Night of the Sun God

By Nix Nada

Newcomer!

The winter night’s wind whispered the news from empty doorway to cluttered alley. The arrival was unmistakable. It created eddies in the night as ifhe dragged the verysubstance of darkness as a cloak in his wake. I could feel the ripples in the garden of remembrance in which I stood, a place that was already alive with homeless spirits. This was no spirit.

Newcomer.

An arrogant one, this. I climbed atop a monument to fallen soldiers, to sample the night.

I let the breeze caress my skin, and I felt his powerful stride, the way he cut the air as he walked, as crowds part for respected dignitaries.

I inhaledthe scent of roses, caught the fragrance of damp woodland on a sunny summer afternoon. I gasped with surprise -newcomer indeed, this one can still recall the heat of a noontime sun.

The gasp brought the taste of blood over my tongue. The sweetest blood. The purest. A tang like the first ever mouthful. This newcomer knew how to find the best.

Then I saw him, and the night winds all whispered his name in an awed rush.

Joshua.

He strode into the garden and stood stock still, staring up into my eyes, allowing the wind to play with him, to toy with his hair and clothes. This at least was good;so many of the newborn used their powers as a form of style, but this one already, perhaps instinctively, knew to respect the night.

Besides, his style had no need for such artifice. He was a vampire, as am I, but like none I have ever known. He was unutterably beautiful, seemingly imbued with an inner glow that showed an obvious outward strength. He had shoulder length black hair, framing a noble face, full-lipped and always near to smiling. His clothes were fashionable for the time, but to record such details seems trivial when compared to that glow. Youth, beauty, sunlit purity were all contained and described in the light that shone effortlessly from him.

How did I appear to him, I wondered, my clothes and skin dusted and darkened by the centuries? He was the day, bright and uplifting, and I felt like the darkest filthy hours of night when all that is beautiful and alive has been put to sleep forever.

Speak, my sun god, I implored him he heard, he showed no outward sign.

Like breakingthe final taboo, I dropped from the monument into his sun kissed presence, trying not to back away from his daylight glow.

“You’re beautiful,” I whispered, unashamed.

To my surprise he held my gaze immodestly and broke into and easy, broad smile. “So I'm told," he grinned. “You're not the first to notice.”

I think I took a step backwards at that, appalled. Beauty is fragile, loveliness coy and reserved, something I may crush like a flower to my breast and drink dry. Not this grinning, willing deity. At that moment, he sickened me.

His smile widened, showing two delicately pointed teeth. His whole being seemed to brighten. “And such happy chance that the night should push you to me,” he added, and inside I seethed darkly.

“It was you who sought me,” I hissed, though I knew that to be a lie. I had not moved from this garden and yet, as soon as I felt his arrival, I had employed all of my powers to seek him out, to call to him.

“Whatever,” he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. “We are together, and we have until the end of time to discover the true beauty of this world.”

“I think not, my little sun god,” I replied. “I can not suffer you to live. Your very existence makes me ugly. You are an abomination, Joshua.” He looked shocked, yet I could not be stopped. “Must not the pretty flower wither and perish? Does not summer ice over into winter? The very essence of beauty is transience. Nothing beautiful is eternal.” With every step I advanced upon him, step by step. “I curse you. I damn you. I destroy you. Begone!”

With that, I leapt at him, the weight of my years bringing the youngster easily to his knees, my teeth drawing the lifeblood from his slender neck. When at last he was dry I pushed his pretty face through the dirt. I stood and jumped up and down on his body in a bitter fury, stamping him into the earth until he was gone.

And then it was just myself and Mother Night, her breezes stroking my hair, drying the angry sweat that had sprung up on my brow.

As I turned to walk away, a gale blew up from nowhere, whipping my clothes and hair, requiring me to use all my power to keep from being dashed against the stone monument.

These winds screamed my name, and they did this with his voice. It was unmistakably Joshua.

“Fool!” it howled, mocking me. “Must not the pretty flower bloom again? Does winter’s ice not thaw? Beauty is transient, my friend, but the cycle of Nature’s beauty is truly eternal. As am I.”

The winds began to die down, leaving me shaking in the cold moonlight.

“As am I,” repeated Joshua, and was gone.

Months have passed, yet not a night goes by that I do not fear the return of that terrible, wrathful gale. The nights grow shorter. The air grows warmer. The cycle turns. The sun is returning.