Lamia

5 Feb

Property of The DarkRose Journal, 2013
Copyright 2/5/13, By DarkRose
Lamia
Lamia

No moon yet, but starlight burns in every direction. The crickets sing in the low lands as I climb, ears pricked and aware. The grass is dry, and the storm it desires but a distant rumble beyond the high ridges.

I, a dark rose, who have attained all life, now ask still further joy. For what is my sovereignty if I turn aside from my beastial pleasure? What is my earthly power if it stands still and rest content? I have flown from flesh to spirit, I have laughed at death. Should I not rejoice in this corporeal realm where flesh and death prevail?

I am invincible, I descend upon the ungrateful child’s conquered land and claim my spoil. I have lived here before, fixed to earth, Now, I live again. With my new strength, just as the long vine that hangs upon the tree of all life, I wind my dark wisdom home again and seize what is mine. Night is my drinking hall. No longer held by death and his minions: I crowd them out, those joyless hordes of earth’s bratty progeny. I pour the ruby wine of victory! I have conquered blood, now blood I shall take delicious delight in imbibing.

I seek others. Wolves and dark angels, no longer a phantom echo of my voice but a separate-therefore real-presence to feed my soul and run wild and free with me over and through our world. I hear them singing to me, the notes ring out this time on their own, scaling low to high, then dropping into a moan. I hear howls in the mountains, mournful, aching, desirous, calling to me, and I must go.

Up into the black sky I climb, as the moon rises past the river. I come closer to the sound, stepping along narrow ridges of sheared, weather-blunted slate, eyes watchful for a glimpse of shadowy fur or the gleam of midnight eyes in the silver light.

My nipples harden, my silky tresses become electric as all my attention focuses on the guiding whine: less than a thousand strides, I judge. I creep forward.

Silence. The howls have stopped. Hidden in the darkness of the grove, are the tribes of the moon, my brothers and sisters. The underbrush explodes, paws and wings crashing in a panicked flight. Once again I have noise to follow, and I begin to close on the others.

I fight the wind to climb the mountain and follow their bloody trail. My nose sniffs each clump of dirt, desperate to hold their scent. I gain the the snow-lined ridge and find fresh spoor, barely an hour old, in the pine groves. I cover each urination with my own mark. I will not sneak up on them and frighten them, but make my presence known as wildly and vocally as possible.

I feel stronger than before, and I notice as I pee that the stain is more pungent than last fall-signs of maturity driven home by the taste of blood as i nuzzle my crotch in investigation.

The rain seems endless in its vigor and intensity, but it lessens to a steady drizzle as I approach the tribe, my tribe. I am so very close now, I can taste the copper in the air. I begin howling and rolling in the grip of strong emotions.

I lift my face toward the silky moon and howl one last time. I am prepared to do this as long as my throat holds out, but almost at once an answer comes from upwind and uphill. It rises, in a mixture of surprise and happiness, and I hear the invitation in it: “Join us!”

I bound rapturously towards the direction of my tribe, and find myself on the banks of the rapids. The others stand on the far bank, and we look at each other, across the chasm that separates us.

A tangle of many branches, mud and small annoying rocks swell the river at a bend above the tree. Flash flood! I bark in warning, but still it seems my tribe cannot hear me over the crash of the lying rapids.

Even as the dirty water smashes the tree of life and engulfs them, I spring forward into the false dark flood. I hear a frightened yip as my tribe paddles to keep their heads above water, then silence. I swim into the flood towards the last sound. Everything is swirling and collapsing in the green-brown delusional froth atop the river.

A thump-splash of a wet, furry body against mine, and I sink my teeth into him to hold on while I strike out for where I think the shore of truth and darklight is. The soil of the banks erodes under my feet as I scramble, burdened with eight, to climb out of the raging river.

Then I feel him twitch with life and scrabble with his paw on the slick slate just underwater, finding toeholds under his own renewed power. I unlock my jaws thankfully, and I push my weary body onto safe ground.

Our skins have cuts from the jagged rocks and splintered branches of deceit, but they are surface wounds. Too cold and tired even to clean ourselves, we curl together into a small hollow on the north edge of a rabbit clearing. It offers some shelter from the sleeting wind as the eye of the storm moves southward and the backlash begins.

There we sleep, nose to tail for warmth, as the winds howl our names.

We rule the darkness and the light. Our blood is strengthened by the truth. We are the living gods and goddesses. The stars and the earth are ours to watch and rule.

We, my brother and I, awaken to a few bright stars and the moon upon our shoulders, glimmering in white and crimson silver. We set out to continue our journey, we must find the rest of our brethren. We must find the tribes of the moon…

I am neither vampire or wolf. I am Lamia, I am what I was born to be. Stay strong, I’m coming for you.

~DarkRose

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One Response to “Lamia”

  1. s booth February 5, 2013 at 9:32 pm #

    i love it, cant wait for more, sad i hope the rest are ok….

    Like

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