The Amazon

by Bob Nailor

  The figure withdrew and jumped from the table leaving Janiza writhing in ecstasy. He strode toward the center of the island where he lifted his arms with a roar. A surging jet of water engulfed him from his head to his feet, cleansing him in the swirling spray. He stood still while the chant subsided and changed into a second cadence.

  The young man who had stood to the side now quickly strode to the slab where Janiza lay waiting. He mounted the table and stood high above her as her arms reached toward him. Ana was breathless as she heard the girl moan in pleasure, low and intense as if from deep within her belly. Her voice raised above the chanting. “Come, my chosen. Give me your seed. Within blood’s lust, I will be freed.”

  He stepped forward and entered her pleading body in masculine power, but soon it was Janiza’s passion that set the rhythm. They made love in an intense fury that never seemed to end. Her screams of lust drifted upward to the balcony where Ana stood mesmerized by the scene.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Ana saw the Man-Statue move toward Tinga who stood at the opposite slab. She took him in the same fashion as had Janiza and they repeated the ritual of arousal. To the rhythm of ecstasy resounding from Janiza and her chosen, the Man-Statue performed the three-thrust rite with Tinga, whose eagerness surpassed what had gone before. As before, he jumped to the ground and returned to his cleansing stream while Tinga summoned her mate. With a glare of lust, she extended her arms to him and repeated the chant. “Come, my chosen. Give me your seed. Within blood’s lust, I will be freed.”

  Tinga’s legs wrapped around him in fierce desire and she pulled him into her with a long moan. Their tension began to build just as Ana heard a cry from the other slab.

  Janiza was no longer on her back or even on the slab. She stood on the ground with her arms extended to her sides and her eyes staring up at the heavens. Her chosen remained on the slab with his torso covered in the thick flow of his blood. Janiza’s face was stained red, and she howled to the heavens in a cry unlike any Ana ever heard from a human throat.

  At the same instant, Tinga pushed her chosen to the slab and sat upright over his willing body. She threw her head back in a gut-wrenching climax, roaring like an animal over its prey. With the speed of a jaguar, she plunged her face into his neck where she remained as he exploded with his own climax. Ana could see his facial expression of bliss. Tinga, her lower face covered in blood, left her chosen lying spent on his back and leaped to the ground to join her sister in the center of the island. Together they wailed to the sky as the chant and drums built to a feverish climax.

  Ana felt Itotia’s grip pull at her waist, drawing her closer. She faced the queen far above the frenetic scene below. “They are maidens no more and join the line of warriors stretching back to the dawn of time.” She paused and her eyes glowed fiercely yet, somehow, remained velvety with tenderness. She drew in deeply Ana’s scent. “And you,” she whispered. “I have smelled your virginal purity.” She reached a finger to touch the tiny drop of blood on Ana’s ear. “You have saved yourself all your life for this very moment. Will you join us?” she asked. Her razor-sharp nail slowly traced its way down until it stopped over Ana’s heart.

  A thousand thoughts raced through Ana’s mind in no more than the blink of an eye. The dream had been the same, yet different. Wayne and Nancy had been to one side. There had been no blood and no feverish chant. Aaron had been there. Perhaps there was more to come.

  Behind Itotia Ana saw two glowing scarlet eyes, blinking slowly in the darkness at the rear of the balcony. They were the red eyes from her dream. Her belly churned as a face emerged, white and terrible in the shadows. He loomed over Itotia, and Ana saw a shiver shoot down the queen’s spine.

  The lines of his face were long and smooth like an ancient polished sculpture. Not a wrinkle marred his skin, so pallid it seemed to be stone. A single faded scar angled across one cheek from his eye to the curl of his thin gray lips. Ana first thought he was young, perhaps her age. But with each blink of the flaming eyes, her impression changed as she perceived an ancient, prescient air. His hair was as black as Itotia’s and long enough to be tied behind his head. From both ears hung delicate earrings of gold strands so fine they fluttered in the slight breeze. One held two small, but perfect feathers shining in brilliant black and red.

  He stood behind Itotia, his muscled arms straight at his sides clothed only in the shifting shadows. He lifted one hand to Itotia’s neck, his long sharp nails tracing a line along the regal arch of her throat. Ana saw another shiver take hold of Itotia’s body.

  “He is Ejup, our Lord and Master,” she said quietly, her eyes still focused on Ana. “He gave us eternal existence.” She paused and blinked. “He is our god.”

  His hand moved forward, this time to Ana’s face. She felt his nails as if they were tiny knives passing over her skin so softly, his touch seemed only a dream. He smiled and his teeth caught the flicker of the flames below. A red patina still clung to his curving incisors.

  “You were right, my queen,” he said in an ancient voice that seemed to surge up from the days when the earth was young. “She is exquisite.”

  Ana’s stare locked on Itotia’s. Her eyes pulsed with energy, wisdom, and passion. Ana’s lust for oneness with her and all things rushed back, compelling and palpable as it had been in her dreams.

  “Join us, my sister,” Itotia said in a tone so low it seemed only to be a thought. “Become one with us forever.”

  Ana breathed in deeply her exotic scent, infused with the fire of desire that burned deep within her belly. She simply let go, swept away in Itotia’s will. Ejup stepped forward and bent his head down toward the soft curve of her ivory throat. She closed her eyes and laid her head gently back to accept their gift.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  A STOP IN ROME & THE CHOOSING

  Michelangelo’s dome glowed in the silent night sky, illuminated by powerful bulbs the artist could never have imagined. Rossi’s Lancia glided around Vatican City while the rest of Rome slept. His driver knew shorter paths home, but he made a point of making a full circle around St. Peter’s every time they arrived late at night. His boss always became still and crossed himself, lost in thought and reverence.

  The ancient road, Via Sebastiano Veniero, was only a block away from the rear of the walled city. The Rossi home, known as ‘The Eyesore’ to his neighbors, had stood firm since the rebuilding of the famous basilica. Waves of urban development had swept away all the other ancient structures in the neighborhood. Unknown to most, its location was not a simple coincidence.

  The flight from Brussels to Rome had been just enough to coax Gianni’s eyes closed. He hadn’t slept for two nights and the gentle hum of the Gulfstream’s twin Rolls Royce engines had lured him away from his anxiety. His imagination wouldn’t let him get Ana out of his mind.

  The driver left the engine idling at the curb while Rossi buzzed himself in and slipped up the front stairs. The house was surrounded by a stone wall, reinforced by iron bars buried in the mortar by medieval masons. A small, simple courtyard stretched between the entrance and the few steps to a weather-stained portico. He rarely got the chance to trim his roses and exotic plants he’d brought from so many points on the globe. He saw one light burning on the third floor but headed directly to the cellar. His pilot needed two hours to refuel and work through his pre-transoceanic flight checklist. Gianni didn’t have much time.

  The first level was devoted exclusively to being the finest wine cellar in Rome, excluding the Holy Father’s. One of the heavy wooden racks, the one with the latest vintages, rolled open for access to the true reason for the entire building. He lit a lantern to descend the narrow staircase since the smallest of errors could betray the house’s centuries’ old secrets.

  To his modern colleagues, the tools of Rossi’s trade were computers, satellites, and airplanes. Displayed in the second cellar was his true apparatus. He had little time and headed straight for the oldest alcove in the cavern.

 
; High above the stone floor hung a portrait of Giuseppe Rossi, a copy of the one in Mechelen. Next to it, in a plain, coal-black frame hung the oldest painting in the building. The foul face of Turpio peered from the darkness of time, the Roman-soldier-turned-vampire-monster who had forced the founding of UWF. He and his Serbian protégé, Ejup Mikić, had threatened the foundations of Europe when they fomented evil during the beginning of the Reformation. Giuseppe had killed Turpio only to be mercilessly slaughtered by Mikić in Frankfurt. The black count, Mikić, had fled Europe. The only known likeness of his menacing visage hung next to his master. The frame was red. Blood still ran.

  Rossi shot photo after photo of the painting with his mobile phone. He would need to know his prey for the hunt. Then he opened his titanium-shelled tool case to check that every weapon would be in order when the time came. There were wooden stakes hewn from ancient, sacred olive wood from the Mount of Olives in Jerusalem. The engraved and tarnished mallet Giuseppe had used to end Turpio’s reign of terror. The crucifix taken from the fingers of St. Francis of Assisi after his last breath. The source of the relics was unimportant: a wooden circus tent stake and a simple hammer from the hardware store would have sufficed just as well. But, the symbolism and power of the line that preceded him were keen incentives in the hour of battle. He knew.

  His travel documents were still tucked in the side pouch from the trip to New York. A Vatican diplomatic passport let him pass everywhere without a baggage check. The letters of safe passage and standing request for support from the Vatican, Jerusalem, and Mecca had been updated just a month before. He snapped the case shut, grabbed his lantern, and headed up the stairs.

  “Who treads these stairs?” A deep, resonating voice called from the darkness of the ancient stairwell. Rossi’s heart nearly stopped.

  “I thought it was you, papa,” Marco, his oldest son, said. “Did I frighten the great hunter of evil?” He was laughing directly from his stomach. “Are we scared of the dark now?” The guffaws rolled from his mouth.

  “Get out of the way,” Rossi grumped. “I’m late for a plane. Take care of the store. I’ll be gone for at least a week.”

  “The thing in Brazil?” he asked

  “Yes. Ana’s gone off-radar.”

  “Ah, yes, your new protégé,” Marco said, his face turning serious. “When did this happen?”

  “Just now. I fear the worst.”

  “Fine. I’m coming along. You shouldn’t face this one alone.” The young man headed to grab his case and documents.

  “You know the rules, Marco. We never fly together. We never fight together. If what I think is happening, I’ll need you here.”

  He pushed past his son who would have preferred a moment to say goodbye. The young man followed, quickly closing the passages as he left. The Lancia was speeding down the street before Marco got to the front door.

  Ana and Itotia stood an arms-length from the banister, the curve of their hips touching lightly in the darkness. Ana’s hand unconsciously covered the two points where Ejup had nipped her neck. She was weak at the knees but her heart pumped with the exhilaration of a new journey with the tribe. The scene below them swelled. The swarm of chanting women now surrounded the initiates and swept them away from the island in a clamor of celebration.

  The bite hurt when Ejup’s needle-sharp canines first penetrated the flow of Ana’s lifeblood. But, quickly, the pain disappeared and the punctures healed almost immediately. Now, only the slightest nick remained beneath the caresses of her fingertips, no more visible than a child’s dimple.

  The throng passed beneath them under the approving eye of their queen. Itotia smiled and held one hand forward, as if in a blessing. A few of the passersby glared at the intimacy between them; most focused on their new sisters.

  Itotia waved at Tinga who passed below.

  “Your man appears strong, Ana. He is very attractive and intelligent,” Itotia said. “All these are breeding qualities a chosen must have, even though his impertinence is almost intolerable.”

  An image of Edson’s face flashed through Ana’s thoughts, followed with a flash of Aaron’s icy eyes. She shook her head in confusion. “Where are the rest of your men?” she asked.

  “Our men live only to reproduce and to serve us,” she answered coldly. “Very few pass through the ritual you have just seen. Most die shortly after they are born. Here in the jungle, we have little need for them beyond these basic functions. We hunt and farm better than they. Men think more about themselves than the tribe. We are better off without them.”

  Ana heard what Itotia said and knew she should have been repelled with horror, but she wasn’t. “It seems Tinga’s chosen was stronger than most.”

  Itotia smiled, her face still turned toward her people. “He is a lucky man. If he survives Tinga’s next two matings, he will become one with us to serve our god.” She shrugged and slowly nodded her head. “He is a true man.” She finally turned toward Ana, her eyes narrowed but glowing with emotion. “You do not understand now, but when your time comes, your blood lust will rise in a way you will not be able to control. At that moment, if you recall even the slightest blemish, you will slaughter him as he deserves.” A slight curve of a smile touched Itotia’s lips. “As nature demands of you.”

  She paused and traced a line with her fingernail from Ana’s throat down to the vee where her trail shirt began. “You must be certain of your chosen,” she said. “You will bear his child and will not have another. The forces around you will carry you on their shoulders between tonight and tomorrow. But, only you can decide if he is truly your destiny.”

  “How can you know I will conceive?” Ana asked in surprise.

  “You are a virgin and it is your time,” Itotia replied with a wink. “Your blood lust will enter your womb and draw his seed in deeply. It almost never fails. Only tomorrow, when you lie on the ceremonial stone in the embrace of the waters will you know.”

  “What of my team?” Ana fretted for the words she knew Itotia would say.

  “I have no use of them,” Itotia replied.

  Ana’s face froze over in gravity. “My people must have their freedom,” she demanded. “None of them came here to disturb you.”

  Itotia’s face turned gray and hard. “It’s not for me to say,” she replied dryly. “I am the queen to an all-powerful master.” She nodded her head toward Ejup. “Their impertinence has offended him deeply. Only you are to be spared, and that only because you share your blood with him.”

  Ana snapped her hands to her sides and turned away from Itotia. “Then I accept the same fate,” she pronounced. “You know where I stand. You would defend your people with your life. I will do the same.”

  The two stood silently as the last revelers of Tinga’s celebration slipped away beneath them. She breathed deeply and took Ana’s hand. Her touch was rigid and cold but, somehow, full of energy. “I’ll do what I can,” she whispered. “Go to your chosen. Prepare him for what is to come.” She leaned into Ana’s throat and nipped Ana’s other ear with a sensual laugh. She motioned to the young native who waited in the shadows. “Zreia,” she called. “Take my sister to her friends.”

  Itotia left by the spiral stairway, leaving Ana and Zreia to walk the length of the balcony. Ana felt at home, yet out of place as her trail boots tread the ancient floor. She had visited ancient sites on every continent, but none of them reminded her of her European roots more than this one. The stone had been cut and laid by masters, square and precise. Graceful arches supported the roof like an Italian portico. The handrail was smooth and elegant after at least a millennium in the tropical heat. Her mind was cataloging the details when Zreia stopped and opened a door at the far end.

  Ana found her team sleeping on straw mats in a room the size of her mother’s living room in Lisbon. Zreia held a torch from the wall with a restrained smile. “Morning will come quickly,” she said. “Prepare yourself well.”

  A thick door closed behind Ana and she heard a latch close
from the outside. She was plunged into darkness with only the faint glow of torchlight seeping in around shutters on the arched windows. She shouldn’t have been able to see, yet the forms of her team were outlined clearly in her vision. Nancy and Wayne slept as far apart as possible in the small space. Moema rested on Neville’s shoulder, her eyes open in the darkness. She smiled in contentment and shifted a little closer to him.

  Aaron lay on his side with one arm folded up under his head and his knees bent slightly. His breathing was quiet and regular, strangely inconsistent with the events that raged around them. Ana lay down beside him on the mat and moved close until she could feel the heat of his body. Her senses drew him in; his scent musky from the long walk; the rasp of air passing to his lungs. She slipped in closer until her knees just touched the back of his thighs. She could hear his heart pumping its viscous fluid. Ana bent her head forward until her lips nearly touched the tiny wound on the back of his neck. A minuscule point of dried blood called her. She licked her lips. Her mouth watered with the taste she knew lay beneath his skin.

  Her breath tickled his ear and Aaron shifted. Ana snapped back to avoid being touched. When he settled back into a hushed snore, she laid her head on her own arm, the other hand she gently placed on his hip and closed her eyes. Ana knowingly felt she would not be blessed with sleep that night. She lay still and enjoyed the feast of new sensations that flowed from her chosen.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  TO JOIN OR NOT TO JOIN THE TRIBE

  Ana threw open the ancient arched wooden shutters and flooded the room with the filtered light of the early-morning forest. “Good morning, everyone!” she called, just loudly enough to make everyone’s eyes flicker open. “Did everyone sleep well?” She wasn’t surprised when no one answered.

  Nancy sat, pushing herself up slowly against the wall, her eyes pleading for a few more minutes of shut-eye. Wayne turned his face away from the sun and groaned. Aaron pushed himself to sit up, slouched, cross-legged and drowsy. Moema stood to join Ana in opening the windows.