Arin Aye: The Middle Passage

by Alan D Jones

Darnell implored. The “folks” in question here were Nightwalkers or what some call Vampires. Mostly myth, much of which they perpetuated for their own benefit, the Nightwalkers were very real even if most of the attributes associated with them were fiction. They were in fact the long assumed extinct Neanderthals. Their often pale skin and ability to hibernate like many other cold weather mammals were the seeds of their modern day reputation.  But their extended life expectancies, which jumped from 800 years to nearly 3,000 years with the advent of modern medicine and nutrition, enabled them amass large amounts of money and power, even from the shadows. The relevance to these facts was that Aunt Deborah’s biological father was indeed a Nightwalker. He was just not any Nightwalker, but the son of a past king who took a Nubian wife. In the early days of the transatlantic slave trade the Nightwalker king laid eyes on the captured queen (although, in many African cultures there really was no distinction of gender in the role, if you ruled you were deemed “king” regardless of your gender) who’s beauty was so striking that the slave trading king immediately fell in love with her. They lived out the remainder of her days in the American south, before he returned to Europe never to sell another slave. The king’s name was Bento, but after his death the name of his wife and child were stricken from the Nightwalker Tree of Blood which adorned the king’s throne room. The story of their love would only be whispered in the darkness between one Nightwalker and another for centuries. And one such whisper escaped their inner sanctum and reached Deborah’s ear lighting a lifelong desire within her to find the truth of the things.

  “Mama.” Darnell called out over the phone.

  “What?” Deborah replied.

  “Mama?” Darnell said again.

  “Yes, I’m alright. I’m not my mother.” Deborah suffered from the same mental illness as her mother had, which oddly made her the harshest critic of her deceased mother. Deborah graduated from Spelman College, before going on to earning her Phd from Atlanta University. While working there as an English professor while raising two kids, she also managed to assist in saving the world from various extinction level events. Her mother, Lola, an extremely selfish woman by all accounts, abandoned her family, never picked up a hero’s banner and died of a drug overdose when Deborah was a child.  If anything, Deborah fought every day, not to be Lola. It can be said that Lola, in many ways, frightened Deborah more than any demon or extraterrestrial ever did. Deborah continued her attempt to sooth her son’s concern, “Look, I’ll check in once I make contact. I’ll flash a smiley face if everything is cool. If I send a frown, come right away.”  She knew that this last part would appease her son. She was sure there was little that her son could save her from that she could not handle herself. But she knew that this was what her son needed to hear, being the protective son that he was.

  Once Deborah ended her call, she began gathering her things for her trip. She’d communicated to The Elders and all concerned that she would be on holiday for the next week.  But what the Elders did not know, was that Deborah possessed a small piece of cloth left to her by her Nightwalker godfather, Henri, which gave her detailed instructions of how to engage the Nightwalker community, should she ever need to do so. Ordinarily, such contacts had to route through the proper channels, and even more so during this time when relations between the two hidden communities were icy at best. And while Deborah did not share Darnell’s level of trepidation there was some reason to be concerned. Deborah was more powerful than any Nightwalker, but they as a people had studied the children of “those who came before” for thousands of years and had developed certain means to deal with them.

  Deborah followed her instructions and drove out to the place in the Spanish countryside described in Henri’s note. She parked her car before making herself invisible. Then she walked three kilometers to her destination. Deborah the Deceiver, as her enemies called her, possessed many such abilities which allowed her to hide and get into places that others couldn’t.  But entering the Nightwalker world posed a different challenge.  Deborah had known since a young girl that there were passages scattered around the world, but few, if any non-Nightwalkers knew where to find these portals.  But if things worked out, Deborah would soon be in that number.

  Nightwalkers operate by a lunar calendar and these secondary portals only opened once a month on the night of the full moon, at midnight. Deborah wasn’t one to be afraid of much, but as she waited, not knowing exactly what to expect, she feared that she might somehow miss this opportunity and be forced to wait another year for the Elders to grant her time off. She’d waited a lifetime already.

  Although she was invisible, Deborah still hid in the bushes, as she awaited some sign that she was in the right place and time. Her sign came in the form of movement about five minutes before midnight. Quietly, buried hands pushed up through the soft dirt and eight individuals emerged. It was only then did Deborah notice the snipers stationed in the distance to protect this secret event. The dirty eight each stood and faced in the same direction. Deborah sensed that each was looking at something that was invisible even to her. Sliding around so that she stood behind the waiting party, Deborah at last saw the focus of their attention. There was a golden door only visible when facing north. As the door opened at midnight, Deborah crept up to make their number nine.  The lot of them entered through the golden doors and all stood upon a single glowing platform until the doors behind them closed. Invisible Deborah stood quietly among them, which as those who knew my Aunt Deborah, was a small miracle in itself. Bathed in light, they descended into the bowels of the earth.

  Once they reached their destination, but before they were allowed to leave the floating platform, a voice from outside called within, “We only see eight of your, but our scales show that you’re about sixty kilograms over what you should be.  If anyone is hiding please show yourself, now!”

  Impressed, Deborah chose to reveal herself, a moment later Deborah said, “A cleaver measure. But who’s endeavor is this? Show now or never.”  While Deborah was indeed impressed by the Nightwalker security staff detecting that an additional entity was on the platform, she was still “going to mess with them”. Today’s torment from this flavor of Deborah would be to speak to them in nothing but rhyming haikus.

  After allowing the other Nightwalkers on the platform to enter the underground kingdom, the guard stepped to Deborah and asked, “What business do The Willing have with Nightwalkers that necessitates them entering through the backdoor?”

  Deborah smirked and gave a half-smile before answering, “But I’m one of you, from my nose all the way through, I’m you true and true.”

  The guard looked at his scanner before saying aloud for the other guards to hear, “She’s at least twenty-five percent Nightwalker. But I still don’t trust her.” The guard after taking a second look at his scanner took a step back, “So, why are you here?”

  Deborah gave a knowing smile, “Blood of King am I, ask I see him eye to eye, by your law I cry.” Deborah knew that anyone in the royal bloodline could demand an audience with the king. And by the guard’s reaction, Deborah knew that he knew it too.

  The guard motioned to the other security officers before replying to Deborah, “Okay, we’ll take you to the king, as is your right.  But we’re going to restrain you first, which is our right.”

  Given her linage, Deborah didn’t really agree that they had a right to bind her, but she did not resist them, since her goal was an audience with the king. She continued to heckle and tease the security team as they shackled her in restraints which were suppose to hold even those like her. The single piece metal cuffs covered her hands and wrists completely.  Even though they placed a bag over her head before they carried her through the city to the throne, she continued to berate her captors.

  At last, the officers delivered Deborah before the king and his royal court.

  Hood removed, but still shackled Deborah stood before the pale faces looking for traces of herself or her children in them.

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nbsp; The Nightwalker king cleared his throat before speaking, “So, what is it that you want?”

  “You know who I am?” Deborah asked.

  “You’re Deborah the Deceiver!” one of the adolescent male family members called out from behind the throne. Recently of age to join the royal court, the young Nightwalker was filled with the exuberance of finally seeing a Nephilim in the flesh. And she was not just any such of these creatures, but one of the legendary “Sisters”. For him, at least, it was like meeting Hercules.

  Before he responded, the king raised the back of his hand universally signaling to the young lad to shut up, “Certainly, I know who you are.”

  “So, say it then. Say who I am. Who am I to you?” An unusually transparent Deborah, requested.

  The king leaned forward, “What difference does it make now? You are who you are. How will my words change that?”

  Deborah shook her head, “What difference does it make?”

  The king paused for a moment, “Child, what is it that you want? Do you want money or power? Did you come here for our treasure?”

  “You know well, that with my own gifts, I could have any of those things. No, I want you to say my