The First Book of the Pure (3 page)

“Ghar, I vividly recall the first time I
found out that I would not die easily. We’d been on a hunt long
ago, and as we approached the meat we had killed, fights broke out.
Two attacked me, from my own tribe! My own hunting party! One I
killed, but the other, a great warrior, struck with his spear
before I had turned to him. I saw that point come out my chest,
close to my arm, and I knew I was dead. I also knew I would use my
last breath to take him with me, so I attacked with no concern for
living beyond killing him. He cut me deeply with his stone knife
before I killed him, and the hunters gathered around me, not
knowing what to do. They’d never seen anyone live long after such
injuries. They removed the spear and sat with me. They kept the
flies off as the blood pooled and dried. They washed some of it
off, and took care of me even though they knew I would die. The
next day when I woke up I was more surprised than they. I was
stronger then, so they waited with me another day. We had food from
the hunt, so they were in no hurry to return to the tribe. The next
day I was strong enough to walk, all bleeding stopped. So we slowly
returned to the tribe. Later, after other severe injuries, I found
that I always managed to heal.”

Ghar was impressed with this unexpected
sharing, but not surprised at the legendary stamina of his leader
and friend. “Ha! I said you’d never die. You are Gheret.” As if
that settled any question about it, he started grooming his long
thick beard with his fingers, pulling out twigs and bugs and pieces
of recent meals.

“But death will come. And when it does, you
must not do anything. I’ll go apart when it’s time. Do
not
try to find me. Let me go.”

“My friend, you tear at my heart. You’re my
chief. I would hate to see you fall. Fight hard, live, and we shall
hunt again.”

Gheret had not been reaching when he’d
explained this to his friend, because there came a day not long
after when he walked alone into the deepest cave, far back into a
small niche known to none of his tribe. Not particularly enchanted
with the notion of his body being eaten by animals, he loosely
walled off the section he had chosen.

He lay down carefully, concentrated, and
breathed slowly, shallowly and fought off thoughts which kept him
too alert. He thought of the same thing he had often considered of
late, that the world would have much more to offer someday, and he
would prefer to live in a time when it did. He was tired of killing
for food, for safety, for control of the tribe so he could direct
them. He was just tired. Anyone can give up on life and outlive
their time. He felt that he had done so. He had lived long, too
long, and was just bone tired. He finally ceased thinking, and then
stopped breathing altogether. The great heart of this leader of
generations beat no more.

The Host Continues

He paused in his narrative and stared at the
lone listener, sitting there looking skeptical while eating some
Italian Ice. “Questions?”

“You spin a great yarn. So Gheret died.
That’s a great story, but I don’t see how it...”

The host cut him off with a sweeping motion
of his arm. “I realize that you don’t know enough to even ask that
which your simple mind has contrived as an argument. Be silent. Go
to the quarters I’ve assigned to you and refresh yourself. We shall
begin again in the morning.” Turning to Scarface, he added,
“Bertram, see to it that there’s sufficient refreshment during the
day.” With that he walked away, as imperious as a Caesar.

Kenneth watched him leave, and shaking his
head, he started down the rosewood paneled hallway toward his suite
of rooms, his attendants following at a discreet distance.
All
dressed up and no place to go
,
and no way to get away from
these goons to get there
. Glancing around at the grandeur of
the place, the marble inlaid floors, the exquisite furniture, and
artwork he suspected was original and as good as anything in any
museum he’d ever seen, he decided to try to relax and enjoy this
enforced vacation.
C’mon,
what’s the worst that could
happen, really?
But deep down he knew it could get much
worse.

He’d been provided a non-connected computer
with no internet capability, pens and paper, and even a journal. He
decided to start journaling about this odd experience, and to
record the wild stories he was hearing every day. He had to do
something to pass the time, and he figured if he kept his mind busy
he wouldn’t fret so much.
Maybe I’ll even try the deep breathing
exercises my boss thinks relieves stress. But this is stress on
steroids, and I’m not sure I can rev up enough deep breathing to
really relax
.

Session 2

The next day he joined his host at breakfast.
Part of the time he thought of his host as the Grinch, due to his
totally self centered world view. They met in a different room, a
kind of three season room with lots of marble and stone, walls of
glass with a wonderful view. The meal was lavish, and the reporter
had relaxed enough overnight that he could really enjoy the
wonderful exotic fresh fruit, fresh baked bread and eggs like he
had never eaten before in his life. This was all far above his own
means in life, so he enjoyed it. He could lose himself in the sauce
on the eggs.

“Sir, this is a marvelous meal. Is it to be
accompanied by the same kind of tale as yesterday?” He was trying
very hard not to sound skeptical, but rather interested. There was
still a very real, dark threat here that he didn’t fully
understand. And the story itself was detailed, but absolutely
unbelievable.

“Yes. You’re to learn of another of the Pure
today, one who may interest you more because she survived as a
woman through more years than you yet believe. Her name is Ruby. We
meet her in Crete.”

“Wait a minute now,” Kenneth interrupted,
“you’ve been pretty civil about most things, even though you had me
kidnapped, and now it seems like you want to tell me some tall tale
every day about someone you’re supposed to know, but what I want to
know is, just when are you going to let me go?”

His host moved inhumanly fast, seized Kenneth
by his throat and lifted him from the table, letting his feet
dangle a few inches above the floor. Kenneth tried to protest, but
the hand gripping his throat blocked any and all attempts, and
terror set in immediately.

“I could snap your neck, or choke you to
death in a minute, you stupid boy.” He shook him to drive home his
point. “While I desire to tell you these ‘stories’ as you so
disdainfully call them, still I might decide to end your short,
pitiful life. Don’t even begin to think that it’s
your
worth
that makes me want to explain the lives of these
people to you. It is
I
who feel a need to tell them, and I
could tell them just as well to someone else. You live at my
discretion, I’m afraid. I’ve been known to lose my temper and that,
in turn, makes other people, well, not to put too fine a point on
it, dead. Do you want to hear my stories or not? Answer me with a
head nod before you pass out, or I promise that you won’t wake up
at all.”

Kenneth inclined his head and tried to nod.
It was quite difficult with his neck in the vice of his host’s
steel grip. It took absolutely no soul searching to know he’d
rather listen to this raving maniac’s stories than to be choked to
death by him. Desperately nodding, close to passing out, he stared
into the eyes of his captor, this powerful madman who defied logic
and followed no creed but his own.

Kenneth had never been so terrified in his
life. In fact, that life had somehow become more precious to him
now that he felt it slipping away.

After holding his eyes until he apparently
thought Kenneth was either really willing to listen, or that he
didn’t want to lose his audience and have to start over with
someone else, his host abruptly dropped him, which made a mess of
the table and breakfast. He stared at Kenneth on the floor for a
minute, then seated himself, looked thoughtful, and began his new
story as though nothing had happened.

Kenneth just lay there for a few minutes, as
his host started his new story. Knowing he was being ignored,
Kenneth wasn’t sure what to do. If he lay there, his host could be
angered, and if he got up, or cleaned his clothing of food and
settled into a chair, that could anger him even more, since it
might feel like an interruption.

Well, I can’t just sit here in the
food
. He made his decision, got up, brushed off his clothes,
and slipped into a chair, his kakis looking worse for the
experience.

He looked at his host as he droned on about a
woman named Ruby.

Ruby

The First Woman

Ruby had been raped many times, owned by
several different masters, had a razor sharp mind, and while not
beautiful by the current standards of Crete, being too thin, she
would have been striking by most other standards, and a very
desirable woman. She stood very straight for her five feet three
inches. Her hair was shoulder-length with some curl, and in the
deep brown trusses there was a hint of red. Her skin was alabaster,
and her features classical. Through some of her life her height was
considered well above the norm. Though she was never allowed any
formal education, she had learned much from those around her, and
from her own innate intelligence that rivaled any she had come
across to date. Once she realized she was different, she used it to
great advantage. She helped her current owner make great profits
through her intellect, and earned his respect, though in their
world he could hardly admit it.

She had married again because it was assumed
in this culture that a woman would be cared for by a man.
Unfortunately, that also had ramifications that weren’t so
pleasant. Ruby had no need to be cared for, or supported
financially. She’d amassed enough money through the years, in other
personas, that she’d have been fine without anyone helping her in
any way. Yet, in this culture, at this time, that just wasn’t an
acceptable alternative. She was so weary of it all, and the stupid
brutality of men as they felt they could rule over everything in
their lives. She longed for a relationship that was a good
partnership, which had a sense of sharing to it, and equality. She
was brilliant, and she hated having to hide her intellect, for fear
of retaliation from those who ran the world, her country, her city,
and her own home. She’d certainly had enough of this husband.

Her pot bellied, stoop shouldered husband
still used her, for even with his appreciation for her talents, she
was, after all, just a woman. In any case, he rationalized, she
wasn’t sent on a galley where the crew or some slaves were rewarded
by having her for the night. He believed he treated her well, and
cared for her. The gods had sent her to him, and he deserved all
that she was and could provide. That certainly had to include her
beauty, and her sensuality.

He wasn’t her first master. She’d been with
others, some far worse, some as good. She bore this man no deeper
grudge than any others she’d had over the years, and had in fact
borne him two daughters. The girls were as average as their father,
fairly unimaginative and boring. Their father was terribly
disappointed that they were girls and not boys, yet he still put a
servant in charge of their rearing.

She’d never been in a position that allowed
her the freedom to raise and know her own children as she’d wanted.
Her husbands always decided everything.
My offspring are always
female, and should be better than average, but such is life.
She picked through the memories she retained of her last three
husbands. She’d borne several daughters to them, but her attachment
to them was fairly limited. When she walked away she gave them very
little thought. In the world of that time it was nearly impossible
to track someone from a distance, and she would not inconvenience
herself enough to live in close enough proximity to actually see
her offspring regularly. Once she very much wanted to do so, but
found it impossible once she had taken another identity.

Occasionally she wondered if any of her
daughters were long lived. But she was here, and they were
somewhere else, and therefore not her concern, or at least she’d
convinced herself of that. They were always their fathers’
children, never hers to raise and care for, to hold and love. She
was chattel, and her daughters from earlier identities were such by
now as well. Her current daughters would be under a man’s authority
soon enough. She had an ability, a survival mechanism, which
allowed her to dismiss that which wasn’t current; that which had no
bearing on her directly, and in a timely manner.

One night after too much wine, and taking her
almost brutally in his desire, her husband slept soundly beside
her. She was smarter, stronger, more aware of surroundings and
people, better at business, and in every way she could think of,
simply better than him. She lay in the dark, thinking back over the
years, and decided she had had enough of being a woman in this
stinking man’s world. Her night vision was keen, and she looked at
him for a long time.
Men
, she thought.
Your lives are so
gonad related, they even control your actions
. She finished
aloud, howbeit very quietly, “Fools.”

He must have realized she wasn’t asleep, or
perhaps he heard her. He asked her what was wrong. “You’ve been an
adequate husband, as men go. I’ve had several, and many children as
well, all beautiful girls, many of them older than you.”

He sat up in their bed and stared at her,
then started laughing. “What a mind you have, my love,” he got out
between the gasps of laughter. “Many husbands! Ha-ha, well, I shall
like to meet them sometime then.”