Tomorrows Child

by Starr West

  “I thought you were stronger,” she spat, seething with anger, visibly disenchanted with her newest special one. I was disgusted, violated in a most personal way; but as I lay there on the floor, there was little I could do. Strong, rough hands appeared from nowhere, lifting me up and carrying me away.

  “Caitlyn, come to me,” I heard Volante snap at the young child and her little footsteps immediately followed.

  I was dropped onto the mattress that Caitlyn dragged into the room earlier. The mattress was thin and hard and filled with a coarse fibre that poked through the ticking and pricked my skin, but it was better than sleeping on the stone floor.

  Morning came too fast, I think. Caitlyn brought me bitter water and some hard bread. There appeared to be no pretence now, I had been tested and my place had been established.

  “She wants to see you soon.” Caitlyn sat beside me as I ate, grating my teeth against the hard bread. The room was finally bright with both the window and the door open. Obviously, they didn’t think I would try to escape, but I knew my life would probably depend on escaping today.

  I noticed a new flesh wound on Caitlyn’s arm. The rosette that surrounded the deep cut was red and purple and livid. This child was abused in a new and horrifying way. I couldn’t leave her here and escape to the safety of my life, knowing she would suffer every day until she died.

  “How often does she do that?” I pointed to her arm.

  “Not every day, sometimes there are others. Sometimes she needs more medicine then other days. You were supposed to make her better, but you just made her angry and hungrier.”

  “Caitlyn, Is your blood medicine or food? Is Volante sick or hungry? Which is it? It can’t be both.” I was annoyed with this child; she couldn’t be this naïve.

  “Yes, it’s both. At first she gets hungry, but if she doesn’t feed, she gets sick, then it’s medicine. That’s when it’s bad… when she needs more, so much more. But you can feed her today, and I can rest.”

  I felt sick again, nausea had been a familiar feeling these past few days and it didn’t look as if it would be getting any better.

  “Are you ready?” she asked.

  “What? Now? Isn’t she still right from last night?”

  “She would have been, but she is cranky today and that always makes the hunger worse. Better come now; you don’t want her any angrier.”

  I followed, barely able to stand, let alone walk. Not from the night before, but from the thought of what was to come. Volante sat on a chair under a tree in her garden. It was not productive like Libby’s garden, nor was it a place of safety and solitude. It was an overgrown mass of weeds and vines in varying stages of death. Some flowers struggled to bloom, despite being strangled with vines, while others had given up and stood as defoliated stumps, monuments to death. These abandoned skeletons were nature’s warning to unsuspecting travellers.

  Volante did not waste time. She didn’t smile or pretend this would be okay. She didn’t quell my fear or offer any of life’s pleasures. Her eyes were dull and lifeless, showing no emotion and no compassion. She wrenched my wrist away from my body and held it tightly, her nails pushing into my skin. I noticed her little fingernail had been replaced with a razor-sharp blade. Ironically, it was engraved with an ornate symbol not dissimilar to the ring that Libby wore. She dug the nail deep into my vein without warning or hesitation. The pain was immense, but the worst was yet to come. I felt the warm blood flow down my arm and drip from my fingers. She watched it spill to the earth as if to ensure it wasn’t tainted. And that was it… She lowered her head and drank from my freshly cut vein. I felt her lips against my arm, her teeth digging in and the sucking as she drew my blood into her hot mouth. When I thought it time she should have finished, she didn’t. She just kept draining my blood.

  Again, I crumbled to my knees, but this weakness was different. When she took my energy, I knew I would recover, but how much blood could a person lose before they died?

  “Caitlyn, come, strengthen yourself. You will thank me tomorrow.” Volante made a nick in my other arm and Caitlyn copied her teacher. Volante didn’t look at me as she fed, but Caitlyn did. I felt the life begin to leave me and still the two fed. I grew cold and began to shake. Volante dropped my arm first and Caitlyn followed.

  “There is more if you wish. It is doubtful she will live another day anyway. Do as you will, Caitlyn. If you want more, take it.”

  She turned then and addressed me, “You should have been so much more, Psyche. I had such hopes for you, plans that would have offered you a life others would envy and more power than that insipid grandmother of yours. But this is your loss, not mine. I have waited since your birth. He promised you would be special and maybe there was a time when you were. At first I thought it was you who kept me out, but you are weak. Fortunately there are others…”

  I faded a little, teetering on the brink of life and death, not quite sure what I was hearing as the humming in my head grew louder. Caitlyn still held my wrist to her lips as she drank the hot blood.

  “You know, the promise of a child like you is only a fortuitous event if you are left to bloom. But you were not; the magick taints your purity. It binds your strength. I’ve never seen anything so strong, bound so tight. She must have seen it, your grandmother maybe.” She wasn’t making sense. “Or perhaps your mother. But it matters little now, all they did was ensure your death. They could have saved so much if they just killed you at birth.”

  I faded… Volante kept on with her tirade, but it made little difference now as all hope of escape vanished into darkness. I don’t know if Caitlyn continued to feed or if Volante returned to drain the last of my life. I guess I’ll never know.

  Chapter 19 ~ RESURRECTION

  It was so cold, the darkness so dense, so black. Perhaps this was the space between life and death where we wait for the light to find us so we can finally go home. Or perhaps we wander here for eternity.

  Warm hands held me. There was movement. Still so cold, so black, the silence, like death’s knell, ringing in my ears.

  Stillness again. Nothing, not sound, nor light, nor smell… just cold, I still felt cold. Even my heart could feel the cold and sense the nothingness. But wait, my awareness to the cold - surely that accounted for something?

  At least death was peaceful, easy. It required no effort, no choices and no regrets. I felt no loss and no sorrow. The cold, though, was overwhelming.

  Time passed. There were moments when the cold was all that there was; but then there were times when even the cold ceased to exist. Then the cold would return again and then nothing. Time passed, I knew that.

  Yet, was time even relevant, here in this space between life and death?

  “Psyche, Psyche? Are you with us yet?”

  I heard my name. That first sound. Like the first flower of spring. I welcomed the sweetness. I knew she would come for me. My dead mother would not leave me here forever; she couldn’t leave me here.

  “Psyche?”

  Slowly, I became aware of my surroundings, the softness… the warm hands that held my hand… the voices… not one but many… No, not my mother, Libby’s voice calling my name.

  “Psyche, honey.”

  My eyes wouldn’t open, couldn’t open, I tried… the darkness was gone. I could see the filtering of light, a small pink glow through my eyelids. Still, they wouldn’t open. I tried to speak. I moved, I know I did… something moved, some part of me moved and I felt the softness of fabric.

  “Psyche, please wake up.”

  This was not Libby, it was Phoenix. Was I truly dead? Now I wasn’t sure. I forced my eyes to obey, I saw them both standing beside my bed, holding my hand. Libby, Phoenix, Tahinah and Abigail were all looking down at me with expectant eyes and something else… fear maybe, sadness probably…

  “Phoenix, please bring some water,” someone spoke.

  Not dead… the dead don’t drink… don’t need… I’m not dead… I’m not dead!

  “Libb
y,” that was my voice, weak and gravelly. “I’m not dead?” It was both a statement and a question.

  “No, sweetie, you’re not dead,” I heard relief in Libby’s voice. Firm hands helped me sit up against pillows propped high behind me. Someone helped me drink. The light was coming fast and my eyes began to focus. I could see now. I was alive.

  ~~~~

  Pepper nuzzled my hand and nibbled the tips of my fingers. He no longer scuttled across the floor like he did when I first found him in the forest. Now he stood knee-high and was able to rest his head on my bed. His body had filled out and he looked more like a dragon than ever. His skin glistened and was smooth like snakeskin and a row of bubbles had formed along the sides of his back and the top of his tail. Expression sparkled in his eyes and I wondered if he knew what happened during the weeks I was missing.

  The threat of becoming a fire-breathing dragon lessened as each day passed. He still had smoky breath. The earthy smell of spiced timber lingered in the air, even though he seldom coughed smoke in the house anymore. Weeks ago, he had moved out of the house and was now living with the hens in the chicken coop. It turns out he was there the day I searched for him in the forest and thought he was lost. I don’t know why he preferred the company of hens. He didn’t eat them or their eggs; he just snuggled in beside them and went to sleep.

  The next few days passed. Sleeping, dreaming, waking and sleeping more. I grew stronger but no one spoke about what happened. For a while, I wasn’t even sure. The memories were like ghosts on the edges of my mind, shadows of thought, just out of reach, but I knew they were there.

  While I was recovering, Libby brought me tea, bitter and strong. Clover and nettle to cleanse my blood and fortify my heart; willow to help with the pain; hops to help me sleep and whatever else Libby saw fit to include.

  Libby entered my room with another mug of steaming bitter tea.

  “I’m feeling much better now, perhaps regular tea or coffee would be nice.” I stood up to get out of bed, still dizzy, but feeling more alive than I had in days. “I would really like to get up and not sleep all day today.”

  “Better not drink this tea then. Tahinah and Phoenix will be over shortly to look in on you. They will be pleased to see you up and about.” Libby took the tea and let me walk unaided to the kitchen. Libby and Phoenix always assisted my short trips from the bed. I still felt lightheaded and weak, but knew I could manage this alone.

  Libby set a mug of sweet, milky coffee in front of me. The first sip was heavenly, but the next hit my empty stomach and made me feel sick. “I think I need food.”

  “Of course you do. It’s been days since you had a meal. I’ve made a pot of my mother’s “Wellness Soup”… Unless there is something else you’d like?”

  Libby’s “Wellness Soup” was legendary. Mostly, it was just chicken and vegetables, but she claimed there was a little magick and a lot of love in each spoonful. She would simmer an old hen for hours to make the stock; then add vegetables and herbs at just the right time to capture the goodness. The soup was stirred in the direction of the rising sun and wasn’t allowed to boil lest “the goodness” escape with the steam.

  Tahinah arrived while my soup was cooling. She hugged me tightly, quite relieved to see me up and about. Phoenix came just as I finished my soup. Both were courteous and cautious with their words and carefully spoke about everything except what had happened to me.

  “I thought I was dead.” I commented between “The peas are coming along fine” and “The wheat looks to be our best harvest ever.”

  “I mean I really thought I was dead, not, I thought I was going to die. I thought I had already died.” It was all I could think about now that I was awake, “but I can’t remember anything else.” Tears filled in my eyes as I spoke and told them what I could remember, which didn’t amount to much, and they told me what they knew.

  Phoenix said he tried to find me in my dreams, while Libby had been using all her gifts, searching for some sign of me. Ruben and Navarre had tried to track me through the forest; but my trail went cold about a hundred metres from the house. Libby had spoken to her guides and called on my mother, but received nothing to direct her to my whereabouts.

  “It was like you never existed.” Libby was shaking her head. “I’ve never felt the absence of someone so strongly.”

  “I tried scrying,” Tahinah said as she pointed to a map on the table; “but the pendulum was erratic. It just kept swinging, confused. And then Phoenix felt you in his dreams.”

  “It was just a slight flicker, everything was dark and cold. Not really a dream at all, just a hint of consciousness.” Phoenix looked pale as he tried to recount his dream and his eyes glistened with tears, “I thought you were dying and worried we would be too late.”

  “That was all we needed, just a flicker of life. By the time Phoenix arrived to tell me you were alive, I already knew where to look,” said Libby.

  “It all happened so fast, but you were so far away, only about twenty kilometres by the old road, but way too far by foot. Seth and Lachlan took the Jeep with Ruben and Phoenix. They arrived back here just after dawn.”

  “How long have I been gone?”

  “Four weeks.”

  “Four weeks! You have got to be kidding.” I remembered one or two days at the most. “No. No, it’s just not possible! That would be crazy. I remember the room I was in was really cold and dark and I couldn’t really see any light so I never knew if it was day or night; but it couldn’t have been more than a day or two - a week at most.”

  I tried to think, to remember, but my head hurt and a wave of nausea rushed over me. Then I had a flashback and remembered the rosy bruises on my wrists; but they were now a series of wounds in various stages of healing. Not one scar but many, five on my left wrist and too many to count on my right, bright pink and puckered. I pressed lightly on the scabby skin and winced at the pain.

  “Tell us what you remember, Psyche.” Phoenix took my hand in his and kissed my palm, turning it over, so the marks were no longer visible.

  I told them about Volante and Caitlyn. I told them everything I could remember and then I told them about the blood.

  “My God, Psyche, you are so lucky to be alive! It sounds like a nightmare.” Tahinah was shaking her head in disbelief. “Libby, can you believe this?”

  “Unfortunately, I can.” Libby wasn’t as horrified as everyone else. “That woman was always a bitch. She manipulated everyone and anyone to get what she wanted, but this is going to another level altogether. What I don’t get is what she wants with Psyche.” Libby was looking for answers I didn’t have.

  “I have known Volante for a long time, but she left the area about ten years ago,” Libby continued. “I didn’t expect to see her again, and until that day at the markets, I didn’t think I would. She spoke to you there. Remember?” I met many people that day, but I don’t remember Volante.

  “She was the town’s trouble maker, little things really. Broke up a couple of marriages, spread gossip, and lied about almost everything, but she was really nothing more than a stupid troublemaker. I knew she was into magick and hung out with the new age crowd for awhile. She went to workshops and took classes, however, I never really knew what she was up to, but I sensed she was hiding something.”

  “It seems as if she has come a long way from being a bitch and a troublemaker to draining the blood from a young girl until she is near death,” Tahinah interjected.

  “Maybe not so far,” Libby said. “She could drain the energy of a room faster than anyone I ever met, but not everyone is aware that they are doing it. As far as I know, she didn’t seem aware of it at all. However, she has Romanian ancestry and claims her grandmother was a gifted fortune-teller. There’s a Romanian legend about vampires and witches. Romania is the ancestral home of the vampire and has a long history of witchcraft. The legend is about children born to a vampire and a human. The woman practiced witchcraft and everyone suspected her children did also.”
/>   “So you think she’s actually from this line of vampire witches?” I asked, incredulously.

  “Maybe, but I am sure there are many similar stories and people like Volante are not as rare as you might think,” Libby replied.

  “But she didn’t have fangs, she didn’t bite me; she cut me with a blade.” I knew there was much more to remember and more to know, so I waited for Libby to speak.

  “That may simply be the result of a diluted gene pool. The theory is that ‘real vampires’ once had the attributes we know from myth and legend, but as time passed, they evolved and things like fangs became less obvious. Many of the legends claim that vampires and humans can’t have children. But perhaps the vampire is simply a race of humans, rather than a different species or even the living dead.”

  “There’s been a vampire subculture for years, even centuries,” said Phoenix. “Most are found in the cities where people can live any lifestyle they choose and go unnoticed, but it’s nothing like the movies. As far as I know, very few bodies are found in the city alleys, drained of blood. It’s more a voluntary thing. Sanguine vampires take blood; while psi or psychic vampires take energy or life force. Some take both. But it’s usually by mutual agreement, and a symbiotic thing.”

  “Phoenix is right. It’s not as unusual as you might think. If you watch people long enough, you’ll often see one person sucking the energy from others in a room,” said Libby.

  “You can actually see the energy flow from one person to another. The victim’s auras grow dim while the aura of the person sucking the energy grows stronger. I think the general population are unaware of this. Sometimes even the psychic vampire is unaware,” Libby added. “Which really just supports my theory: vampires were simply another race and the vampire/human offspring are equally distributed throughout society and as common as mud.”