She reads of a city turned to salt and stone for one child escaping the sacrifice, for one mother hiding one son from the bleeding. For one woman's love a city lain to waste. She reads of the crucifixion, the ceremony of awakening for the one Son, the only Son the God ever wanted to live. His death bringing about the sacrifice and the blood of the virgin willingly poured into the cup of life mixing with the blood of the Son awakening his power so he can rise. He chooses a tribe of peoples leading them to what he lovingly calls salvation; under his rule, his propagation, he creates the second ancient line.
Funny, she has heard all of these stories before, from a completely different angle. She has read the Bible more than once, and realizes that much of what was written has been taken from this history, but the meaning has been completely misrepresented, or misinterpreted, or perhaps just confused in translation. Was this chance or by design? She cannot be sure. Nothing she has seen or read makes her feel sure of anything anymore. Were religions built on faded memories or intentional untruths? Neither settles well, and her stomach aches.
She wants to stop reading, to go back to bed and fall into a dreamless and quiet restfulness. Yet she can't stop, she needs to understand what all of this means. And so she continues, well into the early morning hours. Until her exhaustion overcomes her and she feels overwhelmed by the weight of her fear and frustration.
Blood line of the sun, the burning ones, born with fire in their blood. The Creator their Father. He who is God to the people, the bringer of life to all mankind in the beginning, ruling by many names over many centuries. Living among the people at times and among the stars at others. He is the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. Bringer of life and death, creator and destroyer. He is a creature who both loves and hates himself and those who follow Him. He is easily angered and jealous settling for only absolute subjugation from those who serve Him. He is merciless, creating beautiful and amazing things. He uses his people to feed his bloodlust and hunger for the power contained therein. His magic is in the manipulation of body and spirit shifting form and perception to his will.
Blood line of the moon, the light within darkness, born cold in need of the light reflecting off others. He who was born of the virgin, through the power of the Father. The son born to balance humanity with a line of His own. There is no human in his blood, and His line will be pure. He is kinder and more compassionate, but still a servant to the bloodlust and the rules of the Father's creation. He creates, and gives false hope, he takes the lives but is creative in his methods. He is the bringer of disease and hunger, plague and pestilence, taking the unworthy in their sleep and from the fields, none escape his hunger. His women never know his cruelty, they see him as their Savior, a gentle lover in the night come to heal their pain. A Prince of Light, the prophet whose words echo through time. He is a wolf in sheep's clothing. The Creator of those who thirst.
Another, the unwanted one, the Ghost, the Son of mixed blood who was never supposed to live. He was never supposed to spread His tainted seed to humanity. He creates His line in love and passion. He falls in love with a beautiful woman producing children; their children growing to have children of their own. The love that builds over the generations and centuries becoming the strength and foundation of those born in the darkness, forever hiding from the sight of the others. Many of their children will be lost as the others hunt them down, but the line will survive. These beautiful children with their blood full of promise, of sensitivity to the pain and suffering of others. They have one advantage as they are both male and female alike. The line continues of its own volition. The Ghost long ago left life behind and His body returned to dust, as they are not gifted with the longevity of the pure, But his lineage lives on spreading to every corner of the earth. Their gift is empathy, psychic strength, and sensitivity to the natural balance.
In this, Amber has a new interpretation of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, the Trinity of popular religion, the foundation of churches and governments. The tainted and dirty secrets no one knows, or wants to know about why we exist. Is this Father truly a God then, and creator of the Universe? Or is he merely a creature above our intelligence playing with this world as a child plays with a new toy? She doesn't fully understand the implications of what she is reading and questions continue rising up in the surface of her consciousness with no real answers coming to brush them aside.
On a page all by itself, surrounded by painstakingly hand drawn filigree, is a passage that stands alone. It doesn't seem to be written in the same voice as the more historical passages. Amber wonders if it has been copied from another source.
"And the Father came from the heavens and populated the earth, taking seven perfect lambs. And of the seven, three will be sacrificed so the daughters of man can suckle at the breast of the mother whose tears run red with blood. Each generation the lambs will be chosen and their tears will be washed away, and they shall be made perfect in the eyes of the Father. He shall give them the seed of creation. Three shall be chosen by their sons whose lives cannot be spared."
She is taking in more than she can absorb, and the impact of the words is only beginning to sink in. Still feeling like it is all just a story; a dark and horrifying fairy tale meant to scare children, she knows she has to get some rest. Historians and religious leaders can't possibly be that wrong. Then she realizes how long it was believed by so many the world is flat, and how there is continuing controversy and fierce debate over whether evolution is fact or fiction. The sheer fact that we really know nothing about anything despite our professions otherwise becomes painfully clear. Amber only has a couple of hours to rest before she has to go to work and she can't keep her eyes open any longer. Putting the book, safely inside the box on the coffee table and turning off the light she curls up on the couch for a little while. Her mind hopelessly trapped on images of the tiny child as the last passage runs over and over again, a boy child sacrificed by a madman. A son sacrificed by the Father, does that mean there are others? Does that make the man she sees in her dreams and in her visions some kind of God? She falls asleep with this thought and so many others seeking some kind of answer..truth..sanity.. maybe a small prayer for some kind of peace, that this is all just a bad dream and will be gone when she wakes up with the beautiful sunshine streaming through her window. A bright new day fresh and clean, with no ghosts, no murdered children, and no demon God to reconcile in her head.
Darkness Falls on Desperate Souls
Feeling the exhaustion and pain growing as the hours pass. They have been poking around every swampy place he knows; those with waist deep waters and stable shorelines matching the description he has been given. Feeling old and feeble as the dampness penetrates into his aching muscles James begins shivering, the more he shivers the more he hurts. He cannot go on much longer, but he hates admitting he has to call it quits soon.
The shadows are falling and the sky is thickens with starlight. Knowing the boy is out here somewhere, he is determined to find the tiny body. Maybe one, maybe three, he cannot be sure, but he is going to find some answers. Needing a break in the case, he hangs on to hope. Something has to start making sense of all this blood and brutality, all this death. His heart aches nearly as much as his body for the girls he could not save and the answers he cannot seem to find.
Thinking of Amber alone at home he feels guilty for not being able to be two places at once. He cannot protect her when he has to be at work protecting everyone else. She can take care of herself, he has to admit to himself that he wasn't the one who saved her from the boogie man, it doesn't make him feel better thinking he might not be needed. Focusing back on the search, his fatigue allows his mind to wander and that serves no one. His hands are trembling and his pace is slowing despite his best efforts to persevere.
It’s not until he’s back at the office flat on his back on an autopsy table James realizes what happened. Joanna is there, seeing to his head. "You struck your head on a stone when you lost consciousness falling
partially into the water you had to be pulled out by your partner. It is lucky he was so near, otherwise you might have drowned," Joanna says with a note of reproach in her voice, she feels angry with him for working himself so hard. "You have to take care of yourself if you intend to take care of others, James." She rinses the wound again with an astringent that smells of alcohol and herbs. It burns and he knows better than to even make a peep about it.
"One of your own concoctions?" he asks her.
"Nope. Rissa makes it for me. It works wonders, and will keep the nasty water from getting that cut infected. Might need a couple stitches there, do you want me to do it? or do you want me to take you in?" Joanna asks, already knowing what he is going to say.
He laughs; "You know I only let you mess with my head if I can help it. Only you care if I stay this pretty."
"Well now that you have a woman, I guess it's not that important that your pretty, I was just making sure that you had the ability to find someone who can stand being around you. I don't want to be stuck with you as a third wheel forever." Joanna makes a point of pulling the thread just a bit tighter before knotting the final suture. "your a bit of a pain in the butt, so you have to be pretty if you intend to keep her around. There you go, six more stitches for your score sheet."
"Oh, so that’s it, is it? He laughs, but senses in her a sadness. Joanna, are you ok?... know this is hard for you... SHIT it's hard for me....I hoped you could be happy for me, that I finally feel something, that maybe I can be happy and don't have to feel so alone. You always say you want me to move on, trying to hook me up with everyone you know. It’s been four years now, and you’re married to an awesome guy. It's only fair that I get to share my life with someone just as special. We were obviously not meant to be together. You made your decision. And you made the right decision, now we both have to live with it. That is what I can finally do, live with it. I love you, I always will, but it is time for me to finally and completely let go of any idea that we will ever be together again." James takes Joanna into his arms giving her a long and affectionate hug and kissing her on the forehead.
"I know I tried to force you on women, and I do want you to be happy, I just feel a little hurt, a little lost, that’s my own doing. You need her, you need to be loved and you deserve someone as amazing as she seems to be. She makes you smile again and I haven’t seen that smile in a very long time. You’re just so damn handsome when you smile. I guess with you single, I kind of have you both, at least as much as I can. And now, I have to admit you might be meant for someone else. That realization just hurts a bit more than I expected it to."
"I love you Joanna, you’re one of my best friends and you’ll always have a place in my heart. No one will take that away. He takes Joanna into his arms giving her a long and affectionate hug, kissing her on the forehead with a tenderness that can only come from the intimacy they have shared. She hugs him back, not wanting to let go, leaving a tear-stained patch on his shoulder to mark her struggle."
"You, mister, need to go and get some rest. I don't want to see you back here tomorrow." Joanna remarks, swatting him on the butt playfully as he gets up to leave.
Taking her advice he heads home to enjoy a soothing bath and to get some sleep. He hopes the warmth of the water will pull some of the pain out of his muscles. He thinks about going to Amber's and hitting the hot tub, but he’s sure she is already asleep. Had he driven by her house, he would have seen the light on and known she is having a rough night of her own.
The water does begin to loosen him up. As James stands he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror discovering the dark shadows covering his face. He must have forgotten to do that this morning. It is a wonder no one said anything about his scruffiness. It is not like him to neglect his appearance quite this badly, especially at work.
His side aches badly and he worries he’s pulled some of the stitches loose. The muscles are not healing as quickly as he wants them to, and at times the pain leaves him breathless. He decides to have it looked at again in a few days if it does not improve. He takes a double dose of hydro and loses himself to the world, sleeping deeply for hours and allowing his body the time it needs to recover. He knows there is still work to do, but he’s of no use to anyone if he ends up back in the hospital. If the boss hears about the incident yesterday; and he surely will; he knows he’ll be forced to take some time off anyway so he might as well take it on his own terms.
He allows himself to sleep well into the morning waking up groggy and sedated. He drinks a huge glass of orange juice and heads back to bed for another couple of hours. He is truly at the end of his proverbial rope. When he wakes the second time, he wants to hit the coffee shop to see his girl. He misses her and doesn't want her to start worrying. He’s not a man of many phone calls, preferring to see her in person, and that suits her fine; she’s a bit of a technophobe anyway.
When he walks in the door, he’s surprised to see she’s not there. Rissa smiles at him and tells him not to worry, she’ll be there soon. "She needed to sleep in this morning too apparently."
She’s ok? He can’t hide the worry in his voice.
"Yep, just fine, just didn't get much sleep last night. Actually she should be here any minute; she said she’d be in around noon. I can make your drink and you can have a seat."
"Sounds wonderful, do you have any of that coffee cake? "
What coffee cake? Rissa asks.
She makes an amazing coffee cake, she said the customers here would love it, you’ll have to remind her."
"No coffee cake unfortunately, but I have yesterday's apple cinnamon muffins, and they are still amazing."
"Sounds perfect. Thank you"!
Sitting down he savors his treats, the warmth and sweetness comforting his soul. No matter what anyone else says, food is one of the finer things in life. His mind hasn't regained full focus yet and the aftermath of his pills provides a reprieve, a uniquely liberating dullness of his usually very noisy mind. He hasn't yet been forced to dwell on the case and is truly enjoying the day. It never takes long for reality to creep back in and he knows he will not stay away from the office all day. He has an appointment to meet with one of the missing girls’ mothers. It has taken days to get hold of the woman and he’s not going to miss the opportunity now. Leigha was living with her father when she disappeared, because her mother traveled for her job. The woman wants to talk with him, so he thinks she might have some information that will help. At least she is interested and open to answering his questions, even as strange as they seem to be.
Amber walks in the door at exactly noon, she’s managed to get a couple hours of sleep without incident but still feels drained and sleepy. The overwhelming amount of activity and information she’s attempting to take on weighs heavily on her. She has her hair up in a ponytail and a purple halter top that only somewhat covers the marks on her neck, her shoulder is still purple and yellow from the bruise that does not want to go away. Amber has stared at this bruise long and hard trying to understand why she can't just force it to heal like she did her hand after the ceremony. She doesn't like that it makes her feel vulnerable, reminds her or her immortality. James just notices her beautiful freckled shoulders, and the contrast, the purple so strange against the otherwise pale skin. No teardrop, only a beautiful little scar James has kissed many times. He’s not even sure why he looks for it. Subconscious action, he guesses. He kisses her lips and then the darkened skin. Holding her hand as she sits down with him, James knows something is on her mind. Both admit the previous day was hell, but neither goes into details. They simply spend a few minutes in the quiet, near each other allowing the closeness to comfort their pain.
They put the world on hold enjoying a few minutes of normalcy. They have both lost all sense of what that word even means. His case is off-the-charts strange, and her world has been flipped on its ears; she knows nothing of history, and religion, and magic for that matter. She’s just a lost little girl, looking for a quiet life. James has
always wanted to be in on a major case, but this is not exactly what he had in mind. This case is taking his preconceived ideas about logic and reason and tossing them out the window. There’s no logical motivation to these crimes, no predictable pattern of human behavior and emotion. This is a mess, an organized, nonsensical twisting of fact and fiction. He’s out of his element. They ground each other and being together seems to have a calming effect on the couple as they gaze into each other's eyes with tenderness and sympathy. Both knowing the other is suffering and each having their own personal demons to slay. Before heading out to his car, he kisses her good bye. He really should hurry if he is going to make it to the office to pick up his paperwork before heading out to meet with Leigha's mother. They cannot avoid the dark responsibilities that plague the day no matter how desperately they want to pretend they can hide from them.
Amber remains seated for a few minutes holding her head in her hands. Focusing on reigning in her thoughts for the day ahead, Amber struggles to gain control. The past is the past and there’s nothing there she can change, it seems logical that she should find a way to stop dwelling on it. Despite her best efforts, her mind continues to run circles the rest of her can't keep up with. Standing, Amber begins to straighten shelves absent-mindedly, busywork that really doesn't need to be done. Somehow putting things in order soothes her, giving her a sense of control, even though her own mind remains in disarray.
Awakening - Book of Fire (Blood Heritage #1) Page 13
