By the Blood: The Prophecy Read online

  By the Blood

  M. N. Beck

  Cover designed by GetCovers

  Prologue

  12 years before the fall…

  Two huddled figures tremble behind a dumpster located in a forgotten alleyway. A woman and her child. Their slight frames are hard to detect in the darkness that encompasses them. The mother holds her child in a death-grip against her bosom, terrified her daughter will make a sound and alert the guards. The girl’s heart beats strongly against her, its thrumming audible in the still air. The smell of rotted garbage and sour fear, creates a pungent perfume in the mother’s nose. Frantic shouts echo across the broken-down street, just outside the opening of the alley.

  “Over here!” A rough voice yells into the night. “I saw her run into that building.”

  “Go quickly!” a guard orders.

  Heavy footsteps slap the pavement as the guards run right past the narrow entrance, and the huddled figures burrow down further into the crevice between the dumpster and the flaking wall of the building they had just left.

  The sound of broken glass and splintering wood shatters the hovering stillness of the dark space and stirs the mother and daughter into action. The woman’s fingers bite into the flesh of the child’s arm as she pulls her alongside herself. They run out the mouth of the alley and onto the street as the sound of men’s footsteps echo through the walls of the crumbling building beside the vacant dumpster.

  The moon’s light illuminates the woman and girl as they flee their pursuers. They keep to the shadows and jump over littered debris as they run as fast as the girl’s short legs permit. The mother’s muscles are strained and her daughter pants from the fast pace, but they are able to increase the distance between them and the men.

  The woman glances behind her, and stumbles over the curb in front of her feet. They hit the pavement hard, limbs tangle together in a haphazard pile.

  A high-pitched wail escapes the child and lifts the hair on the woman’s arms. The woman scoops up the child and ignores the pain in her ankle as she presses the child against her breast and to hush her cries.

  “Shh baby, shh,” she whispers frantically to her tiny child. “Please honey, you have to be quiet. We can’t let the men find us.”

  The child hiccups as she swallows her wails. “Why don’t we wanna be found, Mama?” The child asks her mother.

  The mother pulls her child away from her and looks into the luminous eyes that reflect the sparkling sky. White hair turned silver by the bright moon’s light, spills out from the hood that no longer covers the shining beacon as it did before their fall. The mother quickly covers her child’s brilliant hair as she takes inventory of the child’s injuries. Small scrapes and evidence of future bruises lightly spot the child’s face and hands, but she sees no sign of serious injury. She exhales a sigh of relief.

  “We can’t go back home. Daddy’s mind is sick right now. It’s not safe, okay baby?”

  A large tear pools and trails down the girl’s fair cheek. “Is Daddy going to die?”

  “No, no,” the mother soothes her daughter. She places a finger beneath her beloved’s chin and tips her face up. “He just,” she sighs as she tries to gather the right words. “He’s just obsessed. It’s hard to explain, love, but when a mind is sick a person sometimes makes bad choices,” her voice moves into a whisper as her gaze becomes unfocused. Images like a kaleidoscope of the last decade with her husband flash before her. Some sweet and tender, and others full of horror.

  The woman grasps the child’s shoulder firmly and shakes the child. "Promise me you’ll never go back to him,” she shakes her daughter harder.

  The girl shakes her head vehemently to appease her mother. She is too young to comprehend the adult themes and demanded promise. How could she promise such a thing to her momma? While she was somewhat fearful of her father, she was also smitten by the rare showings of his charm and affection. He was also decidedly handsome with a full head of fair blonde hair and a sturdy chin. However, his presence was at times so overwhelming that it felt like it sucked all the oxygen from the room. Her mother stared with her violet eyes that were full of frenzied passion, and the girl felt obligated to give her whatever she demanded.

  The woman’s hands become tight claws on the girl's arms as she loses herself momentarily in her fear.

  “Oww! Mommy you're hurting me,” the child pleads.

  Footsteps sweep across the pavement. The woman whips her head around and sees the looming shadow of the hunter that quickly approaches them.

  The woman springs up in fear and surprises the man who had not seen their crouched figures before.

  “I’ve found them!” The lone hunter shouts to the others. The woman pulls the child along as she runs and silently curses herself for foolishly letting her fear alert the man to their exact location.

  “Stop, Emilia! We will not hurt you or the child if you come to us now!”

  The woman's twisted ankle sends tendrils of pain slicing up her leg with each slap of her foot on the pavement. Their pace is slower than before and the guard is gaining on them.

  “This is your last chance. Stop!”

  But the mother doesn’t stop. She can't stop.

  Fire explodes into the night as the bullet escapes the barrel. Her body recoils as the bullet rips through her body. She falls to the ground as the pain blankets her thoughts and overtakes her.

  The child bends down and frantically pulls at the still figure of her mother.

  “Get up Mommy, get up please,” she begs. Her fear is evidenced through her wobbly voice.

  The woman groans and opens her eyes as the pain eats its way through her. A red spot blooms across her side. The placement of the wound makes her aware that it is fatal. She looks into her child’s pooling eyes and feels her heart break that her baby girl will have to grow up without a mother. She reaches her hands tenderly to the child’s face and prolongs the last moment she has to touch the physical incarnation of her soul. With the blood draining upon the concrete and the guard not far behind, she tilts her daughter’s ear to her mouth.

  “I want you to listen to me and obey. Do not argue with me. You must leave me.”

  The child protests but the woman grips her face harder and stares the girl in the eye.

  “I said that you will not argue with me. You must leave and go find a church a couple of miles north of here. Do you remember how to find north?"

  The child nods her head yes as the tears spill down her face and the sobs break her voice.

  "Good. A man and his wife will take you in; that is the only place you will be safe. The men cannot enter there,” the woman pants as she finds it hard to breathe.

  “I will stay here and die with you Mamma,” her daughter states stubbornly.

  “You can’t die now. Don’t be selfish. Leave me here, it is my time." The mother gasps in pain. "I will not let them find you. I love you.” The woman pulls a jeweled dagger from her cloak and holds it out for the girl. The man's footsteps draw closer and she is aware there is no time left. “Take this with you and know I’m always with you. Remember what I told you. Find the church, now go!” The mother pushes the girl and looks away from the grief in her small child’s eyes.

  The child looks reluctant to leave but her gaze darts to the approaching guard. Terror rounds her eyes. She looks once more at her mother and beseeches her to get up. The woman doesn’t move.

  “I love you, Mommy,” the child cries. With a hiccup she turns away from her mother, dying on the ground and slips into the shadows.

  The mother stifles her sob into the sleeve of her cloak as her child disappears in the night. She knows she will never see her daughter again. With any luck, her child will make it away in time and to the church.

  The guard who took her life from her comes nearer. He sees the child leave and turns to chase after her, but the woman reaches out and grabs his ankle. His forward motion propels him face first into the ground, and momentarily knocks him unconscious.

  Blood spurts furiously from the woman’s side at the movement. She relaxes her muscles on the ground and waits for the man to come to. She is too weak to fight and she is worried that her child will come back if she hears a struggle.

  After several minutes the man begins to wake. Blood trickles down his face and stains his mouth. He crawls to the mother, menace present in every move. As he moves over her body, he crushes her small bones beneath his weight.

  The woman stares into the eyes of her murderer as his foul breath slides over her face and fills her nostrils with its stench.

  “Where is she?” the man growls as he pushes his fingers into the wound in her side. The woman swallows her pain, aware of each step her child has run. She stares at him silently, and tries not to let him see the pain on her face. His eyes are black as sin and mean. In the windows to his soul she can see that the man wants to hurt her, to kill her.

  He wraps his long, thin fingers around her delicate neck and squeezes. “Tell me where the vessel is,” he whispers. The mother wonders if the man even wants her answer because she is unable to answer with his hands choking her.

  Emelia’s once creamy skin has become a brilliant purple. She futilely grasps at the man’s fingers as she tries to release the pressure on her neck. The movement sends pain shooting throughout her body and black spots appear in her vision.

  A laugh bubbles from his chest. Emilia wonders where the other guards are and if they would help her if they got there in time. Will her husband be happy
to see her death? Seconds slip by and his grip does not let up. She looks into the man’s eyes and taps his fingers.

  “I’ll tell you where,” she chokes out, barely loud enough to be heard. The man reluctantly releases the pressure that closes her windpipe. The woman gulps in the beloved air, now free to enter her body. Her breath is unsteady and rasps from her chest. She slips her hand around his neck as her nails dig into his flesh.

  She brings him close to her parted lips in a similar pose to the earlier one with her child. Her fingers curl around another dagger hidden in her cloak. “Safe,” she says as she plunges the blade into her killer’s neck.

  Shock and pain spread across the man’s face as his blood spills out through her fingers and onto her face. He keels over on the ground, his face close, an inch from hers.

  She looks up to the sky and sees not the brilliance of the stars, but a vision of her child many hours later, crawling up the steps of the old stone church and collapsing before the giant doors to the sanctuary.

  A smile flits across her mouth as the last breath leaves her body.

  1

  11 years later…

  I run through the black forest. Giant trees loom over me and swallow up the ground I tread on. Their dark limbs hide the light of the stars. Sweat pours down my face and burns my eyes that are straining to see in the black night. My heart pounds an unsteady rhythm inside of my chest. My legs burn in protest to each step. I glance behind me and see him there. Fire flames his unholy eyes.

  Terror consumes me as my heart stops its beat and my lungs forget to breathe. He cackles and his laugh sounds hungry. I will not let him eat me. Adrenaline surges through my veins as my flight instinct kicks in once more. My heart starts back up its thrumming as a shallow breath escapes my lips. I turn away from my pursuer to find someplace to hide. In the distance, a light peeks out through the looming trees. A small ray of hope blooms in my heart. I pump my legs faster as I try to put more distance between us.

  I break through the line of trees, and my gaze lands upon a stone church, ablaze with light. Safety. The church is like a tiny sun, surrounded by the infinite darkness of the forest. Hope and fear strangle my throat and I want to vomit.

  I race to the stones that lead to the church doors. The man treads heavily behind me as he eats up the ground that separate us. I want to look back at him but I can’t, too worried I will be paralyzed by fear and unable to move up the last steps to my haven if he is already transforming.

  With a careful gaze, I watch each step that passes under my feet, afraid to stumble and fall into the mouth of the hungry beast that stalks me. Step after step I pass, with no hint of an end. Air escapes me as all my senses focuses on the cement slabs. There were only a few but I have travelled up dozens. I let my eyes glance up and the steps have turned into thousands. Shock trips up my feet and I fall into the stairs. I stumble around on hands and knees as I turn around to find another entrance and lock gazes with his fiery eyes. He’s only feet away. The distance I put between us has disappeared like the stars in the sky.

  His bones move beneath his skin as his jaw unhinges and his once human face elongates into a monstrosity. It is a face more suitable in hell. Black spikes grow out of his pores as hair coats his body like a dull, dark shadow. His fingers stretch into bony, contorted claws. My brain feels numb as my fear makes rational thought impossible. His teeth extend and become large, sharp needles that drip with saliva. Its mouth is a mockery of a smile, aware that I can go no further, and it will fill its belly with my flesh this night.

  I shake my head “no” as it crouches down and prepares to lunge at me. Time slows as I watch the powerful legs bunch and release. It propels through the air and I can smell its putrid, rotting flesh as it eats the space between us. It lands upon me and pins my body to the stairs.

  Its jaw drops opens and displays a row of teeth. There is a dark space in its deadly mouth, perfect for my head. The smell overpowers me as my head grows closer to the wicked teeth preparing to decapitate me. Its venom drips upon my face.

  “Please, God, let it be quick,” I whisper. A wail pierces my ears and I wonder if the scream was my own. The sound of crying picks up and I’m satisfied the girly scream wasn’t from me. “I know I’ve done some bad things, God, but,” another cry builds in gusto and causes me to lose my concentration on my last prayers. I inhale deeply to continue my confessions, but a wail louder than the last makes the words slip out of my mind and away from my silent tongue.

  “Can’t I have a moment of peace before I die?” I call out to the racket.

  I sit up to find where the noise is coming from and encounter piles of fabric that hold me prisoner. I swat at the folds and free my head from the tangled blankets. My eyes adjust to the dark as I try to make sense of where I am. The candle on the bed stand is no longer aflame. Understanding begins to dawn as I realize I am in my room and in my bed.

  I look at my tangled blankets that were the beast in my nightmare. A laugh escapes me as I think about my foolishness. Isabelle lets out another furious yell and lets everyone know she needs to be fed.

  I pull out my legs from under my blankets and place them on the ground. The stones are cool and scatter the last cobwebs from my brain. The nightmare has taken its toll on my body and my muscles are sore. How does one get sore muscles from dreaming? I stretch to ease the soreness from my limbs as I stand and slowly move to the room down the hall.

  The hall looks more sinister tonight after my recent nightmare. It haunts me as I find my way to Isabelle and her mother’s room.

  The dream is one I have often since I made my way here eleven years ago. It always begins with me running through the forest as the man chases after me. Sometimes he changes into a beast, and other times he shoots arrows at me. Sometimes I make it up to the stairs only to find the door to the church locked, and other times, like tonight, I can't ever reach the top. It changes often but always ends the same. I never make it in to the church. After so many years, you would think my brain could have imagined some different scenarios, but it never does.

  I walk into the small room, currently the space of our new companions, Isabelle and Roselyn. They both are as beautiful as their names.

  Isabelle calls me to her like a beacon, cuddled deep into the fabric of her old crib. Wet had found the old piece upstairs in the attic of the church. All of our time given to sanding and repainting the wood had been wasted. The crib still looked old. She coos as I place my hands on the warn side and look down into the beautiful face of the baby who has stolen my heart.

  Thoughts that lingered from the nightmare fade as I gaze at the tiny jewel that resides in the crib. Her hair is a sunny blonde, as soft as velvet to the touch. Her little round face is scrunched up as she angrily protests the fact that I’ve yet to pick her up. Her feet and arms flail wildly in the air, no longer covered by the yellow blanket. Her body is a familiar weight as I lift her into my arms.

  She’s lighter than she should be and reminds me of my own starving stomach. I cradle her head in the crook of my arm and gently pat her bottom to quiet her fusses. She looks up into my face and I am struck by the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. She also has a tiny dimple by the side of her pink rosebud mouth that melts my heart every time I see it. I worry that we will spoil her rotten because she is so cute.

  Her mother grunts in her sleep and turns to her side and faces us. It is always a surprise to me that Roselyn can sleep so deeply. I try not to let the envy eat at me as I look at her. A sigh escapes me as I think of the unfairness of her being so beautiful and me, not. Of course she would get the looks and a pretty name. That seems how the world likes to spin, quite unfairly.

  Roselyn has the same wheat-yellow hair as her daughter. She has a tiny up-tilted nose and a bigger version of her daughter's pink rosebud mouth. Dark eyebrows frame her doe eyes which are currently closed, but when they are opened they are an icy blue. A classic beauty that even with age will not fade.

  Isabelle fusses, and brings my attention back to her and her hungry belly. As I carry her to the kitchen, Images of Isabelle’s mysterious father flit across my mind. Roselyn hasn’t told us much about him except that he was handsome and very dead after the Elite caught him trespassing and tortured him to death. Roselyn had been near death when I found her, dirty and hungry, seven months ago.