EHYEH-ASHER-EHYEH (I AM THAT I AM): An Elena Duran/Corazon Negro
Vi Moreau (vmoreau@directvinternet.com)
Sat, 21 Sep 2002 12:12:30 -0400
Ehyeh-Asher-Ehyeh (I am that I am) 10.0/34
Julio Cesar divad72@prodigy.net.mx
Vi Moreau vmoreau@directvinternet.com
After breaking mental contact with Livia, the most powerful Immortal ever to
walk the earth moved inside the huge cave beneath the ground of the island
of Nod. This labyrinth would be her home for the next days. Thousands of
years before, under her guidance, her followers had built it according to
her own specifications.
She'd spent the time studying her final targets, even though she didn't know
where they were at the moment. It didn't matter. Soon or later, she would
find them. Lilitu had long since digested the Ancient Gathering's habits,
abilities and resources, and had stepped out into the darkness to clear her
mind before planning this final and fateful operation. Under other
circumstances, she might have indulged herself, but she needed a clear head
tonight. Her Headless Children were arriving at the island, and she didn't
trust any of them. Not that any could destroy her, not with her powers at
full capacity. However, they would be important tools in her plans.
Lilitu prided herself on being able to move among mortals without them
noticing anything untoward or unusual about her. Most Immortals were in a
tremendous hurry to acquire an aura of danger that would set them apart from
the herd, while the older ones acquired that same air unconsciously. As soon
as one stepped into a room, humankind knew that there was a wolf in the
flock, and reacted accordingly. A sense of panic and fear would invade the
air. For that reason, humans sometimes made excellent early warning systems
against incursions by the Immortals.
As the new Goddess, Lilitu could blend into any crowd, however, and it made
her that much more dangerous. She could still be detected for what she was,
of course, but only if someone knew to look for her. And now, she was the
master of the Dream. Very soon, her plans would be fulfilled.
The hours were completely tangled with the darkness. The black tendrils
twisted and writhed in snake-like forms resembling Medusa's hair. They
distorted the minutes and seconds, creating wrinkles in time, perverting the
laws of physics and the universe. They would prod viciously at the instant
and the moment, picking them apart and rearranging them into different forms
and shapes. It was like witnessing something gone terribly awry. That
frightful moment when something gets stuck in a machine that is running at
full force, hearing that desperate wrenching and oxidized groaning sound
that comes from its guts, feeling the heat that starts building up at an
alarming speed, seeing it start to shake furiously as if battling a demon
inside it. Those last moments as you watch in dread, impotence and horror
before it explodes into a million pieces.
Lilitu however, seemed to take no notice of what her mischievous tendrils
were doing, she herself was a master of shadow, and there was too much of
the Dream here for her to manipulate it at her leisure. However, she was
happy.
Her soul had seeped into this very earth over the millennia, and had infused
her will into the walls of mountains and rocks, the segments of the ground,
and the black and squeamish air, all around. Lilitu's feet moved forward in
strong, determinate steps. The passageways did not confound her. Ever so
strong, something she saw sparked memories: tunnels of oppressive stone
closing in to crush her; chambers where every inch of every wall were
covered with unholy icons, small wooded plaques, the colors as faded as any
memory of the hands that had carved and painted them, long dead and
forgotten, rough-hewn passages leading down to hell; massive iron gates
embedded in bedrock; halls lined with statues and carvings. Her mortal
kingdom. The wasted lands.
A mounted firebrand that burned but gave no light like a torch, burned out
for centuries stood here. Amidst the darkness, Lilitu was sure which
memories were of the present, and which from a millennia ago. Although she
had blocked them out so well-so well that she'd thought she could come back
to this place without revisiting them. The tunnels led onward, and she
followed with sure steps.
Instinctively, she called upon her occult abilities to enable her to look
through the veil between worlds.
Once again, despite her wishes, the new Goddess thought about the Ancient
Gathering.
Hell damn their souls! Lilitu thought to herself. To fight against the new
Ancient Gathering. She, who had watched the rise and fall of a score of
civilizations! This was simply another in a long line of rises and falls of
her enemies.
Anger had consumed her for several millennia-while she'd once sat in the
courts of kings, ruling them, she had now been reduced into a mere myth. A
legend of female embodiment, of malevolence and wickedness. Her
once-powerful lineage had crippled itself millennia before, and now suffered
a similar fate.
It was ironic really! The ignominy! To think of it! When with just a look,
she could crumble any of her enemies to dust, and yet they hunt her in
packs, harrying her like hounds. Hate and disgust boiled in Lilitu's veins,
the blood within them hot with the stillness of its odium, burning with
impotent fury. To once have reached such heights! To have walked with every
ancient God and His dark angels! To have held the lives of thousands in her
grasp! And now, to basely fight a band of
incestuous rogues armed with the brutality of ambition. She had been vain,
even careless. She had looked far ahead and allowed these enemies to creep
into her ranks. Why didn't they listen? Zarach and Aylon both knew. But of
course, the hope in them martyred wisdom. They were fools.
However, Lilitu had not been a fool in planning her counterattack.
Certainly, a few of her Headless Children might have fallen. Minimum loses.
The darkness parted for a moment and Lilitu smiled as she remembered her
beloved Immortal son, Zarach Bal-Tagh, stripped naked to the waist, and
herself drinking his life's nectar, suckling greedily. The hair of his pubis
tickled her face, caught between her lips. Zarach's moans of ecstasy covered
his silent spasms of praise to the heavens. And then, she remembered how
they had mated. Gently cloaked by the open night under the moonlight they
would indulge in the pleasures of ardent desire. It was a time of
simplicity, discovery and passionate play.
Those had been the times when Zarach had been hers. In the time before the
Ancient Gathering. In the time before her Game.
Lilitu felt the darkness flowing within her, making her stronger, tying her
to this place, and closing in about her, and then parting again. She awoke
to bliss, gentle fingers, and a fine-toothed comb passing through her red
hair. Her hair had always been beautiful. Thick and silky, flowing down like
a stream of blood. But the path she had chosen was narrow, constricted, and
solitary. She was the materialization of death, even when her body was
forever young. A new Goddess. The only Goddess left.
Suddenly, she raised her arms feeling the swirling shadows move sharply
around her. "I am that I am," she hissed.
Her feet were coated with the dirt and dust of countless centuries. Her
fingers too, for she had leaned against the stonework and the carvings as
she walked. For as long as she could remember, she had been fueled with
hatred, and now the cold fire was stronger than ever before. She was tired
from her killings on Holy Ground, and from the anger. All that was left was
emptiness.
Zarach had betrayed her, but it was not her will he coveted most highly, she
knew. They were joined by the past, connected by the essence of what once
was. Even if she could, she wouldn't hold him against his will. Lilitu
wanted Zarach to come freely, uncompelled. She would use all her wiles to
lure him, tempt him, and bait him. Only then she would reveal to him her
darkest secret. Not before. A last strike against the Son of the Endless
Night.
As Lilitu walked, fingers trailing along the stone that was hidden from the
light, she came to another of the colossal gates that, at intervals along
different routes, had blocked the way. She sensed its presence before she
saw it, as one might sense the great void of a chasm before stepping into
it. The stone was cold like a winter gravestone, immovable as the earth. She
opened it with her will. Beyond, the passage curved to the left and upward.
There was also a tunnel branching off to the right. From the left, Lilitu
smelled air that was not quite so stale, not so totally saturated with the
blackness from the soul of her being. From the side tunnel came a rumbling
growl and movement of shadows like a slowly rising tide. Neither path was
open, just as neither of the paths that she or Zarach would follow could
ever be opened. She knew she would never surrender willingly to him, and he
would never stop hunting her. They had come to an impassable portal, had
reached it thousands of years ago, and never would they cross the threshold.
Yet they were bound together by their very souls.
The only possible solution for Lilitu lay elsewhere, in the death of Zarach
or her own insanity. But first, for this to be achieved, she must kill the
New Dreamer, the Aztec known as Corazon Negro; Quetzalcohuatl's Immortal
son, and every other member in the Ancient Gathering.
Those were her thoughts as she prepared herself for the coming battle. But
one thing was sure. Time was on her side. This time, the Ancient Gathering
would lose.
Lilitu knew that revenge was a dish best served with the spice of age. She
knew that very well. Time was on her side. Fighting was her only
choice-fight to stab at the vile Ancient Gathering during the days yet to be
seen. Now she would gather around her Headless Children, taking their will
as she wished and sharpening her blade for use against the throats of the
bastards that once had hunted her kind to the brink of extinction.
Her plan abounded with safety measures and surety. The only thing left to do
was weather the remaining moments until their arrival. And from there, the
new Goddess could bring the full weight of her eons of hatred to bear on the
jackals that so desperately deserved it. And to a creature who had walked in
God's shadow, who had kissed the face of the Goddess, what were a few more
hours?
A tiny cost. An infinitesimal one. A few more instants seemed a minuscule
price to pay for the vindication of a millennia.
As she raised her hand and the gate opened, joyfully clutching at her heart,
the darkness rushed after her.
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