Resurrected (4 page)

He cried out in his head,
then finally out loud. “No!” It was a weak and pathetic cry but at
least his body was becoming his own again. Before he knew what was
happening each arm had been placed in shackles, then in turn his
legs as well. Stone cried out again but no response came. As his
thoughts became clearer, the voices he heard began to sound
familiar but he was still unable to place them.

“Here, give him this. It'll
make him sleep,” the first female ordered. Cold hands pulled up the
sleeve of his left arm and a needle entered a vein. Stone knew by
the touch of those cold hands that vampires had taken him. Kristine
and Brenna had taken him. As quickly as this realization came, it
faded and all he knew was the absurdness of drug-induced
dreams.

Stone didn’t know if he was
awake or dreaming anymore. If he were dreaming it was a nightmare.
If it was real, Brenna was on the verge of killing him. The nights
and days passed, turning into weeks.

During the daytime, Stone
was left alone with his thoughts and a newly developed phobia of
the night. He dreaded the hour that Brenna came to drink from him.
He wasn’t sure how much longer his body would be able to take the
blood loss.

And just as every night
before, he heard footsteps rhythmically resounding their slow
descent down the stairs. The door creaked open. Brenna's white face
and black hair peeked around the edge of the door.

“And how
are we feeling tonight?” she asked in a condescending tone. She
walked
towards
the bed and sat down beside
him. Stone's body trembled.

“Please. Not tonight," he
said, weak and tired. "I can't take this anymore."

"Hush now." Brenna paused,
looking around the room. A draft from the poorly-sealed window
chilled the room. The dampness from the cement floor created a
moist cold that clung to his skin, penetrating to the bone.
Brenna's malicious gaze met Stone's.

"You will be fine. Trust
me." A broad smile spread across her face, revealing her fangs.
With one swift move Brenna’s hand began caressing Stone's
face.

"You will be just fine,"
she said one more time. Before Stone could say a word, Brenna's
mouth clamped onto his throat. He could feel himself weakening, his
body becoming numb, and his mind unable to put together any
rational thoughts. Warm liquid began to run across his lips and
then down his neck. He was so thirsty and dehydrated that he
instinctively licked his lips. Suddenly his tongue began to tingle.
A strange sensation began to envelop his esophagus and stomach. He
lapped at the liquid again and the sensation grew stronger. With
all his effort he strained to open his eyes. He soon wished he had
not as he saw Brenna with blood on her lips–his blood. She had slit
her wrist with her fingernail and smeared her blood upon his lips.
His body quivered in shock and panic.

"No! No!" Stone cried out,
his voice crackling, "What'll happen to me? I don't want to be like
you!" he said.

"I don't know what will
happen to you," Brenna replied, her voice cold and uncaring, "If
you want, I could give you more."

"No!" he exclaimed again.
With all his effort, he tried once more to free himself from the
chains. But it was to no avail; he remained like a lamb at the
slaughter.

"Oh–I'm a little hurt by
that." Brenna's voice was child-like, small and soft.

"Get away from me!" Stone
shook his head, trying in desperation to free his mouth from the
blood that dripped from Brenna's wrist. He hoped he had not taken
enough to change him, as the strange tingling he felt earlier had
subsided.

Brenna pulled away. She
cradled her wounded arm against her chest and played with a pendant
that rested above her breasts. She looked at him with such
disgust.

"Why don't you want to be
my child?" she snapped at Stone.

"Because you’re horrible
and vindictive, why would anyone want to be like you?” his words
cut like a knife. Stone held her cold gaze. But she wasn't going to
let him win this battle. Brenna turned and stormed out of the
room.

The door slammed behind
her, and the lock turned before the sound of her footsteps faded
away. Stone's body relaxed and his breathing calmed. While still
lying on the dwarf-sized bed, his ankles bound by long chains
bolted to the cement walls, Stone tried to sit up. He reached up to
feel the new wounds that now accompanied the old bite marks on his
neck and the insides of his thighs and wrists.

As the sun rose he made his
way to the small window just above the bed to watch its ascent.
With each passing night and with each of Brenna’s visits, it seemed
the sun became harder to look at, stinging his eyes. He feared that
he was turning into a vampire. And even more horrifying to him was
the idea that he was turning into a half-breed, able to walk in the
sun, but with a thirst for human blood. The very idea of it
frightened him so much that his body began to tremble as he wept.
He curled up into a ball. He had no fight left.

Chapter 3

(Eme – November 14 -
December 11, 1999)

Without a thought Eme wiped
away the tiny beads of crimson sweat that trickled down her face.
She had retreated to the jungles of Brazil. It had been at least a
thousand years since she had traveled to the mystic and beautiful
jungles. Long ago Eme found this place by accident through her
travels of South America. Now she went there with purpose, in
search of a tribe she prayed still existed. Eme also hoped that
their magick had been passed down over the centuries. In her weary
mind their keen ability was key to helping to protect her family
from what she feared was the Blood God calling upon her; this time
in spirit form. Even though Eme felt she was losing her mind, she
had to have faith in herself. Faith in her instincts and that her
will to survive was stronger than what the voice in her head was
driving into her.

A hunger she could never
appease was coupled with the constant feeling of someone, or
something, trying to enter her thoughts and manipulate her soul. It
was trying to awaken the demon within her that she had fought to
tame one too many times. But she would not let it win. Over all,
that was why Eme had fled from Chantonnay without a
word.

And so after a long flight
and a tedious trek through thick jungle, she couldn’t help but
smile as the torchlight of a village came into view. The kindly old
woman had been right, despite doubting her own memory–fifty
kilometers Northwest of Manacapuru and just fifteen kilometers
south from the Rio Negro, there was the village of the Touguraco
and Peruvcia tribes. They lived as they had for thousands of years.
Modern conveniences did not plague their village. They had their
own priests and priestesses, a medicine man and their own gods
functioned as judge and jury. In their minds, the living could
never punish them as harsh as their gods could. Any mortal crime
they may commit while on this earth, they would pay dearly for in
their afterlife.

The tribes knew of the
modern world, as many missionaries had come and gone. They had
tried their best to bring Christ into their lives to ‘better’ them
and to make them less ‘savage’. But the tribes held strong to their
heritage and now on the verge of the year 2000 they remain with
much strength, pride and fervor in their ideology. Eme couldn’t
help but be reminiscent of how this Brazilian tribe reminded her of
her own mortal life. She was flooded with memories of how her own
tribe had been shunned and exiled to the outskirts of Cairo so many
years ago.

The children of the tribes
informed the elders of Eme’s arrival. Giggling and hiding behind
the huts and trees they followed her in their innocent concept of
invisibility. Eme could tell by their whispers that her white skin
and long curly chestnut hair intrigued them. She seemed so
different from the missionaries that had come before.

She walked through the
dusty village, its dwellings placed sporadically on either side of
her. She made her way to the two largest huts that sat side by side
on the west end of the village. From experience, Eme knew that one
of those huts would belong to either the priest or priestess of the
village, and the other to its healer or medicine man.

When Eme was about twenty
feet away, a young boy came out from behind one of the huts and
addressed her.

“What are you wanting from
our village?” he asked, very direct in his native Touguraco
dialect. His aura was very regal for someone so young. It took Eme
a moment to process what he had said, but then as though it had
just been yesterday that she had spoken the language, she answered
him with perfect pronunciation.

“I seek
your priest or priestess,” Eme said, giving the boy a smile. A girl
came running out from the same place and made her way to the hut on
the right and ran inside. Just as the boy was about to say
something else, the priest walked out with the girl following. He
was dressed in a lungi-type wrap that was draped around his waist
and pleated in the front. Several strings made of grass were strung
with various shells that hung around his neck. He wore an
impressive
colourful
head-dress made from many
different birds’ tail feathers and bones. His dark leather-like
skin was almost black and the deep creases around his eyes and his
forehead revealed the harsh life he had lived.

Stopping a few feet away
from her, the priest looked at the boy, then to the shadows and
told the hiding children to return to their parents. They came out
from their cover, heads bent in shame and made their way to their
own huts. It was only then that the old priest addressed
Eme.

“You seek me out. Why?” he
asked simply. Eme could hear the reservation in his voice, his
unease with her presence.

“I want you to teach me all
you know of demons, spirits and how to use magick–black and white–I
want you to teach me how to evoke nature, all that you and your
tribes have known for centuries,” Eme said. She didn’t care to make
him feel more at ease with her. She didn’t have the
time.

"But it
will take you many months to learn magick! And as for learning how
to invoke nature,
I
am still trying to master such things!" he exclaimed. Eme
could sense his anxiety grow while being in her presence; he knew
instantly she was not human. But Eme, persistent and strong-willed,
soon enough changed the priest’s mind. After a short time he gave
in to her demands that very night and began teaching her what he
knew.

She had been in the village for nearly three
weeks, learning all she could from the priest. Eme researched,
analyzed and scrutinized every remaining piece of information on
demons or spirits. The nighttime heat clung to every part of her
body. Despite the priest’s cooperation, he never let his guard down
and never really trusted her. The priest knew better than that.
Throughout his own lessons the priest had learned of creatures such
as Eme, and many others that are just as dangerous–sweet and
cunning, willing to kill anything for their bloodlust. The ones
that seem most innocent and passive are often the ones to be most
cautious of.

Eme was alone now. Unable
to stay awake and keep watch over her, the priest had bid her
goodnight hours ago. The night had quickly turned into early
morning and her time for researching was almost up. Ancient scrolls
and bundles of yellowing parchment bound with strings of grass were
strewn about the small hut. The scent of rain filled the space,
entangled with the gentle smell of rainforest. For page after page
she read of demons and spirits. What their strengths and weaknesses
were, what enabled them to survive and what incantations and spells
might subdue them.

On the
twenty-eighth night of her quest for knowledge, she found spells
that could be crucial to her plight.
That
night, Eme decided she had gathered enough information and would
pay one last visit to the old priest. Deep within Eme’s soul, the
old man quickened her. It was not for appearances that this mortal
enticed her, but his life experiences. She could not leave without
thanking him, nor could she leave without receiving the last bit of
knowledge he contained. Eme felt such admiration for this man, this
high priest of one hundred and two years.

Eme gathered her pages of
notes and finished packing them carefully alongside the few
articles of clothing she had brought. The priest stood in the
doorway for some time without speaking. Eme knew of his presence
but did not acknowledge him until she was ready. With all her
strength she had been fighting against the thirst that had followed
her to this remote land like a shadow. Having not fed for nearly a
month–as though trying to prove something to herself–she had
refused to give in to the relentless thirst that had first befell
her in Quebec. But finally, she gave herself permission to treat
herself that night.

“Come to me, priest,” Eme
said in a tender manner as she continued her packing. She waited a
moment. When he did respond to her mesmeric words, Eme turned to
face him. This time she locked her gaze with his and repeated,
“Come to me priest.”

Without saying a word he
shuffled his way over to her. As he approached Eme, she looked
straight into his eyes. Eme reached out to the priest, grabbing the
back of his neck and held onto him gently.

“Time for me to learn the
last bit of knowledge you have to offer, old man. You have taught
me well so far and for that I am grateful.” Eme pulled the priest
close to her and her mouth clamped onto his neck in one swift
movement. Eme was in ecstasy. As his blood coursed through her
veins she was bombarded with images from the priest’s life. As
quickly as the rapture began the visions ceased. So too did the
priest’s life.

Eme pulled away from him,
taking one last glance at his dead body in her arms, his eyes open
only a sliver, his body limp. She suddenly became disgusted and
released the corpse, letting it fall to the ground. Her mind
swirled with the priest’s experiences. She stored the information
in her own memory so that she might use it when needed. Soon she
began to feel like herself again, and gathering her thoughts and
her bags, she left the village quietly and unseen to make her way
into the dense rainforest.

Despite her quick pace
through the jungle, Eme still delighted in the sensation of the
heavy nighttime rain as it fell onto her body. Tonight would be the
first time she would try to evoke the power of flight, a test to
see how her magick’s abilities had developed. Eme stopped abruptly
when she felt she was far enough away from the village to make the
attempt. Reaching into her backpack she grabbed onto a blue glass
bottle and began pouring out its contents clockwise in a circle
around her. Inside the circle she placed tigers-eye stones on the
ground to form a triangle. Carefully, Eme then put a large,
deep-blue pendant carved with the symbol of air in the upper centre
of the triangle. Standing in the center of the triangle, Eme stood
motionless looking up towards the night sky. Unmoving as she was,
Eme appeared as though she were a statue dressed in khaki shorts
and top.

Deep in concentration with
her eyes closed, Eme began to chant in Tougurac, “I awaken you,
Goddess of Air. Come into me.” She paused, took another deep breath
and began again, “I invoke you, Goddess of Air. Come into me. Give
me your strength, your ability and let me take flight. I invoke
you, I invoke you, I invoke you!” Eme’s voice boomed.

Her body began to tingle
and quiver. She felt as though she weighed nothing, as though
gravity had no effect on her at all. Cool winds began to whip at
her body and her clothes rippled as though trying to free
themselves from her body. Cautiously Eme opened her eyes. To her
amazement she had indeed raised herself from the ground. She was at
least three hundred feet in the air, hovering above the canopy of
the rainforest. She began to laugh uncontrollably.

Distracted by her joyous
amazement, she began to fall. Ten… twenty… one hundred feet... She
stopped laughing and began screaming. Eme hit the ground hard with
a loud thump. She lay there for a moment without moving, moaning.
Eme had heard her ankle snap on impact. An incessant throbbing and
stinging sensation surrounded her ankle as it slowly healed itself.
There was nothing she could do until her wounds had fully knit. She
was grateful that the rain had slowed to a drizzle as she lay on
the cool wet ground. As time passed Eme lay there and tried to
critique her flight attempt.

“I float, but I don’t fly
forward. How the hell do I fly forward?” Eme exclaimed. The more
she thought and the longer she lay on the ground, the more
frustrated she became. The throbbing was the first to disappear and
once it began to tingle like pins and needles, she knew she was
healed enough to stand. She took a deep breath, slowly exhaled and
began to concentrate on taking to the air once more. Eme was going
to be heading towards the sun and wouldn’t have much time. She
would have to be quick.

Placing herself in the
circle again, she began to chant in Tougurac to the Goddess
Arvento, “I awake you, Goddess of Air. Come into me! I invoke thee,
come into me! Give me your strength, your ability. Let me take to
flight. I invoke you, I invoke you, I invoke you!” Once more Eme
felt the tingling and the whipping of the cool air around her. This
time she held her concentration and once above the trees she began
to think only of ‘forward’. All of a sudden her body started to fly
forward. She then thought of where she wanted to be and in response
her body curved towards her desired destination.