Origins (14 page)

I
ran out onto the lawn. Fire was everywhere, and I noticed that the servants’ quarters had burst into flames. Right now, the main house looked safe, but who knew how long that would last? I saw glimpses of flames in the woods, and a large group converged around the police wagon. But all I cared about was finding Damon. Finally, I spotted a figure wearing a blue coat, sprinting toward the pond. I turned on my heel and followed him through the field. “Stefan!” I heard my name and stopped, looking about wildly. “Over here!” I turned and saw Jonathan Gilbert, his eyes wild, standing at the edge of the forest, a bow and arrow in one hand, his compass in the other. Jonathan looked down at his invention almost in disbelief. “There’s a vampire in the forest. My compass is pointing, but I need help with a lookout.”

“Jonathan!” I yelled, panting. “I can’t … I have to find …”

Suddenly, I saw a flash of white from the forest. Jonathan turned and raised his bow to his shoulder. “Who goes there?” he called, his voice ringing like a clarion bell. Instantly, he released the arrow. I saw the beginning of its arc as it flung into the darkness. Then we heard a scream, followed by a thud.

Jonathan ran into the forest, and I heard a long, low moan. “Jonathan!” I called wildly, then stopped short. I saw Jonathan kneeling over a prone figure. He turned up to me, his eyes shining with tears.

“It’s Pearl,” he said dully.

There was an arrow stuck under her shoulder. She moaned, and her eyes fluttered under her lids.

“Pearl!” Jonathan said, angrily this time, as he roughly yanked out the arrow. I turned in horror, not wanting to watch.

Instead, I ran with all my might toward the pond, hoping against hope that Damon was still there.

“Damon?” I called tentatively, as I picked my way around tree roots. My eyes took a moment to adjust to the wooded darkness and relative quiet of the forest. I saw a figure perched on a felled tree branch. “Damon?” I called quietly.

The figure turned around, and I gasped. Damon’s face was white, and his dark hair was sticking to his forehead. The gash at his temple was bordered by crusted blood, and the whites of his eyes were cloudy.

“You coward,” he hissed, drawing his knife from his pocket.

“No.” I held my hands up and took a step back. “Don’t hurt me.”

“Don’t hurt me!” he mocked in a high-pitched voice. “I knew you’d tell Father eventually. I just don’t know why Katherine trusted you with her secret. Why she believed you wouldn’t turn her in. Why she loved you.” His voice broke on the word
love,
and he dropped the knife. His face crumpled in anguish, and he didn’t look dangerous or hateful. He looked broken.

“Damon, no. No. No.” I kept repeating the word as my mind whirled. Had Katherine loved me? I remembered the moments she’d stare at me, her hands on my shoulders.
You must love me, Stefan. Tell me we’ll be together forever. You have my heart.
I’d always felt the same woozy, heady sensation running through my limbs and up to my brain, wanting to do anything for her. But now, when I thought of her true nature, all I could do was shudder. “She didn’t love me,” I said finally. She’d compelled me, and she made me hurt everyone I loved. I felt hatred rise up from the depth of my soul, and I wanted to lead the charge against Katherine.

Until I looked at my brother.

Damon rested his head in his hands, staring at the ground. It was then that I realized: Damon
loved
Katherine. He loved her despite, or maybe because of, her dark side. When I’d seen Katherine lying bound on the floor, foaming at the mouth, I’d felt a stomach-turning revulsion. But Damon’s love for Katherine transcended her current state. Damon loved Katherine so much that he’d accept the vampire side of her, instead of pretending it didn’t exist. And in order to be truly happy, Damon needed to be with her. Now I understood. I needed to save Katherine to save Damon.

In the distance, wails and cries filled the gunpowder-scented air. “Damon. Damon.” I repeated his name, each time with an increasing urgency. He looked up, and I saw tears in his eyes, threatening to spill out. Not since Mother died had I seen Damon cry.

“I’ll help you save her. I know you love her. I will help.” I kept repeating the word
help,
as if it were some sort of charm.
Please,
I pleaded in my mind as I looked at Damon’s eyes. There was a moment of silence. Finally, Damon offered an almost imperceptible nod.

“Okay,” he said in a ragged voice, clasping my wrist and dragging me to the edge of the forest.

“W
e need to act now,” Damon said when we reached the line of trees next to the field. The forest floor was slick with leaves, and there was no sound, not even of animals.

I’d spent the last minutes desperately racking my brain, trying to think of some way to save Katherine. But I couldn’t. Our only hope was to enter the fray, say a prayer for Pearl and Anna, then focus on freeing Katherine. It would be incredibly dangerous. But there was no other way.

“Yes,” I replied with an authority I did not feel. “Are you ready?” Without waiting for an answer, I deftly moved toward the forest border, guided by the faint sound of angry shouting. I could see the outline of the estate. Damon crept by my side. Suddenly I saw a large burst of flames erupt from the carriage house. I gasped, but Damon simply glared at me.

Just then, I heard the strident voice of Jonathan Gilbert. “Found another one!”

I crept closer to the edge of the forest, until I had a full view of Jonathan slamming Henry from the tavern against the back of the police wagon. Noah held one of his arms, while another guard I didn’t recognize held the other one. Jonathan held out his compass, frowning.

“Stake him!” he said. The guard drew his bayonet back and thrust it into the center of Henry’s chest. Blood spurted as Henry shrieked into the night air. Henry slumped to his knees, his eyes wide and staring down at the bayonet lodged in his body. I turned toward Damon, both of us realizing that we didn’t have any time to waste. Damon bit his lip, and I knew we were in this together. Even though we often acted differently, when it counted we thought the same way. Maybe
that—
the shorthand communication we had as brothers—would be what would save us, and would save Katherine.

“Vampires!” I yelled from the depths of the forest.

“We found one! Help!” Damon called.

Instantly, Noah and the other guard released their grip on Henry and ran toward us, their bayonets raised.

“Over there!” Damon panted, pointing deep into the forest as the two guards stepped closer. “There was a man. We only saw a dark shadow, but he tried to attack my brother.” As if to illustrate his point, Damon traced the sticky path of blood that had pooled onto my collarbone from my neck. I reached my own hand to that spot in surprise. I’d forgotten that Katherine had bitten me. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

The two guards looked at each other and nodded tersely. “You boys shouldn’t be out here without weapons. We’ve got some in the wagon,” Noah called, before charging into the forest.

“Good,” Damon said, almost under his breath. “Let’s go. And if you let me down, I’ll kill you,” he said, breaking away toward the wagon. I followed him, moving wholly by adrenaline.

We reached the unguarded wagon. Low moans came from the inside. Damon kicked the back of the wagon open and leapt up to the platform. I followed, gagging when I entered. The scent of the wagon was acrid, a combination of blood and vervain and smoke. Bodies writhed in corners, but the wagon was pitch-black, making it impossible to tell whether the figures were vampires or humans or a combination of the two.

“Katherine!” Damon hissed, leaning down and roughly touching each of the bodies in his search for her.

“Stefan?” a weak voice called from the corner, and I forced myself to not lash out, to not spit in the direction of the voice, to not stare into those villainous eyes and tell her I hoped she got exactly what she deserved. “Damon?” the voice broke.

“Katherine. I’m here,” Damon whispered, making his way toward the far end of the wagon. I continued to stand, as if glued to the spot. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I began seeing things that were more terrible than anything I’d ever seen in my worst dreams. On the floor of the wagon were almost a dozen bodies, some of people who I recognized from around town. Henry, a few regulars from the saloon, and even Dr. Janes. Some of the bodies had stakes in them, others had muzzles over their mouths, their hands and feet bound and their mouths seemingly frozen in wide O’s of horror; some were simply curled up as if they were already dead.

The sight changed me, changed everything. I took off my hat and knelt down roughly, praying to God or whoever would listen to please save them. I remembered Anna’s kitten-like cries, the dull fear in Pearl’s eyes. Yes, they couldn’t live here, but why did Father have to condone this brutal treatment? No one deserved to die like this, not even monsters. Why couldn’t it be enough to simply run them out of town?

Damon knelt down, and I rushed toward his side. Katherine was lying on her back, ropes binding her arms and legs. The ropes must have been covered with vervain, because there were terrible burns on the patches of skin that touched the twine. A leather mask covered her face, and her hair was matted with dried blood.

I stood back, not wanting to touch her or even look at her, as Damon set to work untying the muzzle. Once she was free, I couldn’t help but notice her teeth, her fangs, her true nature, obvious in a way I’d never seen before. But Damon was gazing at her as if in a trance. He gently brushed the hair off her face and slowly leaned in to kiss her lips.

“Thank you,” said Katherine simply. That was it. And watching them, the way Katherine’s fingers stroked Damon’s hair, the way Damon cried into her collarbone, I knew that this was true love. As they continued to gaze into each other’s eyes, I pulled my knife out of my pocket and gently tried to cut the ropes that bound her. I worked slowly and carefully, knowing that any additional contact with the ropes would cause her even more pain.

“Hurry!” Damon whispered, sitting on his heels as he watched me work.

I freed one arm, then another. Katherine sighed shakily, shrugging her shoulders up and down as if to make sure they still worked.

“Help!” cried a pale, thin woman I didn’t recognize. She was huddled in the very back of the wagon.

“We’ll be back,” I said, lying through my teeth. We wouldn’t be back. Damon and Katherine had to escape, and I had to … well, I had to help them.

“Stefan?” Katherine said weakly as she struggled to her feet. Damon instantly rushed to her side and supported her fragile body.

Just then, I heard footfalls near the wagon.

“Escape!” one of the guards called. “We need backup. There’s been a breach in the wagon!”

“Run!” I called, pushing Damon and Katherine in the opposite direction of the guard.

“No escape! All clear!” I shouted into the darkness, hoping that people would believe me as I hopped off the wagon.

I saw the explosion of gunpowder before I heard the shot. A loud wail rent the night air, followed quickly by another booming shot. Heart in my throat, I ran around the wagon, already knowing what I’d see.

“Damon!” I cried. He lay on the ground, blood oozing from his gut. Yanking off my shirt, I put the linen on the wound to stanch the bleeding. I knew it was no use, but still I held the fabric to his chest. “Don’t shut your eyes, brother. Stay with me.”

“No … Katherine. Save her …,” Damon rasped, his head flopping toward the damp ground. I glanced, wild-eyed, from the truck to the woods. The two guards were sprinting back, Jonathan Gilbert behind them.

I stood up, and instantly my body was met with the explosive, piercing, agonizing hit of a bullet. I felt my chest exploding, felt the cool night air whoosh past my body as I fell back, onto my brother. I opened my eyes and looked up at the moon, and then everything faded to black.

W
hen I next opened my eyes, I knew I was dead. But this death wasn’t the death of my nightmares, with black nothingness all around. Instead, I could smell the faraway scent of a fire, feel rough earth beneath my body, could feel my hands resting by my sides. I didn’t feel pain. I didn’t feel anything. The blackness enveloped me in a way that was almost comforting. Was this what hell was? If so, it was nothing like the horror and mayhem of last night. It was quiet, peaceful.

I tentatively moved my arm, surprised when my hand touched straw. I pushed myself up to a sitting position, surprised that I still had a body, surprised that nothing hurt. I looked around and realized that I wasn’t suspended in nothingness. To my left were the rough-hewn slats of a wall of a dark shack. If I squinted, I could see sky between the cracks. I was
somewhere,
but where? My hand fluttered to my chest. I remembered the shot ringing out, the sound of my body thudding to the ground, the way I was prodded with boots and sticks. The way my heart had stopped beating and there had been a cheer that rose up before everything was quiet. I was dead. So then …

“Hello?” I called hoarsely.

“Stefan,” a woman’s voice said. I felt a hand behind my back. I realized I was wearing a simple, faded, blue cotton shirt and tan linen pants, clothes I didn’t recognize as my own. And though they were old, they were clean. I struggled to stand, but the small, yet surprisingly strong, hand held me down by my shoulder. “You’ve had a long night.”

I blinked, and as my eyes adjusted to the light, I realized that the voice belonged to Emily.

“You’re alive,” I said in wonderment.

She laughed, a low, lazy chuckle. “I should be saying that to you. How are you feeling?” she asked, bringing a tin cup of water to my lips.

I drank, allowing the cool liquid to trickle down my throat. I’d never tasted anything so pure, so good. I touched my neck where Katherine had bit me. It felt clean and smooth. I hastily yanked the shirt open, popping several buttons in the process. My chest was smooth, no hint of a bullet wound.

“Keep drinking,” Emily clucked in a way a mother might do to her child.

“Damon?” I asked roughly.

“He’s out there.” Emily pointed her chin to the door. I followed her gaze outside, where I saw a shadowy figure sitting by the water’s edge. “He’s recovering, just as you are.”

“But how …”

“Notice your ring.” Emily tapped my hand. On my ring finger was a gleaming lapis-lazuli stone, inset in silver. “It’s a remedy and a protection. Katherine had me make it for you the night she marked you.”

“Marked me,” I repeated dumbly, once again touching my neck, then allowing my fingers to drop to the smooth stone of the ring.

“Marked you to be like her. You’re almost a vampire, Stefan. You’re well into the transformation,” Emily said, as if she were a doctor diagnosing a patient with a terminal illness.

I nodded as if I understood what Emily was saying, even though it might as well have been a completely different language. Transformation?

“Who found me?” I asked, starting with the question I cared least about.

“I did. After the shots were fired on you and your brother, everyone ran. The house burned down. People died. Not just vampires.” Emily shook her head, her face deeply troubled. “They brought all the vampires to the church and burned them there. Including her,” Emily said, her tone impossible to comprehend.

“Did she make me a vampire, then?” I asked, touching my neck.

“Yes. But in order to complete the transition, you must feed. It’s a choice you have to make. Katherine had the power of destruction and death, but even she had to allow her victims that choice.”

“She killed Rosalyn.” I knew it in the same way I’d known Damon loved Katherine. It was as if a cloud had lifted, only to reveal more blackness.

“She did,” Emily said, her face inscrutable. “But that has nothing to do with what happens. If you choose, you can feed and complete the transition, or let yourself …”

“Die?”

Emily nodded.

I didn’t
want
to feed. I didn’t
want
Katherine’s blood inside me. All I wanted was to go back several months, before I’d ever heard the name Katherine Pierce. My heart twisted in agony for all I’d lost. But there was someone who’d lost more.

As if she’d read my mind, Emily helped me to my feet. She was tiny, but strong. I stood up and shakily walked outside.

“Brother!” I called. Damon turned, his eyes shining. The water reflected the rising sun, and smoke billowed through the trees in the distance. But the clearing was eerily quiet and peaceful, harkening back to an earlier, simpler time.

Damon didn’t answer. And before I even realized what I was doing, I walked to the edge of the water. Without bothering to take off my clothes, I dove in. I came up for air and breathed out, but my mind still felt dark and dirty.

Damon stared down at me from the water’s edge. “The church burned. Katherine was inside,” he said tonelessly.

“Yes.” I didn’t feel satisfaction or sadness. I just felt deep, deep sorrow. For myself, for Damon, for Rosalyn, for everyone who’d gotten caught in this web of destruction. Father had been right. There were demons who walked the earth, and if you didn’t fight them, then you became one.

“Do you know what we are?” Damon asked bitterly.

We locked eyes, and instantly I realized that I didn’t want to live like Katherine. I didn’t want to see the sunlight only with the aid of the ring on my finger. I didn’t want to always gaze at a human’s neck as if contemplating my next feeding. I didn’t want to live forever.

I ducked down under the surface of the water and opened my eyes. The pond was dark and cool, just like the shack. If this was what death was, it wasn’t bad. It was peaceful. Quiet. There was no passion, but also no danger.

I surfaced and pushed my hair off my face, my borrowed clothes hanging off my soaked limbs. Even though I knew what my fate was, I felt remarkably alive. “Then I’ll die.”

Damon nodded, his eyes dull and listless. “There’s no life without Katherine.”

I climbed out of the water and hugged my brother. His body felt warm, real. Damon briefly returned my embrace, then hugged his knees again, his gaze fixed on a spot far away from the water’s edge.

“I want it done,” Damon said, standing up and walking farther away toward the quarry. I watched his retreating back, remembering the time when I was eight or nine that my father and I had gone buck hunting. It was right after my mother had died, and while Damon had immersed himself in schoolboy antics like gambling and riding horses, I’d clung to my father. One day, to cheer me up, Father took me to the woods with our rifles.

We’d spent over an hour tracking a buck. Father and I headed deeper and deeper into the forest, watching the animal’s every move. Finally, we were in a spot where we saw the buck bowing down, eating from a berry bush.

“Shoot,” Father murmured, guiding my rifle over my shoulder. I trembled as I kept my eye on the deer and reached for the trigger. But at the moment I released the trigger, a baby deer scampered into the field. The buck sprinted away, and the bullet hit the fawn in the belly. Its wobbly legs crumpled beneath it, and it fell to the ground.

I’d run to try to help it, but Father had stopped me, holding on to my shoulder.

“Animals know when it’s time to die. Let’s at least allow it the peace to do it alone,” Father said, forcibly marching me away. I’d wailed, but he was relentless. Now, watching Damon, I understood. Damon was the same way.

“Good-bye, brother,” I whispered.