Sands of Time

by Christine Church

  Once again, I hide within the chaos of war. As this French Revolution rages on, I move about the city of Paris undetected and unaffected. And it was on such a misty night my senses caught on human suffering. A mental and physical anguish, the sweet bouquet of blood.

  I followed it into a narrow path that ran to an subterranean tomb so large as to overwhelm. Paris' Montrouge stone quarries, now a grave for millions.

  Beneath the Parisian streets I followed his scent. An easy meal. No one to detect us. The skeletons of those long and recently passed stared out at me from the crevices in the walls that served forever their embedded tombs. Like macabre art work, they were placed in pattern, an eternal grave of bones. I found it quite beautiful. The pathways were long and labyrinthine. But I had a map; the human who inadvertently drew me towards him. And, when I could no longer bear the engaging aroma, deep within a narrow crypt of remains, darkness engulfed the figure of a man, crouched against a wall, forehead on drawn knees, soiled hair tangled over slender arms wrapped around his legs. One hand grasped a bottle of elixir d'absynthe, a new concoction said to have medicinal properties. Perhaps he was trying to cure some ailment?

  So easily I could have taken him. But something gave me pause. I am not sure if it was the internal pain radiating from his soul like a pyre, or the way he sat, dispossessed of the world around him, amongst walls of death.

  Why, I asked myself, would a human choose to hide his sorrow in this place of ruination? Mere skeletal remains. His rue reached into my heart and, though I cared little of human suffering, curiosity took me over.

  I moved to him in silence. He was not aware of my presence until I placed a hand on his shoulder. He started, sky-blue eyes shooting up through filthy tousles of blond locks that reached well past his shoulders.

  "Quel est votre nom?" I asked, barely able to speak the language, though I'd picked up just enough to get along.

  He blinked several times and ran a dirty hand through the mass of tangles, brushing them off his face. Beneath the layers of battle dirt and blood, beneath the blond stubble of facial hair, I could see a man quite attractive.

  He assessed me. He believed me an hallucination, or perhaps a dream. "Mon nom est André la Chandler," he responded, his voice so soft I almost did not catch his words.

  "Pourquoi êtes-vous ici?" I needed to know.

  Instead of speaking, he answered my question by placing the bottle on the grubby ground beside a well used and bloodied musket. The scent of fresh blood almost caused a swoon, and then I saw its source as he opened his uniform waistcoat, once a noble and proud white was now reduced to brown rags caked with the mud of crawling through explosive battlefields, and black from the blood of those he'd killed. Beneath, an expanding crimson stain marred his left side.

  "I am dying," he stated in broken English.

  What was it about this soldier, wounded in battle, who chose to die alone amongst those dead hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years before his birth? I lowered myself beside him.

  "And the Absynthe? A cure?"

  "Un poison," he said in finality.

  "You choose to die here?" I asked.

  "Many de ancêtres...eh, ancestors rest here." He gazed about in contemplation, though if he could see anything within the black I could not know. "A la mort de montage." A fitting death.

  How could he think dying a slow agony fitting for a soldier who had been mortally wounded fighting for his morals, his country?

  "But you are a soldier, fighting for what is right," I said. "You would rather die, lost among the dead than be honoured by the living?"

  He merely shrugged and in his eyes I saw the reflections of pain, loneliness and defeat. I had seen much war in my thousands of years, I had seen the damage it can cause not only on a physical level, but a spiritual one as well. André had given up. The guilt of killing men like himself who wished only to survive and make life better for their country, their families. Seeing friends and collègues slaughtered, dying painful deaths, or mutilated beyond repair. It had become too much. He wished only to join them.

  I knew right then I should aid this young man in his quest. I could most easily drain him, filling my need for a meal, filling his for an end.

  But, there was another solution, for us both. "I can help you," I said. "You need not suffer." At his enigmatic glance, I elaborated. "I can take away your pain—in death. Or give you a new life."

  He snorted. "I have lived, and lost, already. Enough."

  "So, death it is!" Before he could react, I had him in my grasp, my arms wrapped around his skeletal waist, my mouth to his throat. He released a mere moan before my teeth penetrated flesh, my lips wrapped tightly around the wound so as not to spill even a drop.

  And then—he fought me!

  Weak as he was, his fists pounded on my back and I felt life in him, a need to fight. A soldier not yet ready to relinquish his existence.

  I backed away and released him. His limp body dropped to the ground, mists of dust rising up around him. Wide blue orbs stared up at me, the whites of his eyes indicating his surprise and fear at what I had just brought upon him. He lay there, gasping, his last breaths coming hard.

  "You wished to die," I whispered into his ear. "I can give you that wish rapidly."

  His head moved one side to another. He opened his mouth to speak. I placed my ear to his face. "What...are...you?"

  I smiled, deliberately revealing my fangs. "I am your salvation—the end of your suffering. 'Tis your choice."

  I recalled all the failed attempts long past of making children of my own. But André was different. If he died, he received his wish. If he lived and went mad, I would kill him. Again, his wish is fulfilled. But if he survived—I would have my family, the beginning of an army to defeat Yin. I lifted André easily from the ground, removing him from his macabre and dusty tomb. I had done as instructed by Yin; took in his blood until the heart registered only 40 beats within a minute. From there, I fed him my own blood until he was rendered unconscious and unable to drink more. However, once he awoke, I knew it would aid and ease his mind to see comfort, life and light. I had heard long ago that so many 'vampyres' had gone insane or become murderers due to the harsh conditions in which they had risen. Many were killed, or rendered insane. None survived. I myself had seen too many. This time I would prevail.

  I was determined to start a family, and though I believed in no gods beyond those that had already exited from the planet to find a place where they would be more accepted, I truly believed this union with André was meant for success.

  And so I carried him to my flat at Rue Hérold street, careful to avoid detection, a mere 200 metres from the Louvre. I was determined that if my first 'child' survived, he would be raised with only the best, as I had been. Culture. Cuisine. Language. And so much more. I had chosen Paris for this reason. The best in the world!

  I placed him in a lightless room. Though I knew not what to expect once he awoke (would he be wild with insanity, or calm in acceptance?), I wanted no sunlight that may harm him in any way.

  I set his benumbed form in the large guest bed of the flat I called home for now. I removed his odoriferous clothing and tossed them aside. He would need to be bathed.

  I scanned his naked body. Slender to the point of emaciation, yet boasting muscles firm with work. Though the hair that draped the pillow was smirched with soil and blood, I could see that once cleaned it would be a sparkling golden blond. His cheekbones were raised above a perfectly chiseled chin. He was absolutely magnificent. I loved him already.

  I boasted no servants, as I had been privy to so very long ago, in another life as Jabari's wife. I could not afford to bring such attention to my presence. One day I would hold the power of my youth, but for now I cared only for myself, and now this poor soldier fallen from a position of grace.

  I fetched a bucket of water and rags. Carefully, I washed the sensitive human flesh, being sure to clean off every last bit of the past, the pain and the battle he had fou
ght.

  An ablution.

  When I had finished, I dressed his limp figure in a nightdress and placed him comfortably beneath the bedclothes. I lit a few candles in the room and then left my handsome new progeny to wake come night, to realize now life would be worth living.

  ~~~

  " A Family is Born"

  Entry two

  The moan woke me easily, for the bedside chair I had fallen asleep in was far from comfortable. I opened my eyes to see my new child waking slowly, long blond lashes fluttering. I admit anticipation held me tight in its grasp. I sat forward, staring at him, wondering what he would become.

  He turned his head to me, sinuous golden locks, previously tangled and thin from stress, cascading over the pillow and bed, now immaculate and long. It had worked! Those successfully 'altered,' I had heard, displayed the long dense hair of the Pet Mer, the ones whose blood ran within them, even if in small amounts.

  A symbol of my lineage, I saw it as a necessity in the success of bearing my own family. My father had cut his, keeping it shoulder length, common in the times he resided within Egypt. But I had never restricted the growth of my own hair. It brushed the ground now, though I kept it mostly bound within one long braid and rolled atop my head. This was the lineage of the great and noble race, who had found this planet when their own was destroyed by greed and over-processing. I would do nothing to dishonour my father. My family.

  For a long time, André said nothing. He simply stared at me as if he knew not who I was, or where he had awoken.

  Worry overcame me then. What if I had erred yet again. If he had gone mad—

  But then he spoke. "Qu'est-il arrivé ?"

  What happened?

  "Do you recall nothing?" I asked in English, hoping he would understand.

  He sighed with a near pained expression. When he spoke, his words came slow, English not being his first nor chosen language. "I was... wounded. Dying." I nodded for him to continue. He paused, though, drawing the coverlet from his torso. No scar marred the pale flesh. Any indication of his battle had been healed by my blood.

  He stared. "How—?"

  "I healed you," I stated.

  After marveling for a moment at his consummate flesh, his eyes raised up at me. "Are you…um…doctor? Alchemist, a…witch?"

  I laughed aloud. "I am none, or perhaps all, of the above. I am a child of the Pet Mer –from Egypt."

  His blank stare told me he knew nothing of what I spoke.

  "A lineage of the greatest, most powerful beings that ever graced this planet."

  He shook his head. No comprehension.

  "My family," I elaborated. This would be a slow and delicate process. I needed to bring him in gently, so as not to shock his system into over-stressing. I could not explain to him the entire truth. Not yet anyway. "I have a secret—a healing secret. And I have allowed you into this world, this surreptitious existence because you deserve a second chance at a better life."

  His face tensed with concentration. "A…second chance?" He tried to recall the first chance, I was sure. "Did I die?" he asked finally.

  "In a fashion," I answered. I needed my words to be delicate. Humans often fear that which they do not understand. Instead of looking more deeply into it, instead of embracing what knowledge they can glean from it, they balk at it. Though André was human no more, this he did not know. Not yet. "Your old life has passed, but has given birth to a new one."

  André sat up then and when he bowed his head forward, his face was hidden and draped by the luxurious hair. One masculine hand reached up from under the coverlet to comb through the locks. Slowly, he lifted his head, fingers webbed through the strands, staring at them as if his eyes lied. “Qu'est-il arrivé ? Mes cheveux...”

  "Does not look as it did?" I finished for him. "It is better now. You are healthy once again, and will be forever."

  He flipped the abundant mane away from his face. Blue eyes deeper than the vast space from whence my people came met my deep brown orbs with such question, he needed not speak a word.

  "I have given you my blood. It has healing properties that also made you healthy—" My hands swept the air in reference to his muscular and healed torso. "—everywhere. Made you better. You shall live longer as well. Much longer."

  So thrilled was I that I had successfully created my first child, who had survived and was not insane, I had forgotten the most important order of business. I was lost in his beauty. Curious what power he may possess, but quickly reminded of my mistake.

  "Je ai besoin de manger!"

  I am hungry.

  Before I could grab him, my André was up and out the door, the Paris wind blowing the shutters open and closed with a bang in his wake. Apparently, André possessed speed beyond comprehension. A newly formed child, I had heard, could ravish an entire town so quickly it might never recover. That kind of attention we did not need.

  A certain amount of speed is inherited in all of my kind and in those with whom they choose to share the Legacy, as it has been called, so we may have an advantage over those on whom we require sustenance. I rushed out. I needed to find him.

  I halted quickly just outside the townhouse on Île Saint-Louis,my temporary home, into the chill night. As I watched my own breath on the air, a sensation overcame my mind. I can only describe it as a tingle deep within my brain, but it smelled of André. It makes little sense to me even as I write this entry, but there it is. I followed this sense south over to the main land and beyond as it grew ever stronger.

  Deep within an obscure shadow down the small dank alley of Val-de-Grâce, behind an underground brothel, lay a man, his throat torn out in such a manner that his head was barely attached any longer. Yet hardly any blood. André was famished, and he would not stop until he had drained every human ill-fated enough to be out this night.

  I followed this strange sensation, finding three more bodies, two within Montparnasse, and all left where they had met their unfortunate demise. None disposed of properly. The Parisian authorities could link this to André and I if anyone survived to see his 'newborn' hunger. We could easily escape, but news of such an event would surely raise a red flag to all children existing anywhere in Europe and if Yin happened to be near, as is generally the case, he would find me before I could be aware and ready.

  I had begun to think I would not find André, as he always seemed to stay one step ahead of me. I searched through every area of decadent Paris, finding body after body, but no André.

  Each death spoke to me as my own child's blood—my blood—grew stronger within him through the sustenance he took in from these strangers.

  My flesh tingled and stung like a thousand bees as my search grew desperate. It was an hour before sunrise, though the city continued to be blanketed by the grey mist of night. André, I was sure, could feel it as well. Instinct should lead him to safety, somewhere. But where?

  For the first time, sunrise came in welcome to me, even through its pang, for I knew André would cease his tirade to seek the dark of shelter and slumber. I had no time to dispose of his massacre, hoping in some manner the war would take blame. Nettles pierced my exposed flesh, my head ached, as the signal I had been receiving all evening from André faded and disappeared. I needed to get back to the townhouse, to the dark, to slumber.

  I had taken not two steps when it came to me. I knew where André would be hiding. Quickly, before the sun could claim me, I made my way to the underground grave of Paris.

  ~~~

  “No God”

  Entry three

  I rushed deep into the soothing damp dark of the tunnels below Paris. Night to me was a mix of shadows, both dark and light, with discernible outlines. I could see movement before it had actually occurred. I easily followed the track of bones to the exact place where I had first located André, wounded soldier prepared to die, and move onto the next world. But there was no next world. Only decay, and worms. This I could not bear for André. I had saved his life for a reason. He was beautifu
l, and a soldier, thus valuable in my war against Yin.

  “André?” My voice echoed through the decadent chambers. “I know you are here. I sense you!”

  From the clammy stone walls echoed a voice, not discernible in its location. “Leave me be, Kesi!”

  He was now experiencing the second phase of a newborn’s existence; Guilt for lives taken.

  I had been through this all; we had all experienced it. Though I had never been an adult human turned ‘newborn,’ at that moment I recalled my youth and the hunger pangs for blood I suffered. My father talked me through it, he gave me guidance until I was able to control the urges and even redirect them, until I was old enough that they no longer controlled my mind and body. Like the sexual drive of a young adult human, the need for blood can be overwhelming. And I was not an easy nipper to deal with, as memory serves. Fortunately, however, in that era humans were willing to offer up their blood as servitude. We were the Children of the Gods; the Pet Mer, who had saved the desert and given them strength to thrive and succeed as a nation.

  Now, I had my own ‘child’ to raise and nurture and teach. I maneuvered the tunnels as if I had been born there; I could feel André so deeply within, flowing through my veins like a drug given in injection.

  I followed the narrow labyrinth of this knowledge, zigzagging tunnels that passed by the ever staring and watchful eyes of those long dead, their empty sockets seeing all that trespassed. And toward my child I moved swiftly. As if time had turned backwards, he sat just as the night I had found him, a huddled shadow in the dark.

  “André,” I said softly. “Do not chase me off.”

  I moved in close, careful not to spook him. I now understood his exceptional speed. He could lose me in an instant. Yet, he needed me, though this he did not yet know. I heard his sigh.

  I lowered myself beside him. He stared incessantly at his hands, which were brown with the dried blood of his victims. Meals, not expecting what lie in wait for them within the night. I took one of his hands in my own; a gesture of soothing comfort. I said nothing. I merely sat with him. He would speak when he was ready.