It is not easy, being of a divergent race. But, it is the station to which I was born. I have spoken to Mother of this desire to be one with the humans, to play in the sun, to take my meals as they do. Mother always displays the utmost of sympathies. But, she explained, that I am “not as the other children. For they were born to serve you, not to be your friends.”
At my frown, she had stated, “Kesi, you are special. You have gifts they can only long for, and so they envy you. They were raised to worship, not to love or associate with the children of the Pet Mer.”
I had nodded and let it go at that, but I knew she understood my lack of empathy for my circumstance. I watched the others engage in recreation, do their chores and whisper secrets that I am never privy to—only the other Pet Mer children understand. Yet they care not in the least. Why do I feel so much more than they?
Time arrived. Time to take sustenance. Nekhure and all the humans who worshipped the “gods from the sky and their progeny" ventured the journey downward to us. I waited my turn, as always.
Offspring always take their meals first, age playing the regulation with which we line. I must confess, I despise this routine. At least twice per sun cycle I wait with the others, watching as the youngest ones take their feast foremost. Those who cannot yet walk or talk are held by their Pet Mer parent, who pierces the thin flesh of the human on their wrist or even a finger, then allows the suckling his or her pleasure and fill.
As I slowly age, my turn in the line descends. The eldest always feed last, if they feed at all, for I have heard they need not feast each day as those of us who are younger.
As luck would have it on this night, my turn came and my one human friend, Nekhure, was to be my meal.
Though I knew this was as it was meant to be, and that Nekhure would be well enough to feed us another day, it still felt to me as if this was somehow a violation.
I wish to be one with Nekhure, not to view him as mere repast. Humans ate animals, I reasoned as I approached my friend. They make meat and blood their sustenance. And here I needed to do the same; take my meal to keep me alive and moving onward through the ages.
My stomach groaned, my veins throbbed.
Nekhure stood before me.
My parents, the other Pet Mer, and the humans they had taken as mates—even their children, watched. My heart raced as faces all around me stared in expectation. My hands shook and the pressure overcame me.
And then I did the unthinkable.
Within Nekhure’s ear, I spoke. “I do not view you as subservient to myself.”
And with that my small fangs pierced the thin flesh of his throat. Though generally we only took the wrist, I had been close to his ear in order to whisper and, wanting none to know I had spoken to him, I chose the closest route with which his blood throbbed at the surface of flesh. His head tilted back, his moan was apparent to all.
The warm sweet flavor filled my mouth quickly. More hastily than the wrist ever offered. I drank, I swallowed and I sighed.
I could barely comprehend the gasps that echoed from stone and rock, passed from flesh both human and not. Behind and around me.
We do not drink from the throat, echoed the commands within my mind. I had not known why, but yet once again, it is as I was taught.
At that moment I comprehended the reasoning. Even within the haze of ecstatic rejuvenation, all at once it became clear. How quickly the blood flowed, as if the Nile spat it from its depths.
Oh, how wonderful.
I had experienced nothing of its ilk.
But then, beyond the elated tunnel of bliss I heard the voices.
Frantic.
Panicked.
Kesi, no! Stop!
A drop of warm crimson escaped my lips. I felt its descent. I heard its death. I even smelt its perfume and decadence as it died within the sands at my bare feet.
Never spill blood when feeding. Each drop is precious.
I could scarce grasp what had transpired. Only that the chill dank air of the underground struck my flesh as if a powerful sandstorm stampeded my body.
I was dragged away from Nekhure.
Through the burrow that was my vision, I saw him collapse to the ground—a boulder that tumbled from above. Had I taken too much? Would he now die a mortal’s death? These thoughts sat idle in my mind, but prominent was the unsatisfied hunger. My head swam with confusion.
I heard a voice reverberate from the tomb walls.
“She killed him! He is dead! Oh, by Ra’s light the Pharaohs shall never feed us again. We will starve!”
A swarm of bodies moved in, the chambers echoed so loudly with bellows, I could not hear a single decipherable voice. It was not me the swarm hovered over, but Nekhure.
Before reality could take me into its cold grasp, my mother embraced my arm and drew me from the carnage I had caused. I followed, carefully drawn along as if pulled by a snail rather than a horse. Once within, I was placed upon my bed, my body obeying without question.
And now I sit here alone, writing my secret words, waiting to hear if Nekhure is alive or dead.
“Friends in Death”
I await my fate within the empty echoes of my chamber. My heart beats fast within my breast. My palms sweat in fear and anticipation. Surely, I shall be executed for my crime. We do not kill humans. They feed us, they worship us. They fulfill our every need.
If anything, we should bow to them, yet they bow to us. And now—I may have taken a sacred life. Sacred to me at least.
Nekhure is…or was my friend. My only human friend. No, I refuse to think he has passed to the Field.
My mind wanders backwards now, to the nights he remained without, just so we may talk and share our tales. He is the only human to which I have recited thoughts of my heart and what transpires for me each night. The life of a half breed human and Pet Mer.
I recall the night we met in earnest, and to think on it makes me smile even now.
The harvest was well onwards and all the Nile folk remained busy by day, pulling reeds for papyrus and linen for clothing. Harvesting foods to feed during the times when Peret gives in to Shomu.
Nekhure, son of a farmer, labors hard by day while I slumber. Usually, slaves and farmers are well within by the time I and my family venture out.
However, one evening when the large moon lit the desert in its silver glow, I came about to the Nile’s drying banks. Mud and clay had begun to form around the edges of the great river of life. It was not difficult to notice the slumped form of a young human male sitting on a rotting tree stump not far from where the river waned. All around was scattered the evidence of day by day labor, set out to repeat the chores come daylight’s return.
I opened my mind and allowed this human’s emotions to freely fill my perception. Beyond the exhaustion of a difficult day under the beatings of Ra, I sensed a pain I could not comprehend.
Should I approach? He did not know I watched him. Human senses—so inferior to our own. Yet, his pain reached out to me and I discovered that my empathy drew me towards him.
I stood directly behind him by the time he was aware of my presence.
He started and spun on his rotting tree, pieces of it breaking off and crumbling about his white linen clothing, soiled from the day’s chores. He stared up at me as if I were one of my father’s race; an alien from the skies above. A god who gave his people more than they could achieve on their own. More than their dreams allowed.
“Hello,” I stated, to ease his mistrust. “I am Kesi of Giza.”
He scrambled to stand so quickly, the stump he had rested upon became an instrument of awkward introduction. His bare foot caught a limb and he nearly fell face first into the mud. But, he caught himself with astonishing quickness for a human and, once before me, bowed deeply. “My apologies, my goddess,” he blurted. “I did not know you were present. Please excuse a lowly human’s incompetence.”
“Rise,” I stated then. “Please. And my name is Kesi, as you may call me.”
“Is this a comfortable location to ponder?” I asked, and before he could answer, I sat upon the tree stump as he had been positioned only moments before. “Please…sit.”
Hesitantly, he lowered himself beside me. I could easily feel his apprehension. He sat now, as one, beside the daughter of a god. I had been determined to ease his trepidation. And so I began with simple talk; first of his chores and then his family and his social class, friends, and beyond.
We talked until I felt the tingle of pending daylight upon my flesh. Like an unwelcome visitor, it came upon quickly. I stood and excused myself. I needed him to understand I left not because his company was inadequate (for it was not), but because I was due at home.
From that night forward, Nekhure and I understood one another; a bond between human and immortal I imagined was shared between my father and mother. As well, the other Pet Mer/human matings. So many came through as whispers within the tunnels. Yet, never before had I understood.
Many nights thereafter, Nakhure and I met on the rotting tree, for that was our solace. Our special place.
Would I ever again see this tree in the same way, I wondered, as I waited. And I wonder still.
Please do not allow him to die by my wrong doing!
I sat upon the slab of stone in which I slumbered during most daylight hours. The linen bedding crumpled upon the floor became my own solace as I drew them over myself and hid within their flimsy fibers as if they could protect me from my fears.
When Father entered the chamber I scarce heard, nor felt, his approach. I was well hidden within the succor of linen wrapped about my body like a boa strangling a rat for its meal.
“Verdict”
Slowly and with caution, I lowered the linen from my face, peering over the cloth with only my tear-filled eyes. My father stood beside my bed, as usual a somber and stoic expression graced his all-too-human face.
“Kesi,” he stated slowly, as if avoiding the inevitable. His shoulder-length blond hair, so dissimilar to all the others, was cast about in disarray. He lowered himself beside me and I looked up, into the green eyes that could only be gotten from Bast herself.
I closed my eyes. Perhaps if I could not see, I would not hear the truth. Nekhure had passed on and I would be punished severely, of this I was sure.
And then I felt the warm hand upon my knee. I opened my eyes.
“It is all right, Kesi. The human lives.”
My sigh of relief echoed from stone and the linens fluttered to the floor as I sat up and threw my arms about my father’s shoulders. “Oh Father. This is such good news!”
Nekhure survived!
The human!
Father’s cold idiom for someone I treasured created a twitch in my stomach that took me by surprise. This was no mere human. This was Nekhure. My friend! I drew my arms away.
“Kesi?” My father asked. He cocked his head at me and I was more than aware that he understood my discontent.
Quickly, I composed myself. Father could easily sense my emotion. Of this I had learned when I was quite small.
“I am overwhelmed with relief,” I stated, hoping he would not sense my untruth. I forced a grin and wiped away the tears that stained my cheeks.
My father’s expression grew stern. “Kesi! It is imperative that this never happen again. You have made way this one time. But again and—”
“Yes, Father,” I interrupted. “I understand. And I vow.” I lowered my eyes in hopes he would think it mere shame at what I had done. In truth, I wanted to see Nekhure myself, to apologize and to be sure all was well between us.
My ruse was a success. Father rose to his feet. “You may resume your regular activities now,” he stated before exiting my chamber.
I needed to see Nekhure immediately. Once I was sure Father was well away, I rushed out and into the tunnels.
By that time, everyone had fed and all the humans had gone back to their lives, their homes and their beds.
Within, my heart ravaged my breast! How would I see Nekhure now? He had ventured on home with his father and sure slumbered, particularly after his unpleasant encounter with me, in his own bed.
He would never speak to me again, of this I was sure. I had nearly taken his life. Why would he want to be my friend still? To him, I wanted only the red nectar that flowed within him. But this was untruth! I wanted more—I wanted to be his friend. I needed to see him, to be sure he held me no ill will.
But I need to wait. Everyone still ventured the tunnels and chambers. Many went out to do whatever their business needed; visits with Pharaoh, meetings with other Pet Mer, walks with a beloved human. Each held their own agenda, as I had mine.
The need was so strong I could scarce contain it. I had to see Nekhure. No matter what the cost to me, I had to know he held me no ill will. That he would still be my friend. My only human friend. At this moment, my only friend!
I care not for the others of my race. I care not for the Pet Mer nor their human mates. I care only for Nekhure. I know now what I must do. When the others slumber, I shall venture out. Ra shall surely protect me. And under His watchful eye I shall see my beloved Nekhure. I shall be assured he is well and that I have done him no harm.
And, most of all, I shall procure my place within his heart.
~~~
Coming Soon
More to Come…
As these are only the first of the documents, there are many journal entries still being excavated, preserved and translated around the world. Keep a close eye out, for the next installment brings us deeper into the life of André la Chandler, Kesi Akhede and many new characters.
Author web page: www.christinechurch.net
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Blog (author): www.authorchristinechurch.com
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Amazon UK: http://goo.gl/ibMeBY
A Bit about Book Three in the series:
Title: "Douceur de L'amour"
(Love's Gentle Touch)
Fate of the True Vampires (Book Three)
Most of the entries in the third book are from a diary found in France, dated in the 1780's and focusing on a young André la Chandler. Though he is from a poor family, he falls in love with a wealthy girl, and she to him. But, like Romeo and Juliet, they keep their love secret. Unrest amongst the working and upper classes puts a rift between the people, and pulls André from his love, but when her family decides to leave France at the inception of the French Revolution, André chooses to ask for her hand in marriage. During a heated debate between André and his love's father, tragedy strikes. A bargain is met. André must go to war. He fights in the Revolution, but his side in the debate is torn. After much loss, Andre is mortally wounded. Choosing to die alone, amongst those of his own, he heads underground. But, his death is not as he anticipated, for he is discovered by a woman not of this reality, a blood drinker who promises him eternal life if only he becomes hers...forever.
Other entries within the book, and integrated into the stories, are more writings from Kesi, plus other characters, some met in Book One, others new to Kesi's needs.
Sands of Time Page 9
