CHAPTER 11

 TIME PASSED. During the 14th Century, Europe was devastated by the plague. Many believed it began in Kaffa, a small town on the Crimean Coast. Soon it spread through Italy and France.

Ramus was in his glory, feasting on the healthy and finding humor when the locals blamed the deaths on the plague. Obsessed by his addiction, he captured flea-infested rats and transported them from town to town, ensuring the plague would continue to wreak havoc, thus providing him with an unlimited source of food and amusement.

It was in a small nameless village in France that he again crossed paths with Elil and Inanna. Ekimmu no longer traveled with her parents. Ramus didn’t know where she was but knew in time, she would return to her family. Gebians needed that contact. It was in their blood.

Years might pass before a reunion, but inevitably, the blooded would find one another and renew their ties. When family members no longer existed, the last of the blood line led solitary lives, unless they were fortunate enough to find a life partner or temporary companion.

Ramus had partnered with a few women and men through the centuries, but none lasted longer than a couple of years. Eventually, they fell victim to his rage and bloodlust. Time had not tempered his desire for revenge. France finally gave him that opportunity.

The plague had wiped out several townships, leaving only Verdeau untouched. Word spread that the village was protected by gods. Soon, the survivors flocked into Verdeau hoping to be saved or protected. When Ramus heard that the so-called gods were Inanna and Elil, he was furious. Memories of their last meeting were still fresh in his mind.

Within three weeks, eighty-three villagers contracted the plague. All were close to the two Gebians. The whispers began, born from the seeds of distrust that Ramus had planted in a few villagers’ minds. Gleefully, he receded into the darkness and waited for the inevitable. Humans were so predictable.

“I tell you, they brung this on us,” Franco declared, looking around fearfully.

“Hush. Someone will hear you,” Phillipe said nervously.

“But he’s right. We had no problems here. Then they showed up and our people is dyin’. What other reason could there be?” Raoul asked after eavesdropping on the conversation.

“Yes, Phillipe. You tell us that,” Franco said.

“I did na say I disagrees, but they have friends. If what you says is true and someone heared us, we are dead men.”

Overhearing the conversation, Ramus smirked. How simple-minded humans were, he thought. A few more killings and the people were sure to rise up against their “saviors.” Within a week, they did.

 

*  *  *

The day was hot. The sun beat heavily upon the earth, scorching the crops and driving the living into the shelters of their homes. The air stank of decay as the bodies of eight missing children were discovered buried under a haystack near the edge of the village.

Wails of agony from mourning parents filled the air, causing the people to come out of their shelters into the sweltering heat. Tempers ran high as Franco worked the people into a frenzy with his suspicions.

Everyone knew Elil and Inanna slept during the hotter hours of the day.

“It’s time, my friends, while they is sleepin’. These are not gods. Gods do na sleep. They is demons come to feed on our peoples. We must kill them before they destroys us,” he shouted, his voice raw from yelling over the sounds of the wailing families.

“Yes, yes,” another piped in. “Let’s do it now. It’s the only way to saves ourselves and our children.”

The men of the village nodded in agreement.

“Are you sure it’s them?” a young mother asked. “Perhaps it’s something else. We must be sure, Franco.”

“Go home, Jolie. This is men’s work.”

“You would do well to listen to her,” an ancient voice advised.

Looking around, the villagers parted as a stooped elderly woman leaning heavily on a cane limped slowly toward the gathering. Several of the men stepped away from her as she passed, each crossing their chests superstitiously. The woman smirked but said nothing until she stepped in front of Franco.

“They aren’t the cause of your misfortunes, Franco.”

“What do you knowed, old woman?” He straightened slightly in an effort to intimidate her.

“More than you’ll ever know in a thousand lifetimes. Mark my words. If you carry out your plans, your village is doomed. They stand between you and this darkness,” she warned.

“Bah. Go away. Ignore her. She’s old and witless.” He pushed her aside. Stumbling, she would have fallen if Jolie hadn’t stepped forward to catch her.

“Franco, this is wrong,” Jolie said. “Let’s talk to them. At least give them a chance to defend themselves.”

“Like they gives us? No. I say we kill them. Who’s with me?”

Fearing they would look weak, several villagers joined the troublemakers. Picking up pitchforks and shovels, they moved toward the home of Inanna and Elil.

“Can we not stop them?” Jolie cried. “Is there no one willing to save them?” She looked at the remaining villagers who had stayed behind. Shaking their heads, they slowly moved away, not wanting to get involved.

“They fear the unknown,” the old woman said sadly. “It will be the undoing of everyone who remains here. Take your children and leave quickly, Jolie. This village dies with Inanna and Elil.”

“But we could at least warn them. Perhaps if we hurry, we can get there before the men and reason with them.”

“You can’t reason with fear. They’ll kill you and anyone else who interferes. This is their destiny, child. The gods have their reasons for everything. Go! Gather your children and what little you can carry. Bring anyone who is willing to listen. We must leave this place by nightfall.”

“But where can we go? I have no family, no relatives.”

“Far away. To the west and over the mountains. It will be long and hard, but you can make it. I will show you the way.”

“Are you able to make such a journey, Constancia? I can have a litter made to carry you.”

Smiling, the old women nodded. “There’s no need for that. I’m stronger than I look. All who follow me will be safe. Now go quickly. There’s no more time for talk.”

Constancia wished she could have saved her queen and consort but was wise enough to accept the inevitable. Elil and Inanna would not have wanted her to sacrifice herself for a hopeless cause. It was better to have their deaths recorded than to just disappear into unmarked graves forever forgotten.

 

*  *  *

Elil and Inanna were asleep, exhausted from their nightly search for the killer. They suspected Ramus was behind the deaths but were unable to locate him. Arms wrapped tightly around each other in a lover’s embrace, they were unaware of the villagers gathering outside of their home or the men stealing quietly into their bedroom.

Franco struck the first blow. The more cowardly stood back and watched. Spurred by his leader’s courage, Phillipe attacked the sleeping woman, thrusting his pitchfork deep into her chest and twisting it visciously. Shocked awake from the burning pain, the lovers released their hold on each other.

Elil, the first to be attacked, yanked the pitchfork from his side and tossed it angrily on the floor. Tenderly, he removed the other fork from Inanna’s body and threw it at a villager. Shielding Inanna with his own body, he faced his attackers, his face a strange mixture of pain, confusion, and anger.

“Kill them!” Franco yelled, shoving a farmer forward in front of him. “Before they works their evil. Kill them fast!”

The others pressed forward more terrified than ever. If the two were demons, they would surely destroy all of them if given the chance.

Outnumbered, Elil could do nothing to help Inanna. Although he knew she had died instantly from the initial assault, he didn’t want her beautiful body or face mutilated further. Angrily, he surged upward, grabbing Franco by his shirt and used him as a shield.

“Why?” he demanded, tears of rage and sorrow streaming down his cheeks. “Why have you done this?”

“You kilt our people and you asks this?” Franco asked, fearful that the wounded man would vent his wrath on him first. “We knowed you and the woman is behind these killings.”

“We killed no one,” Elil hissed, shaking his head and glancing at his wife’s lifeless body. “She was all goodness. She loved you as a mother would her children. She helped your families when they were ill or injured. You, Franco! Your daughter was bitten by a dog with the sickness. Did she not save her life? And you, Eduardo! Your mother was crippled from painful joints. Inanna gave her medicine to ease the pain. Your wives and sons and daughters benefited from her generosity. This is how you repaid her?” He shoved Franco away.

Some of the villagers began to have doubts. They stepped back, each looking at the others for direction. No one said a word. Growing fear increased their uncertainty.

“She was your only hope and my life. Now you have killed her,” Elil accused sadly, turning to Franco. “Finish the job. Kill me now.”

Hesitantly, Franco turned to look at the rest for support. There was none.

Leaning down, Elil picked up the pitchfork he had tossed away and held it out toward Franco.

“Why do you hesitate? Are you such a coward you can’t complete the task? You were brave enough to sneak into our bedchamber as we slept. Surely, you are brave enough to kill me now.” He pushed the implement against the other man’s chest. “Take it! I won’t resist. I go to join my beloved. You destroyed my reason for living. The least you can do is finish the job.”

Franco took the pitchfork hesitantly, his hand shaking, but made no attempt to attack Elil. Disgusted, Elil turned to glare at the others. The villagers retreated slightly, fearing retribution.

“I see,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “Now I must finish what you began. So be it.”

Standing, he stepped toward Franco. Frightened, Franco raised the pitchfork. The stench of urine and the stain spreading down his leg betrayed his terror. Elil smiled slightly, pressing his chest against the sharp tines. Reaching out, he grabbed Franco’s right hand, which was tightly wrapped around the handle.

“You will bury us together deep within the earth by the river near the old oak tree\. It will not atone for your sins nor save you from your fate, but it is the least you can do for us.”

Franco nodded nervously, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Good.”

Before Franco could react, Elil pulled sharply on the fork, forcing the three points deep into his chest. A slight grimace was the only sign of pain he showed as he sank slowly onto the bed, causing Franco to lose his balance. Falling forward, Franco felt the pitchfork push farther into the wounded man’s body.

Shaken, he leapt to his feet and yanked the fork out, dropping it to the floor. Elil gathered his wife to his chest and looked one more time at his killer.

“Thank you, Franco. My Inanna would have forgiven you for this. Unfortunately, our gods are not as understanding. They will demand a price for your betrayal. Now go and prepare our funeral. You haven’t much time.” Elil closed his eyes and pressed his cheek to Inanna’s and died.

“What have we done?” a terrified villager asked.

“What did he mean?” another whispered, fear making his voice quiver.

“I do na know,” Franco replied, looking at his hands for signs of blood. Surely, there would be blood, he thought. “They seem asleep,” he muttered, looking at their lifeless bodies. “Hurry! We must do as he telled us. Tell the women to wrap and prepare their bodies.”

 

*  *  *

Hours later, a procession of villagers carried Elil and Inanna to the large grave they had dug near the river. Flowers covered their bodies as they were gently lowered into the earth, each embracing the other in death as they had in life.

The terrified villagers prayed for forgiveness, unaware of the small group of people leaving the village taking only what they could carry on their backs. A chilling laughter sent a shiver down the spines of those left behind. They knew their hopes faded with each shovelful of dirt falling on the bodies lying peacefully in the ground. In killing their saviors, they had released the very demon they feared. Within a few weeks, everyone was dead.

 

*  *  *

A month after the funeral, a dark-skinned woman arrived in the village shortly after sunset. Ignoring the swollen maggot-infested bodies scattered along the abandoned streets, she walked straight to the gravesite of the two lovers. Kneeling, she placed her palm on the mound, bent her head, and silently cried. Afterward, she walked away, leaving the stench of death and the bloated human bodies behind, a final reminder of the tragedy.

Alone for the first time in her life, with no answer as to how her parents had died, Ekimmu felt empty. She was the last of her bloodline and Isis, their goddess.

Ramus watched from the shadows, smiling smugly. Revenge was indeed sweet. He would eventually discover that even it grew bitter with time. The loss of Inanna and her chosen would bring his race to the brink of destruction. Without leaders, there were few to enforce the laws or keep the traditions and history alive. Existence became their priority. Only a handful understood it was dependent on keeping true to the old ways.

Ramus had little interest in the decline of his own people. For centuries, he continued his path of destruction across the continents. Periodically, plagues sprang up, only to mysteriously vanish. Measles, smallpox, and influenza pandemics wiped out millions in the Old World, then were carried to the New World in the late 1400s. Unexplained ebola outbreaks in the Sudan, the Ivory Coast, and Zaire occurred as recently as the late 1990s.

Ramus took great pleasure experimenting on the humans. Each new disease reconfirmed his belief in his superiority over them. His greatest achievement, though, was the transference of HIV from a small colony of monkeys to some male villagers in a tribe living in Africa. After discovering the virus, it was easy for him to ingest the infected blood from a few captured animals, knowing his own metabolism could resist it. He then transfused it into several human victims, then released them relatively unharmed. It was only a matter of time before the disease spread.

Even Ramus couldn’t have foretold the enormity of his actions nor did he take much satisfaction in the final results. Gebians wanted pure, untainted blood. HIV spread across the land and seas unencumbered. Between the old diseases and the new ones, it became difficult for his people to feed without arousing the suspicions of the humans. Many, thought to be vampires by the superstitious, were hunted and killed; others were incarcerated as deviants or perverts.

Imprisonment was a death sentence. Ramus had counted on human scientists to discover a cure within a few decades. Instead, it was more than twenty years before they were able to even identify the disease. When religious fanatics labeled the epidemic an act of god to punish the gays and immoral, he realized it would be a long time before a vaccine was discovered.

 

*  *  *

Over the centuries, Ramus would occasionally find one of his own people. Rarely did he seek their company. He knew many held him responsible for the decline in their numbers. When he saw Constancia Loh Rehn, he was stunned to learn that she still lived. His last memory was of her leading a small group of villagers from a long forgotten village. He believed she had died more than a hundred years before.

In truth, he was relieved to find her alive and well. Of all his people, Om Loh Rehn was the only person he respected. She was the last of the ancients, far older than him, and the sole guardian of their history. For all his faults, even Ramus didn’t wish for the extinction of his race. It was, after all, forever. And the Om was a meticulous historian.

Feeling the urge to feed, Ramus’s thoughts turned to Dakota Devereaux. Something about her intrigued the Om, otherwise she wouldn’t have entrusted the journalist with one of the sacred manuscripts. They told the entire history of the Gebians. Giving them to another meant only one thing. The Om was dying and needed an heir, but choosing an outsider was unthinkable. Ramus needed to know what made this woman so special.

For now, though, a nice young human male or female would satisfy his immediate needs. Perhaps he would be generous and let his victim live, he thought, feeling magnanimous.

 

*  *  *

Strolling toward the edge of town, Ramus noticed a handsome dark-haired male standing in the shadows of an alley. Ramus estimated his age at eighteen or nineteen. It was obvious he was waiting for someone, maybe a lover or perhaps just preying on one of his own. Either way, he would find neither. Gliding slowly toward the shadowed figure, Ramus smiled when the young man turned to watch him approaching. Stepping into the darkness, Ramus focused on the honey brown eyes staring back at him.

He is a predator, Ramus thought, amused at the irony. “Good evening.”

A slight nod was the only acknowledgment that he had been heard.

“Perhaps you will accompany me. I have use of your services,” Ramus offered.

“I’m no she’chorne to suck your kori,” the teen growled, grabbing his crotch to emphasize his meaning.

“You misjudge me, tanar baiat. I merely wish to hire you as a guide. I’m new to your town. Of course I’ll pay you for your time.” Ramus took out his wallet and removed several large bills.

The young man’s eyes narrowed greedily. Glancing up at the stranger’s face, he smiled. “What do you wish to see, domn?” he asked, wiping his palms on his thighs.

Ramus handed him the bills and shrugged nonchalantly. “Perhaps tonight we’ll just walk and talk. You can tell me what I should see, then we can meet tomorrow. How does that sound?”

“Cu siguranta, domn. Lead the way.”

Ramus smiled, turned, and walked toward the small church at the edge of the town. “What shall I call you?” he asked without looking back.

“Valeriu.”

“An unusual name, Valeriu. I believe it means strong, does it not?”

“Yes, and what’s your name?”

“Ramus.”

“Ramus. It’s not Rumanian. Does it mean anything?”

“I’m sure it does. What do you do? A handsome tanar om such as you must have many tanaras chasing after you.”

“Cu sigaranta. I am much desired by the ladies,” the young man boasted. “I can have any woman I want.”

“I see. You must be very good with them then.”

“They don’t complain.”

Ramus laughed softly. The night was late and the shadows long between the church and the forests bordering it.

“You laugh?”

“Not at you. You remind me of myself in a way. I too receive no complaints.”

Valeriu snorted, thinking his “employer’ probably fucked old women or young boys as long as he paid them enough. Unfortunately, he didn’t notice Ramus stiffen, nor the narrowing of his eyes as he glanced in the young man’s direction.

“I see you doubt my appeal.”

“Oh, no,” Valeriu lied. “I can see you have... umm... how would you say it? Machismo?”

Ramus laughed. “I would never use that word to describe myself. Tell me, Valeriu, do you believe in god?”

“Pffft. Why should I? I see nothing of him around here.” He spread his arms to signal his surroundings. “Do you?”

“Maybe you haven’t looked close enough.”

“A waste of time. I leave god to you old people.”

“I’m trying to be patient with you, my young friend, but it seems you lack manners, something I will promptly correct.”

Realizing he had gone too far, Valeriu gave Ramus a childish grin. “I meant no disrespect. I am young and reckless, as you can see.”

“And a fool! Come here,” Ramus ordered. “I will teach you respect and show you god.”

Valeriu frowned, looking around suspiciously. “Where?”

Stepping close to him, Ramus grabbed his upper arms and jerked him forward. “Here,” he growled, baring his teeth.

Valeriu pushed against the taller man’s chest, trying to break the painful grip. When he realized Ramus was stronger, he kicked at his captor, trying to knee him in the groin. Ramus chuckled, bending his head and sniffing.

“Mmm. What’s this I smell? Fear? Of an old man? You disappoint me. Where is the bravado you had only minutes ago? Do you feel your heart pounding? I can hear it.” Ramus laughed, placing a hand on the young man’s chest. “Perhaps if you pray,” he suggested, smirking.

“Please, let me go. I meant no harm.” God help me, he prayed. He’s a vampire!

Ramus’s laughter grew louder but held no humor. It sent a chill down the boy’s spine. “Vampire?  Don’t insult me! You humans are superstitious fools. Do I look like the undead?” he growled, angered at being compared to the hideous creatures doomed to wander eternity as brainless feeding machines. “I’m no more a vampire than you.”

Valeriu felt a sense of relief. Perhaps the stranger just wanted to teach him a lesson. If he asked politely... “I’m sorry. I meant no insult. Please let me go. I’ll do anything you want.”

Ramus cocked his head and stared at the panic-stricken face. Finally, he smiled. “Certainly. All you had to do was ask— but first a little remembrance. I wouldn’t want you to forget me.”

Bending his head slowly, he sank his teeth into his victim’s neck, puncturing the muscles and vein. Drawing the warm fluid into his mouth, he swallowed several times. Valeriu’s struggles weakened until eventually he slumped limply against his captor’s chest. His last conscious thought was that he was dying.

Ramus lowered the body to the ground. That night, he wasn’t in a mood to play or kill.

Seeing Om Loh Rehn with Dakota nagged at him. Giving an outsider the sacred books was forbidden. It was their primary edict, tantamount to treason. Only the queen or her chosen had the power. That there were now no leaders was of no consequence. The old woman was desperate if she was looking for a new guardian, especially if she was considering a human female.

For the first time, Ramus wondered if he had carried his thirst for revenge too far. It was one thing to destroy a few lives, but if his anger set in motion the destruction of his race, that was a different matter. It was a thought he preferred not to dwell on.

Tilting his head sideways, he looked down at Valeriu and nudged the body with his toe. Satisfied the human was still alive and wouldn’t remember much of anything, he laughed loudly.

“Here’s a gift for you, Ms. Devereaux,” he murmured, walking into the darkness. “Tonight I’m feeling generous.”