Dawn
Her mother lay the wet cloth on Marra’s head. She pincered
matted hair between her fingers and moved it behind Marra’s ear. Beads of water
eased down the girl’s forehead. The Sin sat on Marra’s chest. It moved up and
down in the rhythm of her drawn breathing. It placed it’s hand on the cloth. On
Marra’s mother’s. The small beads of water continued to roll. It was almost
impossible to make them out from Marra’s tears.
Sunlight
cut through the leaves. The forest became friendlier than the night before.
Marra was awake before she opened her eyes.
The same dream again.
She
could smell the dogs. How bad was it this time? The Sin had never forced her to
kill another human but animals...they were a different story. It reminded her
of ghost stories as a child. Holding her bed clothes over her face. Afraid to
open her eyes. Marra remembered how much darkness had scared her in those
years. She eventually opened her eyes, just as she had done as a child. Darkness
didn’t scare her anymore. There were never any ghosts. The shih tzu’s jaw lay
half unhinged, torn down it’s right side as far as the ear. Light was so much
worse. The Sin’s red veins had sunk once more. The shade of Marra’s forearm had
lightened. For now it would be quiet. Sated. Soon it would be back. Horrible,
ferocious. Slowly the shade would darken. The thoughts would flood her mind.
Begging her to let go. Maybe this the
time she finally would.
She
remembered the last thing her mother said to her.
“Hey.”
Wren coghed.
“Get
rid of these chains.”
“What’s
wrong with your arm?”
Marra
looked at the boy. He must have been fourteen. Maybe older. Marra couldn’t
tell. His dirty brown hair curled at the edges. Like small waves. His clothes
were ragged and torn but the boots were holding together. He didn’t shiver in
the morning chill.
“The
chains.”
Wren
reached out putting his fingers on Marra’s leg. She felt the heat of his hand.
It grew hotter and hotter.
“I
can’t make fire. But I can make this hurt. Make it burn.”
Marra
scowled at him.
Little prick.
“I’ve been marked.”
“Neph...”
“You
can say the full word.”
Wren
tried to feel like he was in control again. He didn’t even notice moving his
hand from her leg.
“Are
they real?”
“The
one that clawed me was.”
“How
big?”
“Big as
people say.”
The
only thing more dangerous than the Madra were the Nephilim. The product of
carnal union between angels and men. Like everything else the holy spouted Wren
had assumed it was all false. Ravens that were dragon like in their size. Maybe
this girl was crazy? But he had seen her arm the night before. That red glow...
“Do you
have the thirst? I mean, do you need to...”
“I’ve
been marked. You know how it goes.”
“I
thought it was all lies.”
“There
are some people who don’t believe there are any elementals left.”
Wren
stood up and walked behind the tree Marra was bound against. He untied her
chains.
“They’re
right.”
Marra
stood up and gathered the chains. Wren was intimidated by her height. Raven
black hair hung in front of her face. A large green hood covered the rest of
her hair. She picked up her bow and began pulling arrow heads from the dead
dogs. An Alsatian was still breathing, the arrow had lodged in its throat.
Marra stopped. She drew her blade from its sheath. A small dagger. She kneeled
beside the animal and placed her hand on its ribs. The dog’s pupils found Marras.
She looked back and nodded solemnly. The dog’s neck broke easily. Marra started
with the ears.
“You
got a knife?”
Wren
stared at Marra as she skinned the animal. She threw fur into the long grass. Blood
stained her fingertips. Wren felt the tingle in the sides of his mouth. Inside
felt dry and wet at the same time. His stomach tensed. He kneeled, the vomit
flowed freely. Marra heard the wretches before she looked up. She had given way
to her stomach several times when she first learned to skin food. She walked
past Wren, he wiped the tears and spit from his face.
“When
was the last time you ate?”
Wren
coughed, trying to clear his throat. The words refused to free themselves from
his mouth. He continued coughing.
“It’s
all bile. Must have been a couple of days right?”
Wren
nodded.
Wren
coughed.
“Dogs...they’re
okay when you get used to them.”
Wren
nodded.
Wren
coughed.
Dry
wood and stones were easy to find. Lighting a fire during daylight was easy. A
fire at night could be the difference between life and death. The temperature
could fall as far as to necessitate heat. But where heat was necessary it could
easily draw attention. Die from the cold, die from a scavenger. The choice was
up to the wanderer. Sometimes lighting a fire close to a fort or town could
yield a Samaritan. Sometimes it could yield a well placed arrow.
Wren
stacked the twigs on top of the branches. It was harder to notice Wren’s hands
glow in the daylight. He flicked his fingers,
sparks landed on the twigs. String lines of smoke rose but the fire wouldn’t
take. Marra gave him several attempts before she took two arrows from her
quiver. She knelt beside the boy began clipping the heads together. The flames
rose.
“You
ever eat dog before?”
“No.”
“Thousands
of years ago half the world thought it was a delicacy. The other half thought
it was barbaric.”
“I
guess I’m the other half.”
Marra
rooted through her bag and took out a heavy scarf. Wren put out his hands.
“Can I
see?”
He
rolled the cloth in his hands. Looping it, touching every fibre he could. He
handed it back to Marra after a few moments. The heat kissed her neck as she
wrapped the scarf around. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt heat
like this. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She opened her eyes. The
dog looked back. The raw flesh of the skinned dog.
“Why haven’t you cut your arm off?”
The boy
watched the cinders of the fire rise towards the leaves. Occasionally he would
close his eyes and listen to the crack of the kindling. Marra pulled the scarf
tighter around her throat. The skin on her forearms goosed. Hairs on end. Marra
stood up and walked towards the animal carcass.
“Help
me with the dog.”
They skewered
the animal and placed it above the flames. A crow cried out in the distance.
Marra shuddered for a moment. The boy didn’t seem to notice. The forest was
everywhere. Occasionally the weathered remains of an old building greyed the
green surroundings. Covered in roots and ivy they were easy to miss though
sometimes finding them could prove invaluable. Most often wanderers of the
forests died. It was hard to live long enough to starve but dehydration was a
severe threat. Man had once been king of the food chain. No living human was
old enough to recall that time. Wanderers used the buildings as camps leaving
behind goods after death. At first Marra had refused to take these items.
Rarely was a body found inside the camp. She took comfort in believing they
were hunting. That they would be back. After some time she realized that her
chances of survival depended on looting these camps. Marra blamed these actions
on her possession. The Sin’s selfishness. But sometimes, in the quiet moments
before she slept, she accepted the real truth.
The
dog’s red flesh browned. It had been a long time since Marra felt guilt about
eating an animal. The boy was still used to seeing dogs as family pets. He bit
into the meat and chewed. The taste was not bad but it didn’t help his stomach
from trembling as he swallowed.
“How
long are you alone?” Marra didn’t look at him as she asked.
“Maybe
a couple of weeks, I lost track early.”
“Easy
to do.”
“You?”
“Best
part of two years. Give or take.”
“You
haven’t found a town? Even a fort?”
“Many.
It’s hard to get accepted under normal circumstances. People are scared. The
mark makes it impossible.”
Wren
tore another piece from the dog. His sense of guilt yielded to his hunger.
“The
ancients said the Nephilim were the children of fallen angels and the daughters
of men.”
“The
ancients said a lot of things.”
“Do you
believe them?”
Marra
looked at the boy. His eyes gave him away. Those giant black pupils. A child
unsure who or what to believe. She rolled a piece of the dog on her teeth.
Marra didn’t consider whether or not the ancient’s were right. It didn’t matter
to her. Even if the Nephilim that marked her couldn’t restore her she could get
revenge. Or at least die fighting. Heaven or Hell. Whichever one she ended up
in couldn’t be much worse.
“If God
is real he’s got some explaining to do. If he’s not that would explain
everything.”
“Makes sense...”
It was
the first time in days Marra could think even remotely clearly. The Sin was
quiet. She wondered if there was a way to trick it. Some ruse by where The Sin
might believe she had killed, believe itself sated. Why haven’t you cut off your arm? She had considered it but the
priests had told her the infection was one of the soul. A severed arm would
yield nothing but severing an arm. Whether she believed them or not was still
undecided; the fact remained that a one armed archer was both ridiculous and
hilarious. No, she would have to keep the arm. Revenge or redemption, she
needed it for both. The boy held no bounds as he ate the dog meat. Marra smiled
as she looked at him. Stupid but tough. She felt an unfamiliar feeling sooth her
chest. Lioness to cub. Shark to pup.
“You’ll
die out here.”
“I know.”
“What
do you want, if you live?”
“I want
to find those responsible. Find my kind. Kill one, save the other.”
“Big
words for a small man.”
“Words
are all I have right now.”
“Then
we’re not so dissimilar.”
“You
want revenge?”
“I want
a cure. I want to be back with my clan. But yeah, I’ll settle for revenge.”
Wren
straightened his posture and stretched his neck. His muscles fought against his
efforts. He felt the tension grow, pushed a little harder, and then abate. Wren
sighed and moved his neck in circles. His hands began to glow as he placed them
on his throat. He breathed deep, held it for just a moment and breathed out
again.
“So you’re
making an offer.”
Maybe not so stupid...
“We can
try to protect each other-”
“Until
you kill me?” Wren cut in.
“Maybe.”
“How
does it work? The blood lust and all that.”
“It’ll
be okay for a few days. Then I’ll start to hear it. As if it’s someone else
talking. Telling me to hurt others. A few more days and I’ll become angry for
no reason. I start to lose control a few days later. At this point I’ve always
killed something.”
Marra
paused.
“I don’t
know what happens after that.”
She
spoke slowly as though a part of her was trying to find out.
“Killed
something?”
“Animals.
Never a person. Yet.”
“So you’re
offering me protection until I become ‘yet’?”
“It’s
mutual. You look out for me, I look out for you. ‘Yet’ might never happen.”
“So
what’s our next move?”
Marra
looked quizzically at the boy.
“Mind
made up?”
“I
would’ve died last night. I owe you a life.”
Marra
didn’t know how to respond.
So she
didn’t.
Twilight of the Gods
He had given up his name almost a decade ago. It was a
simple name. John; like the Baptist. He kept the book in his hands at all
times. Even the thought of the pages out of reach shuddered him. He held it in
the enclave of his left arm. Close to his heart as possible. He mumbled to
himself as he trudged through the long grass. Ahead of him a tree bearing fruit
just as he had known there would be. Another possibility his mind had produced.
His was a reality of his own creation. Truly, if he had wanted to, he could
lift his feet from the earth. Levitate for a moment, fly to another planet. But
he did not want to. He told himself that if he ever did, there would be no
problem, and then quickly thought of something else.
He told
himself that he enjoyed climbing the tree. It was good exercise. But wouldn’t
it have been possible to just manifest the fruit from nothing?
“I don’t
want to.”
His
finger found another splinter and housed it. The pain ran through his hand
dully.
“I don’t
want to be a God. I am a man who knows The Secret. Better to be a man of sound
mind and wisdom. Benevolent and kind. Power would only corrupt.”
Unless I manifested my destiny to be
peaceful and loving...
“No I must suffer as man.”
He had
reached the fruit. The red skin caught a ray of light. Obscured, his
reflection, gazed back at him. A moment of misjudgement as he reached for the fruit.
The book slid from under his arm. Away from his heart. Down, down, down. He
could not hear the pages as they hit the ground. He had forgotten about the
quantum and the quantum had forgotten about him. How could a God be so stupid?!
He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed slowly. He must be calm to
manifest, the quantum would never listen to a cluttered mind. Even if it did
the results could be less than satisfactory. Far less.
His
hands found the branches easily as he made his decent. And then he heard it,
somewhere in the distance. Shuffling of feet, movement of grass. John, who had
not been called John for many years, froze. He gripped the branches, chameleon
like.
“Just
keep looking.”
“I am
looking!”
“Then
why am I constantly the one picking up all the flint?”
“You’re
used to looking for them. I don’t use arrows.”
“That’s
right you use fireworks.”
“Someday
it’ll be real fire!”
“And I’ll
still be able to pick you off with an arrow.”
“Yeah
right. You and that crazy arm of yours will be burned to a crisp!”
He
heard laughing. Threats of death with laughter? He poked his head out from
behind the tree. A boy and a girl. Young. The girl was tall, the boy a few
inches smaller. As a God he could have destroyed them both. As a God he could
have recreated his book from air. What did a God even need with a book?
“There’s
something here.”
“Will
it make arrows?”
“It’s a
book?”
“Can
you read?”
“Not
the old language, you?”
“Kind
of.”
“We can
use it for heat.”
“It
would only keep us warm a few seconds. Maybe I can find something useful inside?”
“Like
arrows?”
Wren
shook his head and smiled.
“I’m
totally going to fry you when I get my fire working.”
“Keep dreaming
smoky.”
John,
who was not John, saw the boy pick up the book. He took a satchel from his back
and put the book inside. He heard them bicker into the distance and quickly
scaled down the tree. A God could have appeared in front of the two. A God
could have smited their transgression. A God would never have dropped the book
in the first place.
But
John, who was not John, had decided to suffer as a man. And what is a God
without conviction.
