Fall From Humanity (Private: Kem, Aishe)

Aishe was making her way through the streets of Nachton back to Liefde. She could have taken a cab, she supposed, since it was fairly chilly out, but she wouldn't learn her way around as quickly that way. She hunched up her shoulders a little bit against the cold wind and tucked her hands into her pockets.

Her thoughts had been occupied for a while now with events in the last few weeks. Her life had taken such an odd turn - while she didn't regret it, she couldn't help wondering if she would ever end up where she hoped to be. And if, once she got there, it would turn out to have been the right thing to do. No, cross that thought off. It was the right thing to do. Her heart told her that with no small amount of certainty.

There was more, though. It was becoming less about herself and Kem alone. The more people she met who were associated with him, and with Evenhet, the more she had to admit she liked them very much. They all seemed like a family. But could one become a part of a family with such old roots? The more she learned about them, the more she was amazed at her own audacity in coming. Sure, she hadn't really understood the ramifications of what she'd asked for, and she certainly wasn't going to change her mind, but the people involved mattered to her now.

She wanted to be a good vampire!

The thought made her giggle. How often did that pop up in polite conversation?

"Little Aishe, what do you want to be when you grow up?"

"A vampire!"

She smiled to herself. You never can tell.

The little part of her mind that had been misbehaving lately suddenly piped up. She stopped where she was, momentarily disoriented. Ugh, why did this have to happen now? It was as if she had split personalities or something. She didn't quite understand it. It had been happening with increasing frequency since she'd arrived here. Like someone else's thoughts were in her head. It was the only way she could describe it.

Once the momentary confusion passed she continued along her way, now aware that she had two sets of feelings running through her head. One was distinctly, definately, hers. The other was alien somehow. She couldn't quite put her finger on how. It was like getting a bad connection on the phone; hearing your own conversation as well as the shadows of someone else's.

On her end, there was curiosity, some trepidation. On the other, an odd sense of deja vu and a growing discomfort. It translated to her somehow, making her glance around a bit as she picked up her pace back toward Liefde.

Their bare feet kicked up tiny puffs of dirt as they made their way to a small building in the crafters' section of the city. They were all nobles themselves, from minor families. Kiamhaat and Ha-neferet were siblings, and Sennwy was Ha-neferet's best friend. The girls were both about two years younger than Kiamhaat, who counted 13 years.

They had played together since they were toddlers, the two girls wobbling after lanky Kiamhaat, who it seemed had always been tall. Sennwy had no family save her parents. Kiamhaat and Ha-neferet had had brothers and sisters, but life had taken its toll on them and one by one they'd died, mostly to the plagues that were wont to sweep through the desert every few years. It seemed the gods paid no attention to who was a noble or who was a commoner during those times; rich and poor alike, they all lost.

All three of them regularly came to the crafters' hall though. They had been encouraged by their parents at a young age to have sensible hobbies, for as the Egyptian saying went, idle hands led to idle minds. So as a group, all three had chosen to study the weaver's craft, and that was where they headed that day, their bags with their supplies in hand.

As the three children worked, they whispered softly to each other. Sennwy, arguably the best weaver of the three, was already making a length of linen for herself, a warp-faced tabby weave. Ha-neferet was finishing up a length of plain linen, and Kiamhaat sat to one side with a hand-spindle, deftly working beaten flax-fibers into lengths of thread. His task was the most boring, they all agreed, but Kiamhaat didn't mind. He enjoyed weaving but the girls were far better at it than he was. He liked the quiet of the hall and the company of his sister and her friend, so he learned along with them.

They passed the afternoon in the weavers' hall, one of the elderly weaver-women giving them pointers every now and then. Sennwy was close to finishing her own linen, which she planned to give to her mother. Ha-neferet simply gave hers to the weavers, and Kiamhaat's thread was left to them as well. The children were free to take their linen with them, but Ha-neferet and Kiamhaat rarely ever did. Even Sennwy left most of her work in the hall, where it was given to families whose need was greater than theirs.

By the time they left it was dark outside. They could see a sprinkling of stars between the buildings of the city, for the night was clear.

"Let's go the long way,"Â? Sennwy suggested.

"I don't want to go the long way,"Â? Ha-neferet argued.

"The boys might still be in the plaza,"Â? Sennwy reminded her friend. She had no love for the immature boys who teased her friend. In Sennwy's eyes there was no better boy than Kiamhaat and she looked up to him as one might look at the moon, with a mixture of wonder and awe. If she could spare him the discomfort of another round of jeers, she would.

It was Kiamhaat who settled the debate. "I don't care either way,"Â? he said, making a dismissive gesture with his hands. "Let's just go home. I'm hungry."Â?

Ha-neferet elbowed him in the ribs. "You're always hungry."Â?

As they trotted into the plaza they slowed and glanced around. In spite of Ha-neferet's words, she was just as reluctant to subject her brother to any more teasing as Sennwy was. She edged along the sides of the plaza.

"We can just stick to the shadows,"Â? she suggested, wishing now that she'd agreed to go around.

Kiamhaat sighed. "Look, it's all right. I don't see anyone left here anyhow."Â?

They rounded the corner, turning toward the palisade that held most of the houses of the nobility in Giza. Kiamhaat and Sennwy continued walking, but Ha-neferet smacked into something solid with a gasp.

"Ha-neferet?"Â? Kiamhaat turned to see his sister standing face to face with Nekht.

The two stared at each other for a long moment before Nekht turned to the taller boy. "Your sister is lovely."Â?

"Leave her alone."Â?

Nekht's eyebrows rose. "You going to do something about it if I don't?"Â?

Kiamhaat moved to the side, stepping between his sister and the bully. "Perhaps. Do you want to test me?"Â?

Intentionally he maneuvered into a shaft of moonlight, letting it bathe his odd features to make him look even more eerie than usual. Nekht, though sturdier than Kiamhaat, was a full head shorter. Kiamhaat stared unblinking at the other boy, doing his best to be as unnerving as possible.

Nekht was the first to look away. "You're going to get it one of these days, Nothing-Boy."Â?

Spirited little Sennwy hopped into place beside her tall friend. "Go home to your mother,"Â? she spat.

Nekht sneered at her. "You're such a brat. Who would ever put up with you? No wonder you have no one to play with but Nothing-Boy and his sister."Â? He regarded Ha-neferet speculatively. "Of course, she has promise."Â?

Ha-neferet looked away.

Kiamhaat simply crossed his arms, a stern expression on his normally indifferent face. Nekht finally shrugged and moved off. "Go home, children. I just wanted to make sure Ha-neferet got there safely."Â?

Sennwy's fine little nose wrinkled up as the boy walked off. "I'm a brat?"Â?

Kiamhaat's hand rested on her shoulder. "No, you're not. Ignore him. He doesn't know what he wants."Â?

Both girls looked at Kiamhaat, questions in their eyes. "What do you mean?"Â? Ha-neferet asked.

Kiamhaat simply shrugged. "He doesn't know if he wants to be polite to us because that is the proper way to behave, or if he wants to make fun because it makes him feel good inside."Â?

Sennwy sighed. "You're too kind Kiamhaat. One of these days you're going to run into someone who really does need a good beating."Â?

He chucked her lightly under the chin. "That's why I keep you around, little one."Â?

They made their way back home, Kiamhaat and Ha-neferet seeing Sennwy back to her parents before continuing to theirs.

Aishe held onto a telephone pole, momentarily thrown off-guard when the odd sensation intensified. She was angry all of a sudden; a deep, smoldering feeling that was at complete odds with what she'd thought had been her previous good mood. What was happening? She'd been like this since...

She thought back. She'd been like this since she'd offered herself to Kem.

Had his bite made her sick? Was there something about being bitten by a vampire that caused humans to feel this way?

Suddenly she was nervous. She shouldn't have withheld that information from Alfarinn and Thaddeus at the ball. What if being bitten somehow prevented her from becoming a vampire herself? Was it possible? Maybe Dani would be able to tell her.

One thing was certain; she needed to find some answers very badly. She liked common sense and practicality and order and not experiencing strange feelings that didn't feel like her own!

She reconsidered walking; maybe a cab would be better after all. No. The cold air helped snap her out of it; she would shake it off and get home her own way.

Aishe glowered at no one in particular as her mood soured, pushing away from the telephone pole as if it had offended her. Yes, she would manage to do this her own way.

In the darkness of the early morning, Kiamhaat sat on the steps that led up to his family's spacious home. He had never needed much sleep; his active mind kept him awake in the early hours of the morning and he often sat outside to watch the sun rise. It was this period of quiet that he liked the most. In the last few hours of night not even the gulls crooned from their nests on the rooftops. The streets were deserted. No one stirred within any of the dwellings; even the slaves hadn't been roused for their morning chores.

Normally the sunrise brought with it a measure of calm for the young man, but the events of the previous night had bothered him more than he let on. Who wouldn't be disturbed by the catcalling of the other children? Who wanted to be known as Nothing-Boy? Worse, would they ever grow out of it or would he just end up as Nothing-Man?

Kiamhaat shuddered, the motion causing his long hair to slip from his back over his shoulders where he could see it. He lifted up a strand of it, surveying it in the dim light. He narrowed his eyes at the offensive stuff. It was the source of his trouble.

He'd been born this way, with hair and eyes like the stars and moon. It wasn't unheard of for the occasional albino to be born but Kiamhaat wasn't one of those. His golden-hued skin and silvery eyes proved it. Everyone knew albinos had pink eyes and white skin. Kiamhaat had neither. The priests had been divided in their opinions. He was cursed or blessed depending on which one you asked. Half of them advised he be killed and the other half advised he be revered.

In the end his mother had simply refused to listen to any of them, insisting her son was her son no matter what he looked like. She'd told him that many times over the course of his life, for neither of his parents could turn a blind eye to the fact that he was a laughingstock. They didn't step in, however. Their son had to make his own place.

So Kiamhaat learned to feign indifference, for that was the only shield he could really hide behind. Fighting back didn't suit him. He wasn't the type to resort to petty name-calling either, so giving as good as he got wasn't an option. No, he just went his way and gave up on ever being "one of them."Â?

In this way, thirteen years of Kiamhaat's life had limped by and he found himself on the cusp of manhood with no idea of how to proceed. Boys his age were busy proving themselves with games of skill and hunting prowess. Kiamhaat was more interested in learning how to write like a scribe and acquire knowledge of the world around him. He'd done his fair share of hunting and was considered well enough at it, but his true interests lay in exploring the world outside of Giza.

He thought, in a little corner of his mind, that perhaps somewhere out there he could find a place where people would see past his odd lack of color and realize that there was something worthwhile there.

"Psst. Kiamhaat!"Â?

He jumped, having lost himself in thought. Peering around, he finally saw Sennwy's delicate face and pert little nose, poking out from the corner between his family's home and the one next to it.

"Sennwy? What are you doing?"Â? Kiamhaat hissed back at her.

Light as a gull on the wing she floated up the stairs and sat on the one just below him. "I couldn't sleep,"Â? she whispered. "I looked out my window and you were here, so I came out."Â?

Kiamhaat leaned back on his hands. "You're going to get in trouble."Â?

She made a face at him, wrinkling her nose and poking the tip of her tongue out. "Not if no one catches me."Â?

He cast a glance to the sky as if asking the gods for patience, which earned him a playful swat on the knee.

"You sit out here a lot, don't you?"Â?

Kiamhaat looked back down at her. "Often enough."Â?

Sennwy was gazing at him, her almond-shaped eyes wide. "So it bothers you."Â?

There was no sense in lying to her, for she was too clever. "Of course it does. I don't want Ha-neferet to know though."Â?

Sennwy leaned forward, clasped her hands and rested them on his knee. Then she put her chin down on her hands, still looking up at him. He put his forefinger on her little nose and gave her a little tweak. "Don't worry about me, little one."Â?

"I do worry about you, Kiamhaat. You're not a Nothing-Boy. You shouldn't listen to them at all. Not even in the dark when you're by yourself."Â? She smirked. "Or you think you're by yourself."Â?

"You're right,"Â? he admitted. "I'm not, and it shouldn't bother me. But it does. Maybe they'll grow out of it."Â?

Sennwy was quiet for a bit until they both heard the city's animals stirring, followed by the sounds of sleepy slaves awakening to begin the day's tasks.

"Time to go,"Â? Sennwy said. She pattered down the few steps to the ground and turned, her blue-black hair sparkling in the early morning light. "Don't dwell on it, Kiamhaat. You'll find your peace one of these days. You need to find your peace."Â?

With that she turned and disappeared, leaving the silver-haired young man to consider her last words. She did that every now and then, Kiamhaat thought. Sennwy was exceptionally smart for her age, and once in a while her face would grow solemn, her dancing eyes would look deep into a person, and in a voice that sounded unaccountably older than her body showed, she would dispense a bit of wisdom that had to come from somewhere deep within. It was always quick, and always meaningful as well.

Kiamhaat considered it. Find peace. He shook his head slowly, trying to ignore the glinting silver hair that rippled as he did.

Find peace, indeed.

Aishe shook her head a bit, trying to clear it. This was the strongest she'd ever had these odd feelings. There had to be something more to it. She'd never been given to wierd fits like this before.

She passed a little park; not much to it but an old playground, a bench and a trash can, but she stopped there anyhow. Maybe she wasn't as ready to go back as she thought. There was no way she could act normal around other people when she was feeling so - out of it.

She considered that possibly her own down-to-earth practicality had kept her from going completely mad these last two and a half weeks. It had been one of her downfalls all her life. English teachers had driven themselves up walls over it. So concise, so exact... but you lack creativity!

Aishe sighed. The cool logical part of her brain took over at times like these. She could almost feel the partition in her mind; on the one side, her own thoughts - organized, controlled, neatly filed away. On the other, this strange sadness and anxiety, a depression she herself had never felt at any time in her life. This was the part of her that she thought of as Kem... the mixture of emotion that carried over seemed to have a kind of signature on it, but other than that she couldn't explain why it felt like him.

She massaged her temples wearily. If only her English teachers could see her now. Babbling in her head about hearing someone else's thoughts, making up some unconscious connection that might or might not possibly even exist. Trying to understand and become a member of a race of beings she'd barely just learned about.

Well, at least someone would be proud of her!

Kem's eyes snapped open. There was a moment of complete confusion as his mind caught up to his body in the present. He realized where his dreams had taken him; the memories were unpleasant, but he hadn't expected to dream of puppies and rainbows anyhow.

Dislodging Zoe from where she lay on his feet as considerately as possible, he padded his way barefoot into the kitchen and made a beeline for the overhead wine rack. He wasn't that big a drinker, but he usually had something around for the odd occasion that it was actually warranted. And if those memories didn't count as warranting a drink or three, he wasn't sure what would.

He sat at the bar in the kitchen, staring listlessly at the bottle. Frustration ate at him with a vengeance. Rarely was the creation of a vampire a fun, happy thing. Why then could everyone else he knew seem to overcome their memories of human life while he dwelled upon it constantly? As much as he railed against it, he somehow couldn't leave his past behind him. He desperately wanted to; he knew he was at a point now where the ability to do so mattered more than ever. But somehow he couldn't get beyond it.

His head swam. He squinted at the bottle. It was halfway down. It felt like he'd consumed the entire thing already. Then he realized it'd been quite a while since he'd last fed; not so much blood in his system as there should be, for drinking.

He gave a small sigh. Maybe the oblivion of drunkenness would wash away the unbidden dreams that had visited him in his sleep. Foregoing the glass, he simply drank straight from the bottle until the kitchen faded away into a fuzzy, blurry mess.

***

Giza, Nile Valley, 410 AD

Kiamhaat raced through the streets, the message he’d received on a sheet of papyrus gripped tightly in one hand. The one advantage of being so tall was that he was an exceptionally fast runner. His youthful gawkiness had long since fled leaving in its place a tall, slim young man with a broad chest and shoulders, narrow hips, and lithe, well-muscled arms and legs.

Skidding a bit on the sandy road, he turned into his family home, taking the steps three at a time and pushing aside the curtain at the doorway all in one motion.

As he stood there, catching his breath for a moment, the pattering of feet caught his attention. Two youngsters came through the wide rooms of the building, both clamoring at him at the top of their lungs when they saw him.

“Father! Father! She’s here, and mother says she’ll be all right, but you should see!”

Kiamhaat picked up the squirming four-year-old, a little boy with features like his own but the eyes and dark hair of his mother Sennwy. Mahematen was his name, and he was a strong little boy, a smart little fellow who would be everything his father was not.

A tugging on his hand drew his attention to little Amaret. At two years, she toddled along behind her older brother at every opportunity, although she was far quieter. Kiamhaat lifted her in his other arm, where she cuddled against him and popped her fingers into her mouth.

Hushing Mahematen gently, Kiamhaat said, “Shh, now. Let us see what the problem is this time.”

Although his words and tone of voice were calm, he felt a burning sensation deep in his chest as he walked toward the back of the building. Entering one of the smaller chambers usually reserved for visitors, he found beautiful Sennwy, her petite body unmarked by birth of their two children, kneeling next to a heap on a pallet in the corner. His heart sank, and as he gently deposited both Mahematen and Amaret on the floor, his wife of four years turned to greet him with sad eyes.

“What has he done?” Kiamhaat demanded softly.

“See for yourself,” Sennwy replied, gesturing with a soft wet cloth.

Kiamhaat crouched beside the pallet where Ha-neferet lay, trembling and bloodied. When she felt her older brother next to her, the young woman pitifully raised herself up and threw herself against him, wrapping her arms about him and sobbing quietly into his broad chest.

Kiamhaat held her gently, stroking her hair. “Sister,” he murmured, “why do you let him do this to you? Simply leave him and come back home to us.”

Ha-neferet shook her head, as Kiamhaat knew she would, as she always did. Never truly having outgrown her childhood belief that there was good in the man, she had married Nekht three years ago. She had even borne him a son but there was blackness inside that man and he beat Ha-neferet more often than necessary and for little provocation. She insisted that she loved him though, and that she brought the beatings unto herself. Ha-neferet would not return home, nor would she divorce him as was her right. She was still blinded by her childhood love for him, and could not see past that to find fault with him.

Every time it happened she came running to Kiamhaat to cry in the circle of his strong arms while Sennwy cared for her injuries. Each time, something burned within Kiamhaat and he fervently wished to be able to visit the same injury and pain upon his sister’s husband.

“He goes too far,” Sennwy stated unnecessarily. Kiamhaat agreed, but what could they do? Ha-neferet had the right to leave her husband and although the act would shame him, he would have no recourse but to continue to support her and his son according to the law.

Sennwy had never liked the arrogant Nekht and made it known at every opportunity. Dabbing gently at Ha-neferet’s split lip, she held her tongue but Kiamhaat could sense her seething on the inside, much like he was now.

As Ha-neferet finally drank the painkilling tea that would put her to sleep and allow her a small break from her pain, Sennwy covered her with a soft sheet of linen so that she might rest comfortably. Once the young woman was fully asleep both Sennwy and Kiamhaat left, bearing Mahematen and Amaret along with them.

“It’s not right,” Sennwy stormed softly. “She shouldn’t allow him to beat her so harshly. He’s going to kill her one of these days.”

Kiamhaat remained silent.

“Can’t you do anything?” the diminutive woman asked, turning her eyes up to her husband, her facial expression pleading.

“What would you have me do?” he returned just as softly.

“I don’t know,” Sennwy admitted. “It hurts to have to see her like this month after month though. I can’t imagine what it must be like, how it must feel to come home to anything but tranquility.”

She left off, looking away with a slightly guilty expression. Kiamhaat smiled softly. Sennwy was a passionate woman, and they made an odd couple. They had married four years past, but love had never truly been a part of that bargain. They were the closest of friends and always had been, probably always would be, but Sennwy felt guilty that she couldn’t give her whole heart to Kiamhaat.

For his part, he was content. Love had never been in his plans at any rate for his oddities had driven home to him at an early age the fact that he would never fit in, and could never expect life to be the same as the other childrens’. He was happy to have Sennwy and she him, but unlike her he didn’t ache for anything more.

He laid his hand upon her shoulder as they walked back to their own room. “Tranquility will do, Sennwy. I know your heart, and there’s nothing wrong with how you feel.”

They’d never kept any secrets. Kiamhaat wouldn’t even have minded too badly if Sennwy had taken a lover, but she refused to do so, stating that she would never dishonor their marriage. Kiamhaat could see both himself and her in Mahematen and Amaret’s faces every day, and knew she had spoken truly. Every now and then though, they both felt a little sad that they were tied to the lives they had chosen. Kiamhaat would never journey to strange lands and discover new people, and Sennwy would never be able to satisfy her burning desire to love and be loved in the way a man loves a woman.

Their problems paled in comparison with Ha-neferet’s though and the young woman’s plight held them together, for Ha-neferet needed them both. In this way they had spent the last four years, all of them the greatest of friends, all of them almost, but not quite, happy.

Aishe wasn't sure how long she sat on the bench in the playground. The chilly air permeated her clothing; although she was warmly and sensibly dressed, one could only sit unmoving for so long before body heat failed to do the job.

She figured she may as well wait this out. She'd thought it was ending but just when it seemed things might calm down a bit, it began all over again with twice the force.

She ground her teeth. In the next moment her mind was flooded with an odd array of feelings... warmth, happiness, maternal feelings, bitterness, anger, and a strange thirst for... what... vengeance?

Aishe gave up trying to fight it; she began instead to pay more attention to it. Just suppose, she thought, that your odd feelings are right and that somehow you're linked with Kem. If a girl like Theo could move things with her mind, perhaps it was possible to feel someone else's feelings as well or hear an echo of their thoughts.

As she furrowed her brow, nibbling at her lip in concentration, she thought maybe she heard echoes of words. Only very faintly, and only when the odd feelings were the strongest. The sad feelings, the ones that seemed to have caused the anger, were linked with one word in particular. She couldn't quite make it out at first. But as she tuned in she heard it whispered over and over again, in Kem's soft deep voice. She shuddered; this couldn't be her imagination. She couldn't be making this up, could she?

She felt her eyes water. Why was she crying? Was it that strange sense of sadness, combined with her own frustration? Aishe balled up her hands into fists, scrubbed at her traitorous eyes stubbornly. She didn't want to cry. She wanted to solve this riddle.

Rubbing her nose and giving a little sniffle, she huddled onto the bench, drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms around them as Kem's voice echoed in her head, "Ha-neferet... Ha-neferet."

Three days later...

Kiamhaat accompanied Ha-neferet through the quiet streets. They had waited until the sun dipped below the horizon to spare Ha-neferet the embarrassment of being seen by anyone else.

Her injuries weren't anywhere near fully healed, but she insisted on returning home to her husband and her son. Kiamhaat had argued; she should have stayed and rested longer, but Ha-neferet shook her head stubbornly. In the end she had consented to let Kiamhaat accompany her back, not quite trusting her unreliable feet yet.

Nekht lived close to Pharaoh's palace, as befitted a noble of his stature. There were guards posted at every corner here unlike down the palisade a bit, where they simply came through every couple of hours.

Approaching her home of the last three years, Ha-neferet paused. "Maybe you should turn back now,"Â? she suggested.

Kiamhaat and Nekht had never gotten along. Ha-neferet had always hoped Nekht would grow out of his childish habits. When he'd ceased his name-calling, she took that to mean that Nekht had finally become a man and consented to marry him, but Nekht had continued to regard Kiamhaat with barely-veiled loathing.

Ever since the tall, silver-haired Egyptian had stood up to him that night outside the plaza, Nekht had hated him. Kiamhaat kept his distance, not wanting to draw any attention to Ha-neferet for any reason.

"I'll see you home,"Â? Kiamhaat said now. "I want to make sure you're all right."Â?

Ha-neferet nodded and tucked her hand back into her brother's. Her heart cried for him, for what she wanted back. There, in her childhood home, was safety and loving and all of the things she missed. There, with Kiamhaat's hand in hers, with his broad shoulders protecting her from any harm, she could be what she wanted and go where she wished. Her brother had always been there for her. Plague had taken away their siblings, and more recently their parents, but Kiamhaat had remained untouched by it. He was all she needed. When Nekht's fists found her flesh, she just thought of Kiamhaat until the pounding stopped and she was free to limp back home to him, to Sennwy.

Ha-neferet would have returned home, but the shame to Nekht would have been unbearable. Nekht was a proud man, and to know that his wife had left him to return to Kiamhaat's household would have brought him flying down in a rage. She couldn't have that. Kiamhaat wouldn't fight back; wouldn't truly know how.

In her anxiety to protect her own brother as he tried to protect her, Ha-neferet didn't give him enough credit. He'd grown from a tall gangly youth to an even taller, but muscular, broad-shouldered man. Kiamhaat, though the object of some criticism because of his gentle spirit, was left alone largely because no one in Giza wanted to pick a fight with a man that big. Ha-neferet didn't see it, though. In her mind, she was doing the only thing she knew how to keep him safe in return. So she steeled herself and stepped into the entrance of Nekht's home, to be greeted once again by his fist as it flew toward her face.

"How dare you bring him here?"Â? came the growl as her husband met her at the doorway.

His blow didn't land. It smacked solidly into Kiamhaat's upraised hand. Quickly as a striking snake, Nekht turned on the taller man.

"Don't interfere, Nothing,"Â? he rasped, his voice carrying the gritty quality of one who'd been drinking far too much. His face was twisted into a sneer, the expression Kiamhaat most commonly saw on his face.

Kiamhaat simply inclined his head. "Leave her be. Your quarrel is with me, not with your wife."Â?

Ha-neferet backed away slowly. "Kiamhaat, let's go back home."Â? She didn't like what this was coming to. She'd been wrong this time. She should have stayed with Kiamhaat and Sennwy.

Nekht snarled and threw another punch. Kiamhaat sidestepped it easily, gracefully, stepping through the doorway into the anteroom of the building. The shorter man screamed his fury and lashed out once more, a kick that took Kiamhaat in the knee and dropped him to the floor.

The next blow failed to land; Kiamhaat rolled away and regained his feet easily, favoring his knee. Nekht refused to stop though. He rained blow after blow at the taller man, missing most of them but landing a few.

"You think you can just walk into my home and tell me what to do,"Â? Nekht growled. "You think you're better than me. You're nothing but useless, nothing but a waste. I will never know what either of them sees in you. You can barely defend yourself."Â?

The knife appeared in Nekht's hand as if by magic. He slashed out with it, opening a shallow cut across Kiamhaat's chest. Only Kiamhaat's quick reflexes saved him from taking further injury as he danced away again.

"Go back home,"Â? Kiamhaat called to Ha-neferet over his shoulder. "You don't belong here anymore."Â? In the meantime, he just needed to subdue Nekht long enough to let them both get away. Let the man sleep off his drunken rage.

Ha-neferet had slipped into the room with them and now huddled into the corner, her wide eyes locked on the two men. Nekht was going to kill her brother. She knew it. She couldn't allow it to happen. She looked around, found another knife on the shelf not too far from her. She edged toward it trying not to draw any more attention to herself.

Kiamhaat was busy fending off Nekht's blows. Even drunk the man was quick. Had he been sober, Kiamhaat would probably have been far worse off already. As it was he was hard-pressed to stay out of the way, much less get in a blow of his own. The knife bit into his arm, and with quick reflexes he brought his free hand up to grasp Nekht's wrist.

"Just let us go,"Â? Kiamhaat reasoned. "We don't need to fight."Â?

Nekht growled and broke free of Kiamhaat's grasp, his leg snapping out to land in the same spot on the taller man's knee as before. Kiamhaat swore and nearly fell again, backing up a bit more.

Nekht roared his anger, enraged beyond reason by the combination of drink and his own pride. He lunged toward Kiamhaat, his knife darting in to open up a cut on the taller man's face, reversing the blow to aim straight for his neck.

Suddenly something warm pressed up against Kiamhaat. Ha-neferet stood there, behind him. She shoved Kiamhaat's arm aside and held hers up, wedging it between his arm and his side, hidden by his body. Neither Kiamhaat nor Nekht had any time to react. Kiamhaat watched in horror as Nekht ran himself onto the naked blade. It sank hilt-deep into his chest.

There was surprisingly little blood. Kiamhaat moved aside to stare at Ha-neferet. Nekht's expression mirrored Kiamhaat's as he sank to the ground. Ha-neferet's fingers loosened on the hilt of the knife as her brother took it away from her and she fell back into the corner with a whimper, her hands covering her face.

By that time one of the servants had gone to the guard. The two could hear their steps outside. Kiamhaat glanced down at Nekht's body on the floor at his feet, his sister cowering in the corner, the bloodied knife in his hand. That was what the guards saw when they entered. It looked for all the world as if Kiamhaat had murdered Nekht and was threatening Ha-neferet.

The guards grabbed him roughly. Ha-neferet's voice echoed against the walls as she pulled at their arms, tried to get them to release him, but in the end they shoved her aside where she collapsed in a heap, sobbing.

The voice in her head only seemed to intensify in the next few minutes. The feelings she was experiencing were like nothing Aishe had ever felt before. Forced to deal with them or lose it entirely, Aishe's mind settled with the ever-comfortable practical approach and she wrapped her arms tighter around her knees, focusing inward and trying to make sense of it all.

If this was what it seemed, if the voice in her head really was Kem's, then this was her chance to understand what made him tick. The odd feelings she was experiencing had to be memories, or dreams. She saw no images, but she felt emotions and as those emotions grew stronger they were partnered with catches of words.

Anger tightened around her chest like a metal band, with apprehension. She found herself glancing up and down the street nervously. The name, Ha-neferet, had been coupled with warmth and sadness. It was a woman's name. A mother? A friend? Someone close. There was a protectiveness there too, which had led to the angry feelings.

Aishe shook her head again. It was all so confusing, but she loved riddles and puzzles. If she could distance herself enough perhaps she would be able to understand something. She had to throw herself into it, or she would go mad sitting here on this bench. Part of her wanted to call someone and get help, cry in frustration, throw something. But the basic part of her that remained 'her' was stubbornly determined to sort out the very strange feelings flying through her head.

The consequent trial had been a joke, Kiamhaat reflected. He'd been given no chance to speak, for it was clear that this was an obvious case of murder. Ha-neferet had done her best to argue for him, insisting she had wielded the knife that had killed Nekht, but no one would listen to her; she was clearly half-mad. Sennwy's words had done little as well, and her profound despair was evident when she saw him the night of his sentencing.

"Kiamhaat, whatever they do to you, I'll be waiting."Â? Loyal to the last, Sennwy gripped her husband's hand through the bars of the cell they'd tossed him in. "Mahematen and Amaret can't wait for you to come home."Â?

Kiamhaat simply slipped his hand through the bars to cup her pretty face. "I'm not coming home, Sennwy. Best you tell them that now, let them get adjusted to the idea."Â?

"Don't say that. You never know; Ha-neferet and I both spoke for you. They might simply let you off lightly. You've never caused any trouble to anyone before."Â?

He lowered his head. "Sennwy, stop."Â?

"They might let you come home, Kiamhaat."Â? Her voice was desperate.

"Find another husband, Sennwy. Be happy. Find the love you've always wanted and I couldn't give."Â?

"I love you, Kiamhaat. You're the best friend I could ever have. There could be no better husband."Â?

Her words warmed him, even if they weren't exactly what he'd meant by love. "Your friendship will guide me in the afterlife."Â?

"You won't die,"Â? Sennwy protested, tears tracing twin paths down her cheeks. "They can't kill you."Â?

Kiamhaat shook his head. "Anyone else might have a chance,"Â? he admitted, "but Sennwy, look at me. I'm still the Nothing-Boy after so long. Half of those priests fear me and think I should have been killed as a child. And now as far as they're concerned I've murdered a far higher noble than myself. Face it, they won't let me come home."Â?

"They have to. Your family needs you. You hold us together."Â?

"The three of you will be fine without me. You're so strong, Sennwy."Â?

"The four of us. And we won't be fine without you."Â?

Kiamhaat stared at her for a moment. "Four?"Â? He dropped his eyes then, just noticing the gentle swell of her belly. "Oh, Sennwy."Â?

There were no more words after that. Kiamhaat leaned forward against the cold, unforgiving metal bars. Sennwy rested her forehead against his for a long moment before she reached through the bars, took a length of his silver hair, and kissed it softly. Then with a sharp rock she cut it off, wrapping the silver strands tenderly and tucking them away.

The guards let her know it was time to go. They showed her out, even as she continued to cast tearful glances over her shoulder at him. He simply sat, emptying his mind, trying to remain calm.

The sentencing was even worse than the so-called trial. Kiamhaat might have been the only one in the room who wasn't surprised. In a monotone voice, Pharaoh declared Kiamhaat to be cursed in life, and therefore the punishment would reflect that. The Living-Curse was to be placed upon him, the ultimate punishment. Kiamhaat had never seen it done, had only heard of it.

Still, he resisted as he was led down a dark passageway toward the rooms of the High Priest. It took several guards to keep him moving in the right direction. He fought as energetically as he could until he was subdued with a crack of a club over his head. Dazed and half-conscious, he was thrown into a dimly lit room. Fighting to stay awake, he barely registered that he wasn't alone.

He could hear chanting but the blow to his head had him disoriented. He wasn't sure if he heard one voice or many. The faint light didn't show him anything; every time he tried to focus on a single point of light it blurred and danced in front of his eyes.

Something spoke into his ear. He was too close to passing out to recall what it said later. Blood from his head ran freely down his neck, between his shoulder blades, in alarming quantity. Someone touched his face. His eyes rolled loosely as he tried to fight against the inevitable darkness.

The last thing Kiamhaat recalled was a searing pain as something drove into his neck. The rest of the memory was blackness.

At some point she'd taken her little notepad and pen out of her purse, Aishe realized. She was cataloguing the feelings she felt, sorting them along with the odd snatches of words she heard. The stronger the feelings, the more words she seemed to sense, or hear. Mostly she was getting names, and the feelings associated with each one were helping her assemble a picture, or so she hoped.

Looking down at the notepad, not very aware of what she'd written, she experienced another flash of sadness. It was far more intense than the last time she'd felt it. Her hand moved of its own volition, scribbling notes and drawing lines. She was forced to stop when she became vaguely disoriented for the second time that night, but she stared at the notepad anyway.

Is this what I did to you, Kem? She wondered, the echoes of shadowed sadness still lingering in her mind. I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to bring these memories back to you, if that's what they truly are.

She tried to convey that, to make her feelings known. Shaking her head, she chided herself. Silly. You don't even know for sure what's happening here. For all you know the stress is making your imagination act up.

Aishe didn't really believe that though. Not anymore. Perhaps before coming to Nachton and seeing the things she'd seen the explanation would have made sense, but now she was more inclined to accept the possibility that what she was feeling was entirely real.

She looked down at the notepad again. Perhaps too real.

Kiamhaat awoke.

That in itself was more than he'd really expected. He was incredibly weak, and hunger gnawed at him with a fury. He raised a hand to the back of his head, expecting to feel a knot. There was nothing. He could feel blood crusting his hair and neck, but there was no bump, no cut, not even a scar.

Had he dreamed it? Impossible.

He took in his surroundings. It was the quiet peaceful time just before sunrise; his favorite time of day. He was lying on the steps outside his family's home. One might assume he'd been dumped there recently, for he heard footsteps behind the door-curtain even as he regained his senses.

The curtain fell aside, revealing Sennwy. She held her hands to her mouth, dropping to her knees. "Kiamhaat!"Â?

He made an effort to rise; she helped him up, slipping her arm beneath his shoulders and lifting. When he was sitting she pulled him close and held him.

Kiamhaat buried his face in her neck. He wasn't sure what had happened, why he was here. The idea of someone being Cursed was foreign to them; no one really knew what to expect.

"How do you feel?"Â? Sennwy asked, still clutching him to her.

That was a good question. How did he feel? Everything seemed to be working. Better than usual, in fact. His senses were on fire. The world around him was shocking in its clarity as he found his bearings. Perhaps the fact that he had lived was filling him with some kind of euphoria.

The only ache he felt was in his mouth. It seemed as though there was something wrong with his teeth. Maybe they'd been knocked out. Still leaning against his wife, he probed with his tongue... and grew very still.

"Kiamhaat?"Â? Sennwy's voice was worried. "Come inside. Let's clean you up."Â?

Kiamhaat didn't hear her. Something was whispering in his head. He was hungry. Very hungry. He needed to feed.

Feed? Where had that word come from? What was going on? He turned his head into Sennwy's neck. He kissed the soft flesh tenderly. Her arms tightened around him.

"I was so worried. I can't believe you're here, safe and sound."Â?

Kiamhaat nodded, parted his lips, and inexplicably, sank his elongated canines into the delicate skin of her neck. Sennwy stiffened for a moment and then fell slack against him. Now he supported her, his eyes closing in ecstasy as her delightfully warm, rich blood filled his mouth. He swallowed.

What am I doing?

More.

His tongue flicked out, craving the sweetness of her energy. Stop! What am I doing?!

More. Drink.

He dug in deeper, greedily consuming every delicious drop.

What have I become?

Drink. Live.

Sennwy's face grew pale, paler, ashen. I'm killing her! A glance, down to her sweetly curved belly. Killing them both!

Drink. More.

There was a gasp from the doorway. One of the slaves stood there, a bowl of water in her hands. Kiamhaat raised his head, the last bits of Sennwy's blood on his lips. The slave screamed.

In a flash, Kiamhaat was on his feet. Sennwy's drained body fell to the ground. He stared down at her, appalled at himself but full of a strange delight. He wanted more still but now wasn't the time.

More slaves appeared. Their screams woke the neighboring families. Anyone who stuck their head out from their home saw it all; Sennwy's body, Kiamhaat's bloodied lips.

"Cursed One."Â?

The whispers grew louder until they became cries. Kiamhaat turned to go; this place was no longer safe. As he looked at Sennwy's unmoving body, a profound despair suddenly filled him. What was he?

By the time the first stone was thrown he was well on his way out of Giza. He ran aimlessly, his mind churning. What had he done? Had that really happened? The odd feeling of his new fangs pressing against his lips confirmed that it had. He could still taste Sennwy's blood, sweet as it flowed into his body, bringing life.

No, stop it! He passed an old village, long-abandoned when Giza had grown to its enormous size. The sun peeked over the horizon, its first rays falling upon his skin. Without warning, he felt and heard a burning, sizzling noise. Looking down, he realized he was... smoking. His skin was burning. What was this?

Frantic, he ran back for one of the old, abandoned huts. Dashing inside, staggering to a stop, he fell to his knees. Panting, trembling, he watched in horrified awe as his blistered flesh slowly began to mend itself. Before the hour was through he was whole again, at least in body.

But as he huddled there in the corner, rocking back and forth, clutching his head in his hands, he began to become aware that he had been shattered beyond repair.

The scene replayed itself through his head over, and over, and over. Sennwy. Sennwy. He'd killed her. But her blood had brought him back to life; the taste of her still lingered in his mouth.

What am I thinking? He clapped his hands over his mouth and dry-heaved. What have I become? He rested back against the cool mud-brick wall of the abandoned hut, digging his feet into the sand that had blown in over the years, feeling each grain sifting between his toes.

Oh gods. Sennwy. I'm so sorry. She'd been the only person aside from Ha-neferet who'd ever understood, who'd ever bothered to look past the nothingness on the outside. His thoughts dwelled on her for hours as the horrific way she'd died played itself in vivid detail over the papyrus of his mind. His shaking hands traced her face in the empty air, sought to feel her soft skin.

What was he to do now? For a moment he considered walking back out into the sun to see what would really happen if he stayed, but he didn't have the will to get to his feet. He simply sat where he was as his hands continued their aimless weaving. In the air before him he traced their faces: Sennwy, Mahematen, Amaret, Ha-neferet. All the people who had mattered to him.

He realized with a start that as he traced their faces in the air, sparkling grains of sand rose like motes of dust to form outlines, contours, smiles. Eyes wide at the sandy specters he reached up to touch them. His fingers disturbed whatever had been making the sand rise, and they disintegrated as soon as he got close, falling to the ground to mix in with the sand there.

Gone, all over again.

By the time the sun disappeared again, the man who staggered from the hut was no longer Kiamhaat. Kem`Raaisu had taken his place, a ghostly image of the man he once was, living out his own worst nightmare in a sunless world.

Aishe was blindsided by a new wave of strange feelings and emotions. These were far darker than the ones she'd already experienced, a fact which was alarming to say the least. She wouldn't have thought death could be a feeling instead of an event, but without a doubt she felt when it happened. He did it, she was sure. But he didn't know... how could he have...

She rubbed her temples. And looked down at her list of assorted names, feelings, impressions. She had, without realizing it, crossed off the word 'Sennwy.' And in a circle, down at the bottom of the little notepad page, was 'Kiamhaat.'

With a shaking hand, she slowly wrote beneath that, 'Kem.'

Kem peeled his face off of the bar in the kitchen with a soft curse. The kitchen was dark; the only light on was one of the lamps in the living room which he'd been reading by earlier. He rubbed his forehead, trying somehow to dislodge the images his mind had dredged up from the murky depths of his past.

Still feeling muddled and looking clear his head a bit, he rooted through his closet for a sweater, tugged it on over his head, and headed out the back door. The bite of the cool air made him gasp, his breath pluming up in front of his face in a cloud, but he disregarded the cold and made his way across his backyard and through the next few yards, taking the short-cut down to the waterfront that wasn't far away.

Once there, he simply eased himself down onto the chilly sand and watched the ocean, trying to will Aishe from his head along with the rest of his dreams, wishing he didn't keep getting the strangest feeling that he could hear her voice. It was his imagination, naturally, for Aishe had no way to speak mind-to-mind with anyone.

But he could have sworn he'd heard her voice.

((ooc: Kem out...))

Aishe's head eventually cleared, leaving her trembling on the park bench, feeling as if she'd somehow managed to get run over by a steamroller. She gave herself a few minutes, pulling herself together. Then the cold hit and her teeth began to chatter. She stood up from the bench, jogging in place a little bit to get the blood moving through her veins again, and then set out back to Liefde, tucking her little notepad safely away.

She'd go back over her notes again was she was inside, safe and warm. What had she been thinking, sitting outside alone in the middle of the night, in this cold?

Shaking her head at herself and her own devation from her usual practical. common-sense norm, she picked up her pace, jogging back along the increasingly-familiar streets.

((ooc: Aishe out!))