The cracked clay figure smiled though, his teeth like marble.
“No, that’s true. I am not he,” he said, voice a deep rumble.
He spread his arms and began to slowly turn. “I am Legion.”
His body changed as he turned, one form to the next, his malleable flesh shifting from animal to human to insect. If it walked, swam, flew, or crawled upon the earth, the imposter—Legion—was able to take its shape. He was like Clay in almost every way, and Eve wondered how it was possible that there could be two such beings in this world. Clay had always been unique—crafted by the Creator Himself. So where had this creature come from?
She was mesmerized by the transformations, a myriad of life-forms in the blink of an eye, so fast that one blurred into the next.
Jophiel cleared his throat, his powerful wings beating loudly in the silence before the Gate, commanding their attention.
“If we might proceed,” the angel began, his impatience evident in the way he licked at his thin, perfect lips, snatching quick glances at the impenetrable Gate to the Garden.
“Eden is waiting.”
Legion halted his succession of shapes as some sort of ape. He bowed his head to the angel and assumed his earthen form. “As you wish, brother of Heaven.”
Duergar stalked forward, axe in hand, his Drow followers at his side.
“What rough beast is this?” the half-blood warrior demanded, pointing his blood-encrusted blade at Legion. The Drow grumbled and whispered among themselves, mirroring their master’s displeasure. “And who invited it to join us?”
Still on her knees, Eve watched Abaddon. The Drow-Fey half-breed seemed to be getting on the demon’s nerves. The evil one seemed to consider the feral warrior beneath him, somehow, and—with a sigh—dismissed him as a fool. One look at the dark, ugly intelligence in Duergar’s eyes told Eve that Abaddon was making a mistake. All of the members of this terrible alliance were equally dangerous.
Abaddon pinched the bridge of his nose as if attempting to be rid of a headache.
“It was not necessary for me to make you privy to my every decision,” the demon stated, barely suppressing his exasperation.
“But let me assure you, Legion is a welcome and beneficial addition to our flock.”
Duergar glowered, and Eve smiled inwardly. She hoped she would survive long enough to take advantage of their disharmony.
“Shall we proceed?” Legion asked, directing his question to Abaddon.
The demon continued to stare at Duergar, as if awaiting a further challenge to his plans. But the half-blood warrior only nodded, waving away the Hell-Lord’s oppressive gaze, and barked something in the guttural language of his kind as he and his small army stepped away.
Eve sensed that the vampires at her back had let their hold grow slack, as if they believed she had given in to their superior numbers, that they had driven the fight from her.
In their dreams.
She let her body sag heavily in their grasp as though she were losing consciousness. Then she surged upward, driving the back of her head into Palu’s fat Samoan face and twisting out of his grip.
The leeches didn’t know what hit them.
She spun, swiping her talons across the exposed throats of three who blocked her way. Her claws scraped newly exposed spinal columns. She turned to run, to lose herself in this strange, forested limbo realm between the earthly world and the Garden of Eden.
She was not fast enough.
Abaddon’s hand clamped around the back of her neck, yanking her toward him.
“Going someplace, darling?”
She slashed at his chest with a growl as he drew her toward him, digging deep furrows into his flesh. The bloodred demon gave her a vicious shake, like a terrier thrashing a rat, and she felt her neck give way with a muffled snap.
“Enough of that,” he spit. “You are a part of this whether you care to be or not.”
Her body went numb as she dangled in his grasp. She could see in his eyes that he enjoyed her helplessness, probably reminiscing about the days when he’d first had his way with her.
“Of all the meat I’ve sampled in my many years, I’ve always remembered you as the most succulent.” He brought her closer, rubbing his coarse lips against her throat, inhaling the smell of her. Then he whispered in her ear. “The softness of your flesh . . . the smell . . .
“The taste.”
Eve felt his mouth clamp down on her neck, his teeth biting through the flesh as he yanked a ragged patch of skin away. She grunted, more in horror than in pain. Abaddon twisted her so that the scarlet mist hissing from the wound in her throat was directed toward Legion. Her blood sprayed the shapeshifter’s earthen body.
Legion opened his mouth, taking the dwindling spray onto his tongue. “Ah, that’s it,” he said, rubbing her blood into the deep, jagged cracks of his dry flesh.
Abaddon let her drop to the ground. From where she lay, Eve could still see what transpired before her, even though a part of her wished she could not.
Legion’s flesh flowed, the way she had seen Clay’s transform a thousand times. But what he’d become was no monster, no beast. Legion stood above Eve now as a beautiful, exotic woman, entirely nude, her breasts heavy and her curves catching the light.
Eve stared at herself.
Yet this was not entirely herself, not a precise duplicate.
What stood before her was a copy of the woman she had been in ancient days, at the dawn of the world, from the time before she had disobeyed the Creator, before she was driven from the Garden. Staring at that image of herself, still alive and pure, broke her heart. She wished that her neck wasn’t broken so that she could have turned away.
The angel Jophiel began to clap. “Bravo. A lovely parlor trick. But to what end? Why would you presume that a duplicate could work better then the real thing?”
“Your kind lacks imagination,” Abaddon replied. With a flourish, he directed their attention to Legion.
The shapeshifter, the naked, sensual form of young Eve herself, had begun to shake. Arms wrapped around herself, the false Eve bent over in pain. She shuddered, wracked with violent spasms, then she—Legion—vomited a thick, oily black fluid onto the grass at his feet.
“Lovely,” Jophiel said. “Something he ate?”
Abaddon smiled. “In a roundabout fashion, yes.”
He gestured for the angel to come closer as he stood above the puddle of steaming black vomit. “She ate from the tree, partaking of the forbidden fruit. That indulgence introduced into her body—and into her blood—that which came to be called original sin. A taint. An impurity that altered her for eternity, even before I had my way with her.”
The angel tilted his head to one side, gazing at the puddle.
“Are you saying that’s—”
The demon bowed. “Original sin, purged from her blood.”
Legion admired his female form. “My flesh existed at the beginning of the world, untainted by original sin, but my inhumanity would never grant me access,” the shapeshifter said, admiring Eve’s young form. “But as the first woman, untouched by the blight of sin . . .”
“Is it possible?” Jophiel whispered, staring at Legion, at Eve, then at the Garden Gate.
Eve wondered the same thing as she watched herself walk naked toward the Gate, wishing there was some way for her to be that woman again.
Legion glanced over one shoulder at them before placing both hands flat upon the polished wood. At first there was no reaction, and Eve breathed a sigh of relief that Abaddon’s scheme had met with failure. But then the air grew suddenly still, and she felt a violent tremble pass through the earth where she lay. She could sense the fear of the vampires, as the victims of her earlier escape attempt leaped up from the ground, hands pressed to the slowly healing tears in their throats.
Eve could feel her own spine mending and the sensation of pins and needles in her limbs, but she remained perfectly still on the ground, watching with a perverse mixture of e
xcitement and utter dread.
The Gate to Eden opened inward, a sound like the inhalation of some great breath filling the air. The lush jungle fauna waved in a breeze ripe with the scent of life in bloom, beckoning them to enter.
It was what she’d always desired more than anything. To return.
But not like this.
Legion was the first to enter, followed by Abaddon and Jophiel. It looked as though neither wanted the other to pass through first, and the two entered the Garden at the same time. Duergar went next, cautiously, axe in hand, flanked by his Drow soldiers.
Not like this.
Palu stood above Eve, his face stained with blood from his broken nose. He wanted to end her, she could see it in his eyes, but there was also hesitation. What if they still needed her for something? He wouldn’t kill her unless Abaddon authorized it. Eve wanted to smile up at him in the worst way, but decided not to tip her hand. It wouldn’t be long until she could move again, and she wanted it to be a surprise.
The leech reached down, taking a handful of her thick, raven hair and began to drag her toward the entrance, the other vampires cautiously following. The sharp pain from her healing neck intensified, the muscles in her legs and arms starting to twitch spasmodically. But the vampires didn’t notice, they were too entranced by the sight before them, by the ultimate violation they were about to perpetrate.
Palu paused, and Eve knew exactly what was happening.
The vampire was standing at the Gate, ancient survival mechanisms kicking in, attempting to discern whether or not it was safe for his kind to enter such a holy place and not be instantly destroyed.
The other leeches huddled together, watching their elder with fear-filled eyes. Waiting for him to make his move.
The thought of creatures as vile as these entering Eden filled Eve with a rage she could barely contain. She wanted to kill them all, not only for what they had done to her, but to protect the Garden from the taint of their evil—an evil that she had been responsible for.
She didn’t want to despoil this wonderful place again.
Slowly, cautiously, Palu began to walk again, passing through the open Gate. He paused just inside, waiting to see if he would die, then continued into the Garden itself. He let Eve drop to the ground, and she listened as he offered words of encouragement to his brethren—ordering them to enter with no fear.
A ripple of power shot through her, a kind of electricity that came up through the moist earth, coursing through the grass under her back and into her flesh—pulsing through her body. It was as if a black curtain that had enshrouded her thoughts had been whipped away—like the trick of some vaudeville magician.
She remembered.
Eve remembered her time here in the Garden. The exquisite details flowed across her brain, bringing tears to her eyes.
The Garden knew her, and welcomed her back. Eve wanted to pull her knees up, curling into a tight ball, reveling in the freshness of memories long since driven from her mind. But there was no time for that.
She surged up from the ground.
The vampires moved to restrain her, but they might as well have been moving in slow motion. Eve swatted their grasping hands aside, plunging her claws into their chests, tearing out their black, stunted hearts. There was just enough time for her to show them the stinking hunks of muscle before they erupted in an explosion of ash.
She spun to deal with the others, even as Palu started to scream.
“She’s awake!” he bellowed.
Duergar and his Drow soldiers charged from the jungle, raising their blades and hammers.
Eve felt almost completely healed, but not well enough to take on an entire army. Instead, she turned and dived into the embrace of the thick jungle. As she ran, she could hear them behind her, calling out her direction to one another as she weaved through the dense foliage, the blissful vitality of being back in this place fueling her flight.
It wasn’t long before she lost them, so deep into the primordial jungle that it appeared night had fallen. She found a cool, dark place beneath the large, overhanging leaves of verdant undergrowth. Entirely drained of strength, she crawled beneath the plants, curling into a tight ball, and was almost immediately asleep.
And dreaming.
SHE remembers Paradise, and how easily it can be lost.
The taste of bitter fruit is in her mouth.
She doesn’t want to remember this part, preferring the bliss she felt before the serpent.
Before temptation.
But those recollections are chased away by the hissing of a reptile, and she sees it all as clear as day, climbing up into the tree at the serpent’s urging, reaching for the fruit that dangles there. It would bring her closer to Him—to her God—the whispering serpent promised.
Afterward, scared and alone in her sin, she went in search of her mate, so that she would not have to bear the burden on her own. She acted as the temptress to ensnare him—her beautiful Adam—in her guilt.
She remembers the screams of angels as they were driven from Eden’s sweet embrace. The howling winds, the swords of fire raised to chase them through the Gate to a place beyond the eternal forest—an inhospitable place that would be their punishment for disobeying His holy Word.
Eve struggles in the grip of the dream, not wanting to go on. She tries desperately to awaken, to pull herself from the raging river of memory, but the current is too strong, and she is carried helplessly along.
The land was harsh, dry, and barren. Many a night they went hungry, not knowing how to fend for themselves in such an uncaring place. But eventually they learned to work the land, and to sustain themselves on the paltry bounty that they received from their hard work.
They made a life for themselves beyond the Garden, tamed the land, raised children, but Eve never forgot her sin.
Never forgot what had been taken from her.
It was worse when she dreamed; the smells of the wonderful place would come to her and she was back there with Adam, her sin somehow forgotten.
Now Eve stirs fitfully in the hold of the past.
On a night when the dreams were more vivid than ever, a voice called to her from the wilderness. She’d heard it before, out there in the desert, a whisper very much like the hissing of a snake. Normally she had the strength to ignore it, moving closer to her sleeping husband, listening to the rhythmic sound of his breathing, and eventually drifting back to sleep.
But not this night.
The voice called to her, and she answered.
Eve left the safety of their hovel. The night was as black as pitch, the usual brightness of the stars in the nighttime sky somehow neutralized.
She remembers now that she almost turned back, that night, to curl up against her sleeping mate. But the voice called to her again—her name drifting on the desert winds.
“Eve.”
And she left her home, her husband, and her family, going out into the desert to find the one who called her name.
There was something strangely seductive in that voice that hinted of things past. For the briefest of moments, as she pulled the veil of her robes up over her face against the fierceness of the desert winds, the smells of the Garden came back to her, almost as if it were somehow close by.
She couldn’t recall how long she had walked across the expanse of sand, her safety all but forgotten. She had to find the one who called to her. Somehow he knew about the Garden, and perhaps he could help her to get back there.
One moment there was only a sea of sand, as far as the eye could see, then suddenly he was there.
“Eve.”
He was wrapped in the thick robes of a desert nomad, a hood and thick scarf over his face to protect him from the fiercely blowing sand. She wondered if he was real, or a figment of her imagination, driven by her longing to return to Paradise.
“I hear your dreams, child of the Garden,” the figure said, whirlwinds of dust whipping about the unmoving figure.
“They call to me a
cross the sand, summoning me to your side.
“You yearn for Paradise.”
She caught a glimpse of red from within the shadows of the stranger’s hood.
“You hunger to return to what has been taken from you.”
Again she smelled it—thick and fragrant riding upon the winds—the blossoming flowers, the ripening fruit, the moist, damp earth. Eden was somehow close by, and she moved toward it.
Closer to the stranger.
“How bitter you must feel,” he said, the words drifting from within the deep black of his hood. “To have something so wonderful snatched away—to be punished for wanting to be closer to Him.”
His words were true. All she had ever wanted was to be closer—for her and Adam to be closer—to the Creator.
“He drove you from the bosom of Paradise because you loved Him too much.”
She felt her bitterness ignite into a burning flame of anger.
What sort of God was it that punished His children for their adoration?
Eve moved closer to the stranger, hands clenched into fists.
“He will never allow you to return,” the stranger hissed, his hooded head moving from side to side. “He is a stubborn Maker, a stranger to forgiveness. Perhaps it is time that He was taught a lesson. Perhaps it is time for Him to be punished for His cruelty toward us—toward you?”
The scents of Paradise were suddenly gone, the Garden taken from her again, and Eve felt her anger toward her Father—toward the Almighty—flare like the desert sun.
“Yes,” she agreed. For taking away her beautiful Garden, she wanted to make Him pay. “He needs to be punished.”
The stranger began to laugh, a horrible sound, devoid of joy, as he reached out and pulled her to him with clawed hands the color of dried blood. Eve looked into the darkness of the stranger’s hood and saw that he wasn’t a man at all who had drawn her out into the night, across the merciless desert.
Merciless.
Crashing Paradise Page 18
