Hounacier (Valducan Book 2)
Page 16
Bitterly, she agreed.
Once cleansed, he took the fluttering bird by the ankles and rubbed it over Atabei, Quentin, Issach, then Peewee, the broad-shouldered bald man who had opened the gate. That complete, he entered the ring, the annoyed bird still twisting against his hold. Oily citronella smoke from the near fifty torches filled the air. A faint hint of other herbs, including sage, accented the lemony smell.
He circled the central post, stopping at each cardinal point and holding the sin-laden chicken before it. On the fourth pass, he knelt. "I offer this to you. Protect us."
Malcolm drew Hounacier and cut the bird's head free with a quick chop. It fluttered and writhed, blood squirting from the tiny hole ringed in brown feathers. He stood and rubbed as much blood as he could onto the post before the animal went limp. Malcolm laid it as the base, just below a long-faced carving, and turned back toward the circle's opening.
Slowly, he walked, his neck and shoulders prickling with that all-too-familiar tingle. He was a bokor. The groom. Husband, father, and child to the nameless angel that was Hounacier. Other holy weapons had their gifts, but hers was power. He reached the edge and thrust the machete high.
A drum thumped.
Issach and Peewee stepped through, escorting young Leigh Ann into the ring. A thick choke chain encircled her neck, just above the silver collar. She looked at Malcolm. Terrified tears framed her pleading eyes. Backing slowly, Malcolm led them to the first staked ring. The two men took the rope that ran through the ring and clipped it to the long end of the chain.
Peewee drew a screwdriver from his pocket and removed the silver collar's locking pin. It was like pulling the pin from a demonic grenade. The werewolf could now take form. If it did, the choke chain leash was all that held it. The men guided Leigh Ann to the ground, face-up, her head toward the central post. Outside the ring, Sammy pulled the rope, taking out the slack. The chain rattled through the steel ring as it tightened.
Once complete, Peewee and Issach left the ring and fetched the next prisoner, Gary. The lone drum sounded again as he came inside. His escorts led him to the second rope and attached it to his chromed choke chain before removing the silver hoop. Gary's eyes never left Hounacier's glinting blade. They laid him down beside Leigh Ann. Sadie, the chubby woman from the house, pulled the rope taut.
Next came Shane Gruss, entering with an ominous drumbeat. Peewee and Issach led him at arm's length, obviously more afraid than they had been with the others. Issach snapped him in then fidgeted with Quentin's knot for a full two minutes before finally unwrapping the slender, silver chain. A burly man, who looked like he might have been a professional fullback fifteen years ago, pulled the rope as they lowered Shane to his back, head facing the post.
Finally, they carried Errol in on a crude stretcher. Malcolm clenched his jaw, struggling to keep the stoic face. Blood soaked the tight-wrapped cloth around Errol's waist. He rolled his head toward Malcolm, eyes glassy and pained, breath shallow.
Lacking a fourth choke chain, Issach looped the rope directly around Errol's neck. It ran through a crude arch of bent rebar pounded into the ground like a croquet hoop. For an instant, Errol's eyes snapped to attention. A devilish smile curled his lips then was gone.
Just keep fucking with me, asshole, Malcolm thought, anger rising. In taking Errol, it had taken his knowledge. It knew what it was in for. Death or eternity in a silver prison. We'll see how you're smiling then.
The two men turned to Malcolm. He nodded, and they left. They took position on either side, just outside the ring, each holding an obsidian mask shrouded beneath a crimson cloth.
The drum sounded again, and Quentin stepped into the ring, carrying a wood platter. A long, silver mask, vaguely resembling a wolf's head, rested atop it. The lights of the torches shimmered off its hammered surface. He skirted the inner edge of the ring until reaching the opposite end behind Malcolm.
Another drum beat. Atabei entered. She carried a small bowl in one hand. She knelt, dipped her fingers into it, and drew a pair of lines, sealing the circle. Setting the bowl down, she stood and followed the inner edge and stopping at the northernmost side.
The drum thumped again, followed by another. Hounacier still raised, Malcolm backed away from the four prisoners, the slow drum marking each step. He stopped beside Quentin.
Malcolm gave a loud whoop, and the drums erupted into a rapid tempo. Holding Hounacier out, flat across his open palm, Malcolm unleashed a streaming chant. "Ohma sarri ayi ah. Oonu karri na. Ohga narrifischtoo. Tikki ahsa ah."
He didn't know the words he spoke; they simply channeled through him. He'd never heard anyone but himself and Ulises speak the musical language until last year when Tiamat's followers called their demonic goddess into this world. Matt had called it the First Tongue, the language of God.
His voice rising, Malcolm aimed the flat of the blade at Leigh Ann. "Ohma sarri ayi ah. Oonu karri na! Ohga narrifischtoo. Tikki ahsa ah!"
Malcolm moved his chant to Gary, straining his bound neck to watch, eyes wide. "Ohma sarri ayi ah. Oonu karri na! Ohga narrifischtoo. Tikki ahsa ah!"
The verse complete, Malcolm moved to Shane and then Errol before starting back again with Leigh Ann, his voice rising.
"Ohma sarri ayi ah! Oonu karri na! Ohga narrifischtoo! Tikki ahsa ah!"
His hair rustled as if in a breeze, but the humid, smoke-filled air didn't move. The chanting grew faster, and the drums sped to keep pace. The second sequence complete, Malcolm stamped his foot and began again. Sogbo and Bade started howling.
"Ohma sarri ayi ah! Oonu karri na!" A sudden tingle vibrated up his body, through his bones, and into his hands. Hounacier's blade warmed against his palm. "Ohga narrifischtoo! Tikki ahsa ah!" The little girl trembled at the last words before Malcolm moved to Gary. Like Leigh Ann, Gary spasmed just as Malcolm ended the sequence and started on Shane.
Hair and clothing flapped in the ghostly wind as Malcolm began the fourth pass, his voice a scream. Hounacier vibrated against his skin like a hot guitar string, her unseen power arcing to the prisoners. Leigh Ann shrieked and shook, her high voice undulating with the tremors. Gary's legs shook side to side in an impossible blur, kicking up a cloud of dust. Shane wailed, his head pistoning back into the ground like a pneumatic hammer. Fresh blood trickled down Errol's legs as his back arched under the invisible bolt's fury.
"Ohma sarri ayi ah!" Leigh Ann's hands shook, seeming to change shape in the blur. "Oonu karri na!" Ohga narrifischtoo! Tikki ahsa ah!"
A howl exploded from Gary's mouth as his teeth stretched out from his peeling lips. Pimpling hairs rolled up his shaking body.
Almost there. He switched focus to Shane.
The white man's skin grayed as rolling fur spread out from his chest. His legs lengthened, forming long-toed paws.
The sequence complete, Malcolm moved to Errol. The little man bounced and writhed. His face lengthened, and an inhuman roar burst from blackening lips. Blood exploded out from the bandage, squirting across the ground and onto Shane beside him. Someone in the audience screamed. The two dogs yelped and cried. Shifting organs hemorrhaged and squeezed though the red-stained bandage and out onto the ground.
Shit!
The three prisoners all erupted in cackling laugher as Errol fell still.
You son of a bitch! He moved back to Leigh Ann, rage fueling his chants. Her filthy shorts split open as canine thighs swelled beneath then. A black, wormlike tail slithered out from between her legs and sprouted fur. Furiously, Malcolm focused the power harder on her. Spittle flew from his lips as he roared the streaming mantra, but the demon refused to take hold.
Gary's body instantly swelled as Hounacier's arc hit him.
"Ohma sarri ayi ah!"
His face lengthened, fangs filling the growing jaws.
"Oonu karri na!"
Thick, black hair burst from his skin, ribs shifting beneath it.
"Ohga narrifischtoo!"
Gary's pulsing legs contorted and changed, and his ha
nds stretched into long-fingered claws.
"Tikki ahsa ah!"
The werewolf roared and yanked against the chain at its neck. The other prisoners screamed as the beast thrashed beside them.
"Now!" Malcolm shouted.
The people holding the ropes released all but the demon's. They fumbled to help Sadie, who was sliding forward as the beast fought its leash. Their ropes slack, Shane and Leigh Ann rolled, scrambling away from the thrashing monster. Shane stumbled on his tattered pants, no more than a skirt of denim ribbons. The werewolf slashed his leg. His left calf peeled from the bone. Screaming, he fell onto Errol's broken form.
Malcolm lurched forward, Hounacier up and warding palm ready. Before he reached them, Issach, standing on that side of the ring, yanked the shroud from the ghoul mask, and the werewolf recoiled away. Shane dragged himself out of the beast's reach before collapsing face down in the blood-soaked earth.
The team holding the werewolf's rope heaved, yanking its head back to the ground. Malcolm noticed Atabei standing a few feet behind it, lips moving. He hadn't heard her over the screams and snarls. Face calm and hands outstretched, she recited a low chant.
"Mayas karri notem."
Malcolm strained to hear her. The flowing words sounded like the First Tongue.
"Holloo mreshti. Mayas karri notem. Ohma ahsa ah rae." She stepped closer, her voice rising.
Malcolm's chest tightened as she drew near it. If the rope didn't hold, he wouldn't be able to save her. Issach and Peewee stood at the edges, eyes transfixed, masks ready.
"Holloo mreshti. Mayas karri notem. Ohma ahsa ah rae." Atabei's right hand rose above her head as she stepped just outside the monster's reach.
Mouthing the words as she spoke them, Malcolm watched in awe as Atabei lunged like a striking viper and touched the demon's head with the flat of her palm. The werewolf froze as if paralyzed.
Atabei continued her chant, the words flowing in steady rhythm. "Holloo mreshti. Mayas karri notem. Ohma ahsa ah rae."
Glowing red smoke, like liquid fire, wormed from the beast's nose and mouth and streamed up toward Atabei's upturned hand. Its bestial features deflated, fur and claws retracting. The burning smoke poured from its eyes and shortening ears, gathering into a twisting ball hovering just above her fingertips. More strands peeled from Shane's unconscious form and Leigh Ann, now hunkered behind one of the containers, adding to the pulsing light.
Malcolm stood mesmerized as dozens of other tendrils stretched out from the ball, as every soul the demon had ever marked was released. The crimson fire rolled and seethed, over two feet across. Gary lay on the ground, naked, his shredded clothed laying around him. He stared up at the glowing, smoke-like ball, eyes wide.
Atabei nodded, and the team holding Gary's rope released it.
"Go," she uttered quietly, her face taut in concentration.
The man scooted away and hurried off, the still-attached rope trailing behind him.
Quentin stepped forward and set the platter and mask on the ground before Atabei. Hounacier relaxed in his grip as Malcolm came up beside him, his mouth open in awe. How had she learned this?
She met his eye. "It's time."
Malcolm licked his lips. His eyes transfixed on the swirling demon fire, he hadn't noticed Quentin come behind him until the huge fist slammed into the side of his skull.
He stumbled, head swimming. Another fist hit Malcolm's kidney, and Hounacier fell from his hand. He tried to reach for her, but the big man was on him, his thick arms wrapping up under Malcolm's and around to the back of his head, pinning him in a half nelson. Quentin yanked him back, away from the mask, away from Hounacier.
"What the fuck?" Malcolm screamed.
Atabei's lips curled into an evil sneer. "This is for my husband, Hercule."
"What?" He pulled against Quentin's hold, his busted ribs screaming in pain, but couldn't move. "Who?"
She stepped closer, the swirling fire still aloft. "You killed him."
Malcolm's anger turned to terror as her slender fingers reached toward him. He tried pushing himself back but couldn't. "I don't—"
Her fingertip touched his skin, and the crimson sphere surged down her arm and hit Malcolm like a wave. Quentin threw him down, and Malcolm collapsed as the icy cold flames surged into his eyes and mouth, choking and blinding him with furious power. It flooded though his veins, filling them with hopeless dread. He tried to scream, but more of the phantasmal fire poured inside him.
"You do not deserve Hounacier!" Atabei screamed. "Murderer!"
Malcolm tried reaching back for the sawed-off at his back, but his muscles wouldn't move right. His numbing fingers found the leather holder. Empty!
He rolled himself over to see Quentin above him. The big man grinned, eyes cruel but tinged with fear, the Remington in his hand.
A brilliant, unfathomable light of alien memories exploded behind Malcolm's eyes, and the demon erupted, roaring though him. It was too late.
Searing pain burned his left palm and right wrist as the warding eye and scarab tattoos boiled and steamed from skin, crackling and hissing. Malcolm screamed.
Bones crunched and popped. His skin painfully stretched near the ripping point. He thrashed and spasmed, trying to fight it, trying to hold it back, but couldn't.
"He didn't have to die," Atabei said.
Malcolm twisted and saw her moving toward Hounacier, lying on the dusty ground near the ring's edge. The witch intended to kill him with her. No you don't!
Gritting teeth that shifted and moved inside his mouth, Malcolm swept his leg at Quentin's feet. It whipped with more force or power than he could have imagined. The big man fell, the sawed-off roaring with a deafening crack and flash. Peewee, who stood with the demon mask not far from Hounacier, leaped back and ducked as the shot flew over his head. The black mask fell from his fingers.
Forcing every ounce of will he had left, Malcolm scrambled, his body stiff and fighting him. His right leg and arm wouldn't move, but still he crawled.
The demon was inside him.
Hounacier could kill it.
Atabei stumbled, backing away as he squirmed and clambered toward her.
Malcolm clawed Hounacier's bone handle with his now-fleshless palm and pulled her toward him. Unable to thrust her back into himself, he rose onto his knee, her handle on the ground and blade to his stomach. Darkness swirled at the edges of his vision, closing in. With his last act of defiance, Malcolm dropped his weight onto the blade for their final embrace.
I
A salty breeze caresses Gulmet's face, rustling his fur. He smells the goats over the hill ahead, their blood and meat and filthy pen. The mortals' stink also fouls the wind. His mouth moistens at the thought of their screams and flesh. Above, a brilliant white crescent, framed in countless, colored stars, casts a brilliant glow over the rocky landscape.
Rajik moves silently beside him. She always was quieter than Gulmet. He looks to her. Moonlight flickers across her golden-brown fur. A female body always suited Rajik best. It is only fitting, after so many millennia, that she be the one to finally bear the children of their union. With the blood moon only weeks behind them, Gulmet can already sense the six new souls forming within her. It will be five more moons before next lunar eclipse heralds their birth. Five moons that Rajik must maintain her wolfen form lest the pups die. Five moons until the merging of their spirits becomes a new generation. All they must do now is wait.
They stop at the hill's crest. Below, beyond olive and cypress trees, smoke rises from a tiny, flat-roofed cottage. The valley is fertile, sown with the deaths of six thousand soldiers. Their blood and pain shimmers in every plant that now grows on the long-forgotten battlefield. It is here that Gulmet has chosen for her. Waves lap the shores beyond the building where a small craft rests on a beach. Rajik loves the water.
She nuzzles him, and his flesh tingles at her touch. "It's perfect."
Pleased, Gulmet says, "Everything you desire, I shall provide."
Keeping to the shadows, they descend the hill. Slow. Quiet. Their caution is unnecessary. Mortals could never escape them. But the hunt is a ritual.
A male is visible through the cottage window. Slender, his black beard thick and curly. A child laughs behind him.
They move closer. Gulmet catches the scent of the woman and girl inside, but then the wind slows and shifts.
The goats shuffle uncomfortably, smelling their deaths. They cry and bleat, gathering in the far corner of their lashed cage. They are the first to know their fate but will be the last to die. The thought of it brings more water to Gulmet's tongue. Yes. The humans die first. All but one.
The bearded man yells out the window. But the goats continue to panic.
Gulmet crouches beneath the shadow of a tree. Rajik circles around to the far side.
The man yells again then retreats inside. A moment later, he emerges from the door, a flintlock in his hands. Eyes squinting, he scans the darkness. Gulmet's open mouth curls into a smile as the mortal's gaze passes over him. To the side, he sees Rajik charge from the shadows. She crosses the open ground and springs through the open window.
A pot shatters. A girl screams.
The man whirls around. Eyes wide in terror, he raises the gun.
Leaves rustle as Gulmet charges.
The man turns. In three bounds, Gulmet closes the distance. The gun fires as he springs, its leaden ball passing harmlessly though his ribs. His forepaws strike the man's chest, bringing him to the ground. The man screams and smashes the barrel against him, but Gulmet only bares his teeth and continues pressing the human down.
Inside, the child wails. Her screams are not enough to drown the sounds of her mother's crunching bones and tearing flesh. A string of saliva drips from Gulmet's fangs onto the man's cheek. He waits until his prey hears his daughter die, then Gulmet snaps down onto the man's shoulder, savoring the blood and terror. They sweeten the taste of the mortal's soul. Gulmet holds the bite for only a moment, his teeth scratching the bones, then he pours himself into this new host.