Playing God

Not all movement signals change. Nonetheless we were trying to change the game with the cards we were dealt. The coven operated under same pretenses it had with Marcus, only now for a supposedly higher purpose.

Ngozi remained conflicted about me and my dealings, new developments not withstanding. She had bonded with Winston in a moment of extreme grief, they had both been made to suffer because of my kind…because of me and now he too had become someone else, something else.

Louis returned to join our new order, and it felt good having another pair of eyes and ears I could trust. Their initial assignment to look after Ngozi and her child in the United States had long ended and so Elizabeth stayed behind and he had returned to, in some ways, look after me.

It was strange being led by the youngest among us, but none of us really wanted the job that Winston had so willingly accepted. If there was a hierarchy to our coven, Winston was at the head, followed by myself, Louis and a young, beautiful soucouyant named Katherine who had proven herself to Winston.

There is always a temptation with beings of higher ability and intelligence to be so seduced by their own power that they begin to take more credit than they should for life and death. A dangerous precedent to be sure. Looking back on our beginnings, which in many ways had the noblest of intentions, I wish now that we paid more attention to the liberties that we were taking with the beings that we considered weaker than ourselves and the lives we decided were ours to judge and take. We had started down a road that many before had taken and which almost always ended in the death of innocents…

The King is Dead…

This thing, this virus that infects our blood, that becomes our blood, affects each of us differently. Some are too weak to be turned. Our blood overwhelms them and they ultimately die a mortal death never to be re-born in this manner…More likely though, their resistance to this affliction is a sign of strength and their one death something purer than anything most of us could hope for.

This dark seducing power is difficult to resist and harder still to manage. I struggle to say that I am any better than those who fully embrace what they have become. Sure I try to live by a different code, but I am no different a monster. After long periods of resistance I invariably give into the thirst and feed on those I deem deserving of such an undignified end.

I know I am no different a monster because I continue to infect the lives of those I envy. I try to convince myself that this concern for their well being comes from genuine feelings of love, but this emotion is as distant as my own mortality. Certainly I have memories, but they belong to a different time, a different man.

I know I am a monster because when I look at Winston I no longer see the wondrous imperfections that made him interesting and beautiful. Between his lust for revenge and the effects of my blood there was no longer space for that man, so he became another, bearing little resemblance to his former self. Still, if he no longer cared about the things that concerned him as a mortal, he still appeared motivated by them.

He had not only defeated Marcus, he replaced him. It was an outcome no one expected. He was suddenly the head of a large group of highly efficient, loyal soucouyants, which prompted many questions. Can we co-exist with mortals, live by some pre-determined rules where we prey on only the most sinister elements of mankind…those most deserving? Murders, rapists, pedophiles, abusers, do we dare to formalize our existence? Use our Godlike abilities for a different end? This is what Winston saw as the future for this coven. Winston who now found a way, it seemed, to live with his abilities beyond cold, steady, revenge. And I who desperately needed to believe in a higher purpose for my existence listened. This was not about our place of privilege on the food chain; this was about removing those who preyed on the weak. Ironically, who would be better qualified than us? We could of used our newfound loyalty to put an end to the coven, and even ourselves, but then what? Weren’t there more of us out there waiting to ascend to this position with even more opaque agendas?

 Beyond my own questions I was uncertain that I could trust my creation, but I felt optimistic about our agenda, if I felt anything at all. Winston’s leadership represented change that did engender some sense of emotion in me, a feeling that we could attempt to turn this dark gift on its head and use it towards different ends. Marcus was no more and this I conceded, must be a good thing. The King is dead, long live the King…

Ascendency

Like Marcus, I too was tired. Perhaps more than he could hope to understand, because I had been uneasy with my abilities even before he was made in a similar image.

I had done all I could and running didn’t seem to be an option. Ngozi was tired as well, of an existence so near death. The effects of her refusal to feed the need my blood demanded. She had made her peace and as uneasy as I was with her decision I had to respect it. If what I felt for her was love, and not just some misplaced responsibility, then I had to respect her and her wish to die if that was her fate. Her own unyielding faith had brought her this peace and, in some ways, to this end. I was inspired by her belief in life; just I was confounded by her faith in me.

I envied Winston as well. He had transformed, right before my eyes, in a way contrary to Ngozi because he saw the acceptance of my blood as a means to an end. I had given him the tools to exact a measure of vengeance from those who took his family from him, but he did expect that the war would take this second life from him, before he ever had to face what he had become. It was enough to get him through, enough he rationalized, to get him to a more acceptable end.

As our threesome made our way to Marcus’ lair, high in the hills, I tried to determine if I was tired enough to be resigned to whatever my ‘fate’ was. Would that give me the peace I so desperately sought? 

It was a surprisingly pleasant walk through the trees and brush, only Ngozi’s deeply drawn breath served as an immediate reminder of our predicament. It was clear what had caused her near gasp. Marcus was standing before us flanked on either side by four of his coven. He looked regal. Dressed in a black shirt and slacks, partly covered by a black cape lined by red fabric, draped around his shoulders. The imagery was as strong as the message. We were here for a public execution. He would remove all doubt and re-establish order with our deaths…our ends, and it would all happen on his terms, by his design.

His lips parted but instead of the flowery language that I was sure would precede our last rites he made an unusual, almost gagging sound. There was a trickle of blood down the right corner of his mouth and his head tilted in this direction until, unexplainably, it fell off. As it hit the forest floor with a sickening thud, time seemed to slow down. What happened?

When I noticed Marcus before us I felt a breeze no different from the wind that greeted us on our walk, but it was. Winston, moving with the wind, had removed both blades he carried (local machetes called cutlass’ filed to a razor edge) and with the blades facing out and his hands crossed, had stepped behind Marcus and extended his arms. His body was still falling as his charges pieced the events together, but by then it was too late. Winston had not ceased moving and now I was on the move as well.

I caught Ngozi before her knees gave out from the shock or thirst provoked by the sudden bloodshed. As she sobbed quietly into my chest something else was happening. Nearly a hundred of Marcus’ coven surrounded us, but they were no longer threatening. They were on their knees. With the blood of their brothers still fresh on our blades they, it seemed, had chosen another to lead them and Winston seemed undisturbed by his sudden ascendency…

Consequence

Two short weeks. This was all the time required to shift the balance in our world and Winston was the holding sway over the pendulum. Fourteen days. This can seem like seconds in our protracted existence and may account for the distance between what my young apprentice was doing to Marcus’ coven and the consequences for these actions. I knew however, that this apparent lapse judgment would be addressed presently.

As Winston’s maker I was responsible for him and his instruction, for a time, but he had exceeded both my direction and expectations. It may seem counter intuitive to suggest that someone who is not quite alive harbors a death wish. But is it odd for a harbinger of death to be obsessed with it? In any event Winston was unconcerned with a second death. When I expressed my concern for his ‘second life’ he simply stated. “How many times can they kill me Nicholas? How many deaths can I truly suffer?” I felt that he already understood that there were things far worse than a simple death.

He had one goal, to destroy as many of Marcus’ clan as possible. What’s more is that he fully expected, and was actively courting, the reckoning that was the certain end to his efforts.

Marcus was tired of my ambivalence towards him and our kind and beyond incensed by the bold actions of my underling. He had no problems now thinking himself the rightfully leader of all soucouyants on the island. Which is why when we were delivered a hand written note to meet with Marcus the tone was more demand than request. Expected. He would see us all tonight. He expected us there period, and there was no need to guess at the consequence if we didn’t comply. Our move. The fight that Winston took to them had finally made its way back to us and I was prepared for the battle and more loss…