Slay: Stories of the Vampire Noire

by Slay (epub)

  The two hearts mingled, their blood exchanged in the vampire bird’s mouth. Then, the lightning bird stretched its taloned toes into Prolince’s flesh. Its clawed fingers into dug into Laitenya’s before unleashing its lightening. A flash, and a moment later the couple had left this world, their bodies flash fried. The smell of their crisp fried flesh, like bacon, filled the antechamber.

  Ozymora clapped and cheered, egging him on as Asi hungrily tore into the cooked flesh, eating both skin and bone until nothing remained.

  Asi’s Desire

  By the time Asi finished off his meal, Ozymora’s clapping was over and done with. It was followed by brief, deafening silence… and soon after, an ear-piercing screech. “Unhand me! Unhand me at once!” she screamed. Asi turned around just in time to see her bound by obsidian cuffs to the throne. The Obsidian Golem shoved itself into the solid rock upon which Ozymora sat. It quickly disappeared, merging back into the throne.

  “Shush, witch…,” Phobetor ordered, gently stroking Ozymora’s neck to mesmerize her. The protests turned into moans as her knees began to tremble and quake with desire. “You promised to free him. Everyone knows an impundulu vampire is a familiar that serves its witch all of her life. Only your death frees Asi, sneaky one. So I thank you for your generosity.”

  Asi rolled her eyes. She hadn’t noticed the Obsidian Golem sneaking up on her, even though the set-up was obvious. “You promised me riches, a castle, and immortality – did you lie?”

  “Of course not!” Phobetor laughed. “I am just clever, like you, tricky girl. You will be an immortal ghost haunting my castle. I’ll make sure you have riches and a castle, too, although the gold may be hard to spend as a phantom.

  “Save me,” Ozymora begged her consort. And in an instant, rescue fantasies ran in a fast-paced montage through Asi’s mind. He thought of all the ways he might trick and seduce Phobetor, the God of Nightmares and rescue his foolish mortal mistress. Then, he thought of ways he might use force to get out of it. Finally, he remembered all of the times Ozymora had used him badly and realized he wanted something for himself.

  “Be free, lovebird,” Phobetor smiled. “Own Ozymora as she once owned you, and with her blood, take her love. Take her power, her power over you and all of her power to be your own, with her blood. Take all of her love, her blood, and her life, and give unto her a new, better life as your servant, my beautiful vampire boy.”

  He stared at Ozymora’s hands, bound palm up, wrist extended, the radial artery straining up against the flesh. To his delight and horror, Asi found he wanted this. He transformed back into his humanoid visage, and as a lovely young man, took Ozymora’s her wrist to his mouth, drinking her in.

  Memories of Ozymora’s love and abuse fell away, and only hunger remained. New visions entered Asi’s mind, fancies of a castle where Ozymora’s house once stood. Within the castle walls were unimaginable riches. There were new tapestries documenting her transformation into a servile specter. Ozymora saw the visions, too… and she heard Phobetor whispering that surely this would be a better life for the both of them, as Asi drained her dry.

  In Egypt's Shadows

  Vonnie Winslow Crist

  “Curse eternity,” muttered Akhon as late afternoon sunshine tinted Giza's brick buildings orange and gold. Not twenty steps from him, Kebi, played outside her family's home with her young daughters.

  Akhon breathed deeply and caught Kebi's familiar scent on the desert breeze. He'd never forget the honey smell of his wife-to-be or the warmth of her hand in his. He tilted his head, listened to the thump of Kebi's heart and the sound of blood rushing through her veins and arteries. It took all of his strength not to step from the shadows and call her name.

  Touching the point of each of his cuspids with the tip of his tongue to remind himself of how he'd changed, Akhon still longed for Kebi. She was the only remnant of his old life he couldn't, or maybe the word was wouldn't, give up.

  As Kebi laughed at her daughters' antics then hugged their small bodies, Akhon felt his chest tighten. “Kebi should be my wife, and those should be my children,” he told the woman standing in the shade beside him.

  “You gave her the chance to join us,” said Nawa. “She declined.”

  “At least I gave her a choice.” Akhon glared at the woman who'd made him into an Eternal.

  The Bastet priestess shrugged her shoulders. “You should be grateful for my gift,” she responded. “But it is time for us to feed, so unless you want to hunt here...”

  “No,” snapped Akhon. He gazed once more at his beloved. Kebi's skin contrasted with the white cloth of her kalasiris. It pleased him to note she also wore the bead and feather necklace he'd given her years ago. Tearing his eyes away from the pleasant domestic scene before him, he sighed, then followed his maker through dim-lit alleyways and passages towards the Nile.

  As soon as they spotted the docks, Akhon and Nawa halted.

  “Now to find a new arrival whom no one will miss,” said Akhon.

  Nawa tapped his upper arm. “There.” The priestess who'd bitten him nearly a decade ago was always quicker than Akhon at locating prey.

  He nodded.

  Stealthy as cats, they stalked a young man who was clearly in unfamiliar territory. At first, he stood beside the boat from which he'd disembarked with his mouth slightly open and his eyes drinking in the wonders of the city. Probably waiting for an employer or distant family member to meet him, he then paced back and forth on the dock near the river's edge disrupting the gulls perched on nearby boats. When he noticed a beautiful Bastet priestess beckoning him, he smiled, left the brightness of the wharf, and strode toward Nawa. As soon as he reached the shade where she stood, Akhon sprang from behind a stack of cargo, and, quick as a scorpion sting, broke the man's neck.

  After dragging the body into a quiet alcove, Akhon and his mother took turns feeding. When their hunger was sated, Akhon lugged the bloodless corpse to the banks of the Nile where crocodiles were slipping one by one into the river as the daylight faded.

  “Here's a gift for you, sons and daughters of Sobek,” he said. Whistling softly, he slipped the corpse into the lapping water. Akhon didn't move as the crocodiles approached, studied him with their yellow eyes, then ripped the unlucky traveler's carcass into bite-sized chunks and swallowed him.

  Quiet as a tomb, Akhon stood on the banks of the Nile, admiring the crocodiles' efficiency. He smiled as within a few minutes, the children of Sobek finished their meal and there was nothing left on the surface of the water at Akhon's feet but moonlight.

  Every few months, Akhon returned to the neighborhood where he and Kebi grew up, fell in love, and pledged to marry. He always stayed out of sight. Nonetheless, as he observed her, Kebi would peer in his direction now and again as if she sensed he was near. But she never approached his hiding place.

  And every time he found himself lurking outside Kebi's home longing for his old life, Nawa appeared at his side. Like every good maker, his Eternal mother reminded him of his apartness, his timelessness, and his never-ending blood hunger.

  Finally, on a spring evening when frogs sang their mating songs and the Nile once again threatened to overflow her banks, upon finding him skulking near Kebi's home Nawa slapped the side of Akhon's face.

  “You must stop this,” she hissed. “Let Kebi live her brief life in peace. You've served Bastet's temple as a guard for long enough. You'd be a perfect soldier. No flaming arrow, poison, or metal-tipped spear can murder you—only a wooden stake to the heart.”

  “But the sun,” began Akhon.

  “Won't kill you. It only weakens,” finished Nawa. “And even weakened, you're stronger than most men.”

  Akhon leaned against the brick wall of the house across the street from where his beloved lived. His hands dropped to his sides. He exhaled.

  “As you wish,” he said. “I'll become a soldier and leave Giza, but only if you'll send for me when Kebi is near death.”

  “I will do so,” the Bastet pri
estess promised.

  Akhon excelled at soldiering and quickly climbed the ranks. His eyesight, even in day, was far superior to his comrades and commanders. Therefore, he proved to be an excellent scout and adviser when the Egyptian men dealt with their enemies. His fearlessness and strength were unmatched. So much so, his fellow soldiers often commented, “Akhon doesn't fear death. Perhaps he's a favorite of the gods.”

  As years turned to decades, praise and possessions were heaped on Akhon. But happiness eluded him as he stayed away from Giza.

  Finally, during an especially dry summer when the wind carried dust from the Western Desert with every gust, Akhon received a message from Nawa.

  “Return to Giza immediately,” the servant standing before Akhon said. “The Temple of Bastet has need of your services.”

  Leaving his home and assets in the care of a friend, Akhon journeyed by boat down the Nile. Swiftest way to traverse the distance, still the northbound vessel seemed to take forever to reach Giza. As he observed waterbirds lift into the blue-as-faience-beads sky, Akhon wished he had wings like the egrets and storks to sail to his beloved.

  Upon reaching the docks of Giza, Akhon leapt from the vessel and hurried to Kebi's home. Though night was descending, his preternatural eyes allowed him to see through the open front door and into the oil lamp illumined interior of Kebi's house. He saw an old woman lying in bed, surrounded by her daughters, granddaughters, and others.

  Akhon inhaled. Kebi's scent reached him. He listened closely. The beating of Kebi's heart was slow and irregular. He wasn't sure how long he waited, but some time during the night, his beloved's essence left her flesh. Though no one else witnessed it, Akhon believed he saw Kebi's spirit exit her house, pause, glance at him, then vanish like a dream.

  “She's gone,” whispered a voice from behind him.

  “Nawa!” So focused was he on his beloved and her death, he hadn't heard his maker's arrival.

  “Close this door, Akhon,” the Bastet priestess said. “It is time for us to assume new identities. We've already lingered too long. Soon, acquaintances will question our longevity and youthfulness. Leave Kebi in this life and move forward.”

  “I'm not sure I can,” replied Akhon as he watched one of Kebi's granddaughters weeping beside her grandmother. Though his eyesight was tainted with tears, he realized this descendant of his beloved was nearly her twin.

  Nawa followed his gaze. “It is not her,” she warned. “This young woman doesn't know you, and you cannot tell her who you are.”

  Akhon nodded, then followed his maker-mother.

  “Our next two meals must be carefully chosen,” Nawa. explained. “We pick a man whose life you can step into, and a woman whose identity I can assume.”

  “But what about their families?”

  “They must be distant or nonexistent,” the Bastet priestess said. “Which is why planning is needed.”

  “I'll follow your lead,” Akhon said as he thought about Kebi's lovely granddaughter.

  Akhon slouched against a whitewashed wall looking up at Miu's apartment. A street vendor passed by him pushing his cart, but he barely noticed the man. Taxis and delivery trucks navigated the street before him, but he didn't look at the drivers or passengers. Tourists pushed past him filling the air with the odor of sunblock and too much perfume, but he ignored them as well.

  How many generations of Kebi's granddaughters have I followed?

  He supposed if he sat down in front of a computer and typed out five thousand years’ worth of names, he could make a close guess. It was uncanny how there was always one granddaughter who resembled his beloved so closely that she could have been Kebi come back from the dead.

  Akhon glanced around. No sign of Nawa. His Eternal mother seemed to appear whenever he got too close to one of Kebi's granddaughters, but she'd yet to discover him monitoring Miu.

  Miu, he mused. It meant softness. It was an appropriate name for a direct descendant of Kebi. Kebi of the warm-skin. Kebi of the dark, braided hair. Kebi of the gazelle eyes.

  He heard a scuffing in the parking area to his right and looked to see if Nawa had discovered his fixation again. Instead, his eyes looked into the Miu’s eyes.

  “I need to talk to you,” she called, then ducked behind a dumpster.

  Heart beating faster than it had the first time he kissed Kebi, Akhon crossed the street and walked to where Miu waited.

  I will tell her who I am, he decided as he gazed down at Kebi's doppelganger.

  “I know what you are,” said Miu.

  He saw her eyes were not those of a gazelle, but those of a lioness.

  “I am someone who loved your many times great-grandmother when she lived in Giza,” said Akhon. “Her name was Kebi, and you look just like...”

  “You're an undead,” said Miu.

  “I am an Eternal,” responded Akhon. “And should you also like to live forever, I can...”

  “You're unnatural. Evil,” said Miu as she pulled a wooden stake and mallet from behind her back.

  Akhon saw his maker-mother, Nawa, behind Miu. He raised his hand and shook his head.

  “Do as you will, daughter of Egypt,” said Akhon as he pulled open his shirt exposing his bare chest. “I've lived millennia without my beloved, and now, I'm tired. Perhaps, I'll find my Kebi in the afterlife.”

  Quick as a cobra strike, the lion-eyed great-granddaughter of Akhon's beloved drove the stake through his heart. As he slumped to the ground, eyes still fixed on Miu's face, Akhon managed to gasp, “Kebi.”

  Then, from the shadows of the Old City's buildings a figure stepped into the faint glow of a streetlight. Garbed in a white linen sheath dress and a necklace made of beads and feathers, the woman walked to the fallen Eternal, knelt, and kissed his cold lips.

  “I've come for you,” murmured the woman.

  As an astonished Miu and a grief-stricken Nawa watched, Akhon departed Giza for the final time holding his beloved's hand.

  END

  Rampage

  Miranda J. Riley

  1.

  Surrounded by the enemy, Aziza spied an opening to save her kingdom. She picked up the unblocked checker piece and jumped her opponent’s attacker. Jokum chuckled across from her and uncrossed his arms, jumping two pieces in return to claim a king.

  “Ahh!” Aziza groaned in frustration and flipped the board, pieces scattering across the dirt road, losing yet again to the elder. Jokum guffawed at her distress and bent over to pick up the pieces.

  “Another round tomorrow, then?” He huffed as he arranged the board back together.

  “I hate this game! You always win!” Aziza scooped up the remaining pieces and set the stump she had been sitting on back into place.

  “Practice, child. You did not learn to wield your scythe on the first day, young murwi.” Aziza picked up her staff and danced her fingers across the smooth side of the antelope jawbone.

  “True…but I do not think I will ever beat you.” Aziza smiled and helped Jokum to his feet. They walked arm in arm down the road leading towards the edge of town.

  “Where are you going today, shiri diki?”

  “Same place I always go. The river. I have yet to master my balancing act.”

  “Ah…the one where you will fall and break your neck on your own weapon. Who would protect us then? I can see the look on Heakim’s face now, being told he’s the next defender of Machanga.” Aziza laughed at the image of her young aid trying to lift a bow or spear in mock bravery as his knees buckle underneath him.

  “Do not worry about me, mukoma. I will be fine.”

  Aziza kissed his hand and waved goodbye as she jogged three miles south to the river.

  Aziza raised her legs above her body as she gripped the jawbone scythe beneath her. The river tugged around the wooden staff, willing it to fall and send it floating downstream. Steady beams of sweat dripped down her face. The tension increased and she pushed off with all her strength, landing on the shore with a back flip, staff still f
irmly upright in the currents.

  Jokum whistled from a nearby tree and clapped his hands. Aziza smirked and waded into the water to uproot her weapon.

  “Do you cheat by wedging it between rocks?” Jokum stroked his white beard as he studied her.

  “No, I place it in the wet soil that is constantly shifting. The wood goes further into the earth when I add my weight, anchoring it into place.”

  “Hm. I still fear that shaft will break one day and impale you.”

  “You fear too much, muporesi mukuru.”

  Jokum scoffed and waved away her compliment. Aziza rested her arms on the jawbone. “Why are you here? You should be resting, not walking long distances.”

  “The Order needs your help.” Jokum met Aziza’s gaze and held it.

  “The Order? Of vampire hunters? No, I already told them my place was here at the village. Why do they need my help? Why can they not send one of their own slayers?”

  “Show me your knife.”

  Aziza sighed and reached under her capulana, unsheathing the knife attached to her thigh, not sure how this answered her questions.

  “This is why they need your help. You have experience with killing animals. This donkey, whose jaw you took as recompense and fashioned into a deadly weapon, could have only been stopped by you. No one in the village could have done it. You have a way with animals, shiri diki. Be proud of your gift.”

  Aziza took her knife back from Jokum and turned it in her hands. “What does the Order want?”