The Original Sin (Skye Morrison Vampire Series, #3) (17 page)

“You think?” I scoffed in an awkward attempt at light-hearted playfulness.  “Try being one for a day.”

He gave me a light swat on the backside as I turned and began to fight my way through the crowd of customers.  I refused to look over at the bar where Jameson was working and hoped like hell that he was too busy mixing drinks and serving customers to notice me. 

I had to shrug off a rowdy customer or two looking for a dance partner before I finally made my way down the hall to the employee lounge.  Thankfully, all of our dancers were in their cages so I grabbed my messenger bag from my locker, slung it over my shoulder and quickly exited the back door.

I stood in the dark employee parking lot and only had to wait a few seconds before Emrick appeared.

“Where’s Killian?” I asked, confused.

“Mr. Rhys requested I take you,” he explained simply as he put a hand on my back and hurriedly led me to the black 911.  He politely held the door open for me and I got in as he flashed to the driver’s door.

The drive to Archer’s lakeside mansion was a quiet one, but that wasn’t surprising.  Emrick was famously a man of few words and today I was overly grateful for it.  When we arrived, he did a quick sweep of the house and then left me in peace for his nightly patrol of the grounds. 

I greeted an excited Styvi Nix and tried to put on a smile for her sake, but it was useless.  I was completely exhausted, emotionally and physically, and decided that sleep was my best option at this point.  I silently undressed, mechanically washed my face, brushed my teeth and crawled into bed with her.  Slumber quickly descended upon me and for the first time in weeks, I didn’t have a nightmare.

The next few days were pretty much a blur for me.  I shunned my daily training, any interactions with my fellow housemates and even my dog.  I spiraled into a deep depression and slept all day every day, only getting out of bed to use the restroom.  Thankfully, someone had been coming in every morning and letting Styvi Nix out to eat and play for the day, silently returning her at night.  After a few unsuccessful attempts by Archer, Aoife, and Trey to get me to come out of my room, I was left alone to wallow in my grief, heartache, anger, and acceptance.  Most days, when I wasn’t sleeping, I was crying myself out until I finally did, properly grieving for the part of me that was lost when Jesse died and I was kidnapped.  I let my body and mind do what it needed to do to heal itself from all of the bad shit that had happened to me in the last month and a half.  I was allowing all the time and thought that I had been staunchly denying myself and I went over every painful memory with a fine toothed comb.  I needed to do this for myself so I could figure out how to become whole again, to become the person I was.

By the end of the fourth day, I heard the rare knock at my door and I ignored it like always.  I heard the door open and I buried my head further under my covers.

“Skye, honey?” Trey called out softly as he stood in my doorway.  “Can I come in?”

When I didn’t answer, I heard the door close and I let out a small sigh of relief.  I wasn’t ready to see anyone yet.

To my surprise, I felt the weight shift on my bed as someone perched themselves on the edge beside me.  “Honey, can you sit up and talk to me?” Trey asked timidly as he gently stroked one cover-laden leg.

“Go away, please,” I mumbled, my voice thick with sleep and tears.

“I thought maybe you’d like to talk to Jameson.  He’s on the phone, calling from the road.  He’s about to go on stage in Los Angeles and he really wants to talk to you.  He’s worried, honey.  Can you please speak with him?”

I lowered the covers from my face and frowned over at Trey.  He immediately flinched as his eyes grew wide, taking in my disheveled and unkempt state.  “Get out Trey,” I said lowly, starting to get angry at his intrusion on my invite-only pity party.

Trey stood up, cell phone still at his ear as he looked me over with trepidation and then turned to the door.  He spoke to Jameson in hushed Irish Gaelic tones as he did as I asked, silently shutting the door behind him. 

I pulled the covers back over my face and rolled over, staring at the blackness until I finally fell asleep again.

*****

I was standing on the banks of a wide river.  The midnight air was dry and the gentle breeze cool against my skin.  I gazed up into the sky and saw a sea of bright stars painted over the blackest canvas of night.  I had never in my life seen so many stars and stood in awe for a few moments as I tried to absorb every one; they were absolutely breathtaking.  When I finally managed to tear my eyes away, I looked upriver.  Palm trees occasionally dotted the river’s edge and I noticed a small canoe sitting on the shore not too far from where I was standing. 
Where am I?
  I turned from the river to survey my new surroundings and was shocked to find myself very far from home.  I was in what I can only describe as a desert of some sort.  Occasional small scrubby bushes sprouted out of the sand all around me.  In the distance stood a short, modest lean-to with a gently billowing red cloth roof.

I lifted my long white skirt and made my way over to it, my bare feet sinking marginally in the warm desert sand.

“Hello?” I called aloud as I approached the wide opening. 

I immediately saw an older woman lying on a blanket, her arms around a sleeping toddler.  The boy appeared to be three or four years old with black hair, olive skin, and a familiar face.  In the corner, clutching a white garment in her hands, sat a young woman crying.  She had beautiful long black hair that was partially hidden beneath a head scarf, small delicate hands, and a thin frame.  Her soft whimpers were barely audible but she seemed to be deep in the throes of grief. 

“Are you okay?” I asked gently as I moved closer to the opening, kneeling in the sand a few feet from her.

She said nothing as she brought the cloth to her face and gently nuzzled it, the action bringing on more tears.  Seeing her cry tore at my heart.  I wanted to go to her, hug her, and tell her that everything would be okay.

“What’s wrong, honey?” I whispered as I stood and moved to enter her home.

“She can’t hear you,” someone said gently beside me and I gasped as I turned.

Amun was standing beside me staring at the grieving woman.  His eyes shone with sadness and a deep longing.  I had never seen Amun like this before, so vulnerable and wounded, that it made me pause and momentarily forget my anger towards him.  I watched as he turned to look over at the little boy and his face changed; he looked tortured and immense pain etched his features.

“Who are they?” I whispered as I glanced back over to the crying woman.  “Is she going to be okay?”

“That is Ankida,” Amun nodded to the young woman in the corner.  “She was my wife.”  His eyes slid over to the sleeping woman and child as he continued.  “The child is my son Ninurta and the woman is his grandmother Kishargal, my mother.  Sadly, my wife never recovered from my enslavement.  A few years after I was taken, she succumbed to her grief and drowned herself in the Euphrates River.”

“How horrible,” I whispered as I stared at the crying woman, taking note of her age.  “She’s so young.”

“She was but a child when our marriage was arranged,” Amun said as he turned and slowly walked away.  “But we grew to love one another very much.  She became my every breath.”

I reluctantly turned from the scene and followed Amun.  “What am I doing here?” I asked, confused.

“There is much you do not know about me,
Nisiqtu
,” he explained as we walked across the sand.  My brow furrowed at the familiarness of the word, but I couldn’t remember where I’d heard it before.  “I want to show you how I became what I am today.”

“Where are we going?” I asked as I looked around at the empty desert surrounding us.  I glanced behind me to see the lean-to gone and when I turned back around, I gasped at the sight before me.

“Welcome to Su’u,” Amun said as he came to a stop in front of a towering mud brick wall.  “The ancient city of Ur will later be built upon its ashes.”

“Where are we?” I asked in awe as the wall dematerialized and I saw the city in full.

There were tents, lean-tos, reed shacks and mud brick buildings all crammed into a relatively small area of twenty five acres.  Small bonfires and torches lit the city reasonably well.

“We are in Mesopotamia,” he explained as we strolled toward the city center, “in your modern day country of Iraq.  Su’u is nestled between what will be known in the future as Babylonia and the Persian sea.”

As we walked, I took in the people of Su’u.  Men were spilling out into the streets, drunk on wine and rage.  Fights were common and whores abundant.  I watched in shock as men took women out in the open, having no shame or concern for others.  The breeze picked up and with it came the horrible smell of human waste, body odors, and old, rotten food.

“This place is appalling,” I cringed, covering my nose with the side of my headscarf.

“It is reality,” Amun said as we came to a stop in front of a large, three-story tall, rough pyramid shaped building.  “And this is the palace of Sarrum Allik, ruler of Su’u and all the land within a five day walk.”

“Why have you brought me here?” I asked with a shake of my head, confused. 

Without a word, Amun grabbed my hand and lead me up the stone steps of the palace.  As we walked, the scenery morphed and we were now standing inside a great room.  The room was brightly lit using various torches that had been mounted to the walls.  The floors and ceiling were covered in richly painted murals of men, animals, and wars.  Women danced topless in sheepskin skirts as men sat around them smoking from odd pipes.  Colorful pillows, throws and fur rugs lined a raised portion of the floor.  Sitting upon them was a rough looking man being fed dates by another topless woman.  He had long black hair, rough, weathered olive skin, and a scruffy beard.

“That is Sarrum Allik,” Amun said disdainfully as he nodded to the man I was looking at.  “King Allik of Su’u.”

I heard him laughing with the men and speaking to them in a foreign language.  I watched the confusing exchange with a furrowed brow.

“What are they saying?” I asked Amun.

Suddenly, their words became English and I understood them right away.

“If you fornicate like you fight, I feel sorry for your woman,” the king laughed as he accepted a date from the woman beside to him.

“I fight fiercely, my king,” the man drunkenly stumbled to his feet.  “And my lovemaking skills are unparalleled.”

“That’s not what your wife told me last night as I was taking her from behind in your bed,” one of his friends bellowed, drawing a laugh from the other men.

“I will eat your heart!” the drunken man yelled as lunged for the other man.

I watched them scuffle on the floor as the group of men cheered and egged them on.  The women took everything in stride, never halting their dance.

A minute later, six men entered the room followed by an Asian looking man whose wrists were bound in front of him.

“Silence!” the king yelled and the men immediately stopped their fighting, sitting back down and picking up their pipes.

“My king,” one of the new men bowed.  “We have done as you’ve asked.  My men scoured the sand for weeks, testing claims of greatness but only finding one man fitting of your request.  We have brought you the sorcerer Kishpu.  He is the finest and most powerful sorcerer in the land.  His treatments and medicine are well known to his people.”

The king stood and walked down the few steps to stand in front of Kishpu.  “How do you know his claims are true?” he demanded to his men.

“We saw him bring a bird back to life after dipping its body in medicine,” one of the men replied.  “He healed my leprosy in two days.  All I had to do was chew the leaves he gave me.”

“Outstanding,” the king clapped happily.  He looked back down at the feeble man in front of him and glowered.  “Who is your king?”

“Dimmukdu rules my land, master,” the man stumbled, bowing his head. 

“Please me and I will become your king,” Allik addressed the man.  “You will have riches and women the likes as you have never seen.  Fail me and you will die.”

The sorcerer bowed his head to the king.  “Yes, my king.”

“Do you know why these men have brought you here?” the king asked as he began to undo the man’s wrist bindings.

“N-no, master.”

The king dropped the rope to the floor and put his arm around the sorcerer like he was an old friend.  “I grow old,” he sighed.  “My back hurts and my sight is dimming.  I am 183 seasons old and I fear I will not live much longer.  I am not the strapping man I used to be.  My hands are weak and I wish to be strong again.  I wish to live forever.”

The sorcerer looked up at the king with wide eyes.  “Are you asking me to reverse your age?”

“Yes,” the king smiled.  “And, I want to live forever.  I want to watch the seasons come and go and never grow old.  I want to rule my kingdom eternally.”

“What you are asking is impossible, master,” the sorcerer shook his head.

“You will find a way,” the king threatened, “or you will die.”

“Is he serious?” I asked, turning to Amun.

“Yes,” he said simply.

I watched the scene morph again.  Two guards were dragging a prisoner into the king’s great room.  They dumped him at the bottom of the king’s steps and took a step back.

“Stand!” the king commanded and the prisoner weakly scrambled to his knees and then feet.  When he brushed the long, unkempt hair from his face, I gasped as I recognized a much younger Amun.

“That’s you,” I whispered as I covered my mouth in surprise.

“Yes,
Damu
,” he explained gently.  “The king imprisoned me for not paying him enough sheepskin, wool, and meat when his men came to collect taxes.  I had been locked up for two full seasons before they brought me before the king on this night.”

I turned my attention back to the young Amun and king Allik. 

“Prisoner, I will grant you release in exchange for your participation,” the king said.

“What will you have me do?” the young Amun asked fearfully, an edge of readiness and relief in his voice.

“You must simply do as my friend Kishpu asks.”

Kishpu appeared and approached the king and his guards.  “I-I believe the potion is ready, my king,” he stammered nervously.  “I have been working on it for two full seasons and I believe I have found the right combination of materials.”

“You had better hope so,” the king growled as he turned and beckoned one of the young guards over.

I watched in horror as the sorcerer Kishpu nodded to one of the other guards and he took out a sharp rock knife and jammed it into the side of the young guard’s throat.  Kishpu immediately held a bowl under the rapid blood flow, catching many cupful’s of the warm liquid as the guard tried to fight back.