There were no words here, no cuneiforms, only detailed scenes. There was no violence or upheaval depicted, just harmonious happy scenes. These must help Eiran propagate his positive feelings in much the same way a mural or picturesque view might melt away a days stress. There was a real sense of family and community in the scenes.
Nathalia looked closely at one of the scenes. It was one of particular detail and stunning beauty. Two young lovers stood facing each other, hands clasped, in the midst of several concentric circles. Looked like a Daughters wedding ceremony to Nathalia. They were on the shores of a large body of water, the sun shone and the wind blew. It must have been a gentle breeze, because the water was smooth like polished metal, but the bride's hair and gown were carved to indicate movement. Everything in the scene was reflected in the water, down to the tiny dark dot on the sun's surface.
At first Nathalia thought it was a blemish in the otherwise perfect wedding day portrait, but when she saw it on the carving of the sun itself, as well as in the reflection, she knew. These two lovers were married during the transit of Venus between the sun and earth. It occurred in a pattern that repeated every 243 years, with pairs of transits eight years apart. Nathalia recognized it because the rare but predictable astronomical phenomena was especially important to her. During Venus' last transit, she had taken the position of Abbess with the Daughters of Women. It was a time of power for women, and the next one was very soon.
It made her wonder about the bride. Who was she, to have all this pomp and ceremony on such a day. For a woman to have had this kind of importance during antiquity was shocking. Nathalia looked closer. The bride was tall, much taller than the other women shown, and lean, but strong. There was a familiarity to her profile, but the hair was drawn as blowing across the face, obscuring it.
Nathalia moved to the next scene and then the next, not wanting to believe what she was seeing. The same couple dominated each one. The woman pictured gave Eiran the positive memories he needed to calm the prisoners. Eiran was the male lover in every one; these were his happy memories of young love. Nathalia stared into a particularly detailed portrayal of the womans face. It was her own. Nathalia was the subject of all these portraits, not having posed for any of them.
Nathalia let out a small gasp. Eiran had been telling the truth. They had known and loved each other. She couldn't remember these scenes, but surely they had actually happened. How?
She felt the gentle pull again and couldn't help moving forward. Eiran still had not moved from his position on the floor. She passed him closely. The summons was so soft, like a child's whisper, that she knew it couldn't be dangerous. She stopped right in front of the least revolting prisoner, a very peaceful looking exemplar. She leaned forward to get a better look at him, placing her palm on the wall just to the side of him, above her. Her palm caught on something and she felt a sharp pain there.
Nathalia pulled her hand away quickly, but not fast enough. A drop of her blood ran along a grove and back into a tiny hole in the wall. Her tolerance to pain, thanks to Michael, was very high, but her newly found senses changed that. She could feel the damaged cells, skin and muscle pulling to get back together. She looked down at her hand in time to see a slice on her palm seal itself. Gears and mechanisms began working deep in the walls behind the prisoners.
The sound startled her and she looked back up. Movement inside the clear plastic pod caught her attention. The beautiful giant was looking right at her in amazement. He put his hand up on the glass and indicated she should do the same. He was so alone in there and she felt for him. Without thinking she put her bloody palm against the plastic in the same place as his.
As soon as contact was made, the polymer disappeared. There was nothing between them and the newly freed man had her bloody hand in his. He was staring at it like a starved man might stare at a hamburger. He stepped forward out of the niche in the wall. When his feet hit dirt, he finally smiled.
Nathalia smiled back. She couldn't help it. There was something attractive about this man, but she had trouble telling what he actually looked like. He was big like Eiran, but larger with bulkier muscles. He had long dark hair on his head and face, but no details were clear. He must be using the camouflage. He brought her palm to his face and took a little taste of the blood there. As he lapped up the blood, Nathalia couldn't help but feel...aroused. His raspy tongue scraped away the last bit as she imagined how that rough part of him would feel on other areas of her anatomy.
Then his smile changed into something cruel and like something out of a horror movie, his incisors lengthened into sharp points. She tried to back away, but he still had her hand clasped. Nathalia felt the dread rising within her and she fought it down. Surely Eiran would save her from this. She glanced back at him and Eiran was on his feet now, but his eyes were still closed and he seemed more focused than ever on everything but Nathalia. He was shaking like a man with a great weight on his shoulders. When she turned back to her captor, fear washed over her.
His eyes had turned red, no pupil, no iris, just two blood red orbs. Holding her healed hand tightly with one, the vampire wrapped his other around her waist and pulled her tight against him. Nathalia became acutely aware that they were both naked. He was hungry for her body, alright, but she didn't think sex was all he thirsted for.
“Feels right, doesn't it my sweet?” His voice was thick and drunk sounding. “I would claim you if you will give me your name.” The last four words held a kind of compulsion and she almost tried to say her name aloud, before she remembered she couldn't speak.
NO! Eiran's voice rang out the warning in her head. She took it for what it was worth and clamped down any thoughts of her name. The warning seemed to have come at a very high price to Eiran. He dropped to one knee.
The dark man held her against himself and bit down on her neck, slicing through more layers than Nathalia would have thought possible. She struggled a bit, but stopped when she realized it was just tearing her skin more. She felt the repulsion at the sound of his suckling and was afraid. Really afraid.
The ground started to shake and the charred men imprisoned came out of their comatose state. They banged on their pods and focused their attentions on Nathalia. Eiran was losing his control over them because of the fear she radiated. They seemed to feed on it.
Dirt rained down on her for a moment longer, before Nathalia actually heard her heart sputter and stop beating. The vampire had drained her completely. He jerked her head back using her hair and he forced her to watch as he sliced through his own neck with his elongated fingernail. She clamped her mouth shut tightly as he pushed her mouth to the wound. She would not be made vampire. She would rather die. Again.
She continued to refuse long enough for the gash on his throat to heal. This inflamed him. He growled and again the other prisoners pushed against their confinement. She went limp and wondered why it took so long to think of her self defense training. He let her fall, but held fast to her arm with both hands.
He snapped her forearm in two and began to suck at the marrow, since there was no blood left. Nathalia would have screamed, so intense was the pain, but she had no voice. She felt the sunlight brake the horizon and so did the vampire. Time was up. They both knew it. He looked down at her and smiled. He spoke inside her head, I told you someday I would feast on your blood again and make dessert of your bones. He dropped her broken arm and scampered up the wall to a opening, carefully avoiding the light beaming in through strategically placed skylights and holes in the cave walls. He ran, trying to keep ahead of the rising sun.
Once again, Eiran gathered up Nathalia who lay dead in a crumpled heap on the floor. She felt so cold that she actually welcomed Eiran's warm chest and arms. She relaxed in the arms of death and listened to his sweet song. There was a burning heat on her arm and then there was just joy. She and Eiran were as air and they were together. It was more than together; they were as one.
***
Jolie was screaming and had been for sev
eral minutes before she even realized she was awake. JD was beside her, shaking her, “It's just a bad dream.” She looked at him with blank eyes as if she didn't know who he was. “It's me; it's JD. You had a nightmare. Come here. It's okay.”
She allowed him to pull her back down into bed under the soft covers. She put her head on his chest and he wrapped his arms around her. He stroked her hair and whispered to her in the dark that it was okay.
Jolie didn't think it was okay. There was a monster coming. It would kill. A lot. But none of those deaths would satiate it. It thought of only one thing: finding the weapon before Nathalia did and using it to kill.
It didn't make any sense as a prophesy, so maybe it was just a nightmare. She shuddered to think of a reality where such a monster really existed. She was glad to see the orange and red of sunrise outside her tiny window. She knew the monster couldn't get at them while the sun shone and she wouldn't have to face sleep again for the whole day.
***
Nathalia knew where she was even before she opened her eyes. The stone bed beneath her was cool and Eiran was heating up the air to her right. The sun was up, maybe straight up since the light was bright yellow through her lids. This was becoming old hat to her. This was the second time she had known she was dead only to wake naked in the mothers tomb under both the sunlight and Eiran's watchful eye.
How long had it been since she'd slept in her bed at the Abbey? She couldn't calculate it. Time seemed to pass differently here. It could be as little as 3 days and as much as 3 months. It was very disorienting.
She reached out for her familiar power source, but finding it without excess, called up her new reservoir. Nathalia, remembering her ancient ancestress full of life, dancing with baby Eiran, set her mind to pull from it. She called her lifeline to the surface and traced it back to that mother. She knew it took her longer than it did Eiran, not only because he was more accustomed to the process, but because his line back through the ages to the mother was much shorter. He had only one generation to go through, she had dozens. She found the pool and could feel the energy gathering. When it made her feel tingly and warm, she pulled a strand and used it to speak to Eiran.
I want to be dressed. Labasu. She felt the thin linen float down and cover her. She opened her eyes to find herself dressed exactly the way she was the first time she requested labasu. She was going to have to start being more specific. Jeans and a T-shirt were much more her style. Thank you, Eiran.
“You are welcome, Nathalia.” He was grinning when she turned her head to look at him in shock at his first English words. His smile was beautiful. Straight white teeth were framed by two deep creases in his cheeks. It was one of those smiles that carried across his whole face. His eyes were smiling too. No telling how long he'd been standing there; he was covered in a thin layer of dust.
How long was I out?
“Full moon tonight.”
Long enough for you to learn to speak English. So she had slept, or been in a coma, however she wanted to look at it, for about two weeks. It was hard to believe. He helped her sit up. They both examined her arm where the vampire had broken it. She noted there was not even a scar left. And long enough for me to heal.
Her arm injury was painful, but not deadly, and easily healed. Nathalia had a great ability to heal, but the wound to her neck had happened before the change in her had occurred. She knew certain things instinctively, or maybe they were snipits from Eiran. Either way, the uneven line on her neck would never go away, never heal. Her mortal death was a part of who she was for eternity.
Eiran looked wounded, the color drained from his face. He reached out and gently brushed the scar on her throat. She must have been broadcasting her thoughts again. She hadn't tried to access the power, so it must be coming to her easier. Then she started to feel what Eiran was emoting, and it didn't have the lingering trace of power. Maybe their connection made sharing more basic.
He was guilt stricken by his failure to find her before she had suffered. He felt self-reproach for her life of pain with Michael. He felt responsible for her few moments of terror at the hands of the vampire.
Nathalia closed her eyes, pushing the tears back. His pain was just as much as hers had been. He'd been fully engaged keeping the prisoners calm and couldn't quit his duty to help her. You can't feel guilty about Michael. He made his choices and so did I. But why didn't you just tell me about the prisoners? I wouldn't have even come in there if you had told me how dangerous it was.
Nathalia hadn't seen him walk around, but the sound of his voice gave away his location behind her. “No one can go through gisig. Made for only me by Igigi...” He struggled to remember the word he wanted to use and then found it. “Shinar make for me. No one else allowed through. Keeping betrayers is duty. Only me.”
Why you alone?
“Not alone anymore.” Eiran took up great sections of her hair and began to braid them. He didn't bother to brush it. It didn't seem to need that anymore. It was never tangled. The sensations coming from that intimate but innocent touch were exquisite. Nathalia could feel it radiating down to her toes.
I took my own life and you gave me another. I thank you, Eiran, but I can't promise I will be with you forever. I don't even know you. She was almost afraid to ask, but had to know. Are we vampires?
“No.” Eiran's answer was curt, but Nathalia had half expected it. She knew that they weren't, but didn't know how she had known. Back in the prison when the vampire had tried to force feed her his blood, she'd resisted. She could feel that wasn't what they were, but didn't know what else to call them.
You said we are Nephilim. Angels? She couldn't deny that she felt different, changed, but she wasn't sure she wanted him to tell her the truth. She feared what he would say.
“We are immortals. We are darisam baltutu, forever living persons. Yhwy children say Nephilim, sons of Gregori.” He finished up her hair and taking her hand, led her out into the large central room.
You mean the Jewish people? It was obvious he didn't know the word, but Nathalia was certain that Jews were called 'the children of god' and they called their god Yahweh. He led her to a corner of the room she hadn't noticed before where a small trickle of water flowed over a flat rock. The effect was of a natural mirror.
She looked at her reflection and was stunned. Eiran had achieved the most intricate of updos she'd ever seen. She was turning her head this way and that, trying to see the back when something else caught her attention. It was her eyes.
She dropped down on her knees and leaned out over the water pooling at the foot of the stone. She could see more detail there because the water was still. Her eyes were alien to her. Instead of the expected brown, the iris' were rainbow colored. Amazingly they were filled with multicolored facets, like a jewel cut crystal.
I'm a Guardian?
“Good name. Yes. Guardian of Mankind.”
Nathalia needed a new tactic. Asking what they were wasn't getting her any information. She stood and faced Eiran and was struck, as every time she looked, at how beautiful he was. For a man. Your brother wanted to know how I was made. How'd you do it? Nathalia could tell that he did not fully know the answer to that question so she helped him along. She reached out and put her hand on his chest. That seemed to make it easier for him to give her the visions. Just show me. We'll figure it out together.
Eiran showed her his memory of the event in the only way he could, from his point of view. His thoughts were in Sumerian, but she could get a perception of his feelings easily enough. Regret: he had gotten there too late. Nathalia lay dead in a pool of her own blood that no longer pumped from the jagged gapping cut on her throat. Rage: Eiran hurled himself at the dead man who had hurt Nathalia all her life and killed her parents. Bitter sweet triumph: Eiran was glad she had managed to kill this one but did not feel it was punishment enough.
Hunger: He plunged his hand deep into the vile man's chest and pulled out his heart with a great sucking sound. He brought it to his mouth and
sucked it dry. Then he grabbed the body, crushing it and every bone inside it against him and dissolved all of their molecules. Then Eiran reformed himself and left Michael amorphous. Hatred: Michael did not deserve to decay. Eiran did not want that body tucked away in and accepted by the mother earth. Michael simply ceased to exist. Even that was too good for him; his death had been too quick for Eiran's taste.
All this only took a few seconds. Eiran's vengeance was swift and decisive and then he was back to Nathalia. Anguish: she was dead, or would be in a matter of seconds. Certainty: she was the one. He bit his tongue and began to lap at her neck, using his blood to heal her wound. He lost himself in the delicious flavor of her blood.
Crestfallen: He was crushed as he gathered her up in his arms. She was already cold. He dissolved their molecules, but then he felt the soft brush of her mind on his.
Eiran and Nathalia were between worlds, inside the Mother, their cells intertwined as he carried her through. Amazement: This startling woman was using her last precious seconds to reassure him that he had done nothing wrong. That he was doing the right thing and that she was happy in his arms. Grateful: He had never felt more love for her than in that moment.
He held them there until he felt the last inch of life leave her cells, not wanting to cut off even a fraction of a second from her life. He could feel her joy and tried to make it last as long as possible. He reformed their bodies in his own room above his mother's body. He laid Nathalia reverently on his marble bed, straightening her legs and arms and hair. He had formed her locks just as they had been in her memory even though it was already clipped off when he found her.
Fury: He left her there with tears streaming down his cheeks and headed down the hall. He was going to see the Igigi. How could they let her exist and then die without telling him? Their rules about watching only, never interfering had gone too far this time. He did not care if they killed him, he was going to challenge them. She deserved that much.
Transit of Ishtar Page 5