by A. D. Koboah
The last thing he wanted was to be alone after what had almost happened tonight. He was terrified, not only because he had almost lost Mallory, but because he was certain no matter what he did, like Julia, Henriette, and then Luna—not to mention the other women in my family who had been murdered over the decades—he was sure to lose me, too.
I frowned, his certainty that he would lose me fluttering at my heart like a frightened bird. I almost spoke, wanting to reassure him I would never leave him. But I couldn’t. Instead I squeezed his hand tightly. Holding onto that hand as if it were the be all and end all of life as I knew it, I fell into an exhausted sleep.
Chapter 7
I appeared to be dreaming, standing in that ghostly courtyard belonging to another time. I expected to see the brown mare, but it was the man who stood before me.
He regarded me in silence for a few moments, his gaze grave and steady.
Then he turned and walked away. As I moved to follow him, I walked straight from a sunlit afternoon into a night that was dense and absolute all around me. I stared around in surprise before my gaze fell on a hill in the distance. Atop the hill stood a house, large and noble in comparison to the ones it peered down at. The man I had seen in the woodlands exited the house.
I don’t know where the knowledge came from, but I knew now his name was Akan and he belonged to a people who were known as the Enwa. He began to show me his story, allowing me to experience everything he had.
He began his tale on the day she entered his world.
Chapter 8
Akan
When Akan left his home on that fateful day, darkness lay like a funeral shroud over the land. He knelt before the vast night sky and turned his face toward it.
The moon would soon be leaving the world and the morning star, or the sun carrier god, shone like a dazzling jewel above him, its very presence the promise of the gift of a new day. Akan bowed to the earth and thanked the goddess of the moon for watching over the world whilst the sun slumbered. As the sky began to lighten and the sun rose in a triumph of seared copper light, Akan thanked the morning star for bringing the sun into the world for yet another day.
He got to his feet and looked out over the village spread out below him; a haphazard smattering of low, crude stone houses all turned a dark gold in the dawn light. A profusion of flowering trees and shrubs adorned every untouched space. A wall surrounded the village, cutting it off from dense woodlands which clustered beyond it. The houses all appeared to lean towards the largest structure in the village—the temple—which sat in the middle of a plaza and rose up above the other structures like a stone vulture about to take flight. In the centre of the village were fields of maize.
The walled village was a beautiful sight to behold and was as close to the Enwa people’s vision of heaven as one could imagine. However, on this morning it was difficult for Akan to delight in its beauty, or the stillness of the budding day, for a snake—one that had pure, dark anger for venom—was curled tightly around his heart.
Akan let out a heavy sigh, his gaze on the temple as the sun rose higher in the sky, bathing it in the purest gold. With a last glance at the exultant morning, the temple rising to meet it as if it could devour it, he entered his home to begin the day, knowing he would soon have to face the cause of his anger.
An hour later, he was strolling through the village toward the temple, dressed in the kilt-like garment most of the males in the village wore during the warm season. His son, Tanu, who had just turned four, was with him. Tanu darted to and fro, stopping to speak to other villagers before running to linger at his father’s side. It wasn’t long before some new thing caught his attention and he darted away again. The morning appeared to be just like any other as people left their homes to meet the coming day. Women passed him carrying bowls of water, while others were already working in the fields. But on this morning, as had been the case for the past week, there was an air of celebration in the zeal with which people took to their morning tasks. He could sense it in the smiles and shouts of greetings he received from most of the people he passed.
As he neared the temple, Akan came to a stop and waited for Tanu to break away from chasing one of the village dogs. He was a small, lively boy with a thin delicate face and quick, brown eyes. His hair was shaved at the sides, what was left gathered into a knot at the back of his head. He saw his father waiting and ceased pursuing the dog. He ran to Akan and launched himself into his arms.
“You make sure you don’t give your mother a reason to shout today,” he said to his son.
“Yes, Father,” Tanu said, an impish smile on his face.
“I mean it.” He kissed him on the head and placed him on his feet. “Now go home before she has to come and look for you.”
“Yes, Father. Here.” He handed him a crude carving of a deer Akan had made for him a little over a year ago. “It is a present, for the goddess.”
“I will give it to her. Now go on.”
He watched him scamper away, darting in and out of the way of the other villagers.
He gazed at a few of the people around him, their eyes and faces still lit with the festival air that had taken over the village. Most of the villagers were plump from many abundant harvests, their bodies adorned with gold neck plates and ear spools. Some of the younger males had even taken to wearing gold skull caps. On this morning the sight of the villagers angered Akan. He found such flagrant flaunting of their gold distasteful. He also disliked the smug arrogance he saw in them, the way their eyes and faces were lit with gleeful joy, reminding him of spoilt children who have done wrong, but escaped punishment for their sins.
His lips curled in displeasure, he moved on, drawing closer to the temple and the sight he had not wanted his son to see: The dominating presence of the sacrificial altar. It loomed before him, a large, flat slab of stone like the unfeeling face of a tyrant. Beneath it was a waist high flat surface about two metres wide. Steps had been carved on either side of it, the centre of the stone stained a putrid dark brown. Flies hovered about it in the still morning air.
Although Akan was a warrior who had shed the blood of many, the sight of the sacrificial altar still brought a knot of nausea. Perhaps it was the way the sacrifices were bound, their faces covered with a leather mask that muffled their screams and spared onlookers from gazing upon their terrified faces. The long slow pull of the knife along their necks whilst they struggled in vain never failed to send icy fingers down his spine. It was so very different to the heat of battle—the triumphant thrust of metal sliding into warm flesh and the sweet smell of blood that heralded a quick, clean death.
He stopped to bow before the sacrificial altar, a small act of remembrance for the many men, women and children for whom its broad, cruel face had been the last thing they had seen.
He moved on toward the temple. Although the day was young people were already gathered outside with flowers, offerings, and food which the temple attendants, dressed in long black robes, collected. Guards armed with spears stood at the entrance. He pushed past the crowd, the snake in his heart biting deep, flooding his chest with its venom.
These people were celebrating because they believed the earthly incarnation of the goddess of the moon, a deity the Enwa people believed would save them from the destruction that had been foretold in a prophecy, had been found.
His mouth curled in anger. Many years ago the goddess of the moon had revealed herself to him. Akan did not know what he would find in that temple, but he was sure it was not the goddess.
He entered into the large space that had been a source of peace for him since he gave up the life of a warrior some years ago. There were no windows in the temple and although torches were lit along the walls, gloom had collected within the large, open space. Imposing wooden carvings of the sky gods stood along the walls, almost as high as the ceiling, adorned with gold. Doors behind the effigies led to smaller rooms within the temple. A large, gold-plated altar dominated its back wall. In front of th
e altar was a raised, gold-plated platform that sat roughly half a metre off the ground. Numerous attendants stood in silence beneath the carved effigies. The temple elders, or ruler priests, sat on the floor in rows on either side of the altar with various other prominent members of the community. Akan had no real interest in being one of the ruling elite, but the numerous battles he had won for the village had elevated him to that position, and so meetings like this had become a requirement.
Mutata, the chief elder, stood before the ruling elite, blocking something upon the raised platform behind him. His oily, black hair hung to his upper back, he had a pinched nose, cruel lips and beady eyes set in a meaty face. Of all the ruling elders, he was the only one who insisted on performing the monthly sacrifices himself.
Akan moved toward the group of men only to come to a stop when Mutata stepped aside, and he saw what sat on the raised platform before the altar. The snake venom that had already flooded his chest began to boil his blood. A vein pulsed at his temple when his gaze once more returned to Mutata.
Mutata had returned from a short journey a week ago claiming to have found the earthly incarnation of the goddess of the moon. Akan had known immediately it was a deception. What he had not expected was that the one he chose, who now sat cross legged on the gold platform, would be so young.
She was a mere child with soft golden brown skin that had seen too few warm seasons. Her features were like that of a bird’s, her jet black hair pulled into a bun atop her head and adorned with crimson flowers. She was dwarfed by the golden altar behind her and sat fidgeting, weighed down by a heavy tangle of gold jewellery about her neck which reached her stomach. Her slender wrists were also weighed down by more jewellery. Clearly not used to sitting still for such long periods of time, her eyes were glazed over as she listened to Mutata talk.
Akan did not know where Mutata found this child, but she was probably used to much poverty and hardship, judging by the way her eyes widened in awe whenever one of the attendants brought in yet another tray of food. A smile of wonder crossed her lips as she gazed at the meats and various sweet things, her tongue darting out of her mouth to lick her lips ravenously. Whenever she was addressed by one of the temple elders, she tensed, her eyes darting to Mutata.
Of course, he answered for her.
For a moment Akan’s anger melted away and an icy chill descended on him. This child was the perfect pawn for Mutata to use to rule unchallenged.
“Akan.” It was Mutata who noticed him. “Finally you have come to pay your respects to the goddess, our divine mother, and to have the privilege of kneeling before her earthly incarnation.”
Akan moved toward the child almost as if in a trance. She tore her gaze away from the food and glanced at him with an indulgent smile, that of a child to a pet dog when it returns with the stick you have thrown. That was when he saw her eyes—her irises—which were orbs of charcoal surrounded by a topaz blue ring. Her smile disappeared when she saw his expression and the fury burning in his eyes. Towering over all of the villagers and with his body covered with numerous scars, Akan was a fearsome sight for most men to behold without the rage that currently lit his eyes. Fear passed over the child’s features, the fear of a child, pure and absolute. A tense silence surrounded those gathered in the temple as he stood before the child, trying to decide whether he should kneel before the imposter or take out the knife at his waist and slit her throat.
It would surely earn him a slow, painful death, but at least the village would be spared Mutata’s rule—for as long as he controlled the false goddess, the village would be defenceless against him.
After what seemed an age, Akan got to his knees and lay prostrate before the child. When he arose, he saw there was still fear in her eyes and her hands were tightly clasped in her lap. He moved to seat himself keeping his gaze lowered, the snake venom still heating his blood.
Chapter 9
I awoke to utter darkness, my heart a painful thump against my chest. Akan, the walled village, the little girl before the gold altar. It had all been so real and for a moment I stared around me, unsure of where I was or what I was seeing
Then I remembered I was at the mansion, in Avery’s room. For some reason anxiety reverberated within when I found myself alone in the bed, Avery gone.
I scrambled out of the bed.
“Avery? Avery!”
He was in the room a moment later. His eyes were wide with fright and he was pale. When he saw there appeared to be nothing seriously wrong, some of the colour returned to his face although he was still tense.
“What is it, Dallas?”
I couldn’t answer, only stare at him, unable to understand why I had felt such anxiety at waking to find him gone. After a few moments I moved to him and threw my arms around him. At first he just stood there, then he held me tightly to him.
“It’s all right, Dallas. Mallory wasn’t seriously hurt. She’s fine now.”
I buried myself against his chest. “I...I just can’t believe I almost killed her.”
He continued to hold me. When I glanced up at him he was looking off into the distance and I thought I saw hopelessness in the downward turn of his lips and his eyes shuttered by eyelids heavy with thick dark lashes. After a few moments he released me.
“Go and get dressed. I need to take you somewhere.”
“Where are—?”
He cupped my face in both his hands and tried to smile reassuringly. When he spoke his voice was gentle.
“Go on, Dallas. I’ll be waiting by the car.”
He turned away, anxiety in the set of his shoulders and the way his gaze moved uneasily away from mine. The air around him shimmered and he vanished. I was left alone once more, trying not to think of the dream, of the child goddess and the fear in her eyes as she gazed up at Akan.
***
We drove for about an hour away from the mansion, mainly in silence, until we came to a rural road with empty open land on either side. I could see trees huddled against the night in the distance. The moon hung proud but desolate above us in a starless obsidian sky. We drove to the end of the road and came to a stop. Avery parked the car and we left it behind, entering the sparse smattering of trees. He didn’t object when I took his hand, probably didn’t even realise just how tight he held onto it.
As we walked, I stole glances at him, still in awe of how beautiful he was. He wore shorts with a T-shirt and runners. His hair, as always, was combed back from his face. Anyone who looked at him would see what appeared to be a young, handsome, wealthy male who didn’t have a care in the world. They could never have guessed how long he had been on this Earth, how much he had seen over the centuries. Or of how unhappy and lonely he had been for so long. I wished desperately I could take away all his pain, remove the burden he carried—inject joy into his world. But as he had said the night I came to the mansion, I was a poor substitute for Luna and in my heart I was beginning to believe it.
We eventually came to a large pond that was almost hidden by trees. A fallen tree lay forlorn in water turned a dark moss green by the dark. He came to a stop and we waited.
“What are we doing here, Avery?”
He didn’t answer, his eyes hooded as he stared into the trees to his left. It was a moment before I heard the sound of feet pressing carefully through the undergrowth. She came into view a few minutes later. She had a rosewood complexion and long dreads swept into a bun atop her head. I felt a pang when I recalled that my aunt sometimes wore her hair that way. The girl’s lean, delicate face was placid, her eyes dim as she came to a stop before us, completely under Avery’s command. Her scent filled my nostrils, bringing on that feverish yearning which made my body shiver in response. Fear touched me and I remembered the waking dream and the yearning for blood that could never be assuaged. And although my stomach twisted in dread, I couldn’t deny the longing the girl’s scent awakened in me.
“Her name is Jessica,” Avery said. “She’s twenty-one and has a young child. Both her pare
nts died in a car crash a few years ago and her—”
“This is so pretty,” I said sadly, my thoughts on my aunt as I reached for the girl’s wrist so I could peer at a bracelet she wore.
It was made out of blue and white beads.
“Dallas, please focus. This is important. You will have to drink from a human being today. You’re already quite weak and you’ll keep getting weaker. Think about what happened with Mallory—”
“Avery, I have to talk to you about that. It was as if something—”
“I know. I’ve given this a lot of thought. Whatever happened to make you attack her, it will be easier to control if you’re not constantly warring within, trying to fight the hunger. You have to start drinking human blood. So take this seriously.”
“I am taking this seriously, Ave. I was just admiring her bracelet, that’s all.”
“Well, look into her mind. She made it herself. She’s very creative. You have to drink her blood, Dallas, but you won’t drink more than you need. Like Luna, you’re stronger than I am so I won’t be able to overpower you if need be.” He smiled then and squeezed my hand, his gaze growing tender. “You can do this, Dallas.”
He took her arm and brought her wrist to my face, the wrist with the blue and white bracelet.
“Ready?”
I stared at the girl, my thirst a dry, painful ache. I didn’t want to do this, especially since I couldn’t stop thinking of my aunt. I knew it was a mistake, but I could sense Avery’s desperate need for me to control my bloodlust enough to drink from someone and not kill them. So reluctantly I nodded, took her wrist in my trembling hand and bit into it.