Last Day of Love

Last Day of Love: Part 8 of 8

I place the last card next to the others. It looks faded, as if its red pigment rubbed off in my pocket.

Albion waits.

“Love drains life,” I whisper.

My family leans forward, watching me.

“Love is important,” Albion says. “Love brought you up to be a man. Love versed you in loss and sorrow, which leads to strength, which is detachment from these self-imposed vulnerabilities. Yes, love has served you well. But listen closely, Ander: love is child’s play. To assume your place among your people, you must prove you can grow out of love, and shed it like a snake loses its skin. Only then can you live forever, like us.”

“You may slip from time to time.” Starling raises her frail shoulders. “It is only natural. But soon you will be a master. You will observe the passing parade of life for ages to come. You will understand far more than any mortal. You will recognize patterns and cycles that the greatest geniuses among them never can.”

“It’s astonishing, how their little life spans keep them sprinting on their various hamster wheels,” Critias says. His eyes close halfway in revulsion, so that only the whites are visible.

Albion studies me. “You should already sense a difference.”

I can’t be so unusual—but can the rest of them be this skilled at lying? Or is it that they’ve simply forgotten what it’s like to feel? Are they hypocrites, or insane? I take comfort in thinking of Solon, the exiled uncle I’ve never heard about before tonight. Did his failure look anything like mine?

“When Solon failed,” I ask, “why didn’t you replace him with a new Seedbearer, the way I replaced my mother when she died? Why didn’t you kill him instead of exiling him?”

“You tell me,” Albion replies.

I think; then I know. “He is too strong.”

My family closes in a tight circle around me.

“Prove to us you’ve changed,” Chora says. She looks at Starling, who steps forward holding something wrapped in foil. When she pulls the foil back, steam rises and a wonderful aroma fills the air. Keeping her eyes on my lips, Starling dips a spoon into the dark dish and says, “Open.”

I close my mouth around the spoon. The substance is sweet, buttery, crisp, and warm. Something deep and strong takes hold of me. The food is so delicious I can barely swallow.

Suddenly, I remember Starling feeding me this dish on cold mornings of my childhood. I remember her soft cooing as she wiped the corners of my mouth.

Blueberry cobbler. The words fill me with a mighty nostalgia.

But I must stifle everything I feel.

“What do you think?” Starling’s eyes betray none of the compassion I remember. This is the test. Years ago they planted this memory inside me. They fed me cobbler and feigned love, and now they want to know if I can conquer the only memory of comfort and safety I have.

“What is it?” I ask as blandly as I can.

“Leftovers,” Chora says slowly. “We thought you might be hungry.”

“We’d like you to listen to something.” Albion nods at Critias, who presses Play on an old tape recorder. The quiet night bursts into music.

“Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence.” Critias used to take me to St. John’s to listen to Eureka sing. This song often made the worshippers in the pews around me cry. It is unspeakably beautiful, and I can make out twelve-year-old Eureka’s voice perfectly, hear how her words are affected by her braces. I want to swoon, to fall down to the ground and scream.

“Tell us what you feel,” Albion says.

Eureka’s voice is so steady. I’m about to lose it. It takes all my strength to adopt a monotone. “I’m very tired. Is it a lullaby?”

I do not want to know the person I sound like.

“You’re doing fine,” Albion says. “You’re nearly done. We want to show you one more thing.”

I know what he’s holding before he turns the photograph around. I try to look at it without seeing it. It’s a close-up of Eureka smiling on a beach. She’s wearing an orange tank top and her hair has been lightened by the sun. Her eyes are more alive than mine will ever be.

It’s obvious I’ve failed. I will never give her up, never grow out of love. Why can’t my family see that love is the start and end of me?

“Well, Ander?” Albion says. “Tell us what comes to mind.”

“Demise,” I nearly choke.

Around me, my family smiles.

“Indeed, she has it coming,” Chora says. “We accept that you are ready.”

“Are you ready, Ander?” my aunts and uncles ask in unison.

“Yes,” I gasp.

“Good.” Albion claps my shoulder, radiating emptiness into me.

“It is time to kill Eureka.”

COPYRIGHT: Lauren Kate. All Rights Reserved.