"Some nights are made for torture, or reflection, or the savoring of loneliness." -- Poppy Z. Brite, Lost Souls
Blackness. She tries to open her eyes, but they will not obey her. She reaches a hand to touch her face, and feels nothing. No response. A brief surge of panic overtakes the woman, barely more than a girl, lying in the dark, as once again, she has no control over her body. An old memory rises, threatening to overwhelm her with the strength of things that are best forgotten. Then, she remembers.
She remembers that night. The man with the dark eyes. The eyes that called her, compelled her. That night was to be magnificent. Snow they had called it. The first she had ever seen, here in this alien land. And then they came. The main with the dark eyes, the others who followed him. They spoke at her, and she did not understand. They questioned her.
She remembers the voices, the discussions. The man with the dark eyes, who decided if she lived or died, holding a stake. He spoke to her way one would a child. Fleeting pain, which blossomed briefly in her chest. It won't be long now, he said. She did not understand. They are creatures of treachery, her sire told her. And yet all his teachings seemed futile, in this alien land. Another pair of eyes, and a voice telling her to sleep. And then awakening into blackness.
There is nothing but the loudness in her mind. And she stills that loudness in thought, in repetition.
"Remove ye the causes of fear and estrangement from yourselves. Do away with the corruption of delusion and conformity. Be ye certain that the Prince of Believers hath given unto you free will, and hath spared you the trouble of disguising and concealing your true beliefs, so that when ye work ye may keep your deeds pure for God."
Softly she repeats the words. Her mind stills. Perhaps this is another teaching, another test. To live a month in silence was once hard, but is now as much a part of life as breathing. To let her mind be still, without the discipline of the body, just another thing to learn. There is way to mark the time. Nothing but the blackness, the feel of leather on her skin, the quietness. And she repeats to herself the seven principles, the seven truths.
"Love of truth. Take care of one another. Renounce all other religions. Avoid the demon and all wrongdoers. Accept divine unity in humanity Accept all of al-Hakim's acts. Act in total accordance to al-Hakim's will"
The old words stilled her. The words of truth, the words she learned as a child. Days flowed into nights then. The golden sun, as golden as her skin. Joy in the sunlight. Learning the will of al-Hakim in the village. Unbidden, her mind stretches back to those days. Not so many years ago, but two lifetimes away. The nights she danced in perfect accord. She remembers.
In her youth, she danced in the sun, in the desert, on the mountains. She danced through out the passage of years. Black was not a color of night, of death, but that of protection from the sun. The sound of helicopters made an odd counterpoint to the rhythms of the day. Her family was only juhhal, ignorant, only followers of the beliefs. They were not enlightened. But the ajawid, taught. The life was simple, looking back. Peace and joy existed there, if only in the mind of one small girl.
Her family was strong. Three stood elder to her and three younger. Brothers four and three years older while two stood younger by two and four years. A sister two years senior and a sister six years younger; one to teach and one to protect. They lived in a small village in the Wadi al-Taym. The weight of ages lay upon that place. How many generations had lived there? The girl did not know. To her, it was just home. Home was as it always has been. She attended to her tasks, learned her letters and little more.
A change blew in, upon the winds. She was still a child. As her people often moved unseen throughout the dangers of time, but hiding themselves, they now sought to hide once again. Weapons came more to her home. Weapons of defense, to protect the village. Her elder brothers learned. They were young and strong. Young, female, she was supposed to attend her tasks and her studies. But she could not help but hear the words of war. War has come among the Palestinians and the Christians. It faded, but did not disappear.
Three times the seasons, what little there are, had their cycle. The conflict faded, but still the threat remained. Hints, rumors, still plagued the village. It became difficult for the ajawid to travel to where they must. And the girl watched. She grew, becoming older, stronger. She watched as they prepared for her sister to wed. A marriage of love, it shone in her sisters' eyes. She verged on the edge of becoming a woman herself. The changes had started to work upon her but were yet not complete. And she dreamed of the happiness in her sister's eyes. And still she danced.
Looking back across her two lifetimes, she knows now why. The Israelites had gone to drive those who harried their people from the borders. To make their people safe. And driven out, they angered. And in the fervor of religion, they lashed out. But the girl-child knew none of that. None of that till after.
They came at twilight, too soon after the beginning for word to come to her village. The mark of battle upon them, rage in their eyes. Beaten by those they hated, they lashed out against those different than them. And one small village posed a tempting target. She saw. She saw things that were best left to the realm of nightmares, brought unbidden to the waking world. In the world the girl had known, she had been kept safe.
She ran now to her father, to his arms, to the strength of his protections. And five paces from him, she watched him fall. She stared, her mind no longer understanding what she saw. She raises a hand, feeling the drops of red upon her face. Her father lay there, half his face gone, his blood on her cheek. She fell to her knees. Her elder brothers grabbed her arms, shoved her towards the house. They stood, armed, to join the fray. Even in the house, she could not advert her eyes. She knelt by the window, eyes searching for her brothers. Their pain, their helplessness in the face of the enemy she saw. And they fell, as all men of the village who stood in defense did. The two younger brothers, armed only with knifes still guarded the door of the house.
Against the guns of the invaders, they had no chance. She saw them fall to the men with the cruel eyes, fall at the very door of the house. Her mother, Zarah, old woman that she was, was lucky, if luck can be measured in such a place as war. Her mothers now sightless eyes stared at her, as the men reached for her and her sisters. She tried to fight. But she, a girl, could not protects herself. They laugh at her attempts, her sister's screams echoing in her ears. And then came the pain, and the shame that was worse than the pain. And she retreated inside her mind. Even now, the memories burn her.
They left her there, when they were finished with her. In pain, she turned her head and saw. Her elder sister, who had loved and dreamed would dream no more. Her younger sister, still whimpered, voice almost gone. The men outside laughed, and joked. One came back into the house, laughing. He looks at her sister, and smiles, his eyes cruel. He knelt beside the youngest, only eight years old. She turned her head, not wanting to see. And then she saw salvation. A knife, hidden under the bed. As her sister screamed again, she reached for it, hand curling around the hilt.
Pain and sorrow still echoes in her mind. If she could move, she knows that tears of blood would be coursing down her cheeks. The helplessness, the fact that at that time, her body was not her own. Even now, she does not know how she managed it. Her mind remembers nothing but a blur. The knife as it sliced through flesh, and the blood that poured over her hands. Her sister's weight in her arms, as she fled the place that was once her home. Fled into the area, into the hidden places children always seem to find. The places they gathered to play, away from adult eyes, now served another purpose.
She remembers the look in her sisters eyes, as she held her. As she died. Coldness of the stones as she piled then upon the body she had placed in the hollow. The cairn built strong, to protect the most precious thing of all; family. When the soldiers left, she creeps back to the village. Of the dozen families that lived there once, she was the only one alive. She moved the bodies to each house. She took a set of clothing to cover herself and some food they had left behind. And then she took the cooking oil, and the gasoline, and spread it across each house.
The village burned that night. And she sat, watching it. Half wishing that she was there among them. Fire cleansed that place. Fire that had warmed her once. It burned away her past. She remembers the feel of the heavy stands of hair as it fell down her back. The knife in her hand as she cut what had never been cut before. She turned and waked away from the embers. That night, she died for the first time. No longer a girl, no longer protected. She is fourteen years old.
She turns her mind to fire. The fire that burned away her old life. The fires that warmed the camps she lived in. The bonfire she was taught of. The ritual, the power. She dances now, with fire and death. To step into the flames, to feel the pain of the body but to lose yourself in the dance. That pain is real. The flesh may burn in flames, but the soul is pure. She remembers the dances past. Her hair wreathed in orange flames, her skin charring from the heat. She thinks back to when she last danced, far to many months ago, under the summer moon.
How much time has past? Has she slumbered a day away. There is no way to see, no way to tell. Her mind is all she has left in control. Again, she repeats the seven truths.
"Love of truth. Take care of one another. Renounce all other religions. Avoid the demon and all wrongdoers. Accept divine unity in humanity. Accept all of al-Hakim's acts. Act in total accordance to al-Hakim's will"
Love of Truth. But what is the truth? Is truth in the pleadings of a man, or in the acts he performs. The Law of Protection, she thinks. She holds that Law in her mind, rolling it over. That Law she believes in above all. But the love of truth? Truth moves around you. She remembers.
She remembers the hunger of the body. She remembers the numbness that took her soul, and the hatred that consumed her. She remember the feel of the sun hardened earth as she walked. She remembers the camps, where she learned to fight, to attack. Her village was not the only one. Wars swept across the land. And a burning desire grew in her. She would learn to protect her people. All her people. She sees the eyes of her people around her. The eyes of the women and children, abused, broken, lost. The men injured, those dying.
The feel of steel in her hand as she moves. Assembling a rifle in the dark, learning all it's parts. Learning the ways to make an enemy hurt. Learning all they could teach her, and more. She learned from the teachers of religion, with a hunger that drove her to strengthen her faith. She became on of those considered to become uqqal, initiated into the ways of her faith in the years she fought her war. Thus, she learned more of her faith then most believers, though due to her youth, she never joined the ranks. Not all who learned in the camps stayed there. Some left to join the battlefield of the army. The children of Israel welcomed them. But what of those left behind. She will fight, she will protect them. Her war is on the streets.
She remembers. Smiling fetchingly at the soldier, while her heart was cold and still. Her fingers stroke the knife hidden next to her leg. The robes and veil that she affected, to blend in with the Muslims, holds many secrets. She casts down her eyes and calculates. In this place of town, a woman can be had for a price. And he is one of those who hurts her people. She has seen him, engaged in casual cruelty. She rises, and moves from the room. One more anonymous woman in black robes moves into the ally. The man follows, smiling as he reaches for her. A look of surprise comes over his face as she buries her knife in his heart. A true smile crosses her face. She is fifteen years old.
She remembers the feel of blood on her hands, a small pile of flesh to her side. She kneels there, watching the man coldly. She loosens the gag, and waits for the answer to her question. The man, his eyes red with weeping is still silent, pain in his eyes. She reaches for a knife, and slides it carefully in. She knows this man twice over. He was there. He hurt her and her sisters. And now he has risen high. He has information that can save more of her people. When to move them, where to keep them safe. She sees her sister's eyes, her sister's pain. One of his eyes no longer stares at her. She holds it up to show him. She is sixteen.
The man lies dead at her feet now. His torments have ended. Small payment, for the look she always carries, the look of here sister's eyes as she dies. Another man stands there, his skin dark. He speaks to her, and she disbelieves. She turns, and again he stands in front of her. A question. A simple reply. Protecting.
Again she remembers. The first year with the dark man. He stood, silent, still, watching her. No matter were she traveled, he appeared. No one but her could see him, it seems. A shadow slipping through the night, helping her nights work. She watched him as he watched her. And learned. She remembers the paranoia, simple at first to fear. And the testing. The noise he made into silence and then into noise again. He watched, and wrote into a small book. A bargain made. Her training begins, as ghoul. She is seventeen.
In the darkness, she reflects. Perhaps she has slumbered another day away. In the darkness, such things as the passage of time hold no sway. She remembers the past. What has taken her to this point. She rests in the silence, feeling but unable to move. This is another test. The tests she undertook in her second lifetime. Is this a test of who to believe?
"Take care of one another. Renounce all other religions."
She was taught that her clan was her family. That she would protect her new people as well as the old. Take care of one another. She remembers once, thinking that all were like that. And the path says that you should not hinder fellows. Things were easier, just to believe what her sire taught her. The Law of the Word. Deceive not those of the Blood, for my House is founded on Truth. Words that she was taught. Words that were true to her heart.
And then she came here. She remembers the mountain, the feel of unity with all her clan, with all her people. She believed in the dreams that flowed through the blood of Haqim. The dreams, the calling echoes through her mind, calling her to the mountain, calling her to peace. The taste of the blood in her mouth, blood that joined them all, freeing them from the chains. The pain as the fire burned the taint from her blood. And from the mountain, she returned to walk among the city. There was family there. There were people to teach to guide.
Renounce all other religions. The beliefs of those who follow the one god and the words of the prophets are misguided, but they still walk a similar path. Walk along yours, secure in the truth, and let them follow theirs. But do not convert from your path. Why then did they tell her she must change? She remembers the puzzlement, the anger. She followed them to that place, believing in the family. And in one night, they try to make her Camarilla and Christian. She did not think that they would betray her so.
"There are three signs of a hypocrite: when he speaks he speaks lies, when he makes a promise he breaks it, and when he is trusted he betrays his trust."
The Law of Leadership. The eldest in the city leads the rest. And she is so young. To look into the face of elder, too see the age written in their skin, she must follow. But who should she believe? The Christian holds no allegiance to the mountain. How can she follow one who denies the will of Haquim. The eldest came from the mountain. But too late, she sees why he was not at the returning, at the ritual.
Her rage and betrayal fills her mind. He ordered one unto a situation of death. And the ordered her to betray that one as well. And to guard the hated ones as well as betray her own. In confusion, she obeyed. And planed the steps she would take that night to home. She can see it in her minds eyes. The gates, so beautiful, glowing in the last rays of the sun. But again, she was betrayed. It settles into her mind, dark thoughts, dark plans.
"Remove ye the causes of fear and estrangement from yourselves. Do away with the corruption of delusion and conformity. Be ye certain that the Prince of Believers hath given unto you free will, and hath spared you the trouble of disguising and concealing your true beliefs, so that when ye work ye may keep your deeds pure for God. He hath done thus so that when you relinquish your previous beliefs and doctrines ye shall not indeed lean on such causes of impediments and pretensions. "
She repeats this in her mind. Over and over again, till the words calm her, until she once more can look past the anger, past the bitterness, past the fear that threatens her. She thinks back to the dark man, the one who taught her, the one who never betrayed her. His lessons were harsh at times, but she learned.
She remembers the students who started with her. Learning to work with them, to treat them as both companions and competition. Learning to push her body past all natural boundaries. Learning to take the pain, to put it aside and move past it. Learning to handle any blade, with skill and precision. She remembers the tests, of true blackness and silence, nothing but the feel of the blade and the knowledge that another seeks her in the darkness. The lessons were more than the girl in the camps could have dreamed of learning, but she knew that there was much more to learn. Even now, she draws strength from the lessons she learned. The body is nothing, just a tool.
Until the night she awoke to find her fellow mistajib dead. And still her lessons continued. The mind must be trained above all else. She began her studies in the will, in the mind, in knowledge. She could kill. Now the dark man taught her when and why. She remembers the first time of silence. And how it grew, until she learned to not speak for a months time. To focus her mind inward, even as she dose now. She learned more of the world, more to train her mind.
And then the dark man told her what he truly was. She remembers that she was not afraid at this truth, knowing him as she did. The gift of darkness was taken, and she died a second time. The pain in dying, the strength of the rebirth. She saves that moment in her mind, remembering every sensation. In the darkness, she briefly feels, though the truth is nothing.
"Lo there do I see my father; lo there do I see my mother, my sisters, and my brothers, lo there do I see the line of my people back to the beginning."
She remembers how new the world seemed, reborn into this new life. The power, the strength given in the blood. To take those whom you hunt, as your strength and to aid in justice. She learned her new life, as a child of Haqim.
The dark man, her sire, taught her of the old ways, the old stories. The ancient legends, the tales of greatness, the memories of the mountains. Age showed in the darkening of the skin, in her new clan, and her sire had already seen centuries. But he told her she was his first child. And then he told her of the flight. Of the wicked Tremere who cursed the clan and those who left the mountain, rather than accept the curse. He spun the tale, until she could see it in her mind's eye, the last view of the gates of the eagle's nest as the last of the suns rays touched it, the long trip across the desert that not all survived, the freedom from the curse.
But alone, away from the mountain, the small band could not remain aloof from all kindred. They gave their blades over into the service of the Sabbat. After all, were they not to judge other kindred? And what better judgment than final death? The mountain was forbidden to them now. And they must serve away from the mountain. She learned of the Sabbat and it's war for justice. How they served in the fight, in the freedom. How they should hate the Tremere, for what they did to the clan.
She proved her self in the flames of the war that followed, in march of the soldiers and the fires that burned all night and day from the fields of oil. And then he took her with him, to the gatherings. This was the first time she had left her homeland, and she rejoiced in the new sites. And she learned the sermons and the rites. The way of the packs, the way to live without restraint. The power and glory of the Sabbat burned in her mind.
"He who is not trustworthy has no Faith, and he who does not keep his Covenant has no religion."
From her sire, she learned the way of honor. From others, she learned the path of knowledge of the dark father. The path of knowledge drew her stronger, but always she holds the beliefs her sire gave her close to her heart.
She left her sire, carrying the book he gave her, the book of records, like the ones he kept. She remembers the traveling, the splendor, and the pain. She hunted and killed those who abused, those who needed guiding. She remembers traveling at last to the city of an archbishop. She remembers the pack of those who's path she could not stand. She remembers the scorn of the other angel of Caine, for her outfits she wore. But she remembers the glories of the dance, the games as well. She stayed for a few months, then wandered again.
And then the dreams came. And everything changed. The thunder that pulsed in her blood, the single word. Come, it commanded. Her heart beat, her blood sang. Even now in the memories she can still feel the shadow of the power in the blood. And the image of the mountain that she had never seen came to her. Power flowed around it, and lightning flashed. Then she stood, inside the mountain, under a field of stars, before the black throne. And once again, her blood commanded her to come. The dreams grew more real, more intense. She remembers her sires stories of the mountain, of the true allegiance to the clan. She took her old sword in hand, her one constant, and she left the Sabbat that night. She went to the Mountain.
Her mind has turned full circle in the darkness. Her mind has remembered things that she never allows her self to think on… save when she can not control her mind. Her mind turns to reflection. The path births the future. What will hers be?
"What is Faith? When your good deed pleases you and your evil deed grieves you, you are a believer. What is Sin? When a thing disturbs the peace of your heart, give it up."
Faith? What is her faith now? She has strayed from the teaching of al-Hakim, losing herself more and more to the beast. Even in the Sabbat, she was told of the clan's glory, an allegiance she owed to blood. When that allegiance called to her, she followed. The Sabbat is forbidden to her now, the betrayal of her clan still fresh in their minds.
Her clan. Can she trust them still? The power still sings in her blood, the stories and legends fill her mind. The laws to follow were simple, just; leadership, protection, destruction, word, and judgment. But she has seen those laws betrayed, laws put aside in the pursuit of personal gain. The words of her sire, the power of the mountain against the acts of the children of Haqim.
The ones in this city had not headed the call. She remembers that they had fled, that they had not drunken the blood that set the children free. Those who had acted better, acted as family. She ponders the problem in her mind, meditating on it. And her mind decides. Those who had not headed the call of the Mountain, they were not blood. If she could have moved, she would have smiled at this idea. She pictures the faces of those in the city that had betrayed the family. And she plans.
But her mind will not let her assume, though, that all who are of the mountain will be clan, as she once had. And she knows what she must do, if the mountain betrays her again. She sorrows at that road, but she knows that her honor may force to her walk it. But she wishes with all her heart that she can believe in the mountain, believe in the words of the eldest, believe in the clan.
Her faith. She still believes in the words, still prays, still recites the laws each night. But has she still faith in her heart? She thinks back to how she has proved her faith. She feels empty, lost. She chose this life to save her people. She made the clan into her people. But what of her true people. Here, they are not forgotten, they are not abused, they are not slain. But what of those that are? The forgotten exist in all societies. Good people, trying to live out their lives in a hostile world.
She is weary. Tired in heart, tired in mind. She dreams, she plans. She will have to return to a city, if not this one, than another. And she will choose a place to dwell, among the weak, the oppressed. And she shall follow the old ways once more. She will judge mortals and kindred alike.
Time has passed, she knows that. Oblivion presses in around her, her thoughts grow still. She knows the sleep of the undying, and it reaches up to claim her. She could slumber for a week, a month, a year. Or will she open her eyes to find that centuries have passed, and she still remains a prisoner of the Tremere. She dose not know. She dreams of the black throne, the power in the blood. She dreams of faith. And then she sleeps.
"Human salvation lies in the hands of the creatively maladjusted." -- Martin Luther King,