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CEASIAGO

Water’s my will, and my way,
And the spirit runs, intermittently,
In and out of the small waves.

Theodore Roethke (1908–1963)

CHAPTER 1—Xavyor's Woe

Jerbeaua told me, it was my responsibility to uphold my promise to my fiancé. I promised her I would do as she demanded. I'm not so sure if that is possible now. I cannot stop thinking about Jerbeaua, and I know I love her, so how can I marry someone else?

In the 1400's, men and women made agreements and stuck to them, but I live in the 21st century, and I feel no need to go along with such nonsense. The immortal werewolf, and leader of The Titans, will have to deal with the fact that I am no longer the simple minded mortal she once guided. I am not a puppet, and she cannot control me. She may love me all she desires, but she will no longer completely dominate our relationship.

Since the Battle of the Planes, things have been different for us all. I, for one, am not the regular old Xavyor anymore—the little red neck from Houston. I don't live in an apartment all alone, waiting to die from cancer. I am now The Prophet, and scribe for The Titans. As the prophet for the Titans, I have a responsibility to my new family.

Now, if only I could figure out what my responsibility is…

After the battle, Ceasiago took me home, on his private jet. I never had the privilege of knowing someone who owned such lavish toys. He told me it was the smallest jet he owned.

The ride was smooth, almost as if we were not on a plane at all. There was a room on the jet, with a small bed. I fell upon it the minute I saw it, for I was knackered from my part of the battle. The twisted part about this occurance, was the fact that I didn't remember even having a battle. I couldn't remember a thing.

According to what I was told by Ceasiago and Nogi on the plane home, I was possessed by the spirit of Jean Luc Boudreaux. Jean Luc lived during the 16th century, and from what I understand, he was planning to marry Jerbeaua when he was burned alive at the stake for committing some heretical act against The Church. Recent information, provided by Narcissus—the Troll—revealed that Jean Luc was framed for the crime. He was actually a pure soul, and waited in Elision for his opportunity to return to our plane of existence, and redeem his sister. I am recording this information for The Titan library, so if you are interested go back to Jerbeaua's story. There you will learn more than enough about the noble, Jean Luc.

Having never read up on the concept of spiritual possession, it did not dawn on me that the spirit of Jean Luc could drain me of all of my strength. Hell, it never dawned on me that I would be possessed by the spirit of Jean Luc in the first place. So, the part about his spirit draining me would never have crossed my mind to begin with.

Ceasiago tucked me into the small bed, shoving the covers neatly around my shoulders. I could barely keep my eyes open. Every time I blinked, I would see the vision of the beautiful Hispanic man watching over me.

He would be my savior.

The ceasg's hair was stained with gray. The battle had taken too much out of him. He was mortal. Being the son of Poseidon was not enough to save his soul.

"Why are you mortal?" I asked him, still trying to fight the sleepiness.

Ceasiago smiled at me, pushing my hair out of my eyes. My hair had grown unusually long in the front, and I assumed it was another side effect of the abnormal spirit possession.

"My father and my mother's genes did not accept each other fully. I have a condition similar to humans with chromosone damage. Instead of having downs syndrome, for example, I was born mortal."

To hear him speak of mortality as if it were a disability stung my heart like an overgrown wasp with a vendetta. I am mortal, as you know, and this way I must remain unless Jerbeaua see fit to alter my genetics. She would be the only one to curse me with Lycanthrope. I dream too much, for she would never do such a thing.

Alek, as a dhampire, could not transform me either. Shortly after the battle, Jerbeaua revealed to the others that I was diagnosised with terminal cancer. Alek pricked his finger and fed me his blood, but it could not cure me of my cancer. This was unusual, since Alek's blood tended to cure most anything. My case was the sorrowful exception.

Nogi, the Nogitsone, could do nothing for me, since his powers do not lie in healing. Tafari was in the same position. The Nyama rolled his eyes at the rest of the Titans when they asked him if he could help.

"Have you all gone crazy? I couldn't even help my own damn people! I was enslaved because I couldn't do a damn thing to stop the madness. What the hell do you think I can do to help a po' little white boy with cancer? I wish!"

Tafari shook his head in disgust, for he wished there was something he could do.

I am not in a position to summon Bu'Lisa—the daughter of the Jinn. And, although Alek could do so, he already summoned her to receive her descendant, Sa'dahe. To summon her again so soon would be disrespectful and unproductive. Sa'dahe does not have the power to heal, and at seventeen, she could barely handle the Battle of the Planes, much less try to save my life. I am sure Alek has his hands full with her as we speak.

Burton, the Chindi, was in no position to help. Although, it was not for his lack of trying. Burton's powers were given him so as to protect the earth and the animals. He tried to reason with the spirits, that as a human, I am a mammal, but the Navajo spirits did not buy his argument.

Ceasiago, being a medical doctor, was my only resort. He held out his arms to me, welcoming me into his embrace.

"If it is the last thing I do," Ceasiago promised, "I will find a way to make you well."

So, I am on my way to Veneuzula. My wedding is cancelled. Brandi is so fragile. I'm not sure I need a woman like her in my life right now. I feel like I am the one who has to be fragile, and to have a mate who needs me would only lead us both to despair.

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