Seta's Fall: A Blood Revelation Prequel Page 2

Rialto’s sweet cherubic face filled Seta’s mind as she lie sleeping. She didn’t know if it were a dream or a desperate wish she clung to as her body refused to allow her to wake before the sun fell away but she woke smiling … until she saw the large man standing above her with a spear in his hand.

  Seta quickly rose to her feet, using her vampire speed, and drew back her hand, flame already forming in her palm.

  The man’s eyes widened but he quickly recovered.

  “You are fast,” Atsidi said. “So am I. Put your fire away and my spear will taste no blood. I did not come for a battle.”

  “Why are you here?”

  He turned away, pulling back the door covering. “She is awake. Come forward.”

  The green fireball in Seta’s palm fizzled out as a small shirtless man entered the hogan and faced her. He attempted to stand straight, head held high with pride and courage, but his eyes betrayed him. They radiated fear.

  “Kneel,” Atsidi ordered.

  The smaller man turned his back to her and kneeled on the ground. She heard him gulp as he tilted his head to the side and pulled the braided hair away, revealing his neck to her in offering.

  “Hastiin Sani has sent you blood,” Atsidi advised, positioning himself before the man, spear raised. “He has offered a meal, not a life.”

  Understanding the intended threat, Seta stepped forward and rested her hand on the young man’s shoulder. His jaw clenched as he struggled to be brave. Seta looked up and saw disgust in Atsidi’s eyes as he glared down at the man. Obviously, Atsidi was impressed by strength and abhorred cowardice.

  “Who chose the offering?”

  Atsidi removed his gaze from the man to meet hers. “I did. Is he not worthy?”

  Oh, he would love for her to say that and love even more to ridicule the young man. Never removing her gaze from Atsidi’s, Seta squeezed the young man’s shoulder, infusing him with a small bit of her power, just a little something to take the edge off of his fear and felt him calm beneath her hand. “I was just wondering. I am a powerful predator, the type of creature one does not often come across. Judging by your size I assumed you would have been my offering, but I understand, fear comes in all sizes.”

  Atsidi’s nostrils flared as he tightened his grip on the spear. “I fear no beast, man, or woman. I choose the offering and I protect the offering.” His thunderous tone softened as the corners of his mouth turned up slightly under what one would consider a grin. “I am the watcher. I am the one who keeps you in my sight and rams a spear through your throat if you take too much. As you see with your own eyes, I do not tremble. I will not hesitate. I will not miss.”

  She looked into his dark eyes and saw his words were true. The man beneath her had grown completely calm under her influence. Now she was the one ill at ease. Atsidi intended to watch her feed as if she were some freakish monster on display. The hunger inside her warred with her shame.

  “Now who is the one in fear?”

  Casting a glare at the large man goading her, Seta forced herself to push all insecurities and shameful feelings out of her mind and lowered her mouth to the smaller man’s neck. She lived therefore she needed to feed, just as the rest of the people in the world. She did not ask to be a bloodsucking fiend and she would not apologize for it, not even if these people thought she deserved to be fed under armed guard.

  Her fangs descended and penetrated the man’s heavily sunned skin, allowing her to drink his life-fueling blood. His blood was very thick and powerful, heavy with iron. As his blood filled her stomach, images from his life filled her mind. She saw him playing as a child one day, watching his father die at the hands of white men the next. He lost his childhood innocence quickly and what he’d seen that day scarred him. The others alternated between taunting him for his weakness and trying to build strength in him. These people were proud warriors and did not understand his meek personality. Atsidi took special interest in him, training him to fight, but the boy never did become a great warrior. They relegated him to tending to the sheep.

  Taking just enough blood to satisfy her hunger, Seta withdrew. Gaze locked onto Atsidi’s, she licked the young man’s wound, helping his flesh heal faster. Atsidi’s upper lip curled a little in disgust but his eyes did not turn away. He held the spear high, yet looser than before. He could pretend to loathe her, but he could not hide his admiration of what he saw as power.

  “Thank you,” she said to the young man, receiving a surprised look from him in response before his cheeks grew pink beneath their healthy tan.

  “Leave, now,” Atsidi instructed him.

  The young man quickly left but held his head high, keeping eye contact with Atsidi. Seta grinned.

  “You chose him because you feel he is weak.”

  “He is weak,” Atsidi advised. “The more he faces fear, the stronger he will become.”

  “Strength is important to you.”

  “As it should be. Do you not respect strength? You are no weak lamb.”

  “I have not always been this powerful.”

  “You have always been powerful,” Atsidi advised. “Power is not given, it is found. I help my people find their power and strength.”

  “The young man will be returning to me tomorrow?”

  Atsidi grinned now. “Yes. He held his head high today. We will see what he does tomorrow. One day, he may hold the spear as you feed.”

  “One day you may see you do not need the spear.”

  To this, Atsidi laughed. “I respect the wolf too much to face it bare handed.”

  He pulled back the blanket covering the door and called out to Taazbaa. A beautiful, tall woman with long flowing hair entered, her posture showing no fear. Two other women joined her, each with the same strength and poise.

  “Hastiin Sani has sent us to show you the way to your son,” Taazbaa announced, moving farther inside the hogan. “The first thing you need to do is lie down.”

  The three women kneeled on the ground, straightening the woven blanket Seta had slept on the night before.

  Seta looked over at Atsidi, eyebrows raised. He nodded.

  “It is safe,” Taazbaa assured her.

  Four against one, Seta considered, and one of the four was a large man with a spear. She had magic though, and could set them all ablaze before Atsidi could use the spear … probably. The women looked innocent enough, even if the main one exhibited great confidence. The majority of the tribe did though. They were strong, proud people. If anything, she sensed they were people of honor. If they wanted to harm her, they would not resort to trickery. And she longed to see Rialto and curb the never-ending pain in her heart.

  Decision made, she lay down on the blanket, taking comfort in the fact her magic was inside her, always ready in case she needed to defend herself.

  “You have Navajo blood,” Taazbaa explained, “which will make this easy for you to learn. The power is already inside of you. You only need to be shown the way.”

  “What are you speaking of?”

  “You can see your son any time you want, but you can not take your body.”

  Seta jackknifed into a sitting position. “What are you saying?”

  “Calm now,” Taazbaa insisted. “You have the ability to allow your soul to travel outside your body and go anywhere.”

  “To die, you mean.”

  The women shook their heads. Seta looked up at Atsidi and saw him grinning, enjoying her apprehension. The desire to remove the humor from his face gave her courage.

  “Explain how my soul leaves my body without dying.”

  “Your soul leaves your body but does not detach. It is still tethered and must return. It can travel great distances in a blink of an eye but must always return.”

  “I can send my soul to where my son is?”

  Taazbaa nodded, smiling. “You have not lost your son. You can go to him as many times as you like.”

  “Will he know I am there?”

  “If you choose to allow yourself t
o be seen, he will see you. You can speak to him.”

  “Can I hold him?”

  Taazbaa’s smile dimmed. “I am sorry. You can not touch him or be touched in spirit form, not even by the sun. You are not solid. You are as the wind in spirit form, except you can be seen.”

  “Even the wind can be felt,” Seta mumbled softly.

  “He can feel your love. Are you ready to see him again?”

  Blinking back tears, struggling to show no weakness before Atsidi, Seta lie back. “I am ready.”

  “This is a spiritual journey, Seta. You travel by thought and emotion. You must clear your mind of all words. See your son’s face and focus on it. Allow yourself to feel the love you have for him, but do not think it in words. Your mind must stay empty except for his image, your heart so full of love for him that there is no room for any conflict.”

  Seta pictured Rialto’s beautiful dark head in her mind, saw his black curls, his olive skin, chubby cheeks. She heard his laugh and her heart ached as the sound of his laughter filled her mind.

  “Focus on him, Seta, and the tether will grow. Focus on him until you are with him. Have no fears. You will not become untethered. You will not get lost. Focus on him.”

  Seta remained focused on her son’s face and soon the women’s voices fell away as her mind became consumed with Rialto’s image. She pictured his sweet face before her and felt her heart grow with love until it felt it would burst.

  She stood in a small room and her son sat on a soft throw in the middle playing with blocks. A nanny slept in a rocking chair, nearby, not even watching him. Rather than throwing a fit in anger at the injustice of it, Seta used the woman’s incompetence to her advantage.

  “Rialto.”

  His chubby face turned upward until he met her eyes. Unsure how to allow herself to be seen, Seta just let herself think it and the stillness that overcame Rialto’s small body as he met her gaze let her know it worked.

  She kneeled on the floor, noticing how the sunlight poured through the window and dealt her no damage. She realized she and Rialto were so far apart it was still daylight in his location. She started to reach for him, but knew she wouldn’t be able to touch him.

  He crawled toward her, stopping just in front of her, looked up and laughed with delight.

  Seta cried like a baby.

  She awoke with wet, sticky trails of her own tears clinging to her skin.

  “Wait!” She sat up, found herself still surrounded by the three women and Atsidi still standing guard. She rubbed a hand over her middle where it had felt like a cord attached there had snapped her back into her body. “I was not ready to come back.”

  “Your spirit can not exist outside of your body for long periods,” Taazbaa advised as she took one of her hands in hers. “Did you see your son?”

  “Yes.” Seta smiled, recalling her son’s innocent, cherubic face, his beautiful curls, and angelic laugh. She nearly cried recalling the happiness in his eyes when he saw her. “He remembered me.”

  “You are his mother. He would not forget so soon.”

  “He will in time,” she said, sighing. “If I only have these short moments with him and can not touch him.”

  “The spirits will connect you two again when the time is right,” Taazbaa assured her. “Now that you know the way to him when your heart grows too heavy to be without, we must go. Your day is our night.”

  The women left the hogan but not before Seta noticed the loving glances shared between Taazbaa and Atsidi.

  “She is your wife.”

  “Yes,” Atsidi answered.

  “Do you have children?”

  “One son, one daughter.”

  “You are blessed.”

  “The Great Spirit has provided for us well.” Atsidi ran his thumb over the pointed end of his spear. “I can not imagine having a child taken. My rage would never die, my battle would go on without end. You are very strong to control the burning inside you.”

  “I have no choice. I have been changed since I bore him. He would not be safe with me now. People fear what I am and they will hunt me.”

  “I know. I am as much your guard as I am my tribe’s.”

  Seta stood and met his gaze. “Why? You could kill me in my sleep. Why protect me?”

  “Come, Seta. Walk with me and I will tell you a story.”

  They exited the hogan and walked past the field of sheep. She noted the young man she’d fed from standing nearby with a spear in hand, guarding over the sheep. Already, his demeanor had changed from that feeding. He seemed taller, braver.

  “The Navajo are no strangers to magic. Hastiin Sani is not only so highly respected because he is our eldest. He is also a brave warrior, and gifted with visions. I remember as a child I was told a half Navajo magic woman would return to us. I recognized you the moment you appeared before us and spoke to the wolf.”

  “I am from Spain,” Seta said. “My father and mother are Spanish. We moved to Italy and I was sent here from there. I could not return to a place I have never been. I can not be half Navajo if my parents are not Navajo.”

  Atsidi glanced down at her. “The parents who raised you were Spanish. I assure you, one who did not was Navajo.”

  Seta shook her head. “My mother and father were married before I was conceived. I am their child.”

  “You are not the first vampire we have helped,” Atsidi said, seeming to sense she was not going to budge from her argument. “Before I was born, when my grandfather was a young boy, a white man with sunset colored hair and a singing voice found us. He was a broken man with no joy, yet he fought the darkness inside him and helped us in battle. He saved many of our people so we helped him. We gave him shelter and we fed him.”

  “How long?”

  “My father knew him.”

  So he’d been there with them long enough for Atsidi’s grandfather to become a man with children of his own, Seta concluded. “Why did he leave?”

  “It was time.” Atsidi stared up at the stars twinkling above them. “The story goes … Hastiin Hashtaal ran as far as he could but the spirits of those he did not save held on so tightly he could not shake them loose. He was cursed to live forever with the pain of his losses suffocating him. He found a people who were strong warriors as himself. He helped them and they helped him. They were equal. He did not have to carry all the weight on his shoulders. He breathed easier with the warrior people but a witch found him and told him he must leave. His travels were not over. Others needed his help. He left the warrior people to save others hoping that one day he would save enough to relieve him of his pain.”

  Hastiin Hashtaal. Translated to Singing Man, or The Man Who Sings. Seta smiled at the name they’d given Eron and found herself missing his melodic voice. He’d banished her though, sent her to another country where she had no prayer of holding her son in her arms again.

  “Hastiin Sani told us another like Hastiin Hashtaal would come and that we were to protect her, and she would protect us too.”

  “You believe I am this woman.”

  “Hastiin Hashtaal would not send you here unless he trusted you to protect us and we to do the same.”

  “He banished me in anger.”

  “No, Seta.” Atsidi looked down at her. “He would have sent you away, not to his people. He is one with us in spirit. He did not banish you. He sent you to us because you need us. You saw your son today.”

  “You are saying he knew you would teach me how to send my spirit to my son?”

  “I am saying he knew we would help you. I am saying … Hastiin Hashtaal loves you.”

  Seta opened her mouth to dispute the claim, stilling as battle cries filled the air.

  “What is that?” she asked as Atsidi turned toward the raucous.

  “White men have found us,” he growled as he raised his spear and ran.

  EIGHT

  Seta raced behind Atsidi, past the field of sheep and into the clearing between the mountains where the majority of hog
ans were. As they neared she saw white men battling with the Navajo. They used firearms and long daggers to attack the Navajo, sneaking upon them in the middle of the night, giving themselves the advantage.

  Atsidi immediately went into action, charging toward the closest group of enemies he saw, spear raised high, his battle cry deafening. Seta remained behind, assessing the situation. The invaders seemed to be targeting the women and children, pulling them from hogans. A trio of men pulled two children from a hogan Taazbaa had been defending. The woman turned and lunged for her children but a man knocked her backward and pointed his firearm at her head. Atsidi turned, saw the white man raising his blade in the air, ready to behead his young son. He would never make it. He had no choice but to watch his family’s slaughter.

  “Not tonight,” Seta growled as Atsidi’s young son’s face turned into Rialto’s and flashbacks of the night her own child had been ripped from her arms fueled her rage. Her body flooded with fiery hot anger and two green flaming balls formed in her hands. She flung them at the men attacking Taazbaa and her children, setting the murderers ablaze. Instantly, two more fireballs formed in her hands. She flung them at the closest targets she saw, repeating the process over and over.

  She walked through the center of the clearing, her body burning as one giant flame, as though her very blood boiled, her vision clouded with red. She heard the battle cries and screams of fear around her but focused only on the white men who dared invade the Navajo’s land. She had only spent one night with these people, but they had given her back something precious and sheltered her from the sun. They were her people now and they would not die.

  Fire continued erupting from her hands, turning its targets into ash.

  “Witch! Witch!” she heard the white men scream as her body jerked multiple times and her legs gave out. She fell to her knees, realizing she’d been taken down somehow. Through the haze of her fury she never saw it coming. White men surrounded her in a circle, firearms and blades pointed, ready to finish her off, to keep her from her son for eternity. In that moment they all looked like Count Roberto Garibaldi. Seta looked through their skin, watched their blood pumping through their black hearts and her rage intensified, becoming too much to bear. She threw her head back and let loose her own battle cry. As it echoed off the rock walls, she could just barely hear the men’s screams over it before a deafening pop drowned out all sound.

  She saw that she kneeled in a circle of blood and eviscerated bodies. Looking down at her own body she saw wounds. So many wounds…

  “Seta!” Atsidi ran toward her, dropped to his knees and slid through the bloody remains of their enemies to embrace her before she fell back, her life almost gone. He bellowed for the medicine man and pulled his hair away from his neck, exposing the long, thick column.

  “Drink!” He commanded.

  Seta shook her head. Her rage spent, she now drifted toward death peacefully, realizing how easy it would be to just let go and rest forever.

  “Drink!” Atsidi pulled her into him, placing her mouth against his neck. “You saved my family. It is my duty to save you. Drink!”

  Family. His wife. His children. A son. She had a son.

  Rialto.

  She had to stay for Rialto.

  Instinct took over and Seta’s fangs descended. She clamped down on Atsidi’s thick neck and drank greedily to replenish the blood she’d lost in battle and give her the necessary strength to heal her wounds.

  As she drank, images flooded her mind. She saw Atsidi as a young boy learning how to hunt, fight, and how to make things. She watched as he fell in love with Taazbaa, a mighty warrior in her own right, and not only saw but felt his pride when his children were born. The images reversed, went back to his childhood and further, until they were no longer his memories. She saw Hastiin Sani as a younger man watching over his own son. His son grew and married, and his wife bore him a son. Atsidi. Atsidi’s mother died during birth. A few years later, Atsidi’s father met a Spanish couple. Seta’s parents.

  She saw Atsidi’s father with her mother, embracing. Her mother’s belly grew round…

  Seta withdrew her fangs from Atsidi, reeling in shock. Still suffering from the blood loss, the movement was too fast and blackness crept in. She was lifted from the ground and opened her eyes a sliver to see Atsidi was the one to carry her away from the bloody aftermath of the battle.

  He placed her on a wool throw inside a hogan and fell back, weak from having just given blood.

  Hastiin Sani stood over her as the blackness stole more of her vision. “Rest now. You have done your people proud… Granddaughter.”