Mamzer

Mamzer

This is a work of fiction. Names, Characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental

Copyright © 2018 by Kenneth Kohl

All rights reserved. Published by Pale Girl Press, and distributed by Smashwords.

Cover photograph used with permission: Blood of Rose © 2016 Josh Conley / JoshConley.com

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

About the Author

Other Books by Kenneth Kohl

Connect with Kenneth Kohl

I have come to realize more and more that the greatest disease and the greatest suffering is to be unwanted, unloved, uncared for, to be shunned by everybody, to be just nobody.

- Mother Teresa of Calcutta

Chapter One

Simza stumbled through the dark forest, tripping over indiscernible tree roots in the darkness. She sensed that something was wrong with the baby, and was afraid, but she had no one to confide in. She had wandered away from the camp when she started feeling the sharp pains in her abdomen. Surely, it was not time yet. As far as she could tell, she was only about six months along.

Pitiko, the voivode of their band, had hastily declared her baby to be the bastard of Satan. None of the men in her kompania had confessed to fathering it, and she was not willing to admit who the real father was: an outsider that she had met in a town they had camped near during the summer. She had been fifteen at the time, and she could not even imagine what led her to be intimate with the stranger. He did not force himself upon her, but she felt strangely enchanted by him, as if he had cast a spell on her. This is, in fact, what she believed. Perhaps he was a witch or demon, and Pitiko had been correct.

Vadoma, the phuri dai, was the old woman who looked after the welfare of the group’s women and children. Simza had gone to her first, and she was willing to help; but once Pitiko proclaimed that Simza was the Devil’s consort, Vadoma would have nothing to do with her. Simza had gone to her earlier that evening, when the strange feelings began, but the old woman shunned her.

Now, Simza was alone in the cold. It had started to rain also, but she did not care. The pain was so intense now, that nothing else in the world seemed to matter. She was certain that she was losing the baby. Perhaps it had died already, and her body was rejecting it. She had seen other girls who had miscarried or delivered stillborn babies. One of them had even died. She was sure that she was dying now. She had never felt a pain so severe.

She collapsed under a shelf of rock that overhung the trail. She was out of the rain, but soaking wet and chilled to the bone. Her hair hung in strings and dripped water into her eyes, making them sting.

She quickly uttered prayers to Saint Sarah and the Virgin Mary, promising to devote her life to them if they would intercede and beg God for mercy on her behalf.

"Yov sasti Mari, pherdi dey, Hail Mary, full of Grace. Devel tusa; punidi tu mashkir jul'ende; I punido tire and'ako phel - Isos." Blessed art thou among women, and the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

"San Mari, Isoseskiri day; mang Devles vash amenge papanenge; akana i ade amare meripaskiri hor." Saint Mary, Mother of God, pray for us now and at our hour of death.

Over and over, she repeated the Ave Maria; but the pain increased. It finally became so strong that she could no longer speak. She did not even have the strength to scream. The rest of her body went numb and she could not feel anything except the sting in her belly. Even the cold washed away.

Then, she felt as if something was pressing at her abdomen from the inside. Not the baby kicking. It did not feel like that. More as if it were straining against the walls of its prison. She lifted her blouse and looked at her stomach. Sure enough, there were protrusions that looked like tiny hands pushing from the inside. She had never seen or heard of anything like this before.

Without warning, she felt a gush of warm liquid between her legs and sluicing down her bottom. Her bag of waters had broken. The baby was coming. Was this what labor felt like? It was too soon. Panic and despair overtook her as she realized that she was alone in the forest and had no idea what to do, whether the baby was stillborn or not.

She fell back into the mud, no longer concerned about staying clean or dry. She was pushing and pushing, but it felt like the baby was trying to resist. It continued to push at her abdomen with its miniature hands, which were now pressing harder and forming more pronounced shapes on her belly.

A new feeling inside surprised her – as if something were tearing. Only, it felt like it was moving upwards, out of her abdomen and into her chest cavity. It was! She could now feel one of its tiny hands reaching up into her rib cage. It became hard to breathe and her pulse began to pound – a deafening sound in her ears. Her vision began to fade, everything becoming bright white. Without warning, all her pain subsided. Her feelings of fear and dread died away. She stopped writhing and struggling and lay peacefully on the forest floor, the rain falling more lightly now, tickling her face.

Her movements weakened, muscles went slack, and her eyelids opened wider. The last thing she felt was peace. Her mind registered that everything had stopped, even her pulse. Her body was completely at rest. Everything had shut down; save for the creature that still struggled inside her, now desperate to escape. Seconds later, she was dead.

Simza’s body lay still on the forest floor, growing cold, skin drained of color. Something in her belly still struggled, its movements growing frantic. When Simza’s heart stopped beating, the creature’s supply of oxygen had been cut off. It was now asphyxiating. Like its mother, its movements grew weaker and weaker until they ceased altogether.

Simza’s blouse, now soaked through with rain and streaked with mud, was still pulled up, exposing her abdomen. A hole opened near her belly button, tiny at first. Just a pinprick of blood appeared as a needle-like spike lanced through the skin. A second tiny spike poked through inches away from the first. As the holes widened, more tiny claws came through, spreading the widening holes apart like pairs of lips parting, until both holes joined and split into one large mouth. The claws withdrew and the movement in Simza’s belly waned. Then, slowly, a tiny hand thrust its way through the hole, reaching toward the weeping sky. The mamzer was finally free from its prison.

Chapter 2

Just about every form of life begins in an embryonic stage. Interestingly, when most animals are in their embryonic stage they have two hearts. Two hearts! Can you imagine that? This heart primordia, as it is called, eventually fuses together into one heart with four chambers. Embryologists at the University of Indiana performed an experiment in the 1930s in which they kept the heart primordia from fusing in embryonic frogs. Amazingly, the frogs grew up with two hearts. They had extensive genetic damage, though, and did not live very long.

However, imagine for a moment that the same thing happened in nature, with greater success. Imagine that the heart primordia never fused in the embryo of an otherwise ordinary man. He could theoretically develop two hearts. Not that farfetched - humans have many redundant organs: two lungs, two kidneys, two eyes.

The body is a system and that system normally runs at full capacity, so the addition of a second heart alone would not make much of a difference. However, there is an added potential. Suppose that this new creature (and I call it that because now we have taken a leap of faith and are no longer talking about your unremarkable homo sapiens) also develops a system that can exploit this additional power plant, much in the same way that an athlete can train his body to function at higher levels. It would require larger lungs, or perhaps even a third lung to provide additional oxygen. Other organs might be affected, altered, enhanced, or even eliminated. The result would be a creature possessing unimaginable strength, speed, and endurance.

Such creatures do exist. This is as much of a fact as the sky is blue.

God, in all his goodness, had gone so far as to create these beings. Then Mother Nature threw in her own cruel little trick. You see, that second heart needs a way to get vital oxygen and nutrients to cells; and that way is through blood. Plasma to carry nutrients and red cells to carry oxygen. Blood is produced in bone marrow and spleen. An average, a healthy man is blessed with just enough blood-producing tissue to sustain him. These creatures, however, being approximately the same size, do not have the ability to produce any more blood cells than a normal man does. Yet their two hearts continue to feed their bodies in overdrive. Left in that state their further potential would wither or they would literally starve or suffocate.

Nature is also forgiving. Taking advantage of their physical mutation, they have the ability to absorb plasma and red cells from the ingestion of the blood of other living creatures.

Therefore, these pseudo-men have evolved, exploiting their superhuman strength and abilities to become the perfect hunter – after all, other living creatures are not too keen on the idea of donating their own blood to sustain the lives of these things. We call them things because that is what normal men consider them to be. Fiends. Monsters.

By now, you must certainly know what these creatures are. This fabulous, complex, species; homo sanguineous; no less God’s children than their human brothers; hated; abhorred… have come to be called vampires.

Vampires are not immortal. A more appropriate term would be un-mortal, if there were such a word. Immortal suggests that they live forever, and that is just one of many myths about vampires. They are not graced – or perhaps we should say cursed – with eternal life.

The leading cause of death in vampires is not a stake through the heart. It is old age. Living in a culture so full of fictitious myths and legends, one might think of that as humorous. It is important to separate the myths from the truth, though. Probably one of the biggest fabrications is that vampires live forever. Vampires certainly live much longer than humans, but far from forever.

Even the finest and strongest machines eventually break down. Cardiovascular disease, cancer, arthritis, cataract, osteoporosis, diabetes, hypertension and even Alzheimer's - when a vampire is afflicted by these diseases, he cannot hunt. If he cannot hunt, then he cannot feed. If he does not feed, then he cannot survive for very long.

Vampires do not burst into flames when exposed to sunlight, as in myths and fairy tales, but sunlight can be very damaging to their bodies. Their skin and particularly their eyes are extremely sensitive to ultraviolet rays. They sunburn easily and, despite their ability to recover from injuries quickly, skin damage is one of the most painful injuries that they must endure.

So how do you kill a vampire besides waiting for him to get old? Well… the same way that you would kill anything. They are just a bit more durable. Their cells are rapidly reproducing. A deep cut that would require weeks to heal for a human may scar over within hours and completely disappear within a day. A punctured lung – perhaps impossible to repair in a mortal – may take a week.

What is usually the deciding factor in whether or not an animal – be it a vampire, a human or some lower life form – lives or dies is if its heart can withstand whatever trauma has been inflicted on its body and continue its job of pumping blood to nourish the body and brain. Vampires have a slight advantage in that respect. Even damage to one of their hearts, provided it is not too severe, can heal quickly.

And so, it is ironic that while arthritis, osteoporosis, diabetes, cancer, drowning or massive trauma are all things that can kill a vampire… a simple stake through the heart is one thing that will probably not.

Vampires have their own myths and legends, and as with humans, some of them stem from reality. They also have prejudices against different races or cultures within their own species. One example of such unfair bigotry is the case of the mamzer.

Mamzerim are often referred to as polluted ones. They are outcasts of both the human and vampire races. That is because they are neither one nor the other. They are half-breeds.

Typically, since vampires and humans are of different species, they should not be able to reproduce sexually. Not implying that they cannot perform the act of sex, just that they cannot successfully produce offspring. As with anything in nature, there are occasionally anomalies that arise. Mamzerim are among that class.

There have been no cases where a human male and a vampire female have been able to reproduce – only the other way around. All mamzerim are the product of a male vampire and a human mother. In every case, no exception, the human mother dies before childbirth.

It is hard to determine where the humiliation lies in that. Is it because mamzerim are neither fully human nor fully vampire? Is it because they are bastards, having in most cases been abandoned by their fathers and orphaned by their dead mothers? Alternatively, perhaps it is because of their very first act in life. Since their mothers die before giving birth, mamzerim are forced to tear themselves from their mothers’ wombs and, possessing no knowledge other than the instinct to live, take their first meal from the corpse of their very own maker.

How can one fault an innocent creature for doing what instinct tells it is right? It is not as if a sentient being is consciously making a choice to perform this act of barbarism. It is simply a force of nature.

Nonetheless, some ignorant people have a prejudice against mamzerim. Therefore, it follows that they usually go through life embarrassed and ashamed of whom they are. There are a few who embrace their birthright – you cannot fault a peach for being a peach, after all – but more than not go to every length to hide the ugly truth.

Chapter 3

Simza’s kompania had been camped near the village of Cotnari in Iaşi County, Romania, in the historical region of Moldavia. Most of the men and women in the band were migrant farm workers, and the end of the summer heralded much work in the wine-producing province of Romania. Although the gypsy travelers were nomads, they had fixed stops about the countryside for each season of the year where they knew that steady work could be found.

Cotnari was among the favorite villages for Simza and the other Romani youth like her. It was home to the Academia Vasiliană, or school of higher learning, founded by Prince Vasile. Although the school had nothing to offer the Romani youth in the way of formal education, it did present them with an opportunity to mingle with cultured outsiders from all over Eastern Europe.

The elders, of course, frowned upon this interaction with outsiders, but it was considered an unpleasant fact of life. After the days’ work was done and the jugs of wine were opened, there was nothing to prevent the youngsters from fleeing off into the village to explore and mingle. Their parents, and their parents before them, had all done the same; and as long as no serious trouble arose, the elders turned a blind eye toward the children’s wild behavior.

The workers labored in the fields every day of the week, except for the Sabbath. As Simza’s kompania had adopted the Eastern Orthodox faith, they celebrated the Divine Liturgy on Saturday, meaning that the elders were especially lax on Friday evenings, as they drank, sang, and danced the night away. It was one such evening that Simza and her friend, Drina, decided to join the rest of the youngsters on an excursion into the village. Simza had only joined in the fun a few times over the years. She was a quiet girl. However, as she neared her sixteenth birthday, it was becoming painfully obvious that she would be considered for marriage soon. Drina used this fact as an incentive to convince Simza to enjoy herself while she still had no husband to which she must answer.

We are going to have so much fun tonight, said Drina as she twirled her way down the darkened cobblestone street.

We shouldn’t be out too late, though, Simza cautioned. We must prepare ourselves for the Divine Liturgy in the morning.

Oh, piss on the Divine Liturgy.

Drina!

Midnight was drawing near, which would begin a period of fasting during which drinking, eating, and partaking in pleasures of the flesh were forbidden.

Here is what I think of the fast, said Drina, taking Simza’s face in her hands and kissing her on the lips.

Drina, you are positively wicked, she laughed.

The girls joined hands and ran off toward the sounds of voices and a violin playing in the distance.

Although both girls had boys on their minds, Drina was the more interested of the two. Simza knew that no Romani girl could be allowed to become involved with an outsider. Her family or her kompania would not tolerate it. Drina, however, dreamed of a tall, dark, stranger who would sweep her off her feet and take her away to a large city somewhere. She seemed to despise the gypsy life, although Simza thought that perhaps it was just a phase she was going through.

Truth be told, Simza had a better chance of meeting a stranger who would sweep her off her feet. Drina was what some might consider a handsome woman. Her wide face had a sharp nose and her eyes looked as if she was always squinting, and was framed by straight, black hair, cut to about shoulder length. She had fair skin, for a Romani girl. A stout, rather featureless figure did not attract the looks of too many men, either.

Simza, on the other hand, was considered the most desirable girl in the kompania by all the boys of similar age. Her reddish-auburn hair was usually tied back into a thin ponytail that hung to her waist. She had a darker, golden complexion and soft facial features. Her wide mouth and full lips always carried a smile. Her ample bosom, slender waist, and broad hips gave her an hourglass figure that all the other girls envied. Yet, she seemed oblivious to the stares she received from the others. If anything, in her innocence she believed that the smoldering gazes and sidelong glances were a sign that others disapproved of her looks.

The girls located the source of the music: a fiddler surrounded by about twenty teenagers who seemed to share Drina’s disdain for the fast. They danced, drank from jugs of wine, and smoked pipes. Simza recognized a few of them from their kompania. One was a boy named Milosh that she had had a crush on since she was twelve. Noticing the girls, he came running toward them and grabbed Drina’s hand, twirling her around.

Come join me, Drina!

Drina giggled and allowed herself to be dragged away. Left alone so soon, Simza instantly began to regret coming into the village. She mistakenly assumed that Milosh was obviously not interested in her. In truth, though, he was intimidated by her good looks, as were most of the boys in their group. All the boys considered themselves to be below her and so, ironically, she was often the wallflower while all the less attractive girls were paired off. Feeling sad, she stepped into the shadows and took a seat on the curb. She knew that Drina would feel bad for her and refuse to leave her sitting alone for very long. Simza did not want her to miss the fun, so she decided that she would stay for a socially appropriate amount of time and then walk back to the camp on her own. Drina would probably not even notice.

Viktor was a thirty-year-old vampire from Nikolayev, arguably the shipbuilding center of the Black Sea in Ukraine. He had ruddy, good looks, enhanced by a permanent smirk on his beard-stubbled face. He had arrived in Cotnari about six months previous and was studying fine arts at the academy.

He did not usually leave the hostel in the evenings, except for hunting. He did not have much interest in making friends with any humans. He descended from the Strigoiu of Moldavia, a vampire clan consisting mostly of gifted artists. However, he had some ties to the Bavarian Nachtzehrer, and held some of their views regarding the taking of blood. While the Strigoiu had a higher respect for their human counterparts, the less refined Nachtzehrer still thought it suitable to feed from unwilling humans. Making friends could lead to awkward, if not dangerous, consequences.

However, Viktor had received a particularly disturbing letter from his brother earlier that day, and the uneasiness it caused left him with a feeling of restlessness. He had left the hostel with the intention of hunting, but instead had somehow ended up on the street corner, listening to a musician play while some of the locals drank and danced. He noticed a few of the gypsies there, also.

As he let his eyes wander throughout the crowd, his gaze settled upon a lonely girl sitting on the curb, seemingly doing her best to blend into the darkness. Her beauty captivated him. He could tell from her dark skin that she was one of the gypsies, a band of nomads that wandered the countryside with no single place to call home. He considered approaching her. Not being a resident of the village, she would not be missed if something were to… happen to her. Feeding from her was not what he had in mind, though. She seemed approachable and he was in the mood for companionship more so than hunting.

He slipped over to her side almost unnoticed. He did not want anyone to make a point of connecting the two of them, just in case… He was young and his temper ran hot.

Hello, he said in an Indo-European dialect of Romanian, assuming that she spoke the local language.

Simza had not seen him approach, and was startled. She did not answer, but rather just stared upwards at the man.

I said hello. My name is Viktor, he said, extending a hand. Perhaps I am mistaken? he said, changing to an Indo-Aryan dialect, What is your name?

Simza understood both of Viktor’s introductions, but preferred the European dialect. She had just been too surprised to answer his first greeting.

Hello Viktor, my name is Simza.

Oh. So, you did understand me. I’m sorry, did I startle you?

No, replied Simza. Yes. Well, it’s just that I know so few people here and did not expect…

Ah, yes. As I said, I am sorry if I interrupted your thoughts. May I sit with you?

Oh. Yes, of course.

Simza’s pulse quickened as he crouched down beside her and took a place on the curb. Viktor sensed a change in her scent and noticed that the arteries in her wrists began throbbing with more intensity. He realized that he needed to regain control over his instinct and looked away, taking in a deep breath of cold air.

Simza sensed a change in Viktor’s demeanor. Is there something wrong?

No. No, it is nothing.

She thought that perhaps Viktor was as shy as she was, but he proved otherwise with his next suggestion.

Perhaps we could get away from the noise. Would you like to go for a walk?

The prospect of being alone with the stranger made Simza nervous. I really should not leave my friend, Drina. She sometimes drinks too much and is likely to get into trouble.

Nonsense. Your friend will be fine. We will not be very far away. Just a short way into the forest. You will see. I promise that I will keep you safe.

Simza could not resist his smile. It seemed so genuine. Okay, but just for a short time. She scanned the crowd for Drina and tried to get her friend’s attention, but by this time Drina had her arms wrapped around Milosh and was kissing him. Okay, she said, raising her eyebrows in disbelief. Let’s go.

Viktor surprised her by lifting her to her feet. He continued holding her hand as he led her into the forest.

Where do you come from, Simza?

"Oh, my kompania is camped just outside the town. The villagers do not appreciate having us too close. Having us do their menial labor is fine, but they believe that we are nothing but a bunch of bohemians and witches. As my grandmother used to say, they wish to pluck the organ from the body but still anticipate its function."

Well put, but I am sure that is not true. At least, not all of them think that way.

She smiled. What do you think?

My people are not very different from yours. There are those who would just as soon see us wiped from the face of the earth.

…and who are your people?

Viktor dodged the question. What I really wondered, though, was where you are from originally?

The smile fell from Simza’s face, and Viktor instantly knew that he had brought up a taboo subject.

"I suppose that I have no home; not as you would see it. I have travelled with my kompania for as long as I can remember."

I am sorry. It was an insensitive thing to ask. Of course, I knew that.

Simza brightened back up. "It is not a bad thing, though. Yes, there are times when I wish that I had a place where I could stay; a house to live in; a place to raise a family, but I have all those things. Just not in the ordinary sense. I have things that the villagers will never have.

My family is large; my house goes wherever I choose to go; we still attend school and church services. It is a wonderful life if you allow it to be. In fact, I am not sure if I would have it any other way. Tell me… Where are you from?

I come from town called Nikolayev. It is in Ukraine.

Why are you this far from your home?

My father thought that it would be, hmm… I suppose that you would say ‘healthy’ for me to be away for a while. I was reluctant to leave, but I had heard of the academy here in Cotnari and agreed to abide by his wished if he would allow me to study here.

Simza lowered her head and gazed up at him with a playfully accusing look on her face.

Healthy for you to leave? she teased. What sort of trouble had you gotten yourself into?

Oh, hmm…

A girl, eh?

Y-e-ss. Viktor blushed.

Simza laughed and struck him in the chest with both her hands mischievously. And now here you are seducing me?!

No, Viktor blustered, I mean yes. Well… It is not what you think. With the girl, I mean; but yes, I may be trying to seduce you.

Simza dropped her hands and grinned. She had all but forgotten about the girl in Nikolayev and was now focused on Viktor’s admission that he was attempting to seduce her. Viktor, on the other hand, could think of nothing but the girl in Nikolayev. When he met Simza earlier, he started to forget about the news his brother’s letter had carried. Nevertheless, he turned his attention back to the present.

It is unfortunate, though.

Simza looked concerned. What is?

"The fact that we are from different worlds. Your kompania would never accept me, and I do not think that you would ever willingly leave them to be with an outsider. Our relationship is doomed to fail," he smirked.

What relationship? You are being a little cocky, are you not? What makes you think that I want to be with you?

What girl wouldn’t? he laughed.

He was joking or course, but it was true, thought Simza; and it was true that there could never be anything between them. Even though Drina had boasted of how she was going to find a tall, dark stranger in the village, she had the sense to stick with Milosh: one of her own. The thought saddened her a bit, and Viktor could sense the change in her mood.

"Let us not talk of silly