Birthright: Daeva and Drach

Chapter 2: Mathias

Dust puffed up from the soles of my boots as I crossed the compound, keeping my head bowed to the brightness of the sun, though the feeling of lowering my eyes was as familiar as the crackling heat of the Texas afternoon. Looking up had never been an option for me.

The bunkhouse fell behind me, long and low and in need of paint, the bachelor quarters kept apart from the main house and worship center. Gray, weathered wood blended into the soft gold of the sandy ground, scraps of withering grasses valiant in their attempt to grow despite the raging summer and lack of water. Hardy, they were called. I guess that made me hardy, too.

Father said living separate from the women, without much in the way of amenities, kept our minds pure. The only TV outside his private quarters was lucky to pick up the two local stations. More fundamentalist Christian bible thumping than I cared to watch-the preaching going against Father's teachings though he never tried to stop us from watching-and a weather station

on rewind-hot, hot and more hot. With a side of thunderstorms and frazzling ozone to shake things up a bit.

Father refused to allow the other males of the compound to interact too much with the opposite s*x outside of prayer times, for our own good, he said. But I knew better. I'd seen enough of the world beyond the compound walls, snuck enough peeks at life without the heavy hand of Father and the First Race Faith to understand his motives were purely selfish.

Whether in the dark forests of New Hampshire or the cold of Alaska or the humid everglades of Florida, compound after hiding place after refuge from the laws of ordinary man, my life hadn't changed all that much, thanks to my father and his view of the world.

Even if I caved, even if I was the good son Father demanded me to be, I knew it would never be enough. He kept all the women-and the freedom to be who he was-to himself.

Typical, from what I understood, from the few times I'd been able to break away and do some exploring in our latest town. Even had a nice guy running the local coffee shop in nearby Avlin show me how to use the Internet. An amazing world out there and I was trapped in here, behind the tall, chain link fence wired with enough electricity to kill a human being and the guns of the loyal men who protected us from the outside world.

A cult. I shivered despite the heat, feeling a headache begin behind my eyes, forcing my jaw loose, my expression calm no matter where my mind took me. That was the word I learned the last time I escaped, almost two years ago if the old calendar in the kitchen I'd been using was true. Florida, all mosquitoes and bogs and alligators. That same calendar came with us in our hasty move to Avlin and the burning nothing of Texas, just ahead of the authorities Father claimed wanted to break us and imprison us in their evil way of being. I was running out of months ahead, displayed as tiny and insignificant at the bottom of the panel with the happy kittens playing on top. As tiny and insignificant as I felt.

I knew better than to show emotion, to give Father a reason to challenge or push me. A lifetime of a***e-mental, verbal, emotional, physical-hadn't broken me. But it taught me a thing or two about trust and love and loyalty.

My boots thudded on the wooden steps as I ascended to the long, wide porch of the worship center. Almost late, most of the rest of the family long gone inside. I usually held back, the lack of air conditioning sweltering, though the heat barely affected me. I just couldn't stand to be inside any longer than I had to be.

With them. With him.

I caught movement from the corner of my eye and paused in my slowing progress to look up despite telling myself not to. I almost smiled at the surprise of finding her sitting there. She raised one hand, rocking slowly in the wooden chair at the end of the porch, the normally creaking furniture silent under her skirted behind. The shining black crow perched on her shoulder, a constant so familiar he was part of her, a streak of white running over his forehead. He rocked with her, chattering softly in her ear, though she appeared to ignore him. I wouldn't have been surprised to find she understood everything he told her in his crow language, though. Viviana had always given me the creeps, though she'd been one of the only people in my life to be kind to me I could ever recall. And that was good enough for me these days.

So, benefit of the doubt. If not trust. No, never that. Not for anyone.

"Mathias." Viviana's voice was deep and rough, her lined face smiling, though the coldness of her gray eyes showed little. Curling black hair streaked with white-an eerie match to her pet crow-tucked behind a pale blue kerchief she used to control the puffy mass. Her thin body seemed unaffected by the heat, her button up blouse and flowing skirt faded and dusty.

I nodded to her and paused, knowing I should go inside. I was going to be late if I took the time to talk to her, but wanted to steal at least this tiny moment of liberation. Besides, Viviana was the only person I knew who Father didn't bully. Or, at least, didn't succeed in bullying. If I was with her, he might let my tardiness pass.

"Hello, Viviana," I said. "'Thias," the crow croaked.

The old woman laughed, a sound as dusty as the hot afternoon. "Good boy, you remembered, Henry." She stroked his feathers. "He likes you."

Couldn't say the same, but I just nodded again. Not sure why I was nervous of Viviana, but I did what I could to stay on her good side. Anyone who could keep Father at bay had to have something up her sleeve. A scary something. As far as I knew, she was the only one who came and went from the compound. Not a member of the family, just a visitor.

I'd often wanted to ask her just what her story was, but didn't have the courage.

"Saw your mother earlier." Viviana's tone remained the same, but something about her words made me tense. I didn't like it when people noticed my immediate family. "And those

young sibs of yours." Her gray eyes met mine, smile still in place. "Your daddy makes pretty kids."

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from scowling. "You staying long?" Easier to change the subject with a soft tone than to stir up trouble. Life lessons learned.

Viviana laughed like I amused her. "When are you going to get up the balls to leave this place, boy?"

I choked on my next breath, chest heavy, the world going black around the edges as panic punched me in the gut. She laughed again at my expense while I shook my head and tried to deny what I'd been contemplating all along. He couldn't know. Father would kill me this time.

Twice before I escaped death when he caught me and brought me home. But I had no doubt this time if I didn't make it out permanently, he'd make sure I didn't see another day.

Unless I kill him first. That thought whispered through my head, silenced the second it appeared. I wouldn't think about that. I wouldn't be like him.

Viviana was standing beside me before I saw her move, her fingers settling on my wrist. For an instant electricity raced over my skin, burning like a brand. I gasped and jerked away from her, rubbing the spot where not a mark showed. At least on the outside. She turned and walked off, heading for the entry to the worship center where I could hear Father speaking, already building up in his sermon, deep voice escaping the walls and into the cutting heat.

"Going to be late for worship," she said over her shoulder, disappearing inside while the crow stared at me with his shining black eyes. I panted into the dust and despair of the Texas summer, chest heaving, hands sweating, fire burning around the edges of my mind. For an instant impulse took me over. Run. Run now. Just go while they sat inside listening to Father rant on about how the First Race was the only race, that ordinary man was in our shadow, that he was the greatest, a god, rising to destroy all who opposed us.

The same old litany of a madman who controlled a flock of fifty. Including me.

I could have run. I could have left right then and there. Never looked back. Set my sneakers on the path to Avlin, use the credit card number I stole from Father's room to buy a bus ticket, go somewhere, anywhere but here. Change my name, do it right this time. Escape him for good.

Except, there were three lives in the balance. Three lives he threatened the last time he caught me, dragged me home. Beat me until I could barely breathe, bleeding on the dusty floor of the worship center while my mother wept and my siblings watched in pale silence.

Three lives Father threatened that night. So, it wasn't just my own I feared for. Would he really kill Mother? Winda and Blaise? I didn't know. But I couldn't risk it. And they wouldn't come with me, would they?

Father had won. With a heavy heart and my entire being dying for release, I forced my feet forward, my hand to rise and grasp the handle of the doorway. To enter the worship center and face my future.

The only future I'd ever be allowed.

He was waiting for me, the echoing silence eerie as I paused to allow the darkness to envelop me. I was lost in it a moment, not realizing he'd fallen quiet until I stumbled into a chair and looked up. Past his bare chest, the muscles he used to intimidate exposed as always when he preached, over his corded neck and broad jaw. Into my father's eyes.

So much rage. I felt the mirror of his emotion flare in my own chest and needed to look away. But couldn't. My skin stung and burned while something new-and yet familiar-churned in my stomach, woke for the first time, it felt like, stretched and grew and sighed. While I stared my father down with a mix of horror at my own boldness and a fresh perspective that shocked me more than my stillness.

Mathias. What are you doing?

"BOY!" My father did nothing without fury. He raised one arm, covered in small, scale-like tattoos meant to make him look like a reptile of some kind, pale eyes flaring, bald head pulsing with a vein of anger. "Show your respect and bow before me!"

I felt it, the weight of his command. Familiar, commonplace. I was in this position often enough, a target of my father's displeasure, seemingly a daily event despite my usual attempts to avoid it. I needed to step back and let him have his moment, his dominance, or risk a beating or worse. But I couldn't. I just couldn't today, for some reason. The back of my hand continued to tingle with heat and pinpricks of faint pain where Viviana touched me. Only now my chest heaved, on fire, while my head exploded with flames. And defiance I'd never dared before and honestly had no control over.

"No," I said as I climbed steadily and with purpose I couldn't command to my feet. I'd lost my mind at last, it would seem, cracked under the pressure of my father's control. Gasps around me proved it true. Yes, I'd spoken after all, no dream. The dread on Mother's face, on Winda's, was no match for the hope and triumph on my brother's. But Blaise had no idea what I'd done,

what speaking out this way might mean for him. I needed to stop, beg forgiveness, sit down. But again, I just couldn't.

Father's face twisted, froze. Something in the way he looked at me changed. I caught movement, and couldn't help but turn my head in slow motion, watched Viviana take a seat, smirking, her crow hopping from one foot to the other in obvious agitation. Then, with deliberate but detached curiosity where terror should have lived, back to my father who stormed toward me suddenly, appearing to grow as he approached, a physical wall of fury hitting me before he reached me.

"HOW DARE YOU CHALLENGE ME!" His words preceded him as much as his rage, striking me like blows.

There was a time I would have fallen to my knees under the pressure. Instead, I found myself raising my head further, shoulders back, fear dying in the roar of fire in my soul. It might be my last moment on this earth, with my hand in flaming pins and needles and that thing in my gut forcing itself into my throat as it roared in answer. But I'd take it for a chance to be my own man at last.

"Go to hell," I said, calm and clear, as the world around me burned and the woken fire in my belly burst outward to flush my skin with its heat.

No death blow, no pummeling fists. Instead, Father stopped in his tracks, gaped at me. And then lunged.

I knew from the hate in his eyes what he intended to do. He outweighed me by at least fifty pounds of muscle, his bare chest rippling with it, with old scars. Father knew how to fight. And I was just eighteen. Whatever had come over me, however, wouldn't let me go and I felt the rush of those flames consume me. Father disappeared as a giant tear appeared in the air before me, edged in fire, blackness beyond turning to a skyscape unfamiliar. I stumbled in fear, the overwhelm of whatever was happening to me fading in the face of this unbelievable shift in reality.

It drew me, like a magnet to iron, pulling me forward into a soft amber sky, toward a towering cliff of black glass. I cried out as Father surged around the edge, lunging for me, but too late. Instead, I fell face first into the gap in reality.

Straight into the arms of a red faced, amber eyed and black horned devil woman.

***