by Karen Glista
“As you wish, madam,” Milos smiled, a bit wickedly, “but if Zaroc doesn’t make it, I will have a bit of him, he’s just too damn pretty to pass up.”
“I feel bad for your consort, Milos,” Larkspur glowered. “You’re just like Garret dipping into everything that catches your eye.”
“Don’t be so judgmental,” Milos said. “My consort and I have an open marriage, I play around while she has me, the love of her life,” he boasted. “It’s a win-win situation.”
Larkspur rolled her eyes.
“Enough!” Antonio snapped, his stern face indicative of his thoughts.
~~~
The seven Midewiwins, with beaded medicine bags signifying their blood clan assembled upon a vast precipice of solid rock jutting out over the river. Affiliates gathered stone and small boulders and within minutes formed an ancestral fire circle. From the surrounding forest that blanketed the feet of the majestic mountains, Affiliates by the hundreds descended upon the circle, arms burdened with logs.
The Midewiwin’s paced the inner circle, smudge sticks in hand, smoke rising as they cleansed the site. Guttural chants rumbled from their chests. They began to dance, smudge sticks high, cleansing every inch of stone right up to the middle where Larkspur and Miguel sat back to back, shackled in leather bindings.
Torches in hand, Affiliates ignited thirteen stacks on the outer circle, flames soaring. Then the Midewiwin’s tossed dust from their bags into the four inner stacks of dark logs, north, south, east and west. With torches in hand, they ignited the four stacks which blazed with red and orange splendor.
The Midewiwin’s chanting intensified as they approached the largest stack, dead center of the fire circle. They danced around it with a song of spine-tingling verse, tossing six whittled figurines and handfuls of dust from their bags onto the sacred stack. Suddenly, the dormant mass burst forth with flames, illuming their faces. They fell to their knees, heads bowed with arms extended, chanting incessantly. A great silver plume manifested from within the blazing inferno and hovered over the fire circle. The Midewiwin’s raised their heads as an ebony circle forming within the center of the silver plume drew them to their feet.
Torin, amazed by the ritual, stepped forward to the outer circle and tilted his head to the sight. He caught at his breath, his heart pounding and the nape of his neck bristled.
A portal to the dark veil.
He felt his gut tighten.
Anstosa was right, we can breach the afterlife, it is possible, my God I never believed.
He combed his hair with his fingers as intermittent gusts blasted his face. He licked his lips, the sweet taste of Larkspur’s blood lingering. He turned to the mountains and through a silver sheen saw ghostly gray peaks rising into the sky. His nerves tingled as the sun, which had threatened to penetrate the rolling abyss, dimmed to a scarcely visible glow. Mesmerized, he watched as the first of snowflakes came falling to melt upon his face.
“Damn, I knew it would snow,” Antonio grumbled, joining his side.
Torin ignored him as the heavens opened with billowy sheets of flirtatious white descending upon them. He closed his eyes briefly, snared by emotions. Finally, with the repetitive feel of icy flakes chilling his skin, he turned to Antonio. “Let us hope it is an omen sent by the gods. You know, I was never a believer of Midewiwins, but now,” he paused, “witnessing their powers, I am forever humbled.”
Antonio’s demeanor shifted. “Though I have never spoken of my feelings, I have always believed that we owe our very existence to them.”
Torin searched his face. “In what way? We don’t share their lineage, we are the direct descendants of the Seventh Miigis.”
“Agreed, but thousands of years ago, someone had to open the veil and allow the seven spirits entry to this plane. It had to be the Midewiwins, no other race had the knowledge or power to do so.”
Torin brushed snow from his lashes with the back of his hand. “But why would they risk the very blood of their clans, surely they knew of the dangers?”
“I believe that they were seeking Mide knowledge, but even more, it was a desperate attempt at survival.”
Torin leveled his gaze, searching Antonio’s face. “Survival?”
“Think about it,” Antonio said. “They knew of the dangers posed by the pale-skinned explorers. They must have envisioned what was to come and fearing the weapons of this new foe, which were unlike anything they had ever witnessed, suffered the risk.”
Seeing the forces gathered around him Torin turned away from Antonio, muscles taut, sword in hand. He narrowed his eyes to thin slits and from within the falling snow, watched as the faint images of Garret’s minions emerged, swords drawn with numbers too large to count.
“Damn, he brought in reinforcements,” Torin grumbled.
“Africans,” Gage said, joining his side. “You know,” Gage said after a moment of silence, “I haven’t had the chance to tell you, but I’m really sorry about Val.”
The somber tone of Gage’s voice forced a shudder. “He was a good man,” Torin said. He turned to Gage. “You be careful…my friend.”
“Yeah, you too.”
Torin glanced behind as Milos and Antonio morphed to invisibility, one on each side of Larkspur and Miguel.
A wail of agony, which could only mean death, forced him to spin, crouched in battle stance, sword high. He studied the snow amid rising gusts which blew from the mountains.
“Here they come,” Gage snarled, stepping forward as Russian and French forces hiding to the side, joined them with swords high.
From the gusting white haze, the African Iridescents now in full view marched toward them, tentatively awkward with snow crunching under foot.
Torin surveyed the wall of muscled bodies and his heart hammered his chest.
A gentle roar began to echo from within the African forces, building to a heightened frenzy. Suddenly, the Africans stampeded, rolling toward them like an ebony flood.
“Ready yourselves!” Torin shouted, sword poised, crouched at the knee. To his side Gage swung his sword as the African forces slammed into them with a resounding impact. Heads rolled with trails of blood, the wails of death resounding.
Torin swung with a mighty growl, decapitating two. With the forces upon them, he and Gage growled simultaneously then pressed their bloodstained bodies back to back defensively. With glistening muscles, they fought, swing, parry, evade, duck, the heinous clash of steel blades echoing the majestic peaks. The snow intensified, visualization hampered, the icy ground stained crimson red.
An ear-splitting blast, that of a foghorn drew all eyes. The sound continued as Iridescents, minus a few bloody clashes, backed into a defensive formation. Garret emerged, his dark skin contrasted by white flakes that fell rhythmically. Shirtless, despite the frigid temperatures, he looked like a beast with his lips curled and a sword in hand. He halted short of the fire circle, nefarious eyes scanning the carnage. “This is between you and me, Antonio,” he shouted. “Release my consort!” he growled. Now!”
“I don’t think so,” Antonio replied while morphing from invisibility, his voice remarkably calm. He took a step, walking closer to the inner edge of the fire circle, flames riveting off his long silver blade. “You want her Garret…then come get her, else we’ll feed on her till there’s nothing left but a shriveled corpse.”
From behind Garret, an Iridescent emerged, Anna tight to his chest. Garret snatched her viciously and pulled her tight, spooning her body, a blade to her neck. “Release her now or this bitch dies.”
Antonio laughed. “You can’t kill her, you need her to save Zaroc.”
“The hell I do. I have a doctor who claims he can use a dialysis machine and wash Frankie, Lisa and sweet little Donja’s blood. I should get enough antigen-free blood from Lisa and Frankie to infuse Donja,” he laughed hysterically, “she’s younger and should bear a child with ease. This one,” he said tightening the blade to Anna’s neck, “despite numerous attempts, is still not pre
gnant.”
Antonio felt his blood boil but he fought for control. “It won’t work!” he snapped, hoping Garret bought his guise, for truth be known, he was suddenly plagued by doubt.
“Ahhh, but it will, little man,” Garret chuckled, “and as we speak, one hundred Affiliates are swarming Hampton Manor which I’m sure will be no battle at all, since you brought the brunt of your army here.”
“Wrong again,” Antonio grinned, “they will be met by five hundred. You lose, Garret.”
Garret glowered with half open eyes. “We’ll see, but I can assure you, I’ll have that Chippewa bitch, one way or another.”
Torin lunged forward but Gage grabbed him, holding him back.
Garret laughed. “Temper, temper, but I can see why. That Donja’s tasty.”
“You’re dead, Garret!” Torin snarled and behind Garret’s massive frame, he spied Zaroc emerging from the falling snow. He walked within two feet of Garret, his head high, sniffing. “Miguel, are you harmed?” Zaroc shouted.
Milos morphed from invisibility and yanked Miguel off the ground, his feet dangling. He licked at his face then laughed. “I fed on your bitch-boy, Zaroc, and I gotta tell you, he’s sweet. I can’t wait to explore the rest of him.”
“Let him go,” Zaroc roared, stepping forward. “You don’t want to piss me off!”
“No, but I do intend to piss in his tight ass,” Milos laughed. “Is he any good, Zaroc, is he worth a hard on?”
Zaroc took a step forward, fist clinched with his jaw held tightly, eyes locked on Milos.
That’s it, come for him. Milos thought.
Garret inched up beside him. “Don’t let him bait you, son, that faggot is not worth it.”
“Don’t call him that,” Zaroc growled.
“Cocksuckers are a dime a dozen. Forget that piece of shit!”
Zaroc’s face hardened, his jaw twitching. Suddenly he turned on Garret and swung, catching him off guard, the blow forcing the dagger to slice Anna’s throat. She gasped, clutching her neck as she and Garret fell with white powder rising above them.
Like a bolt of lightning, Torin penetrated the falling snow. He scooped Anna into his arms then backed away as Garret snatched a sword from an Affiliate and tromped toward him. Torin slipped in the snow, cradling Anna’s body.
Garret raised his sword.
Antonio swooped in with a curved, four-foot blade and parried Garret’s blow reflecting the blade as it flew dangerously close to Torin’s neck.
Torin fled, the clang of steel on steel ringing in his head. Within the Circle of Fire, which occupied a half acre or more, he lay Anna down and ripped at his shirt. He bound her neck tightly to abate the blood loss, his heart pounding mercilessly. She looked pale, her eyes glazed, her body limp. “Antonio, you need to bite, her, she’s dying!” Torin wailed. “Antonio!” he shouted, then jumped to his feet as one of Garret’s minions raced for Anna. He ducked, then swung his blade all but hidden in the swirling snow and beheaded the Affiliate. The Midewiwin’s moved away, chanting as another African flashed in and seized Anna. Torin was on him in the blink of an eye and sent his head flying.
Hearing the urgency of Midewiwins chants, Torin knew Zaroc was coming. He dropped to Anna’s side and tightened the blood-soaked bandages around her neck, then leapt to his feet, coiled muscles gripping his sword. He surveyed the falling snow then glanced back to Anna, adrenaline surging in his veins. Hearing a growl, Torin spun, acting on instinct, his sword high. He saw Zaroc walking toward them with hell’s fury in his eyes, decimating their allied forces. Edging closer, Zaroc crossed over the stone barrier, into the Circle of Fire. He paused, sniffing the air, scanning for danger. Seeing none, he inched forward, within fifty feet of Miguel and Larkspur, who rose to their feet. They faced off.
“Zaroc!” Garret’s voice shattered the still.
Zaroc spun, fist balled, obliterating Affiliates and saw Antonio who was bleeding profusely, straddling his father, a blade to his neck.
“Stop him, son, save me,” Garret cried out.
“Zaroc!” Larkspur screamed. “Don’t listen to him. Come to us, son, Miguel and I need you, help us, please,” she begged.
Zaroc glanced to her while pulverizing Affiliates, body parts flying, blood droplets staining the wind driven snow. The Affiliates backed off, a heap of bodies at Zaroc’s feet. Zaroc trudged through the blood and gore, then focused on Miguel. They locked eyes, unspoken words flowing between them.
“Zaroc, get over here…now!” Garret bellowed. “Hurry, help me!”
Zaroc pulled his eyes from Miguel, his body trembling. He spun, the sound of Garret’s voice awakening years of abuse. From every direction Affiliate’s swarmed Zaroc and he spun, with fist of steel, arms wide like the blades of a fan, severing heads. He stopped, blood dripping from his arms and watched as Garret’s forces, seeing Antonio get the better of their master, bunched tight backing away.
Antonio straddled Garret’s body with a blade to his throat. Plagued by unbidden images, he snarled, “You ordered the murder of my daughter, you worthless bastard.”
“It wasn’t me,” Garret pleaded. “It was Scarface, the Seventh Miigis.”
“It matters not, you harbored the bastard and never once told me of his existence.”
“I couldn’t, he would have killed Zaroc!”
Zaroc swatted at incoming Affiliates, then cocked his head, eyes locked on Antonio.
“Not a good answer, fucker,” Antonio growled, pressing the silver blade tighter to his throat. Garret fought back with a swing of his fist but undeterred, Antonio wailed, “Marie!” The serrated blade sliced deep, severing the windpipe. He pressed harder, blood spraying as Garret gurgled and thrashed. Antonio stood up, covered in blood, Garret’s head in his hands. He faced off with Garret’s army, holding the severed head high. They backed farther away, stumbling upon each other, then turned and fled. Antonio rocked his head, cast the head aside and set his eyes on Zaroc who looked stunned.
From nowhere, Milos lunged for Zaroc and slugged his jaw with enough force to shatter concrete. Unscathed, Zaroc retaliated with a bone-breaking blow that sent Milos flying, then focused his attention on Gage who was pummeling his chest. He backhanded him, blood splattering his face then seized two Affiliates, one in each hand and slammed their heads together. Antonio sized him up searching for weakness, but none existed. He moved in from the side, then slid to a stop as Zaroc’s body began to blink in and out of visualization. Antonio stared with eyes that didn’t believe, yet as he watched, Zaroc’s dark skin evanesced and in the blink of an eye, he was gone, replaced by a hulking figure with a blonde mane sporting a scar from cheek to ear.
“Scarface in the flesh…it worked,” Antonio mumbled to himself.
Scarface beat his chest. “I am the creator,” he bellowed, “the Seventh Miigis. I made each one of you lesser beings and now, I’m going to destroy you.”
Like a streak of light, Antonio closed the gap between them. He slammed into Scarface and sank his fangs deep in his neck, fluorescent green eyes illuminating the gust and eddies. Scarface plucked Antonio from his back. He shook him like a rag doll, then slugged him, sending him head over heels in the falling snow.
Gage and Milos attacked, Scarface swatting them away like flies. He threw his head back with a throaty growl, pounding his chest.
“He’s too powerful!” an Affiliate roared as the French Sirun, tall and lanky with torrents of red hair, marched forward. He raised a double-barreled shotgun to his shoulder. He fired silver slugs, embedded with tranquilizer, riddling Scarface’s body head to toe. He lowered the gun in disbelief and as he watched the bloody wounds instantly healed.
Scarface rocked his body back, coughing, then shrieked like a hawk. He leaned forward then opened his mouth spewing a barrage of silver bullets back at the Affiliates. His eyes blazed red and his skin began to sizzle.
From within the Circle of Fire, the Midewiwins, with smoking smudge sticks in hand, began a mystical incantation. The
fires blazed higher, the core of red embers consuming the snow.
Scarface curled his lips like a rabid dog, his eyes on the Midewiwins. He tightened his fist into weapons, ready for blood then took a step forward. “How dare you summon the six!” He stomped his foot, rock shattering beneath him as he jerked his head, fiery red eyes penetrating the sky. “Hear me, six! I am the seventh, all powerful!” He raised his fist to the sky. “Come here and I will destroy you!” He roared with such intensity that all cowered, hands to their ears, the pain unbearable. He lunged forward, his face contorted, veins popping his neck, straight toward the Midewiwins.
Antonio, Gage and Milos attacked, desperately trying to buy time as the Midewiwin’s haunting chant intensified. Gun shots rang, bullets ricocheting off his chest. Hundreds of Affiliates attacked him, blades bouncing as he swatted them with such force that blood fell like rain.
Torin, flanked by two Midewiwins, crouched at the knee with his sword high. He dropped his eyes to Anna, lying at his feet.
Damn it, she’s lost too much blood.
He exhaled, then hearing a growl, leapt to a defensive stance. He saw Antonio who was scarcely visible in the blowing snow, sink his teeth in to Scarface’s back only to be slapped away. He gripped his sword tight.
This is it, the son of a bitch is coming for her!
Scarface leveled his red eyes, illuming Torin’s face. He cocked his head to one side unnaturally. “You!” he bellowed. “You’re the cause of all of this. The bitch was mine and you took her, marked her and left your seed to rob me of a child.”
“She was never yours!” Torin shouted, trembling with rage.
From the falling snow, Milos and Antonio attacked, but Scarface swung and sent them soaring, out of sight.
“Give me the old bitch,” Scarface bellowed, “she belongs to Zaroc. The two of them will give me a host. You’ve failed, Mancini, I’ll have everlasting life!” He took a step forward, swinging his arms, Iridescents tossed to the flames. “Before I snap you in half I want you to know that I will have Donja,” he spewed, his eyes like pits of boiling lava. “I’ll beat your child from her womb, clean her with my tongue and then, she’ll warm my bed for eternity!”