Part Five
The Truth is Unveiled
April 19th, 20XX, Noah's Retreat, 6:04 AM
Allen did not sleep that night. The sounds of yet another storm didn't help his attempts to fall asleep, but it was more than just that causing about of insomnia. There was something charged about this night and Allen found his brain chattering too much, his skin nearly buzzing with energy.
Instead, he stayed awake reading Cross's annotations of Uncle Neah's notes. It took a few hours to decipher the code, and when he had finally finished, Allen hoped that they would shed some sort of light on whatever secrets obscured the circumstances of deaths and disappearances that seemed to surround the Noah Family; Allen was pretty sure that his relative were innocent, and that these were probably useless notes.
The annotations began with Neah's remarks on a letter from Cross folded in between the pages of the journal. In it he had written this:
Your continued interest in my family's history and affairs is disconcerting. I have only confirmed the theory that John Fisher helped hide the Native Americans of Arkham somewhere on the island, as he and many of his descendants are noted to have married (or at least reproduced) with non-European spouses as evidenced by the appearance describer by the second wave of settlers to the area. Unfortunately, the information of who those spouses is absent from my family tree; with a careful calculation of the population of Native Americans, it is suspected that a disturbing amount of inbreeding occurred, though none of that visibly effects my lineage. All of those things inside, pertaining to your own special interests, my Aunt Lulubell promises that there is no spell or other arcane arts involved in the worship of the Ancient One, the Great God of the Sea.
It seemed relatively irrelevant at first, but Cross's notes about the Noah family showed that there truly was a lot of history shrouded by what was not written or recorded. For example, how many people had Old Man Noah saved? How many had he reproduced with? How long could they maintain an incest-free family? What were their ways like? Cross referenced a cultural anthropology book (one of the earliest that established the foundations of that branch of academia) that listed the Noah family as practitioners of what it claimed to be a combination of occultism and animism, although the details were vague, and the sources no longer extant. Cross impressed a strange and unfounded suspicion that the flavor occultism leaned towards sex magic and ritualistic sacrifice.
Sex magical is powerful, as Alistair Crowley understood. Whether it be between a man and a woman, a woman and a woman, a man and a man, or even in what greater combinations of bodies of same or different sexes; sex is a mingling of bodily fluids, states of being, and an act that symbolizes life (in creation) and death (in the orgasm).
Allen hadn't really known what to make of Cross's remark about sex magic of all things, but it sort of explained the man's womanizing ways. In another portion of the journal where Uncle Neah remarks that Cross has left behind the life of arcane arts, and finds it ironic that he himself now believes in it; it was a profound confession that Allen had not expected to find, especially when the date revealed it was after he had been adopted, and mentioned him in a strange relation to the events that led to the brothers leaving Rhode Island entirely. And Mana's own disappearance. Cross had underlined everything in a different color and made miniscule notes in a code that even Allen didn't know how to decode.
There are secrets I never told Cross. Mana and I left our family because we feared what else they might do to us. Beyond Allen, we have no proof of the sins they have dabbled in. Now my brother is missing and I fear that our secrets have been kept in vain. Here I am in Arkham once more, and I can finally say that I believe. I fear that my search for Mana is pointless, and that I should instead focus on averting the course of my own fate. And Allen's.
Cross had underlined this heavily, a tiny sentence scribbled nearby, unreadable, but it had a line drawn around to point back to the reference Mana's disappearance as if to question whether or not there was a link between these things. It was ominous to say the least. Allen knew that mere days after this was written, Uncle Neah killed himself. This was a dead man's words shortly before…just shortly before.
My family is, as Cross suspected, a cult of sorts. I never found evidence of their beliefs beyond the simple offerings they left to the Sea God, like tossing a handmade flower crown in to the waters as a "sacrifice", but Mana and I know that there were other things they did. I know for a fact that there was at least one heinous thing they did to us, and it is something I dare not write down on paper. They forced us to do unnatural things, and I still can scarcely believe that none of it was a part of some fever-dream. But I digress.
Adam, our father, was the one to obscure the truth with his careful release of his book on our family. It is not entirely wrong, but it is certainly curated to protect the family's interests. I do not yet understand yet what their goals are, but I get the sense I am only a small part of one large, far-reaching plot that may span centuries. I hope my family is not evil. I cannot think of them as evil, except for the acts they have committed against me and my brother.
I think…I think that they plan on ensuring that Noah's Prophecies come to fruition.
This portion of Cross's notation Allen had been able to translate, and it made reference to the "Doomsday Prophecy" that the boy thought might be the awful bed time story Uncle Neah mentioned in a different letter, possibly a passage. And below that, was a supposition that "Perhaps the Noah Family exists to fulfill the Prophecies and that is the Great Purpose". Which seemed ridiculously dramatic if it weren't for a fact that Allen didn't think either man was insane or deluded.
My family has a hidden room. I snuck into yesterday, and I found it all: the manner of worship they practice, what the goal is, and the crimes they've committed. I believe now, and while I don't know how to process everything, or what I should do, trying to reason it out helps.
I think this room has been a part of the house since it was built, and I think it leads to the original cave that Old Noah hid the natives in. The deeper into the room I went, the more I realized it was like a long hall, and the further back I went, the more gruesome and terrible the paintings on the wall became. Gruesome, and yet they explain everything, including the origin of my family, the Noahs.
From what I can understand of century-old cave paintings, the original inhabitants of this island made a deal with a creature-god from the sea. By giving him offerings, he gave them plenty of food and protection from the natural elements. When a great illness or plague hit them, the God came to them offering to save their people, and to give them immortal life in the sea. I admit the next portion is more from my own knowledge of the story than the abstract depiction: in return for immortality, the God of the Sea asked for a single promise: that their children would mingle and their grandchildren would mingle until his blood filled a single child into a full-blooded son or daughter of his loins, and that child would be his bride. With a perfect equal by his side, the God of the Sea would no longer be lonely. He would have countless children, and a lover to spend the eons of the universe with. And upon the completion of their union, the God of the Sea would conquer the world as a wedding gift, so his Bride could reshape it however they liked.
I know with a certainty I loath that my family seeks the end of the world; at best, they would see the world cast into eternal darkness and subjugation. At worst, they would see its destruction entirely. The Prophecy dictates how this will come to be, and it is nonsensical, impossible. Were it not for the circumstances of Allen's birth, I would not believe it possible.
Allen reread that last paragraph. Uncle Neah had known him when he was born? Allen had always thought he had been adopted the normal way, already a baby when Mana found him, but this implied there was something that already connected him to this family, and it was something weird.
But I believe. I believe, and I am scared that there is only one way to avert this disaster. I don't have the strength or courage to do what needs to be done to save the world. Humanity forgive me, I can't.
Cross, I do not have much time left, but you need to know now that I have left Mana's son in your care. Allen is not safe. He can never return to Arkham. HE is the key to everything. Mana named him, and his name doubly damns him. I lament that I cannot be there to help Allen, but there is really nothing that I can do directly. I am not sure if there is anything left for me to try here, but tomorrow I will see if there are any answers left. If there is no salvation…I have a choice to make. Either I remain here as I am, and join Mana—and there is a part of my soul that aches to be with him in the sea—or I end who I am as I am. He chose the sea, and while I want to be with my brother for all eternity, I do not know if I can bring myself to choose the sea as he has. If I do not choose the sea, I know that at least I can protect Allen from myself. He is all I have left, Marion. If I find no other alternative, I will take my own life in a matter of days.
I know my suicide will not make sense to you, and certainly not to Allen—and I am sorry to bring you both so much pain—but the sea calls me and I do not want to answer it. If I wait too long, I will follow Mana into the Depths. I must end the call before that happens, and so far I only have one way to escape: death. I am trying to explain as plainly as I can that this is the fate of every Noah at one point or another, and Allen will undoubtedly be given this choice in the future. I don't know when, but when the time comes, Marion, he cannot be allowed to choose.
Keep Allen landlocked, my friend. For the sake of us all, do not let him near the ocean, and keep him safe. I love him so much, and I trust you more than you can possibly know; it is why he is in your care now. I am sorry that things are headed in this direction, and there is no way you could possibly forgive me. I do not ask you to anyways, even as I beg you to make sure that Allen lives a happy, normal life away from all of this.
I will mail this letter as it is, if I find no alternative tomorrow, and by the time you receive this, I imagine you will already have been notified of my death. I hope you are right in that we are reincarnated; though I may not be a part of the natural order of living things, I hope we will meet again in another life.
Yours Truly,
Neah Walker
Allen read the letter three or four times after he finished the first readthrough. He was still confused and feeling like he understood everything, yet could not process it. Logically, absolutely none of these made sense, and he wanted to label these as the ruminations of a lunatic. Allen's gut told him otherwise. Allen's gut told him to GET OUT, and get off of the accursed rock, even though he wasn't sure what he was running from. Perhaps it had to do with Cross's last readable notation on the latter: Neah was right about everything, it's all true.
Without having a reasonable explanation, Allen packed his bag quickly. He threw in a change of clothes, his broken phone, a jacket, his wallet and cash, and stuffed it all into his backpack. The boy didn't think he had ever been so grateful for the sounds of thunder before. They aided him by covering up the minimal amount of noise he made. Allen was planning on sneaking out because he didn't know what to think anymore, but he was scared, scared enough to risk stealing his family's boat and driving it in a storm despite a fear of water. He didn't want to have to hide any of that, nor explain himself to the family. It was early, and he hadn't slept a wink, and Allen needed to shut up in his own mind and think about getting out of here.
Allen didn't want to think about Tyki's promise of the sea never harming a Noah, which he might actually be one, but he hoped it would help him guide the boat through this horrific storm to safety, away from his sketchy family.
Allen cracked his door open, peeking out to make sure no one was up. The hall was clear, and he slipped out of his room quietly. The house was dark, save the brilliant flashes of lightening, and eerie. They way it creaked made it feel empty. He knew that was not in fact the case.
He reached the base of the stairs without incident or discovery. He was about to continue on his way to the front door when there was a brief pause in the symphony of the storm outside. In the uneasy pause of silence, he heard the faint screams of pain reverberating from somewhere in the house. It sent a chill up the boy's spine, and the instinct in him telling him to get out was ringing like a fire bell.
Breathing a little more harshly, Allen stretched his hearing through the return of noise. Now that he was aware of it, he could definitely hear the sounds of man screaming in pain.
I should get out, he thought to himself somewhat hysterically. This is how movie characters in horror die.
Yet his feet didn't listen, and they in fact carried him closer to the origin of the screams. They brought him to the closet underneath the stairs. Despite knowing better, he slowly opened the door. In the gloom, he could make out the dark shapes of coats and jackets hanging, which was expected. But in the corner of his eye, at the bottom of the floor, he saw a faint glow.
My family has a hidden room, Uncle Neah had written. Allen pushed the coats aside as quietly as he could, running his hands along the walls, and every nook and cranny. He didn't know what he touched to open it, but after a few seconds, the wall slid open silently, exposing a gently, warmly lit passage. With the lack of barrier, the screams became louder. He took a deep breath before he began to creep his way down the secret passage.
A fresh breeze chilled Allen to the bone as the boy followed the sounds of pain down to what he vaguely recalled Cross named "Noah's Ark", the cave where the indigenous people had safely been hidden away from settlers. The walk seemed to take an eternity at the pace he led, but Allen really did not want to see why someone would be crying out so loudly. In pain, he recognized that much, but he was afraid to see what the cause of the pain was. Would his family hurt him like that? It was too late to turn back, because he had been drawn like a magnet to this place, and he was being pulled nearer and nearer to the source of agony. When he reached a set of fourteen or so steps down, he stopped. For a dizzying moment, he heard thunder, scream, and chanting all at once and everything ran through him unpleasantly like a volt of electricity.
I should have left, Allen thought. He gripped his backpack, and as an afterthought, slid it off in case he needed to use it as a weapon or barrier to put between himself and an attacker. He took the steps down one baby step at a time. The walls widened into the wide mouth of what looked like a cave, and he could see the very same images Uncle Neah had written about, though he didn't dare look at them too closely. He needed to be absolutely alert. But the room was large enough to house a hundred people easily, and he could smell the brine of the sea fresh and near. The dancing light made the images on the walls look like they were undulating, and even though the boy didn't pay them much heed, the effect made him nauseated.
All of this paled in comparison to the sight in the middle of the cave where a singular dais rested. Several robed figures encircled the altar atop of it, where a live autopsy was being performed. Live, not as in currently happening, but in that the victim was alive while they were cutting him open. Somehow, even though the boy knew the shock alone should have killed him, he remained alive and capable of screaming even as they removed organs from him. And it was gruesome to see, blood-curdling to hear. Allen couldn't believe what he was seeing, what real people were doing to another human-being—then the head of the victim turned and he saw it was Deja, the same man who had hit on him when he arrived. Their eyes met, and Deja's were wild with pain, despair, and madness,
Run, the man mouthed through the bubble of blood in his mouth. It was the glint of a knife being held up in the glint of light that finally made him flee, and when he turned on heel, it was done carelessly, and even his rabbit-prey-mind heard the sound of his shoe echoing throughout the cavern. He tossed his backpack aside since it would only hinder his speed.
"Allen!" shouted a young girl's voice. He paid it no mind, even as he knew that it was his cousin, Rhode. He simply ran like he had never run before, and that was saying something about a boy who was used to outrunning debt collectors. With subtlety gone, he could pound his feet against stone and floor without a care. Nothing had really changed. He was still escaping tonight by stealing a boat and guiding it through a storm like a madman. What awaited him if he didn't was a worse fate. That knowledge gave his feet nearly literal flight.
Oh. He could hear someone hot on his heels, then he became aware of the feel of their foot-beats off-beat from his own. He could tell they were larger than him, the pace less frequent, but in his experience it usually meant the pursuer had longer legs.
Allen burst through the closet and nearly slipped on the runner covering polished wood floors. He merely went with the slide and aimed towards the front door, fumbling with the locks briefly. He needed to get out, there was someone a mere second away, but his hands were so shaky, but nearly there, yes—
Allen felt the grab oh his shirt a split second before he was yanked away from the door. He managed to break his fall a little, and orient himself enough to lash a foot at the shadow's knee. They collapsed to the floor with a yelp and Allen scrambled up to the door, flinging it open now that the bolt was free.
"Wait, Allen—damn it!" Tyki roared. Allen did not wait, and he ran towards the boat, heedless of the wind battering him and the rain pelting him. The ground was slippery and treacherous, but the boy was running on adrenaline.
Almost there, almost free!
Allen shouted in alarm as he was seized firmly from behind a mere ten feet from the dock. He was so close!
Sobbing and screaming, he thrashed in his captor's arms, biting, scratching, kicking.
"Stop Allen, stop! I'm not going to hurt you!"
"Lemmego lemmego lemmego!" Allen chanted. He threw his head back in an attempt to headbutt Tyki. It didn't work. In fact, a hand slapped across his mouth with enough force to keep his head pinned in that position, neck exposed. Allen opened his mouth, biting down hard on whatever flesh found its way into his mouth. The taste of blood filled his mouth and it was hot and disgusting. He tried to turn his head away, but the hand followed, nearly smothering him with blood. Tyki took advantage of the response to revulsion and hauled Allen up off of his feet, carrying him back to the house. The door was slammed with a single foot, and Tyki collapsed against it in Allen's attempt to wriggle free. After a moment, the man slid down the door, using his legs to trap Allen's, crushing the boy fully and immobilizing him.
Allen tried to shout, but the blood bubbled between his mouth and the man's hand. The hand adjusted to cover his nose and mouth, the seal becoming absolute. Allen couldn't breathe, and no matter how he clawed at the hand, Tyki wasn't letting go. He couldn't even use his arms to try scratching at the man's face.
"Shhhh, shhh, shhhh…it's okay," Tyki said gently, his voice slightly strained by the effort he was expending. "It's going to be alright Allen, you're safe. Shhhh…"
They boy couldn't breather, His lungs were imploding. His head was dizzy. Oh…he was dying. That's why his limbs weren't working right anymore.
"Shhhhh…"
The world faded to black.
. : T _ T : ,
His brother started the boat and they were leaving their home. Only he hadn't been steady on the boat. He tumbled over the edge, falling into icy waters. He heard his name just before his head broke through the water.
The pain was unbearable. It was no wonder that he had fallen overboard. His body hurt, even in the relief of weightlessness, and it was hard to keep himself afloat. His clothes were too heavy and restricting, so he took them off. He wasn't really thinking clearly, because there was just too much hurt. Before he managed to take the shirt off, the final article of clothing, a cramp in his stomach hit harder than the rest, and it was so intense, it froze him in mid-motion. His head dipped below the surface briefly, and he choked on water. Then suddenly he was breathing, though he was still under the water.
Before the young man could process this particular miracle, the pain worsened. He screamed beneath the water, and it sounded like a whale's cry, beautiful and austere, but he didn't really notice. He was curled into a fetal position, body bearing down inside, as if it were trying to expel something. He felt like he might puke from the strength of it. For a moment, his vision blurred, and he blacked out. He didn't know how long he had passed out for, but when he was aware again, his brother was trying to tug him to the surface of the ocean. His body twisted, writhed, and convulsed inside. In one awful, agonizing moment, everything culminated into this single breath: something slipped out of him. He felt it slide out of him, slide between his legs, and in the gloom, he saw the pale form of baby.
He pulled away from his brother slightly so he could grab onto the newborn—because that's what it was, right? This was a baby just born, from him. Was this real?
His brother dragged them all upwards, and the baby took its first breaths of air, gasping worryingly before crying angrily into the open air. His brother hauled them into the boat, wrapped them in a blanket. He was too numb to really process anything, including the screaming thing in his arms. Even when his brother took the tiny newborn and held it aloft in awe, he could not really feel anything. Except, perhaps, a distant horror at knowing this thing had been born from a union between him and his brother that occurred during a threesome with a woman. Regardless of how he felt, his brother obviously loved the ugly little thing right from the start.
. : T _ T : .
April 19th, 20XX, Noah's Retreat, 11:19 AM
Allen awoke to an excruciating headache, and a body that fell like a combination of an impending flu and serious workout. He was very confused, especially to know he was in his room with no knowledge of how he had gotten here, and with Wisely studying him with no small amount of wariness. When the boy tried to sit up, he found that he could not, for his wrists were bound—not painfully, but the lead led to the bedpost—and there was not enough slack for him to touch even his fingertips together. As he took all of this in, the memories of what led to this point filtered back in at a snail's pace and at last, he understood what was going on.
"IF you are going to kill me, I want answers," he said at last.
Wisely blinked at him. "We aren't going to kill you, Allen, you're family."
Well, maybe he didn't fully know what was going on after all.
"What happened to Neah, then?" he asked warily. "And to Mana, and Cross?"
"Mana is still alive. He simply returned to the sea. You already know what happened to Neah. He committed suicide rather than spend eternity with his family. He chose mortal life," Wisely answered, grief flickering briefly in his flinty gaze. "And Marion Cross interfered too much. He was not family, so he was killed."
"He was my family," Allen argued hotly, tears burning his eyes. "And you murdered him!"
"We did not touch him. The Sea God sent a servant to deal with him, but it was not one of us," Wisely replied. Allen flinched back. He had nearly forgotten that this was the heart of the matter, of all matters: gods were real. At least, this god was. Allen didn't know how he fit into all of this, but he knew that he was a Noah, and by blood that meant he was a child of the Sea God. He was cursed, like them. He would need to make a choice like Neah had, or run away where the sea could never touch him again.
"Why kill Deja?" he asked, although he felt like he already knew the answer.
"Deja Barry coveted you. The Sea God naturally took offense at this and demanded his sacrifice." Wisely regarded him thoughtfully. "Do you understand what you are, Allen? OR rather, do you understand who you are, and what it means to be a Noah?"
"No. Not all of it," the boy admitted after some hesitation. "Noahs are the children, and I guess servants, of the Sea God. If you choose to follow him, you walk into the sea, I guess."
"There is a little more involved than that, but you are right. When we are baptized into the sea, we transform. But regardless of any of that, the Transformation is inevitable. Mana and Neah managed to avoid for some years, but no one can ignore the call. Mana answered it. Neah silenced it." Wisely looked at him solemnly. "The signs of transformation begins with headaches, and strange dreams. Then you will see the Shadow in reflective surfaces like mirrors and glass. Soon, the Shadow becomes a constant companion, and you start to see the Shadows of the other Noahs."
Allen felt his throat tighten. God, he was transforming into one of them.
"And then what?" he bit out? "I go to the sea and turn into a mermaid?"
"We do not die, once we accept the Sea God's blessing," Wisely responded. "We go into the water, and our form becomes what it was always meant to be. It will let you breathe underwater, and reach depths humans cannot venture to without aid or sickness. IT will let you see Mana again. For you, it will allow you to finally meet your bridegroom."
The son of three, two, and also one. The words hadn't made much sense, nor had the dreams, but they were connected. It clicked all of a sudden, and Allen now understood who, and more importantly, what he was. He was the Harbinger of the Apocalypse.
"How can I possibly be Mana and Neah's son?" he asked, because he was very close to panicking. He was apparently the son of two male twins, and a random woman, and he was somehow engaged to an immortal god of the sea (which he was scared of water), and apparently said god would be conquering the world for him as a gift if stories were true. And what did marriage with a sea god even look like? What did the sea god look like? Allen sort of wished he looked at the wall art now so he knew what to expect.
"You were conceived with the help of a woman, who did not birth you, but was involved with your conception," Wisely explained. "And while not even the twins knew it, Mana and Neah used to be the same person. Adam, when he was old enough, did not join the sea. Instead, he split himself into two people."
Allen's brain could not compute anymore of this, and he shut down. Wisely did not attempt to soothe or help him; Wisely merely left.
It took an embarrassingly long time to come to terms with his existential crisis. Allen thought he should give himself leniency, but he was pretty sure the fate of the world depended on his next course of action, so he had to make sure that he didn't wind up bringing about its end. The way he saw it, Allen had three courses of action. The first was obviously to go along with everything; which was absolutely out of the question. The second course of action was to escape, and try to remain as far away from bodies of water for the rest of his life. Maybe he'd become a desert hermit or something. That was the most preferable thing to do, because his third course of action was escaping and, if recapture was imminent, killing himself.
Allen didn't have much to work with, but wriggling in his bed, he discovered a few stuffed animals and a couple of creepy dolls no doubt left by Rhode in an attempt to offer him comfort. It was a terrible attempt, but one of the dolls had hairpins in her faux hairdo. It took him a bit of maneuvering to bring the doll's head to his hand, but he managed to grab it and pull it free.
A hairpin wasn't much use on its own, but he managed to find a metal nail in the bedframe to sharpen the flat tip of it into something like a knife's edge. He tried to use it to cut the rope, but all of this took so long to implement that he feared it would take an entire day to cut through the ropes. Allen didn't really think he had a day to abort the impending end of the world, which really sucked, because he knew his next step was to kill himself.
Allen's mobility was still restricted by the bonds. He managed to wedge the hair pin into a crack of the bed, the sharp point upward. He stared at it, an ugly feeling wriggling in his stomach as he realized that he was going to die here, on this bed, before he was even legally old enough to vote. It was a somber, scary thought. Allen steeled himself and took a deep breath, looking away as he brought his wrist down on the hairpin as hard as he could. The initial pain nearly paralyzed him because it hard really badly. He had to pause before he could force himself to drag his arm across with as much force as possible. It was agonizing, the and instant bloom of blood on the blankets was sickeningly lurid. When he took his arm away, the hair pin came with, halfway buried into his flesh. Allen stared at the wound, nearly a foot long and bleeding, and tried to decide if it was enough to kill him. He wasn't sure how to get the hairpin on the other side of the bed. He was trying not to throw up at the sight of his self-inflicted cut.
Allen was not as human as he hoped. Within a few second of staring, the blood ceased to flow, and the hairpin fell out as if expelled by some magical force. There was plenty of blood in the bed, but Allen hardly felt the effects of its loss. This was the blood of a monster, and he could no longer deny that he, too, was a monster.
Before he could contemplate a second attempt at taking his life, the door admitted the entrance of Rhode, who came in with a bowl of soup. She saw him, and the blood, and dropped the bowl to the floor. The girl was on top of him in the blink of an eye, wrestling him to the bed, swiping away at all of the dolls and the hairpin. Allen screamed and shouted at her, and she gave back just as much. The racket drew adults into the room, and it was Sheryl who removed his youngest cousin from his person, changed the sheets, admonished him, and spread ointment on the wound before bandaging it up.
The injury made being tied up a little tricky, so they did not tie him up again. They also did not leave him alone in the room unsupervised again.
. : T _ T : .
April 21st, 20XX, Noah's Retreat, 9:04 PM
Allen spent his days in a confusing mix of reality and dreams. Most of the time he felt feverish, and had a difficult time telling if he was awake or asleep. He ached. He burned. He felt like his head was being carved into with a knife, and like his blood was boiling inside of his body. His dreams consisted of devastating (wonderful) floods, of cities buried beneath water, of a watery hellscape. Allen dreamt of his kin living beneath the waves, loving and supportive, and there for all eternity, unlike mortals. Most intensely, he dreamt of his Lord, his companion, as devoted to the god as the god was devoted to him.
Never forgive…never forgive!
Humans killing them, taking what was not theirs to take. Colonists. Imperialists. Kings and Queens. Vagrants and thieves. IT did not matter. Humanity was a blight that took and took and took without ever giving.
Come to me Allen. I await you…
When Allen was certain he was not dreaming, he could think a little more objectively about what he saw and felt in his dreams, but there was no way to fight against the seductive way that the God of the Sea spoke in his mind. He spoke gently, intensely, and he promised earnestly to give Allen everything in the universe if he asked for it. All he had to do in return was submit and pledge his unerring loyalty for all of time.
I am your all. Your all is mine.
And amongst those promises were oaths of equality between them; Allen would be a "bride" but he would be equal to god, could own the god as wholly as the god would own him. Body and soul.
Mine. Mine. All mine.
Allen could no longer decipher who these whispers belonged to. Were they the god's whispers? Or his own desires? He was afraid to know the answer.
One day, Allen estimated it to be the 21st or the 22nd of the month, Allen woke up with a perfectly clear mind. The seemingly endless rain was gone, and no longer battered the house with its echoes. It was like the calm before the storm. In his bones, Allen knew that this was the time to escape. Now or never; there would be no chance afterwards.
Tyki was on duty in supervising him this time. Allen had awoken, but he had not moved nor opened his eyes because he wanted to perpetuate the illusion of being asleep. He assessed his cousin-guard through slitted eyelids and plotted. Luckily for him, Tyki's attention was mostly on the book he was reading rather than on the boy "sleeping" in the bed.
Allen gathered his mental and physical strength for one last time; either he was escaping in that boat, or he was going to kill himself, even if it meant smashing his own head in with a rock. Either way, he was escaping today.
Deciding to play on Tyki's empathy, Allen pretended to be caught in the throes of a nightmare. Tyki was on his feet in an instant, hurrying over to offer comfort and help. A soon as the man was close enough, Allen took a cockshut as hard as he could. The man crumpled with an agonized wheeze. The boy threw the blankets off and leaped onto his feet. He hit the ground, and he was running—running out of that room, running down the hall, running down the stairs. This time, instead of trying to fumble with the locks, Allen ran towards the window next to the front door. He crashed into it without hesitation, and he went through the glass with more ease and less pain that he thought he would. Allen absently attributed this another sign of his monsterhood manifesting itself. He paused a brief moment to look for a shard big enough to cut himself with if needed, but he saw the shards were all too small, and he didn't have enough time to really sift through the pile.
And then the boy realized that he was outside, breathing in fresh air, feeling warm sun on his skin. He faltered in what he was doing, because the sensations were staggering. Had it always felt this good? Allen's eyes fluttered shut because he was unfettered, utterly free. For this eternal moment, he was free with nature and the wind and the sea and the sun.
The moment was shattered when Allen was roughly grabbed from behind—and it was all too familiar, and it jerked him out of his reverie. The boy snarled animalistically at his attacker, snapping an elbow back into his captor's ribs. Allen wanted to curse and scream at his own weakness, for being frozen by something so mundane as the sun. He had this chance, this one chance, and he had wasted it.
Allen thrashed against Tyki's viselike grip, feeling the true struggle he was giving the man testing him. Monster versus monster. Right now, Tyki would win, but Allen was not as weak as he was a few days ago. He got free, briefly, and he took that opportunity to grab ahold of a rock. It cut his hand, and Allen knew that this was his moment. Allen plunged the rock towards his throat, hoping this was still vulnerable flesh.
Heavy weight tackled him, and the rock skittered away. The opportunity was gone, and Tyki had him back under control again.
"Noooooo!" Allen screamed, voice raw with frustration and desperation. Tyki was too heavy, too strong to leverage off of his back. And yet for all of this, he could not bring himself to hate his cousin, or want to cause him harm, even though Tyki was all that stood between him and escape. Allen screamed again. "Damn you! Damn you to Hell Tyki! I hate you! Let me go!"
"Allen, please calm down," Tyki begged him. "Please stop fighting us. Can't you see? Don't you see this is the right thing?"
"Never!" the boy spat, even though he could taste the lies on his own tongue. He saw Tyki's arm in sight and it was about the only thing he could reach with teeth. He lunged towards the limb, teeth piercing through shirt, breaking skin even beath. Viscous Noah blood soaked the shirt, into the boy's mouth and he let go viciously when Tyki muttered a swear. "I will never stop! I will fight until I die, and I need—"
The sea roared through the waves; a siren song through the medium of brine, calling to him. Seducing him. It sounded so beautiful…so beautiful.
Allen ceased all struggles just so he could listen to the call of the sea and his god, his mate. Tyki stared down at him hesitantly, but after a moment loosened his grip on the boy.
"Do you hear the sea calling you?" the man asked slowly. Allen's eyes were distant and glazed, the pupils dilated and dopey like he'd been drugged.
"Yes," Allen managed to say. IT was a struggled, because he felt like his processes had become molasses, but he could still speak. "He wants me, he's calling me to him…"
"He is calling you," Tyki confirmed. Carefully, the man gathered his cousin into his arms and hefted him up. Tyki grimaced at the blood soaking both of their clothes, but Allen was pliant, and he wasn't going to waste any time taking advantage of this sudden change of state. He carried him to where the sea meets the land, walking slowly, wearily, hopefully, as it seemed that this was too good to be true. But Allen did not resist. The God of the Sea was calling him. His God, his father, his lover.
You are mine.
I am yours.
"I am yours," Allen murmured, at last knowing all and finding comfort with the knowledge. As Tyki once said, In the water, we will find peace.
Neah, Sixteen years Ago
December 25th, XXXX, On the Water, Rhode Island
Mana held their son, besotted with the boy. He had dried the child off and wrapped him tightly in a towel to keep him snuggled and warm. Neah, conflicted as he was by this unexpected birth, could easily see that their child was very beautiful. He was pale like moonlight, from eye to hair to skin. He looked nothing like a Noah, even though he was probably the "purest" Noah of them all.
"He's a miracle," Mana said softly, eyes filled with awe as he cradled the newborn.
"He's an abomination," Neah said, though it was without heat. His body hurt and ached, and despite everything he was feeling, despite his certainty that a child born from two men could not be good or natural, he found it difficult to condemn the innocent young soul. Even knowing that the blood of a Noah flowed through the tiny veins, Neah stared at the little being that came out of his body, and felt no love, but felt the oddest need to protect his son/nephew from all the evils of the world. "You know what he is, don't you?"
Mana's face tightened. Apparently they were going to ignore the possibility. Neah was fine with that, as long as precautions were taken.
"He's the son of the sea god, the consort," Neah told him solemnly.
"That's just a story," Mana argued. Neah didn't have proof of anything, only a feeling, an inkling. But for now, he was willing to let reason take over from here. At the very least, this child was curse with the same afflictions as himself, and Mana. That was enough to deal with.
"Even if they weren't stories, we will do everything we can to stop it from happening, won't we?" Mana asked after a while. Neah didn't know what it would be like, bound to a cruel, monstrous deity for all eternity. Neah did not want that for this little boy.
"Even if I find proof all of this is real, I will protect this boy," Neah swore solemnly. He only half-believed, anyways, despite the proof of supernatural occurrences tonight. He would have to contemplate murdering a baby, after all, and he was determined not to be a monster. "What will we do with him? Give him up for adoption?"
Mana stared at him in surprise.
"we'll raise him, of course," his twin said firmly. Neah looked away, saying nothing. He kept his gaze fixated on the dark horizon. "Neah?"
"I can't be his parent," Neah said quietly. There was an awkward silence between the two brothers as the boar drifted towards the mainland.
"Will you at least pick a first name for him?" Mana asked. "I'll do all the rest, but…you should be the one to name him."
Neah turned around, and found the baby being offered to him. He reluctantly took the bundle, staring into the tiny, sleeping face. So perfect, so unassuming.
"Allen. His name is Allen."