Samtrya is Rising

 

            Minus the darkness, the tree’s bark was bright at midnight. Kai’s eyes narrowed on the locked window. His fingers clutched the branch of the sycamore tree on which he planted his heels. The bare branches did nothing to conceal his presence. It was the darkness of the night that hid his face from possible inhabitants of the house under his eye.

            A shadow cast on the sheer curtain glided behind the glass pane. Slender fingers gripped the cloth and pulled it back slowly. The girl peeked out from behind, eyes bulging with curiosity. She tied the curtain back and unlocked the window with the same steady pace she used to pull back the curtain.  

            Kai slid himself down to a lower branch, closer to the window. This branch was right above the window and barely held his weight. His eyes glowed as he whispered, “Kai.”

            The girl’s curious eyes shifted upward, but she saw nothing. She struggled to push her window up. When the mobile pane was safely above her head, she cautiously poked her head out into the fresh air.

            Kai could feel his center of gravity shifting, falling to the side. He tightened his grip on the branch as it bent downwards because of too much weight needing to be supported. He grew nervous. His body was rotating itself around the weak branch and he could not bring himself to flee.

            The girl glanced downward, scanning the story below her where vines encased the stone siding. She found nothing to satisfy her curiosity, so her head tilted upward.

            Kai’s body was now fully rotated around the branch so that he was upside down. The branch kept bending down, cracking with strain. He shut his eyes in anticipation as he felt himself descending.

            He heard a soft sigh, the source uncomfortably close to his face. His eyes flashed open.

            He found himself nose to nose with the girl. Her emerald eyes emitted the same air of curiosity, no sign of shock or hostility. She giggled.

            “Kai.”

 

            Saya gave out a cry of shock.

            The man was average height, somewhat muscular, and of deep bronze skin. His smile was genuine, his teeth gleaming, his grey eyes beaming. He was adorned by a simple, short-sleeved, white collared shirt and black slacks. His arms were held still by his sides until he raised his right arm to rub his shaved head. Saya noted a white scar running inside the length of his forearm. A single pearl hung on a piece of white string around his neck.

            “Of course, I wouldn’t have picked that particular shade of blue, myself.” He held out a fairly large hand. “And from what I remember about that former world, it is custom to shake an extended hand.”

            Saya extended her own trembling hand. The strange man eagerly shook her hand with gusto.

            “Name’s Francis Grey. Mr. Frank for short, as the young’uns have always called me. Or Armias, as the Council has granted me. I, myself, prefer Mr. Frank, but don’t let the Council know.” The man leaned towards Saya, positioning his full, dark lips next to her ear. He whispered, “If we are in public, whatever you do, call me Armias, and not Mr. Frank. The Council doesn’t approve.”

            Saya nodded. Mr. Frank chuckled and straightened himself out. “With that said, would you please introduce yourself? I need to confirm the name the Council gave me.”

            Saya remained silent, staring at this new stranger.

            “Well, come on now! We can’t wait all day! I have to go get you registered or else my existence becomes basically pointless.”

            Saya’s throat clenched. She croaked, “My name is Saya Mori. It’s the only name I know of that I have.”

            “Good girl,” Mr. Frank grabbed her arm and pulled her off of the bed. The hem of the nightgown floated around her bare ankles and she noticed as she gained footing that he also went shoeless. His strong hand slid its way down her arm and found her hand with a commanding grip.

            “Hold on.” And they vanished.

 

            She saw me. Kai’s teeth sank into the supple flesh of a sleeping woman. A burning sensation flooded his veins as the middle-aged woman’s blood gushed freely from her outstretched arm, blue turning to red. Kai withdrew his teeth and looked at the liquid gem flowing from the arm. He bent down to suck at the blood. His exceedingly sharp fangs retracted themselves as he continued to feast.

            Kai. She had said his name

            Kai had had his fill and left the woman bleeding to death in her bed. He strode to the open window and fled.

 

            Saya was now wearing a fitted black top with a full, billowing black skirt, still barefoot. Mr. Frank still held her hand aggressively. He looked at her with his sparkling grey eyes. “Here we are, Ms. Mori.”

            The room in which they were located was gargantuan, yet bare, except for five empty wooden chairs graving the space behind a plain wooden table at the far end of the oval room. Immediately, Mr. Frank started to briskly make his way to the table, Saya hurrying behind him. With each step, a different person seemed to materialize in a chair, and then a stool appeared, and then what seemed to be an arena around the space surrounding the table. Various faces paired with stationary bodies stared lifelessly at the two walking figures.

            Mr. Frank pushed Saya ahead of him. “Sit,” he ordered in a newfound gruffness. She promptly perched herself on the stool, and almost as if a spell had been cast, the room came to life. The faces in the arena animated, painted with excitement about the impending events. The people occupying the seats behind the table began adjusting their spectacles and examining the girl seated timidly before them.

            The gentleman in the center was in his forties and dressed in a dreary, grey suit. A pair of oversized, black-rimmed glasses framed his beady eyes, helping them to focus.

            “Saya Mori,” he stated quietly to his companions seated on either side of him. Two women, one young and one elderly, to his left, and man directly to his right, and a boy of ten on his far right. They silently nodded, shuffling papers in their pale hands.

            “Age seventeen. Female. Murder. Armias.”

            Saya blinked. She recognized those last three syllables. These were of Mr. Frank’s other name. He was to be Armias to the public.

            The crowd settled down and concentrated on the event unfolding below.

            “Excuse me,” Saya interrupted. “Murder?”

            The boy at the end giggled. “You mean, you don’t know yet? How silly!” The man beside him boxed him in the ear. The boy rubbed it, nursing his ear hastily.

            The same man cleared his throat. He looked to be about twenty-five with dark curly hair framing his youthful face.

            “Murder is usually how Spiryts die,” he said matter-of-factly.

            Saya scrunched her eyebrows in question. “I’m sorry. Spirits?”

            The man remained superior. “Spiryts. S-p-i-r-y-t-s. A race with two ends and two beginnings. A death and a terminus, the murder. The birth and the Vanishing.”

            Saya still didn’t understand and apparently it showed in her face. The man smiled softly. “Don’t worry. Armias will teach you. It is his duty.”

            Saya wasn’t sure what was going on. The crowd began to murmur, fascinated.

            The older man in the center looked at the crowd filling the arena and slammed a hand on the table in front of him. The sound of an explosion resonated through the room, filling every crevice of air. The people grew perfectly still, again, concentrated.

            “We, the Council, and subject Saya Mori with guide Armias, gather here today in the Council Realm’s House. Subject Saya Mori shall be given a name reflecting the nature of her death and median letters of the guide’s given name,” the man’s voice was clear and articulate.

            Saya looked back at Mr. Frank as he placed a heavy hand on her bony shoulder. He smiled warmly at her and then turned his head back to the panel. Saya blinked and looked at the boy as he stared blankly into space.

            The woman on the far left stood up and smoothed her repulsively yellow suit. Her silvery hair was swept into a bun, a single jewel nestled underneath a fold of hair.

            “Starfynas, sir,” she mumbled. The man in the middle nodded. She then angled her wrinkled face towards Saya. “I shall recite the rules of Spirytual nomenclature.” She spoke in a fresh articulate voice, as if she were twenty years younger, though still speckled with age. Saya nodded silently, still wondering what was going on.

            “As of the Council meeting on July 13, 1215, the following guidelines for Spirytual nomenclature are legal and fully agreeable by all five members of the Council.

            “In males, the beginning syllables may begin with Ar- or Sam-. In females, this first syllable shall be occupied by Al- or Star-. The subject on their day of initiation will have the opportunity to choose the beginning syllable. This syllable is independent and solely of the subject’s choosing.

            The median letters of the given name are taken directly from the assigned guide’s name. The subject shall have these letters memorized, ready to be recited at any Council function.”

            Here, Starfynas paused. The woman seated next to her glanced at a piece of paper. “Armias?”

            Mr. Frank nodded. “That’s me, ma’am.” He bowed, keeping his hand on Saya’s shoulder. Saya’s mind was racing. She was shuffling through memories, hoping this was just a dream. Surely, it was? No one ever talked about a world like this, so it must not exist. A doubting Thomas she was.

            The woman nodded. “Median letters, sir?”
            “M-i-a,” Mr. Frank spelled out carefully.

            Again, the woman nodded, writing down those letters in neat script on a piece of paper in front of her. Starfynas drew in a deep breath and spoke.

            “The last letter of each name is based on the nature of the subject’s death, or first end. There are four natures of death currently known to the Spiryts and they shall be paired with the last letter as follows. Accidental death, a. Suicidal death, s. Natural death, n. Murder, h.”

            Saya’s stomach clenched. Saya Mori, murder, the man in the center had said. She did not remember being stabbed or shot to death. She wasn’t pushed off of a bridge and no one slit her throat. Her mind must have the facts mixed up and couldn’t keep up with this dream.

            “Saya Mori, which syllable do you choose? Al- or Star-?”

            Saya relaxed for it was just a dream. She would, after all, take a history test in the morning when she woke up.

            “Al-, ma’am,” she answered. She didn’t really care at the moment.

            Starfynas grunted approvingly and resumed her seat. The man sitting directly to the right of the center then stood.

            “Arbinan,” he told the center-man and turned to Saya and Mr. Frank.

            “Saya Mori, under the nature of your death and your guide’s given name, your given name shall be. . .”

            Saya glanced again at Mr. Frank who stared blankly at Arbinan, still motionless. She turned back around just in time to hear “Almiah.”

            The crowd once again became wildly animated, whooping and cheering for their newly named Spiryt. Saya scanned the crowd for a familiar face but only found strangers giving every ounce of excitement they could muster up.

            Mr. Frank pulled Saya to her feet and raised her hand high, showing her off. He wore a huge grin on his face, his dark skin glowing. Saya looked back at the Council seated at the table with their papers and spectacles. They showed no sign of expression of emotion. She shuddered and turned back to Mr. Frank, who finally lowered her hand.

            “Hold on,” he whispered. The racket of the crowd still rang in her ears.

 

            Kai kneeled on the stone cold floor in front of the barren fireplace, head bowed solemnly. His hands were bathed in blood and his gums hurt with the retraction of his teeth. He felt ashamed of his dark deed and wished for the comfort of a fire in the empty fireplace.

            His hand, caked in blood, traced a thin crack set in stone. It never ends. He touched his teeth lightly with his tongue. His fangs did not extend at this point. He was too ashamed of being like the others, feeding on innocent humans and leaving them to die of blood loss. But it was just an instinct, natural to those of his race. He might’ve lived alone, but he was still one of them.

Author's Note

Again, more editing probably needed.

Reviews

[Adventerous Amy]

not at all, they also fit together like a puzzle!