The Dark Evolution Chronicles

by Cassandra Di Rossi

  “You think we cannot be together because of what you are?”

  I sat up quickly and blinked at him.

  “You did not think I had heard when Sekhemet called you a cold one?”

  I was glad he had not finished her other term: blood hunter. The breeze billowed the drape over my balcony window. Below the party had spilt out into the courtyard and people were chattering and laughing. The smell of roasting goose began to drift up, overpowering the scent of the jasmine and lotus flowers.

  “If you know what I am, then why are you here in my room?” I asked. Only then did he look at me. He brushed my hair over my ears with both hands, then cupped my face and kissed me. So startled by his action was I that I did not kiss him back. He moved away.

  “I have heard of your kind. Some say that you are the original gods. That you have lived for thousands of years and will never grow old.”

  I wanted to tell him I was just human like him, but of course, that would have been a lie. I reached out to touch his face, but I was afraid that the moment I did I would not be able to walk away.

  “That is true,” I replied so quietly that he asked me to say it again.

  “It is true, my kind does not grow old, we just watch all those we love age and die,” I said, trying to sound cruel and failing miserably. Instead, I sounded like a pouting child. Someone outside began to play the double-reed pipe, and I thought the music would break my heart.

  “You have to leave me, make a real life for yourself. I cannot give you children,” I said, uncertain if this were actually true. “You deserve to have family, grandchildren one day to tease you when you are old.”

  He gave a laugh. But his jaw tightened and that beautiful vein in his neck pulsed.

  “I could lose control of my hunger and kill you in an instant,” I said, slowly tracing a fingernail down his neck and round his throat. I did not want to make him feel threatened but I saw that it was the only way. “When the hunger comes it is all-consuming, my teeth will sharpen and my bite is hard.” He shuddered. It was working. “As your blood flows into mine you will lose consciousness and I will not be able to stop until your heart gives up and you die in my arms,” the lie soured in my gut.

  “That’s not true.” Suddenly he took hold of my offending hand and pressed it to his chest. “I have met your kind before. You don’t have to kill when you… when you take blood. You can stop, and I know you would never harm anyone willingly. You would never harm me.” Downstairs one of the twins began to cry, and a moment later the other joined in. “As for what you are, well we can make it work. I don’t need children. I have nine siblings to provide my father with heirs. I will have nieces and nephews enough to keep us occupied.”

  I was so close to giving in. Outside on the landing, someone walked by, humming happily to himself. I realized it was MeryAmun. Then a giggle behind him told me he was not alone. My ward was about to become a true wife.

  As they tumbled into Sekhemet’s bedchamber next to mine I heard the boy exclaim as she let her gown drop to the floor. Dorus and I glanced at the wall as they began to kiss. Dorus could wait no more, he pulled me toward him and our lips met. I was lost.

  His body was firm and young, his cock hard and eager. I tugged off his belt and tossed it to the floor with his Egyptian kilt, then lifted my arms high so that he could slip my gown over my head. He pressed his face against my breasts and pulled me up so that I straddled him.

  Slowly he kissed my breasts, curling his tongue around each nipple, his hands gently holding me close. We both groaned with such pleasure as I had never known. The bliss of feeling him as he pushed deep inside me was overwhelming. We rocked back and forth in each other’s arms until together we shuddered and gasped in ecstasy.

  *

  As we lay entangled on the bed I felt as though a stone lay on my chest. Next door I could hear Sekhemet and MeryAmun begin their dance again.

  Dorus stirred in his sleep and I knew that if I did not go then, I would not go at all. If Dorus would not set me aside, then I must abandon him. With tears streaming down my face, I pulled on my gown. In a small cloth bag, I stuffed a few possessions, spare clothes, the gold buckle I had worn as a priestess of Khonsu, and the glass lightning I had found in the desert with Osiris. At the door, I stopped. I almost did not go. I cannot say just how much I wanted to kiss him one last time, but if I had there was a risk of him waking. As I made my way quietly through the villa I could hear the gurgle of a suckling babe. I paused and listened a moment, glad that I had been there to see it into this world. Then I was out the door and into the night.

  I ran then, for fear if I stopped I would turn and go back. I kept going until I reached the dock. When no one was looking I boarded a ship heading south and was gone before dawn.

  It was years before I would return to Mn-Nefer, almost five centuries. I wanted to search for Dorus and almost did, many times. I had seen him in my dreams. He had searched for me for a while, but in the end, he had returned to Crete and found a good wife. She had given him several happy fat children, and they, in turn, gave him grandchildren to laugh and tease him when he was old.

  Though I took residence in Waset, I managed to stay hidden from Nedjem and Urhiya. If they ever saw me they did not attempt to catch my attention. I did manage to see the twins as they grew up, and it is through them that I heard of Sekhemet’s death. The birthing of a child took her. She was only twenty-five.

  The Iliad

  A Poet and a priestess met one night.

  Trapped in a tomb they sat in fright.

  With nowhere to go a story was told.

  But the tale changed when the poet was old.

  Book of Darkness C1000 BCE

  Chapter 10 paragraph 3

  It is easy to remember when reading the above passage from the Book of Darkness that the author was a child, and one with a sense of humour. It is also easy, for those of us who were there, to recognize certain events documented.

  It was the sixth year in the reign of the Kushite pharaoh Taharaqa. There had been much fighting with the Assyrians in the years preceding, but a lull of peace and an abundant harvest were making for a promising year.

  I was still living in Waset at that time. I had returned to my old life as a priestess of Khonsu. The temple was larger than that at Djanet and had a good, quiet position at the end of the Avenue of Sphinxes in the precinct of Amun-Ra. But Pharaoh had begun several construction projects of late.

  My fellow priests were concerned that he may wish to up route our temple to make way for something grander in his name, whilst we would be shifted out of the city limits to a more inconvenient location. This did not concern me quite so much as it did my fellows. Indeed I would have been glad of the seclusion.

  It was easier to go out and hunt when fewer people were watching. But I understood their fears. Our congregation was smaller than most, and the offerings that kept my companions fed were often less than adequate.

  One or two had taken to making gowns from cloth that was sometimes donated, and selling them back to the worshipers. Others found it useful to trade in trinkets retrieved from the desert tombs in the Red Lands on the west side of the river. But we all hoped that should the temple appear to be prosperous enough, the king would leave us in peace.

  At that time Pharaoh was with his family in Mn-Nefer, leaving his mayors and priests in charge of the major cities, including Waset. Unlike his statues, the governor of Waset, Mentuemhet, was a broad man with wide shoulders and a fat belly that hung over the top of his kilt like a sack full of bread.

  He stood a little shorter than me. Just enough so that he had to look up when we spoke. Not that we had a great many meetings, but he was forced, at least twice a year, to visit us. This tradition involved checking our accounts, taking the taxes, and examining the upkeep of the building. As High Priestess I was in charge of the purse strings, and with Mentuemhet’s next visit due in three days, I was frantically gathering the gold and checking the paintings on the walls
. We needed to impress and show that we were prospering.

  The day was fresh, with a light autumn breeze wafting through the temple complex. The inundation had once again been bountiful and the banks of the river were brimming with lush vegetation. It was too sunny for me to venture out, so I had sent a young priest to fetch as many flowers and reeds and he could gather to adorn the temple.

  This was not only to make it look beautiful, but a cunning ploy to hide the flaking plaster on the walls and fading paintings. As I placed a jar of pink roses over a large chip on the top of the altar, I heard a thin howling sound. I looked around for an animal of some kind, but there was none that I could see.

  The howl came again. I looked up at the ceiling, down at the floor, and under the altar. Finally, after a short while, I walked to the very back of the room and stared. Behind the altar of the inner sanctum was the back wall of the temple. And right in the centre of that wall was a small crack. It had been there many years, indeed I could not recall when it was not there, however it had never howled before. I put my finger over the crack and felt the plaster crumble away a bit more.

  “Lord Zeus,” I hissed. The moment I moved my finger away again the wind rushed through, whistling like a boiling pot on a stove.

  “What is it, mistress?”

  I turned to look at the young apprentice priest. He was around thirteen years old, tall, skinny and his top lip covered in the fluffy beginnings of a moustache.

  “We are going to need a bit of plaster. Go to the potters, the one on the corner near the market square, and ask him to come with some clay and his tools.”

  “Yes, mistress,” the boy turned to go.

  “Oh, and perhaps he should bring some paint. Tell him we can pay on completion.” I knew if we did not say this, he would not come, for he knew very well we were lacking in affluence. He knew because he often visited the temple in search of something only my kind could give; the intoxication of a vampire bite. Of course, I could pay him in kind, but he had a family to feed.

  I watched the boy leave then turned back to the whistling wall. It was dim in the inner sanctum, for the only light came from the small window high above on that back wall. Even the doorway gave little brightness. I lifted an oil lamp to the offending hole and examined it closer. The wind blew out the light.

  “Bugger Zeus,” I muttered in my original language.

  “You’re Greek?”

  “Mother of Horus!” I gasped, spinning round to face the voice. “Where did you come from? How did you get in here?” I stared at the visitor. “This part of the temple is only open at ceremonial times,” I said, a little more steadily, for the woman was not familiar.

  “Sorry. The main entrance was open and there was no one around.” She was speaking in Greek, which is very similar to my mother tongue. “I just walked through and saw you staring at that wall.”

  She was somewhere in middle age. Her black hair was streaked with grey and thin lines spread around her eyes. She too was holding a small oil lamp. She saw me look at it,

  “It was on the table, just outside the door there,” she explained.

  “You are a tourist?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes. Forgive me.” She held out her free hand, “Helen.”

  I blinked at her for a moment. I had not met anyone baring that name since my time in Troy more than half a millennium earlier. She looked at her outstretched hand nervously when I did not take it.

  “Sorry,” I said, finally shaking her hand. “Welcome. Please, feel free to look around, and please do stop at the trinket stall on your way out. We have some beautiful burial ushabti on sale from the reign of Ramses the Great,” I said with my best smile.

  “Oh, how lovely. I surely will.” Her voice was high and slightly squeaky more like that of a little girl.

  I turned away, thinking she would leave.

  “You seem to be having trouble with that plaster.”

  I bit my lip and turned back to her.

  “And you did not answer my question,” she added with mischief in her eyes.

  “What question?” I had honestly forgotten.

  “That you are a Greek. You were speaking Greek when I came in, and you are speaking it flawlessly to me now.”

  “Ah, well, no actually. I am from…” I could not say Troy anymore than I could tell her Vampyr. “Crete,” I said, thinking of my lovely Dorian.

  “Your accent is not Cretan, no, I would know if you were from Crete in a heartbeat, my grandmother was from Crete.”

  I scratched at my wrist nervously.

  “No, I would say you are Ionian, like me,” she grinned.

  I opened my mouth to explain, but could think of nothing to tell her. Thankfully she did not give me a chance anyway.

  “You lied because you recognised my accent, and did not want to have to talk about my family.”

  “I…erm…” I had no idea what she meant.

  “That’s okay. I know my family are ridiculously famous and wealthy, and that terrible scandal with my father and those two…”

  “I am sorry, but I really must continue my work. I am expecting someone any moment to come to fix this…” I attempted to interrupt.

  “Oh, no problem. You carry on. I can just sit here and watch if you don’t mind. It is so nice to be able to speak Greek with another native again, it has been so very long since I heard one, and my Egyptian is so very bad. You know I have been…”

  I realised just how Greek she looked, with her flowing gown and natural hair.

  “…Travelling for almost two years now. I have seen such things and such places you cannot imagine."

  I began to lose track of her, so I turned back to the cleaning.

  "I met this amazing man in Ephesus; so beautiful I could have died happy just looking at him."

  I couldn’t help but wonder why the name Helen always seemed to be born by such vapid women.

  "The hanging gardens of Babylon were the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. There were so many flowers, and plants, and waterfalls, and..."

  There was a clatter.

  "Oops sorry. Let me just..."

  I wasn't sure I wanted to look around, but I did. Just in time to see her picking up the lamp she had knocked over and trying to relight it from the torch on the wall.

  "Don't..." but it was too late. The spilt oil in the lamp dish burst into a ball of flames. She screeched and dropped it again. Before I could think she fell to her hands and knees, trying to blow out the fire by wafting it with the hem of her skirt, which of course fanned the flame. I took one of the damp cloths I had been using to clean with and threw it on the fire.

  "Oh Zeus, I am so sorry," she spluttered, sitting back on her heels and staring at the smouldering mess. Her hair had come loose and was falling over her forehead and into her eyes. She blew it back and wafted her hot face.

  "Please," I offered her a hand up.

  She took it and dusted herself down.

  "I can be so clumsy sometimes," she said.

  "Do not worry about it," I replied, wondering how much longer she was going to stay.

  "You know, the same thing happened in Jerusalem, at the holy temple of Solomon. I very near set fire to the entire wooden altar... That place is just so beautiful I cannot even describe it. Though you would think I would have little trouble with such things, being a poet...” she giggled at her own joke.

  I blinked at her in awe and wonder. She was just going to return right back to her tales.

  “Oh, and on my way here I had to stop at the pyramids, of course, they are just so…”

  “Beautiful?” I finished for her.

  “Oh yes,” she clapped her hands together. “And the bent pyramid, that was such a surprise…”

  The speed of her speech was incredible. It was as though she had to say everything all at once for fear she would forget it.

  A man cleared his throat from the doorway.

  “Good afternoon Cassandra.”

  “Ah, Djoser, tha
nk you for coming,” I said with relief. “Please come in.”

  “You have a visitor Your Grace?” he said with an amused glance at the rotund little woman.

  “Yes, this is Helen, she is a tourist from Ionia,” I replied before she could give him her life story.

  “Well, very pleased to meet you,” my friend said with a flirtatious smile. I had not noticed how pretty she was until then. She was certainly on the heavy side, but her face was very pleasing. I could see why he found her attractive. Though it did send a little pang of jealousy through my gut. He was married of course, but he had been my bed and blood companion for many years by then.

  “Mind me don’t,” she said, dropping a courtesy so that he could see her cleavage better. “I get in your way shall not,” her Egyptian was indeed quite bad. To my amazement, she then proceeded to perch herself on the edge of the altar to get a good view of Djoser as he worked.

  I took my leave.

  *

  As the sun set, I began to wonder as to the whereabouts of Djoser. I had expected him to come to my chamber once the job was done. I decided to investigate. But the moment I set foot outside my door I knew something was amiss. Djoser was running toward me brandishing his trowel in one hand and a paint-smeared cloth in the other. Or at least I thought it was paint upon first glance. The moment I detected the familiar metallic scent I rushed out to meet him,

  “What happened? Why is there blood on your cloth?”

  “The boy, they hit him.” Djoser gasped, leaning against the side of the bread-kiln wall to catch his breath. He yelped from the heat. He was not a young man, and had probably never run anywhere in his life usually. I offered him my hand while he caught his breath. “They took her,” he spluttered when he was able.

  “What? Who took whom? Is he all right?” I asked, not knowing which question I wanted him to answer first. “Take me to him,” I added, dragging Djoser back to the main temple building.