The First Male (2 page)

The shadows could feel his presence on this winter solstice; his young power intensified the storm; such unbridled power, even in the womb. His birth had been foretold for eons, but never had been made flesh; that is, until tonight. The heaven's alignment made it possible.

To topple the shack and claim the child was their ultimate goal. The ancient scrolls outlined the stakes:

He who controls the child, shall control the world
.

The undead things chanted an unbroken chain of shadow speak, hissing aberrant sounds into the depths of the night, using their power to strengthen the gale.

Amongst the shadows, he walked; part flesh, part bone; not alive, yet, not dead. He was something else. Something ancient. Something evil. His heavy feet pulverized the frozen earth; hardened stones crumbled like saltines beneath the heels of his ancient boots. Shadows at his feet moved like serpents coiling around his legs, hissing. Underneath his ragged black hood was a faceless, horrifying hollowness, except for a pair of yellow eyes. His voice was terrifying, spoken through lightning, thunder, and pounding rain. The fearsome wind flung his putrid scent across the land, polluting the night with the grimy stench of decaying flesh.

Inside, Rebecca's screams continued, shrill enough to shatter glass. Her blood-curdling yelps carried more force than the rabid wind. The shadows and undead things would one day worship her; they would exalt her and prepare a special place for her within the new kingdom, a kingdom her child would lead. In the days beyond the last days, she would sit to the left of her child and he
on the right—a vulgar triumvirate. She was his mother, the Dark Mother, and she had been cloaked and protected by shadows since the moment she conceived. At the moment of the child's conception, a fiendish delight erupted in the Shadowland, a wretched place that existed in the space between worlds. The Shadowman had rejoiced for the first time in more than three hundred years.

The time had arrived. His rapture.

Inside the house, Adelaide Thibodeaux, or Addie, as she was called by her clan, wielded the ancient power of her sister-clan for what she believed would be the last time, making her final stand against the shadows. The stakes could not have been higher; the fate of the world rested in her hands.

Addie chanted. Her eyes rolled to the back of her skull. The long sleeves of her red flowing robe swayed back and forth. She commanded awesome power; force that belied her diminutive frame; power that they feared. She weaved a spell as strong as the night was black; a spell deeply rooted in the primordial blood magic of her sister-clan; a spell unlike any spell that had ever been cast before.

As her heart raced and her palms sweated, Addie's goal was clear: endure long enough for the child to draw its first breath; then, she could imbue it with all the goodness she knew and bind its powers; hopefully, forever, but she had no way of knowing if it would work. A binding spell of this magnitude had never before been attempted. To bind this child's power was tantamount to binding the night itself.

In spite of the grave uncertainty, in spite of her unsteady hands, in spite of the shadows pounding against the house, she pressed on. She had no other choice. If she failed, the child would most certainly become the abomination long prophesized. The ancient texts could not have been clearer:
the first male born of the first
born Thibodeaux male would be the destroyer of worlds
. The warning sounded in her head from a place that was not a part of her.
Destroyer of worlds
. Her ancestors were speaking, warning her of the cost of failure. She had to complete the ritual or this child would one day plunge the world into abysmal darkness that would last until time ran out of time.

Fear tightened Addie's heart and squeezed her lungs. Even if she could complete the ritual in time, there was no guarantee it would take; the child's soul, ordained by fate, already belonged to the shadows, but it was believed—through no real evidence except the intuition of a powerful elder Seer-sister long since dead—that the power of the sister-clan could cleanse the shadows from his soul and bind his powers forever. It would take the collective force of the entire sister-clan, past and present and maybe even future, to complete such a feat. How long could such a spell last? Addie wondered. A day? A week? A year? Ten years? Was forever even possible? No one could be sure. Either way, Addie didn't expect to be around to bear witness to the aftermath. After tonight, after such an outpouring of power, she suspected that she'd ascend to The Higher Plain with her sisters.

A powerful lightning bolt struck the shack, setting the roof ablaze. The fire caused by his lightning could not be extinguished, even from the pounding rain. For the first time, the smell of smoke seeped into the house through Addie's defenses. Her barrier was falling. The ground beneath her very feet swelled and shook, as if a chain of perfectly timed mini-earthquakes exploded in rapid succession. She stumbled into a small table that slid across the room, but she managed to regain her balance.

The pounding against the shack was unyielding.

Addie called on her ancestors again, seeking their strength. She needed her power to combine with their strength.

“In this darkened hour, I invoke your ancient power. In this darkened hour, I invoke your ancient power,” she repeated in a rapid-fire whisper that filled the room.

Then, she heard their voices. Her ancestors; the sister-clan. She heard many, many voices speaking in unison, in a tongue foreign to anyone outside her clan; an ancient language known only to them. Their voices sounded like blessings raining down. The ancients—members of her sister-clan who had long ago departed—spoke to her in hasty whispers.

Imbue the child. Bind his power. Imbue the child. Bind his power. Imbue the child. Bind his power. Imbue the child. Bind his power . . . 

Wind blew through the house, violently scattering loose papers about the room. The papers fluttered across the room as if carried by a tornado. Within the spinning air, a dim light grew brighter and brighter until the entire room was bathed in a yellow glow. The light was warm and comforting, in spite of the dire circumstances. Addie saw the ethereal and disembodied faces of her ancestors. She saw Aunt Sarah. She saw Ambrosia. She smiled when she saw Doshia. And Whitney. And Lucretia. And Alala. And Amaka. And Irena. And Sethunya; and many others. Most of the churning faces she had only seen in the ancient texts of the clan, but they were connected through blood and magic, which stretched back farther than time. Addie would need their power if the spell had any chance of succeeding. Their faces swirled swiftly about the room as they chanted.

Imbue the child. Bind his power. Imbue the child. Bind his power. Imbue the child. Bind his power. Imbue the child. Bind his power
.

Rebecca screeched. The force of thunder collided into the house, shaking it to its core. Addie's power flickered, and then she heard the rejoicing of the Shadowman; his laughter shook the sky. With the use of the strength of her ancestors, Addie had sight
beyond sight so that she could see what was unseen. Her gaze focused on the Shadowman outside of the shack, and she saw him in his wretched form. She watched as he rotated his hands counterclockwise and raised them suddenly to the sky, pulling down a bevy of fierce lightning bolts that struck the roof of the house in powerful succession, leaving pulsing and bleeding cracks in the structure. Fire burned into the roof, in spite of the heavy rain.

He had succeeded in cracking her barrier in multiple places.

Addie's ancestors' faces faded.

In her mind's eye, she watched the shadows merge together and glide forward carefully, to exploit the weakness. They did not know what to expect from Addie, but they knew better than to underestimate her magic. She had more than proven her power to them. She was a Priestess Supreme.

Once the smoke reached the decrepit front porch, the shadows stopped. The undead things fanned out and created an unbroken circle around the house, preventing escape; they were ready to pounce when the order was given.

Addie focused and sealed the cracks in the roof. She kneeled over the woman and commanded her to push.

Adelaide, why do you resist? You cannot prevent that which is meant to be
.

The voice—his voice—filled the room and covered Rebecca's screams. His voice was gentle, almost comforting. The smell of fresh flowers descended, as if from a field, and Addie felt a peculiar sense of peace trying to overtake her. She imagined herself in the comfort of her mother's arms as a child. She felt warm and protected; she had always longed for that sense of security, but peace was not part of her destiny. She was a born protector, and she fulfilled her duty with honor. And she knew it wasn't peace that was trying to take her; it was surrender. She would have
fallen for this trick of the enemy had it not been for the burning in her heart.

We will raise him as a king of kings. How could you deny him that? He is your blood
.

Addie could not engage him in conversation. She had to concentrate. Sweat poured down her face and her hands violently shook.

You cannot win
.

Addie steeled her disposition and connected with her ancestors. She felt their spirit, their ancient power. She chanted and channeled them as Rebecca continued to howl. Her frantic shrieks filled the airy space. Addie felt unprecedented power surge and swell within her blood. She tried to hold it back, to control it, as a dam would hold back raging water. Her power ignited the atmosphere, swirling about the room like a contained hurricane; visible sparks ignited indiscriminately around the room, like fireworks.

“You have no power here!” she shouted with more force than she knew. The strength of her voice rumbled deep into the sky and cast the shadows away, sending them hurling and screaming into the night. The circle of undead things broke as they scattered out of fear deep into the forest.

Addie's force hit the Shadowman hard, causing him to collapse to one knee, but it wasn't enough to send him into retreat. It weakened him, but he did not flee. He could not flee. Now was his time and he would fight until the bitter end to claim what was promised to him.

Addie's expulsion of the shadows and undead things sent her power into a frenzy and her temperature rose, as if the power was too much for her body to contain. She thought she might explode and incinerate the entire room before she finished the ritual.

Addie placed her hand gently on Rebecca's forehead, as if to comfort her.

“Are . . . you . . . gonna . . . help me?” Rebecca asked. Her words were broken and breathy. Addie smiled at her and placed a damp towel on her forehead.

“Yes, child. I am going to save us. You must push, child.”

Addie took the sharp thumbnail on her right hand and dug it deeply into the vein of her left wrist until she drew blood. She winced. She took her wrist and forced it onto the mouth of the woman, who protested, but was too weak to put up a decent fight. The woman had to ingest Addie's blood while the child was still in the womb in order for the binding spell to have any chance.

Rebecca spat out the blood. “Stop!” Then, she wailed an unearthly cry. Addie knew the scream wasn't from the woman—it was from the child.

Addie removed the towel from the woman's head and dipped her right forefinger in the blood that dripped from her wrist. She anointed the woman's forehead with a single bloody red dot. The woman twisted and howled as if she had been set on fire.

“Push, child! Push him out!”

Addie anointed each one of the woman's limbs with blood and marked the belly as she called upon the ancient power. The child was near. Addie ripped open the woman's shirt—her breasts spilled out; she drew a symbol in blood on the woman's chest, above her heart. Rebecca's body bucked and twisted as Addie held her down.

“Push!” Addie commanded of the woman. The woman pushed until the head of the child could be seen. “Push, child! Push!”

Rebecca's face was knotted with fear, but she pushed. And pushed. And pushed until the child was free. Rebecca immediately lost consciousness. Quickly, Addie cut the umbilical cord and fed the child her blood. She held the child—her grandchild—in her arms, and looked into his face. In the eyes of this child, she saw beauty personified. The sweetness of this infant could captivate the world and melt even the most hardened of hearts. The softness
of his skin and the shine in his eyes entranced her. The color of his mesmerizing eyes, which were an almost unnatural blue, enchanted her. She had never seen eyes as bright. She was almost mesmerized until she realized it was nothing more than a trick. The child was deceitful.

Addie chanted as she let drops of her blood fall into his mouth. The child lapped up her blood as if it was mother's milk. He could not resist the taste of blood. She anointed his head and his heart with her blood as she chanted, attempting to bind his power and imbue his heart with light. She felt weak, as if the child was draining her life force. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head and her knees buckled, but she continued her appointed task.

She did not hear the heavy footsteps of the Shadowman punishing the rotting wooden floor until it was too late. A sudden force sent her careening into the wall, knocking a few wooden knick-knacks off the shelf. A figurine in the form of a bright-faced angel fell to the floor and rolled toward him. He raised his muddy black boot and crushed the angel without thought.

Addie had been blasted by shadow magic and it drained her already weakened frame. The dank air, contaminated by his wretched odor, offended her nostrils and sent her lungs into a spasm.

She waved her hand across her face and blocked his stench—she had no time for distraction. When she looked up, she saw the Shadowman walking slowly toward the child, who was held suspended in the air by his power. The child's cries were intermittent and uneven, not at all like the cries of a normal newborn.