by C. L. Roman
Recovering his dignity as best he could, the priest straightened, smoothing his robes and his expression with equal rapidity. Raising his arms above his head, he beckoned the crowd forward.
“True believers, come, your god calls you to his worship,” low and musical, his voice rose and fell with each syllable in a rhythmic chant. The people exchanged uneasy glances, moving forward and spreading into a half circle on the bank.
“What is this, Priest?” one man called out, “Micah says you have killed Enosh and the god has demanded Jared as sacrifice, but…”
The priest overrode him, “I killed no one. The Great Sochet struck Enosh down when he would have selfishly denied the god his due. It is true that Sochet had demanded Jared as sacrifice,” he paused, waiting while the murmurs of shock and feared rose and then died away. “You know our god is good, he promises a full harvest if we make blood sacrifice. We must give our best so that we can receive Sochet’s best. Is it not true that our great god keeps his promises?”
Clearing his throat, Micah stepped forward, “You did kill Enosh, Priest, I saw—”
“You saw nothing,” the priest said, his black eyes gleaming. “Think carefully and speak truth. You saw nothing.”
Micah swallowed and stepped back, “but the knife…”
“Did you see me lift it? Think, oh guardian of the temple, what did you see?” he asked, dropping the last word like a stone on the guard’s conviction.
“I saw…” Micah hesitated, swallowed again and fell silent.
“It sprouted from his chest like wheat from the earth,” Hosea burst out, and the crowd gasped as the priest nodded in approval.
“This is truth, my people,” the priest shouted, “I have seen with my own eyes. The god is powerful and his wrath is terrible. He calls this young one,” he reached down and grabbed Jared’s tunic, jerking him roughly upright, “to his side. Jared’s body will feed Sochet’s children, but his spirit will reside with the god forever, in a place of victory and honor.” The priest began to preach, his voice smooth and melodic, his arguments the very seed of reason and logic.
He reminded them of all the god had done for them, the good harvest of the last turning, the saving of three children from drowning not two weeks before. Behind him two more crocodiles surfaced and then sank again below the thin skin of the river, black shadows slithering through the wet.
Down river, in the muddy, brackish eddy at the foot of her slide, Sochet’s favorite pet lifted her massive head to allow her master to scratch her chin. He grinned at her, his fangs glistening in the fading light. Then, very slowly so as not to frighten her, he dissolved into a dense black smoke, holding his shape even as he stretched himself along her scaly length, thinner and thinner, sinking inch by inch beneath her skin. In less than five minutes her blank green eyes had gone completely black and Sochet had disappeared. With a flick of his powerful tail, the god set off up river in search of new prey.
The hypnotic rhythm of the priest’s chant carried along the waterway, calling to him. Even stronger was the sound of human weeping as the mother of the boy he would claim begged the priest to intercede. Oh, how kind, how gentle was the priest in his refusal. Sochet rolled in the cold water, reveling in the woman’s desperation. He heard, with pleased surprise, that the headman – Enosh, was it? Sochet rolled again, yes, Enosh, that was his name – was dead and there would be two meals for his children tonight. He surfaced and trumpeted the crocodile’s choking roar of victory.
Coming to the end of his extended perimeter check, Fomor approached the humans at the river’s edge from up river. He could hear the babble of voices, and the chanting that silenced them, as well as a woman’s weeping. Over it all hung the pervasive reek of evil. Drawing his sword, Fomor began to run.
At the falls, the priest finished his sermon and hoisted the boy into the air with a flourish. Jared’s mother wailed in despair, held back by the two guards, but the villagers looked on in dull incomprehension, as if their collective will had been taken hostage.
Eyes wild with power, glowing with malign energy, the priest looked down river and saw the sinuous double curl of water splitting past the black, massive head of his master.
“Throw Enosh in,” he screamed and four of the villagers obeyed, rolling the body free of its shroud and down the bank with grim efficiency. The water churned into a pink froth as the crocodiles ripped the corpse apart. Several humans turned away and vomited into the underbrush, but the priest barely noticed.
Lifting the boy over his head, the thin man waited only for the god to come within striking distance before he heaved the boy into the river. An arc of white light followed the screaming child below the surface and the water erupted in a shower of foam and amber sparks. The priest, awed by this unexpected sign of the god’s favor, threw his head back and howled his ecstasy to the rising wind. The crowd gave a moan of despair and Jared’s mother screamed.
Without warning the twilight became full night. The river spewed a geyser of water twenty cubits into the air with a shriek of fury that crushed every human within hearing distance flat, shuddering into the mud. The unearthly scream rose out of the river in an unending cry of rage. The villagers groveled, covering their ears and sobbing their terror into the dirt. Even the priest sank prostrate, bewildered by the god’s reaction, gibbering and pleading with Sochet to spare them.
Inside the Shift Adahna laid the unconscious child on the ground, her hands frantically skimming his pulse points. Once she realized he lived, she ran her hands over him again, checking for injuries, but finding none. He should be conscious, she thought, why doesn’t he wake? She had never taken a human into the Shift before and couldn’t tell what damage it might do. A glimmer of light moved at the edge of her vision and she involuntarily turned her head. The lights were coming.
Beside her the gray rippled, then tore in a spray of black smoke and he was there.
“Sochet.” She leapt to her feet, drawing her sword in the same movement.
“He’s mine,” the demon hissed, and brought his blade down in a blinding flash, the air between them sizzling with the smell of burned ozone and death.
She parried, the power of the blow vibrating up her blade and through her arms, into her shoulders. With a grunt of effort she thrust the demon’s blade back at him and was peripherally aware of the lights, approaching far faster than she had ever seen before, and a shower of blue sparks to her left. Jotun.
Sochet slid a dark glance at the newcomer and hissed in desperation. “They gave him to me,” he insisted, darting to her right, trying to reach the unconscious form. The grey between the demon and the child shredded in a shower of green light and Sochet fell backwards, ranting curses as he scrambled out of the Shift.
Quickly taking in the swift approach of the lights Fomor turned to his lieutenants.
“Time to mo—” The captain’s shout was swallowed by the child’s scream as a light touched, then swallowed Jared whole. For an instant the angels stood frozen, unable to comprehend what they had seen. Jared was gone. The glow intensified and the light rotated, orienting on the three angels.
“Move!” Fomor grabbed Adahna’s arm with one hand and Jotun’s with the other and thrust them all forward, out of the Shift.
Adahna stumbled to her knees in the dense foliage of Earth, sobbing uncontrollably. Jotun knelt beside her, gathered her close and rocked her in his arms, his own tears streaming unchecked down his cheeks. Fomor stood beside them, fists clenched, chest heaving as he fought for control. None of them moved when Volot and the others landed beside them, arms laden with fruit.
“What happened?” Volot asked, stunned by the grief he saw on the faces of his friends.
Jotun opened his mouth, but could find no words. He shook his head.
Finally Fomor cleared his throat, somehow finding his voice, “Pack it up. We’re moving out. Sena, with me.” The two moved off and Fomor spoke to her in a low voice. She tilted her head, listening without comment until he finish
ed. Then she nodded and moved off through the dark in the direction of the falls.
Some distance away, on the opposite side of the falls, the villagers lay stunned and unmoving. Sena took up her post in the branches of a nearby tree and waited, watching. The crocodiles had fled when the water around them had become a cold boiling cauldron and none returned to investigate the silent guardian.
After several hours the villagers began to wake. Sena waited until seven were conscious before she straightened from her crouch on a branch above them. The priest still lay unmoving and she sighed. Perhaps it is just as well though.
Bringing her hands together palm to palm, she spread her first set of wings and closed her eyes, drinking in the night air with slow, deep inhalations, absorbing the peace and power of creation. Tiny threads of light spread from her palms, around the skin of her hands, shooting across her wrists and up her arms, blending swiftly into a sheet of light that spread under her skin, covering her body until she blazed from within. Two additional sets of wings lifted from the tattoo on her back, one set folding around her to cover her face, the other her feet. On the first set she flew. Floating down into the astonished view of the humans below, she spoke the truth.
Chapter Three
Nephel’s village might be small, but the houses are large enough, Danae reflected as she gathered her brother’s clothes from where Kefir had flung them on the floor, the wicker clothes chest, the low table and chair. It never ceased to amaze her how big a mess a ten-year-old boy could make when he knew he wouldn’t have to clean it up.
A large home was rather a necessity when everyone stood above four cubits by their tenth year. Granted, there were nine family members, and three sections of the house. Men’s quarters to the east, women’s on the west end with the parents and the communal living space for meals and such in between. But why do we have to be so tall? It makes laundry day a nightmare. Mother’s people are not nearly so big. Mother is the tallest of them and she stands well under five cubits. It makes no sense to be the only family in the region with such height.
A shout caught Danae’s attention and she grabbed up the last tunic from the floor before racing out to see what was happening. Just outside the men’s quarters stood Nephel, her father. Even at this distance she had to tip her head back to see his face. His black brows rose when he saw her coming from an area not usually appropriate for women and, in explanation, she quickly held up the clothes she had gathered. Nephel nodded and turned to watch Kefir and Zam enter the ring of long houses that comprised the village. Danae’s brothers laughed and shouted their triumph as they carried their trophies forward. A three day hunting trip had yielded two large deer and three salmon. Danae smiled, the salmon alone would provide a meal for the entire family.
As Danae turned to take her basket of clothes to the river, she saw that Nephel had not joined the celebrating group of young men gathered around his sons. This might be my only chance to ask.
“Father?” She lowered her eyes and waited for his acknowledgement.
Nephel looked at his oldest daughter a moment before replying. “Yes, Danae, what question will you harangue me with today?”
Danae caught her breath and risked a glance up, but he was smiling. “I was just thinking,” she hesitated, but Nephel just sat down on a nearby bench and waited patiently, one eyebrow quirked in amusement.
“I was wondering why our family is so tall, when Mother’s family and the birth families of your other wives are not so.” The words came out in a rush and were greeted with several moments of silence.
“Sometimes, my dark Danae, we are curious enough to ask questions we should not. And we regret the answers.”
It was not the response she wanted, but his voice remained gentle, giving her courage. “But isn’t it true that asking questions brings wisdom?” she pressed.
“Sometimes,” he acknowledged. “But in this case, I think answering you would only bring more questions.” He chuckled, but she saw a sadness in his face that she had never encountered there before.
“Yet—” she began, but her father was finished talking.
“You will want to complete your chores before dinner. And remember Danae, curiosity is good, it shows a lively mind. But it can also trap the tiger in the pit.”
Danae thought of the tiger Magnus had trapped last season by tethering a goat next to a carefully concealed pit. The tiger’s skin now decorated Magnus’ sleeping mat. Danae shivered.
“I’m sorry Father, I—” She stopped as her father reached out to touch her cheek.
“You are no tiger, to be endangered by the pit. I only meant that some questions might bring answers that you would not want to know.” He lifted her chin and looked intently into her green eyes. “Although I am sure you cannot imagine how that could be so.”
With a final caress he turned and walked away, joining the celebration of his sons. Danae shook her head. Nephel was a strange man, stern and difficult most of the time, but often unexpectedly kind, as he had been today. You never knew what he would say or do. The young woman huffed in frustration. He had stepped around her question quite neatly though, without actually refusing to answer.
***
It was a black night in the human village of Kutu. The moon hung low in the sky, hiding its face behind a stand of trees from the horror on the ground. The demon didn’t mind the dark. His distress had a different source.
Gone! Drained it dry didn’t you? And left me nothing, not even a drop! A long clawed foot flicked out to nudge the body. What small things these humans are. This one is just a juiceless sack now, nothing left for me. A selfish thing you are, Bansh. No wonder our Master wants you hunted, wants you punished for your betrayal. You followed him into battle against the Creator and then abandoned him.
The burnt, scarred head lifted to scent the air. Someone is coming. Good enough. The Eater is long gone anyway, and the Master will not mind if I profit a little from this discovery. And this one, a gnarled talon reached out to poke at the corpse again, is far past caring about anything.
From the hut nearby came the stealthy sounds of a child escaping her mother’s watchful eye.
“Baby, Baby is that you? Mama will skin me if she catches me out here after bed time. Baby?” The little girl crept carefully around the corner of the mud brick house and picked her way through the low vegetation. “Come on little kitty, you don’t want to get eaten. There’s lots of eaters out at night.”
The tiny light of her candle flickered in the breeze, shedding a pool of illumination too small to give much help to her eyes. Her ears were more useful and she heard the reptilian scrabble of his claws as he scuttled up the tree into hiding. The skin under the soft blond curls tightened slightly, but she was too intent on her search to be frightened yet. She heard the soft mew of the kitten to her left, turned toward it and stumbled, her foot caught in something on the ground. She thrust her hands out to catch herself and dropped the little candle. Her hands shook in the sudden dark as she struggled to free her foot from the soft cloth it was tangled in. Above her, the thing in the tree salivated as the girl’s heart began to pound.
What is it? What is it? Her thoughts scurried frantically as the child thrust small fingers between the cloth and her ankle. The brush of cold, dead flesh against her palm dried her mouth with fear. Shivering, she struggled to her feet just as the moon poked his pale face above the houseline, throwing a sliver of light on the human wreckage in front of her. The thing in the tree cursed as her screams rang out, bringing more humans, bringing the security of numbers.
The child’s terrified screams escalated, blending with the shouts sounding from the surrounding houses. As running feet rushed to protect, he shrank back into the dark and resigned himself to another meal of vermin blood. Even the little cat would have been better, but the girl had found it, and clutched it against her thin chest like a shield. His mouth foul with silent curses, he scuttled away, further into the dark. His hunger was another mark against the Eater, th
e betrayer of the Master. A grimace of pleasure stretched the lipless void of his fanged mouth as he considered the things that might happen to the Eater once he caught him, before he returned him to the Master.
Anticipation scraped through him as he circled the village, now brightly lit with torches, searching for the trail. Stupid humans, they ruin their vision with so much light. Make the night darker where the light doesn’t reach. Just as well that Benat does not track by sight so much. It didn’t take him long to find the stench he sought, not five cubits outside the beacon of light that the village had become. He grimaced again, shuddered – and pursued.
Chapter Four
“Forty of Earth’s years, we have roamed, always moving, always hiding, and nothing has changed, we can never go back.”
Volot’s complaints were nothing new. He voiced them every couple of months or whenever Fomor decided it was time to break camp and move on. This most recent harangue had been going on for over an hour and the others were getting tired of hearing it.
They all knew the difficulties involved. Years of constant travel, meager rations, lack of decent shelter, and the constant fear of discovery had taken its toll on the entire team, but what choice did they have? They could not settle near the humans because their growing corruption demanded intervention, and intervention risked the attention of Lucky or his minions. The humans continued to multiply, driving the unit further and further outward with every passing season. In such circumstances, even the massive endurance of angels had its limits and now, as they moved through the dense vegetation of a tropical forest, tension was high and tempers had begun to fray.
“There are no other options. Would you rather stick to Lucky?” Fomor grumbled.
“Stick with him? I was never with him,” Jotun thundered.
Fomor looked at him, lifting one black brow. “That’s a heavy protest in such a light wind,” he replied, “none of us agreed to fight with him, but –”