Dark Genesis (The Darkling Trilogy, Book 1)

by Koboah, A D

  “Liar!”

  He took a step back and brought his hands up to his face in a gesture of helplessness that touched me in such a profound way that I was completely disarmed.

  “I...I do not know how to do this,” he whispered.

  “Do what now?”

  “This!” He gestured to his clothes. “I do not know how to converse with you. I do not know what to do with your fury or your sorrow. I have been alone for a long time. I do not know how to do this.”

  “You don’t be knowing what to do cause I’s mad at you?” I asked.

  What he was saying was almost comical. No one cared about the anger of a slave. No one. And yet this all-powerful creature didn’t know what to do with it.

  “No. I have always killed those who were unfortunate enough to cross my path. I have never had to deal with their thoughts or emotions.”

  Those words sent cold tendrils of fear racing up my spine and although I tried not to let it show, it must have been evident because he immediately took a few steps toward me but then stopped.

  “Please, do not fear me, Luna. You are safe with me, I promise you.”

  I kept silent.

  “I did not lie to you. I was not waiting for you that night. I was waiting for your Master. I knew what he meant to do and I thought you would want me to kill him. But you were so scared that I could not finish what I set out to do.”

  He had intended to kill Master John for me! That surprised me. It also made me feel something I had never felt before in my twenty-odd years on this Earth. Power.

  “Then why didn’t you just kill him? Why you be drinking his blood?”

  He looked away and closed his eyes. I saw a deep agony pass over his features when he began to speak.

  “This...what you might call magic, that gives me the strength you have seen and the other...gifts. It demands a price and that price is blood. Human blood. The only way I can continue to exist is by killing other men and women and drinking their blood.”

  “It seem like you don’t wants to be doing what it is you do to keep alive.”

  That was something I understood all too well. I didn’t like being subservient to monsters, spending my days and nights fearful and deprived of hope. I didn’t like silently taking the abuse and degradation that they had heaped on me my whole life. But I did so just to stay alive.

  “Who would want to exist in such a fashion?” he asked. “Can you comprehend the agony of being forced to live in the shadows, only able to come out under the light of the moon? Taking life after life? This body that you see is frozen in time. It is like a living statue and its only function is to kill. I have killed so many that I cannot remember the numbers. Can you comprehend being condemned to an existence like that? Living with the blood of so many, not just on your hands, but sustaining you? Can you imagine knowing that you are a walking aberration yet are compelled to keep existing? Alone for decade after decade, knowing that you will always be alone and that you will live forever?”

  “You can’t die?”

  “Not easily, no.”

  “And you don’t never go out in the sun?”

  “Not for long, no. The sun weakens me. I can bear it for short periods of time but if I stay in daylight for long enough, it will kill me.”

  “How long be too long?”

  I wondered, at first, why he would willingly tell me all this and if I could even believe what he was saying. But the longer I spoke to him, the more apparent it became that he was telling the truth. In fact he didn’t seem to lie at all. I surmised that he had been alone for so long that he was almost like a child who hadn’t yet learned the art of deception.

  “I do not know. Maybe I would survive a few hours. Maybe even days. I do not know.”

  “You all alone? There ain’t no others like you?”

  Abruptly he turned and walked to the fireplace, keeping his back to me.

  “There were. I do not know where they are now. They may have perished.”

  “So what you want with me?”

  “I...I only want to be near you, Luna. Nothing more.”

  “Thank you. Sir,” I said and he turned to face me again, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “For taking Jupiter and Father Geoffrey back. And...and for helping me.”

  I saw hope blossom in his eyes and it was almost enough to melt the longing that seemed to have taken up permanent residency there.

  “You gonna take me back now?” I asked.

  The hope was gone so quickly that I almost doubted it had ever been there.

  “I cannot take you back there, Luna.”

  He walked back over to the table. “And you do not want to go back. Do you?”

  I didn’t answer. Of course I didn’t want to go back. But how could I stay here with this blood-drinking demon?

  “I have something for you.”

  He reached into the box on the table and brought out the Bible I had kept hidden in the chapel.

  I immediately left my seat. Taking the Bible he held out, I placed it protectively against my chest. I noticed that while I had been thinking about his question he had placed a number of small white cards with things drawn on them on the table.

  “I can teach you,” he said waving his hand over the table when he saw me gazing at the cards. “I can teach you how to read your Bible. You said that was your dearest wish, so let me teach you.”

  His eyes seemed to be pleading with me, but he needn’t have been so worried. The chance to one day open my Bible and read the words it contained for myself was one I would never have given up.

  So I pulled out one of the chairs and sat down.

  He moved quickly to the seat opposite and seated himself, maybe sensing that if he delayed, I would change my mind.

  “Why’s you wanting to teach a slave to read?” I thought to ask even though the answer didn’t really matter to me.

  There was an intensity in his voice when he answered. “You were never a slave to me.”

  He picked up one of the cards, which I came to learn had the letter “A” written on it.

  What I should have asked was how he knew that my dearest wish was to be able to read my Bible, for it was not something I had voiced out loud back at the chapel.

  Chapter Ten

  The next morning, I opened my eyes to suffocating disorientation and a strong smell of flowers, both of which quickly receded along with vestiges of a hazy dream. Then I remembered where I was and when I saw the sun steadily making its ascent over the horizon, I felt something I had never felt before on opening my eyes in the morning. Joy. To be sure that this day wasn’t a painfully lucid dream, I reached under my pillow and pulled out the sheets of paper I had placed there before I went to bed. It was hard to keep tears from filling my eyes as I stared down at the alphabet, written in his neat, cursive handwriting. It seemed as if dreams really could come true, even for a slave.

  Having been up until the early hours of this fine morning, I was still tired and needed to sleep for a while longer. But although I was alone and no one was expecting me to do any work, there was a lot that I wanted to get done before the demon returned at dusk.

  So, after bathing and eating a veritable feast of bread and butter, grits and fresh fruit, I began to clean. In one of the bedrooms upstairs, the smallest one, I found new men’s clothes neatly laid out on the bed. The jacket and trousers the demon had been wearing when I’d first seen him were in a heap on the floor with bits of soil still clinging to them and I made a quick mental note to ask him at dusk whether or not he wanted me to mend and wash them. Then I cleaned the whole room and spent the rest of the morning working methodically through the mansion. I slept for a couple of hours after my midday meal (sleeping during the day was a luxury that had never been afforded me up until that point) and then decided to tackle my main concern for the day, which was what to prepare for the creature’s supper.

  He had made no mention of what he wanted for his evening meal, but the amount and variety of food he had left f
or me suggested that it was not meant only for me. I didn’t know what his tastes were and the sun would begin to set at around 7.30 p.m. That was much too late for dinner, which we always served at 3.00 p.m. back at the plantation. It was also too early for supper, which was usually a light affair made up of leftovers from dinner. But since this was the first meal I would be making for the demon and I wanted him to be pleased, I decided to prepare the type of food the Master’s family normally had for their dinner. So I roasted the small pig he had left that morning, deciding to serve it with some greens and beans. I also made poached trout in a cream sauce. Dessert was an apple pie.

  I had everything ready and the bowls of food on the table in larger bowls filled with hot water to keep everything warm by the time the sun began to set. Shortly thereafter, I heard the sound of a door closing upstairs, something that elicited mixed feelings of excitement and trepidation, followed by the sound of his slow heavy footsteps as he descended the stairs.

  When he appeared at the door he was dressed just as immaculately as he had been the night before and his hair, which was wet, had been pulled into a ponytail.

  “Good Evening, Luna.”

  “Evening,” I said curtly, feeling slightly uncomfortable under the power of his lingering gaze. “Supper’s ready. If you don’t wants to eat now, I can keep it warm in the kitchen till you wants it.”

  He had been staring almost dreamily at me as I spoke and didn’t answer right away.

  “Well?” I asked, my tone a lot sharper than I had intended it to be.

  He shifted his gaze to the table and alarm crossed his features when he saw the small feast I had prepared.

  “If pork ain’t to your liking, there be trout instead.”

  He hid his initial alarm and tried to smile. “No. It...it’s all fine.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief when he walked gingerly over to the table and sat down. I hurried to prepare a plate for him and waited with a degree of anxiety as he picked up his fork timidly, speared some turnip greens, and put them into his mouth. He chewed awkwardly and swallowed, his expression more horrified than alarmed now as he looked down at the rest of the meal before him.

  “You don’t wants any of it, do you?”

  I couldn’t hide the dejection I felt at his reaction. He looked up, clearly pained and maybe a little bit embarrassed.

  “No. I...I cannot eat normal food. Or at least I have not done so in almost fifty years, so it does not taste of anything to me. Blood is the only thing that can nourish me.”

  “Oh.” I suddenly felt very stupid and a little bit sickened as well. “Well, I’s mighty sorry but I ain’t got no fresh blood left in the kitchen,” I said in an attempt to try and make light of the situation.

  Then I grew silent and a chill fell over me for there was a fresh stock of blood standing not far from where he was sitting.

  Mine.

  Oh, Lord. Oh Lord. Please don’t tell me he wants to drink my blood!

  He looked greatly amused when he answered.

  “No, I don’t suppose you would keep any blood in the pantry.”

  He laid the fork down on the table regretfully and I found myself feeling a little bit sorry for him. I couldn’t imagine not being able to enjoy eating though I felt a sort of smug satisfaction at how much pleasure I would get when I had some of that pie once he was gone.

  “Is this apple?” he asked gesturing to the pie and I realised that I had been staring at it.

  “Yes.”

  “Why don’t you sit down? I may not be able to enjoy this food, but you can eat if you wish, Luna.”

  “Um, no. I ate already and—”

  “Please, Luna.”

  I couldn’t resist rolling my eyes slightly when I reluctantly sat down.

  I hated the way he did that; looked at me as if his very world hung on everything I said and did. It made me feel mean for even thinking about refusing him.

  Cutting myself a slice of the apple pie, I bit into it and chewed quickly, giving him a few reproachful looks. But he didn’t seem to notice and had a whisper of a smile around his eyes which barely touched his lips. Then he slowly cut a slice for himself and took a small bite out of it.

  “So what is it supposed to taste of?” he asked.

  Even though it made me feel slightly silly, I did my best to explain the sensations produced by the slightly tangy taste of the apple pieces against the sweetness of the crust and the way it all seemed to melt in my mouth. He searched my face intently whilst I described it to him and I found that I was really savouring the food and enjoying it all the more because I knew he couldn’t.

  “And it—”

  “Vanilla,” he said looking from the plate to me in astonishment.

  “Vanilla? Yessir, I flavoured the sugar with vanilla.”

  “I can taste the vanilla and also some of the other things.” He took another bite and chewed it slowly in amazement. “Yes, I can taste it. Maybe not exactly what I should, but I can taste it.”

  He sat staring at the plate as if he had just witnessed some kind of miracle.

  “Thank you, Luna”

  There was so much gratitude in that thank you. Volumes of it, in fact, that I immediately grew uncomfortable.

  “You gonna eat anything else?” He shook his head and I stood up. “I’s gonna take it away then.”

  He nodded and I was grateful to get away to the kitchen for a few moments. Being around him was disconcerting to say the least. From the dizzyingly handsome face, sad eyes, and the little things he did that drew me to him like a moth to a flame. It was all very confusing.

  He spent the next few hours teaching me how to read. He was very patient in his instructions and never made me feel stupid about the many things I didn’t know. He was also very careful to respect the physical distance I kept between us. But by midnight, I was finding it hard to keep my eyes open, something he eventually remarked on.

  “Perhaps we should stop now, Luna. I can see how tired you are,” he said, although he looked at me as if it was the last thing he wanted to do.

  “I is,” I said through a yawn.

  “You should have slept today instead of cleaning. I did not bring you here to be my servant,” he said almost chidingly. “I have also been meaning to ask: Why are you wearing...that?” He gestured disdainfully to my ragged purple dress, which was marked by large brown stains. “Did you not like the dresses I left for you?”

  I felt my heart stop at the mention of the dresses and my fears regarding those gifts came flooding back.

  “N-no, and I ain’t never gonna wear them.”

  He watched me carefully for a few moments as I tried to hide the dread I felt.

  “I am sorry, Luna. I did not mean to scare you by mentioning the dresses. I was merely—”

  “I ain’t scared,” I said quickly.

  “No, of course not.” His tone was similar to the sort of tone you would use if you were trying to talk someone down off a ledge.

  “I just don’t see the use in wearing them fancy clothes when all I’s gonna do is get them ruined doing chores.” I realised that my voice had been rising throughout that sentence so that the last word sounded like a frightened squeak.

  “Of course, of course. I will get some plainer dresses made for you.”

  I was so relieved at this and what it signified about his intentions toward me that for a moment I couldn’t speak.

  “Thank you,” I said awkwardly.

  He nodded, tugging absentmindedly at the cravat he wore as if he found it restrictive. When he saw me watching him he quickly stopped and placed his hands in his lap and that almost made me smile.

  Maybe it was because of the soft, hesitant way he had of speaking, or the way he sat hunched over with his head down as if he wanted to disappear into his clothes, but I wasn’t scared of him anymore. I actually felt sorry for him, as at times it was almost as if he felt unworthy in my presence. It was a very odd notion: a white man feeling inferior to a slave. But I wa
s sure that it was true.

  And then of course there was the form he had chosen, which was definitely the epitome of male beauty by any standard. It amused me to think of all those southern belles currently squabbling over Master John. I imagined that they would happily throw themselves into the fires of hell for even a glimpse of the vision before me.

  “What you do in the day when you ain’t here?” I asked, wondering if he maybe had a demon wife with whom to while away the long daylight hours.

  “Um, no.” He looked completely flustered for a moment then he seemed to regain his composure. “I normally bury myself in the ground to get away from the effects of the sun. It is the most comfortable I can be during the day.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  That got me thinking. I needed to find out what I could about his weaknesses and I had learned that the easiest way to get information from whites was to use the good old dumb slave routine. If you behaved as stupidly as they believed all Negroes to be, whites would tell you any and everything, right down to their toilet habits.

  “I expect it be all nice and cosy in the ground like that. But don’t you gets scared none? I mean, Lord forbid, what if somebody finds you one day? They could hurt you some, couldn’t they?”

  His watched me steadily for a moment and I got the distinct impression that he was not in the least bit fooled by the dumb slave act. In fact I got the feeling that it had offended him in a way that I couldn’t possibly begin to understand.

  “If there is something you want to know, Luna, you should ask. I promise I will answer truthfully.”

  “I wants to know what can kill you.”

  The briefest of smiles touched his lips before he answered.

  “Well, I am considerably weaker during the day and if I am exposed to the sun for long enough, it will kill me. But I find that the older I get, the longer I can tolerate its effects. The only other thing that can kill me is probably decapitation, but that would be a difficult thing for someone to achieve as only certain metals can pierce my flesh. Fire can hurt me, and maybe it can even kill me, I do not know for certain.”

  Instead of appeasing me, I found that his response had irritated me slightly and an odd protectiveness stole over me. What on earth did he think he was doing telling me the best way to kill him? That sort of honesty would only lead to one thing: An early death.