by Jayde Brooks
“Silly, silly girl!” Khale fussed, lifting Eden out of the water as if she were a wet puppy.
Eden cursed under her breath. “Damn! And I was nearly in a coma, too.”
When they got her home, Dr. Rose expertly sutured her wounds, bandaged them up, and Eden was as good as new.
“Someone is watching, Eden,” Khale told her. “Someone is always watching.”
Rose had sent Eden a text announcing that Khale was on her way to the brownstone, as if she were the Queen of England, and Eden should rush home to bow to her as she entered the house. She was the Shifter—the Great Shifter, Rose called her, but Eden had never seen her shift into anything.
Khale was a mousy-looking woman around Eden’s age with oversize glasses and a fetish for coffee. Maybe she assumed that Eden would find her more relatable if she were just an awkward young woman, like Eden. Khale talked cool, was up on all the latest video games and music and clubs.
Eden could see through the disguises of other Ancients, but seeing Khale’s true form was impossible for some reason. The Shifter made sure that Eden saw only what she wanted her to see. Maybe that’s why she was called the “Great” Shifter, because she was really great at being fake.
She’d been trying to encourage Eden to open up about her “feelings,” but she immediately shut down when Eden finally told her, “I have no feelings, Khale. Mkombozi does.”
The Shifter hadn’t visited Eden and Rose in more than a year, so the fact that she was coming now made Eden sick to her stomach.
“Is this where you hide?”
Shit! Eden immediately recognized Khale’s voice and visibly cringed. “It’s where I try to hide.”
Khale sat down next to Eden. She had on a pair of baggy jeans, belted low on her petite hips, rolled into cuffs at the ankles, and a T-shirt with the words KISS ME, I’M MULTIRACIAL on the front.
“You keep trying to insult me, and I keep telling you that you’re not capable,” Khale said indifferently.
Khale was a big deal among her kind. She was a big deal to Rose. Rose had told Eden that Khale had been Mkombozi’s mother and the one who had ultimately destroyed her. So, what did that make her to Eden? Just fuckin’ scary, that’s all.
“Are you here to remind me again of how proud I should be about my lot in life?”
Khale sipped on her coffee. “I’m afraid we’re out of time for all of that.”
That sick feeling in Eden’s stomach turned into something else, something unexplainable—or maybe it was just plain fear. She didn’t want to talk to Khale, or be Mkombozi, or go out and find her Omens. She didn’t want any of this, but nobody seemed to give a damn.
“I’m not doing it, Khale,” Eden told her. “You’re wasting your time.”
“He’s back, Eden,” Khale said, patiently. “The Seer, Apus, has seen it.” Apus was the Seer of present times, of things happening now.
Eden could feel the heat from those oversize lenses burn against the side of her face as Khale stared at her, but she refused to look back at the Ancient.
“So what, he’s back?” she shot back. “I don’t give a damn that he’s back,” she said under her breath. He was a Demon called Sakarabru, the biggest, bad-assed beast who ever existed, according to Rose and Khale.
“I know you’re scared.”
Again with that condescending, over-the-top, forced “I feel ya girl” kindredness.
“Wow,” Eden said, unemotionally. “Ya think? What part of this crap shouldn’t be scary, Khale?”
At the mention of Khale’s name, the beautiful and stylish cat-faced creature sauntered over to the two of them and bowed her gorgeous head in reverence to the very plain and unimpressive-looking Shifter before strolling off to the lower deck.
“But you have no choice.…”
Eden looked at Khale like she wanted to punch her in the face. “Of course I do!” she said with unexpected and angry tears filling her eyes. “You think you can pull me out of the womb and mold me like clay. You and Rose think you can play games with my life and make me somebody I’m not, but it’s going to stop, Khale. It stops now.” Eden started to get up and leave, but Khale grabbed hold of her arm with her petite hand, locking her down with a surprisingly powerful grip.
“Fear is your enemy, Eden,” Khale said knowingly. “I’ve always known it would be, and I understand.”
Frustration washed over her. “No, Khale. You don’t understand.” She stared in disbelief at the woman, wondering how in the world this crap had fallen in Eden’s lap and not in someone else’s. “You can’t tell me who I am. You shouldn’t tell me who I am because you never had that right. I was born. I had a mother. I had a father. I had a soul … my own soul.” Other passengers were starting to stare.
“The child that was born that night died, Eden, and all that was left was a vessel,” she said, keeping her voice low. “It was the vessel I needed.” She looked ashamed all of a sudden. It was unnatural to see shame in Khale’s eyes, because she was always so sure of herself.
Eden couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “A vessel?” Is that all she was to these creatures? A fuckin’ vessel? “Why didn’t you just—I don’t know—go find an empty milk carton or something if all you needed was a vessel, Khale?”
“The Redeemer is precious, Eden. She is special and the only one of a kind.”
“I’m a vessel and she’s special. I don’t know. I’m not really feeling the love here, Khale,” she shot back sarcastically. Eden was hurt. It was one thing to be the reincarnation of an Ancient being, and quite another to be called a “vessel.”
“You were chosen, specifically by me. I waited so long for you.” Her voice cracked, and she pressed her lips together in an attempt to hold back her emotions. “The baby born that night, in this body,” she looked at Eden, “passed away quietly, Eden, and when she did, I filled what was left with the essence of my Beloved Mkombozi so that she could complete what has been left incomplete.”
Rose had painted her stories of her relation to Mkombozi in broad, easy brushstrokes. Khale had sliced through those romanticized pictures with a knife and carved out details Eden would’ve preferred not to know.
“I’m sorry that you have to find out like this, Eden, but you have to know, because the time is here and it’s now,” she said with urgency. “The Demon is back, and his army is coming. He will consume this world like a plague, and everything and everyone you know and love will fall victim to his rule if you don’t fulfill this purpose.”
Eden was disgusted. She was sick. “You know what you can do with your purpose,” she said, softly. Eden swallowed. “Why don’t you vanquish me or something for insubordination.”
Khale’s expression hardened, and all of a sudden that pretty little face of hers looked absolutely menacing. “I’m not asking you, Eden. I don’t have to, and you don’t have to accept this fate you’ve been given.” She shrugged. “It’s not up to me or you. I’ve done what I can to prepare you. Rose has done all she can do to try and get you to understand all that is about to happen. I hope you have kept her teachings and mine close to your heart and your head. What we have taught you will help, if you let it.”
The ferry slowed down, pulled into the Manhattan Whitehall Terminal, and Khale stood up to leave. Eden sat frozen, numb to everything the Ancient had told her.
“It’s the Ancient in you that will ultimately decide what to do and when to do it. My Mkombzi was not a coward,” she said, proudly. “She was a fierce warrior who ran toward her destiny, not away from it. And she won’t allow you to walk away from this,” she finished confidently. Khale smiled one last time and left Eden sitting there more confused than ever. If Mkombozi was this warrior inside her, then who was this coward sitting here trembling like a scared rabbit? Who was that eighteen-year-old who’d tried to kill her self six years ago? Khale and Rose might have wanted to believe that the baby had died that night in the hospital, but Eden wasn’t convinced.
GUARDIAN
; Mkombozi’s obliteration of the Demon was so powerful that the force of it knocked Tukufu from the sky. He landed on his back and watched Sakarabru disintegrate into tiny particles that vanished like dust. She had done it. The Redeemer, his Beloved Mkombozi, had fulfilled her destiny and had done what no other Ancient, including the Great Khale née Khale, had been able to do. She had finally destroyed Sakarabru.
“Stop Mkombozi!” Tukufu heard Khale cry out.
He, like the others, had believed that the Shifter was dead, killed by Sakarabru moments before Mkombozi had appeared.
The dragon lumbered toward him; one of her wings dangled from her shoulder. The Shifter hadn’t the strength to even transform back into her natural state.
“Mkombozi!” Khale called out to her daughter, still hovering above them in the sky. “Please! Please listen to me! Stop it now before you kill us all! Mkombozi!”
What was she saying? Mkombozi hadn’t killed the Ancients, she’d killed the Demon, destroyed him just as it was prophesied by the Seers. Tukufu struggled to his feet and flexed his wings, checking them for injury. Pain shot up his leg, but he hobbled toward Khale, confused by this strange reaction she had to the Demon’s destruction.
“Khale!” he called to her. “It is done, Khale! She destroyed him! The Demon is dead! She saved us!”
Khale stared down at him with tears in her golden eyes. “She’s killing us, Guardian,” she said, sorrowfully.
No, Mkombozi was not killing them. She had killed the Demon. She had saved them from Sakarabru’s rule. He was a tyrant, an oppressor, and a tormentor. Tukufu had seen what he was capable of. He had seen the tortured and maimed bodies of Sakarabru’s victims, some left for dead, others not fortunate enough to die, and she had saved them from him.
“Mkombozi! You have to stop now! You have to!” Khale said.
Tukufu looked up at the sky for his Beloved, but the light emanating from her blinded him. He had sworn his Guardian’s Oath to her when he was a child. He had loved her from the moment he first laid eyes on her, held tight in Khale’s arms, an infant, barely hours old, and he had known even then that his destiny was to live and ultimately die for her.
He had been with her on the journey to collect and find the Omens, and with each collection, she had come close to losing her life. Tukufu had watched over her. He had protected her from whatever dangers they had encountered in their journeys, and he had helped her to recover after each bond. He was the only other being on Theia, besides their creator and Mkombozi, who had ever seen the Omens.
She had been afraid of her destiny, but he had been there to let her know that she wasn’t alone. Each bonding had taken its toll on her, changed her, one by one, making her more solemn and brooding. She had paid a price each time, which no one, not even Khale, would ever understand, but he understood. And now it was over.
He flew up to meet her in the air, but the light from her was too hot and too powerful for him to get close or to even see her.
“It is over, Beloved,” he said to her, wanting to reach out to her and carry her away in his arms. “You have done it! You can rest now, Mkombozi.”
“Get away from her, Tukufu!” Khale called out to him. “It is not safe!”
Khale was foolish.
“Beloved.” He reached for her, ignoring the heat burning his arm. “Let me take you where you can rest.”
She was still here. He felt her presence. Mkombozi was not lost. She was here and she was his.
“Tukufu!” Khale shouted.
The light coming from Mkombozi’s eyes burned so hot that it boiled the skin on his chest and felt as if it came out of him on the other side.
“Aaaaaagh!” he yelled, as he fell back to the ground.
Khale hovered over him in dragon form. He stared up at her and watched her lips move soundlessly, as she focused her gaze on Mkombozi. The ground rumbled underneath them before it began to split open and swallow the bodies of other Ancients.
“What’s happening? Khale?”
The glow of the Omens’ markings seemed to burn even brighter than they had before. Mighty trees were uprooted from the ground. Mountains crumbled. He could hear the screams coming from those around him, and still, Khale remained steadfast, murmuring words that only she could hear.
And then he heard her.
“Mother! Khale! What are you doing?” Mkombozi cried out.
Tukufu looked up and saw Mkombozi glaring down at Khale. The same heat that had radiated from her and that she had used against Sakarabru, she turned on the dragon. Khale’s scales began to melt and fall off of her. If she had changed back to her regular form, Mkombozi could’ve easily killed her. The Shifter held her shape.
“Stop it!” Mkombozi screamed at Khale. “Stop what you are doing!”
Khale raised her voice so that all could hear her chant. And the louder she spoke, the more powerful it became. Tukufu looked up and saw Mkombozi begin to writhe in pain.
“Khale!” He stood next to her. “What are you doing?”
“Do not do this to me!” Mkombozi cried. “Khale! Stop! Mother!”
The glow from Mkombozi’s eyes faded as she looked down at Tukufu. “Beloved,” she mouthed, and in an instant, she was gone.
He leapt off the ground, balled his fists, and began pummeling the dragon in the head. “What did you do?” he asked in utter disbelief. “Where is she, Khale?”
The dragon collapsed on the ground. “She was going to kill us all, Guardian,” she struggled to say. “I did the only thing I could do.”
He had always been tethered to Mkombozi. No matter where she was, he had always been able to sense her and to find her, until now. His Beloved was gone.
It was impossible for the Guardian to “blend in.” Even in a city as diverse as New York, he stood out like a sore thumb. People stared. They crossed the street when they saw him coming. They took pictures with their camera phones. Tukufu, or Prophet as he was called now. His new name had come as a result of too much wine and a very loose tongue. Loneliness sometimes drove him to talk too much, telling things about his world that made no sense to those who lived in this one. Prophet had spoken of unusual things; of beings who looked a lot like humans, but who could shift into the forms of animal. He’d spoken of wings that materialized when he willed them to, and of mystics, demons, and ghosts.
“What the hell are you?” a lovely young Latin woman asked, sitting on his lap. “A prophet or something?”
“Or a devil,” another one stated, biting down on her bottom lip.
He preferred prophet. He liked the word and so he decided to keep it as his new name better suited for his new life. Prophet stood six feet seven and weighed 280. His skin was the color of copper, his silver eyes were kept hidden behind a pair of Ray-Bans, and his thick black dreadlocks hung to the center of his back. The only part of him that wasn’t visible to human eyes were his wings. A Guardian’s connection to his wings was spiritual. They appeared when he needed them most, when he conjured them. Ink-black wings unfolded from a space hidden just underneath his shoulder blades and spread fourteen feet across when fully expanded.
She is here. Prophet walked through the streets of New York, ignoring the strange looks and whispers he got as he passed people. He could feel her. For the first time since before their world fell, he could feel the familiar essence of the Redeemer reaching out to him. In all this time, he’d never felt so sure that it was she. He’d never been more convinced than he was now. Finally! His patience had paid off. He had clung to hope for so long, suckling on it like mother’s milk, waiting and searching for the one who would be Mkombozi, the reborn, like Khale had promised, centuries ago.
“It’s not over.” Khale had found him fighting in a Moorish Army in the Iberian Peninsula in Earth’s eighth century. Tukufu was lost then. He was a Guardian with no purpose. Mkombozi had been his purpose, his reason for being, and after The Fall, he had nothing.
Khale had shown up in his tent, shifted into the form of a man with a
long dark beard, turban, and robes. Tukufu was inconvenienced when she suggested that he dismiss several lovely and very accommodating women in exchange for her company. He did so reluctantly.
“Did you hear me, Guardian?” she asked, with that old authority she had once had as his general. “I said, it’s not over.”
He was tired and dirty, and the last thing he wanted to do was to converse with Khale, who he hadn’t seen in many of Earth’s centuries.
“What’s not over, Khale?” he asked irritably.
She seemed impervious to his impatience. “I have just come from seeing Larcerta,” she began to explain.
Larcerta was a Troll Seer, one of six sisters from Theia who had the gift of sight. Larcerta had the gift of being able to see the future, which was why she made herself so scarce. An Ancient could search for Larcerta but would not find her unless she wanted to be found, because she would see into the future and know exactly when to leave.
“The Demon will return, Tukufu.”
Khale’s turban must have been wrapped too tightly on her head, because he had seen Sakarabru die with his own eyes.
“The Demon is no more, Khale. We both saw him die.”
“Larcerta is never wrong, and she is not a liar.”
He studied the Shifter to see if she were the one lying. He had learned long ago that Khale was selective in what she chose to share of the truth she knew. Rumor among Ancients was that she had known what the bond with the Omens would ultimately do to Mkombozi and she had warned no one. So what was she keeping to herself now, he wondered?
“How can he return?” he probed.
She shrugged. “A spell will bring him back.”
“Whose?” he challenged.
“Does it matter? The Demon will return and he will try to do to this world what he tried to do on Theia.”
“And he’ll succeed,” Tukufu offered. “After all, there is no one to stop him.”
His words were cutting on purpose.
“I have found a way to bring her back, Guardian,” she murmured, almost shamefully.
What did she mean? “What are you saying, Khale? Bring who back?”