AN:

Ah, an update before a month has passed; did you miss this? ;)

This chapter is a flashback, but a very telling one. Rather than merely have Nahuel tell Alice what he knows, I thought it far more interesting to show you why he speaks of Joham with such disdain.

This chapter is heavily steeped in Mapuche traditions; a quick Wikipedia search will help you out if need be. Most of it should be obvious in terms of what is good and bad, but feel free to explore.

Ailen - Mapuche name meaning 'little coal'; Lican - Mapuche name meaning 'flint stone'. Nahuel, by the way, really does mean 'jungle cat'. Go Stephenie!

Speaking of her, she owns all things Twilight; I own Ailen and Lican, however.

Amazon Rainforest, 1863

The tall, muscular form of a man with rich mocha skin and long black locks cut through the jungle at a pace that sent the colourful birds scattering to the roof of the canopy, a rainbow cutting across the emerald leaves of his sky. He huffed as he pushed himself further, exerting enough force to leave inch-deep footprints upon the firm earth as he dodged the trunks of trees wiser than he, his eyes unseeing, his mind lost in painful thought.

Libishomen.

It was what had made him, five years ago. That force of evil, that sickness that rose inside of hs chest, burning in his throat like the brush fires of his ancestors as they cleansed the earth when it failed them. It bubbled within, unwanted, a spirit that tainted his passage to what lay beyond. Would he ever see what lay beyond? His body slammed into the brittle bark of a tower of wood as he ran, the pain barely registering. If one cannot die, is one alive?

Libishomen.

It was what he had created as he entered the world, damning his only family to a cursed life, a curse born of his mother's mistakes. His mother in all ways but blood, Huilen refused to lay blame upon anyone but the forbidden creature who'd bewitched his mother, stealing her virtue and planting the Wekufe within. But he was the bitter fruit, and that made him question her devotion. Her curse was complete; she could do nothing more than kill, destroying her own kind. She was now what she hated and feared, and she walked with grace in spite of it.

A tree branch cracked in the canopy and he froze, his eyes and ears scanning for the source of the intrusion. The wind tousled his flowing hair, bringing with it a scent that drew him into a protective crouch, hissing low.

Libishomen. Another one? A shifting of the brush to his left revealed a tall man, his shoulders broad, his angular face mirroring his own jawline. His dress was similar to Nahuel's own traditional Mapuche attire, his Makuñ a blend of reds and browns. His eyes burned with the fires of the dark spirits that bore him to this earth, and he smiled, his teeth gleaming in sharp relief against the deep brown flesh of his body. The stranger edged closer with arms spread wide, his hands held up in a gesture of surrender, but he did not trust the man. These creatures could not be trusted to be peaceful.

"I mean you no harm," the rich baritone insisted, echoing through the clearing.

"You can mean nothing but harm. Go," he snarled.

"You judge me, and know me not. You and I are not so different; I smell it upon you," the stranger continued, edging closer.

He growled low as the intruder neared him, "I am tainted, but I am not you. I see the lust for the blood in you. It pleases you to see the rivers run red."

His mother-aunt often spoke of what made him special in her eyes. You are half-them, Jungle Cat, but you are half-her. In you lives her kindness, her heart. That will protect you from the poison's fires. You will take what you need, respecting balance; you will not hear the whispers of the Wekufe. You will show mercy, as I do. We are more than what we are born as. We choose and the Ngen guide us. He could feel the stranger's sense of power, his belief in his law over all other teachings. He understood the lesson now.

"Nature drives us. We are what we are because we have become what is strongest and best. The weak do not survive. There is nothing wrong with striving for a higher form. And you... You are a higher form, one I have sought for some time. I did not believe I would ever find you."

He lunged forward at the stranger's words, even as a familiar scent drifted closer, perhaps two miles away and approaching fast, "Who are you?"

The stranger chuckled, his deep burgundy eyes gleaming, "I am Joham... Your father."

The olive-skinned woman cut along the river, the flames licking at her tongue from within, driving her every course of action. She inhaled deep, a huntress of an different kind now, smiling involuntarily as a welcome aroma filled her nostrils. Blood. Instinct took over now, her reflexes sharp as she skipped and leaped from stone to stone, picking a path across, the rich pulsing of veins hammering in her skull. Launching herself into the heights of an Araza, she listened, teasing apart the sounds of nature and that which was now her natural prey.

Three heartbeats, one somewhat erratic.

Her focus centred on the one that did not keep steady time, for this spoke of a weakness. Swinging across to another tree, she scampered along the woven limbs of the canopy, her foosteps light, her breaths deep and rich with the earthy musk of the hunted. Ten miles further, she found what she sought and halted, studying the group.

The younger male and female seemed mated, walking closely, their gaits matched. They exchanged glances rich in meaning as they journeyed, seeking fruit for their family, on a day trip of some sort. The older woman, although with them, was tired, her mind elsewhere. This was a final pilgrimage, a return to places once important and known. Such was her gift as a Machi of her once-kin; the plants and animals whispered to her still, giving her hope that she still served the wisdom and truth of the Mapuche. It was a matter of choice, of fighting that which invaded. And her choice now was one of mercy. The old woman did not have much longer; as she ushered the younger ones away, Huilen knew that she had come here preparing to die. Her ears detected a cracking of joints, the bones weary, as the old woman settled along the river's edge, his eyes capturing the wince of pain. The young ones were almost far enough away to spare them knowledge of what would come. Gently lowering herself to a mere twenty feet from the earth, Huilen bided her time, praying to the Ngen to guide her as they always had.

The old woman closed her eyes and Huilen pounced, snapping her neck quickly before draining her lifeless body, dragging it deep into the lush jungle, where the prints of the mighty cats lingered. The young ones would not question further that that which lay on the surface. They would mourn, and move on, as she had after her sister's broken body stilled in her arms. Life meant death; one gave purpose to the other. The woman did not protest in her tiny arms, did not so much as whisper a plea. She was ready; the Ngen had led Huilen along their path.

The body disposed of, her throat sated, she turned now to finding her nephew, whose own path seemed tangled in sorrows from which he refused to sever his spirit. He carried the weight of his mother upon his back, heavy with questions that she could not answer for him. She, too, carried her sister with her, her sleepless nights spent in meditation and journey, struggling with the ghosts that whispered of the ways she could have protected her from her 'angel', sparing her from his wicked plans. The boy was an innocent; he had not chosen to exist, but thrived all the same. Although his rich skin contrasted sharply with Pire's fair visage, his eyes and his smile were his mother's, as was his kindness towards all that lived, from tiny insect to the people they killed to sate the sickness for which there was no cure. She would assure him of his goodness, loved him as her own son, but it was never enough to brush aside the crease of his brow when waking. In sleep, he tossed and flailed, anaconda-like, haunted by what he imagined his birth to be: a murderous, bloody event, a war where no one had won. She would hum the chants of their people, calling to Ngenechen to guide him, to Antu and her mate Kueyen to light his journey and bring him insight in the blackness of his woes. Many a time she had sat with Nahuel, telling their stories, offering lessons that he would refuse, arguing that he did not have a spirit that could receive these gifts.

"I am one with Gualichu; I cannot be set free of that force,"he would lament, storming off into the brush.

She ran fast, her ears and eyes mindful of outsiders who might see that which should not be seen, tracking her kin to where he often retreated to think. He'd refused to hunt, subsisting on the fruits and seeds of the forest's bounty. She could no longer eat as before; the food tasted foul, and would not remain within nor sustain her. She could only assume that her sister's humanity lived inside of him, that she needed to be fed as she was accustomed. He often grew weak when he refused to hunt and kill, but there was no quarelling with the fierce clawing of his broken heart. Cutting sharp on a southern bed, a strange scent struck her senses, bringing her to a startled halt.

Libishomen. The Dark Angel. It was scent she remembered faintly from her time before, when her nose was but a weak hunting tool. No. It cannot be. After five long years... Inhaling deep, her teeth bared, a snarl slipping past her curled lips. Nahuel. The fire of the mighty volcano brimmed within as she ran fast and hard, tracking the intruder, whose path soon crossed her kin's, stalking him to his special tree... For what? He could not be killed. He would not follow the creature who had made him. This was acquisition, then; like human men, this stranger sought his lineage.

"You will not have the last of Pire," she snarled, her legs carrying her faster.

Her senses keen, she heard them before she saw them: a rich, deep voice, booming and... amused... contrasting with the fiery passion of her almost-son. Pride filled her leonine spirit as she flung herself into the canopy, swinging to a perch overhead, glaring down upon the one who had brought so much sorrow to her family. His black hair flowed long, past his shoulders, the broad sleeves of his clothing swaying in a whirl of wind from the south. His hand extended in friendship to Nahuel and was met with a ferocious strike from Pire's Jungle Cat.

"You are no father; you are a monster who destroyed my mother through me. You have no business here!"

The Dark Angel shook his head, "You would turn from family? Your mother chose her path; she wasn't strong enough to withstand the consequence."

"And you were not strong enough to stand by her in her fear. You hid," Nahuel snarled, spitting venom at the earth and watching the grasses burn, "Coward!"

The towering figure edged forward, "I could not find her-"

"Lies!" Huilen hissed, springing to the earth, crouching before Nahuel's taut body.

She watched as The Dark Angel startled, his burgundy eyes drinking in her petite form, the familiar cheekbones and wide forehead, her teeth bared. He had known of her; Pire had told her as much while they hid in the forest, concealing the fearful swelling of her womb from their parents. Even as her belly grew heavy with the wild being within that thirsted for the ruby-rich necks of the animals she dragged back to her sister's side, Pire had believed her Angel would come.

"You do not understand, Huilen; he is clever. He studies the white men and their science. He promised to keep me, always."

Huilen did not pretend to know what 'science' was, but she knew her sister was betrayed by the brilliant colours of a rainbow, fleeting and intangible. As their eyes locked, the brave smile of the stranger faded. His strategy would change, now; he would use new lies, knowing that she knew.

"You are familiar, but not," he murmured.

Huilen growled, "You take my sister and now you seek what is left of her? You take and take, and the universe will collect. Leave our land, killer, while I allow you to do so."

He frowned, his face moulding into an almost perfect image of solemnity, "Pire was my favourite. I mourn her, too."

Huilen snapped, a string drawn too tightly as she propelled forward, toppling him to the ground beneath her, her hands clawing at his throat. Growling low in his ear, she was aware of Nahuel rushing to flank her.

"I can kill, too. The boy is not interested in you."

He nodded slightly, "Fine. I can see how he feels about his creation. But his sisters should not be shunned for what you view as my mistakes."

"Sisters?" Nahuel gasped.

Huilen's grip tightened upon his throat as she saw into his manipulative spirit. Nahuel believed in family, in kin, more than anything. He knew very well how his words would strike the son that did not want him.

"Nahuel, go."

The tremor in his voice hurt Huilen deeply, "Sisters?"

"NAHUEL! Your mother would want you to go!"

His voice was firm in its resolve, "We go together."

Slamming his head into the ground, Huilen released her prey, leaping to her feet, "Come, child. He is bewitching you, as he bewitched your mother. You know how that tall tale ended."

The Dark Angel remained motionless, watching them back away into the lush greenery, his hands gesturing to the spot upon which he stood, "Tomorrow. I will bring them here tomorrow."

"I don't like it. It's a ploy. A trap."

Nahuel shook his head, gesturing to the sun that rose strong and bright through the canopy above, "Even so, I must see if they exist. I must know if I have more family."

"He wants a son. He covets. He sees you as a possession," Huilen spat angrily.

Nahuel stared at her for a long moment, his warm brown eyes clouding over, "Then he sees them as possessions. And I cannot abide letting them live that way."

Huilen's silence tore at the broken heart that beat within his chest, its thrumming pace echoing the flutter of the soaring bird that passed them by. He knew that he did not want this Joham as family; he had not shown himself to understand the word and its depths. Huilen was family, the one for whom he persisted in living, for to lose him and be trapped in time with that sorrow would strike a blow more grevious and evil than that of Pire's death. But if there were sisters... Sisters without true family to show them beauty in a sadness that ran deep and long... He could not abandon them.

"Aunt-mother, you protected me, and care for me. Who will protect them?"

Huilen hesitated, and he knew that she was beginning to see as he saw. Gesturing to the sun, her long braid tumbling over her right shoulder, she smiled wanly.

"No matter how dark the night, the sun returns with its warmth, to remind us of the need for balance and light... I do not trust him, Nahuel."

"Nor do I."

Turning to her nephew, Huilen laid a hand upon each of his shoulders, squeezing lightly, "Listen to Antu; you will know what is wise."

With a nod, Nahuel leaped down several feet to a waiting branch, hopscotching his way to the earth, his bare feet landing with a loud thud that startled several small animals in the shrubs nearby. His mind resolved, his mission set, he broke into a run, sailing past the forest and its familiar landmarks at a pace that yielded a blur of shapeless colour even to his keen venom-enhanced sight. Joham was a coward and a liar; this he felt in every fibre of his being. But these sisters... they could be snared in the same mighty web into which his lost mother had fallen. His aunt could not pull her back to safety; he owed it to the woman he murdered to avenge her through achieving that which could not be so in her own life. As the trees broke away to a familiar clearing, Nahuel's senses were assailed by several scents at once, rich and alluring. Libishomen. His other family.

He saw him first, of course; he struck Nahuel as one who would not be upstaged under any circumstance. His flowing black locks glinted in the sunbeams dancing between the densely packed leaves above, his burgundy eyes widening as he broke into a smile and extended a hand in greeting. Nahuel shrugged it away, warily keeping a distance. He could smell others like his father, but who was to say if they were truly his sisters, not enemies?

"I am glad to see you," he stated warmly, "Although I am sure your kin is not pleased."

"I'm not here to see you; I'm here for them," Nahuel said softly.

Joham nodded, "But of course. I am glad you have chosen not to shun them. They are innocent, as are you, of any wrongs. Ailen! Lican! Please, come forth and meet your brother."

Two young women stepped into the clearing from the west, their faces filled with trepidation. The taller of the two, who looked to be barely a woman, was of a deep brown complexion, rich as the fertile earth near the river's shore. Her long legs peeked from beneath her long brown skirts, her wavy hair flowing to her waist. Her features were slimmer, more defined than his, but her eyes and the span of her shoulders linked them as kin. The shorter female in the pair looked to be a child, her skin a pale olive tone. Her hair was a vibrant copper, and Nahuel understood that her mother was not one of his people, but of another tribe, a fairer one. He was mesmerized by the facets of red that shimmered through her straight locks, bound loosely at the nape of her neck by a strand of cloth. Her green and black garments were stiff and strange, and Nahuel supposed that they, too, came from the stranger who bore her.

Joham gestured to the tall female, presenting her to Nahuel, "Ailen is four, by human time. Her mother was with me when she gave birth. I could not save her without... She refused," he muttered, looking away.

Her long arm extended to Nahuel, reaching out to caress his arm, "So it is so. A brother. I didn't believe that there could be another before me..."

"And yet, there is."

She smiled warmly, her head cocked to one side, "You're strange. I like it."

Joham pushed forward the younger daughter, chuckling as she stumbled slightly, "Lican is almost three. I found her alone beside her mother... She's gifted."

"Nice to meet you, Nahuel," the delicate soprano whispered, "I'm not that gifted."

"Nonsense!" Joham admonished, "You have a talent, my littlest one. It's very valuable in its way."

Nahuel frowned, "I do not understand what you mean by 'talent'."

"Come; we need to hunt. I'll explain as we go."

Hunting: the one thing Nahuel dreaded, above all else. He hated feeling weak, hated the way the burn would rise in his throat, blinding his senses to all but the most primal and dark forces within him. The smell of death evoked images of his mother, memories of her twisted form pleading to Huilen to care for him. Her pale face had turned grey, smeared with blood and womb as her hands fumbled to her wide open chest, brushing across her face as her lungs shuddered and slowly drew to a halt. His sisters ran slightly ahead, Ailen playfully shoving Lican, earning a shriek of protest and return fire.

"Talents... Some of our kind have extra skills, beyond the enhanced strength and speed that you have come to know. Some can put out shields to protect them from being struck; some can manipulate loyalties. Lican is able to see any memory within your mind as she touches you, and can then project it into another's head if she so desires. She will always remember everything she has ever seen. It's useful."

Nahuel mulled this over, matching pace with the hulking vampire, "So, she could touch me as I recall my birth, and in turn share that image with another?"

"Exactly, Nahuel. You have seen me painted as an evil thing, a monster. I may be vicious and I may be lethal, but I do care. I am also, however, concerned with advantages. Vampires have existed for hundreds of years alongside humans, and yet, we have not even begun to control their lands. Why do you believe we remain a minority?"

Nahuel shrugged, "I cannot say. I am only glad for it."

"I can tell you what I believe, from years of thinking and reading. It is because we have not yet become all we are capable of. We can be more than we are. We are slaves to instinct, and it weakens us, just as it weakens mortals... Shh!"

Nahuel and Joham crouched low, Ailen and Lican following suit ahead of them, and the smell overwhelmed his senses, a glancing blow to the head. Humans. Blood. There were at least three, perhaps four, two miles to the west. Ailen's eyes widened, her pale pink tongue running along her lower lip in anticipation. Her face was one of concentration and... joy? The burning flared in his throat as he swallowed hard, his limbs tensed as he innately knew what would follow.

Death. Destruction. A mistake.

Joham led the charge and he followed, unable to resist the thirst he had shunned for a week, his sisters flanking him. The youngest, Lican, reached for his hand and clasped it, a shy smile upon her lips as he turned to her. Squeezing her hand in return, they ran linked, his nostrils drinking deep of the irresistible fragrance in the air. He could hear their footsteps now, could judge by their gait that they were all men, perhaps hunting for their tribe. The blood pulsed audibly in their arteries and veins, beckoning them forth. As they exploded out of the thick clusters of trees and seized the four grown men, Nahuel silently prayed to Antu to grant them mercy. The man in his arms died silently, his neck snapped before a scream could rip from his thick throat. Sinking his teeth into his jugular, Nahuel drank greedily, his vision red and blurry, his body alight with the scorching heat that demanded more, always more. He worked quickly, as he and Huilen always did to spare those who fell under their curse, gently laying the body under a bush, obscuring the broken form. Burning now with guilt, he looked to his family and froze, horrified at the scene unfolding.

The thirst had receded now, and the screams of those still alive even as the others sipped their prey grew loud in his skull. They were eating them alive, and Joham in particular toyed with and taunted his victim, whispering in his ear as he bit and struck where he would not kill, only maim. A sickening crunch of bone from the leg of Ailen's target made Nahuel's heart sink.

"What are you doing?! They're suffering!"

"Not for much longer," Joham murmured, his teeth plunging into the wrist of the shrieking hunter.

"It doesn't need to be this way," Nahuel protested, "Put them out of their misery!"

Lican's eyes locked with his and she nodded slightly, her hands moving to break the neck of her own flailing human. Thank you, Nahuel thought, She understands. Ailen did not move to end her prey's life; rather, she drank faster, sinking him into a deep unconscious state, the screams dying off to a muffled gurgle in the back of his throat.

"What you don't seem to understand," Joham stated calmly, breaking the back of the weeping man, "is that you children are the future of this planet. You will rule it, for your are superior in the world of creatures. You do not need blood as a vampire does; you can live off mortal food. Your eyes do not betray your secrets, and you may blend in with your prey. Your heart beats and yet, you bear the strength of my kind."

He dragged a finger along the neck of the bulky man, whose copper skin grew more ashen wth every moment passing. Nahuel's sisters grew rapt, their own prey discarded as their father continued to speak.

"I have travelled far, boy, and I have seen the white men and their tools of science. They study creatures and what makes them strong and weak. There is a man, Darwin, and I watched him for days in Costa Rica. He would speak of each creature being a progression of another, and so on and so on. The world improves its predators."

Overcome by his injuries, the man in Joham's hands collapsed, his body slack and lifeless. Nahuel could no longer hear a heartbeat from his broad chest, and at this, he felt great relief. But it was no match for the rage that continued to fester at the monster's words, at his justification for slaughter. He saw his mother's face in his mind's eye, bloody and weak, and a growl hummed low in his throat.

"I am just encouraging what nature will do eventually," Joham concluded, tossing the limp body aside.

"You're killing women! You killed all of our mothers with your actions. You are not a God. This is not how it should be," Nahuel snarled.

"I didn't know what would happen with your mother. She was the first. And, as I have told you, I have tried to save the rest."

Nahuel moved to speak but stumbled backwards instead as a vibrant image played out in his mind. He could see Joham, crouching in the highest branches of an Araza tree, gazing down upon a slender woman in a white traditional wrap dress, her pale skin scarcely darker than the woven fabric. Her warm brown hair struggled free of a simple braid as she collected fallen fruit in a basket, humming to herself. He could see Joham smile, could hear him whisper: She will be perfect. The vision faded abruptly, Joham's arm seizing his as he collided with a nearby tree trunk.

"What's wrong?"

"Liar," Nahuel whispered angrily.

His eyes sought out Lican, whose sad expression told him everything. She had shared the truth with him out of a kindness. She had the potential to be better than this. Ailen, on the other hand, seemed neutral on the issue, unmoved by either side.

"I'm not lying, son-"

"I AM NOT YOUR SON! I WAS A PROJECT TO YOU! I am the proof of the depths of evil in this world. I could never be your son!" Nahuel spat, shoving Joham forcefully back.

"I need you, Nahuel," Joham pleaded, "You are the only one who can change others. Your sisters bite and do not change anyone. I need to understand-"

"You need to leave, and never return to these lands. For if you do, I shall kill you myself," Nahuel declared, turning to his sisters, "You don't have to follow him. Huilen will embrace you. There is another way."

Ailen moved to stand behind Joham, her head bowed and brow furrowed deep in thought. Lican sighed, projecting a quick flash that betrayed the reason for her reluctance to follow him: Joham had killed another sister over her desire to leave. Lican was trapped, too small to fight him off; she would have to remain, for now, to keep her life.

With a hateful look at Joham, Nahuel spoke, "I wish you well, sisters. You are welcome to come see me. You," he continued, pointing to the monster who saw fit to play as a God, "should never return."

His arms swung wildly as he ran, retracing his path to his home, to the family that loved him and sheltered him from his sorrows. He could not save his sisters now, or perhaps ever; they were too afraid to see a new path, their minds not open to the ways of the Machi. But he had tried, and he knew the truth now about his mother's demise. He was the method of murder, but his father had pointed him as a weapon at her fragile being.

Someday, he would make him pay for it.