Stigmata

by L M Adams

  “Okay,” I nod, “I want to try it.” Because when he looks at me like that, I feel I could conquer anything.

  “Come then, you try,” he leads me to his starting point and shows me how to do the kneeling starter stance. He’s behind me stooped down as well, close to me, helping me position my body correctly.

  His proximity is making it hard for me to concentrate. God he’s got his claws into me.

  “Loosen your grip,” he adjusts my fingers. “The force come from here,” he touches my scarred back gently.

  “It’s going to hurt when I throw it.”

  “Oh aye, but you can suffer pain like no other.”

  He wants me to do this, even knowing it will hurt me. I’m not sure why, but I’m not going to let him down.

  He runs his fingertips down my back until they rest at the base of my spine. “Relax until you are ready, feel the rhythm of the earth around you, know it in your heart. We have all the time in the world, all the time.”

  His voice low and steady forcing my heart into a slow and even beat. I may be imagining it, but I feel a dull thump radiate up from the earth into the soles of my feet. I feel the ants and the snakes and the lizards and all the things that creep and crawl upon the earth. I feel the roots of the grass and the trees, and the flowers and the bushes and all the things that grow down into the dark depths.

  My thoughts expand and I know of Lucien – I know of him in a different way. Not what his favorite color is, but I know of his soul and its story and its many incarnations, I know of his triumphs and failures and the things that still scare him, I know of the song that Atum sang to Ishtar that night and I know his heart also sang for Isis in the day.

  I know of the cost in taking a life and the joy in giving one. I know of the balance of things in true perfection. I remember loving the night so I may take joy in the day.

  Balance, I feel the power in perfect balance – something not wholly evil but not wholly good either. I feel something in me urging those things that creep and crawl to feed upon the things left behind in death. I urge those bits to break apart into their elements and give back to the earth what was given to them. I feed the soil and the plants and the grass and the things that have roots. I urge all of it to feed upon the death of the past so I may extend their life and give hope to a future.

  I see in strange eyes as new trees sprout from seedlings, and old trees bud with new leaves. I feel things hatch and feed and grow and live and all of it I feel move towards me, answering my call. Not to do anything but to just be. I feel the majic of Gaia and I remember that I am her son.

  “Raja!” Someone yells and it shatters the fragile edge of the magic I was on the cusp of discovering. Not moon magic, but earth magic.

  Lucien lets out a shuttering breath behind me. I stand turning to look at him, he takes another breath before getting to his feet.

  The others have almost caught up to us. Our party led by none other than Keyon and the other young son.

  “You felt that… right?” I ask in a hurried whisper.

  “Aye,” he sounds a little lost.

  “Was that you?”

  He shakes his head no, “That was your majic.”

  “I don’t have that kind of magic,” I hiss.

  He huffs, “How do you know what majic you have or do not have, when you have never tried to be anything other than what you thought you were?”

  I open my mouth to respond and realize I don’t really have a good response to his very non-Lucien like philosophical question.

  Perhaps he’s right – I’ve never thought of myself as anything other than a vampire. I never thought I would get to be anything else. But Lucien forces me to strive for more, he forces me to wonder. And now here in this ancient time, I can do nothing but discover what I am, because I cannot be who I was… here.

  “Raja! They made me ride slow! They said when I was a man I would understand. What do they mean my Raja?” Keyon asks, a bubble of excitement as always. He stops the horse he, and the other young son are riding, a few feet away.

  Lucien chuckles, “Oh aye, one day you will understand young Keyon, but I will not be doing the explaining today.”

  The young boy looks confused for a moment and then he spots the spear in my hand and his eyes light up, “My emir! You are also a warrior?”

  I chuckle, “I’ve seen a fight or two in my day.”

  He looks back at me and my bruised face, “Did you win any of them?”

  God, all of them are so damn blunt – the entire populace.

  I laugh again, “Sometimes you have to lose for you to win.”

  He looks infinitely confused, “Is this another thing I will understand when I am older?”

  “If you’re lucky,” I give Lucien a glance. I’m not sure he realizes either what I had to lose to win him. I had to lose everything I thought I was to claim him as my prize – never in my life will I ever think it wasn’t worth it.

  The rest of the party dismounts, we’ll leave the horses here. The next leg of our journey must be done in stealth.

  Introductions go around and I meet the rest of our party. All of them seem extremely capable and again I hope I don’t make a fool of myself.

  Out of everyone in the party, only Fana seems to give me a bit of a cold shoulder. She’s one of the only two women here. Tall, dark, thin – her body reminds me of the legendary Ethiopian long-distance runners that competed in the Olympics – when that was still a thing.

  Both of the women are from one of the smaller tribes, the ones who worship Sekhmet, the lioness, sister of Horus, daughter of Ra – from the eastern lands of Africa.

  Her hair is done in tight cornrows, the ends of the braids decorated in colorful red and yellow beads hanging down her back, large honey brown eyes and almost cherub like features. She’d be pretty if she wasn’t looking at me like I stole her lunch money.

  Everyone seems to give both of the Sekhmet women a wide berth, I decide to do the same.

  We secure our horses to the tree, leaving young Keyon and the other young son, Nakuru – in charge of them.

  As Lucien leads us away from the horses and into the tall grass, I move forward to stay close to him, I’m all but elbowed out of the way by the Sekhmet women.

  I start to say something but Nassor clasps me on my shoulder gently, “They guard the Raja on the hunt, yes?”

  I sigh, “The order of things?”

  He gives me a smile nodding, “Aye, the order of things.”

  And so I let it be. I don’t understand all of the customs here – but I’m not about to try and upset anyone. I am a guest, and as much as possible I will abide by their customs and laws. I will not dishonor Lucien by dishonoring his people and their ways.

  Besides, now that Nassor and I have sort have worked out our problems, walking with him isn’t so bad. Usually he would be a chatterbox, the man loves the sound of his own voice, but right now we are to hunt, and we all move with as much silence as possible.

  I find myself more than comfortable in the silence, being able to feel and hear the sound of Gaia undisturbed. The further we walk, the more in tune I feel with the lands and the edges of that strange new magic tickles my senses again. I can hear and feel the sounds of the world.

  Oliphants in the distance, birds in the scattering trees, ants and dung beetles – no creature too large or too small to make their presence known in my heart.

  I can even feel the spirit of the green things that grow, the leaves that sprout, the flowers that bloom. Finally, I admit to myself that I’m curious, I want to know more about what I could be. Maybe being here isn’t so bad for me.

  We walk another ten minutes before Lucien stops and stoops low in the grass. We all follow suit.

  Nassor looks at me and holds his finger up to his lips, I nod my head in return. We begin creeping forward slowly until we’re alongside Lucien and the Sekhmet women.

  We’re up high and can look down into a valley. All around us the hills roll with l
ong grass and acacia trees that look like green umbrellas with their skinny dark trunks but as the tree reaches for the sky, the branches and leaves sprout out towards the horizon.

  Down low in the valley is a large watering hole. The diversity of the wildlife here is breathtaking. Rhinos, and zebras – birds of multitude including pink flamingoes with their long legs perched in the water. Further back are the magnificent oliphants with their large tusks and tough hides. There is such a mix of life, such a beautiful tapestry that I feel overwhelmed and angry at myself for hating being here even for a moment.

  I will remember this for the rest of my life.

  But what makes Nassor hum with appreciation is the massive herd of gazelle. The animals are gorgeous, brown back hides with white underbellies, a black stripe down the middle of their sides separating the brown and white. Their horns are glorious, tall and dark, sprouting up from their strong and proud foreheads – sharp enough to impale any that try to attack them – and of course we’re about to.

  Lucien makes a signal with his hand and half of our party breaks off, moving through the sea of grass completely silent, disappearing before my very eyes.

  We wait for a few minutes and then staying low and quiet we ease towards the herd, the tall grass hiding our approach. The earth is warm, and the grass tickles my flesh filling my nose with the scents of the earth. The closer we get, the slower we move, every shift and tightening of a muscle is done so achingly deliberate. Yet my heart pounds in my chest with thunderous force.

  I’ve hunted human beings without this much anxiety, so what makes this so different?

  A bird call sounds, the left flank is in position. I look over to Nassor, he’s in the position of an Olympic racer ready to make the forty-yard dash.

  Oh god, this is it.

  I move quietly, mimicking his stance. Right leg bent, knee almost to my chest, ready to propel me forward, give me that first crucial burst of speed. I hold the spear in my right hand the way Lucien showed me. I’m as ready as I’m ever going to be.

  I wait and I wait until suddenly out of nowhere is another bird call and Nassor springs forward with a yell. It may seem foolish to do after we’ve spent so much time sneaking up, but it’s meant to confuse the gazelle, and it does just that.

  With the left flank screaming as well, the gazelles aren’t really sure where the danger is coming from, and that initial confusion is enough to allow us to close the distance we need to strike true with our spears.

  Fuck they’re fast, both the gazelles and the Atums. Long strong bodies moving with speed and accuracy… evolution should have fucking stopped with them. I scream just from the sheer effort it takes for me to keep up with that inertial burst of energy. My legs screaming at me as I demand more from them. Tendons pulling, muscles spasm, but like fucking hell I’m going to be left behind.

  The gazelles do more of a hopping run, springing into the air, their black hooves hardly touch the ground at all. I realize jumping to hunt them is the only way to do it clean, they don’t spend enough time down at our level to get it done.

  I lose sight of Lucien and the two Sekhmet women quickly. They’re faster than any of us. Lucien isn’t the most graceful man in the world, but he has sheer power… and he is the son of a god. He’s got me beat in a flat-out dead run – especially since I don’t have that added vampiric boost of speed.

  Another cry rings out and I look over as Nassor jumps up in the air, turning his body to the side and throws his spear down just as the gazelle jumps up, the gazelle falls like a sack of grain, skidding to a halt, never knowing what happened.

  “Strike fast, strike true,” I whisper to myself again and again as I run as fast as possible. What I wouldn’t give for my powers right now!

  I look for my target in the mad sea of gazelle, my eyes settle on one of the bucks, a good size. He’s mine, I know it, I feel it, I know that this is meant to be.

  “Strike fast, strike true!” I yell as I push myself even further and jump into the air, I turn and feel my stitches split as I throw my spear down and into the wheat colored buck with all of my might.

  I struck fast… but not true.

  As I fall back to the ground, barely keeping my feet under me, the buck lets out a horrid sound of pain and I feel that pain run up my spine and explode in agony at my shoulder.

  “Fuck,” I whisper, out of breath… nothing left.

  The buck keeps running, spear sticking out of its back – afraid, confused, hurting. And my heart weeps for it, oh goddess, what have I done?!

  Don’t give up!

  I swear I hear Lucien’s voice, clear as a bell in my mind. His words push me forward as I run alongside the frightened animal.

  “Don’t give up, don’t give up,” I whisper to myself.

  Up ahead I spot a cluster of boulders and I see my chance.

  God watches over fools and babes.

  That’s my last thought as I use the smaller boulders to propel myself up higher, my feet barely touching the stones – until I reach the largest of the round gray stones and jump from the top.

  I fall onto the back of the buck somehow managing to grab it by its horribly dangerous horns and turning its head with all of my might. The snap of its neck reverberates down my own spine as I ride its dead body to the ground in a cloud of dust and thunderous hooves.

  It’s all I can do to keep from being impaled by his wicked horns as we tumble over one another, a mix of human legs and hooves.

  The earth falls silent and all that I can hear is the pounding of my heart and the sound of my own breathing reminding me that I’m still alive. I stare up into the blue sky and for some reason I smile.

  “Aye well, you did okay.” Lucien says stepping into my view, looking down at me with a frown, “You’re bleeding again, aren’t you?”

  “It was worth it,” I whisper, the adrenaline still pumping through me.

  He smiles, “Aye, it was.” He holds out his hand I take it as he pulls me to my feet.

  Yup, everything hurts. But I hunted with a god as a man, as a simple man… and I won.

  122

  Jack – Son of Isis

  Nassor goes to get Keyon and Nakuru of the young sons to bring our horses to us.

  While we wait Lucien shows me how to do the gutting and more importantly, the prayer and thanks.

  “Do all things with a pure and good heart, with reverence and respect, yes?”

  “Yes,” I nod.

  “One buck will feed three hundred people, just one, yes – but the herd has lost a strong protector.”

  “How do I make up for that?”

  “You do not hunt another for the season, never hunt a female with calf or a calf less than two summers. Respect their grazing lands and their waters, give them room to procreate again and if their herd has a bad year, abstain from taking from them which they do not have to give.”

  I look around and see all the hunters with their kills, whispering words of thanks as they gut them.

  I’ve killed a lot – I can’t ever think of a time I prayed over my kill. But again I want to respect their customs, so I do as Lucien tells me and I throw in an apology for not making it as clean of a kill as I should have.

  It actually doesn’t feel as ridiculous as I thought it would.

  Other than the guts in themselves, not a bit of the animal will go to waste, great in terms of respecting the hunt… but it makes lifting the large carcasses up onto the horse difficult. Moving a dead animal… man or beast… is difficult, and it takes two people – I can’t manage it at all. My arm is shit at this point. I can feel the blood running down my back, soaking my shirt through.

  Lucien and Nassor have to lift mine up to my horse and secure it for me. I thank them both and try not to let my ever-lasting feeling of inadequacy flow through me.

  I remind myself that everyone needs help sometimes.

  “Up you go, Bloodsucker,” Lucien laces his hands making a stirrup for me.

  I decide not to compla
in because I’m sure he thought about ordering me to ride with him full bitch mode – but knowing I’d put up a fight, this was his compromise. Marriage is about compromising where you can.

  “Fuck,” I groan as I gain the horse’s back with Lucien’s help. There’s nothing on me that doesn’t hurt… surprisingly my pride isn’t the worst of it.

  The rest of the party is already on their horses, just waiting for Lucien and his busted-up husband to get his shit together.

  “You’re going to have to see Saabir,” Lucien grumbles.

  “Yup,” no point in arguing about it.

  “Unless you want to use a little common sense and feed so you can heal…” he leads.

  “Not a chance.”

  He stands back, hands on his hips, “Very well, but you will be explaining to the Wench that you chose this when we see her next. She will not be giving me another tongue lashing.”

  I grin at him, “Maybe I will… maybe I won’t.”

  Nassor laughs aloud and Lucien cuts his eyes at the other man.

  “Do not fret, Hari, I would be afraid of your wife too,” and all of the men seem to nod and agree with low chuckles.

  We’re running late, the Solstice Feast is supposed to begin at high noon, it’s about nine right now and the meat still needs to be prepared.

  Even still, there is a comradery between us as we make our way back to Atum, even if we are a bit hurried.

  “Here,” Nassor rides up to me, handing me a waterskin. I take a large gulp of it before I realize it’s their very strong honey mead and not water at all.

  I cough as the powerful flavor almost knocks me out.

  “Help take the edge off,” he whispers.

  I huff, “Or knock me out.”

  He chuckles, “It would take more than a bit of mead to defeat you, Capaneus – you are more than meets the eye.”

  I smile a bit shyly, “Thanks.”

  “Back off, Nassor,” Lucien grumbles low from the other side of me.

  “I cannot be kind to him?” Nassor asks, playing dumb and not doing a good job at it.