Gaia Hunted, page 25
part #1 of The Ascended Prophecies Series
But how do I fight? I don't have any weapons. They hold all the cards.
Keep fighting . . .
This obstinate old past life is going to be the death of me. I bite my lip. Stay strong, stay contemptuous. “How did you know I would be here?”
“Oh . . .” Gurzil smiles. “Don't play dumb. You already know.”
I swallow, but my throat is as dry as sandpaper. Is he alive?
“Would you like to see him?”
I hold my breath, and my heart flutters. He's been the fuel that's kept me going. The thought of him has kept me hopeful through my darkest moments.
“Of course you would,” Gurzil answers. He turns to a side entrance. “Bring in the prisoner!” A few seconds later, Brutus and Malachi enter—grinning and evil. They haul in an unconscious Jared.
He's tied to a chair, and his pallid skin stretches over a gaunt frame. A collage of purple bruises crisscrosses his face. His fingers are bandaged. Old blood stains his shirt and pants brown.
“Doesn't look healthy, does he?” Gurzil asks. “But, if he had simply told us where you were going, then his stay with us would have been much more comfortable.”
I stare at Jared's closed eyes. He must have endured such unspeakable pain before he finally broke.
A heat grows inside of me. Jared is still alive, barely. We still have a glimmer of a chance.
Gurzil's harsh laugh brings me back to the present. “You love him, don't you?” When I don't respond, he continues, “That is touching. Love is beautiful. It's too bad that only the weak believe in the power of love.”
“Only the fearful believe in the power of hate,” I respond in a calm tone, my eyes not leaving Jared.
Gurzil pauses. “Fearful? You have to be kidding. I'm not afraid of you.”
I turn and face him. “Not only are you afraid of me. But you're afraid of all the people you have ever hurt in your pathetic life. You were afraid of the women you killed in Salem. You were afraid of the women you killed here. Yes, you're afraid of me. Your fear fuels your hate. Because of this, I pity you.”
Gurzil's jaw drops and anger flares up like a napalm bomb. “Save your pity, bitch!” His face loses the mask of cordiality and mirth. Now it's only the demon. “You stupid whore,” he spits. “I don't fear anyone. If you lived even a day in my life, you would realize that fear is only what others feel toward me. I'm not afraid of your women. I killed them because they were in my way. A god of war fears nothing.”
My voice—calm and tinged with pity—replies, “I feel sorry for you. You have known nothing but anger and hate your entire life. Hate corrupted you, rotted you from the inside. Hate twisted and mutated your soul.”
“Silence!” he screams, spittle flying from his mouth, a vein pulsing on his forehead. “I am a god!”
“A god of what?” I ask. “How are you different from mortals?”
“I have the knowledge of over a thousand lives. Each more powerful than the previous.”
“And what do you do with that knowledge? You kill, you hurt, and you destroy. You don't listen to all your past lives. I wonder what it's like in your head. Do you listen to the past lives that advocate for love and peace? Or do you ignore them and care more about the words from the older souls? The ones that call for blood and sacrifice. The ones that feed on human life. Are you really a god, or are you a slave to greater demons?”
The muscles and veins in his neck bulge. “I fought for this life. I earned this life. I won the right to be a god! He gave me the right!” he declares with triumph ringing in his voice.
Something is off about his declaration. He appears to be talking about an actual person. “Who gave you this right?” I ask.
Gurzil's reaction to the question is odd. He falls quiet and sullen like a child confessing an error.
“There is someone else. Isn't there?” I press harder, remembering the Shadow God. “Someone has set you on this path.”
Tatiana rushes across the room to him. She stands up on her toes and says into his ear just loud enough for me to hear, “Stop listening to her. Let's finish her off.”
But Gurzil smirks and with a rough shove, pushes her away. “What are you worried about, babe?” he asks, glaring at her. “Afraid your puppy is going to make a boo-boo? A little mess on the rug?” He shakes his head. “She's not going anywhere.”
“You're right,” I say. “I'm as good as dead. What's the harm in telling me who a god of war serves.”
“I serve no one,” Gurzil growls. “I am the master of my own destiny.”
Suddenly things become clear. “Then why are you doing his bidding? Why is it so important that I die? Why have you been his lapdog chasing me around the world?”
“I am no dog!” Gurzil shouts.
“As you say,” I reply, scowling with hands on my hips. “Yet, you do his work. I hope you will be compensated well.”
“Oh, don't you worry. My prize is well-worth my time.”
“Silence, fool,” Tatiana interjects. “You made an oath.”
He spins on her, madness glowing in his eyes. “Shut up, whore! Corpses don't speak.”
“Come on, babe,” I taunt, “who did you make a deal with?”
Gurzil laughs and his face withdraws. “I still remember the day you found me,” he says to Tatiana. “I didn't believe a single word out of your mouth.”
“He would not approve of this. You know that,” Tatiana warns, and I detect a waver in her voice.
“I always knew I was different. Those dreams that I could never remember. You know how it feels,” he says to me. “I knew I was greater in my sleep than I was in my reality. I knew I was something more. He allowed me to fulfill my true potential. The deal was simple: for immortality, complete the ceremony and kill you.” He stops, a sliver of hate exploding into a raw, murderous glare. “Once I'm done with you, he will be next.” His vicious eyes turn to Tatiana. “You hear that, whore! I'm coming for your real man.” He laughs like a hyena. “In the end, death and war will rule supreme. My wrath will sweep over the earth. It will be all-consuming, and nothing will block its path. My power will swallow this world. It will swallow all of you, and I will be king.”
Tatiana is white with fear. “As you say, so shall it be.”
“Bla, bla, bla . . .” he mocks, eyes plowing into me with drill-like precision. “Bring me my knives.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
The Game
Tatiana, anxious fear reflected in her dark eyes, fumbles at a bag by her side. She retrieves a roll of purple velvet. With shaking hands, she passes it to Gurzil who snatches it away from her. The rolled fabric spindles down, unfurling to reveal a half-dozen knives. His upper lip raises like Elvis's. “Now for some real fun.”
He studies the knives. He grasps one with a detailed bone handle and withdraws it from the sleeve. Its curved edge glints sharp in the candlelight.
Gurzil holds the knife with a delicate grace as if it were a living thing. He stares into the blade's reflection, a mad excitement dancing in his eyes. The guards, on some unspoken cue, all take a step away from him against the back wall of the church.
“Are you ready for the game?” he asks.
“If you're going to kill me, just do it,” I reply. I'm not going to give him the joy of seeing me squirm.
A taunting smile breaks from his serious expression. “Not so fast.” He tosses the knife from one hand to the other and spins it with well-practiced skill. “Let me explain the rules.” He points the knife at me. “You are Gaia—the goddess of the earth. In a sense, you are the mother of mankind and the spiritual embodiment of humanity. Agree?”
I nod, unable to speak.
“Ergo, the mother loves her children more than anything. The mother is kind, compassionate, and above all else preserves and protects the innocent. Are you all those things? A teacher, someone who cares for the young.” He slashes the knife through the air, and I wince, my insides turning to solid ice. “So what do you think happens when you commit a crime that is so atrocious, so despicable, that it goes against your very nature and being?”
I shake my head. I don't like where this conversation is going.
Gurzil bares his teeth in a wolfish smile. “The Shadow God told me one thing. If you, Gaia, murder someone who is innocent, then you will no longer be Ascended. The chain of reincarnation will be broken because all your past lives will revolt against you. They will leave you, and you'll never reincarnate again.” His face twists in sadistic glee. “What do you think? You want to give it a try?”
Gulping, my hairs stand on end and heart pounds in my chest. “What do you want me to do?”
Gurzil walks up to me. I smell expensive cologne wafting off his skin. He holds the blade in his hand. I see him pull back his arm and expect to feel the cold steel plunge into my stomach.
I close my eyes, chills spreading throughout my body. I ready myself for death.
But instead, Gurzil grabs my hand and places the bone handle in my palm. His icy hands close my fingers tight around it, and he steps away.
I hold the knife and look down at it as if it were an alien artifact. Turning back to Gurzil, my mouth drops open, but no words emerge.
His eyes flare with malice and determination. “Bring them in!” he shouts.
Through a side entrance of the church, they march in single file. About a dozen children, ages five to nine. I remember the empty school playground and the fear-filled eyes of the girl in the bodega. The children. They were taken, and now they're hostages in his sick game.
He winks, and he shoots his eyes in the one direction I was praying he wouldn't. My body trembles, and I fight to stay on my feet.
Gurzil's cruel smile grows larger as I put together the pieces. “Yes, that's right. Now you understand.” He points to the children. “You need to make a sacrifice to my glory—a child, an innocent.”
A wave of nausea courses through me. My hands shake and lower lip quivers. “I can't do it. I won't do it.”
“Oh, yes you will,” Gurzil replies. “Or the consequences will be even more terrible.”
I close my eyes, take an icy breath, and ask in a quivering voice, “What consequences?”
“I will make you watch as I kill them all.”
“You can't kill them,” I plead, eyes bulging. “They're just children.”
Gurzil crooks his head like a serpent. “You still don't get it.” He takes another knife out of the velvet roll and walks toward the children. “I can do whatever I want.” He brings the knife's edge against the throat of a six-year-old girl in a pink dress with ribbons in her hair. She begins to cry.
“Stop! Don't!”
His hand halts. “Oh, Gaia. Look what you're doing to them. Look into their eyes. Their lives depend upon what you do. Are you going to let them down?”
“Please.”
“Oh, you pretty young thing.” Gurzil caresses the girl's cheek. She sobs with tears. “You will, because if you don't, I will slice each of their little throats. And I will make you watch while their innocent faces squirm and twist with pain.”
I'm now crying. Please, Maria Luisa. Help me figure something out. I need you now more than any other time. I wait and hope.
But for the first time, she's silent and gone. I'm all alone.
“If you don't do what I command, then I'll find more innocents. I'll find more children, and I will kill them. I will continue killing until you fulfill my wishes.”
I'm shaking with fear and anger. Icy sweat pours down my back.
“For I am the Lord your God, and I command it,” Gurzil intones. He pulls the little girl to within a foot of me. She squirms and fights to free herself, but he holds her with an ironclad grip.
My grip on the knife loosens, and I look over at Jared, but he's still unconscious. I need his help.
When I stare into the little girl's brown eyes, I shake my head. My body feels like it will collapse. “I can't,” I whisper. “I can't hurt her.” To kill her would be to kill myself.
“You must,” Gurzil says, voice hardening. “Come toward me,” he commands. Like a puppet, I walk toward him. Each step is a heavy blow. I'm now standing in front of him and the little girl. “Raise the knife.”
I bring the knife slowly up and rest it against the tender skin of her neck.
My tears splash onto the ground. The blade quivers against her throat, and I fear my hand will slip by accident. “I can't do this,” I confess.
I hope for a miracle—anything to save me from this moment. Where is the Chinese warrior? The Indian? Maria Luisa? Where are any of the past lives who are supposed to be inside me? Aren't they supposed to come rescue me? Aren't they here to protect me? I pray for them. Willing them to save me. I need you now. Please!
But in the end—silence.
I imagine jamming the knife into Gurzil's stomach. I want Jared to jump to his feet and save the day. I want the police to come in and stop it all. But there's no cavalry. There's no rescue.
Gurzil releases the girl, who remains petrified in place. He walks up behind me. His hands grab my waist, and he pressed his hips against mine and hisses, “Kill her.”
“I can't.”
“You can, and you will,” Gurzil assures. “It's the only way to save more lives.”
“But I—I—.”
Tears streak down my cheeks. I force my hands to stop shaking. I take a deep breath, and I know what has to happen. There's only one way out.
With a movement so swift that Gurzil will not be able to stop me, the blade leaves the girl's throat and finds my own. The blade's cold edge sends shivers through my body.
I will take my own life. In the end, it won't matter. I will be reincarnated into someone new.
I will sacrifice myself. Yes, it is selfish, but I won't kill an innocent. My rebellion might not save everyone, but it will prevent me from killing a child.
However, my hand doesn't budge, and the knife remains in place. I can't swipe the blade across my throat.
Gurzil's grip on me loosens, and he whispers in my ear, “Careful how you tread. I will still kill them all even if you don't do it. Look the children in their eyes before you slice your own throat. Because their blood will still be on your hands.”
I turn to the children in the room. My heart beats fast. I do as he says and look them in their eyes—frightened, crying, innocent.
While staring into their fragile faces, a painful pressure builds inside of me. My breathing quickens.
In that moment, something ignites. It's a realization that sets my heart soaring.
I love them. I love all of them. This love explodes inside me, filling me with burning heat. This love destroys the fear that had gripped my heart. It destroys the hate and anger that I thought I needed. My love encompasses all. This love ignites a flame inside of me that starts to grow.
I feel love for the Black Stream people. Love for Luisita. Love for Ganesha and his followers. Love for all humans. Love for the forest. Love for the sea. Love for all creatures—animals, birds, insects. Love for Jared. I even feel love for Gurzil, a man who is driven mad by his determination to kill me.
Then things get weird. Time slows to the beating of my heart and then, stops altogether.
The faces of the scared children freeze. Gurzil's face—twisted and smiling—is a statue. The men with guns are afraid and under his spell. A fly's lazy path stops in midair.
Time refuses to move forward. Then, a small flame lights within me. A mini eruption. An odd tickling sensation at first. It begins below my naval. A series of more bursts become a burn. Not a painful burn but a purifying one. The flame inside of me grows. Destroying something that latched onto me like a virus, and it grows like a bonfire. A moment later, this burn spreads throughout my entire body. It burns off my clothes, my flesh, and my bones. Burning away the vestiges of an old life, the fire sets me free. My own body can't contain the fire, and it shoots forth through the entire room, blazing out in a bright yellow light.
This all-consuming fire encompasses the room. It fills the church. It devours the village. It engulfs the continent and swallows the world.
I convulse from the explosion feeling the radiant energy flow out of me. Out of my fingertips. Out of my eyes. Out of my chest. I feel the entire life energy of the planet—beating, growing, living inside of me.
As quickly as the fire engulfed me, it disappears a moment later. Everything goes black. A familiar black from a familiar dark.
CHAPTER FORTY
Many Flames
From the darkness emerges light. A single light. It pierces the black veil like a pinprick star in the heavens. The light wavers and dims. I think for sure it will disappear, but it grows in strength and brightness.
I focus on the flame. The flame burning inside of me, which has transformed to an inferno. I stare deep into the heart of it, and in its dancing red fire, a face emerges—a round, caring, and loving face with wrinkles and small ears all framed by dark black hair.
Sister Maria Luisa smiles at me. Her expression conveys the everlasting love fueling the flame. Our eyes meet and I find all her secrets and stories. I understand the heartbreak of leaving her parents and the city of her birth. The pity she felt for the indigenous tribes of the jungle and how they were abused by the conquistadors. I experience the love for the native peoples—for their traditions, stories, and lives.
In a blink of an eye, the flame splits in half like a single cell organism. Now there are two flames. My eyes focus on the new flame, and in its glare, another face appears. A bearded man with green emerald eyes, rough skin, and a muscled neck. In his sad eyes, I watch his entire life on the Eurasian steppes. The fruits of his meager harvest of barley. He hopes the cows will be fat enough for winter. There is the petite and pretty aristocratic wife he loves. The two children he adores and for whom he makes small toys out of twisted dry hay. The wars against the barbarians he fights, and his cold death in a faraway land.
I cry out when the two flames split into four.
A Patrician woman of Carthage. She sails across the Mediterranean in search of a lost love. A Roman ship attacks them, and she dies at sea. Her lover never learns of her true fate.
