Sonja Blue - Paint It Black Part 21

There was a thick, bubbling sound from the direction of the pool. Morgan glanced up in time to see the waters first turn red as blood, then black as ink. The koi bobbed to the surface, their gill slits straining as they gasped their last. The middle of the pool was aboil, as if an underwater geyser was about to erupt.

A female figure emerged from the heart of the pool, rising on the befouled water like Aphrodite from the foam. Her skin was black as polished night, her dark hair thick and wild, like the mane of a lion. Her teeth were white as pearl and curved into fearsome fangs and her tongue was long and narrow, like that of a cat. She had four arms and in each hand she gripped an instrument of destruction: a s.h.i.+eld, a sword, a noose, and a submachine gun. Around her neck was a garland of skulls and about her hips she wore a girdle of severed hands. When she turned her head, Morgan could see three other faces: one was that of a virgin, the second that of a blue-skinned hag, and third was Sonja's.

The black-skinned demoness nodded to Morgan as if acknowledging a debt. When she spoke, all four of her faces chimed in. 'I thank you, father, for recreating me anew. Before I was separate and unequal. Now I am whole.'

Morgan wasn't sure what to make of the black-skinned demon-G.o.ddess that stood before him. Was she one of Sonja's tricks?

'Who are you? What are you doing with Sonja's face?

As if in answer the black-skinned demon-G.o.ddess brought her blade against the s.h.i.+eld, making it ring like a gong. Morgan cried out and clutched his ears.

'Don't you know me, father? I am your death.'

The demoness laughed then, her mult.i.tude of voices filling Morgan's skull. He watched, awestruck, as she began to grow, until she towered over him like a building.

'I am the Dark One! I am the Queen of Nightmares made fles.h.!.+ And you made me, sweet father, as all children are made: out of ignorance and appet.i.te. I am your daughter, Lord of the Morning Star, and your executioner.'

Panicking, Morgan's imago cast aside its human form in favor of something more suitable for battle. His skin became mottled and scaly as his head widened and flattened itself. His arms and legs were rapidly absorbed by his torso as his body first doubled, then quadrupled in size and length, until he was the size of a city bus. Hissing his defiance, Morgan flared his hood and rose to challenge his enemy.

The demon-G.o.ddess laughed and began to dance, her four arms weaving in rhythmic patterns. Morgan reared back and spat a stream of venom at her eyes, but she blocked it with her s.h.i.+eld.

'There is no denying me, sweet father,' she chided 'I am the Slayer of the Dead.'

Morgan struck again, hoping to plunge his fangs into the demoness's naked thigh, but she moved too fast, slipping her noose about his neck and yanking it tight. Morgan hissed and flailed, his body las.h.i.+ng back and forth like a builwhip.

'I have been a long time being born, sweet father,' the voices chorused 'And birthing is hungry work. I would feed now.'

The demoness carefully laid aside her weapons while keeping a firm grip on the head of the giant cobra. Morgan shrieked and hissed and struggled with all his might, but there was no escaping the noose. The dark-skinned destroyer licked her lips with her long red tongue, her eyes gleaming like polished skulls, and sank her fangs into the back of her captive's neck with a satisfying crunch.

Any who might have seen them then would have mistaken them for lovers, locked in a pa.s.sionate embrace. And, on some level, that was the truth. But if they looked closer, they would see the crackling sheath of purple-black energy that pulsed around the couple like St Elmo's fire, and how the aura surrounding Morgan was beginning to stutter and pale, while Sonja's pulsed like a drum.

Sonja opened her eyes and found herself staring into the face of a dead thing. The illusion of life that Morgan had maintained for so many centuries had finally failed him. His skin was the color and texture of parchment. His once-dark hair was now white and patchy, like a dog with mange. His flesh had melted from his bones, leaving him little more than a dry husk, a pitiful scarecrow outfitted with fangs. Although he looked like an ancient pharaoh, his eyes still burned with stolen life.

'Enough,' he wheezed 'Please--'

'No,' she answered, her voice that of the black-skinned demon-G.o.ddess. 'More. I need more. Give me the chimera.

Give me your love.'

Morgan raised a stick-like arm in a feeble attempt to stay her, but it did no good. Undeterred, Sonja sank her fangs into what was left of his throat. The vampire lord shrieked as a dark fire burst from his eyes and ears, his brain spontaneously combusting. Sonja continued to feed, oblivious to how Morgan's limbs withered and drew in on themselves disappearing into sleeves and pant legs. Only when there was no more to drain did she let him drop.

What was left of Morgan lay at her feet, surrounded by a mound of clothes. It looked something like a cross between a pickled monkey and a petrified fetus, the discolored skin pulled tight over brittle bones. Even though she had drained it of seven hundred and fifty-three years of stolen energy, the creature still clung to the pretense of life. It lifted its oversized head on its feeble stalk of a neck and looked around with blind eyes, its dry bones rattling like the limbs of a marionette.

'Forgive me,'it piped.

She brought her boot heel down on its skull, shattering it like a light-bulb, and stepped over the pathetic remains of the thing that had created her and climbed onto the ledge of the observation deck. Her hands seethed with a black fire laced with tongues of crimson. The energy she had stolen from Morgan coursed through her veins, filling her with euphoria.

Her body vibrated like a tuning fork, juiced on the ultimate high - the life-force stolen from the undead. Morgan's power surged through her body, amplified by the negative energy that hung over the city like a pall of smoke. She reached out and pulled the madness that had shaken the city back into herself. The wind was so strong now that the television tower groaned to itself like an old man. She grinned and stretched her arms upward, as if to embrace the stars. And she stepped off the ledge into empty air.

She called the winds to her and they came, bearing her aloft as if she was a leaf. She giggled in delight, like a child on a roller coaster, and opened her arms wide, spiraling high into the night sky. She sped along, oblivious to the dazed and frightened populace trembling naked and bleeding in the streets below her. Those forced from their homes by fire found themselves gathering in the open parks, waiting the arrival of the sun. Those who dared look up saw the silhouette of a woman streak across the sky, then quickly looked away.

Sonja shot upward, higher than the tallest buildings, like a sky diver in reverse. She was so jazzed on the energy pulsing through her she didn't care where she was going or who saw her. After years of ignorance and fear, she now knew the truth. She knew who she was. What she was. Tonight the last step in her creation had been reached. Her evolution was complete. She was The Angry One. The Shatterer. She Who Cannot Be Turned Aside. She was the Ultimate Predator: the vampire who feeds on vampires.

The Nightmare Queen began to sing its victory song, banging its sword on its s.h.i.+eld as it danced on the body of its defeated foe. The faster she danced, the more intense the black fire surrounding Sonja's flesh became. Her ears were filled with the sound of drums and the clas.h.i.+ng of swords and the ringing of bells. Flush with victory and the exhilaration of birth, the newborn Destroyer touched down atop the World Trade Center and roared a challenge to the world.

Deep within the bowels of the Black Grotto, Lady Nuit froze, the scalpel she'd been using to flay a stock a.n.a.lyst from Connecticut falling from her fingers and sticking, point-first, into the floor. The human chandeliers began to moan again.

'Shut those d.a.m.ned fools up!' Nuit snarled, her voice dipping lower as Luxor's features and testes slid from their hiding place. 'I just got them to quiet down! I've had enough of their complaining tonight!'

'Yes, milord,' said Jen, smiling behind his hand. 'I'll see to it immediately.'

The buzz wore off while she was out over the Atlantic Ocean.

One minute she was filled with enough energy to pulverize continents, the next she was riding on fumes. The first thought that ran through her mind was: Wow, wotta rus.h.!.+

The second was: What the f.u.c.k--? I can't fly!

She plummeted from the sky like Wile E. Coyote suddenly realizing he'd run out of cliff, falling a hundred feet before hitting the water. She couldn't even see the land.

Six hours later, a beachcomber on Coney Island stared in amazement as a woman clothed in a leather jacket, jeans and boots staggered out of the surf, a length of seaweed wrapped around her neck like a Hawaiian lei. Before he could react to the strange sight, a man appeared from out of nowhere and threw a blanket over her, hurrying her off the beach.

Part 3.

When the Dead Return.

'From feiryland she must have come Or else she is a mermaiden,'

Some said she was a ghoul, and some A heathen G.o.ddess born again.

John Davidson, 'A Ballad of a Nun'.

It didn't take the jungle long to reclaim the house . The porch is alive with creepers and other blooming vines. The hammock I once shared with Palmer is now a mildewed, tattered mess, hanging from the hooks in the rafters like a monstrous spiderweb. A couple of empty Tecate bottles lying on their side amidst the litter wink at me darkly in the afternoon sunlight The front door is unlocked but the frame is badly warped from the heat and humidity, making it somewhat difficult to open. I inadvertently yank it off its hinges trying to open it Inside, the house smells of mold, rising damp, and rotten garbage.

Small lizards skitter out from underfoot as I go from room to room. Some of the windows are broken, allowing leaves and other detritus access to the house, but it looks as if no one has set foot in it since I left, months before. I'm not really surprised The locals are exceptionally superst.i.tious when it comes to Senorita Azure.

I step out into the courtyard. It looks desolate, with dead leaves collecting in the corners and weeds poking their rough heads between the tiles. The fountain no longer burbles to itself and the stagnant water has grown a sc.u.m of algae.

The back of the house is even more overgrown than the Front. The rapidly encroaching jungle has swallowed Lethe's old swingset and monkey bars. A wild pig and her piglets burst from cover at my approach, fleeing in the direction of the forest. I follow them, but not with the intention of hunting.

The pig path is still there, of course. It's been there for several hundred years, and it will be there for several hundred more.

I climb to the top of the neighboring hill, where the ruins of the ancient Mayan observatory once stood. I dust off one of the tumbled limestone blocks and sit on it lotus-fas.h.i.+on, and cast my mind into the jungle.

Hours later, as the sun begins to sink, I receive an answer to my summons in the form of a man emerging from the jungle.

He wears a jaguar skin draped over one shoulder and an unbleached linen loincloth. Jade earplugs stretch his lobes almost to his shoulders, and his lower lip boasts a similar ornament. Tattoos of Mayan sky serpents and jaguar G.o.ds swarm his naked torso and arms. His graying hair is pulled up into a warrior's topknot adorned with the feathers of brightly colored parrots. In one hand he carries a machete and across his back is slung an AK47.

'h.e.l.lo, Bill.'

'I don't go by that name anymore,' he replies. 'I'm called Chac Balam now. Lord of Jaguars.'

As he moves closer, I see that a disembodied hand rides his shoulder. It waggles two of its six fingers in my direction like antennae.

'I see you've still got Lefty with you.'

Palmer allows himself to smile. 'It would be hard to do without him. He's my good right hand. So to speak.' The smile disappears as quickly as water on a hot griddle. 'Why are you here, Sonja? Why did you come back?'

'Don't worry, I'm not here to try and force your return to my service, if that's what you're thinking. I just wanted to see you one last time, that's all. I wanted to tell you that everything's okay.

I... I'm not the woman I once was.'

Palmer frowns and squints at me, looking for things only he might see. He nods, and some of the tension drains from his face. 'You are different. You're more - I don't know - together. It's as if the Other no longer exists.'

'Oh, she's here all right,' I laugh, thumping my chest 'Just as Denise is still here. I guess you could say we have reached an understanding. Hard as it might be to believe, the Other actually saved my a.s.s. Kept me from doing something really stupid. We no longer war amongst ourselves. What about you? Are you happy with your new life?'

'I've founded a guerrilla group, of sorts, composed largely of campesinos of Mayan descent. The government ridicules us in the media, but they're scared. They hunt us like animals, but they've yet to catch us. We keep our supplies and weapons hidden in the sacred cenotes. I guess you could say it's a back-toQuetzacoatl movement.' He shakes his head and I glimpse some of the old Palmer, the one I used to know. 'I'm a pragmatic man. A reasonable man. You know that But I had a dream not ttoo long ago where I saw the world change. It was fierce and frightening, but not hopeless. It was as if the world was being reborn, not destroyed. All I want is for my people to prepare themselves for that day, away from the craziness and ugliness of the world that now exists. Sonja, am I crazy?'

'No. Just prescient'

There is a movement in the trees behind Palmer, but he does not seem alarmed. He glances over his shoulder and nods, then turns back to me.

'I must go. Farewell, Sonja. Please don't misunderstand me when I tell you this, but I hope we never meet again.'

As Palmer slips back between the trees, I glimpse the figure that waits for him in their shadows. It is the girl, Concha. As she turns to go, I can see her belly is swollen with life.

It is almost dark by the time I get back to the empty house.

I pause for a second, then reenter the building. One last walk through, I tell myself. Just for old times' sake.

The bedroom I shared with Palmer smells like old gym socks.

The sheets on the bed boast large blossoms of fungus. Rats and mice have chewed their way through Lethe's collection of stuffed animals. The kitchen reeks of rotten garbage and whatever was left in the refrigerator when Palmer moved out.

The pile of unopened invoices and bills of lading still sit atop the kitchen table. So does the black mask.

I pick up the mask and hold it so its impa.s.sive features- are level with my own. Even though it has been left untouched for months, its surface still s.h.i.+nes, like a piece of polished onyx.

I feel her presence before I can see it much the same way I'd been able to sense Morgan before he came into a room.

The darkened kitchen is filled with a golden light that pours in through the windows facing the courtyard.

Auntie Blue.

The voice in my head is Lethe's, but it isn't the voice of a Child. Still holding the mask in one hand, I step out onto the patio, s.h.i.+elding my eyes against her brilliance with an upraised arm.

The light fades as if someone has. .h.i.t a dimmer switch, revealing a female figure at its heart. The woman is not the teenaged beauty Palmer described to me but a very, very old woman, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s hanging loose and her thighs and s.e.x withered and wrinkled. I can hardly believe that this ancient crone is my three-year-old stepdaughter.

'Lethe?'

Yes, I was Lethe.

'What the h.e.l.l happened to you?'

I underwent a sea change. As you did yourself.

'You know about--?'

We are agents of change, you and I. True, we are fas.h.i.+oned for completely different tasks, but our goals are the same. You are the Destroyer, I am the Maker. You're the sickle, I am the seed.

'That still doesn't explain why you're--'

An old woman?

"I wasn't going to be blunt about it but... well, yeah.'

Everything is creation and destruction. Death and rebirth, It has always been so. Such was the case Before the rise of man, before the reign of the great lizards, and the Unnamed Ones before them.

Things are built, things prosper, things are destroyed. And the time has come for things to change again.

The last change occurred several hundreds of thousands of years ago, when a particularly clever species of ape was given a boost up the evolutionary ladder. However, mankind was led into a blind alley. In the beginning all humans possessed what is called 'sixth sense'. However, over the millennia, they have lost their awareness of the Real World, since it was in the interest of the enkidu and the vargr and other Pretending Ones to manipulate the breeding stock to ensure that they would remain in control. But by doing this, the scales of nature were thrown horribly awry.

Once stripped of its awareness, mankind became more of a danger than any Pretender ever dreamed. At first mankind flourished.

Then it metastasized. It grew like a cancer, stripping the earth for its needs, stoking the very fires of destruction. Born blind and deaf, it cannot see the damage it does, the harm it inflicts. And, with every generation, it waltzes closer and closer to the brink of extinction -and with it, the destruction of the Real World. The time has come for the game to be set aright.

For too long have the enkidu preyed upon the hearts and minds of man. It is time for the playing field to be leveled. It is fitting in its way, that by tampering with a system already out of balance, Morgan's dream of shaping a race in his own image would result in my creation.

The universe is Positive and Negative. Give and Take. Chaos and Order. If there is too much of one element, then the center can no longer hold. The Natural and Supernatural Worlds sp.a.w.ned us the first of our kind - in on attempt to set things right. You are the Destroyer, the one who must prepare the way by slaying the demons that would challenge the race to come. You are the midwife to the rebirth, making sure the way will be clear. And I am the Creatrix, the Madonna, the Magna Mater - mother to the new flesh.

I have mated with twenty-five men, all of whom possessed the ability to see beyond. And I have borne twenty-five sons. Unlike myself, they shall live a normal mortal span. Each shall have the inner sight, to varying degrees. Some will be powerful psychics, others will merely have a knack for finding other people's car keys. All of them, however, will be aware. And, thanks to genetics and charisma, all twenty-five shall be highly attractive -at least as far as the females of the species are concerned.

Should all twenty-five of my sons succeed in sp.a.w.ning four times each - and I doubt that will be a problem for them - and their descendants do likewise, within ten generations there will be twenty-six million of them. By the thirteenth there will be over one billion. By the fifteenth generation h.o.m.o sapiens will be no more - there will only be h.o.m.o mirabilis.

Twenty-five? And Palmer--?'

His was the first of my sons. The child has been adopted by the British Home Secretary and shall grow up in the seat of power.

'You d.a.m.n near broke Palmer's mind, using him for stud like that.'

The old woman who was once Lethe stares at me with flat golden eyes as if I've commented on the weather.

His seed was needed.

'Yeah, well, whatever.'