Tears of Blood (5 page)

Ten years had been his sentence. Ten years at a monastery in Santa Fe,
among human monks, far from his work, his friends, his son. A decade not
knowing what had become of Sarahi. How it had gnawed at him, the fate of his
beloved and of his child being completely out of his hands. He had dedicated
himself to the training prescribed for him, the deprivation and the silence.
But now that time was past. Someday he would find Sarahi, but now he needed to
see Josiah. He wondered as he followed the young cleric who had driven the car
if the boy had grown like a human or like a naphil. At ten, a human child would
be poised on the brink of adolescence. Half-angels matured much more slowly.
Lucien had experienced puberty at the age of forty, just after the Great Flood.

The cleric opened a heavy wooden door and stood beside it, urging
Lucien to enter.

"Thank you," he told the boy. "What is your
name?"

"Tom," the youth replied, tossing a shaggy bit of brown
hair out of his eyes.

Lucien nodded to Tom and entered the compound. The letter he’d
received told him to meet the elder council in their meeting room, so he went
directly there.

Inside, Mr. Smith, who had aged well beyond the decade Lucien had been
away, even factoring in human life expectancies, stood beside two children, a
boy and a girl. Though the girl was taller, the two looked enough alike to be
siblings,. That is, until their faces turned up to him. One, with warm brown
eyes and delicate features, resembled Mr. Smith. It struck Lucien that this was
probably the baby Pearl had been carrying when he brought Josiah. The other was
clearly his own son. Those piercing green eyes told him everything he needed to
know.

"Josiah?"

"Father?" The little boy looked at him and he looked back
in a long, long silence. A silence which contained within it apology, grief,
longing, and fear. Then the child, not restrained by millennia of training,
broke composure and dashed across the room. Lucien caught him right up off his
feet and squeezed him. By all heaven, he smelled like Sarahi. Lucien’s
throat burned.

"Don’t go away, again, please, Father," the little
boy said.

"No, son. I’m here. I’m here now."

Chapter 9

Sarahi crept into the chamber,
trying to remain unobtrusive. It was necessary every so often to appear in the
presence of her mother and pay homage, leave offerings, but she hated it. Each
time she faced the demoness, it reminded her of her son, lost to her, perhaps
for good, and of the naphil she had loved. If she had a choice, she would leave
and never come back. But she could not. The danger was too great. Too much
depended on her remaining above reproach.

At least it was an easy place to
feed. She moved through the dim light of a black fire roaring in the center of
the room. It gave off neither heat nor light, and the chill was oppressive. She
clutched her scarf to her head. She could feel her eyes glowing in the
darkness. Like a cat, she could reflect even the faintest scrap of light. From
the dark corners of the room, other lamp-like eyes glowed. Approaching the
altar, she laid down her offering of flowers and fruit.

A familiar sound rang through the
room. Sarahi turned against her will. She’d seen the spectacle thousands
of times. As expected, her mother was being serviced by one of her drones.
Another succubus would soon be joining their ranks. Sarahi smirked. She now
knew no matter how many drones her sisters brought, no incubus would ever be
born here. Only the combination of succubus and naphil was potent enough to
create that legendary creature.

Her heart clenched at the memory of
her lover and their son, lost to her all these years. To create a world where
they could all be together, she would sacrifice most anything.

She looked towards the throne on its
dais again. Lilith appeared to be a lovely creature. Almost eight feet tall,
her snowy skin was possessed of an internal luminescence. She glowed like light
brought to life. Her eyes, solid green and completely lacking in pupils, shone
with pleasure. Today, she sprawled, one leg dropped over each arm of the heavy
wooden throne chair with serpents whose emerald eyes glinted dully. Spread
wide, she accepted the enthusiastic possession of a young, blond man with a
muscular physique. His back was to the room as he copulated with the demon
queen, his buttocks thrusting obscenely.

Ironically, though this young man
was essentially dead, his lust was still potent, filling the room.
Sarahi’s hunger was instantly appeased. It was a rotten way to feed, but
an effective one.

The young man groaned in completion
and Lilith shoved him away with her bare foot. He stumbled, regained his
footing, and stood naked beside her, his genitals gleaming in the aftermath of
the encounter.

The demoness stretched luxuriously
and lowered her legs to the floor, sitting up tall, her naked body glowing in
the darkness. To many, she would appear beautiful, especially nude like this.
Her scarlet nipples gleamed like rubies, her eyes reflected the light of the
fire. But Sarahi did not see her mother as beautiful. She saw only the
insatiable lust for power. To have so much and appreciate so little... Sarahi
would have been content to live out her endless existence in a travel trailer
at the edge of the desert with her lover and her son. That had been a blessed
life for the short time she’d had it. She wanted it back.

"Sarahi," the deep,
cold, resonant voice carried through the room. Lilith recovered quickly from
her exertions.

"Mother," her voice had
been carefully schooled by centuries of experience into the perfect degree of
groveling submission.

"Come here, my little
one."

She approached the throne nervously.

"Take off that foolish
scarf."

Sarahi dropped her shawl around her
shoulders, letting her scarlet hair spill free. She suddenly felt more naked
than the unclad demonesses all around her.

Lilith rose from her throne, towering
over her tiny daughter, staring down at her with displeased eyes. Sarahi bowed
her head.

"Why is it, my dear, that you
never bring me any drones? All your sisters have done it. All but you.
Why?"

It was a good thing she’d been
anticipating the question or she would have had no idea what to say.

She willed herself to look ashamed
and said, "I am sorry, mother. I can never get a man to stay with me long
enough."

"What a pathetic succubus you
are, Sarahi. I can’t imagine how you came from me. Bringing you into the
world was a waste of my time." Lilith sighed in deep disgust and
beckoned.  "Come closer. I have a task for you."

Sarahi suppressed a sigh of her own
and stepped up to the dais. Lilith’s long, black-taloned hand shot out,
catching her around the throat, claws digging into her flesh.

"You must try harder, little
one. If you do not provide me with what I need, you’re no further use to
me, and I might just decide to devour you. Do you understand?" Oddly for
such dark words, her tone was light, as though threatening her daughter with
cannibalistic destruction were no great matter.

"Yes, Mother," Sarahi
replied, her voice as neutral as she could make it around the crushing
pressure.

The claws loosened. The little
succubus made no move to step back. She had not been invited to do so. Instead,
she waited, apparently in perfect peace with whatever end her mother had
planned for her.

Lilith turned towards her drone.
"Come," she said. He approached.

"Sarahi, fetch my cup."

Sarahi hurried to obey the command,
her stomach clenching in disgust over what she knew was coming. She stepped
close to her mother. She wished there was some way to prevent this, but there
was nothing. And sadly, what was at stake was more important than this one
life.

The demon queen rose to her feet and
approached her meal. He was much smaller than her, his nearly six feet
insignificant against her towering height. She grasped his shoulders in her
clawed hands and lifted him.

For a moment, as Sarahi watched in
horror, his blue eyes, suddenly filled with awareness, shot around the room.
She could see the fear in his expression. And then the demoness opened her
mouth. Long, inward curving fangs extended from her gums and she sank them deep
into his unguarded throat. She yanked her head back, tearing out an obscene
hunk of flesh, and blood sprayed, rolling down her bosom in a scarlet river.
Everywhere the blood touched her, it glowed in the light of her
bioluminescence. She chewed the mouthful and swallowed it, licking blood from
her lips with relish, and then nodding to her daughter. Sarahi extended the
golden chalice beneath the twitching corpse of her mother’s latest victim
and caught the spilling tide as best she could. It sprayed across her face,
running down like the tears she didn’t dare to shed.

For today, at least, she was safe.

Chapter
10

"Father," Josiah said
softly, entering the dormitory where nephilim stayed when they were at the
compound. The soft colors of the bedspread on which Lucien sat – red
fading through the shades of orange and rose to gold – seemed mean
something to the half-angel. His obsidian eyes were far away as he ran his
fingers over a band of delicate shell pink. Perhaps he, like his son, felt the
Montana winter leeched all the color out of the world. Beyond the small, high
window, snow swirled in a chill wind which could be felt even though the cinder
block walls of the compound.

"Josiah?" Lucien looked
up, his expression returning to the present, to his thirteen-year-old son
standing in front of him.

"Father, you don’t have
to live here, do you? Can’t you live anywhere and just stop in here to
get orders and be debriefed and stuff?"

"That’s right, son. Why
do you ask?"

"Well..." Josiah looked
down at the toe of his sneaker. While the other boys his age were outgrowing
clothes and shoes faster than any of the ladies could keep up with, he was
still the same size he’d been when he was ten. Tiny. Annie towered over
him now, close as she was to her adult height.

"Well what, son? What’s
wrong?" Lucien rose from his seat on the edge of the bed and placed his
hand on Josiah’s shoulder. The boy looked up the huge line of his
father’s frame to his face and wondered if he’d ever be tall like
an average human, let alone like a naphil.

"I don’t want to live
here anymore. I don’t like this place. Mr. Smith has never liked me, and
he’s in charge of all the trainees. He thinks I’m useless."

"You’re not useless,
son."

"Are you sure, Father?
I’m small. I don’t think I’ll ever grow. I’m too small
to handle even the smallest gun. I can’t even lift a broadsword. The only
weapon I’m good with is a throwing star. What’s the point of
that?"

Lucien’s dark brows drew
together. "And so? Who said you needed to grow like a human? I’m
not surprised you’re taking your time. In fact, I’d be shocked if
you grew at human pace. You’re part angel. We develop more slowly. I was
child-sized until I was nearly forty."

"Why don’t the elders
know that?"

"I’ll explain it to
them. Be patient, son. They’re fully human. Though we call them
‘elders’, they live human life spans. The last naphil was born
around the time of the Great Flood. No one alive remembers us as
children."

"I see, sir." Josiah met
his father’s eyes and saw the warrior react, as he always did. A wave of
grief like a tsunami rolled over the chiseled face. It just killed Josiah that
something about him made his father so sad. Weren’t fathers supposed to
be proud of their sons? To be happy about them? Yes, Lucien had been punished,
but that had ended three years ago. Shouldn’t he be over it by now?

"Rest easy. You are normal, as
far as I can tell. I will let them know you might need extra time to grow up,
because of your unusual nature."

Josiah nodded. "Thanks,
Father, but I still don’t like it here. Apart from Annie, no one really
cares for me. They think I’m strange. I wish I could go somewhere else,
somewhere with people who don’t know there are half-angels, who will
think I’m just a kid, and treat me like I’m normal."

"From what I’ve seen, no
thirteen-year-old gets to feel that way. They all struggle to fit in, not
realizing it’s impossible. I think you’ll just need to ride out
these transitional years. Hold on, son. There’s life on the other
side."

"Yes, but, Father, what will I
be when I’m done? I keep hearing things like ‘weak naphil’. Is
that what I am?"

"I wish I could answer that. I
don’t know, and I won’t until you gain more maturity, what traits
you have inherited from me, from humanity, and from your mother."

Mother. He’d
actually mentioned her
. Josiah leaped on the opportunity.
"Father, what was Mother like? Who was she?"

The obsidian eyes drifted far away
again. "Your mother was... is... the most beautiful, brave, amazing
creature who ever existed, apart from you. She..." He trailed off,
shaking his head. "There are no words. She had... the most beautiful
soul, the most shining pink aura. It was clean like the sky at dawn. I was
blessed to know her."

"If she’s so
perfect," Josiah said, hearing the hard bitterness in his own voice,
"then why did she give me away? Is there something so wrong with me that
my own mother doesn’t want me?"

Black fire flashed in his
father’s eyes and Josiah took a step back. "Never say that again.
It killed her to part with you. She loved you so much, she didn’t dare
expose you to the danger she lives in every day. She sent you away to protect
you, to keep you safe. And that is why you’re here. Being what you are,
there is no better place. I will not nullify her sacrifice by putting you in
danger. Not for adolescent angst. You’re staying. Go back to your training."

Stung, Josiah sulked out of the
room. His father wouldn’t listen to him. No one would. It was so unfair.

***

That night, Josiah had his favorite
dream. In it, his underdeveloped, childlike body was drawn into a warm embrace,
onto a soft lap. A haunting fragrance enveloped him.

"Josiah," a soft voice
murmured in his ear, "I love you, my son."

In the dream, he’d known who
addressed him, and responded without reservation.

"I love you too, Mother. I
miss you. Where are you?"

"I am always with you, my love.
I will never leave you. Darling Josiah. Be brave. Learn all you can. I will
come to you when I am able. But no matter what, I have always loved you."

The hazy image resolved into the
shape of a woman, but instead of the peach skin and red hair he knew she should
have, she was entirely pink, like a sparkling rose-colored gem, though she was
soft where she touched him. She stroked his face and pressed a soft, tingling
kiss to his forehead.

"I love you, Mother," he
whispered. "Do you have to leave?"

"Not yet," she replied.
"Let me hold you a little longer. You’re getting so big."

He smiled.

***

The good mood Josiah’s
favorite dream brought only lasted until mid-morning. At first, practice had
gone well. He’d been working out and running, and he finally had gained
enough strength to fire some of the guns without being knocked over by the
recoil. For the first time, he’d actually managed to hold the shotgun
steady enough to hit the corner of the target, a feat he equated with winning a
marathon. Goodness knew it had taken him long enough to get there.

"Well done!" Annie said,
hugging him around the shoulders. "Try again."

Josiah lifted the shotgun to his
shoulder. This time, Annie stood behind him, lending the strength of her almost
adult sized body to his. Though thirteen, he still looked no more than ten. The
others boys’ voices were breaking, and they were comparing the fuzz which
had begun to appear on their chins and under their arms. He was still
smooth-skinned, his voice a pure alto. Would he ever grow up?

But in one way he was maturing. The
warmth of Annie’s arms around him, the sweet girl-scent of perfume and
shampoo, caused reactions he blushed to describe, but felt nonetheless.

Trying to dispel images he knew
would get him hit if he dared hint at them aloud, he concentrated on the target
and fired. With Annie’s support, the shot fanned out from a perfect spot
just to the left of the bull’s-eye.

"Wonderful!" she
exclaimed, squeezing his waist and leaning around him to press a kiss on his
cheek. His skin burned at the moist touch. Someday, if he ever managed to grow
up, he knew exactly which girl he wanted to marry. Quick as thought he dropped
the empty shotgun in the grass and turned. He wrapped his arms around
Annie’s neck and tugged her down, kissing her lips before she could
wriggle away.

"Josiah!" she
half-laughed, half-protested.

"I’m not sorry,"
he told her, his childish voice intense. "Some day, Annie, you’ll
be mine."

She laughed out loud this time.
"You have some growing to do first, Joe."

"I know," he replied,
"but when I do, be ready. Promise me, Annie. Promise you’ll wait
for me."

She considered him. Then she nodded.
"Okay, Josiah. I’ll wait."

He beamed. Then his grin turned to a
scowl as Peter, two years his senior and almost twice his size, strode across
the courtyard and wrapped an arm around Annie’s neck.

"Get off me," she
hissed, elbowing him in the ribs.

"What? I saw you kissing this
little shrimp. Wouldn’t you rather have a real man?"

Annie’s laugh this time
dripped scorn. "You? A real man? Ha. I’d take Josiah over ten of
you."

Peter took instant offense. Of
course he did. "Freak," he told her, releasing her with a little
shove which sent her sprawling on the grass. "What about it, shrimp? You
man enough to fight for your girl?"

Josiah considered his opponent. It
would be great to knock this big bully on his ass, but Josiah wasn’t
certain he could manage it.

"Remember what I told
you."

Had Annie spoken? He shook his head.
She hadn’t. Peter wasn’t looking at her. But he’d heard her
voice clearly in his mind. What had she told him?
Don’t fuss about
your size. Use it to your advantage.
Then she’d taught him all kinds
of girly fighting tricks.

Josiah looked at Peter again. He
could take him down using Annie’s techniques, but while he might win the
battle, he would lose the war. This fight was man to man, and he had to fight
like a man.

Josiah narrowed his eyes and
charged. Peter sidestepped him and stuck a foot out. What had just happened?
One minute he’d been running, and the next... he was staring at a line of
ants making their slow way though the grass as he gasped for breath. The sound
of loud brays of laughter rang in his pounding ears. Then a female voice
screaming unintelligible words. Josiah caught his breath and tried to use his
arms to push himself to a sitting position. Agony wracked him and he screamed.

"Josiah?" Annie’s
soft sweet voice sounded in his ear. "What’s wrong?"

He couldn’t answer, could only
moan. Then he screamed again as she rolled him to his side.

"You asshole!" she shrieked.
"Look what you did! His arm is broken!"

Josiah got a hazy image of Peter
shrugging nonchalantly. "He fell on it. He broke his own arm."

"You tripped him!"

"He charged. If he
hasn’t learned to fight better than that by now, there’s no hope
for him." The bully strolled away.

As Peter’s bulky frame
withdrew from his field of vision, he saw a crowd of adult women headed his
direction. In the lead was Pearl, Annie’s mother and head nurse. They
would fix him. Josiah waved his good hand in front of his face, trying to
dispel a cloud of black gnats which seemed to have come out of nowhere. He
could hear them buzzing.

"Josiah, why didn’t you
use your techniques?"

"Had to be man to man,"
he choked.

"Fool. Bullies don’t
fight like men."

"I’m better than he
is."

"Maybe so, but you’re
still a fool."

He wanted to say more, to argue with
her, to ask how she’d managed to speak inside his head, but the gnats
crowded closer until they became flies, and then bees. Their buzzing drowned
out his words and total blackness fell.

***

In some ways, Annie mused to
herself, the six weeks Josiah had spent in a cast had been good for him. Being
forced to use his non-dominant hand had strengthened him overall. His
handwriting was worse than ever, but his aim with a handgun had improved, as
had his accuracy with throwing stars. Once the cast came off, he’d have
to retrain his left hand. She grinned. Left handed in Latin was sinistra. If
only Josiah could
act
sinister, his size would be less of a detriment.
But alas, the boy was open-hearted and sensitive. That made him a great friend.
Maybe even a boyfriend someday, if he’d ever grow. But as the warrior all
young men wanted to be, he came up short.