"Covenant Waters - Chapter 1" by Rachel ´Saya´ Lamine

Covenant Waters
By Rachel Lamine

"Now the earth was corrupt in God's sight and was full of violence..."

Chapter I

The ground began to tremble, shaking the straw pallet and escalating into a roar much akin to the carnal cry of a wild cat.  The noise drew me grudgingly from sleep.  I jumped up, diving toward the doorway of my room and bracing myself against the frame as I waited for the shaking to cease.  A shower of dust misted from the ceiling, hissing in protest as it was shaken from its resting place.  An empty bronze jug tottered precariously at the edge of the round table a few cubits away.  I watched silently as it vibrated over the edge and clattered to the earthen floor.  It bounced a few times before rolling to a halt against the wall.  Another moment passed before the tremor ended and everything fell silent.

I stepped quietly back to my bed, my bare feet leaving prints in the fallen dust, and lay unceremoniously against my pillow before pulling the blanket to my neck.  These small quakes were too frequent and routine to pay much attention to.  They’d started mysteriously a few years back and had only become more frequent and violent in nature.  We’d had larger ones topple entire buildings in the past month.  I let my eyes fall shut as I settled down and prepared to reenter unconsciousness.  I had drifted off for no more than a few minutes when a soft knock disturbed my rest.

“Deshereh?” My brother’s voice floated through the darkness.

“Unh,” I mumbled in objection.

“Deshereh?” The call came again.  The woven curtain draped across the doorway rustled as it was pushed aside.  My brother entered and sneezed.  A small lamp was suspended in his hand, illuminating the room in a soft glow and casting grotesque shadows across the fabric covered walls.

“What is it?” I groaned, pulling the blanket over my eyes.

“I think you’d better get up and see this.”  I opened my eyes at the anxious tone in his voice.  Jabrin stood over me, his bearded face turned down in a worried frown. 

“See what?” I asked, suddenly alarmed.

“The rose statue fell off the roof.”  The pinkish statue of a bird, its wings raised as if to take off into the skies, had perched atop our house since my father had purchased it more than thirty years ago.  It was his pride and joy—since it had cost so much money, almost an entire gold talent—the crown jewel of our home.  He would be mad when he heard about it.  Jabrin continued, “Rubble fell all over the street and I think someone is trapped beneath it.”

Hurriedly, I pulled myself to my feet and settled a cloak over my shoulders, a sudden wave of disquiet draping over my senses.  “I didn’t hear anything.  You know who he is?”

“No.  I only caught a glimpse of him when I opened the door.  There are a few broken bits of rose stone scattered across the front hall.”

My brother pushed aside the tapestry from the doorway to let me pass.  I hurried down the spacious hallway, past the mirrors and family portraits decorating the walls, and into the front room.  The door was wide open to the night; a jeering void of darkness, a recess to the dangerous unknown of the night.  I blinked and started forward, peering into the shadows of the mass of shattered rubble.  I thought I could sense a human life within, but I couldn’t be sure, not with the darkness pressing around me.

“Jabrin, get a brighter lamp.  I can’t see with this dull light.”

“Couldn’t find it.  I would have used it if I knew where it was.  They’re more expensive these days you know.”

I sighed and took the dim lamp from him, holding it over the wreckage while taking care not to drip the heated oil onto the dry mineral.  The stones, originating from an almost five cubit statue—large even by the prince’s standards— were shattered and broken into hundreds of jagged pieces.  Dust covered them like the white powder in my sister’s chest of rouge.  The statue was unrecognizable now except for the head, the beak curved in a perfect arch, the eyes and feathers chiseled in such accurate detail the beast seemed almost real.  The head protruded eerily from the peak of the mound, its round eye forlornly surveying the remains of its broken body.  A movement drew my attention from the head.  I squinted, drawing the lamp closer.  There.  I could see the trapped man now, his fingers scrabbling weakly at the large slabs of rose stone that pinned him in place.  One slab, much larger than the rest, lay across his legs and most of his chest, suspended, only a few inches away from crushing him to death.

“Hey,” I called gently, kneeling down by his head, “Are you alright?  Can you hear me?”

A soft moan threaded its way to the surface.  I could see a hand reach up toward my voice.  The stones shifted and the hand retreated.

“Alright.  Don’t move.  We’re coming to get you.”  The irony of my words struck me only after they’d left my mouth.

“How do you propose we go about that?” Jabrin drawled, his voice suddenly overloud in my ears.  He was leaning against the door frame, his arms folded across his chest.

“We move the stones.”  I had no time for my brother’s games.  I knew where and to whom he was going to take this.

“With what?  That stone there was part of the base.  It’s still in one piece and I wager it weighs at least forty minas.  We can’t lift it off him without help.”

“I don’t care,” I insisted, stoically pulling at one of the top stones.  It came away easily and I pulled it into the room.  “We can try and we can get him out.”

“I propose we seek Maya and her brothers.  Or Arthek.  But Maya is closer.”

“And leave Aramia and Keshol alone?” I said through my teeth, “No, definitely not.”

“Our sisters are old enough to take care of themselves.  Too bad father and mother are gone to Nod.  They could have helped you and I wouldn’t have to go for Maya since you’re obviously so opposed to the idea.”

Another moan escaped the cell beneath the fallen debris.  I pulled at a new stone, but as it was loosened from its resting place the stones began to shift.  The prisoner cried out suddenly, the sound shaking me to the core.  Fingers trembling, I shoved the stone back into place.  “Could you at least help me, Jabrin?” I inquired urgently, frustration beginning to eat away at my tolerance.  There was a man down there, trapped and helpless, and my brother refused to do anything about it.  “Please try.  It’s the middle of the night.  They never stay home.  Who knows where they are.”

“Who knows where who is?” A dark voice slid across the threshold, deep and unwelcome.  I jumped back and turned away, shuddering as a cold chill trembled through me.

“Arthek!” My brother’s usually demure voice was simmering with excitement as he moved forward in greeting.  A simpering grin was arranged across his features.  “Perfect.  We were about to search for Camen and Charen and enlist their help in moving the stones.  A man is trapped under them.”

I sucked in a strangled breath, keeping my back to the door.  Why did he always have to come to us?  Why couldn’t he waste his time with someone else?  I wiped my sweating fingers on my apron, clenching the white fabric in my fists to stop their quivering.  Arthek was an officer of the Guard of Mech, employed by the prince to keep ruffians out of the streets.  The streets weren’t safe with him to guard them.  Jabrin didn’t understand the wrenching terror I felt around his friend and never would.  He couldn’t sense as well as I could.  It was an art that had been lost and now there were few who could feel the foul unnaturalness permeating Arthek and his kind.  It was beyond description.  They were the Nephilim—ethereal, beautiful and unbeautiful.

“The quake was only a small one,” my brother continued, “I didn’t think much had happened.  Didn’t even hear the statue fall, but when I looked out—”

“Deshereh,” Arthek’s voice broke Jabrin off mid-sentence, “Come greet me, like your brother has.”

I clenched my hands into fists, a tightness painfully twisting my insides against my stomach.  Slowly, I turned to face him, body rigid with fear.  Arthek loomed taller than any regular man, his skin shimmering with a transcendent aqua sheen in the darkness.  A band of leather drew the long, moon-colored hair away from his eyes.  His features were chiseled and ageless, the face only somewhat handsome.   The eyes were dark and colorless, a stormy contrast to the paleness of the rest of his body. 

“Good evening, Guard Arthek,” I murmured tonelessly, allowing my head to dip slightly in acknowledgement.

“Good evening, lovely Deshereh.”  Arthek gave a low, mocking bow.  Jabrin laughed as the Nephil straightened.  My brother was a fool. 

“We would greatly appreciate it if you helped us move these stones.  I am afraid that if we don’t hurry the man trapped beneath will not live.”

“You would just appreciate it, or also be in my debt?”  Arthek’s thin lips expanded in a terrible smile, the cool eyes watching me with such intensity I looked away.

“We would be grateful,” I repeated carefully.  To be in Arthek’s debt would be worse than the fiery shackles of the Pit.

Arthek shrugged and turned ruefully to Jabrin.  “Your sister appears unnecessarily distressed.  Would you advise me to remove the debris as she asks or refuse and grieve her further?”

“By all means, remove the debris,” Jabrin allowed with a dismissive wave of his hand, “it would be quite a nuisance to keep it there.”  Dislike toward my brother trembled in my chest.  Jabrin, who had been so concerned for the trapped man when he woke me, was now in the presence of the almighty Arthek, and the compassion I had thought he still possessed had disappeared.

It took a lot of concentration to keep myself from throwing the clay lamp at him.  Only Arthek’s shadowy presence kept me at bay.  It wasn’t Jabrin I was afraid of.  I watched silently as Arthek turned, his muscled biceps rippling as he took hold of the thick slab of rose stone and hoisted it above his head.  In one quick movement he dropped it some paces away where it landed with an ear shattering crash.  I swallowed hard.

“There,” he said, stepping back inside, “all done.  He’s free.  Happy, Deshereh?”

“Yes,” I responded quietly, keeping my eyes away from his face, “I thank you.”

“Good work, Arthek,” my brother applauded, peering out the doorway.  “Just get more of you out here and we could have this thing cleared away by morning.”

Ignoring both men as studiously as I could, I stepped around Arthek and into the cleared pathway.  I could sense the wounded man now, more unmistakably than ever.  I knelt down beside his immobile form, holding the lamp over his face.  The orange light illuminated the smooth features of a young man, only a little older than both Jabrin and I, with dark hair and the beginnings of a beard.  His eyes were closed and his face—not handsome as far as I was concerned—was scratched and swollen.  His entire body was caked in a layer of white powder.

“Hello,” I whispered, laying my hand gently against his cut face.  It was warm and slick with sweat. “Can you hear me?”  I could feel that he was conscious, but I needed the acknowledgement to come from him personally.

A few moments passed as I waited.  Suddenly, his eyelids flickered and snapped open, the eyes behind them dark and pure—a welcome change from the pitiless holes in Arthek’s face.  He opened his cracked lips and smiled into my eyes.  “El has delivered.”

“Jabrin,” I called briskly, glancing back toward my brother, “I think we nee—”

“Allow me.”  I jumped as Arthek appeared at my side, a sardonic smile twisting his mouth in an upward curve.  The fear I had almost forgotten in the wounded man’s plight returned like an iron fist in my stomach.  I fought to keep my breathing steady as I stepped backwards.  Arthek pushed away a few of the protruding stones as if they were mere pebbles, discarding them haphazardly to the side.  Before I could protest, he scooped the stranger into his arms.  The man gasped, his eyes rolling wildly.  Arthek chuckled and carried the victim past me, following Jabrin down the corridor and into the extra room.  I clenched my jaw and followed them inside.

Arthek laid the man on the low pallet and stood up.  His head was ducked beneath the ceiling which was not accommodating for a Nephil.  I liked it that way.  Jabrin leaned against the doorway as he had out frontt

“Thank you, Guard Arthek, for your help,” I said, keeping my head low as I bent over the wounded man.  His eyes were closed now, his mind fluttering in and out of conciousness.  I hoped the Nephil would take the dismissive hint.  Arthek opened his mouth as if to say something, but stopped, his head swiveling to face the door.

“Guard Arthek!” A voice, honeyed and sweet, breathed in surprise.  I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath.  No, not now.

“Little Aramia, look at you,” Arthek’s voice purred in response, “no longer a child.”

I made a move to stand and face my sister, but the man lying on the bed caught my hand in a rigid grip.  His eyes were open, staring up at me with a glassy expression—help me.  I held my breath in surprise and remained where I was.

“Why Arthek, I have not been a child for some years.  You should have noticed that by now.” I turned my head.  My sister stood in the doorway, a colorful blanket arranged around her lovely figure.  Her dark hair was long and loose, tumbling in luscious waves around her waist.  She peered at Arthek from beneath dark lashes, her eyes opened wide and brimming with feigned innocence.  Her lips were pursed in a smoldering pout.

“Oh, I have, Aramia.” I watched helplessly as he smiled chillingly in her direction.  I wanted to scream at her to get out of here, to stop this stupidity and flee.  Aramia was beautiful and she knew it.

“Aramia,” I said, scrambling to keep my voice calm and in control, “go back to your room.”

“Oh, Deshereh, Arthek is here and I want to keep him company.”

Jabrin was smiling, glancing between Arthek and Aramia and me as if this was the most amusing thing he’d witnessed in a long time. 

“Arthek is here and he is leaving,” I said carefully, “it is the middle of the night and he helped us save this man.  Now he must return to his duties and make sure no one else needs help after the quake.  You must return to bed.”

“You’re such a prude, Deshereh.” Aramia crossed her arms over her chest defiantly, her eyes flashing murderously in my direction.

“Aramia, I am afraid your sister is right.” Her dark eyes turned on Arthek in surprise.  “I must move on now.”

“Yes, he must,” I repeated firmly.  The man on the bed still held my fingers between his own, his grip becoming stronger and more desperate.

Arthek’s colorless eyes turned on me then, still smiling, his face devoid of any joyful emotion.  I trembled.  “Surely you will allow me to heal the man and take him off your hands.”  His eyes flickered as they brushed over our intertwined fingers.

“No,” I replied firmly, pushing back the terror I felt beneath the Nephil’s gaze.  On the bed, the man’s eyes were closed again, his grip relaxing, but only slightly.  “I know some of the arts of healing.  I will be fine.  You have done enough tonight.”

“As you wish.”  The Nephil bowed again, low and mocking, before stepping through the doorway and disappearing into the night.

Jabrin shrugged, glancing between me and the man on the bed, his eyes dark pools of indecision, before following Arthek into the darkness.  Aramia glared at me, her face wild and full of fire, and stalked to her room in a stony silence.  I took a deep breath and lay my head against the bed, squeezing my eyes shut to keep the tears from falling.  A hand, cool and real in the shadows of the room, pressed against my own, the only tether to the surface of the darkness in which I was sinking.