuries—although even assuming he had that kind of time, it wasn't going to change the outcome. With a sense of destiny, he pictured that civilian vampire he'd found in the alley, the one who he'd come upon that night he'd been shot, the one who he'd killed that lesser to avenge.
They needed more in the Brotherhood, he thought as he started to walk again. And it wasn't like the stork was going to get the job done.
Down in front there was only one seat in the house, a golden thronelike production that was positioned up close to the lip of the amphitheater's stage. From this vantage point, he realized that what he'd assumed was a blank white wall at the back was really a vast white velvet curtain that hung down as motionless as if it had been painted on a mural.
"You. Sit," the Scribe Virgin said to him, obviously beyond sick of his ass.
Funny, he felt the same way about her.
V planted it as Phury took root like a tree behind the throne.
The Scribe Virgin floated over to the right, assuming a position at the side of the stage, a Shakespearean director, the driver of all the drama.
Man, what he wouldn't give for an asp right about now.
"Proceed," she called out in a clipped voice.
The curtain split down the middle and retracted, revealing a female covered in jeweled robes from head to foot. Flanked by two Chosen, his intended seemed to be standing at an odd angle. Or maybe she wasn't standing. Jesus, it appeared as though she was on some kind of slab that had been tilted upright for viewing. Like a butterfly mounted.
As she was rolled forward, it became clear that she was in fact fixed on something. There were bands around her upper arms, ones that were camouflaged with jewels to match her robes, ones that appeared to be holding her up.#p#分页标题#e#
Must be part of the ceremony. Because what was under that robe was not only prepared for this presentation and the mating ritual that would follow, but no doubt was psyched as hell to be the number one female: The Primale's first Chosen had special rights, and he could only imagine what a rocking good time that would be for her.
Even though it might not be fair, he resented the hell out of what was under that splendor.
The Scribe Virgin nodded, and the Chosen to the left and the right of his intended started to undo the robing. As they went to work, a rush of energy rippled through the stillness of the amphitheater, the culmination of decades of the Chosen waiting for the old ways to start up again.