Shadows In A Timeless Myth Excerpt
The Temptation of VamBellina
By
Teresa Thomas Bohannon
And In Large Print Paperback.
Demons exist within rigid boundaries—and right or wrong, once summoned, they must serve; but they cannot and will not serve until they have their proper pledge in hand.
FenMaric strained with anger and frustration. He longed to sink his fangs into the demon’s throat and rip it out, but Maric’s powers of reasoning triumphed over the wolf’s savage nature—he could not break the circle...such unworldly strength was not his to wield.
AraBestla watched as the wolf angrily paced the circle's outskirts—watching as, despite Maric's control of their shared body, the wolf tested the circle, violently rebounding time and again as unseen flames burned and rebuffed him, and yet fearlessly returned, time and again, seeking any sign of a breach in the magic that bound it.
The sight of his resolve strengthened her own will—she had to hold firm for all their sakes, for she knew that if the circle were to fail, 'twould be a miracle if FenMaric could reach her before the demon. And even could he do the impossible, a physical battle must remain the final act of desperation, a last faint hope to save her life and sanity.
Man, wolf, Vampiri, Sorceri—four souls, three bodies—and all knew that in a battle of wolf against demon, the wolf would surely lose.
AraBestla continued. “Bellina. Pay the bastard no mind. He only seeks to dishearten you. My hold is stout. The binding circle will not fade.”
“As if you would tell me truly were it any different.” VamBellina cast in return, the weak notes almost lighthearted in their gentle chiding. “But I fear not that you will fail, dear friend. After our hundreds of years together, I know you too well. If you have not the strength to continue, you will find or make it—defeat is not within you.”
“You know her well, Vampiri,” cast the demon, his voice grating and sarcastic. “The pretty Sorceri does indeed lie; but lies will not save her, any more than shall pride or false courage. She has held the pentacle intact for three days; but now sleep rides heavy upon her. She has used all her pathetic, painstakingly acquired mortal magic to no avail.
“Know you that she has even pleaded with the Mortali's own pitiful excuse for Gods, and cried aloud to The Fates themselves for a return of the true Magick stripped from her by the High Council of her own Immortal and most arrogant race? She hungers and she thirsts, her throat scratches and her voice croaks. Her vigilance wanes, and her spirit cries the tears her eyes cannot shed...for she knows that all hope is lost, and the end grows near.”
Damn you, VamBellina thought silently, unable now to summon even the strength to cast a reply. Well did she realize that the demon’s taunts were meant to draw her back to the circled pentagram in foolish anger. He desperately wanted—needed—her to fail. He did not completely lie however, when he said that all hope was lost, for indeed it would soon be thus, if she could not quickly find a virgin.
“My master eagerly anticipates my triumph. He longs for the arrival of the pretty one in his dark court. The humiliation of a Sorceri—even one disenfranchised by her own most arrogant and ancient race—will be an entertainment of which, he will not soon grow weary. Imagine it! Dwell on it! My master will have a thousand years and more with your pretty companion completely within his power, and nary a single high and mighty, Magick-born Sorceri, will lift a cursed finger to save her.”
“Ah,” he continued. “They will want to do so. They will ache to do so, for their hatred of my master is equaled in turn only by his hatred of their cursed race. Her humiliation will be theirs; but the proud and arrogant Sorceri will not move against him in her favor, for to do so would be against their own precious code of honor. For was it not they, who passed judgment on her, they, who stripped her of all true Magick, they, who banished her to this mortal earth to fight each day for survival among these mortal dogs? Was it not they, who declared her pariah for bringing shame upon them when she dared give her heart to a mortal man... and now they, who will share her degradation and know the pain of my master’s triumph?
“How my master will rejoice in the humiliation of an elder born!” The unholy glee in the demon’s voice changed to heavy sarcasm, bolstered by sharp envy; and yet buried somewhere deep within his words, also lay the merest hint of wistful sadness.
“The elder races—Vampiri, Sorceri, Faelri, Demorni—each, in turn, born to the true Magick, and each given all eternity to enjoy it. Never did you know struggle, or temptation, or the pain of a desire forever unfulfilled. You came before, and lived when all was truly new upon the earth...and then you passed into the Mists, and stole away all the true Magick as you went, leaving behind only nebulous shadows to taunt those who came after.” His final words burned with bitter venom.
VamBellina tried to close out the demon’s hateful patter, but found she could not, and thus was she forced to endure his foul ravings as she continued with the task at hand. She had not enough strength remaining for even the simplest of hypnotic illusions, and certainly not for invisibility—the most taxing to maintain. But still, the moon was strong this night, and she dared not traverse the ramparts openly. Her single option was to hand walk the short distance to the nearest tower with her body dangling outside the fortress walls—and so she began.
“Your lover will try to stand against me when the circle fails; but when all is said and done, he is nothing more than a mongrel—mortal born, yet cursed by fate and circumstance to wander eternity as a transmigrating, convoluted, abomination of conscious thought—a sorcerer's brew of ancient man and beast trapped within a never-ending line of stolen bodies. I am stronger than he, and I swear to you on my master’s foul name—you will not need the mind voice to hear his screaming pain as I torture the wolven body that shelters the man’s Druid-cursed soul.
“But fear not, immortal parasite, I swear to halt short of driving the last vestige of life from the battered and broken body that shelters his latest incarnation. This special gift I will leave for you—the chance to add another sad farewell to all the hundreds that have come before...and when you finish your pathetic little love-scene, you can have the pleasure of striking the killing blow that frees him from the torments of the pain-wracked and shattered vessel I have left behind.”
The ragged edge of the wall formed by the merlons and embrasures was not easy to maneuver. As the last vestiges of strength drained away, VamBellina’s hair aged from brittle gray to sparse tufts of translucent white. Maddening trickles of sweat poured from her brow, and her frail shoulders ached with nauseatingly sharp and stabbing pains long before she gained the tower. Weakly, she attempted to drive the demon from her mind only to be rewarded by venomous, malefic laughter. She abandoned the effort, grateful that his preoccupation with goading her at least afforded AraBestla and FenMaric a much-needed respite.
On one level, she wondered at their silence, but then she put away the thought before it had time enough to truly form. She would not chance alerting the demon, if indeed, they used this time to conspire against him.
Finally, she pulled herself up and over the ledge, collapsing in a ragged heap in the shadowed junction of tower and wall. One sentry stood guard inside the small watch post. She could smell his virile youth and feel the air vibrate with the force of his heart’s strong beating. Her own heart fluttered wildly with the stress of unfed, accelerated aging, and each breath was now a forced, wheezing effort. She crawled to the door frame, and using its splintery support, clawed to a stand.
“Have you ever tried murdering your darling FenMaric, Vampiri?” The demon whispered, beginning his attack anew. “For you to do so, would that mayhap break the Druid’s curse? I wonder? Would he die then—the natural death of a mortal-born man? Would then—and only then—the soul of the man, Maric, untangle from that of the wolf, Fenris? Would then...they each, finally be allowed to depart this mortal earth as was their birthright a thousand years past? Would you risk, Vampiri, losing him forever just to free him from suffering the pain-wracked days of a slow and torturous death?”
She ignored the demon’s vile castings, and studied the sentry. He was a young man, swaggering and cocksure with all the foolish, untried bravado of youth. Had an enemy warrior, brandishing sword or knife, burst in upon him during the dread hours of deepest night, he might well have fought with brave and unhesitating valor. Then too, he might also have turned and run away.
Either truth would never be known though, because his first test of courage would come in a form that shattered all the rules of fair play—an apparition, vaguely human and female in form, but mottled and shriveled, a hideous abomination of incomprehensibly ancient age.
“Do you truly love your FenMaric, Vampiri? In all your centuries together how many hundreds of times have you watched him endure the pain of death? Would you be happy if the Druid’s curse were to finally end—if his tangled souls were no longer forced to transmigrate between the bodies of man and wolf, wolf and man, in a tiresomely timeless never-ending chain of obscene reincarnation? He is not an Immortal, Vampiri—not born to any race that came before, not Demorni, not Faielri, nor Sorceri, or Vampiri. He is, after all, just a mortal man, weary of life and wishing only to rest.”
Had there been witnesses, they might well have laughed at the young soldier’s reaction; but VamBellina did not laugh, for she well understood his mindless horror...and had felt it herself often enough. When strong and well-fed, she could hide her truth from the eyes of others, but never from herself. Despite outward appearances, the truth was always waiting to taunt her in every mirrored surface and still pool—an honest reflection that no power of illusion could ever conquer.
“A thousand years is a long time for one mortal-born to endure life,” the demon continued, having felt her mental recoil from the soldier’s reaction and mistakenly believing that his spiteful words had touched a nerve. Being demon-born and incapable of love himself, he could never understand her love for FenMaric, nor comprehend her lack of doubts.
“Would you rejoice for his freedom, Vampiri, or would you simply be alone? How many times will you selfishly allow him the agony of death, just so he can share your self-imposed fate? If you were forced to choose between them, Vampiri, which one would your heart choose—your cursed mortal lover or the outcast and exiled Sorceri bitch? Is it truly for his sake you remain here in this mortal place...or for hers?”
FenMaric’s voice slammed through the night cutting across the demon’s bitter rampage like a sword through flesh. He was taciturn by nature, and always had been; but now the need was great to say all that should be said, and the words rushed unhesitatingly from him.
“Bellina, beloved amore; listen not to his lies. I love you now as I have loved you for one thousand years and more. Were true and lasting death offered me tonight, I would refuse it with laughter. A thousand years is a far too long for one mortal-born, man or wolf, to endure life; and none who live should have to endure the pain of death but once; but a thousand years—nay, a thousand years tenfold—is not nearly time enough to know all the joy of being my VamBellina’s love.”
She staggered toward the young soldier and knelt at his side. Gently, she swept back a lock of blonde hair that had fallen over his forehead. Her fingers traced a lingering path down the side of his face and deep into the open neck of his roughly spun tunic. His hair was blonde and soft, and his body was broad chested and full, ripe with all the unmarked beauty of virile youth. His warmth called to her, and embraced her as she stretched beside him on the cold, stone floor. Her lips touched the large vein that pulsed in his strong, young neck and placed there a gentle kiss. Her sharp canines were swift and efficient as they pierced the surface, and she began to feed.
“The circle fades, Vampiri, and with it fades your time. Your lover and your friend will know pain such as can only be brought by one of Hell’s dark teaching.” The demon’s voice came low, sneering, and sarcastic. “They do not trust in you. They do not believe that you reluctantly left them behind only to go in search of my pledge. We all of us know the truth—do we not, Vampiri. You fled—a coward in the night, afraid to remain and face the wrath of one of Hell’s mighty legion. Return Vampiri. Return and fight. Return now…or they will, throughout eternity, revile you as a coward and traitor!”
“Indeed demon, that would please you well—would it not?” VamBellina cast with newfound strength. “But I do not choose to please you. I will not remain here, and I will not return there without your damnable pledge safely in hand. There will be no fight between us, demon, for I will not foolishly gamble in pride for such stakes as you offer.”
“He lies, Bellina, believe in us as we believe in you,” cast AraBestla.
The young soldier began to stir when the VamBellina ended her caress. His eyes fluttered briefly, and then opened wide to fill with smiling wonder as he beheld the innocent beauty of the dark-eyed maiden who lay beside him in sweet embrace. She smiled, and his body burned with desire for her.
“He’s young, Vampiri, and handsome. His body is strong like a breeding bull. He cannot help but desire you, for with youth restored you are truly...beauty incarnate. He can be yours. He tempts you, Vampiri, and why should he not? How long has it been since your FenMaric last wore the body of a man? How many years, Vampiri, since last you knew the joy of passion in the night—since last you felt the deep warmth of a lover’s sweet caress? Linger there, Vampiri. Linger there, and know once again the pleasures of a man’s hot touch.”
The sentry’s calloused young hands moved firmly to hold her as she pulled away. His warm lips sought hers and for the barest of moments, she hungered for their softness.
The man who dreamed hundreds of years in the future, sweated and writhed in his faraway sleep as he relived, in his dreams, that long ago night, and felt again the pain of her temptation and the dark, gut searing agony of FenMaric’s fear that she would succumb.
The young soldier’s eyes betrayed him—the wrong man lay behind them, and all temptation fled. Her hands, so deceptively tiny when compared with his, broke his firm grip and overrode his heated insistence with only the barest of effort. She smiled and placed a gentle kiss upon his brow. His eyes closed, and he ceased his struggle to hold her.
“Sleep well, dear child of man.” She whispered in a voice husky with desire’s sharp denial. “Take simple precaution against the unnatural death of foolish war and your years will be long and blessed with good health. This gift, I bestow, in exchange this night, for the youth you have restored to me.”
“Bloodsucking parasite! Abomination! Cowardly Vampiri bitch! You dare not return here and face me! Here and now, I curse you! Until the end of your unnatural years, I curse....”
“SILENCE DEMON! BEGONE FROM MY HEAD!” The words soared through the darkness like a nightingale’s song and slammed into the demon’s befouled mind like a heaven-born bolt of lightning. She rose to her feet with a limber grace, and sprang from the dark tower to twirl joyously in the moonlight with her arms flung wide as if to embrace the gentle beauty of the night. She swept in great swelling breaths of cold sweet air. Her eyes danced with laughter, and her youthful body responded in kind.
She created an illusion of invisibility and leapt from the parapet to float ethereally upon the cool security of the night’s gentle breeze. She swept into the silent keep, opening her mind to the dreamers therein. She searched their sleeping souls for that which she sought, and drifted down three flights of stairs to find AraBestla’s salvation—bright-eyed and gurgling sweetly with a pudgy thumb popped firmly in its tiny rosebud of a mouth. A child, she thought. A babe barely past newborn, and a male at that—but well suited still, for her needs. The demon had foolishly set no stipulations upon his pledge other than simple virginity.
VamBellina laughed with poetry of it—innocence supreme, the last bastion against evil incarnate.
She dispelled her illusion of invisibility, replacing its stealthy drapings with layer upon layer of starlight, woven into a shimmering gossamer gown. She tickled the child’s plump belly as she plucked three downy hairs from the softness at the top of his head. Then, she caught him up in her arms and gave with her touch exotic visions of brilliant flowers and sun-dappled waterfalls, mist shrouded paths that spiraled heavenward to touch the stars; fairytale castles with windows that glimmered in the light like translucent jewels, and towering spires gilded in silver and trimmed with gold. The Paths of Mist—fanciful visions playing over the mind’s eye for the child, memories of home for the Vampiri female. Together they laughed, and shared the wondrous beauty of it all.
She swept the child high in the air and then down again to cradle in her arms. She touched him gently with her teeth, truly little more than a caress, barely sufficient to break the skin on his silly excuse for a neck, just enough contact to impart the gift of life—healthy and full. She kissed him lightly upon his brow and then returned him to his bed. “Sleep tight, sweet mortal babe. Live long and well...and dream of me when you fear in the night.”
She flew through the window, and hurdled through the dawning morn upon wings of summer wind. The demon screamed aloud in outrage, anger, and pain as she burst into the deep forest clearing like an explosion of Greek fire. The gray wolf howled in jubilant greeting, while Maric and AraBestla bombarded her mind with castings of love.
With her form ethereal, she passed into the circle without tearing asunder its frail barrier of mortal-born magic. She solidified upon entering the pentacle, and her hand closed tightly over AraBestla’s as she transferred the precious hairs. There was no need for words between them. They were friends. Their hearts held no secrets.
Shadows In A Timeless Myth
VamBellina passed from the consecrated ground, and crossed to the gray wolf’s side to stand and twine her fingers into the thick luxury of his fur. They were together again, and the very touch brought a simple euphoria that caught and held them both.
All Rights Reserved & Copyrighted 2011 Teresa Thomas Bohannon
All Rights Reserved & Copyrighted 2011 Teresa Thomas Bohannon
Shadows In A Timeless Myth
The Temptation of VamBellina
By
Teresa Thomas Bohannon
And In Large Print Paperback.
No comments:
Post a Comment