Banished To Earth Book One 7

  Lust always ensnared men that trespassed Creichee territory. They eventually tried to take what they yearned for. Only to suffer a horrible death for their weakness and self -deceit. The irony being the Cry’chi, despite the womanly beauty, possessed no human sexuality. Blood mingling was their only means of procreation and always resulted in the death of the ‘donor’. For what man could remain perfectly still as a thousand razor sharp hairs pierced his flesh simultaneously. 

  Human corruption, especially that of human males, was a Cry’chi delicacy. Of course, animal blood, even wild grapes certain leaves and berries also sustained them. But the rich dark blood of fallen man was what they craved.

   Gyle Hahs was not one of those. He wondered about the wood never looking up. The Cry’chi took little notice, his blood was cool, clean. Tasteless.  His attention fixed on harvesting the precious medicinal berries that grew beneath its’ vaulted boughs, berries he hoped would alleviate his sisters’ monthly pains. The berries were the only remedy the poor farmer could afford. They also gave him a perfectly reasonable excuse for being there in the first place.

   Transfixed by the handsome unaffected stranger, Phyilmorphet sensed another presence, buried deep within him. She peered down, measuring his every move. Something was surely there. No. Someone. He carried another. Priathamel, the odd name stretched out in her mind like a waking child.

   Emboldened, she climbed down the massive tree trunk, glancing up, hoping not to attract the attention of her vampire sisters hidden deep within the old trees’ dark leafy recesses. Her fingers and toes deftly gripping its’ heavy bark, she silently glided toward the well-favored black-haired strangers’ back.

 

31

   He stopped. Her sweet scent massaging his nostrils as he bent down to inspect a nearby bush. His resistance impressed her. His motives were pure.

   He smelled her sweet natural fragrance grow stronger, as she drew near.  “My sister is ailing, Cry’chi. I come not for my pleasure but for her pain. This is, however, your wood and I a trespasser. If I must pay for my sin allow me to do it after I have attended to her need.”

  “You want berries only?” She smiled, as her flowing white mane rippled and spilled across her bare shoulders. “You can have so much more.”

“I came only for my sister. I do not wish for her to die, nor do I. But if that is the price for this fruit, then like I said before, I will gladly pay it, later.”

“You will not die, pure one, come.” She eased up to him, reached out and clasped his face.

He jerked away.

“No, you must not.” She whispered, “Neither must you lie. You are not here for your sister, but Priathamel.”

“What,” he searched her violet eyes for the slightest twinkle of trickery. Seeing none.  He spoke. “How do you know that name, Cry’chi?” 

“I too dreamed that name.”

“No, it cannot be.”

“Her name binds us..?” She waited for his name.

“You know her name but not mine?”

“Yes and more. You saw her…” again she waited.

“Gyle Hahs, my name. Last night. Her image awakened me. The dream was so real. But we can’t be bound. I will die and so will my sister.”

“Your sister is not dying. There is desperation in your voice, but not for her. Tell me your dream, Gyle”.

“No,” he said, struggling to pull his gaze away from her, “The bones of my brothers clutter this wood. Your beauty is unnatural, overwhelming, and born from darkness. But I refuse to suffer their fate. Your dream is a trick! Fate does not reside here anymore than love.” His words were stern, but they came from his head and not from his heart, ringing hollow even in his own ears.

32

    “Do not lie.”

“You want my dream,” Gyle’s words were sharp. “I want even less from you!”

“Of course you want me, as I want you. Is that not the true reason you are here?”

“The name, did you put it in my mind?”

She shook her head as her waist long hair slowly fanned out behind her. “I do not lie Gyle Hahs. You must believe this. We are revealers of truth. The truth of most men is the shameful secrets we feed on. I sense no secrets in you, none except your needless fear. I wish only to touch your deepest part, where in lies our daughter, waiting for conception. I seek only her life, not yours. You can see I do not lie.”

“But do I.” he challenged her.

“My name is Phyilmorphet. It’s fitting you should know that, at least.” She said smiling as she withdrew.

He, too, tried to step away. But found out he could not. Her eyes were dark now, deep as the night, resting on him like satin twilight. The subtle but provocatively pronounced curves of her glowing white body caressed his eyes and gently massaged his mind. Distrust and fear began to melt before her radiant warmth and flawless beauty. Still, he managed to hide his hands behind his back, clasping the knife he hid there.

“You would never hurt me. You would not deprive me of my child.” She opened her arms, as her long white mane began to flutter and spread.

“But you would hurt me. Deprive me of my life!”

“Phiylmorphet, Gyle, call me by my name. You are about to father our child. You should speak my name.” 

“The name of my killer.” Gyle snapped.

“Leave me then.” She said, lowering her arms as her gleaming corona of rippling white hair fluttered harmlessly to her waist. “If you do not trust me. We should not mingle.”

The pain in her voice cut deep into his heart. It never occurred to him that his mere words could hurt her.

“And if we do not, ‘mingle’, he asked?

 “She will be trapped inside, never to be born.” Her voice sank.

33

   Her deep sadness was not lost on him

“She is more than a name to me.” He finally confessed. “I took her hand last night and followed her into the Wayward Glen. In our ancient legends, it is a place of foundlings, changelings. A hostel for homeless souls, still born and the like. She called me father. I looked down and saw she was Cry’chi. When I awoke I found not only my hand empty but my heart as well. I knew I must come here. I am a liar, Phiylmorphet. My sister suffers only from the womans’ time. She is not dying. The berries will only lessen her distress. No healing, no grave need. Can I trust myself, a liar? Do I have a choice?” He said, as his hand released the knife, letting it tumble to the ground. 

“Yes, Gyle Hahs, choose stillness. Do not move and you will not die.”

He blinked and let his hands fall loosely to his side. She held her arms out. He mirrored her actions.

They embraced. Her body was like warm breath against his chest. His fingers combed through the feathery ‘garment’ growing from her pale delicate skin. Her hair floated above them like a morning cloud, as they stared deeply into each other’s eyes.

High above them, neatly nestled in the dark green hollows of the ancient trees, her sisters emerged.

This would be no normal mingling or feeding. If no feeding, then what. No fear. No death. No blood wallow. No sharing in the kill!

They glided closer, their eyes wide and unblinking. One of the tree branches squeaked under the weight of the gathering Chriechee.

Gyle looked up and saw not only a host of gawking vampires peering down at him, their eyes black with curiosity, but also, her undulating mass of white hair poised above him.
“Still.” She whispered, “still…”

He dropped his arms, moving not another muscle. Afraid even to close his eyes. Unlike Phyilmorphet, who had closed her eyes, avoiding any distraction that might break the harmony of their union and suddenly end his life. There would be no slicing of flesh no spilling and wasting of blood. No feeding, only the most intimate exchange.

So long as his walls of resistance were down, allowing her to enter freely. Force would simply not arise. No conflict, damage or death. Only union and conception. Life.

 

34

   One by one, her hair strands encircled him. He tried not to notice, but as they settled down nearer and nearer, fanning out around him like iron filings around a magnet, his eyes darted about but did not blink. Then he felt the first prick. It was just a mild sting that delivered an anesthetic into his bloodstream, something her sisters could easily do as well.  Of course they did not.

   Pain and terror only sweetened the feed, and guaranteed the donor would slice himself to shreds trying to escape. Phyilmorphet had never been so cruel. Her kills were always quick and painless. And she always regretted the poor fools that were so quick to risk everything, for the promise of momentary pleasure they had no hope of getting. But even as she pitied them, she also heard the cries of their victims when she drained their blood exacting judgment on them for their many acts of selfish cruelty…

    This, of course, was not a feed, but in essence, a rescue. A precious soul was trapped within them. Birth was its’ only escape. And he reasonably assumed the slightest flinch would end him and destroy any chance for Priathamel to ever live again.

   He had no idea where she came from but was sure her way back was barred forever.  Therefore, he resigned himself to absolute stillness, for as long as it took her to accomplish her task.