The Container of the Soul - Part One

Innsbruck, Spring of 1743

Zenas started to approach the stranger. Stretching out a hand towards her face, intrigued by the state of mutation so advanced, he tried to brush aside a lock of hair, but she jumped back, moving like a trapped animal. He saw her back up until the wall prevented her from continuing to flee and then curl up on the ground in a gesture of futile defense. Hidden between the bookcase and the fireplace, in the penumbra interspersed with the tongues of fire that occasionally made the touches of wood crackle, the Greek could read fear and confusion in her face - and bitterly, as had already happened in the past, he saw in her the self that had followed the lazerikhah.

He still remembered the multitude of emotions that had assailed him that day, the different perception of all the things around him; the sharpest sight, the finest hearing, the strangely insensitive flesh. He had not forgotten the agitation of finding himself covered in blood, the panic given by an atrocious nightmare that did not seem to have a conclusion and, least of all, the thoughts of that evening - thoughts that he soon realized were more real and terrifying than his human conception had never been able to conceive.

Dying and resurrecting in the same flesh as always, albeit different, was something unsettling, but not impossible to what he had discovered, exactly how to accept that truth. And the stranger in front of him at that time would have had to understand it too: otherwise, if not the body, the mind would have betrayed her - and probably killed her.

With his hand still in midair, turned towards the girl, Akràv wondered for what stupid reason Solomon had created another of them. Why did his King want to add a new Chimera to his collection, or yet another failure in case her wrap of flesh rejected the soul and the Ars? Was it possible that after all those years, decades and centuries, not to mention the promises, their Lord had not yet understood how horrible an existence like that could be? They were perpetually forced to flee, lie and kill like hired assassins, hiding without ever building anything really concrete. Zenas would never have wished it on anyone, not even his worst enemies - although in all that evil he had also found good.

However, while his dark eyes gave themselves a few more moments of hesitation on the stranger, he remembered the words that had been spoken some time before just by the man who was now sitting behind him, waiting: no more children of the blood and alchemy, no reopening of the gates of Hell. There were already five of them, taking on a new life would have meant a greater consumption of the Hagufah and, therefore, more frequent transmutations. As immortal as Solomon seemed to be, as well as imperturbable in the face of the laws of the world, the continuous practice of the Ars made the containers wear out faster, forcing the whole family to make a new soul transfer in less and less time.

Despite that awareness, however, the King had decided to break his word, giving life to her: but why? What was so special about such a girl? She was not as beautiful as Colette and least of all seemed as smart or calculating as Willhelmina, but regardless of that, she was there, in their home, and condemned to the same fate.

"Mi zeh?" he asked withdrawing his hand. With a sigh far from reassuring, Akràv went straight back, peering nonstop at the young woman still curled up in the corner. From under the coat with which Levi had wrapped her, one could glimpse the elegant dress adorned with lace, of a color similar to the sunset. In several places, especially in the part just below the bustier, but probably also higher up, dark spots told of the atrocity of what had brought her there. Certainly, in addition to her death, that dress brought with itself information regarding her origins: at a first glance, the Chimera observed, that girl was to be part of the bourgeoisie with whom Solomon, Nakhaš and Wòréb entertained in the parlors of Innsbruck, looking for people or investments with which to secure profitable business.

The King settled a lock that had escaped his tail. Since they had returned, with that girl in tow, no respite should have been granted, given the appearance.

"Alexandria Orsòlya Vàradi. Zott habatt rozenn Gàbor Andràs Vàradi" the calm tone was a mere attempt by the man to make the confession appear less serious, a pity that did not have the expected effect.

There was a long moment of silence in which Zenas frowned so much as to feel a kind of annoyance, but he remained silent, unable to understand if that of his Sovereign was a bad joke or the terrible truth. Did he have any idea what the transmutation of that woman entailed? She was not just any prostitute, like their older sister, nor was it a death sentence like Akàvish: that terrified affair was the daughter of a nobleman, a man who could have raised against him the followers of the Cultus.

"Zott atsili!" Growling, Akràv overturned one of the chairs around the table Solomon was leaning on. The wood struck the floor with unexpected violence, once again making the newcomer jump. Out of the corner of his eye, the Greek saw Alexandria take her head in the hands, stifle yet another hiccup. But a moan escaped her mouth, attracting with concern the attentions of the King who, until then, had not stopped observing his friend. On his face, pale and hollowed out after the effort of transmutation, it was all too easy to see the intensity of the interest he had for that creature and, turning in turn in the direction of her, Zenas felt his heart tighten. In observing her in that pose of total fragility, it was impossible for him not to feel absolute tenderness, an empathy that made him want to appease all that was tormenting her at that moment - unfortunately, however, in a hidden corner of his heart he could not help thinking about her involuntary danger. Alexandria Orsòlya Vàradi was a Countess, she would never go unnoticed until the day when her loved ones remained alive, but above all, she was the first person to make Solomon change his mind: for her, their Lord had broken one of the his promises.

**********

Venice, today

At that precise moment, with Z'év pouring on the floor, Zenas thought he was stepping back in time. With his mind he returned to the day when he had seen her for the first time, frightened and whimpering in a corner, with the fabric of the beautiful dress smeared with blood and the body subjugated by a mutation that, now, after many years, it had become her true appearance. Countess Varadi was at his feet again and, as before, Akràv felt like a monster in front of those wide eyes.

"Alexandria..." he called in a broken voice, ignoring the insults that his brother continued to address him as he yanked him away from her: "ani mitseta'erett. I-I... I don't k-now what-what..." Levi pulled again, forcing him to move the gaze to his serpentine eyes.

Nakhaš's pupils, two pins in a sea of gold and emerald, were fixed in his and the canines, so long and thin, managed to appear fragile and at the same time dangerously lethal, perhaps more than his stinger tail. The skin on the cheekbones of the first Chimera began to rise, giving shape to very small pink scales and, from his throat, in depth, a chilling verse prevented the Greek from being distracted by what he had in front.

"Don't you dare touch her again." There was anything but reassuring imperiousness in the voice of the General of Israel; his seemed like a real threat, a silver blade pointed at Zenas's throat who, involuntarily, really felt the tip of it. The man felt the danger of any movement, even a wrong breath would have been enough to pour against Levi's fury - and he was aware that, mutation or not, he would not be able to get the better of the oldest creature in the world.

So he waited, feeling the tension increase with every second of silence. His brother's pupils seemed to want to sever his face, to go beyond the flesh and to tear his thoughts from his skull, but after a time that seemed infinite, what happened was very different. Although evidently reluctant to do so, Nakhaš let go of him, finally turning to his sister and reverently holding out his fingers for help - it was inevitable, observing that unusual scene, not feeling like a real monster. He had almost killed her, Saint God! He, who had always worked hard to protect her and any of the younger brothers, in the end had attempted her life; and he would have killed her, he was sure, if by divine miracle he had not noticed the gray of her hair, if in passing by him she had not generated an annoying tingling in the back.

Yet he had managed to avoid the tragedy, albeit with some boring implications. How could she have trusted him again, looking at him with the usual loving frown, typical of a sister, after he had pointed the stinger at the back of her neck with the clear intention of breaking her neck bone?

Zenas clenched his fists, tightened them so much that his knuckles turned white and, with a gesture of anger, he looked away from the two visitors: he did not feel like meeting their expressions full of fear and contempt - not again. Colette's hatred, Willhelmina's disapproval and Hamza's disappointment had been enough, he needed nothing else. Thirty years after the last meeting with his family, far from rosy, the Greek had hoped that the next meeting would be less brutal, that among those present only the desire to be together would reappear, not to leave as quickly as possible from his person, from the one who had taken responsibility for faults not his.

With his eyes turned elsewhere, increasingly torn, he tried to find within himself the strength to say something, to hiss yet another excuse, to justify his actions, to drive out those two before they could rage against him, but his lips seemed to stick together, refusing to obey the will.

Dekára!, He hissed between the thoughts, biting his tongue. Was it possible that he had become so incapable? Was it possible that he could not take any position, even in such a situation? He should have acted, yet every gesture seemed wrong to him. Apologizing had a bitter taste, he knew that he would again stir up Levi's ire, yet even chasing them away seemed like the worst choice to take: after all they had come to Venice for him, it should have meant something, right?

Swearing to himself, Zenas estranged from what was happening a little further away, so when a touch that was first light, then more and more intense touched him, he found himself wincing. His limbs vibrated, the chills invaded him without warning and the heart jumped in the throat.

Slowly he felt Alexandria's body cling to his, encircle his waist with her slender arms, lean the head against his chest and listen innocently - and at that point, although he knew what troubles he could have encountered, he felt joy burst into the chest.

Yes, he was a monster among monsters, the worst of the devils given what had happened just before, yet he was also the happiest man in the world in being able to sink his face into the sister's hair and vigorously reciprocate that embrace.

"Ani mitseta'erett..." he whispered close to her ear, certain that the apology would now have had a completely different meaning.

There was a time for each word, he should have known by now, and sometimes even a few minutes, if not seconds, could make a difference.

Z'év tightened the grip: "Lo khashuv, akh" and, moving her face away from his chest, tried to sketch a smile.

She hadn't changed, the man observed, in her gaze he could find the same goodness that he had abandoned years before - and it was enough to make him understand that, in saying those words, his sister was not lying, she was really aware of how sorry he was for that incident.

They stood looking at each other for very long moments, both moved in finding one another - because even if thirty years were nothing for their bodies, they were for souls and, perhaps, thought the man at that point, humans they had been and humans would they always be remained.