The First

by Michael Santana

  “So, he bound your soul in that body?” She asked.

  “He says he did”

  “Do you know what it was he made you drink? You say you were dying from the stabbing?” “Yes, of that I am sure. I was dying I don’t know why I didn’t.” I replied as I thought back to that time.

  “I think I do,” she said. “It was the blood. Typhon was messing with magic he should not have been. I believe it was a combination of the four events that happened.”

  “Four events?” I asked.

  “Yes, four events. I believe it took all four or now you would be nothing but ashes from the fire or food for his dogs,” she said as she poured herself a goblet of wine.

  A grimace took the place of her otherwise beautiful face as she spat the wine on the ground. “Yuck, this wine is putrid,” she said scowling.

  “What four events?” I asked a little impatiently.

  “You were poisoned to give the look of death. Your soul was bound in your body, so you could never ascend. You were stabbed and left dying. Then you swallowed the blood of the guard.” She said eyeing the goblet suspiciously.

  “Why would…..”

  “Now I think that three of those would have meant nothing, if not for the binding of your soul. That also might explain your wounds healing before my eyes as you drank from the guards.” She said.

  “Did you know that the blood would heal me when you fed them to me?”

  “I wasn’t sure, but after seeing that drinking your blood healed me, I assumed. How many times has the blood healed you?” she asked.

  “The guard in the dungeon and here,” I replied.

  She reached for some grapes that were on a nearby table and popped two in her mouth. The familiar grimace returned as she bit into them. Her body started to convulse, and she started making a retching sound before she threw up blood onto the floor.

  “What is wrong with me?” She said weakly.

  “I wasn’t sure if it would be the same for you, but I have found I can only ingest blood.” Then quickly I added. “Living blood, if I try anything else…. well you see what happens,” I said apologetically.

  The sunlight brought another shock for her. It affected her in much the same way as it did me. In the light of day, she appeared as a decayed, disease-ridden fiend. Her days of walking in the sun were over. We had the same limitations and the same strengths. It would be thirty or so years before we realized we weren’t aging.

  One summer’s evening after a gluttonous banquet at a wedding reception, Irisi told me of her life.

  Irisi’s life story wasn’t much better than my own. Irisi was twelve years old when her father had wagered her in a bet and lost. Irisi’s father had been a habitual gambler and a cheat. He had conned his way through many types of shell games and others that involved the numbered cubes now called dice. The fact that he had been an accomplished slight of the hand trickster made his games unwinnable.

  One night while out plying his trade with some of the city’s shadiest characters, he had been caught by another trickster he had the unfortunate luck to run into. For a man who made a living off games of chance, luck had never been a factor in his chances of winning. The trickster exposed her father in front of a crowd of onlookers.

  One man upon seeing this deception unveiled flew into a rage. He demanded every coin he had lost to her father returned to him immediately.

  Her father swore to the gods he had never cheated the man and owed the man nothing, but to save his good name, he would make another bet with the man. They would bet the amount the man had felt he was owed. Not having enough money on him to cover the bet, her father offered Irisi into the pot as his collateral, and as usual, he tried to sham the man.

  I have already described her beauty to you. I am sure it was a beauty that followed her from birth to adulthood, without the awkward stages many go through. The bet was another game of dice. If her father won, he would get a large amount of money. If the other man won, Irisi was his to do with as he would. The man agreed to the wager, and the game and the rules were set.

  As her father drew his hand back to throw his loaded die, his hand was stopped mid-toss. The dice he had been holding was taken from him, and a fresh set was placed in his palm. One of the men who had been observing the whole situation was the caller. He would stand at the far end by the wall and call the number that landed. Fifteen minutes later Irisi became the property of one of the city’s most notorious men. Her recollection of the loss of her virtue was a shocking, twisted tale. One I would not go into. The vulgar details are hers and hers alone to tell.

  Her days were spent cleaning up after a pig of a man and nights were filled with the fulfilling of all the deviant desires that the man could think of.

  As time passed and she grew older, the man’s desires for her waned. His eyes had turned to another slave. She was as young as Irisi had been when he had taken her. After tiring of Irisi all together, he put her out as a concubine to the rich and poor alike. She was sent out two and three times a day to fill the old man’s pockets.

  A few days before her sixteenth birthday she was purchased outright by a priest. This man was different. He loved Irisi and lavished her with gifts, the title of a priestess and a life of luxury. Under his tutelage, she served Hathor, the fertility god. She read everything she could find on the mysterious Deity. It was her thirst for knowledge that led her to the priest’s private library where she learned the mystical ways of the dark arts. Sadly, he died five years later, at the tender age of ninety-three. Upon his death, he gave her the gift of freedom and enough coin to sustain her for a little while. Trying to live the life she had become accustomed to; the money soon ran out. Having no useful skill to speak of she was back to doing the only thing she had ever known. The only difference was now she was able to keep the coin she earned. Coin she used to buy elegant robes and expensive oils, which she used to lure the upper crust of society. Soon she was a kept woman servicing only the elite and at her pleasure. This is how she came into my tale, beautiful, regal and sure of herself.

  Irisi was very clever when it came to ways for us to entertain ourselves. Life can really be boring when you have been together for hundreds of years. Thankfully, her imagination was unbounded, and she never ceased to amaze.

  One night, many, many years later, we came upon a young couple, who had just been blessed with twin baby boys. They carried them with such pride. Their little bundles of joy were beautiful. Beautiful and delicious is what they were. Their plump little body’s hearts beat so fast, as our teeth sunk in. I had taught her how to make it last by gently sipping until the hearts slowly gave out. Sometimes she would sip, and other times she ripped through the tender flesh like a savage animal. The young couple watched in horror. They hung upside down from the rafters as we dined on their children. We slowly drank as we watched their faces turn red like ripe tomatoes.

  “He’s truly delightful,” Irisi said to the hanging mother.

  “You should try this one,” I said to Irisi with a wink.

  “I have found they are the best when they are this fresh,” I said offhandedly to the boy’s father. “Do you have any more of these precious little treats?” Irisi asked as she casually tossed the tiny carcass over her shoulder. The body bounced on the floor like a child’s ball.

  The mother wailed at the sight of her newborn dead on the floor. I looked to the dead child and then back to the hanging mother.

  I do not know what it was, but something about the situation struck me as funny. I fell into a fit of laughter.

  Irisi looked into the eyes of the mother as I finished off the infant and discarded him with his brother. She then proceeded to gaze into the eyes of the father. With a wave of her hand, a nail opened his throat, and she drank. I bit deep into the thigh of the hanging mother and did the same. Even though the woman’s screams went unheeded by Irisi and me, they didn’t to
a lone man passing by. In the midst of our bloodlust, we hadn’t noticed him. We were too immersed in the feed. It seems he had peered in and witnessed the carnage we had wrought on the little family and had run for help.

  They came on us in a wave, a storm of men with swords, clubs and anything else they could get their hands on. Their faces filled the windows, eyes ablaze and mouths agape. Shouts rang out in the huge chamber. With the last of her life’s blood trickling down my throat I stared at them. Irisi was at my side in an instant.

  “How many,” she asked.

  “Too many, and more will come I’m sure” I assured her.

  The door crashed open, and sunlight broke through the shadows. We had been having so much fun we never noticed the oncoming dawn. Even though we had traveled together for a few hundred years, we were still in the infancy of our being.

  The morning rays filled the room, and the mob saw us for what we truly are. The map work of our veins shown in the light, diseased and pulsing through our pale and almost transparent skin.

  Courage can be fleeting when you come across something entirely new to you. I watched as the color left their faces when the realization of what had been done in the farmhouse sank in. One brave man did dare to charge in. He had moved in the direction of Irisi, and she met him with a swift death. Her nails ripped through his face on his third step. In an instant, she was back at my side.

  It really was quite amusing how quickly the outraged mob slowed their movement.

  “I know one thing that’s certain, if we stay we will surely be overcome as more arrive,” I told her. “Goodbye Ammon.”

  At that moment I knew our days of traveling together were done. Escape was the only chance we had. The story would spread, and we would be hunted and eventually killed. Although I guess we did deserve it, I wasn’t ready to die. I had already died once and didn’t much care for it. “Goodbye Irisi,” I said smiling.

  We cut a path through the men out the door. Clubs came crashing down, and swords thrust into me as I made my way through the crowd. I swiped wildly with my arms, screaming madly. My nails were dripping with blood, flesh, and muscle from anyone that was in reach of them. The years of drinking the life’s blood from so many had made me much stronger. Even though I felt the pain of each blow or cut, I continued. Through the melee, Irisi’s hands reached out to me. I brought her in close enough to kiss her once before the crowd pulled her from me. Her hand reached out one last time pulling the necklace from around my neck. I watched the red ruby and green emeralds float away with her in the crowd. I could hear her laughter and curses as we both continued our struggle to freedom. Finally breaking through the last of the group I looked up to see many more coming through the sand.

  Bleeding terribly from the many slashes and stabs, I made my escape. Numerous bones had been broken in my face and all throughout the rest of my body. Even in this condition, I was still too fast to be caught as I ran into the tree line and out of sight.

  I came upon a small house on the outskirts of Memphis. The owner of the house was outside herding sheep into a corral. Quick as an asp, I moved in on him. Reaching around his head from behind, I covered his mouth with my hand and pulled him down to the ground. He struggled, they always do. I tore the meat from his throat as he bit down on my hand in defiance. The blood began to heal me. The wounds were too great though, and it would take more, much more. I needed to keep feeding, then I could make good my escape. I heard laughter from the house. My mind reached out, but in my weakened state, I couldn’t pick up the thoughts.

  His heart finally stopped pumping the healing fluid into me, and I rose. The blood still oozed gel-like from my wounds and my ankle was still twisted in an awkward direction when I crept to the window.

  Two children sat on the floor playing a game while two women were making the morning meal. There was no escape for them. There would be no mercy no matter how much they pleaded and prayed for the gods to save them. When it was over, and no more blood was to be had, I went and pulled the man’s body inside the house. After throwing all five into a neat little pile in the corner, I locked the door, and I rested. I rose, stared into the collection of cold dead eyes and wondered what to do next. Irisi was gone, and I was alone.

  As strange as it may seem this was sort of a blessing for both of us. She had spoken often of going our separate ways. She had wanted to see Europe, and I wasn’t yet done with Africa. I thought of seeing Asia after that. We both wanted to explore the world. We wanted to see its sights and dine on its people. In the end, I guess we were just tired of one another’s company. I knew we would meet again, one day. I had learned a lot in our time together, and I wished her well, but it was time for me to move on. I waited until nightfall, and then I left Memphis and its memories behind me.

  Chapter 8

  Centuries passed like days as I traveled the Egyptian countryside and through most of the African countries. As time passed, some of my abilities strengthened while others weakened. I had developed the ability to suspend myself in the air like a bird. I had lost the ability to read other’s thoughts, but I could press my own thoughts from further away. My fangs now extended or retracted at will. Years of hiding in the shadows away from the sun had made my skin hypersensitive to its rays. The sunlight on my skin can still cause my decayed form to be seen, but now it caused me pain. If I were to stay sun for a few moments, I would burn and blister as if set aflame. Fortunately, I can feed and heal myself from the burns within hours. I didn’t need to feed every day. I still did, I just didn’t need to. Like the breadcrumb trail in the fairytale, dead bodies were left in my wake marking my passing. I was seeing the world.

  The Catholic Church has been a pain in my ass since the late 1600s. I first met one of their foul brethren in Cadiz, Spain. It all started with a female. Now I am sure by now you realize that I have never really felt love for human beings since my transformation. That does not mean I do not appreciate its beauty.

  I had come across her one night after my nightly feed. She was being accosted by a group of men who had obviously had too much to drink. I usually do not get involved in the lives of humans. I find them trivial and uninteresting. Something about her though compelled me to intervene. Then again, maybe I was just bored.

  I was walking past an alley when I noticed the circle of men with the woman in the center. Her dress was modest. Her head covered by black cloth. She whirled from man to man as they reached for her. In her hands, she held a bible that was pressed tightly against her chest. She was a woman of faith.

  I wondered if the god she worshiped would save her. She looked around desperately searching for help, barely able to see through the group of men. Her knuckles were clutched white on the book as she dodged man after man in defiant silence.

  I knew what their plan for her was, and for just a moment, I thought of Keeza. I thought of the brutality she had endured those many centuries ago. In that instant of reflection, the nun’s eyes caught mine. Not just her eyes but her face, that face. It was a face I hadn’t seen in a thousand years.

  Keeza! It couldn’t be. She was dead. I had killed her.

  The sound of tearing cloth and finally her weak, soft voice uttered one word. “Please?”

  An overwhelming sense of anger boiled in me. I flew to her. Lifting one of the men by the back of his neck into the air, I bared my fangs. I felt his neck snap in my hand as my rage continued to grow. My teeth sunk into the still shaking body. It wasn’t until I sent his body crashing into the group that they even noticed I was there. They were too preoccupied with lecherous thought to pay attention. They stood in shock as I took another of their brood and pulled him to me by his throat. The others’ trances finally broke, and they ran off into the night shouting and cursing. “

  NO! Please! Don’t!”

  It seemed the little man didn’t like being the prey. He had become so used to being the predator he had forgotten what fear felt like. I
made sure he took that emotion into eternity. Their gazes met.

  “Sister Please! Help me!”

  She stared into his eyes for just a moment. Then she reached out with one hand and made the sign of the cross on his forehead.

  “Sister Please!” He cried.

  With both hands on either side of his head, I pressed inwards crushing it like an overripe melon. His blood showered the ground around us.

  She dropped to her knees still clutching her bible tight. Her eyes looked up into mine nervously. There were slight differences, only slight ones though. They could have been sisters. This one’s features were a little softer. Only a little though.

  “Thank you,” she said to me weakly.

  “Thank you, Lord, for sending your angel to strike down those would hurt your servant.”

  Now over the years, I had been called many things, but only once have I been looked on as a heavenly deity. I was certain that this woman had lost her mind.

  I could see the blood pulsing in her neck. In my excited state, I thought of draining her where she knelt and going on about my night.

  The voice of Keeza floated in my mind. Sweet Keeza who I had killed as she beckoned for my love in her direst of times, Keeza who had captured my heart and shown me that life wasn’t all cruelty and pain. Keeza who’s last word was my name.

  “Manzili” Keeza had softly asked.

  I am not sure what possessed me to do so, but I reached out my hand to her and helped her to her feet.

  Shouts filled the empty air with claims of murder and devils.

  “You must leave.” She said looking past me.

  Her eyes had fixed on my mouth or at least the two sharp points that shown as I smiled at her.

  “He,” she said pointing at the man with the crushed skull. “He is the Mayor’s eldest son. “He,” she said pointing to the other corpse “is rumored to be the bastard son of the cardinal. The others were the mayor’s personal guards.”