Born of Darkness

by Rita Vetere

  Who are you?

  I am Sephora, came the soft reply.

  Are you a spirit?

  Yes, although I do not reside in the land of spirits. I exist between the two worlds. My home is a desolate place from which there is no escape. Sephora sighed. My prison is dark. I can see neither the mortal world, nor the land of spirits. Only when he passes through where I am does the light enter my dark abode, and then only for an instant.

  Only when he passes through ... was it possible? Do you mean Ahriman? Does Ahriman pass through where you live to enter the mortal world? In her unconscious body, her heart began to pound.

  Yes. It is within the pendant that I dwell, where I am imprisoned.

  Jasmine tried hard to remember the other occasions she had heard the woman's voice, and realized she had been wearing the pendant on each occasion. She heard the spirit sigh again, a sorrowful sound.

  You carry his child.

  Yes.

  Sephora began to gently weep.

  Can you help me? Jasmine asked.

  The weeping stopped. I risk my own existence, such as it is, by communing with you. Ahriman knows not that I dwell here. Up until this time, I have managed to remain hidden from him. If he detects my presence, I fear he will bind me to him for eternity. It is only after he has passed through into your world that I may make my presence known to you safely, and he rests in the spirit world at present. I should remain silent, and yet your plight has moved me to speak. You must know by now that once the child is born, Ahriman will become immortal in your world. If this comes to pass, there will be no hope of salvation for my soul, or the souls of the others.

  Jasmine listened in shocked silence to Sephora's words. Ahriman. Immortal? Because of her child? No wonder he'd been hell-bent on breeding with her. And who were the ‘others’ of which Sephora spoke?

  There are others?

  Yes. The spirits of the women who have died on his account, and his interference in their mortal lives, are many. They have sought me out. I share their grief, and yet I am powerless to help them. Their souls cannot rest. They wander, earthbound, searching for retribution, having chosen to roam in darkness until the wrongs committed against them are righted. Among these lost souls, your own mother walks.

  My mother. Jasmine recalled the first time she had heard Sephora's voice just after Aunt Dora had passed away. A strange doubling over took place in her mind as she recalled her life before Ahriman. At the time, she had thought the wailing voices in her head to be the voices of the damned. She felt grief, and shame to think she'd been frightened by the sound of those mournful souls, of which her mother was one.

  Suddenly, she was jolted back to reality as her first contraction hit her, hard. Her abdomen contracted and hardened with searing pain that cut across her midsection like a knife.

  Dr. Stronik quickly moved toward her, Christopher at his side.

  "It's starting. Ahriman will make his entry soon,” said Christopher.

  Jasmine delved back down through the layers of consciousness to where Sephora waited. When she was once again in the spirit's presence, she cried, Hide. He's coming. She felt Sephora's fear rippling through her subconscious.

  I will return once he has crossed over. Listen for me.

  Yes. Go.

  * * * *

  Several hours later, Jasmine strained against the leather bindings at her wrists and cried out against the powerful pain as another contraction rocked her. They were coming close together now, and the mood-altering drugs in her system did nothing to ease the pain of her labor. After hours of increasingly painful contractions, her body glistened with sweat, her hair was drenched and plastered to her head. The cotton nightgown she wore clung wetly to her. She arched her back as the contraction peaked and the pain climaxed, doing her best to regulate her breathing until the spasm died down.

  Her breath became ragged, partly from exertion and partly out of fear of what was transpiring. She had never experienced childbirth, so had nothing against which to gauge the enormous pain she experienced with each contraction. Something told her, though, the pain was not the normal pain of childbirth. Twice she had passed out from it. She did not have enough energy to be concerned about Ahriman's imminent arrival. She focused every bit of attention on managing the pain as her unborn child attempted to enter the world. Her arms ached terribly from being restrained for so many hours, and her hands had gone numb hours ago. She focused on breathing deeply following the contraction, knowing another would hit momentarily.

  As she struggled against the blinding pain of her next convulsion, the pendant resting against her chest became warm. The skin beneath it began to tingle. Through half-closed lids, she watched as a tiny ribbon of mist emerged from the pendant, signaling Ahriman's entry. She bit back a scream as the contraction peaked.

  Christopher and Dr. Stronik, who up until now had watched silently as Jasmine struggled with her pain, got to their feet immediately and stood to one side of the room. The candles had all but burned down, although dawn had not yet broken. Silver mist began to pour from the pendant around her neck. In seconds, the room filled with the glow of a thick bright haze Jasmine remembered all too well.

  Christopher remained expressionless as the mist began to gather into itself, but she heard Dr. Stronik's sharp intake of breath and saw him blink before taking a small step backward, his mouth sagging in surprise. When Ahriman's face emerged, Jasmine closed her eyes. Immediately, Sephora spoke to her.

  I am here. Do not be afraid. I will not leave you now. Pay no heed to what Ahriman says or does, for he needs you intact and will not risk your death. Close your mind to him and remain calm. The child will be born. Once the birth has taken place, if it is within my power, I will do what I can to help you.

  Jasmine opened her eyes to see Ahriman's shadowy form standing at the foot of her bed, his piercing black-and-gold eyes looking directly at her.

  "How fares my queen?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  As Jasmine surveyed her enemy, she was grateful to find that the drugs in her system had the effect of dulling not only her anger, but her response to his charismatic attraction, as well. She stared silently at the monster that lurked behind the mask of enchantment.

  Ahriman moved suddenly, ripping the nightgown from her. “Get on with it,” he growled at Stronik, grabbing the man by the collar and pushing him toward the bed.

  Dr. Stronik appeared to shake all over as he hurried to examine her. “Yes. She's nearly dilated enough to accommodate the baby."

  "I'm impatient to see the child,” Ahriman said, fixing Stronik with a dagger-like stare.

  Dr. Stronik appeared to be in shock at the apparition that was Ahriman, but he nodded and arranged Jasmine's legs, instructing her to begin pushing at the next contraction.

  The pain hit hard again, cutting through her unfocused thoughts. Up until this moment, the child growing within her had represented only the dreadful consequence of her mating with Ahriman, one Sephora had told her would result in Ahriman's immortality. What she hadn't counted on was the primal reaction that washed over her, one which, under the circumstances, she fought to resist. But there was no denying it. The child she was about to give birth to was her flesh and blood. A wave of protectiveness for her offspring ran through her, overriding the wrenching pain.

  "Push,” Stronik urged her.

  Instinctively, she bore down hard, breathed, bore down again. She felt a searing, burning pain as the baby's head began to crown.

  "Good. Again,” directed Stronik, who had positioned himself between her legs to assist in the birth.

  Jasmine screeched, unable to help the sound from escaping, as she exerted maximum pressure in an attempt to expel the child from her body.

  "Once more. It's almost out,” said Stronik.

  Jasmine squeezed her eyes shut and pushed with all her might. She felt her flesh tear as the baby slid out of her.

  A second later, Stronik held the baby up by its feet in front of her.
A small moan escaped Jasmine when she looked upon the child she had birthed—a girl. A girl with a shock of hair as black as Ahriman's.

  Heavy silence hung in the room. Her daughter did not cry even when Stronik slapped her tiny bottom, once, twice, three times. Jasmine watched as Stronik stared fearfully at the infant's limp body dangling from his hand. The grayish-blue color of the baby's skin sent a clear message of lifelessness. Pain of a different kind cut through Jasmine's debilitated mind and coursed through her at the sight of her poor, dead daughter. “Dead,” she muttered to herself.

  The word brought with it the knowledge that Ahriman had not succeeded. If what Sephora had told her was true, until she produced a living breathing child for him, immortality would not be his.

  No, came Sephora's soft voice, Wait.

  * * * *

  Ahriman focused his attention on the lifeless infant and spoke. “She has yet to emerge from the realm of death. Once she navigates her way through the hidden realm, she will arrive in the world of the living,” he said, turning to Jasmine. “As did you."

  He waited in silence, confident that the baby would take its first breath. Jasmine had survived the passage through the dark realm. She had been the first female to do so. Her daughter would do the same, he felt certain. A moment passed, and another. Still the infant showed no signs of life. Ahriman turned his deadly gaze on Stronik, whose own eyes now fairly bugged out of their sockets with fear. “You'd better pray the child lives,” he threatened in a low whisper, “or I'll cut off your head and feed it to the rats."

  Stronik visibly paled. Still holding the infant in his shaking hand, he said, “I'll do whatever I—"

  All at once, the baby let out a howling wail. Ahriman shot a triumphant glance at Jasmine. “Congratulations,” he sneered, “on the birth of our first child. The first of many,” he added, caressing her cheek.

  He heard a tiny moan escape her as she turned her face away from him and watched as Stronik cut the umbilical cord and wiped the baby clean.

  Ahriman took his new daughter in his arms and directed Stronik, whose face was now the color of curdled milk, to unbind Jasmine's wrists and leave. When Stronik had done as he was told, Ahriman summoned the dark souls to come forth.

  The faithful began to arrive, one by one, to bear witness to the historic birth of the first and to pay homage to Ahriman and the child. Before long, the room was filled with the chanting voices of the dark souls as they groveled before the newly immortal Ahriman.

  Ahriman held his daughter up as the dark souls paid their respects to her. “She is the first,” said Ahriman, holding the infant high in the air before him. “Her name will be Pandora, for she bears the gifts which I will bestow upon mankind."

  He lowered the child and, with Christopher by his side, paraded her proudly before his hideous audience.

  Afterward, Ahriman spoke his instruction to Jasmine. “You will see to the child's nourishment. Her powers will develop quickly and fully only if she receives nourishment from your body. That will be the extent of your involvement with her. She will be raised under my direction and mine alone."

  Jasmine's arms were still numb from being bound, and it took several moments before enough feeling returned to her hands that she was able to take the baby in her arms. As she received her newborn daughter, a deadly thought surfaced, hovering just above the chaos of her mind. If the child dies before I can bear him another, Ahriman's hope of immortality dies with it. She understood that she could put an end to everything, and that an opportunity to do so might present itself. She pushed the terrible thought away and looked down upon her daughter.

  Jasmine gasped out loud as she studied the face of her newborn. Her daughter's tiny features mirrored Ahriman's, from her rose-red lips to the long, velvety lashes of her closed eyelids and the raven-black curls that crowned her perfectly formed little head. To describe the child as magnificent would be an understatement. Her singular beauty was beyond measure. While she held her gorgeous infant to her bosom, Pandora opened her eyes and looked directly at Jasmine. Her daughter's eyes were ebony, like Ahriman's. The irises were not ringed with gold, however, but with the same deep jade color of her own eyes. As she captured Pandora's riveting gaze, a connective thread formed between them, and Jasmine was astounded to catch a glimpse into her tiny daughter's mind. The mental image that came through was one of pristine white light. Jasmine's mind translated the image into a single word. Innocence.

  As Pandora's rosebud lips latched on to her breast and began to suckle, Jasmine knew what she had contemplated earlier would never come to pass. She would allow no harm to come to her child. Even if it meant the end of all humankind.

  * * * *

  Carla crouched in the corner at the end of the hall, next to the locked door of Jasmine's bedroom. The house was empty, the staff having been sent home the night before. The birth, she knew, was taking place behind the locked door. For hours, she had sat in the corner, listening to Jasmine's screams, until short moments ago, when finally her cries had ceased.

  Please, God, let her be all right, she prayed, clenching her fists so tightly that her nails dug into the palms of her hands. Minutes went by, but still no sound carried past the door. No sound from Jasmine. No infant crying to signal the birth had taken place. She strained to hear through the heavy door, waiting, wondering whether Jasmine was dead or alive. Suddenly, she heard the wail of a newborn, and then Ahriman's murmured words to Jasmine. Relief flooded over her. Jasmine had survived the birth, as had her child. It's done, then. He got what he wanted. Now he's immortal. Relief that Jasmine and the child had survived mingled with fear. What would happen to them now?

  The door was yanked open, and Carla scrabbled deeper into the corner, her back against the wall, praying the open door would block her from view. Through the crack where the door hinged, she caught a glimpse of Jasmine, lying naked on the bed. She was motionless, and bloody from childbirth, but breathing.

  Stronik exited the room, closing the door and hurrying down the hall, away from her. She held her breath. If he turned around, she'd be in plain sight. But he reached the staircase at the end of the corridor and descended without a backward glance.

  After he disappeared from sight, Carla returned to her room on the floor above. Jasmine and her child had survived. There was that to be thankful for. At least she was not alone in this house of horror. Now that Jasmine had given birth, Carla fantasized again about escaping to safety with her friend and the baby. If they could get past the guard dogs and onto the road, maybe they could hitch a ride, or obtain outside help by getting to a phone.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  PART THREE

  Black Karma

  Chapter 28

  Venice, Italy

  Thomas watched the gentle rise and fall of Elisabeta's breath as she slept beside him. He enjoyed nothing more than studying her in repose. Thick, dark waves of her hair streamed across the pillow. Her long black eyelashes rested lightly against the olive skin of her delicate face, which was nestled in the crook of a slender arm. His gaze traveled downward and lingered on her lovely breasts, and from there to the slight curve of her stomach and the tanned, shapely legs protruding from the swath of sheets tangled around her hips. Her sweet scent lingered in the air around him, the taste of her remained on his lips. Mortal beauty was so fleeting, and therefore to be treasured.

  The trilling sound of the telephone interrupted his pleasant pastime. Elisabeta opened her eyes and murmured something to him as he reached for the bedside phone without taking his eyes from her.

  "Pronto."

  "Hello, Thomas."

  Thomas swiveled around on the bed and sat up ramrod straight.

  "Christopher."

  The last time he'd seen his half-brother was twenty years ago, in England, and under unpleasant circumstances. Why the devil would he be calling now?

  He listened in shocked silence as Christopher conveyed Ahriman's instructions. He and Nathaniel were to return to Eng
land. Immediately.

  "Why?” he asked between clenched teeth.

  "He'll explain everything himself once you're here."

  Thomas frowned, replacing the receiver without saying good-bye.

  "Cos’ e sucesso? What is it, amore?"

  Thomas turned to Elisabeta, now wide awake and sitting up in bed. “I'm sorry, love. Something's come up."

  Sighing, Elisabeta rose, dragging the sheet with her to the bathroom. After several minutes, she emerged, dressed and ready to depart. She brushed her lips lightly against Thomas's cheek and whispered in his ear. “Call me soon. I'd like to see you again."

  "I have to be out of the country for a while—business—but I'll call you as soon as I return."

  He watched her as she slipped on her shoes and soundlessly let herself out.

  After the conversation he'd just had, Thomas seriously doubted he would ever see the lovely Elisabeta again. He took another moment to collect his thoughts. The fact that he and his brother had been summoned to England by Ahriman did not bode well. After a quick shower, he dressed and left the comfort of his bedroom and the memory of last night's lovemaking behind. He made his way through the large and well-appointed sitting room, and stepped out onto the ancient stone balcony of the apartment he shared with his brother, Nathaniel. He found Nathaniel occupied with the morning paper and sipping an espresso.

  Thomas said nothing at first, only walked to the balustrade to take in the spectacular view of St. Mark's square, as he'd done each morning for the past twenty years. It had taken many months of wrangling for him and Nathaniel to procure the exclusive apartment, located in the procuratie nuove, the centuries old buildings over the arcades that surrounded the square, and it had cost them a tidy fortune. But waking each day to the sight of the domes and spires of St. Mark's Cathedral, with its unique blending of Byzantine and Romanesque architecture, and the porticos and finely wrought loggias of the Dodge's Palace, would have been worth any price to Thomas. He and his brother shared a deep fascination and appreciation for the renaissance city which they'd chosen to call home.