The One We Feed

by Kristina Meister

  I paced around the tank, thinking. Each time I had acquired a gift, I had been eerily sure that I knew what it was, whether in vision or reality. A few times, I had even duplicated the ability before I had come into contact with the blood of the host. I had seen Malcolm moving through our room before our first and last meeting. I had evinced red eyes before I had ever even met a Rakshasa. More recently, with Devlin, I had come up with a strategy he had applauded that stood up to the scrutiny of his gifts when indeed I had possessed them. Even the jhana itself seemed nothing more than an amalgam of so many types of insight. Perhaps time had been moving backward my entire life, from the first vision of Eva’s suicide. Perhaps I would become this Lilith creature, because I already had been. Not fate, but something like it. The more gifts I acquired, the more “complete” I became, and that completeness had caused some kind of permanent, time-transcending gift.

  As I stood there, feeling each muscle fiber flex and tug, I knew it must be so.

  What if the imminent acquisition itself was enough of an impact to the stream of my consciousness that it sent waves backward, through me? What if I knew the gifts before I had acquired them, precisely because I was about to acquire them? The other timelines I met with at the Crossroads could pass echoes of the other gifts with them. If it was true, and I was close to acquiring Reesa’s gift, then I could slide in and out of the Rakshasa body whenever and wherever I chose, just like her.

  I went inward, as I might whenever attempting to sink into the jhana. I had taken a mental accounting of my own body many times in the past. Perhaps it was as simple as knowing the difference between the two forms.

  It took less time than I expected. Before long, I was growing and retracting the claws, something that felt a bit like a slow-motion cartilage piercing, feeling sensation where there existed no topical nerves to report such things. Then the teeth; then the eyes. Soon, I could put myself into their shape and pull myself from it over and over, feel bone reset, then break down, time and again, until it became second nature, until I knew it was feasible and controllable.

  Then I began to wonder if Mara’s gift could be duplicated. I was not leaving this place until I had taken it from him. It was too malicious a power to let run freely through the world. So why had I never demonstrated his gift? Why had my temper run amuck and my eyes gone red?

  Nature rises in defense of him.

  Maybe it wasn’t about temporal proximity, but necessity. Maybe I had exactly what I needed when I needed it. About to face a pit full of monsters? It made sense that I could mimic their leader, and not their master. And who, but a weak person, would ever need to use a gift like Mara’s?

  Smiling, I lay down on the fetid mounds of human remains and pictured Kali in her dance. Had it shook the earth? Had the ground split in rebellion and swallowed her victims in the end?

  I was the result of an evolutionary equation, a product of the earth and its natural progress, then nothing in existence could stop me. If I wanted it to, the earth should protect me, respond to me. It had happened before, at the Vihara, and, if possible, I would make it happen again.

  It was just another form of insight, to see fault lines, read tectonics, locate a subterranean cavern and the perfect harmonics to make it quake.

  I sank into the ooze and muck, imagined the ground tugging me, pulling me deeper. It was not fear of an imminent demise that summoned the tremors, it was need. Right now, I needed it. I reached and reached, imagined crevasses, sinkholes, deep chasms and whole layers of loose stria, until at last, I knew the secret.

  Like the jhana, it was simply a communion. One’s mind and body everywhere at once. The jhana seemed an exploration of the realities of others, the blissful state was an experience of all that could exist; and this was all that did exist, in marvelous diversity, astounding beauty, and perfect grace. Not designed, but evolved. Grown, block upon block, step upon step, complexity upon complexity, until the wealth of nature was open to us. We were its children. There was no boundary there.

  Joy filled me. To be so connected with everything around me was new and amazing. To hear a pin drop a thousand miles away, in the ripples and echoes that impacted the world, was incredible. There was no hatred, no resistance, no sense of right or wrong, just a desire for it to go on forever.

  I reached and pulled, and something deep in my chest felt a tremendous pressure. There was a sound like a rushing in my ears, and the ground beneath me trembled.

  Come and get it.

  I rose from my resting place and gathered the others. The food and sleep had done them good. Their faces were less stricken, more aware, and they walked mostly upright.

  “It’s time,” I said, and more than a few of them appeared to smile, their fangs slick and dripping, their tongues lolling.

  Standing in the center of the tank, I raised my arms above my head and beckoned. At first the ground rumbled slightly, until the rumbling began to resonate, to impact itself, to roar with movement. The dirt beneath us, around us, lurched to the left and then the right.

  I lowered my arms. All was still.

  Moments ticked by. With Petula’s gift I could see them approaching. At the first sign of any seismic disturbance, the first protocol of an underground prison would be to check on the horrible monsters you didn’t want getting out. There were three of them, two Sirens and an Arhat, with flashlights, walking carefully down the hallway. I had shaken the compound so badly the wiring had failed. Soon the generators would reset and Jinx would have a way in.

  As they neared the vault door, I lifted my arms again. An aftershock swept through the compound as if a huge serpent had rolled through the earth beneath it. The concrete of the hallway buckled in several places. The three caretakers lost their balance and were thrown against the wall. Hurling caution to the wind, they worked at the vault door until it came open, and I shot back into my body with a spinal jerk.

  “Now!”

  The Rakshasa stacked in a pyramid, climbing on each other’s shoulders and backs until they were nearly ten feet high. It was all I needed. I climbed, slipping on the fluids that covered them. Hands shot out and steadied me. As the hatch clicked and creaked open, I gained the shoulders of the smallest, and the jailors were within my grasp.

  A face peered down at me, but there was no light from within, no light from above. A flashlight beam swung inward, just in time to spotlight my malevolent visage.

  “Gentlemen,” I said. With one great surge of energy, I hurtled through the air and, in an instant, stood among them.

  I saw the sheen of light along the barrel of a gun. A muzzle flashed in front of me. They were blind, but thanks to them I wasn’t. I grabbed the closest one and, with dizzying strength, drew him in front of me like a shield. The bullet struck his back. Blood from his mouth spattered my face, and I knew he was a Siren.

  Dropping his body, I moved to the second form in the darkness. It stared around wildly, unable to tell where the danger lay. I slashed my arm through the air, and claws like razors opened his throat. Vital fluids splashed the wall behind me and the last man to my left. There was a shriek, but I did not hear it. What I heard was the tally.

  This one was like Ursula, a truth-sayer.

  The flashlight wheeled yet again, cutting through the air toward me, but I was no longer there. I was against the far wall, watching the last man reach for his radio. Backing up to the wall, I braced myself against the concrete and, with all the force I possessed, jumped forward. I struck him so hard that we hit the wall and his head smashed like a ripe fruit. Sticky juices caked fingers as I pulled them from around his throat. I fought the urge to lick them clean, but only just.

  Behind me, from the pit, a cry reminded me of my task. I locked my knee around the hatch handle and leaned in. Within moments, I was not alone; others were climbing out over my torso, grabbing claws and arms, pulling and wrenching until the tiny containment room was full of us.

  “On the other side of that door,” I said, “is a long hallway.” />
  The hatch was slammed shut. One of the Rakshasa took a seat on it and leaned close to my face to watch me speak.

  “The barracks are on the right, the laboratory to the left. There are others like us and people being kept prisoner. Everyone else is fair game, just be sure that there is a lot of blood.”

  The largest one snarled.

  “Reesa is in a room in the laboratory, but she’s asleep. I will wake her.”

  As if they needed nothing else, several of them turned on the door and attempted to break it down with force. When this failed, one of them stepped forward and examined the lock and, as if recalling something from years gone by, lifted the latch. One wink saw them streaming down the hall, bashing cameras and walls and anything else that got in their way.

  I followed in their wake. They were true to my words. Immortals were slain or injured beyond repair so that I could take their gifts, while the Rakshasa that had not known me were left to make my acquaintance. I turned each one with a bite, and, as it looked on me with eyes that understood, I let it go to help its brothers.

  Most of them had gone directly to the sleeping quarters of Mara’s minions. Screams rang out like a chorus. Sirens were making their own death music. The sounds of the compound were the sounds of hell. My battle music.

  Lights flickered. Cracked computer monitors buzzed and flashed. I stepped on broken glass and shattered cement, my feet crunching as if on bones.

  I picked my way slowly. She was there, just ahead of me, waiting to awaken. It would not do to be premature.

  On the other side of an empty chemistry lab, two huge observation windows flanked a heavy door with numbered keypad. Pipettes and beakers were dashed to pieces. A Rakshasa lumbered nearby, occasionally pounding on one of the inch-thick windows.

  I touched its back. It calmed instantly and pointed at the sleeping girl.

  “Go find everyone else. You’ll go up as one.”

  It obeyed me instantly and ran so swiftly that it seemed to defy gravity. I turned back to the keypad and shut my eyes. When I opened them, the echoes of the day played out in wisps of smoke. The code became evident. I entered it and the door clicked to. As it shut behind me, the silence became overwhelming.

  I looked down at her. She was smaller than I had realized and thin. Her skin was dry, and a thick film crusted her eyes and mouth together. Purple blotches had formed around abandoned IV sites. New tubes stuck out at every angle, so thick that they looked like extra appendages.

  I let go of my hold on the altered form of the monster and sank back into my normal stance. Dead skin and sloughed cells shook off me as I leaned over her and removed the connections. Alarms blared, a tiny blipping turned to a whine. She gasped and then breathed deeply, and all was still.

  Her skin was cool and covered in goose bumps. I pulled her hair back and untied it from its haphazard braid. I ran my fingers through the thickness of it until it surrounded her face. I took a piece of gauze, dampened it from the dripping saline bag, and cleaned her face tenderly. Then I crawled onto her thinly padded metal table and lay beside her.

  Chapter 28

  The Moon in the Water

  Gran’s breathing had transformed from a slow procession of gasps to a foreboding rattle. Still Reesa sat on the bed beside her, like a faithful pet, curled up with her head on the old woman’s thigh. She drifted in and out of consciousness, in and out of lucidity; and those moments of confusion terrified Reesa the most. Gran had always been the wit and charm, the wisdom and poise, and now she spoke nonsense and could not remember Reesa’s name. Now, Gran couldn’t even control her bowels.

  Reesa’s little heart was pounding, her cocoa skin jumping with its miserable thrashing. It had to end soon, she knew. When it did, what would happen next? What would she feel? Or was she feeling it already? Would it be worse or was it already bad enough?

  The woman rose from the depths with a half-voiced phrase of gibberish. Reesa’s head lifted.

  “Gran?”

  It took a long time, an eternity of swallows and weak coughs, to shake loose the voice, and when it sounded it had none of its richness, none of its resonance. It was a rasp, a death rattle, and it terrified her.

  “Come here, child,” Gran whispered.

  Carefully, Reesa wiggled and scooted up the length of the bed and propped herself up on the railing.

  “Gran, you want me to get the doctor? You want more pain medicine?”

  “No.” She almost snapped. “Things like this should be looked in the eye. Spend your life runnin’, but when it catches you, look it in the eye and fight till the end.”

  I could feel Reesa’s skin tighten as the little bumps rose all over her. She kept her lips pressed together though her teeth chattered beneath. It was chilly, and her nerves were on edge, but there was no way she would ever complain, borrow the blanket, or beg her mother for winter clothes instead of the summer shorts and blouse she wore.

  “Reesa,” Gran said. Her eyes seemed glassy, wide, as if already seeing some other horizon in the distance. “Listen to me, child. Someday, you’ll be sleepin’. Sleepin’ so deep it seems like you can’t wake up ever. Hurtin’ so bad you almost never want to. But you got to! You think the world is bad, but we was made to live. Not livin’ is like hell.”

  Reesa frowned, uncertain and uncomfortable with the irrational; but so engrained was the loyalty to her Gran that her doubts died almost before she registered them.

  “Okay, but….”

  The frail hand shot out and grasped her arm in a claw-like grip that held every ounce of strength Gran could muster. “Listen! An angel...an angel’s gonna come to you. She’s gonna make you stronger. She’s gonna call your name. When she does, you open your eyes! You open your eyes and you do what she says! The world will change.”

  Her chest heaving, hand throbbing, Reesa looked from vague eyes to fierce fingers and could not make sense of it. But she did not have to, because I had heard every word, and the message was received.

  In the jhana, all things were possible. I was in her mind, but I was also in my own. I could not feel my arms lifting her, or my teeth as they gnawed through my wrist, but I knew it was happening, because I had willed it. I could not smell the thick blood tainted with a nectar just for her, but I could sense it, in the greater connection to her, the sudden vibrancy of her memories.

  Gran fell back against the pillow. While Reesa sat, captive in her hand, the rasping slowed even farther and eventually came to a shaky halt. All the muscles let go, until she almost didn’t look like herself. Reesa’s heart sank painfully as the fingers relaxed against her arm, and, even though alarms blared in her ears, she did not hear them. What she heard was the song, sung the way it was meant to be.

  Through many dangers, toils, and snares,

  I have already come.

  ‘Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far

  And grace will lead me home.

  Someone picked her up and roughly deposited her on the floor. Nurses in blurred swaths of pastel swept in and out of her watercolor vantage, and she was jostled, tossed about in their teals and sky blues, until she washed up in the icy white hallway, alone.

  Droplets rolled over her cheeks, tickled her throat. Her hands were clenched so tight her knuckles popped. For a long while, she forgot to breathe. Then soft, warm hands came down upon her shoulders and turned her away. She fought them for the right to stay and struggle in Gran’s stead, until they promised not to take her far. She found herself on a bench, just a few feet down the hall, a heavy arm around her tiny body and long hair brushing her face.

  “As she carried water from the well one evening,” a man’s voice murmured in her ear, “the priestess gazed at the moon’s reflection in her buckets. Perfect and white, and close enough to touch, she lost all thought for everything else. She did not notice the rock on the path and tripped. The yoke fell from her shoulders, the buckets were dashed to the ground, the water was gone. ‘Ah,’ she said, ‘no more water in the bucket, no more
moon in the water.’”

  It could not be him, but of course it could. Arthur: my past, present, and future. All places, all at once, ever the hero of broken little girls and their fractured hearts. His presence answered my only question: how did Gran know I would be here at this moment? She knew because she’d had the right candystriper.

  Reesa shivered.

  What could the story mean? No one would say something if it didn’t have anything to do with the situation at hand, she was sure. What relevance, then, did it have for her, in that moment, in that frightening ache? It must be a metaphor, she thought, though she did not think in such convenient words. At last, she decided. If the bucket was the body, then the water was the mind, and if the water was the mind, then….

  “But it was never really there,” she mumbled thickly. “The moon was never in the water anyways.”

  Beneath her head, his chest swelled and sank. “True.”

  “Then….” She leaned forward, pressed the moisture from her eyes with two angry fingers, and turned on him. He looked exactly as I recalled; the smooth caramel of his skin still caught the light just so, the long black hair left tendrils at his ears, and the crystal of his eyes sparkled. She saw none of that. She was filled with a sudden, all-encompassing rage. “What was the point! What’s the point in doing the things she did, if the moon wasn’t never really in the water?”

  He didn’t reply for some time, and in the silence she seemed to realize what I had, that Arthur was no enemy and had no interest in causing harm. He was a friend always, and only wanted what was best for her. She calmed almost at once, for that was exactly the kind of person Gran was...no, had been.

  “Many people want to believe that the moon is there, in the water. Some grasp that it is not. They know that the moon is in the sky, but what is the moon really? If it was not a beacon for us in dark times, we would not care about it at all, nor would we even know it existed. The moon is nothing more than a reflection, even it is false.”