Indigo Vamporium

by Poppet[vampire]

  Fly?

  Is that what the feather was for? Fly?

  Snot! That's a legend, a fallacy, a myth and a fable. Vampyres can't fly.

  But angels can... speaks into my head.

  Jo arrives back in the doorway, looking at me with worry. “Are you okay?”

  “Would it kill him to care? Would it kill him to tell me I've done well? Would it kill him to have enough compassion for my pain to heal the internal damage I suffered tonight? Instead he makes me do it when I'm weaker than a foal just born.”

  “In a sense you are reborn,” booms behind Jowendrhan, and Jo looks like he's about to pass out when he hinges to face Arelstin.

  “You again,” I mumble through clenched teeth.

  Why the hell can't they just leave me alone? Do they have to rub salt into every wound?

  If Dad was still around none of it would be this way. I'd have been given warning, help, assistance. I wouldn't have snuck off to face the prehistoric humanoids. I wouldn't have left my younger brother helpless on a narrow stretch of sand in the dead of night during a raging storm, when I might never return. Mom would have been here with a hug and a warmed cup of sustenance for me. She would have been proud. Instead I'm treated like a fugitive. Their barely concealed derision irks me, and I hate them.

  We'd be better off alone, without them.

  When I grow up I'll never help Venix because he sure as hell hasn't helped me.

  Jowendrhan is my witness. He knows the only person who seems honestly concerned at all is my sister's guardian, Arelstin.

  *

  Venix:

  Turning to smile at Arelstin when he leaves the boys and rejoins me in the den, we do the brotherly embrace, making the sign of first-cast angels.

  “He did brilliantly,” smiles Arelstin.

  Offering him a goblet of hormone enriched blood, he takes it, and we toast, “To Seithe.”

  Clanging the metal, we down our victory drink.

  Strolling to the wall length fish tank, I stare at sea horses bobbing with the speed of infinity. They look like they're standing still because of it.

  Speaking with my back to him, pride swells in my chest, “He faced the death of himself. Reborn as one of us, he has our hair.”

  “Why are you so hard on him? He's a sterling young man, he never backs down from a challenge, his instincts are impeccable.”

  Pivoting, I look at my brethren splayed on the white settee, relaxed and tranquil, “We have the most powerful vampyres born to this world as our charges. You have Ellindt, I have Seithe. We can't be easy on them because the weight of our fate is on their young shoulders.”

  “He's lost. He's in mourning. Grief clings to him like dark mist, that's why this landscape is currently covered in it. He's projecting into the atmosphere and saturating this place with the past, with the sadness and gloom inside him. Show him some compassion, Venix. Give him some sign that you're proud of him. He's so much stronger than he realizes. He's manifesting his emotions into a physical phenomenon and this country can't cope with the pain he will unearth onto its shores.”

  Sitting opposite him, I nod, “We are alone in this world. Approval mustn't be searched for outside of himself. He must come to peace with himself on the inside. He must be confident enough that he fears no one and never needs outside approval. Only then will this world leave him unscarred. People who look for accolades and praise are more often left drifting and disappointed. They have no strong foundation on which to build a future because they themselves are not their own anchor. No one will treasure your life or happiness more than you will. When they grow up they'll need that sturdy inner confidence.”

  Arelstin leans forward, supporting his elbows on his knees, “You're wrong. The complete lack of love you show them now makes them bitter and brittle. I can see disaster headed our way unless you step up and be his mentor. You need to be his rock because he's not yet mature enough to weather these storms without your strength to guide him.”

  Changing the subject, avoiding the issue, I smile my pleasure again, “Seithe did it. He's the first in a very long time to get a halo from the ningen.”

  Arelstin narrows his eyelids, giving me a heated glare, “Yes. He has the white hair of the resurrected. He went down there because he was angry. Anger makes quick and foolhardy choices. He should have done it when he was at peace, instead he called up a storm vicious enough to realign the tectonic plates. You have to stop Venix, or I will have you replaced.”

  Reminded who is the superior here, I nod acquiescence to my kin, “Alright. I'll try.”

  “Try isn't good enough, if this doesn't change we'll have a mutiny on our hands. You offer comfort and support, or someone else will.” He stands, making the symbol of peace and rank, vanishing from my brother's home.

  I'm the Jowendrhan of my generation. The youngest brother, the one without the strength of character or might of his powerful siblings. My oldest brother gave the planet his children, and it's my duty to care for them. The only one I wish to help is Jowendrhan, I have an affinity for him. I understand how hard it is to be the youngest of the Almighty and never quite managing to fill their shoes.

  Chapter 15

  Seithe:

  Stepping outside, we look at each other. It's another edge to edge gray day, complete with drizzle. The cloud on our side of the mountain is so low it billows specters between us and the trees surrounding the secluded garden.

  The ghostly breath mutilates our usual view of the ocean, and I sigh despondently.

  “If we're going to blend we're going to have to suit up in neoprene,” I say to Jo. “It's too cold for us to be seen wandering around in just our baggies.”

  He nods agreement, and instantly we're both wearing black wetsuits. Clutching our boards we vanish from the doorstep, right next to the ship carcass on Noordhoek beach. It's apparently been lying here since 1900, rusting and rotting in the abrasive salt air.

  Back then they made things to last because the boiler is still intact after the ship ran aground here in a North Westerly gale, driving it into the beach on Armageddonish swells, concealing the danger of land in a downpour of biblical proportions.

  A large crowd of people warmly dressed in big coats and knitted hats blindside me with their presence. Our deserted stretch of sand is overpopulated with spans of strangers brandishing cell phones and cameras.

  What's going on? Did someone see us and tell the media?

  Resting my board up against the wreck, I unearth the sex wax from the inner pocket, almost jumping out of my skin when Kevin appears from the other side of the rusted wreck.

  “Dudes! Legend man, make out hey...”

  “Yo Kev!” grins Jowendrhan, stepping forward and shaking Kevin's hand in the gangster shake, which I've never mastered.

  “Did you okes check out the Dutchman?”

  I frown at Kevin. Sometimes I feel like a complete alien. “Say what?”

  “The ghost ship bru, it's out there.” His spaced out stare becomes animated and he grabs my elbow, yanking me around our shield of rust and forcing me to face the ocean scrolling out into mist, the waves are nothing more than fading lines on an ancient script.

  It's barely visible but there's a mammoth galleon cloaked in the veil of vapor, lurching lazily on swells, the crucifix shape of masts and a crow's nest partially discernible.

  “I saw that ship last night,” I tell him, without going into detail.

  “What is it?” asks Jo, standing on Kevin's right.

  The fog is so thick is licks all the way inshore, dancing with our breath when we speak. It's gloomy, instilling an eerie and unnatural quiet across the beach.

  It dulls the planet in a wide womb of isolation. It's thick with despair, doom, sadness.... grief. The dearth of sound is like my ears blocking after I've bawled my eyes out, when my head is too heavy and thick to lift; that's how this feels. Muted, far away and dreamy, separating us into a web of solitude where no harm can penetrate from the outside world, swathing u
s like fragile babies in an ethereal shawl of low dense cloud.

  Kevin breaks my reverie with his chillaxed tone, “It's destined to sail around Cape Point for all of time. The Cabo das Tormentas grabbed them in a lashing hurricane back in 1681, and the story gets messed up from there. When Cape Point was first spotted by the Portuguese in 1487 they called it Cabo das Tormentas, which means Cape of Storms, but his King renamed it. All we know bru, is we aren't the only china's to check this boat out. The Prince of Wales and King George also spotted it, like lank long ago. This boat comes to harbor both sides of the peninsula, and us locals see it every now and again, but it has to be like today. Make out?”

  “What's so special about today?” I ask, trying not to sound suspicious. After all it is the day after full moon, and to my kind that means plenty.

  “Cold, winter, drizzle, fog,” he says with a dismissive shrug.

  David appears out of the smoky haze, having heard some of the story, he nods, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, “The captain's name is Hendrik Van Der Dekken, a dutchman who thought he could take on foul weather. I guess he said come hell or high water, because he got both. Somehow everyone on board died, some say it's because Van Der Dekken told the Holy Ghost to get stuffed. He pitched the ship into a mighty storm. Only in ghost form has it since been seen, right around the peninsula from Muizenberg to Table Bay.”

  “Let's swim out!” enthuses Jowendrhan, the thrill of meeting a ghost ship too irresistible for him.

  “Noyt bru, make out hey, if you go near it you'll croak. It's the curse.”

  “I can't die,” Jo says without thinking, and immediately my eyes pulse a warning at him from behind Kevin's body shield.

  David stares out into the thick depressing haze, “No surfing today. The sea's calmer than death and there's way too many trendies stomping over our turf.”

  Looking out at the phantom vessel I marvel at the craftsmanship, amazed that so many people can see a ghost. What phenomenon is that? Or did it just get more solid and determined to be witnessed over time?

  “You chinas joining us for a spliff and coffee?” offers Kevin.

  I shake my head, “No thanks, I think we'll just head home.”

  “Do you need a lift?” offers Dave, and again I shake my head. “Cool bru, keep the legend alive,” he nods, shaking my hand and leaning his shoulder into mine, walking away with Kevin into the curtain shifting moodily across the landscape.

  They vanish, as if they too are no more than blips on the time curve, a glitch from the past walking across our future.

  Maybe that's what today is, today is the day the theory of relativity becomes elastic, knotting itself, sharing with us a past and a future.

  Peering into the vague clutch of people down the beach who are no more than a dark wet patch, I look for my future, hoping to get a glimpse of her.

  Which one of you will redeem me?

  Jo thumps my shoulder, “So what are we doing? If we go out on our boards we'll have way too many telescopic lenses trained on us. We do not need the attention.”

  Nodding, I lift my board out of its makeshift grave where sand hides the tip, “Let's duck. We're freaks like that boat out there.”

  “What's it called?” asks Jo, looking back out at the apparition.

  That's one solid looking apparition. It was solid last night too.

  “The Flying Dutchman,” says softly behind me, and I hinge in shock to see Tasmin standing behind us, listening.

  Shit! What did she hear?

  “They call it The Flying Dutchman after the captain, who was dutch. No one recalls the name of the ship even though it's been seen and recorded in ship's logbooks from as far back as 1881 to 1949.” She leans her head against my shoulder when she slips her arm through mine, cuddling, looking out into the foggy soup at the shifty galleon, “It's so beautiful.”

  It dawns on me that it's Thursday night and I know we have plans for tonight, I just can't recall what. “What are we doing tonight?” I ask her, trying to sound casual.

  “Andi's party.”

  “Text me the details?” I croon softly in her ear, and get a mild thrill when she closes her eyes and leans her head in, her blue beanie brushing under my chin.

  “Okay.” She squeezes me, looking up with a strange expression in her eyes, “You bleached your hair.”

  I nod, grimacing.

  “It looks hot,” she smiles, visually appreciating me, and damn it feels good. “See you later.” She stands on tiptoes to kiss my cheek.

  “Stay safe,” I kiss the top of her head. We watch her walk back to the dark stain in the mist, regrouping with her pack, rejoining her kind like a singular cell being swallowed into an amoeba, stealing her individuality.

  Jo scowls after her and I hinge back to follow his view. A tall dark shadow stalks her, like a lost specter stepped off the phantom ship to find a human to breathe through.

  What that all about then?

  “Who is that?” whispers Jo, stepping so close to my side I can feel his body heat.

  “Don't know, it's too misty to see who that is.”

  “We need to duck,” he says with sudden urgency, clamping my arm. I look back and front, he checks left and right, and in the thick cloak of ethereal madness, we step off the beach, back into the entrance hall at home.

  *

  Arelstin:

  Stomping into his study, I slam my fists loudly on the hazel desk, “He's pulling ghosts out of the past! Have you seen the paper? Have you seen the beach? Did you know it came after him in the middle of a raging storm last night?”

  He holds up his hands, “Slow down, Aree. What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Do your bloody job and stop expecting the rest of us to pick up the slack! You're the one in charge of them and yet you didn't know he faced the Flying Dutchman last night? He's mixing up the threads of time!”

  “What?” he says, standing, filling the intimate room with his angelic musculature. “What are you talking about?”

  “I'm talking about the ghost ship that was lost to Cape Point where the two oceans meet! It's sitting outside at the beach.” Weary, I slump into the chair on the other side of his desk, manifesting myself a drink, slurping it loudly, slamming it onto the table and kneading my temples. “Damn it Venix. This is not good.”

  “Are you telling me Seithe is calling up ghosts?”

  “Yes! Seithe is pining for his mother and father. He's literally pulling history into the present. The last time the ghost ship was seen this widely and this clearly was thirty-seven and eighty years ago respectively. What's next? He'll call up the Dromedaris to sail into Milnerton and start a war between the naval military stationed in Simon's Town with the ancient ghosts of men who conquered this land!” Thumping my chair, I glower rage at Venix, “Man up! Man up now, or may the powers have mercy on you. One more slip up like this and I will let the demons remind you of wrath's bitter amphora.”

  He looks pale, “Seithe summoned it into the ocean last night?”

  “Yes! Didn't you hear his thoughts? He was thinking 'if mom was here – if dad was here' seething with contempt for you. If he keeps wishing, he's going to get exactly what he wishes. And the entire time continuum will get so tangled we'll never fix it!” I shout, more angry than I can recall myself ever being.

  Standing so I can look him in the eye, I bellow, “You have failed them! You have failed the vulnerable and needy. How dare you call yourself an angel!”

  *

  Seithe:

  Overhearing the shouting match, I become lightheaded, my legs stripped of strength. Gradually sliding down to sit on the stairs leading to the second floor, I stare woefully at the tiles between my feet.

  “I'm doing this?” I whisper through numb lips.

  Thunderous steps storm my way, pausing in front of me. “Your will is powerful. All living creatures have will, it's the strain god left in you. Will manifested an entire galaxy and everything in it, from the tiniest organism of lig
ht to the greatest planet in the outerdimensions. Yes Seithe, your will is bringing disaster crashing into the present. Will is god in action and you all wield it. Never ever forget the enormous power of your will. It defines and creates our reality in the third dimension.”

  His heavy sigh baptizes my head and he crouches onto his haunches, looking me in the eye. “Forget about Venix, he's spineless and selfish. If you need help, call on me, I will help you.”

  Staring at Arelstin, the simple gesture makes me emotional, burgeoning unshed tears into my eyes.

  “I have a feather...” I trail off, my stubborn pride unwilling to ask for assistance.

  I'll figure it out. I know I will.

  He pats my shoulder affectionately, “I'm here, whenever you need me. You are never alone, not ever. You have legions of angels ready to assist you, and I'm now watching your mentor with an eagle eye. One more slip up and he will no longer be your problem.” He pauses, looking me right in the eye with such power I can feel the probe into my soul, “Being positive and optimistic might seem new age and hippie, but there's a very good reason for it. Govern your thoughts because what you think becomes real. If you focus on the good stuff, it multiplies in your life. If you focus on the bad, it starts an avalanche that'll bury you in pain. Govern your thoughts, son.”

  Watching with an eagle's eye. Is that a clue?

  He nods, smiling at me, laying a hot hand on my head, pouring angelic fire into my body, “Peace be yours brother. Peace and insight, in all things there is space for resonance, resonate with your highest vibration and walk in peace.”

  With those words, he's gone, and for the first time since mom died the hole in my soul is mended.

  Chapter 16

  Seithe:

  “Tell me what they look like.”

  “What?” I ask Jo, turning to him and Ellie waiting together nervously on the threshold of my bedroom.