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…