Blood Relations

Prologue

A Goddess requires love, attention, and a means to mete out discipline to her children. All who believed in her had their job to do.

Elders made the rules. There were farmers, those tasked with building homes, others who educated and watched over children. The mourners stayed within constant prayer to please the Phoenix. Her anger could destroy crops or bring a wave of death to a generation of children in the still of the night.

A very select few were actually chosen to enforce the laws and the words of the Dark Goddess. Living apart from other believers, they traveled the world. Their objective was to punish those who had left the Hive. Sometimes they did kill, but other times they were meant to harass those living on the outside. They searched for descendants who escaped. The talons of the Phoenix extended long and deep.

If one watched long enough, surveillance was bound to be rewarded.

Part One

The Law

The wounds of the dead are carried on in the flesh of the living, and appeased only by justice.

-The Book of the Others

Chapter One

August 17, 1980

Chrysalis, South Carolina

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Bonnie’s memory of that day had become clouded over the years, but she did know that her mother had dressed her up that day in her Sunday best: a pink dress with white trim, white patent leather shoes, hair pulled on top of her head in a mass of ringlets. Her sister Grace was ten years old, tall and skinny, and deeply irritated she had to be there. She pulled Bonnie through the crowd, sighing and muttering under her breath as she did. Their Mother was in a corner somewhere, speaking with other wives. It was a hot muggy day, and being outside was miserable, yet the adults demanded it. When all the parents were gathered to talk, it was understood the children were to be quiet and get out of earshot.

Mrs. Adams! Grace called, happy to find Mia with her little son Wade standing a few feet from where the makeshift stage had been set up.

The gathering was taking place on the land of the Gruber’s farm, the largest and most successful farm in this part of town. There was music playing, people walking about and talking to each other merrily. Tables had been set up with all kinds of food and treats, and some of the women had gotten together to provide heartier dishes such as fried chicken or casserole. There were pies, cakes and cookies, and even a man with a snow cone maker, but Grace said she didn’t have any time for that, and that Bonnie could get something to eat later.

Mia turned at the sound of Grace’s voice and smiled. Would you mind watching Bonnie for me just a little while? Grace asked. I promised I’d help Mom and some of the others at the refreshments table.

Sure, not a problem, Mia said. You’re pretty today, darling, she said to Bonnie, and took her hand. Wade said hello, but was busy watching the ruckus made as the adults laughed, talked, and some even sang to music that was being pumped in. Church gatherings were not always so animated.

Grace disappeared into the crowd.

I wonder if she’s really going to help your mother, Mia said.

Bonnie shrugged. Probably not.

Mia laughed, and Bonnie thought how pretty she was, with her wide smile and perfect teeth. She had black hair and pale skin, something like what the child imagined Snow White would have looked like. She had the same pale blue eyes as her son.

Well let’s not worry ourselves with her. How about some cupcakes?

Mia led the children through the crowd to the tables which had been set up for food and refreshments. Bonnie remembered the tablecloths billowing in the slow, warm breeze: red and white checkered, some ivory, others yellow, or baby blue. Instead of matching them, the wives had all sewed their own, each trying to outdo the others with prettier colors or more complicated embroidery. Mama came up to them just as Mia got their cupcakes.

Hi Katrina, Mia said. Where’s Vincent?

That man’s somewhere around here. I don’t know where to be sure, she said.

Is something wrong? Mia asked.

I just wish this whole thing were over, and that we didn’t have to come, she said, looking around. Did Ed happen to tell you what this is about?

No, Mia replied. I was hoping that you might fill me in.

Just  be prepared.

I thought this was a get together, but there’s people here that I have never even seen before.

There are people from other groups here, other compounds, Katrina replied.

A male voice came loudly over the speakers, and everyone turned to see that one of the Council members, Alan, had taken the stage.

All right, we’re about to get started, Alan said. Please take your seats."

Come here, baby, Katrina said to Bonnie. She took her child’s hand. We’ll sit together, she told Mia. Whatever you do, be quiet and don’t say anything.

Folding chairs had been arranged around the stage, and several of the elders were in charge of seeing that everyone was seated properly. Mia, Katrina, and their children were seated in the middle.

I was hoping we’d get seated further in the back, Karina whispered. Remember what I said.

Mia glared back at her, but Katrina said nothing else.

We thank you all for coming. Ladies, many of your husbands are in the back, as they helped in the preparations. You’ll see them shortly. And before we begin, Josiah will lead us in prayer.

Everyone bowed their heads. It was tradition, and done out of respect. It was also easier than looking Josiah in the eye.

Even in the sweltering heat he wore a black coat and hat. He spoke without need of book or paper in front of him, as he knew the prayer he spoke by heart. It was a benediction asking for forgiveness from the Dark Goddess, protection from traitors in a time of chaos. Mia hardly listened to any prayer she heard, but some words caught her ear that were different. She had not heard this supplication before.

When Josiah was done with the prayer, he clapped his hands twice, and all looked up at him. Mia sat back in her chair. His eyes were two dark orbs, moving like steam swirling down into black water. She had never been this close to the man before. A creeping sensation seized her flesh. Every instinct told her that she wanted to be away from Josiah as soon as possible. The crowd waited for his next words in rapt attention. She grabbed Wade, and despite his protests, pulled him into her lap.

In a time when traitors live and work amongst us, striving to do harm, we must cling to the old beliefs that have allowed us to survive thus far. We thrive, despite the plans of our enemies. We succeed, though others thwart our plans. We rise to the challenge that Phoenix has given us. We show her our love, we prove that we remain her faithful servants.

Josiah raised his left hand, and waved, a come-hither motion.

There were screams, and Mia turned to see a group of men. She counted twenty of them, including her own husband, Edmund, his younger brother, Eli, and Katrina’s husband, Vincent. The others were also men that she recognized: the local baker, several neighbors, and a teacher. The men were carrying something between them, but with a cluster of men walking in front and behind it was impossible to see what their burden was, at least until they reached the stage.

They released a man and threw him to Josiah’s feet. He was the one that had been screaming.

Mia gasped and Katrina squeezed her hand, fingernails biting her flesh. Please be quiet, she mouthed.

The man’s face and arms were bloody, his eyes swollen shut. His legs, limp and twisted so his feet pointed toward each other, were crushed. His right arm was dangling, unmoving, at his side. With his left arm he attempted to pull his body forward, managing only an inch. The crowd laughed, some of them stomping their feet, others clapping or throwing their hands in the air. Mia tried in vain to recognize who this man was. He had to be a member of the community, and the Congregate’s settlement was home to a thousand souls at best. If she did not know him personally, certainly he was the son, brother, or husband of someone that she did. Josiah laughed, but when he raised his hand, the crowd quieted down.

Eli, little brother! Josiah boomed. Can you tell us what crime this man has committed against The Hive, and against the Goddess?

He attempted to desert us. We found him trying to leave the Settlement last night.

And did you try to reason with him, let him know that he would be allowed back in with open arms were he to repent?

We did that the last two times he attempted escape, and at the time he asked for forgiveness. Of course, we know that he was lying.

What say you, men and women? Josiah spread his arms, addressing the crowd.

We say, punish! a man cried. The collective voice raised in a one word chant: punish. The word moved through the crowd in a rhythm, a rising tide, a great hissing of snakes.

Mia looked around. There was no way to escape. Though they were in an open space, there were men with guns posted at each corner of the crowd, watching. Bonnie was crying. She looked to her friend, but Katrina raised her voice with the others, ignoring her child. Her own son was still but wide-eyed. Mia pulled Bonnie close with one arm, so that the child was leaning against her thigh. Don’t look, either of you, she said. Wade was stock-still in her lap, staring at what was happening on stage. She tried to force him to look away, but he wouldn’t. She looked to Edmund, but either her husband was unable to see her from the stage, or so enthralled by what was unfolding before him that he couldn’t pull his eyes away.

The Hive has spoken! Josiah’s voice boomed. Let there be punishment!

The poor soul tried to pull himself further, and though he hadn’t made more than an inch’s worth of progress, Eli came forward and stepped on one of his injured legs. He screamed, and the crowd erupted into more laughter and catcalls.

Bring in the girl, Josiah ordered.

Two men, who waited left of stage, helped a young girl up to the platform. She wore a long, white dress, and her brown hair fell to her shoulders. She was an older teen by Mia’s guess, eighteen or nineteen. It took a moment before she recognized her.

Isn’t that Nichole? Mia asked. Your cousin’s daughter?

Katrina nodded. Yes.

When Mia looked back up at the stage, she saw the girl draw a sword from its sheath.

Eli backed away, as did the other men.

Nichole lifted her sword without a word, bringing it down on the injured man’s neck with expert grace. He was rendered paralyzed after the first stroke, dead after the second, but she brought the blade down twice more before it severed head from shoulders.

Mia stood, screaming.

Katrina grabbed her arms and shook her, but no one else seemed to notice, as the other onlookers all stood with her and shouted for joy. Mia’s voice was lost in the commotion, and both children were crying and clinging to her. Katrina forcibly prevented her from running with both children in her arms, pushing her backward and slapping her face. The armed guards would have mowed her down for sure.

Bonnie and Wade, along with many other young children, had seen everything.

Nichole turned toward the crowd, her white dress soaked in blood. She smiled and took a bow. She stepped down from the stage, and as she walked past, Mia could smell the copper of blood that drenched her, saw drops of it shining like rubies on her face.

Chapter Two

The Breaking of Silence

***

A year and a half into Sara’s time at college, she woke one morning with a migraine. It wasn’t long after that she began to see halos, and hear the twittering of voices in her head.

***

Sara never told people about what her life was like growing up.

She had a good imagination, or so she had been told by her Mother, an expert in the discipline of storytelling herself. She could create life stories that were nowhere near reality.

Sara told people that they lived in a house in Maine, not far from the sea, a white clapboard with peeling paint—that her father, a veteran, had died overseas, leaving her and her mother forlorn and alone, and that her earliest memories were of her pregnant mother weeping softly at night, missing the husband that would never return, and that later Mama miscarried the baby. Sometimes she said that she was from California; that their home was a cramped bungalow in Venice and that she swam and surfed with older boys and often ditched school. There was also a cover story about a desert town in Arizona where she and her mother had lived only a mile or so outside of a reservation, their small adobe home often occupied with men who came and went for nefarious reasons that Mama would never speak of. The squeaking of the bedposts and the sounds from the back of Mama’s throat late at night were all the explanation needed. That part of the story was never mentioned in the retelling of events.

The truth was something both harder edged and more nebulous than anything Sara ever shared with anyone. These stories were parts of lives that she had lived with her mother, but there was never a true home, or at least, not for very long. She could not remember her Mother ever being pregnant, but if she was, the pregnancy never took. Mother often told people that she had suffered several miscarriages, but that was way to get sympathy, by Sara’s guess. Look at me and my poor daughter, all alone, fending for ourselves, and no one will help us. That line got them room and board more times than she could count. Remember, kid, the world is not filled with good people. If you’re lucky, you can find someone who wants to feel good about themselves by doing a good deed, and you can take advantage of that. Don’t go getting all soft and liking people, because if the roles were reversed, they would use you too.

Sara learned at a young age the value of a well-placed lie, the way that a person’s emotions could be manipulated with the slightest bit of misinformation.

Sometimes Sara said that she had a little brother who lived with their Father, and that she rarely heard from either except on holidays. The idea of a Father who loved her and a brother, with a home that could be a sanctuary if she needed it, was an attractive idea, but an utter fantasy. She had never been told anything at all about her Father. She suspected that Mama didn’t know or care who he was to begin with.

Mostly they lived out of their car, an old green van that had perpetual trouble but always seemed capable of coughing its way to the next interstate, the next town, wherever on the map Mama was inspired to push it to. They lived on fast food from burger joints and rest stops, beef jerky and chips, and liters of cold soda split between the two of them.

Sara resented that her Mother couldn’t be like other women and that she was always moving, that she had never lived in one place more than two months at a time. When she was small, Sara imagined that she and Mama were living in their own special adventure, a life complete with changing identities and new cities. Other people were disposable; a means to an end, a way to get money, a place to stay, a home cooked meal, the pretense of a friendly conversation.

Sometimes Mama left her for months at a time to live with other people when money was running low, or as she often said, to allow Sara the time to get some schooling. Sara was home schooled by a motley crew of her mother’s often questionable associates, but there were a few, like her friend Melanie, that Sara actually liked. She was a former school teacher, and though her own kids were grown, she didn’t mind taking care of a confused young girl for months at a time. Melanie taught her how to read and write in both English and Spanish, taught her math and how to cook. There were other homes that she stayed in which were not as friendly. There was Jonas, a former boyfriend of her mother’s, who taught Sara other life necessities: how to drive a car, how to pick-pocket, and how to steal from stores without getting caught. Jonas had three teenaged daughters of his own—all born to different women, the girls lived under his roof in an uneasy détente. In that household, everything was about competition, and she had to fight for the right to have anything of her own, as the other girls stole and borrowed from her and each other constantly.

Sara liked to think of them as Thieves United. One was half black, another half Cuban, and the youngest was half Irish. Despite varying skin tones, they shared Jonas’ rounded features—curly black hair and Serbian gray-green eyes. She could pretend to be the fourth of the sisters, but her wide brown eyes and dimpled chin made her easy to recognize as the one thing amongst others that didn’t belong. It was clear that the reason he kept the girls around was because they made him money, as he’d had little to do with them when they were younger. But it didn’t seem to matter, as they snapped and fought like puppies for any scrap of fatherly attention they could get from him. Yelena, the middle daughter, told Sara that they had more sisters out there, and that as they aged younger girls would be brought up under his tutelage. And while Sara was not one of them, Jonas had a soft spot for her mama and was willing to provide her with a place to stay.

Always she worried about what had become of her mother while she was away. Sometimes she showed up having lost weight, road weary and wearing new clothes or a different hairstyle (she almost didn’t recognize Mama that time she came back wearing a blond pixie cut so thin she could see her scalp) but she always came back for her. One time, she had been living at Melanie’s for a year, and Sara secretly wished that Mama wouldn’t come back. She showed up on the doorstep one rainy night, drenched, wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap to obscure the obvious signs of physical abuse on her bruised, swollen face. Melanie asked a lot of questions which mama refused to answer, and that was the last time either of them saw the woman.

After a day on the road they settled into a rental house in Florida, a place owned by another anonymous friend. Sara already knew that probably meant that the place was an empty rental they had no business living in, and that they would have to leave in the beginning of Spring. She didn’t really care about that... but once they were alone and comfortable, Sara asked for the first time where her mother had been and what had happened to her when she was gone.

I saw the bruises on your back, too, Mama, she said. Tell me the truth.

Mama straightened her posture, glaring at her with a look that made her recoil.

"We’re not free like other people. Our ability to be out here like this, it comes at a very high price. I ran into your