Kindred of the Fallen

by Isis Rushdan

  “He snuck back in about half an hour ago,” Cassian whispered.

  Talus wobbled over to them. “I think that’s enough for today.”

  “Do you want me to heal you?” Cassian offered.

  Talus swatted at him. “I’m fine.”

  “I wish to speak with you. Wait for me in the meditation room,” Abbadon said to Talus. She nodded and tottered past the field of poles headed for the exit.

  Serenity removed her helmet and Cassian took it.

  “Your ingenium concerns me,” Abbadon said in an even tone. “I worry for the collective, but I also worry for you.”

  She had expected a reprimand, not sincere words of concern to endear her to him.

  “It’s imperative for me to make sure you’re properly trained. You’re an important part of our little unit,” he continued as she approached him.

  “Are you saying you care about me as an individual, like a family member?”

  “Yes, I believe I am.”

  The trust and closeness she’d felt for him in her dreams resurfaced. Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around him in a hug. His body was rigid, as if he hadn’t been touched in an affectionate way in a long time. Slowly, he relaxed and hugged her back with one arm. His embrace lacked warmth, but once again to her surprise, he didn’t pull away. Maybe he was like her and grew up without siblings, leaving him unprepared to relate to others in a familial way.

  As she drew back, he had a puzzled, disoriented expression. A simple hug had knocked him off balance.

  “Were you an only child?” she mused as they headed out of the gym to the house.

  “No.”

  She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. “How many siblings do you have?”

  “I had a sister.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “Sangre saevitas.”

  “Was she euthanized?”

  “No,” he said the word sharply.

  His tone made her glance at him. His face was a pristine slate, clean of any emotion.

  “She was Blessed. A great source of pride for my family. We’d hoped she’d find her kabashem, be the one to redeem us. Losing her…” He bowed his head. “It was a long time ago.”

  “I’m sorry.” She touched his arm.

  “Now all of my hope rests with you and Cyrus. May you two achieve complete reunification soon and break the curse.”

  “What is complete reunification? How do we break the curse?”

  “When the souls of the Fallen were split, the Creator declared the curse could only be lifted by one of them. Their bodies had to turn to dust first. Once reborn they would have to overcome obstacles to find one another, to rise above the lust for power that had corrupted them, to sacrifice for love and reunify a single soul that had been severed. It has been prophesized that reunification begins as the body and anima and soul meld to one when you mate. Complete reunification manifests once a Blessed couple has a child, the first Kindred with a sanctified soul, the redeemer.”

  Her gaze roamed over the green lawn to the fountain as she absorbed his answer, shock seeping in. “The only way to break the curse is to have a baby?”

  He nodded.

  She couldn’t be a mother. She’d rather drive nails into her fingertips. “Can’t we go on a quest, cross a lake of fire and slay a dragon to find some magic object to put an end to the curse instead?”

  Abbadon contracted his eyebrows and tilted his head to the side.

  “Never mind.” She loved Cyrus, but a baby wasn’t part of the equation. She had no idea how to be a mother. Her own had abandoned her, leaving her alone in the world.

  Abbadon put his hand on her shoulder. “Today’s lesson will be strenuous. You should clear your mind to help you prepare. I need to speak with Talus first. You may take your time.”

  Serenity went to her room and changed her clothes in a daze, still shell-shocked from what Abbadon had told her.

  When she’d made love to Cyrus, entangled in the throes of pleasure, a quiet yearning to create life, to have a part of him growing in her belly bloomed every time like a conspiracy shared between her heart and soul. The feel of him releasing his essence always made her climax again, but once the fire died down and they cuddled, basking in the afterglow, she had dismissed the phantom feeling.

  And she had coupled with Cyrus over and over again in the past two days with no form of protection. And he had conveniently neglected to mention the bit about knocking her up to save their race from extinction.

  She rummaged through her stuff, looking for her diaphragm. She’d have to blow dust off the thing it’d been so long since she last used it. Evan was always working. Not that either of them seemed interested lately.

  Where could it be? Had she even come across it as she unpacked? How could she have slept with him without protection?

  Tearing through drawers and toiletry bags, the yellow case was nowhere to be found. She couldn’t share a bed with him and resist the temptation to make love with him. She’d give him a piece of her mind and flat out tell him why she didn’t want his large, hot hands to caress her or for him to be nestled deep inside of her.

  Who was she fooling?

  She needed his energy stream and body just as much as she needed air to breathe. She could ask him to wear a condom, but there was no way he’d ever agree. She’d have to start keeping track of her irregular cycles, find some online ovulation calculator and when she entered the danger zone, they’d have to stick to using fingers, mouths and tongues for pleasure.

  What if her cycle differed from a human and she couldn’t use an online calculator to predict ovulation? She didn’t even know what it meant to be a Kindred female.

  How could she possibly be a mother?

  The drive to the oracle’s place was faster than estimated on the satellite navigation system, taking less than twenty minutes. The apartment building stuck out as there weren’t many in Mamaroneck. Odd the oracle had chosen to live so close to Valhalla. He wanted to dismiss it as coincidence, to quell the strange sense of foreboding rising inside of him, but he knew better.

  Ptolemy, one of his warriors sworn to protect Kindred from exposure to humanity and to euthanize those afflicted with blood rage or the dark veil—a vadeletor—stood guard outside of the apartment door. They grasped each other’s forearms in greeting, then Ptolemy opened the door and followed Cyrus inside.

  Hardwood floors creaked when Cyrus entered to find the rest of his team standing around, grim expressions hung on their faces. The air was stale and dank.

  The main room had been cleared of furniture. Twelve symbols of the Fallen were painted in dark brush strokes on the white walls. His birthmark, the symbol he shared with Serenity, had been circled in red, but one mark was missing.

  “Her name is Ereba,” Spero said, pointing to a thin female in the corner.

  Draped in red, silky, gauze-like material, she rocked back and forth, rubbing her arms over her legs. Small silver fragments scattered throughout the material of her dress glinted in the light that peeked through the curtains.

  “If she’s from House Aten, how did she know to call us?” Cyrus asked. Every House had their own teams to handle such situations.

  “Says the phone number came to her in a vision. It’s written on the bathroom mirror in blood, hers.”

  Cyrus approached her slowly. She rocked, mumbling something he couldn’t make out. The silver fragments were some kind of blades stitched into the fabric. As she rubbed her arms and legs the blades cut her alabaster skin.

  “Ereba, you asked to speak with me,” Cyrus said.

  The female pointed to the symbols on the wall. “Ryket, Lut, Orsid…”

  What was she saying?

  “Aten,” she said, staring at the floor. The symbol missing from the wall.

  “You know the names of the ancients,” Cyrus said, kneeling beside her. “All of them? How? No one knows all of them.”

  “The immortals know.” She continued to cut
herself. Blood streamed down her limbs.

  The immortals knew much that they kept to themselves, but they claimed to recall only one ancient’s name.

  “Aten,” she repeated.

  “Where is Aten’s symbol? Why did you draw all the others and not that one?”

  “Aten has no symbol. Not one of the Fallen. The first mighty ancient discovered, yes, but slain, not forsaken, not cursed.”

  Cyrus sat back and looked at Spero. “What is she talking about?”

  Spero shook his head and shrugged. Cyrus knew Ereba implied the immortals, the only source of Kindred’s history of creation, were liars. House Sekhem had long accused them of manipulating facts and distorting the truth to serve their own means, but Ereba had just hinted that the very House of Aten had been built upon a lie.

  “Twelve Fallen, not thirteen.” Ereba pointed to his symbol. “Ishmam.”

  Ice water trickled down his spine, the chill spreading to his heart.

  Then Ereba pointed at him. “Ishmam.”

  “I’m Cyrus. You wanted to see me.” He itched to dig deeper into this mystery of Aten, and why all of their records spoke of a thirteenth symbol, if none had ever existed. Why would the immortals name their House after an ancient who was slain? And slain by whom? Or maybe the dark veil had robbed this oracle of her sanity. The dark affliction twisted the mind.

  She reached for his hand, but he instinctively withdrew. “Some of the images are distorted, cloudy. Only the phone number, your name and your kabashem’s face burn bright. Lovely, lovely violet eyes. If I touch you, I can see more clearly.”

  Cyrus offered his hand.

  She grabbed his wrist with bloody fingers and shut her eyes. Shaking, she twisted her head from side to side. The lights in the room flickered and the curtains swayed as if there were an undetectable breeze. Her hand slipped from his arm. “Oh…so much pain, so much pain.”

  “What did you see?” Cyrus leaned forward on one knee.

  “Darkness and a river of blood will follow you. Death is coming. A hunter seeking. Serenity is prey. Beware the moon.” Rocking faster, Ereba dragged her fingernails down her cheeks. “You will kneel before one who can only feel pain. When she asks, say no.”

  Blood pounded as Cyrus’s veins constricted. According to legend, the immortals felt pain on a magnified scale, but only pain? He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Asks what?”

  Ereba screamed, tearing at her hair. Cyrus released her and she resumed rocking.

  “She wants you to live…but say no…say no.”

  “Please tell me something, anything that can help me.”

  “Friends cannot be trusted. Enemies, in the distance, will come to your kabashem’s aid. A fine line between light and darkness. Ishmam’s soul must be made whole, the redeemer born, or you shall both die. Death is coming. All eyes are on you. All eyes…all eyes…all eyes.”

  Dread stabbed at his chest. “Who is coming?”

  She met his gaze. “All of them. The gates of hell will open. They shall descend like locusts, seeking to snuff out your flames. I’m so sorry.” Ereba looked at Spero. “I am ready now. Please, end my suffering.”

  “Not yet,” Cyrus said, holding up a hand to stop Spero. “Tell me more. I beg you.”

  “There is nothing more.” Ereba looked around him at Spero. “I called the number, you came and you promised to end my pain. I’m ready.”

  Cyrus stood and backed away. Spero drew a dagger from his holster. When he finished, Ereba lay silent and lifeless. Her pale face, slick with sweat, was peaceful.

  “Before I got here, did she say anything else?” Cyrus asked Spero.

  The warrior bowed his head. The others glanced at each other. A secret passed between them. One they didn’t want to share.

  “Spero, what did she say?”

  The warrior lifted his head, drawing in a deep breath. “She offered each of us a reading.” He hesitated. “She told all of us that we were going to die trying to protect you and your kabashem. None of us will live to see the first bloom of next year’s spring.”

  Cyrus swallowed deeply, choking back sadness. Grief over lives not yet lost pummeled him. He looked around the room at the vadeletori under his command, lingering on the face of each brother and sister: Ptolemy, Hotep, Micah, Beset, Amon, Carin and Spero.

  “If any of you wish to return to Herut and serve as battle-guard, instead of remaining with me, I will understand,” Cyrus said.

  Beset stepped forward. “Ereba assured us we shall each have a warrior’s death. We are with you until the end.”

  The rest of them nodded in agreement without reservation.

  Love for his kinsmen welled in his heart, so great he had to suppress tears. “So be it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  In a huff, Serenity marched downstairs to the meditation room, itching to wring Cyrus’s neck. The door was closed. Normally, Abbadon left it open during their sessions.

  “It’s not that easy.” Talus spoke in a raised voice from inside the room.

  Abbadon said something, but Serenity couldn’t make it out.

  “I can’t feel her! I don’t need to adjust anything. There’s something wrong with her!”

  She could tell Abbadon was speaking, but she couldn’t hear what he said.

  “That’s not true!” Talus screamed.

  A second later, the door opened. Talus looked flustered, her cheeks burned crimson and her chest heaved. When she saw Serenity, she cast her eyes to floor and hurried down the hall.

  Serenity followed behind her. “Talus, please wait a minute. I want to apologize if I hurt you earlier.” She still needed to find a way to mend things with her, instead of making it worse. “I’d like for us to get along. I hope we can be friends.”

  “Why do you want to be my friend?”

  “I want to get along with everyone.”

  “Being friendly and being friends are two different things. It’s best to befriend someone you like or have something in common with,” Talus said curtly, still headed for the door. “Cyrus is the reason we’ve been brought together, but he’s not enough to form the basis of a friendship.”

  “It was wrong for me to lash out at you the way I did. I’m sorry. Please, I really do want us to get along.”

  Talus stopped and faced her.

  Serenity took a deep breath. “I think we started off on the wrong foot. Can we just take a moment to have a normal conversation, maybe get to know each other a little?”

  Talus leaned against the wall and stared at her, waiting.

  “I never thanked you for decorating my room and for the clothes. You did a great job.”

  “You’re welcome,” Talus said with a tight jaw.

  “How did you know what brands and sizes to buy? Or even what art supplies I use.”

  Talus rolled her eyes. “That was easy. I followed you while you went shopping one day. I bought all of the same stuff you purchased, just in different colors. The art supplies took more finesse. I bribed the cashier who checked you out to show me what you bought. He suggested the drawing table and easel.”

  The items in her closet had looked familiar, but she hadn’t realized they were the same things she’d purchased a few weeks earlier. “Well, you did a fantastic job decorating my room. I really appreciate all of the effort.”

  “Cyrus described what he wanted it to look like,” Talus said, sounding exasperated by the chit-chat. “I gave him swatches and pictures, and he picked out what he liked. He agonized over the color of the walls for two days, as if the difference between frosted celadon and winsome sea were a matter of life and death.” She sighed. “He thought since you were an artist, you’d notice every detail and insisted the shade of the room had to be just right.” She waved a dismissive hand in the air.

  Serenity swallowed the first ugly words that popped in her mind and groped for the right ones. “Cyrus mentioned some symphony gala coming up. I could use a new dress and you’re such a great shopper. Maybe we could go
shopping together and put all of this behind us. I’d appreciate your help. My fashion sense is limited to jeans and sneakers.”

  Talus snickered. “Go shopping, bond over a little silk and satin and become BFFs? Maybe afterwards we could grab a couple of iced lattes and sing Kumbaya?” Her snide smile faded. “Let’s not and say we did. I’ll find you a great dress and leave it in your room.”

  “What is your problem with me?”

  “Where exactly should I begin?” It was a rhetorical question that didn’t require a response, but Talus stood milking the moment with a venomous grin on her face. “You’re Blessed, yet you act like an ordinary human. When Cyrus told me you were an artist, I pictured your work hanging in a gallery, making people weep. Instead you’re slumming it as a tattoo artist.” Her upper lip curled up in repugnance. “You even debased yourself with a human male. You blame me for hurting Evan, when it’s your own fault for degrading yourself in the first place.”

  Talus pushed off the wall in a fluid move and pounced. “When we go to House Herut they’ll treat you like royalty. Cassian and I won’t even have the luxury of being treated like second-class citizens. To them, we’re just runts, common trash. You have a powerful kabashem who’d die for you and you’re not even fit to hold his hand. You can’t even control your ingenium. You’re just a big disappointment. I bet your womb couldn’t even produce a child.”

  Serenity’s hand shook at her side, but she restrained herself from slapping Talus. She had no witty comeback and fumbled for the grace to bear such vehemence with dignity. “You’ve spent your entire life as a runt, being looked down upon and judged. I can see why you would seize the first opportunity to do the same to someone else.” Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. “But it would’ve been fortunate for both of us if you could’ve recognized some of my human interests as a way for us to bond instead of cause for contempt.”

  Talus turned on her heels and left the house, slamming the front door.

  The brutal hand-to-hand combat session had been gentler than the verbal beating she had just endured. Did Cyrus feel an inkling of the same? Was he disappointed in her as well?