Descendant

by LJ Amodeo

  “Sssssshhhhh.” The voices hissed, silencing my cries with its disfigured hand over my mouth. The heinous laughter that spewed from its lips, vibrated in my skull. “Where is your angel now, Elizabeth!” the chorus provoked me in unison. My lungs spasmed wildly, forcing my heart to beat erratically through my skeletal chest. I fought the beast to no avail. I screamed and punch at the fiend that stomped on my chest like he had done once before, baffling doctors who, were unable to understand how I had broken my ribs. I did not have the strength to control the possessing entity and so it persisted. My battle was lost. No longer would I fight the urge to stay alive.Let it end,I begged,just let it be over. And so, my life slipped away piece by piece.

  Growls and wicked choruses clashed in a blood-chilling frenzy, as the fierce pain that entered my body was suddenly extracted. Shards of glass and metal smashed against the pale quartz flooring in discord. Sounds of sickening snaps and howls of rage jounce against the walls, while my consciousness faded in and out. In a rage to fight, I hurled my arms, lashing the evil around me and the demon within. I knew someone or something fought this battle alongside me. I sensed a different energy in the room. A familiar, warm energy that protected me. It was pure. It shed light so that I could see passed the darkness, but it was too late. The beastly force sucked me through the dark shadows of its sickening concave.

  I was in the blackest abyss. The terror of the darkened hell that I had been condemned to, closed its walls around me, trapping me on a desolate street. The incubus lingered closely behind my aching body. The smell of its revolting odor filled the thick, night air. Vacant, broken homes surrounded me; not one light from them did I see. Nowhere to run or hide. The street lamps were dark, but not as dark as the black moon. Ahead, a temple made of stone appeared through the shadows of a dim street lamp. An arcane symbol of a snake twined around a burning tree was carved on its wooden doors. My beloved dog, Prince sat chained to a street lamp in front of the temple. I ran toward him, but the faster I ran, the greater distance stretched between us. I would not give up, my heart beat rapidly that I felt it’s pounding in my throat. The stone temple, my only solace, suddenly blew away like a sand castle in a violent storm.

  The laughter of demons echoed down the empty street as I stood there alone, helpless, surrendering myself to this insanity; my body went limp, falling to my knees, as I cried for my mother.

  “Stay with me, Elizabeth,” a voice echoed from somewhere in an alley. “Hold my hand and stay with me.” The words vibrated through the empty illuminated passageway. I walked toward the light.

  “Elizabeth. Elizabeth,” again, a soothing voice whispered closer to my languid body. I felt a light tug at my shoulders, but could not respond. In the emptiness of my own world, I remained suspended, neither here nor there. My soul was somewhere else, somewhere cold and dark. I remained trapped between two worlds, when hastily, my body dropped toward the earth, with a forceful suction. As my body hit the ground, I let out a long gasp of air, cringing from the pain.

  “Elizabeth, open your eyes.” The voice chanted beautifully. “I’m here with you, but you must open your eyes,” he whispered.

  My lids flickered uncontrollably before I focused on the face of my angel. His supple lips smiling down at me, while his eyes held back tears. Wildflowers and purple orchids, fused exquisitely in the grassy meadow. The pasture was a familiar scene, like a painting I’d seen in one of my English literature textbooks. The difference in the beauty that captivated my attention was not the river in the painting, but my own Genesee River. At least, that was what I believed.

  Am I dreaming? Am I still alive?

  For the first time, I noticed the natural brilliance of the paddock. I lay on the soft grass, noticing the river, shimmering beneath the sun’s rays and the scent of freshly cut grass. The creamy dress that covered my body was similar to the one my grandma Anne wore in a black and white photo I had on my dresser when she was about my age. I felt a calming peace around me. The light surrounding me was amazingly beautiful and forgiving. Nothing I had ever seen, looked so pure. He brushed my cheek to let me know he was there. Michael sat beside me. His skin glowing against the paleness of his white shirt. A lump formed in my throat, too frightened to say what was on my mind.

  “Walk with me.” He said softly, pulling me to my feet. The river was beautiful. Its greenness and splendor was vibrant. It appeared painted.

  “Where are we?” was all I could mutter.

  “Elizabeth, I told you I would explain everything in due time. Remember?” His gentle smiled settled on his lips.

  “Yes.”

  “Now is the time.”

  “Am I . . . did I . . ?” I could not mouth the word.

  “Die? No. Let’s just say you are in peaceful slumber.” He smiled.

  We walked along the banks of the river feeling weightless, as if floating. Beautiful little girls, garbed in creamy dresses, similar to mine, and boys in knee-high trousers, frolicked in the meadow while their grandparents watched with adoring eyes. Their golden locks glistened in the sunlight. Michael gently took my hand, stroking his thumb against my knuckles.

  “Elizabeth, you are an extraordinary girl, with an extraordinary gift,” he said, leading me past the soaring trees. “I must tell you why I’ve come.” His deep blue eyes looked into mine.

  “Then Samantha was right. You did come for reasons other than school,” I whispered to myself. His hand squeezed mine insignificantly.

  “I had to wait, for the right time to tell you. Do not be upset with me.” He stopped to face me.

  “Your father, Phil—”

  At the mention of my father’s name, I immediately pulled my hand away from his, taking a step back. I didn’t wait for him to finish speaking.

  “How could you? You came because of my father? Was it you who sent the letter that he had died? Is he the reason you came to Caneadea?” I growled, beginning to freak out at him.

  “Just hear me out.”

  “Why should I? It’s been one lie after another, Michael! How could you do this to me? I. . .I loved you. I believed in you and you betrayed me the entire time. You told me to trust you. And I did!” My body quaked and tears began to drench my cheeks.

  He stood before me looking down at my flustered face. “I had no choice. I couldn’t tell you before now. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “You never gave me a chance to understand, Michael!”

  He shook his head, “You wouldn’t have understood what I needed to tell you, not then, anyway. What I am about to tell you is not something that you mortals can ever fathom,” he smiled, nervously.

  “We mortals?” I stepped back again. “Who are you? What are you?” I growled anxiously.

  “There is something I must show you before I answer that,” he replied.

  I didn’t protest, though, the anger that erupted in my body quaked with heated fury.

  “Fine! Show me what it is you want me to see,” I barked, taking a deep breath to simmer my rage.

  Michael led me deeper into the meadow until we came into a clearing. On its hilltop, a magnificent stone structure stretched against the pale blue skies. Its fortress must have dated back to the medieval era.

  My eyes widened with curiosity, as the stone sanctuary’s outline became evident on the hill.

  “ What is this? ” I stopped to admire its unrivaled beauty from a distance. “How long has it been here?” I remained mystified.

  “It dates back to the thirteenth century. The Obidos was originally presented as a wedding gift from King Dinis to his beloved Queen Isabel.” He grinned. My jaw fell open.

  “They lived here, in Caneadea?” I asked baffled.

  “Nao, minha princesa. In Portugal.” He continued walking.

  “Are we in . .?”

  “Portugal? No.” he chuckled again.

  “I’m confused.”

  “Come, you will understand.”

  He guided me to the stone paths that led to the fortified bastion
. It sat extraordinarily on a limestone ridge that overlooked the river. Michael stopped before the massive wooden doors decorated in cast iron hinges with steeple top finials. A colossal stone carving of angels holding the hands of the Blessed Virgin rested above the portal. The same depiction I had seen time and again in my dreams and on the small medallion hanging in Michael’s car. I stopped to admire the detail of the religious motif while Michael held his gaze on me.

  “What are we doing here? This place was in my dreams.” I remained confounded.

  “They have waited a long time for you, Elizabeth.” His said, barely whispering.

  “Who, the king and queen?” I remarked sarcastically. He wistfully tilted his head, sparing my naiveté. My head spun with confusion. I couldn’t distinguish the difference between reality and dreams, at this point,. They’ve become one and the same. Michael said nothing, but waited patiently for me to adjust to this entirely new existence. We walked through the doors that led to an arched stone gallery. The limestone corridor twisted and dipped around curves that were dimly lit by burning torches, the same torches from the bar in Quebec. For a trifling second, I stepped back in time, as if in my own mythical fairytale.

  At the end of the long tunnel, two large men stood like statues in waiting, dressed in rich midnight blue velvet cloaks. Their faces remained obscure under their hooded garb. Above their heads, I immediately recognized the lettersOHT that were elegantly inscribed above the elaborate portal. The guards pulled the heavy ornate doors apart, revealing a grand hall covered in a sea of deep blue sheathes. The smell of incense immediately filled the stifling air around us. A large altar draped in pale blue sat visibly across the giant chamber. I stopped and looked at Michael, his hand slightly pushing me forward toward the crowd of devout spectators. It was happening again. The visions in my dream were playing out before me. This time the revelations were much too real.

  “What is this?” I asked, as he hushed my words.

  We entered the great marble hall as the massive doors closed with a loud thud behind us. The cloaked witnesses slowly began to genuflect, as if by common impulse as I brushed past them row by row, like the ripples of an ocean. Blood raced through my veins––my heart beat riotously. I searched Michael’s face for a reason, an explanation.

  He smiled, staring compassionately toward one member of the assembly. I followed his gaze to a most magnificent face that was partially covered by the blue cloak. An angelic face whose snowy white hair peaked through her head covering. I remained awed by her captivating beauty. She bowed her head and closed her violet eyes. Michael did not advance forward. He waited for me to settle my eyes on what lied ahead.

  “It’s all right,” he whispered taking my hand, yet I could not unlock my eyes from the sight of her. Michael squeezed my hand.

  As I directed my attention to the altar, cloaked in rich sapphire, was the man I’d come to loathe in my life, my father. I peered vehemently at Michael, taking deeper gulps of incensed air.

  “You lied,” I heard myself whisper to him, as I tried to pry my hand out of his. He resisted.

  As my father held his hand out toward me, I fumbled over the sapphire runner that led us to the altar. I stopped just a few feet ahead of the assembly that waited before the symbolic slab. The ministry bowed their heads in unison. My father was the first to step forward, looking just as he had when he left.

  “Mia preziosa, Elisabetta. We have waited many years for you,” he said softly and musically. I remained silent, beginning to wonder if this was a dream or another nightmare.

  “La Trinita welcomes you, dear child,” an elderly gentleman interjected.

  “Where am I?” I muttered, trying to force myself to wake up.

  “You have entered the House of Trinity.”

  “The House of what? Is this a joke?” I snorted nervously.

  “No, my dear child. Our society is to be taken seriously. There is much to tell you. I will explain everything in due time.” My father said, gently holding the tips of my trembling fingers.

  “We are happy to have you among us.” He said, gesturing toward the congregation of blue. I scoured over the sea of robes, hoping for another glance at the faces hidden beneath them. My eyes immediately locked on the one face in particular again. Her beauty was enchanting. Profound. Her skin translucent, almost powdery. Her vibrant eyes and shimmering snowy hair emerged from beneath her cloak, quickly tucking the loose strands and concealing her face from further observations. In the distance, a choir hummed tenderly.

  My father stepped forward caressing my face. I did not step away. The anger and all the animosity I felt toward him during my life, didn’t matter anymore. It had been replaced with peace and forgiveness. I wasn’t scared or preoccupied with misery. Here, voices did not taunt me, nor did images hide in the shadows.

  “My beautiful Elizabeth, you are a very special girl. Your sacred bloodline has been linked to and protected by The Order of the Holy Trinity for over 700 years. We protect and serve the sangue reale, royal blood of St. Anne and her blessed daughter, the Ave Maria Vergine.” His admiration for the holy figure was enchanting, as was his voice. They assembly bowed their heads and chantedbenedicta tu in mulieribus.

  “The Sangue Reale, followed many generations of women in your ancestry. You are the last of our sanctified lineage on this earth. Your offspring will determine the fate of mankind. Of all humanity.”

  My head shook in denial. His words made no sense. It was too much to comprehend. “What? Offspring?” I almost laughed. “I must be dreaming. I need to wake up. Y-you’re not real. You died,” I stuttered, turning to leave.

  My father immediately put his arm around my shoulders and spoke gently, “I will explain it to you. Do not be frightened. It is important that you recognize how blessed you are to the Trinity and how important you are to mankind.”

  He led me to a door at the far end of the grand hall. I looked back at Michael, hesitant to enter. For the first time, I could clearly see his glorious wings spread out majestically, as he closed his eyes and bowed his head in prayer. I paused at the door to take in Michael’s beauty. His massiveness. His colossal stature was the most magnificent sight I had ever laid eyes on.

  “Come, be seated.” My father said, closing the door behind me and pointing to a large leather chair inside his chamber. The room was draped in rich wall coverings and plush rugs. Large paintings of sacred, saintly women, including my grandmother Anne, hung on the walls. I gathered they were the descendants of St. Anne. The most beautiful, however, of them all was that of the Virgin herself. Her chocolate, wavy hair, spilled over her dark blue robe. A color that represented royalty. In the corner of the room, above an ornate bookshelf hung a smaller portrait on canvas. Me, seated at my piano. It was a picture my mother had snapped of me before my junior concert. My blue gown shimmered against the pearl piano. My skin glowed. My eyes were happy and my smile genuine. “What happened to me?” I whisper the words as I admired who I once thought I was.

  As I sat there admiring the portrait, so many questions filled my head. So much I wanted to say, needed to know, but I didn’t know where to start. I only stared at Philip’s face, astounded by our resemblance. My father stared back with the same amazed gratitude. We shared the same pale blue eyes. I never realized that until now. It had been so long since I last saw him.

  “Elizabeth..,” he began to say.

  “Why did you have to lie and send a letter saying you died? Why did you leave us? Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me!”

  He looked away. “I’ve prepared myself for these very questions, knowing that one day, I’d have to explain to you why I left.” Dad, sat behind his large mahogany desk, placing a silver box in front of me.

  “Before my mother died, she placed this very old relic in my hands. It dates back to the fourteenth century, I imagine. This remnant contains the divine scroll of my family’s ancestry and this.” He held out a thin silver chain with the exact medal of the Virgin holding the
hands of angels. Inscribed on the back were the lettersOHT.

  “Shortly before I left, I received letters from the Trinity that we. . .rather you, were in grave danger if I remained in Caneadea with you. Our whereabouts had been compromised somehow, and whoever it was that was looking for you, had found you.”

  With quick, small jerks I shook my head in disbelief. I suddenly remembered something from our summer trips to the lake. “I saw her—it was her that day!” Shivers ran down my spine.

  “Who, Elizabeth? Who did you see, what day?”

  “At Lake Sinclair, the day you got that phone call. It was her watching me behind a tree. I . . . thought it was a girl from the reservation, but it makes sense now.”

  “You saw Samantha? Did she see you, as well, Beth?”

  “Yes. Yeah, she was looking directly at me. But if this is not Caneadea, then where are we? Have you been here the entire time?”

  “Elizabeth, this is not the Caneadea we made a life in.” He looked out the window.

  A sudden shiver trickled through my body. My eyes blinked in disbelief. “Does this mean that you are . . . you’re dead? Am I dead? Is this why I’m able to see you?” I stuttered uncontrollably, holding on to the edge of my seat.

  “No. You are not dead, and this is not heaven. Elizabeth, do you remember when you were a little girl, Grandma Anne would say that some are born with special gifts?”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s more of a curse, but what does all this have to do with me?” I said, pointing toward the door that led to the grand hall.

  “It has been prophesied, in quatrains, sacred manuscripts, and the Book of Satan, that the Chosen One would roam both realms. Walk among two worlds. It has been written that ‘She who holdeth the key shall be born with a purest heart and darkest soul, and the great powers will cometh from the skies and the dark abyss will be the terror of mankind.” My father read a verse from the old manuscript.