Daemons of Garaaga (Children of Garaaga)

by Paul E. Cooley

  "Look at him."

  Ama didn't want to, but she complied.

  "Do you see how weak? Fragile?" Her mother giggled. "They are ours, daughter. They are just prey. Use them as such, and you'll live forever."

  Hela lowered a hand and cupped her daughter's crotch. Ama shivered.

  "You are a woman now," Hela whispered. She placed the hand upon her daughter's shoulder and stared into her eyes. "And I give you to Garaaga."

  From somewhere inside her mind, Ama had heard It laugh and felt It smile.

  Mine, It had whispered.

  ***

  The first man she'd watched Hela devour had been a complete stranger. Hela hadn't known his name and thought it funny that Ama had even asked. Strangers. Prey.

  Ama felt cold despite the heat. The memory of her mother's smile as she stood over the corpse was still fresh in her mind as if it had happened yesterday.

  You are a woman now, her mother had said. And I give you to Garaaga.

  It had taken years for her to understand what that meant.

  She shivered again and rolled up into the fetal position. Fadil was no stranger. Drimesh was no stranger. Not anymore. Not prey. People. Hela would never have understood that.

  Ama closed her eyes. One day she might have a child. She would make sure they understood the difference between people and prey. She would not raise her children the way Hela had raised her.

  9

  The night was cool. Sin was rising in the east behind the great ziggurat. The crescent had grown in size from the previous night. The Priest and High Priestess continued their vigil at the temple's zenith. A soft glow emanated from the altar. More prayers for rain falling on the deaf ears of their god.

  The throngs of drunken revelers had started early. When Ama had stepped out of her house, the discordant harmonies of drinking songs were already ringing through the streets. The square was louder by far.

  The king's royal guard were easy to spot as they milled through the crowd. Each carried a short sword and a purple vest over their tunic. Ama watched the throngs of men, women, and children move as soon as they noticed them.

  As with the previous night, she stood at the far back of the crowd. She didn't need to feed or want to, but she didn't trust herself to keep control.

  While she had slept, Drimesh's savaged face stared at her, his remaining eye an accusation. The monsters are real! it seemed to whisper. And you are one of them!

  Ama tugged at her long braid with nervous fingers. She scanned the crowd, searching for Fadil. Her inability to find the merchant was maddening. Thousands upon thousands of strangers had entered the city for the celebration. With all the additional people, it was no wonder she was having difficulty. But since the man was searching for his son, she thought he'd be easier to find.

  Monsters...

  They might be hiding in the crowd. A happy, joyful, expectant face might very well clothe the creature that murdered the boy.

  Ama knew her hidden face and understood what she was. But how many humans recognized their own? Garaaga's shadow, the beast, lived within her. What beast did these humans have inside them?

  She watched the beer girls go by. The crowd quickly liberated the cups and replaced them with coin. Afaf was plying her trade nearby. A soft smile crept across Ama's face. When Afaf came to her and offered her a beer, Ama was pleased to see no sign of recognition. Ama paid double and wished the woman a good night.

  A short man carrying a burning stick strutted across the stage. The crowd cheered as he lit the torches. Ama sipped the beer through a wooden straw and watched the smartly dressed dwarf bow before somersaulting backwards off the wooden platform.

  Shouts, catcalls, and laughter filled the night air as the pageantry began. Drums accompanied a troupe of dancers. The women were doubtless the same group that had started off the previous night. The lecherous dog that had plagued them did not appear.

  With sudden speed and grace, the dancers formed a ring. In synchronous steps, each woman tore a bit of clothing from the dancer in front of them. Shawls dropped to the stage. Then skirts. The circle was naked.

  Bare breasts jumped with their movements as the circle evaporated into chaos and then into three even lines. The crowd cheered as the women stepped past one another in a dizzying display.

  Ama felt a hunger pang and ignored it. The sight of the beautiful women and the crowd's excitement stirred the sleeping beast. Once again, she was glad she had decided to stay far away from the crowd.

  The dancers finished their routine with a flourish and bowed. The crowd threw coins on to the stage. As the women departed, the dog-man rampaged across the wooden platform, scooping up the coins in his paws and dropping them into a sack. More coin flew.

  Ama laughed with the crowd as the dog man did a handstand and moved backwards across the stage. He leapt in the air, somersaulted, and then landed on his haunches, paws raised to the sky.

  The man was greeted with applause, cheers, and shouts. As he left the stage, the crowd quieted into a rumble of conversation.

  Afaf returned and took Ama's empty cup. Ama did not make eye contact with her. The woman disappeared into the crowd.

  There were more performances, including a singer who was booed off stage. Another group of dancers had strutted across the stage, but they were far less skilled than the first troupe. They received polite applause and half-hearted cheers.

  The crowd seemed restless and bored. If another skilled troupe didn't soon take the stage, they might even become belligerent. That's when the jugglers took the stage.

  The cat. The snake. The bird.

  They strode onto the stage wearing robes and hoods that hid their faces in a quiet, solemn procession. Those who had witnessed their act the night before cheered. The performers made their way to the middle of the stage without acknowledging the excitement.

  The troupe stood shoulder to shoulder and faced the crowd. The first in the line flipped back his hood, exposing a bird's face. The second followed suit. It was the cat. The snake was last. In tandem, the three dropped their robes and exposed their costumed bodies.

  Even through the fur lining her face and body and the distance from the stage, Ama recognized Tahira. She bowed to the crowd and then flipped over to stand on one hand. Her legs slowly spread. The snake turned and then bent backwards over her, his body contorting with impossible ease. The bird took a step back and then leapt atop the snake's chest.

  The crowd roared as the bird stood on one foot, his free leg rising until it was parallel to the stage. The bird back-flipped off the snake. While he was in mid-flight, the snake summersaulted to his feet. Tahira, the cat, pushed off with her hand, flipped into a ball and then landed on her feet.

  The three bowed to the cheering audience. Silver and gold pelted the stage. The three performers faced each other. Tahira's hands met the snake's left shoulder. She pushed and then flew to land with both feet on the snake's shoulder. The bird lowered himself to his haunches and leaned over, hands firmly on the stage.

  With Tahira perched on his shoulder, the snake walked up the bird's back. A slow drumbeat filled the air. In time with the music, Tahira lifted one leg and cut the air over the snake's head. As the drumbeat quickened, so did her leg as it slid over and across.

  More drums began to beat in syncopation. The world filled with the sound of a great beast's heartbeat. Tahira pushed off with her foot and landed squarely on the snake's head. Her balance was perfect, footing solid and sure. The crowd exploded into applause and cheers. The drum beat had become a frantic, diseased thump. It crescendoed, beats overlapping until they were a rattle. The bird gave a roar of effort and arched his back.

  Tahira flipped off the snake and tumbled through the air in a crouch. The snake cartwheeled off the bird's back as the large man completed a backwards somersault. The drums ceased as the bird landed on the platform. All three were standing and heaving with effort.

  They bowed to the crowd. More coin than Ama had ever seen flew t
hrough the air. Even those at the back of the mass were flinging slices toward the stage. She clapped. Tahira stared out over the crowd. For a moment, Ama was sure the woman had locked eyes with her.

  Tahira's fur-covered body seemed to glow with energy. Beneath her accoutrements, Ama imagined her smooth, hairless, ebony skin. She felt the beast stir in her loins.

  You can want. You can have. You can enjoy, Hela's voice whispered.

  The troupe slowly moved off stage in a silent, synchronized single file. Four women jumped on the stage and collected the coins still raining down on the platform. Ama left the crowd and headed toward the street.

  She passed by the slumped body of a drunk. The man's snore was audible above the crowd noise. A thin stream of vomit had dribbled from his mouth on to his filthy tunic. Shaking her head, Ama continued down the street.

  As she passed each alley, the lights and noise of the square rose and then receded. The crowd noise died away as drums and flutes began a song. Another dancing troupe must have taken the stage.

  Ama continued down the street. The beer vendors had set their tubs off to the side. Serving women and children flowed from the square to the street to drop coins into large sacks, dip empty cups into the deep clay containers, and head back into the thirsty square.

  An old woman cackled as she walked past. She looked familiar, but Ama couldn't place her.

  "Plenty of trade for you tonight!"

  Ama glared at her, but kept walking up the street. The woman had called her a whore. She'd been called far worse by those who took notice of her, but the knowing, spiteful grin on her withered face was more than an accusation--it was knowledge.

  She reached the city gates and stood by the wall. Tahira and her troupe might already have left the city for their tent. Or they could still be collecting their money. The four guards were staring at her. Ama sighed and focused. Their heads turned slightly as they gazed past her.

  Be careful, she told herself. Don't lose control.

  Hela had often let the shadow control her, but only when it was safe to do so. The one lesson Ama had learned from her mother was to pay attention to her surroundings. If the shadow was loosed in a crowd, it would do worse than draw attention--it could endanger your life.

  "Ama?"

  She turned to her right. Tahira, clothed in a white robe, smiled at her. The woman's teeth and the whites of her eyes were visible in the soft torchlight, but the rest of her face was indiscernible in the shadows.

  "You-- You're already out of costume?"

  Tahira blinked. "Yes." The woman flipped back the hood of her robe and exposed her bald head. "Did you see the show?"

  Ama grinned. "Of course. It was quite amazing."

  Tahira bowed. "Thank you."

  She looked over Tahira's shoulder. "Where are the other two?"

  The black woman shrugged. "They are wherever they are. Probably off on their own, exploring the city."

  Ama nodded. "Not very reliable companions."

  "Not at all," she laughed. "Whenever we go to a city, the nights are our own. After the performance, of course." Tahira glanced at the gate guards. "Perhaps we should speak elsewhere?"

  "Of course. I have beer and food at my house."

  Tahira smiled. "Then let's go there." She offered her hand. "Lead on?"

  Ama took the black woman's cool hand in hers and began walking toward home.

  10

  The house was cool. Ama lit a lamp in the kitchen. The flame cast strange shadows as it licked up from the oil.

  "This is a very old house," Tahira said in her thick accent. Her green eyes seemed to glow in the lamplight.

  Ama smiled. "Older than you would believe. It's my mother's house."

  Tahira nodded. "I dream of someday having one."

  "Where are you from?"

  The black woman shrugged. "Far away. It's not a name you would recognize. And more importantly, it no longer exists."

  "Much like Akkad?"

  "What do Akkadians know of time," she snorted. "They were grains of sand in a storm. After Sargon, they were nothing more than bureaucrats. Even the Elamites managed to take Ur from beneath their noses."

  "Very true," Ama said. "My mother told me the invasion left the city in ruins and in flames." She looked around the house and then back at Tahira. "But this house has been here since before the Elamites dared leave their plateau."

  "Your mother spoke of the sack?"

  A blush rose on Ama's face. "Well, she wasn't there, of course."

  Tahira's smile was demur. "Of course. She would have to have been hundreds of years old."

  "Yes. If you don't have your own home, where do you live?"

  "Around. We travel between the city states, performing. Sometimes we find people in the desert. They can't pay coin, but they always share their food."

  "And that's enough?"

  Tahira shrugged. "It is what it is."

  "The desert is harsh."

  "Yes, but we make do." Tahira stepped forward and took Ama's hand in hers. Her fingers massaged the smooth skin. "You called me beautiful," the woman breathed.

  "You are."

  "As are you." Tahira leaned in and kissed Ama on the lips.

  Ama breathed in her scent and felt the beast stir. She slowly embraced the dark woman and opened her mouth. The woman's tongue scoured against hers and the two sighed together.

  Light nails tickled her neck and then flowed down to follow the curve of her breasts. Ama sighed.

  "Beautiful," Tahira whispered. She unwrapped Ama's shawl, exposing her naked chest. She bent down and licked the tip of Ama's erect nipple.

  She moaned as the sandpapery tongue flicked across the sensitive flesh. The beast had awakened, tempted by the promise of pleasure. Ama undid the simple knot holding together Tahira's robe. The cloth fell to the packed dirt floor.

  Ama led the woman to her pallet and laid her down. With one hand, she stroked Tahira's chest. The other explored her bare mons, fingers caressing with slow strokes.

  Tahira's eyes fluttered. In the shadows, her eyes danced with sparks of emerald fire. Ama felt the beast inside breathing, desperate to feed. Fingers slick with Tahira's juices, Ama penetrated her.

  The woman uttered a feline screech. Ama winced as sharp nails dug into her back. As she stroked her finger slowly in and out, her palm bristled. Ama stared down into Tahira's ecstasy filled face. Hair was growing on her face, chest, and arms. She felt fur beneath her fingers as Tahira continued making the inhuman sounds.

  Ama tried to pull back, but the vulva slammed shut on her finger. "What--"

  Tahira's eyes elongated and the pupils transformed into diamonds. She opened her mouth displaying sharp fangs. The creature thrust its head forward and bit into Ama's shoulder.

  Ama screamed with pain. Her eyes flashed crimson and then her body began to change. Flesh melted into stone, her mouth turning triangular. The cat-thing released her finger and fell supine on the bed. Ama growled and slashed a talon through its shoulder, pinning it to the pallet. Ama leaned in as tears of pain slipped from its eyes.

  "What are you?" she growled.

  The cat hissed in response. It slashed with one of its claws. The nails glanced off Ama's stony flesh.

  Ama raised her free hand and punctured the other shoulder. The cat yowled.

  "What are you?" she asked again.

  The thing kicked both its legs into Ama's chest. She flew off and rolled into the hard dirt. With a screech, Tahira leapt from the pallet and crashed through the door into the street beyond.

  Ama watched it go.

  11

  "You have to learn control," Hela told her.

  They stood naked upon the banks of the river. The moon hung bright in the sky and dark clouds covered the far horizon. She felt exposed without her shawl, but didn't dare say so--Hela would give her another lecture.

  "Your body, daughter," Hela touched her shoulder, "is a weapon. A trap. A gift. Garaaga made us special. But that doesn't mean we ar
e without our flaws and weaknesses." As Ama watched, her mother's index finger elongated and turned the color of ash. A sharp talon slipped free from its end. "But first, you must learn your strengths."

  "How did you--"

  "Focus, little one. You have to become comfortable with yourself. Know every part of your body." Hela leaned forward, her breath smelling of figs. "And that includes your sex."

  Ama blushed. "I don't understand."

  Hela sighed. "Your mind, daughter. Your mind controls the body. In time, you will learn to control your body without even thinking. Some skills will become part of your nature. When you're feeding, fighting, or sleeping, your mind will know what to do, and therefore your body will too."

  Ama watched her mother's eyes turn from their normal blue to the color of burning coals. "You can warn your enemy," she said in an inhuman voice, "or you can surprise them." Hela's face elongated into a sharp toothed, open maw.

  Ama took a step back. "Momma, I--"

  "Don't call me that!" the thing growled. "Never call me that."

  The girl swallowed. "Hela, you're scaring me."

  Her body became the beast and leaned toward her. Its heavy feet left deep footprints in the sandy bank. "You shouldn't be scared of what you are, little one."

  Hela's body grew smaller, stone turning back into flesh, claws receding. She smiled at her daughter, but her eyes were still glowing embers. "Never be afraid of what you are. Now," Hela said. "Change."

  "I don't--"

  Ama stumbled from the slap across her face. Her mother smiled.

  "Change, daughter."

  Ama sniffed back a tear and closed her eyes. The pain in her cheek was blazing hot.

  "I said CHANGE!"

  A hammer blow slammed into the side of her head. Ama fell to the ground with a surprised scream. Tears streamed from her eyes and her vision was blurred.

  Her mother stood above her, an ashen, taloned hand hovering in the air. Hela's eyes sparked. "I'm going to use this next," she caressed a razor sharp talon. "There won't be another chance."