The fountain of youth.
It took me a second, but I dimly recalled what I knew about it. A mythical spring or river or whatever that granted someone immortality if they drank the water? If movies were to be trusted, that is. But that's just what it was, fiction from a movie.
Sam didn't give me time to absorb, though, just soldiered straight on with his story.
"It all began when the number of villagers slowly started to grow," he said. "They were not having more children than normal, yet the population grew and grew. Fewer and fewer people were dying each year, they eventually realized. The Bubonic Plague was having a second deadly wave throughout France, but only a few sickened and even fewer died in the village compared to the decimation other towns were experiencing.
"Moreover, the people were not just alive, but healthier than the average peasant at that time period. Stronger. More energy and stamina. Small illnesses and injuries that would normally kill someone in an era with very little medical knowledge were no longer an issue. It was not everyone in the village, but quite a few.
"Then came the day two villagers turned on each other, a disagreement over a woman coming to a drunken head. The first man stabbed the other, but the other man remained undamaged. Though the knife went in, he hardly bled, and remained standing.
"The attacker stabbed again. And again. And again.
"The attacked man hardly experienced any pain, and he did not die. He took advantage of his attacker's astonishment and in turn stabbed him back. That man was nearly unaffected as well.
"They forgot their disagreement and simply marveled at their ability to survive such violence. They agreed to keep it a secret, but someone had witnessed the event and cried the tale to the whole village.
"The village decided that the men must be demons. A panicked witch hunt for them began, and resulted in drowning the undying men.
"They survived the drowning. Surely it was more evidence of demons. The men were burned at the stake. Still, they survived. Eventually, thankfully, it was suggested that the men were not demons at all, but were blessed, and that was why they did not die.
"Once the men were regarded as blessed instead of cursed, more people came forward. Others had also survived death. Others should have been dead but were not. These people, these simple villagers, had become immortal.
"Years of experimenting and investigating went by, and it still proved true—these people were truly immortal. As time went on, they did not age. A decade had gone by at that point, and the immortals had not aged a day. However, there were those who remained mortal among them. Somehow, some people had been passed over by the gift of immortality.
"There were those, however, who believed something else was the cause of immortality rather than blessings from heaven. It took a focused investigation to overcome the superstitions but they managed, after time, to find to source of immortality.
"A stream, they found, was the source of this astonishing power, a simple stream deep in the forest, even more remote than the village. Anyone who drank the water overcame death. Infinitely, or so it had gone so far. They became immortal, and there was no going back."
My jaw was hanging open at that point, but I closed it to feel the word in my mouth. "Immortal?" It tasted foreign and strange.
"With the years passing," Sam continued, "some people wanted to leave the village and explore the world. What reason was there to stay? Another panic began among those who wanted to stay and hide. How were they going to explain the lack of death to others?
"They didn't want to be branded as demons as those first two men in the early days. They were afraid of the world descending upon them and turning their eternities into hell on earth. They were scared."
I could understand their fear. It was something all movie monsters and aliens were afraid of—an existence as nothing more than a science experiment for secret government agencies. A life of no dignity or respect, only pain and isolation. It made sense the immortals would feel the same way.
Sam went on. "A council of immortal individuals was put together in response to the fear. The immortals would band together, and swear to help each other whenever someone got into trouble, and swear to stay loyal and secretive. This Council would be their governing body, the authorities to turn to in a time of need.
"And so, the immortals began to leave the village behind. They went different ways, off to explore the world, to spend their eternities outside of the village.
"So, here we are today. Time has passed, but here we stand, the same. Not dead. Ever the same, ever unchanging. The Council still stands. We still look out for each other, needing to get each other out of situations more and more often as time goes on, so as not to risk the exposure of our world."
Sam put his head in his hands. "When they find out that you know, they are going to kill me."
I blinked a few times in silence when he finished talking.
"Metaphorically," I said.
He raised his head. "What?"
"Kill you metaphorically," I clarified with surprising calmness. "Cause you're immortal."
Sam blinked back. "Yes. Metaphorically. Because I am immortal."
I shuddered as he admitted it: he was one of these eternal, never-dying beings. Sam couldn't die, he would never die. "Whoa," was all I could think to say.
I leaned my head against the couch and closed my eyes, waiting for Sam to respond, but he never did. He'd exhausted all his words, having spilled them all in one go. The couch dipped when I pulled my legs up to my chest, but Sam was completely silent. I could feel the tension radiating from him from where I sat.
I tried to comprehend Sam's story, but not to think. I would not allow myself to think. Thinking would only convince me that it couldn't possibly be true, when I'd felt the effects myself. Maybe the no-dying part was a lie, but the magic wasn't. Something was going on, and I didn't want to be oblivious.
Sam broke the silence of me comprehending with a nervous whisper. "Do you believe me?" he breathed.
As I turned to look at him, something suddenly flew past me and embedded itself with a wet thud into Sam's chest.
It took me a long moment to realize what it was: a knife handle. A knife was sticking out of Sam.
I screamed in horror, panicking, hands clasped over my mouth in terror. There was a knife in Sam! He'd been stabbed! Skewered!
My mind started spinning out of control. What are you supposed to do for knife wounds? What could I do? How could I help? And why wasn't Sam reacting?
"Abigail, it's okay," he said gently, reaching to take ahold of the knife.
I shrieked, "No, don't touch it! You're not supposed to touch it! You could bleed out!"
"Abigail, look. I'm not bleeding at all."
Something rustled in the doorway, and I whipped around and saw Emile in the doorway. Another knife was primed in his hands. Had he thrown the first one? "No, don't!" I screamed, just as he let the second knife fly.
This one landed with a thunk into Sam's neck. He grimaced and gave Emile a glare, but didn't do anything a dying man would do. No panicking, no gaping, no pleading, not bleeding.
Wait. That wasn't right. No blood?
Catching my hand, Sam waited until I looked him in the eye. He looked peaceful. He gave me an encouraging nod that sent the second knife bobbing, and pulled out the knife in his chest. Only a little blood dribbled down, leaving a gaping hole in his body.
I automatically threw my hands forward to put pressure on the wound, but Sam caught them. He pulled them away, showing the hole in his chest. Then, as I watched with wide eyes, his skin slowly sewed itself shut until the hole was no more. Gone. Just like that, like nothing had happened at all.
"What—?" I breathed in disbelief.
Sam tried to swallow against the knife in preparation of talking. "Watch again," he choked, then took hold of the knife hilt and eased it out of his neck, coughing as it left his flesh.
Again, there was little blood, and again, the hole rapidly healed itself until nothing but a raised scar was left. Then, it, too, slowly faded away until no evidence of the knife was left.
Impossible.
This was all impossible.
I looked up from his now unblemished skin to his gentle eyes. "What just happened?" I searched Sam's face, trying to find any stress about what had just occurred. He just looked rueful, a small, apologetic smile gracing his lips. He shrugged. "Are you truly immortal?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Oh my gosh." I had just witnessed what should have been the death, two times over, of my friend. I whipped back around towards Emile, who was shrunk back in the doorway, watching me warily. "Why would you do that? Are you insane?" I screamed at him.
Emile shrugged, a contrite expression on his face. "You were not believing him."
"Yes I was!" Maybe. Possibly. Now I was wondering if I myself had gone insane.
Emile shrugged again. "Now you have proof. Now you are certain." He straightened up and looked at me intently. "This is true, Abby. Sam and I, we are immortal."
Sam took my hand. "Do you believe me?" he whispered again.
Turning to look at him, I considered. It seemed so fairytale-like, so absurd and fake. But at the same time, I knew I trusted Sam. I knew. And he seemed so sincere—so did Emile. So in combination of what I had just witnessed—oh my gosh, I had just seen Sam with knives sticking out of him—with all the strange things that had occurred that day, I didn't let myself overthink.
"Yes, Sam," I said. "I believe you."
"Honestly?"
I looked him in his warm brown eyes. "I have questions. But first, I need a second to breathe." Everything started to spin.
Holy crap. Holy frickin crap.
"Put her head between her knees! She's going to faint." Emile's voice sounded further and further away, until it, and the world, cut out completely.