Caught off guard Sandor staggered back and cracked his head against the wall, the shadow coming at him and swinging again. This time Sandor got an arm up and blocked the blow, countering, he landed two rabbit punches and was satisfied with the grunts. Finally, something he could hurt. In the near darkness, the two men traded blows, Sandor realized they were evenly matched and struggled to find an opening. When he thought he had the measure of his attacker, the other man feinted left and brought his right knee up hard between Sandor’s legs. The breath escaped from his mouth in a rush and Sandor doubled over, but his attacker didn’t hold up and pressed his attack, raining blows down on Sandor’s face and head.
But Sandor was a born fighter, and it was in his blood. He rolled with the punches, only a few connected, most glanced off. As he rolled he brought his feet up and thrust them upward at his attacker; he cried out and staggered back, like a flash Sandor was on his feet and pressed his attack. The attacker was off balance, Sandor rained blow after blow; knocking him to the ground he didn’t let up and straddled him, punching and punching, and somewhere, sounding far off, the gurgle that passed for Corvus’ laughter.
Victor woke but couldn’t move, being tied so securely. His head was thumping and when he tried to move anything, everything hurt. He tried to open his eyes, but only one was working. He was in a wood, with a tree to his back and something shoved in his mouth. He looked to his left and right, then high up on a bank he saw the glint of the sun on something shiny. Then the bushes to his right moved. The last thing he heard was the sound of liquid gurgling down a drain…
Murder in Thy Name
Elisa F. B. Ramires
“Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,” Father Justino said. He held his bible close to his chest, the black of the leather invisible against his dark habit.
The child cried, and wrestled, trying to free herself from Angelo’s grip. Father Justino gazed at her, but his hand did not quiver, and his eyes did not waver as he cast the torch onto the stake, at the witch’s feet.
The woman shrieked and screeched, the burning logs scorching her skin. Father Justino muttered a prayer under his breath, and crossed himself. The smell of burnt flesh and singed hair seeped into the night air, filling Justino’s nostrils, clinging to his skin.
The fire rose, crackling and emitting sparks. Beads of sweat ran from Justino’s forehead, dampening his hair and beard. The woman’s wail became husky and her breathing labored, as the fire numbed her senses. The flames swept around her, and only a whisper remained, ragged and uneven.
Father Justino gazed at his assistant. His eyes were uneasy, traveling from side to side, not daring to stare at the burning witch. He was flushed and likely nauseated, breathing only through his mouth. Poor boy, Justino thought. He hadn’t been very different from Angelo, when he saw a person burn for the first time. Only a fourteen-year-old, astonished and afraid.
The witch was a frightening vision. Her erstwhile skin was charred, cracked, and black as soot. Blood oozed from the gashes on her body, but dried before falling into the fire. Justino crossed himself once more, as the embers at her feet darkened, and the flames dwindled. The woman’s eyelids had disappeared, and the teary eyeballs almost protruded from her skull, glistening in the dark. The blue irises still moved, Justino noticed, as if trying to say something, not realizing her lips would never part again. Whether it was a morbid reflex or if she were still alive, he didn’t know or cared. His work was done.
The sound of Angelo vomiting stopped him from delving into trivialities.
“You are indeed a weak one, aren’t you?” Father Justino asked, laughing.
“This is too strong for me, Father,” Angelo said. “it’s much worse than hunting demons. This is a person, for God’s sake.”
Father Justino grimaced, but forced himself to stay calm. “This is not a person, Angelo, my boy. Don’t you remember anything I have taught you? She is a witch, and the Bible says witches shouldn’t live. We are merely doing God’s work.”
Angelo assented but didn’t seem quite convinced. “What should we do with the girl? She fainted while…”
“Oh, the devil’s spawn? Bring her with us, she’ll be of use.”
The fire was no longer aflame, but the smoke still hovered in thick gray clouds. The corpse was unrecognizable, and only the eyes remained the same, staring at the horizon.
“Shouldn’t we bury the woman?”
“The witch, Angelo, the witch, not woman. Don’t treat the pagan as if she were a person. And no, we won’t bury her.” A bird cawed in the distance. “Leave her for the crows.”
“But, Father—”
“No ‘but’, boy. Let’s get out of here. I want to wait in the woods before dawn. No, don’t wake the child, for God’s sake! She’ll scream the whole way. Let her sleep, and let’s move.”
“Are we going after her again, Father?”
Hate welled inside him at the mention of the demon. “What have we been doing for the past six months, son?”
“Trying to slay her.”
“Then why, in God’s name, would we change our routine now?”
The boy colored. “For how long have you been trying to slay her, Father?”
Forty-two years. “None of your business.”
Angelo did not seem discouraged in the least by Father Justino answers. “Why her, Father?”
Justino did not answer, but pressed his hands to his crossbow, until his knuckles blanched. The tip of his fingers burned red, and he asked God to make him wise and merciful, so as not to throw an arrow in Angelo’s chest. Fighting his instincts, he continued treading through the path, all the while trying to distract himself with cheerful thoughts, pushing away the ones that disturbed him.
“What will we use the girl for?”
“Bait.”
Angelo gaped at him, “But Father, we can’t. She is nothing but a small child. Her mother was just killed, now…”
“You are mistaken, son. We’ll use her because she is a child. Have you never read the Bible? You ought to. The Kigdom of Heaven belongs to the children. If she is not a heathen, that is.”
“But she’ll suffer.”
“For the greater good. God will bless her, and she’ll be welcome in Heaven. This is the best we can do for the devil spawn. It will be a glorious death, you shall see.”
“Can’t we use someone else?”
“We don’t have anyone else. Unless you are willing to wait for the demon yourself, we’ll have to use the girl. Don’t you know that demons prefer children? Their skin is softer, and their blood is purer. Eating children’s flesh is the biggest pleasure a demon can have. That’s why so many children die at night in small villages, close to the forest. They are hunted. Didn’t you notice that there were barely any children in the villages we’ve been through? They’ve all been killed.”
“Oh, I didn’t know.”
“Of course you didn’t.” Father Justino sighed. “Really, Angelo, I don’t know if you’ll ever be able to replace me some day. You almost piss yourself when we see a demon, you vomit when we burn a witch. Why did you choose this profession, then? You could be a normal, parish priest. Why hunting demons when you have no courage?”
Angelo straightened his back, and inflated his chest with pride. “A promise. It was a promise I made after my family was killed by the demons. I swore to revenge them.”
For a moment, Father Justino almost respected Angelo for his perseverance, and for abiding by his promise for so long, like Justino himself had done for forty-odd years. When he was about to praise Angelo for his determination, the assistant tripped, almost dropping the child from his arms. Father Justino glared at him, and reminded himself that there was no point in engaging in conversation with a such a helpless boy.
They had been walking through the woods for quite some time, veiled by howling wolves and chirping crickets, when they finally arrived at a clearing. Moss covered the soil, and small bushes adorned the open space. A small stream divid
ed the land, and the moonlight glittered on the face of the water. Even Father Justino’s grizzled and usually somber hair gleamed like a looking glass. He squinted, put his hands before his eyes, and cursed the light.
“The demon will see us. It’s too bright,” Father Justino said.
“We can wait on the edge of the forest, Father, just a little inside, behind a tree.”
Father Justino looked around, and agreed. “Tie the girl to a tree, then. We’ll wait for the demon.”
Angelo’s face reddened. “But I didn’t bring any rope.”
Justino rolled his eyes. “I should tie you to a tree, you useless—” He paused and sighed, hand on his chest to calm his angry heart. “You never do anything that I ask. I don’t know why I even bother bringing you. Hold the girl in front of the large tree, there. Yes, just hold her.”
Justino aimed and pressed the trigger of his crossbow. The arrow flew, and pierced the sleeve of the girl’s shirt into the tree. She didn’t move, wake, or notice the arrow. Father Justino sighed, releasing the tension. He wasn’t exactly worried about hurting the girl. No, he knew being careful would only delay her fate for a few minutes. But he also knew that demons, like most flesh eating monsters, preferred their meat fresh. And they liked to kill their prey, not have them killed. He threw three more arrows, taking his time to breath and mutter a quick prayer between each of them. He was precise, and his arrows didn’t brush a single strand of the girl’s hair. The child was still asleep when he finished, unaware of the disturbance.
As dawn neared, Justino hid behind a tall tree. The trunk was wrapped in a thick layer of moss that also covered the ground. A sweet pain spread through his legs as he sat, and he relaxed. The bark scraped against his back, but he did not mind. He needed a certain amount of pain to keep him alert, weary as he was.
“Why haven’t you slain her, Father? I’ve seen you shoot, I’ve seen you kill, and you’re the best. We’ve been trying to slay this demon and failing for months. How come?”
There was no point in lying. Angelo would see the demon soon enough. “Because she is the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”
Angelo looked at him with reproachful eyes.
“It’s not like that, damn it. I do not desire her, but I am a human. A blessed human, do not doubt, but a human nevertheless. She stuns me. Every time I see her, I can’t stop gaping. I don’t even think about anything. I just can’t take my eyes off her.”
“Don’t laugh, God damn it,” Justino continued. “Of all the demons I’ve encountered, and I’ve seen many, mind, she’s the only one I need to kill, and the only one I can’t. Ironic, huh?”
“Don’t worry, Father, I’ll kill her.” Angelo held his leather scabbard close to his body.
“Pff, you only say that because you are always asleep when she comes. You never even saw her! You are good boy, Angelo, but stupid as hell. She is beautiful because that’s how she survives. That’s her way of protection, don’t you understand? She stuns her victims before killing them. That’s why we always need a bait.”
“But—”
Leaves rustled, and twigs crackled. Something above them moved, cutting the air with a roar. Justino ducked, and covered his ears, but the sound had already stopped. He prickled his ears, searching for her, but only heard the wind soughing through the crown of the trees, their branches and leaves swaying, dancing like ghosts in the dark.
“What’s that?” Angelo asked, his voice quivering.
“Shhh, not a word now.”
A female voice echoed through the woods, the sound deep. Father Justino felt it resonating in his bones, the warmth of it spreading through his limbs, and easing his mind. He could not understand the words she sang, but knew it was her protective chant. He had heard it many times before. Her voice hypnotized enemies, putting them to sleep. He pressed his hands on his ears, until her song was muffled, the dark meaning of the words unable to affect him.
“Angelo,” the priest whispered. “This is very important, you have to be careful, now. Did you notice how her voice seemed to come out of your body? It echoes inside you—”
Hearing no answer or at least a nod, he turned, and saw his pupil sound asleep, head propped on a rock.
“Useless idiot,” Father Justino muttered.
The demon stopped singing. He thought she might have gone away, given her enterprise up, and returned to her lair. As the thought crossed his mind, a call reached him. Not a chant or song like before, but words. The aura around him changed, and he could feel the call was not meant to bewitch. There weren’t enchantments or magic in the air; it was simply a language he couldn’t fathom.
Father Justino scrutinized his surroundings, squinting his eyes. He glimpsed her, on top of a branch. His heart thudded, and he took his hands to his chest to calm it, afraid she might hear. Still trying to hide his body behind the tree, he leaned to see her with both eyes, and like always, thought she was more beautiful than ever.
The demon was, doubtless, a wild woman. Bloody lips, and tousled hair, the latter with a glossy shine to it, that no human could ever have. Her skin was white as chalk, but shaded to silver under the moonlight. She had deep green eyes, like emeralds in a princess crown, and sharp fangs that prevented her lips from closing, strategically placed to rip a man’s skin in the first bite.
The child had woken now, and was weeping, and calling, “Mama, mama.”
The girl had red-rimmed eyes, and tears streamed through the whole length of her face. A bit of snot ran from her nose and into her mouth, improving her childish looks.
The demon’s nose twitched, and her eyes closed in pleasure, as she felt the smell of the bait. She jumped from the twig and into the clearing, floating a bit on the air, before landing on the ground. Father Justino flinched, and the space between his heartbeats decreased. He felt the pounds on his throat, the blood rushing to his ears. Rage overtook him, flushing his face, but he could not act, or muster the strength to point the crossbow at the demon.
Seeing the girl, the demon licked her lips, then lunged. Father Justino knew that if he wanted to kill the beast, he’d have to act quickly. He blinked, and tried to aim, but his arms only trembled, and the crossbow danced on his hands.
The demon stopped midway, and lifted her head, whiffing, her eyes closed. She stood in the middle of the clearing, and after a few moments glanced at his direction. Father Justino startled, gazing into her eyes. His arm brushed a shrub, and the rustling of leaves faded and returned, echoing with the child’s wail. The demon held his gaze, and for a moment, he was lost in the her green eyes, back in the night when they had first met. So many years had passed; almost a lifetime. But she remained unchanged.
The memory had never faded from Father Justino’s mind, but he avoided it fiercely. He had been a boy, like Angelo, and had already taken his vows of chastity. His village was not a specially large one, but the people liked gossip, like simpletons usually do. He had not been a saint at the time, though, and to celebrate his fourteenth anniversary, had taken a girl he fancied to his bed. Paola. The girl was sweet, Justino remembered, and best of all, grateful. They had been making love for only a few minutes when the demon invaded their tent. Even though he was only seconds away from his pleasure, he stopped the motion simply to look at those deep green eyes. He was in a trance, he could not move.
Paola complained, and moved below him, trying to pull him back to reality, until she saw the demon with her own eyes. The demon charged at him then, not in the least affected by Paola. Justino struggled, trying to break free, but to no avail. The demon was strong, and persistent. She bit into his leg, ripping a little of his calf, and ate the flesh in front of him, while blood oozed through his foot. Justino screamed, and the simpletons came to his rescue.
Hearing a commotion outside the tent, the demon had left as swiftly as it first appeared. The simpletons of the village startled as they entered the cabin and saw the blood, and the nakedness of the two. Envisioning his disgrace and his life as
a priest destroyed by gossip, Father Justino uttered the only word he could to save himself.
Witch.
The simpletons understood his meaning, and dragged Paola out of his tent, kicking and cursing her. She called his name when they tied her to the pyre. They flogged her, then burned her, ignoring her pleas for mercy. Justino lit the fire with tears in his eyes, and swore, as his lover’s flesh scorched and charred, that he’d hunt the demon who had disgraced his life.
Inflamed by the memory, Father Justino was able to muster a strength he didn’t know he possessed. He lifted his crossbow and aimed at her. Although his hands trembled, and sweat poured from his brow, he shot. The arrow seemed to move slowly, as if the wind were protecting the demon. It landed on her shoulder, and a thick, golden blood streamed from the wound.
The demon screeched, and jumped at him. Father Justino tried to back away, but stepped on a shrub and tripped. He fell, and the demon flew above him like an arrow, landing past him. The leaves of a tree grazed Justino’s arm, and blood dripped from the scratches. He reloaded his crossbow and pulled the trigger as the demon lunged at him again.
She was already on top of him when the arrow found her heart. Not willing to surrender, she sank her teeth into his neck. The fangs were sharp, and they pierced him easily, ripping every layer of his skin. A venom left her mouth, and corroded his flesh like acid. Father Justino cried out, but the demon still clung to him, her talons digging in the skin of his chest. He felt a tingling at first, then a sharp pain, as she ripped his jugular vein. A thick stream of blood spurted, splattering onto his habit and hair. His vision darkened, as black and red spots covered his eyes.
Both of them stopped fighting. The demon’s breathing was ragged, faltering. She blinked, and her body trembled above him. As if infected by her, his own body quivered, spasms spreading through his arms and legs, twitching his fingers.
Both Barrels of Monster Hunter Legends (Legends of the Monster Hunter Book 1) Page 39