by David McAfee
“He will be dealt with soon enough,” she said. She sounded like she was enjoying herself.
They were taking no chances this time; all eight webs remained on me as Lannis’ face came into view. I tried not to look, but trying not to breathe would have been easier. I had to look, I had to see.
Lannis was dark and beautiful, yet hideous. Evil clung to her features like rouge. Between dark red lips, two sharp points emerged, and when I saw them I knew my own death was close. I thought of Raine, and the tears coursed down my cheeks. Lannis saw this, and laughed.
She brought her wrist to her face and took a sharp, practiced bite, savoring the taste of her own flesh. Her expression betrayed her exquisite pleasure, her almost erotic state. Blood flowed around the edges of her lips and ran down her chin. She closed her eyes and gave a soft moan that spoke of an ecstasy beyond my comprehension. She was clearly lost in her own taste and touch. Lost in the blood.
Then, in one unforgettable moment, her eyes opened. Two endless pools that glowed with a lusty, pinkish light. My doom stared back at me from their depths. She removed her wrist from her mouth.
“And now, Vincent,” she said, “you will join us.” With that, she placed her torn wrist against my lips.
“Drink,” she commanded.
I tried to resist, but the hunger swooped in like a raptor, devouring my strength. My insides burned with it. If the webs hadn't held me in place, I would have doubled over with the pain. The urge to feast was maddening, the Hunger demanded to be fed. Here was blood, right in front of me. It poured from the wound in Lannis’ wrist and made a macabre goatee around my tightly closed lips. I could smell it. God, but it smelled wonderful! The heady aroma filled my nostrils and whispered the truth of Life as Bachyir live it. Predators feeding on their prey. All creatures must eat, from the smallest worm to the magnificent lions of the Serengeti.
I was no exception.
My hunger pounded nails into me. The scent and feel of her blood on my face intensified the already incessant need to taste…to feed…to live.
“Drink,” Lannis said again.
…and, God help me, I did.
Chapter Twelve:
The Dream
I don’t remember much of what happened after I drank from Lannis’ opened veins. Most of what I do remember has to do with the senses: the cold, hard feel of the stone under my back, the eerie sound of Lannis whispering in a lost language, and the intoxicating scent of blood as it poured from freshly torn skin. And the taste, of course. That first life-altering taste of Bachyir blood sent my mind reeling. The sweet, slightly metallic flavor washed through me, lifting me up above the darkened chamber of stone and into the night sky, making me one with the darkness all around. I realized then it was not blood I was drinking.
It was Life.
Then she pulled her wrist away and the feeling ceased. I was just Vincent Walker again, but too tired and exhausted to wonder about it. The world around me seemed to fade, or was it my sight that was failing? I couldn’t tell and didn’t really care. There were only two things I did care about, one of them was blood. I wanted more. I needed more.
The other thing I craved was sleep, and the need for sleep overcame my desire for more blood. My eyes seemed to close of their own free will. Very soon after I drank, the world grew dark and I slipped away from it.
***
I am walking naked and barefoot through the woods of a strange, misty valley. The sun, if it’s out at all, is nowhere to be seen. All around me the mist has reduced the world to indistinct shades of gray. As I walk I am humming a song that makes me sad. I don’t know the name of it, but I assume it will come to me in time. The truth is, I don’t know much of anything. I know only that I am here, and so is she. I can hear her sobbing in the mist.
But where, exactly, is here?
The sobs sound distorted and muffled. I can’t place their direction. They seem to be coming from everywhere. From my left, my right, even above me, as though the source of the sobs might well be the fog itself. I know this is not the case, however. The sobs are coming from her, not the fog.
As I walk, I search for her. This is the reason I am here; to find her. I have a strange feeling I am supposed to do something with her, but I don’t remember what it is or who sent me to do it; I only know that I have a job to do. I think it’s important, perhaps important enough that lives may depend on it. However, I have no way of knowing for sure. Perhaps it’s all in my mind, and I’m not really here at all.
I reach out my hand to touch the slick, wet trunk of a nearby tree, and for the first time I notice it is dead. Scarred and blackened from roots to skeletal canopy, which is just barely visible in the soft gray. In the small area of visibility afforded me, I see all the other trees are similarly burned and charred, as though a great fire swept through these woods like Famine, killing whatever life may have once existed here. It’s sad, yet beautiful in its own way.
The sobbing is louder now, and I have no time to ponder the dead trees. I say a brief prayer for their souls before pausing a moment to wonder if trees have souls. I shake the thought from my head and continue my search. I can still hear her voice, and I know that time is stealing my chance to get to her. My heart quickens. I must find the crying woman before the time is up. Every bone in my body screams at me to hurry. Time is short.
The ground, which up to now has been firm and unforgiving, becomes soft and soggy. It feels like I am walking through a grassy field after a hard rain. I must be getting close to a body of water. A pond, maybe, or a lake.
After a few minutes I discover I am partially right, for I can now hear the sound of the river. I have no idea which river, but it thrums and pounds in a constant roar. Strong, powerful, and steady. I know in which direction the river lies; the sound is too loud to be muffled by the mist. I must be near some rapids. That would explain the roar of the water and the dampness of the air.
I turn toward the sound, and before I go twenty steps, I can see it. The mist rises from the churning, bubbling water as it thunders over rocks too large and numerous to count. The spray is all but impenetrable to the eye, and I think I should stay back, lest I accidentally fall in and the powerful current steal my breath.
If the river captures me, it will break me like a toy. It will snap my bones and tear my flesh against the rocks, and will continue to do so long after I am too dead to feel it. In a few days a fisherman somewhere downriver will find pieces of me floating by as he casts his line, and that will be that. The rest of my body will feed the river’s fish.
The roar is louder than anything I can remember, and the mineral smell of fresh river water floats through the air in the droplets of mist. Miraculously, the sound of the crying woman is not drowned out by all the noise. If anything, the sobs are louder than before. I must be getting close.
I turn to my right, and begin to walk along the riverbank, looking all around for the woman. I hear her sobs still, and I am right, they are getting louder. This means I am getting closer. I break into a run. Knowing I need to reach her before it’s too late. I run and run, but I see nothing of the sobbing woman. It feels like I have been running for an hour, though in truth I know that can’t be possible. The sobbing continues to rise in volume, and I know I must nearly be standing on top of the source.
A few steps later I realize the sound of sobbing is growing fainter, and I stop. I must have passed her. So I turn around and make my way back, shuffling my way along the muddy shore. The sobs again grow louder, and then begin to fade. This time I am able to pinpoint the location where the sound is loudest, and so I stop. I look to my left, into the trees, but see nothing. Then I realize the sound is at my back. It must be coming from the other bank! How will I get across to reach her in time?
I turn around to get a better look, hoping there are rocks I can hop across. I see mist and spray, and yes, there is indeed a rock. I can’t get to it, but it doesn’t matter. Sitting on top of the algae-covered stone, surrounded by a violent stor
m of spray, I finally see the crying woman. Like me, she is naked, and she is also soaked from the spray. Her shapely back is to me, and I can see the firm, round curve of her buttocks as she sits atop the rock amid the rapids. Her arms encircle her knees and her face is buried between them. Naked and wet, she is beautiful. I would probably be aroused if it were not for the urgency of my purpose, which continues to escape my memory. Maybe I will remember it when I see her face.
Not knowing her name, I call out to her, but I can’t hear my own voice over the raging water. I don’t think she will be able to hear me either, but her sobbing lessens and she lifts her head. Her raven hair is soaked and streams in an ebony wave down her back, clinging to it like wet skin. She calls out, and even though I could not hear my own voice, I can hear hers plainly enough.
“Where are you?” she asks. “Where are you where are you where are you?”
I try to tell her I am right behind her, and again my voice is lost in the roar. But she hears it, and turns to me. I see her face for the first time and I realize I do know her. I know the crying woman. I can’t remember her name, but that is no surprise since I can’t even remember my own. I do remember that I love her. It feels like I have loved her for a very long time. Centuries, even. I also hate her, but I can’t remember why. I am standing in the gravel on the riverbank looking at her, and I am torn between wanting to help her and wanting to kill her.
The merciless rushing and pounding of the river against the rocks makes a constant, deafening din. It is impossible to think clearly. How can I love her and hate her at the same time? I know I should know, but I don’t. The only thing I do know is my urgent task has something to do with either saving her or destroying her, but as I stand here trying to get it to make sense I can’t for the life of me recall which.
She is speaking again, and I calm myself as much as possible so that I might hear what she’s saying. Perhaps it will give me a clue as to what I am supposed to be doing here.
“Vincent!” she screams. I remember now that Vincent is me. That is my name. She is calling to me. With that knowledge comes more. Her name is Raine, and by God, I do know her! I remember her now. There is an opaque memory of something silver tinged with red. A crucifix? Yes, that’s it! Now if only I can remember what it means.
She is still screaming, and I listen.
“Vincent! Stay out of the water, Vincent! Whatever you do, don’t go into the water!”
I can only wonder how she got out there herself, or why she is warning me away from the water. I could speculate about that for some time, but I know I have to get to her fast. For some reason, speed seems vitally important. Maybe I will understand what is going on a little better when I can touch her. I ignore her warning. I am walking into the river. I will find a way to cross somehow. The current does not seem so strong here. Perhaps I can swim.
“No Vincent! Please! You don’t know what’s in the river. I do. I have seen it. Don’t come. Don’t come! PLEASE DON’T COME!”
I can’t understand what she’s talking about. What could be in the river? It’s just water, isn’t it? In any case, I can’t just leave her out there. I have a mission, after all, and it involves her. Again, I ignore her and step toward the water.
Frantic now, she screams at me to stop, please, for the love of God stop. As she speaks the name of God, small wisps of smoke pour from her mouth. I can see, even through the mist, that her tongue is burned. I am still wondering how that happened when she speaks again.
“I can’t let you do this, Vincent,” she says sadly. “I can’t let you die for me.”
Die for her? What?
Now Raine is standing naked in the spray. She is young and lithe and strong, even noble; a woman at the very pinnacle of her beauty. Her whole body is wet from the condensation, and tiny trickles of water follow little trails down sensuous curves as they run their course to her feet. It drips from her breasts and the tips of her erect nipples to fall to the stone, making tiny splashes when they connect with the Earth. Now my arousal does waken, and I can’t help but stare at her naked, slick body as the part of me that loves and wants her begins to stir. I tell myself this is not the time for such things, but I can’t help my rising erection any more than I can keep from breathing.
With a last, wistful look at me, she wades into the current, and I am sure the river will sweep her away. But it doesn’t, and she wades deeper, coming to me. As she approaches, a strange thing begins to happen. Her hair loses its luster. In some places it begins to fall out completely, leaving a patchwork of dull black tresses on her scalp, which begins to turn gray. Her perfect skin is decaying right in front of my eyes, and I stop in my tracks, about two feet from the edge of the river. Her beautiful blue eyes cloud over with a white rheumy film, then disappear into nothing, leaving only a pair of red hollows in their place. Now the red is fading to gray, also, and a host of insect larvae springs to life in her skin, coming to life even as she is dying.
All over her once lovely body are squirming, writhing grubs. Her very flesh seems to wither and die even as it erupts with the life of the tiny creatures who feast upon it. It is repulsive, but familiar. I have seen this before, but I can’t remember where. It doesn’t matter in any case, because I have lost all desire to go near the water. I can only watch in helpless frustration as she turns into something from a nightmare. The part of me that loves her recoils, but the part of me that hates her leans in closer for a better look. I don’t know if I should cry or should feel exuberant.
She is dying, she is dying. Raine is dying and I don’t know how to feel. As she is dying she is speaking, but her words are muffled by the tiny organisms that are eating her burned tongue.
“Vincent,” she says, “please forgive me.”
I know those words, I have read them before. They mean something to me, something important. But I can’t… remember…I think I can see a magazine…or a book, maybe.
No, not a book, a journal!
Then, in a flash, it comes to me. I remember! The journal! Raine loves me. She does. What’s more, I love her, too. I know this, now. All the hate that was in me is gone, and there is only the love for the woman dying in front of me. I will save her. I have to. I am jumping into the water to try and pull her out.
But something grabs my leg and pulls me backward. I turn around and there is another woman there with us, only she is not naked. She is clad in black robes that do not seem to feel the effects of the spray. She is completely dry, and too strong for me to break free from her grip. She is dark and beautiful, but not lovely. Not like Raine. This woman is only beautiful on the surface; I know that inside she is as black and diseased as a rotten corpse. I am afraid of her, terrified, to be honest, and it is all I can do to keep from trembling like a frightened child.
I try again to pull my leg free, but her touch saps my strength, and I fail. I have no hope. All my willpower is gone, and I turn to look at Raine. The water has turned red. It has turned into blood, and the smell of it speeds my heart further, sending a rumble of pain through my insides and cramping my belly. I look up just in time to see Raine’s head vanish under the surface, and I know she is gone forever.
“Raine!” I shout into the mist, “Raine don’t go!”But of course she is already gone.
I sit on the edge of the river, my vision growing dim, and I remember the tune I was humming earlier. Now, finally, I recognize the song, and it fills me with a longing so powerful that I feel I might die from the ache. ‘Lady in Red’ by Chris Deburgh.
I am no longer able to raise my voice to a shout, and I can only manage a choked whisper. “I love you,” I say to my lost love, stolen from me by the angry red river.
Behind me, the other woman laughs.
Chapter Thirteen:
Ramah
This time, when I came to, I awoke in a strange bed nestled in soft sheets rather than on a slab of stone with a plate of raw meat. The room smelled of stone and clean linen, without the damp odor of moss that seemed so prevale
nt elsewhere in the Halls. It was so dark I couldn’t see the edge of the bed. I sat up, hoping my eyes would adjust. They didn’t.
In the darkness, with nothing else to do and no energy with which to do it, I relived my strange dream. Raine had been sitting naked on a large, mossy stone in the middle of the river. I had watched, motionless, on the gravel bank trying to decide if I loved her enough to save her or if I hated her enough to kill her. In the dream, it was one or the other; there was no in-between.
Then Raine had warned me – no, she had begged me – to stay out of the water. When I wouldn’t listen, she waded into it herself, and changed into a Lost One before my eyes. I tried to save her, and a woman – Lannis – held me back. Why? Just before I’d woken up, Raine said those same words that she had written to me in her journal.
“Vincent, please forgive me,” she’d said. Could I ever forgive her? How could I not?
Stay out of the water! For the love of God stay out of the water!
I tried to ignore the symbolism and what it might mean in light of what Herris had told me. He’d said I was to be finished. Immediately. Had they done it? I couldn’t tell. I didn’t feel any different, but I didn’t know if that meant anything or not. I tried to banish the thought from my mind but it kept coming back. Like an annoying fly that keeps buzzing around your face no matter how many times you shoo it away.
While I sat on the bed and contemplated the latest development, I heard slow, tired footsteps coming from the darkness. The scraping shuffle of an old man’s walk. At first I thought it was another Lost One, but what they would want with me now was anyone’s guess. Maybe whatever they tried to do hadn’t worked after all, and they were coming to finish me the normal way. If so, I hoped they would do it quick and not subject me to the tortures of the Lost One’s touch again. They knew what they wanted to know; I had given them everything I could think of, so maybe they would end it quick rather than stretch it out for hours on. I thought Ramah would, perhaps even Herris, but I doubted Lannis would show such mercy.