A Reason For Being

[Moinesse]

 A REASON FOR BEING

(http://www.icelus.net/moinesse/Forest.gif) The small glen shimmers with the sun’s rays, golden hues slanting through leaves and sparkling upon a small stream.  A bee, heavily laden with its last load of nectar, stumbles up from a bright yellow flower and heads for home. Nearby, a brown sparrow sits on a large fallen tree trunk, eyes darting to and fro, looking for its last meal of the day. The rotting trunk lies deep in shadow, emitting an odor of musk and decay. A low moan from beneath the trunk sends the sparrow scrambling off the wood with a startled fluttering of wings. It catches a slight breeze and soars into the sky. 

The breeze whirls back to the clearing, dancing across the wood, skimming its length and sliding down the side.  Touching and tasting, it gleefully plays among a small group of mushrooms before moving beneath the log. The breeze makes a small soft whistling sound of surprise, for there, in total darkness, lies a man.

His body moves in its sleep, turning towards the diminishing light. The breeze stills in breathtaking wonder at the perfect, sculptured body, the long limbs and muscular arms.  Another moan and a slight turning of his head reveals perfect, chiseled features, but the breeze stirs restlessly, for within that beautiful visage lies a
dark essence. With a swift kick towards a small dry pile of leaves, the breeze drifts away, leaving a sense of
desolation in its wake.

The man shifts restlessly. Hunger gnaws its way through his body, even in his sleep. His mind rages with thoughts of his next meal, but the dreams hold him fast in their grip. It is always thus, the hunger, the need, and the battle for control.  A control almost lost this past night, before his sleep.

Desperation had driven him to the outskirts of a small town, his hunger too strong to ignore.

“I won’t kill,” he murmured. “I’ll only take a little...only enough to regain my strength.”

“You cannot,” a voice reminded him. “You took an oath. You are becoming that which you hate.”

“I cannot resist,” he whispered. His glowing red eyes lit upon a small boy, playing with a stick in the dusty
street. The bloodlust stirred, propelling him forward a few steps, and then a few more. His hand reached out.

“So close,” the lust sang. “So close…”

A movement from the shadows caught his attention.  A small form emerged and emitted a loud “Meow.” Startled, he felt his eyes dim. His hand dropped trembling to his side.

“Come, Kitty.” The boy laughed with glee. “I’ll race you home.”

The lust raged as he watched the boy escape into a nearby house, but soon turned its attention to his next prey, the nearest beating heart, the sweet scent of life-sustaining blood.

The cat, not a kitten at all, but a large grey tom, battle-scarred with long whiskers, let out a yowl as the
eyes turned its way.  Raising its back with a hiss, it made to break into a run. Lightning quick, his hand closed
around its body and raised it to his lips.

The cat’s body faded, the darkness shifting and changing in the manner of dreams.  Scenes emerged from foggy remembrance. A battlefield. Dying men. Cupped hands overflowing with blood. Thanks mumbled between gulps and sips of the sweet red nectar.

The field swirled into a dark damp forest, his resting place. He saw the beady eyes and twitching noses of the woodland creatures. His teeth sank into damp fur, his stomach heaving with disgust. The soft brown eyes of a doe flickered before him. He felt the silky touch of its smooth fur beneath his fingers, and the slowing thump,thump of its heart drew an anguished cry from his lips. His hand raised in a clenched fist. “No more,” he cried. “Please, no more.”

For a moment, it seemed as though the dream really listened. The animals withdrew, the swirls of color
changed to a blinding white light. Warmth caressed his cheeks.

“No!” he yelled, but the dream held him fast, forcing him to watch the all too familiar events unfold.

The sun sparkled on her golden hair, the soft strands brushing against his face.  He heard his own light-hearted laugh as they embraced. Lush soft lips met his own, and the thump of a fast-beating heart, long dead, echoed throughout his body.

In its repose, the man’s face is a stark mask of agony. A dark tear forms at the corner of his eye, trembles for a heartbeat, and slowly trails down his smooth cheek, leaving behind a streak of red. It comes to rest at the
edge of his jaw, glistening, swaying, as though waiting for permission to fall.

The light dims in the glen. The first of the early night creatures begins to stir.  The sun, reluctant to release
its hold, strains to spread a last streak of red and gold across the deepening azure sky. 

A sharp cry splits the air. The man struggles against his dream, his mouth open to repeat his sound of agony.

Through the brightly-lit window, he saw people dancing, dressed in a rainbow of colors. The air was
filled with gaiety and music. He almost smiled before remembering that he was the dark one, left to stand on the
outside, looking in. With desperate need he leaned farther into the light, closer to the window. 

His nonexistent breath caught as a graceful figure moved into the room. Her golden hair was piled high, covered
with long trails of the sheerest gauze. The shimmering whiteness of her gown fought a battle with other colors in
the room and won.

White hot pain coursed through his body. He doubled over, one hand still clutching the windowsill, while a faint
hollow voice repeated, “It was a long time ago, listen to me!”

His face hardened as the light faded, leaving no more than a dim memory of her laughing blue eyes, turned
upward, looking with love into the eyes of another.  His dearest childhood friend, and now, her new husband.

Even in sleep, the man can sense the approach of night.  The moon is rising, casting its sliver glow over the
clearing. A ruby tear slides down his perfect cheek and into his hair, followed by another, and another. He needs
to wake, to feast, but the dark dream will not let him go. He struggles a moment more before relaxing.

A warm, rich smell caught his despairing senses. Home-baked bread, pies... Nostalgia tore through his
being, bringing a gasp to his lips and an almost watering to his mouth.

“Well, don’t just lie there. Come and feast.”

“Grandmum, Grandmum!”

He stumbled, his knee slamming hard against the ground.  His hands reached out, not to break his fall, but to grasp
the darkness, to rip it apart, to reveal the light he knew was on the other side.  Then he saw her standing by the
open kitchen window and waving to him, as she had done so many times in his childhood.  On the windowsill sat a
steaming pie in all of its crusted glory.

“Grandmum, it’s nothing but a dream.”

Even as he said this, he moved closer and closer to the window. Twinkling eyes met his, and with a laugh
Grandmum said,  “You have always been a dreamer, my lad, but this is no ordinary dream.  I have been calling you for ages, and it is because of your other dreams that I have finally succeeded in getting your attention.”

His hand automatically reached for the pie, but she surprised him with a sharp slap on the wrist.

The sleeping man jumps and rubs his hand.  An accusing look passes briefly across his face.

 “Grandmum, you said to come and feast, but you...”

“Listen, lad,” she said in a stern voice. “We don’t have much time. You must use your powers and come to me
quickly.”

“No!” He shuddered at the terror in the thought. “I can’t use the power, if I do, it will... it will take over. I’ll
be like them.”

“Tsk, tsk. Would I ask this of you if I thought such a thing might happen?” She shook her head. “Lad, do you
remember my herb garden? Do you remember the story I once told you? About the little girl, the special little girl
who played here long ago?”

“I think so...”

She eyed him in a thoughtful manner, quiet for a few seconds. "You really have no idea, do you?  No, don't
answer, I can see you don't." Her brows drew together. "Many, many years ago, my garden was
the playground of a little golden haired girl named Amuana. Of course it was not my garden back then, but it was always a special place for me. I loved to walk there and clear my thoughts. It was on one such walk that I met the golden child. She and I became fast friends, despite the differences in our ages. That child
loved my pies as much as you, lad, and we spent many an afternoon discussing herbs and the
magical properties derived from them."

He could feel himself becoming annoyed. “But, Grandmum, what has this little girl to do with me?”

She smiled a beautiful smile, one that he remembered well.
“That, my impatient lad, is what I’m trying to tell you.  There is an herb in my garden that makes a special potion.
A cure for your curse” She clasped her hands. “Or rather, a partial cure.”
   
“A partial cure!”

“Yes,” Grandmum said, giving the pie a quick pat. “This potion will allow you to live an almost normal life. You
will be able to walk in the sunlight, eat regular food, sleep like a normal person.” She sighed. “Unfortunately,
you will retain their dark powers. You will still be one of them. One of them, but with a distinct advantage.”

He tried to concentrate on her words, but restlessness stirred in his blood. Far away, he could hear the faint
hoot of an owl. A call for hunting.

Grandmum slapped her hand against the windowsill, bringing his attention back. The panicked, desperate
look on her face unnerved him.

“I almost lost you again. The call is strong, so I’ll have to explain quickly.”  She took a deep breath. “I know what you have been doing all these years.  You have destroyed many of them, but there are more. In a city not far from here there’s talk of an entire guild of, well, your kind. I’m offering you a chance to destroy them in their own lair, during the light of day, with equal strength, their powers flowing through you. That is your advantage besides the...”

“Grandmum?”

Her seamed mouth continued to move, but her voice faded to a faint hum as the dream fell away.

“Grandmum!”

The man comes awake with a snarl, his blood red eyes opened wide to take in the night and all that moves
beyond. Sharp white teeth distort his perfectly formed upper lip.  A face of astounding beauty only moments
before, now transformed into a hideous caricature of humanity.

A beautiful, meaty scent invades his nostrils.  The forest has come alive with rustling leaves and snapping twigs.
The raging lust pounces, taking control. His body vanishes, and a bat appears where the man once stood. It
hovers for only a second before lifting into the sky. The hunt is on, and on this night, no animal is safe.

Hours later, he stands before his kill, his bloodlust sated for the moment. He raises a breathtaking visage to
the moon. The fangs are gone, and he stretches his stained lips into something resembling a smile.
He has always been able to pick out faces on the moon, like some do with clouds. Now that he is changed, he
can see much more.

A mist forms over the moon, transforming it into a crystal. Within its depths he sees a younger version of
himself lighting a campfire. He watches himself prepare a meal. He watches...

He sat chewing the last bite of bread and cheese, his stomach still rumbling, but largely content. Hunting
was not to his liking. As dried beef was therefore out of the question, he felt thankful that Grandmum had packed
this meal for his journey.

It was peaceful sitting in front of the campfire. “It does my soul good to be alone for a little while,” he mumbled.
“I’ll be a married man soon, and I’ll not be spending any more nights like this.”

With that thought came concern over her ring. Would she like it? Did he have the right size? He touched his
pocket, just to make sure the ring was still there.

His best friend, blast him, had kept pushing him to make this trip. Once the engagement was public knowledge, he
had badgered him to get the best, prettiest ring possible.   “Go,” his friend had said. “Hator’s the best jeweler around. He’ll make you a ring worthy of a princess.”

Feeling in his pocket, he brought out the ring. He held it up to the firelight and studied the design for what must
have been the hundredth time. It looked the same each time, but he still felt that there was something missing.
With a sigh, he gave it a quick rub on the front of his shirt and placed it back into his pocket.

Looking up, he noticed that his fire was almost out. For a moment, he contemplated replenishing it, but decided
against it. ”Naw, it’s a warm night. I’ll make do.”

He lay back, tucking his hands behind his head, and gazed at the full moon. “What face shall I see tonight, ole
moon?” he whispered. But as he slipped into slumber, there was only one face he saw, that of his beloved.
He smiled tenderly as her beautiful eyes followed him into his dreams.

Suddenly, he became aware of an intrusion.  Darkness, pain… the blazing inferno of hell tormented his body.
Gasping for air, he tried to sit up, but his hands and arms had become so weak.

As he became more fully aware, he realized the fire was actually coming from his neck, from his wrists and ankles.
Pain streaked hot against his skin, flaring bright against the unearthly cold that had settled in the pit of his
stomach. Horrified, he strained against the darkness that threatened to overwhelm him, wanting to
know, needing to see... and he saw.

There were several of the creatures, monsters with white long fangs smeared with blood. His blood. One of the
things sucked at his wrist, and with each draw of its lips, the pit of his stomach got colder.

He tore his arm from the creature’s mouth with panicked strength. “I have to get close to the fire,” he thought.
“I’ll have a chance.”

With this vain hope lingering, he tried to move, but the creatures were too fast.  Before his weakened arm could
raise, he felt the thing’s lips at his neck, a cold kiss of death.

Slowly, he sagged back. “I will remember you, monster,” he thought, “in lifetimes to come.” Beautiful in its
intensity, a bright white string of light floated before his eyes.   He felt the light leaving him, the emptying space inside his body becoming blacker than night.

With his vision blurring and a heart that no longer beat to the rhythm of the universe, he watched as his soul took
flight on the wings of the breeze.
(http://www.icelus.net/moinesse/soul2.gif)  The man stands looking at the moon long after it has regained its normal white glow. So still is he that the small night creatures begin to stir around the kill at his feet, now a much welcomed meal for them. Occupied in satiating their own hunger, none move as the man speaks.

”Grandmum, I’m coming home.”

Many, many thanks to KIRWOND for her editing and revisions of this story

This story was written for A NEW MOD.  Watch for the announcement "NIGHTFALLS" in the posts here on Pocket Plane.