Chapter 343 - The Body Politic part 1

It has always shamed me to be seen in a vulnerable state by my lovers, to be seen injured or sick or mentally incapacitated in some way. The culture I hailed from had no tradition of machismo, as the Spanish call it, but my father was a proud man and I suppose I inherited a bit of his pridefulness. You wouldn't think that a father's foibles could cling to a man's soul after thirty millennia, but they do. It seems we never completely divest ourselves of our parents' influence, whether it be good or bad, and that includes thirty thousand year old vampires. Thus it was with great chagrin that I, defeated and dismembered, was presented to my lover Zenzele.

Once we had met with Eris and Usus in the pass, it only took a couple of hours to get to Asharoth. Eris offered to bear my head to the Mother but Irema demurred, somewhat protectively, and since she was the one who had rescued me from the God King, who had conveyed me all the way from Fen'Dagher, Eris bowed in deference.

"Of course, the honor should be yours," the two-natured Eternal said. "I only thought to lighten your burden. You must be very tired."

"I am tired," Irema admitted with a sigh. "But it is only a little further now."

So it was in the company of Irema, Tapas, Vehnfear, Eris and Usus that I completed the journey.

Fortunately, they did not return my head to the bag until the very end, until they had to climb the mountain's sheer escarpments, so I was spared that little indignity. I was able to observe, from Irema's hands, as the great gray peaks drew ever nearer, swelling larger and larger in the eye until it was much too vast to absorb in a single glance.

The city, too, was vast.

I was amazed just how much Penthos had grown in my absence. It had become a sprawling conurbation, home of some ten thousand mortal men and women. Like the Shol, it was surrounded by a great stone wall, but where the walls of the Shol had been erected to hold the people captive, slaves of the terrible blood gods who ruled them, the walls of Penthos had been raised to protect its mortal citizens. Guards armed with spears and bows patrolled the wall walks, looking out rather than in, and thrusting from its battlements, jutting outwards against intruders, were clusters of sharpened stakes. These quill-like pickets had a singular purpose: skewer any blood gods who dared to breach the walls. The dwellings of Penthos were crude structures of stone and wood and sunbaked clay. Hastily erected, they were low and small and simple in construction. The city of Penthos had grown explosively as people fled there from the God King's Dominions, and the crudeness of its architecture, if you could even call it that, was a reflection of its rapid development. Yet it was a place of refuge, a sanctuary from the blood gods of Uroboros, and its people were energetic and happy.

Of course the city stank. It stank of human waste, as there was no such thing as plumbing in those days, and just the sheer number of human bodies packed into such a small area of land. It was overcrowded, and there was disease and poverty, but it did not smell nearly as bad as the Shol. The air of the Shol was an assault of blood and shit and rotting flesh. It was the smell of human despair. Penthos smelled like a very stinky pair of old tennis shoes, but the alternative was Uroboros, or a life of constant vigilance, always listening for the hoof beats of the God King's ruthless slavers.

Despite the overcrowding, the scarcity and lack of sanitation, Penthos was a marvel to behold. Diverse peoples had gathered to the city from all over the continent, cultures that might not otherwise have come into contact, and in their mixing a plethora of new things had arisen. Forest people from the south had mingled with the horsemen of the steppes, and of their mating a construction method known as wattle and daub was invented. Religious zealots called the Neem had converted a warrior society known as the Pruss, giving rise to an order of fierce fighting monks. New forms of music were given birth. New dress. New words. New forms of art as well. The walls of the city's dwellings were covered over with graffiti, and it seemed that each building was painted a different vivid color. Mortal society had leapt forward with the blending of these diverse cultures. Advances that might ordinarily have taken hundreds, if not thousands of years to develop in isolation had sprung from the mixing pot of Penthos with dizzying rapidity. As Irema carried me through the winding alleys of the city, I felt that I had been transported to an entirely new world. Everything was so strange and exciting and novel!

And the people--! Once word got out that I had been rescued from the God King, that even now I was being born through the streets of Penthos, my living head returned to my queen, they rushed out to see me. The crowds were so thick that Usus called for an escort to clear a path before us. Mortals reached out, hands trembling, so that their fingers might brush my face or trail across the flesh of one of the blood gods who had brought me back to the people. They cried out in wonder when they saw my eyes move or my eyelids blink or my lips curl into an appreciative smile. "It is the Father!" they cried. It seemed the masses spoke with a singular voice. "He has returned! The prophecy is true!" There were tears of joy in the eyes of many. They shouted and laughed and danced in celebration. It is an awesome thing to witness the fulfilling of prophecy, and that was what they believed they were seeing. Not its ultimate fulfillment, but the hope preserved. The promise reaffirmed.

We passed lodgings and stables, markets and shrines. Anything you can find in a modern city. Everything necessary to support such a large population had its analog in Penthos, primitive though it might have been. Torches lighted the avenues. There were torches everywhere. The air was redolent with the smell of burning pitch. There were brothels and gambling houses, public baths and garrisons. We wended our way through all of this as the crowd that accompanied us swelled larger and larger. And then we passed through the gates of a second interior wall and into the canton of Asharoth's immortal citizenry.

For their own safety, the mortals were barred from following us into the district of the blood drinkers. They tried to follow. They tried to squeeze through the narrow gates of the inner wall, but at Usus's command, the escort he had summoned fell behind us to secure the passage. The crowd pressed against them, reluctant to give up their parade, but Usus's guards were powerful immortals and would not let the boisterous crowd through.

Although some of the vampires in Asharoth were cave dwellers, like their counterparts in Uroboros, the majority made their homes at the base of the mountain, down on the ground with the mortals they coexisted with. Unlike the living, who built their homes up from the ground, Asharothian vampires made their dwellings beneath the earth, in crypt-like burrows. Our kind often built their homes in such a manner in ancient times. We did it to escape the sun, and for the added security when sleeping during the day. It is probably why we got the reputation as dead creeping things when we are in fact immortal beings. Because of that, the district of the blood drinkers looked strangely vacant, almost deserted, more like an open pasture than a residential area. There were a few aboveground buildings—some shrines, a couple large stables, a few baths and a forum—but most of the vampire district was underground. Low arches of white or gray stone, which were the lintels of their entranceways, marked their dwellings. These had the look of cemetery markers, another reason for our funereal reputation.

Like the dead rising from their graves, the immortals of Asharoth climbed from their vaults to see what all the fuss was about. They were not so great in number as the mortals who surrounded them, but when they realized I had been liberated from Uroboros, they encircled us just as excitedly as their mortal counterparts had done.

"It is true! He still lives!" they cried, their lambent eyes moon-like with surprise. "The Father has returned! Not even the God King can destroy him!"

You would not think they'd be so amazed, being vampires themselves, but a true immortal is a rare creature, and as superior to the average blood drinker as a blood drinker is to a mortal. I know that sounds terribly elitist—and I say this as a being that despises elitism, always has—but that is the truth of the matter. The fact that I had been torn apart, the pieces of my body scattered to the ends of the earth-- and lived on!-- astonished them to no less a degree than their mortal brethren.

I set upon my face a stoic expression, trying to appear dignified, but it was a strain to see the incredulity in their eyes, to know that I had been reduced to this. A pitiable freak. An object of curiosity. They were more reserved than their mortal neighbors had been, but several of them reached out to me, their fingers cold as ice. They caressed me as if I were some kind of holy relic rather than a living, thinking creature. Worse, I felt buffeted by their powerful vampire senses. I could feel them probing me, trying to figure out how I could still be alive. It was very disconcerting, like having strangers lift up the hem of your robes and have a look underneath.

Irema could sense that I was becoming distressed.

"It is just a little further, grandfather," she said.

I clenched my jaws and endured.

At the foot of the mountains, Irema paused to put me back in the sack. "I'm sorry, grandfather," she said. "I must do this to climb."

I blinked my eyes to show her that I understood, and she tucked my head into the rucksack and slid her arms into the straps once more.

She grunted and I felt us soar into the air. An instant later, I heard the slap of her palms against the sheer rock wall and then she was climbing. I rocked to and fro upon her back as she scaled the mountain, clinging to its surface like an insect. I could hear the others climbing beside us and the whistling of the wind. It was several long minutes before we reached the aerie, the cavern that I shared with Zenzele.

We went horizontal, then vertical again as Irema rose to her feet.

"Mother," she said.

"Is he here? Did you bring him to me?"

I thought I would weep at the sound of her voice. I squeezed my eyes shut and clamped down on my emotions. I could not help but be seen like this, defenseless and defeated, but I would not have her see me weep! I could not bear to lose her respect!

Irema unshouldered her backpack and pulled me from the inside. Our cave, my home, glided into view. Like a vision in a dream, Zenzele strode quickly across the chamber, her body lissome and beautiful, her skin as dark as obsidian stone. "Oh, my love," she said, and then she took me from Irema's hands.

She brought me up before her face, gazed fiercely into my eyes a moment, and then she put her mouth upon mine. "Oh my love," she said against my lips, over and over again, her dark eyes squeezed tightly shut, the angles of her face softened by… what? Not pity. Not her. Shared pain, perhaps? I suppose the closest word is empathy, although it seemed our sharing went so much deeper than that. "Oh my love… Oh my love…" she moaned, breathing into my mouth.

And then she held me away from her, and her features had gone hard.

"I told you what would happen," she said.

I laughed. I could not make the sounds of it, but my face went through the motions. I could not help myself. Had she ever, in tens of thousands of years, passed up an opportunity to say "I told you so?" Not to my knowledge. Certainly not with me.

Zenzele's eyes flashed as if she were reading my thoughts, and then she sighed in exasperation. She looked up and over me. "Eris," she said.

"Yes, Mother?"

"Have the body brought up."

"Yes, Mother."

Hurried movement behind me. I heard Eris scurry down the face of the mountain.

"Aioa is looking for the rest of your body," Zenzele said to me. "You knew her as a child. She and her sister joined us several moons ago. They claim to be your granddaughters, the offspring of your Blood Child Ilio. She is a blood drinker now, like her sister Irema. Aioa has a knack for finding things. She has recovered three pieces of your body so far. We believe there are two more, but we cannot wait for her to bring back the rest. I need you at my side now. We are going to join your head to Yul's body until we reclaim the rest. Do you remember Yul?"

Yes, I remembered Yul. He was an Uroboran Master. We took him prisoner during the last battle I participated in, just before I surrendered to the God King. Our warriors had taken him apart. Ripped off his arms and legs. We had planned to experiment on him. Discover some way to destroy an Eternal. Apparently Zenzele had decided to keep him alive after I left for Uroboros. She knew what would happen if I surrendered to the God King. She knew he would Divide me. She said as much before I left for Fen'Dagher. I knew he would, too, but what choice did I have? He was holding Ilio hostage, said he would destroy him if I did not surrender immediately. Of course, Khronos killed him anyway. My boy. Moments after his lackeys tore me to pieces. Zenzele had foreseen it all, and she had held Yul's body in reserve-- for this very moment! I could only gape at her, stunned by her foresight. Ancestors! Was the woman ever wrong?

"I do not know if this will work," she said. "We tried it once, just to see of it was possible. We tried it with my own head. I was able to join with his body. Take control of it with my thoughts." She touched her throat as she said this, scowling a little at the memory of the experience. I glanced down, looking for a scar, but the flesh of her throat was smooth and unmarked. Of course it would be. She was an Eternal, the same as me. The scars were in her eyes.

"It wasn't a pleasant experience, but it worked," she went on. "But you have been like this for so long, my love. Divided for two whole cycles of the seasons now. I do not know if you will have the strength. But we must try. I need you by my side. I need you to help me win this war."

She smiled at me, but I could see the weariness on her face. She looked older. Being an Eternal, she did not age, but she was underfed, exhausted, anxious, and her cares were etched into her features as by a crude hand, giving her the appearance that she had aged.

I remembered what Irema had said then, that the God King had been tormenting her in my absence. They shared a rare mutation-- the Eye, we called it-- the ability to project their thoughts out of their bodies, and that made Zenzele uniquely vulnerable to our enemy. I'm sure my beloved battled him valiantly, but Khronos was pitiless and unrelenting, and much more powerful.

"I will not lie to you, my love," Zenzele said. "It is painful. It is painful and disorienting. You will Share Yul's memories. You will not be sure who you are at first, but you must hold onto yourself. You must battle his will. He will try to usurp your identity, but you must assert your dominance, take control of his body."

She looked past me again. Eris had returned. He had returned with several other blood drinkers. They shuffled into our chambers, carrying Yul's headless body between them, two by the arms and two by the legs. The Eternal's limbs flopped bonelessly as they approached.

"Put it there on my bedding," Zenzele directed them, looking at the headless figure with distaste.

I rolled my eyes to the left as they trundled by with it, trying to examine the man's body more closely. He was shorter than I, more heavily built, and older when he was made an immortal. It could have been worse, I suppose. He might have been a giant like Tapas, or a spindly weakling. I imagined my head perched upon Tapas's gargantuan frame and chuckled, but it was a watery chuckle. This was all moving too quickly for me. It was dizzying, and I was a little fearful of the pain. I do not like pain. I never had.

Zenzele followed them into our sleeping chamber. There, sprawled out in the torchlight, looking very pale and unnatural, was my new body. The stub of his neck was raggedly torn. Amid the mangled tissue of his severed neck, the Eternal's living blood trickled restively, budding and then retreating like the shoots of some bizarre flower.

Searching for his head, I thought, curling my lips in disgust.

I tried to imagine what it would be like, joining with that foreign flesh. It would be strange to have a body again after being Divided for so long. To have arms and legs. A throat to give voice to my thoughts. A cock to make love to my woman. Strange as it might sound, I had gotten used to being a disembodied head. Don't misunderstand. I was excited at the prospect of having a body again, but it was also frightening. And what if it didn't work? Zenzele was right. I had been like this for so long. What if my head did not join with his body? What if I did not have the strength to seize control of it?

"Are you ready, my love?" Zenzele asked.

Yes, I thought.

No.

I did not know.

She smiled. I suppose she saw the doubt in my eyes.

"Don't be a baby," she said.