A grim mask covered the old man’s face. Warrior eyes cold, hard, and strong stared back. “We will kill this beast.” He took a deep breath, and his spine stiffened, the old man straightened up, and said, “but this time, he isn’t facing a peasant boy. I’ve learned a few things, acquired a few friends. I will ride him down.”
Princess Sarah looked at the old man and whispered, “As always, my love, as always.” Her body shook, and little Sarah was back. “We really like you Mr. Hank. I am not afraid anymore. The princess keeps me brave. So, come on! Let’s go get Grandpa!”
Chapter Ten
24 hours earlier
The Reverend Laden Long laughed. Like a snake shedding its skin, he discarded his coat and threw it across the threadbare couch that sat in the dusty living room of the old house. He had brought his daughter with him. She was in the basement. She knew what she was required do but was grieving the thought of doing of it. Laden Long was a Satanist from a long line of them. His family had been sacrificing their first born for centuries. Every time they did, prosperity came to the remaining family.
He had conveniently forgotten, that for some strange reason, it didn’t last long, and ultimately a new sacrifice had to be made to bring the family back out of the poverty and debilitating diseases that inevitably caught up to them. Long had taken the life of his first born. He had not even winced when the knife struck, and the fire consumed the boy. He had been there when the new family line had been established, the insurance that prosperity stayed near. He had told his daughter repeatedly what must happen, what had always happened, and why it needed to happen.
She remembered her brother but also loved the money his blood bought. She had been conditioned from birth to do what was about to be done. The Reverend Long was embarrassed by her weakness now, but also knew her emotional pain was part of the sacrifice. His heart was darkened. It had to be because of the mockery he made every Sunday of another sacrifice.
There was nothing left of the man except hunger and arrogance. Long’s encounter with the old man had shaken him, but now, after tonight, he knew that he would be unstoppable. And the old man and that brash little girl would make another wonderful payment that would unstop the flow of riches that would pour out on him and those who served him.
What the dark reverend didn’t know was that a new player was in town, one with an old quest and ancient vengeance. It was a deeper evil than Long’s family had ever known, a primordial one, vested not with avarice, but with power and the insatiable need to control. That evil was behind the veil, held in check, waiting for the blood of an innocent to flow and unleash him. Gradually, through the ages, he had been using the Long family, preparing for this night. Year after year, sacrifice after sacrifice, the patient dragon had waited. It had been careful to ensure that Long’s family would be equipped to handle the change, that a body, able to carry the anointing, would be prepared.
Reverend Laden Long did not know that death was coming for him too. He did not know that his soul was about to reap the earnings of his family’s crimes. The dragon was about to consume and replace him. The time had come. The consummation and possession had been insidiously moving forward all Long’s life. Little by little, Long had given up his humanity. Now, the last vestige would be torn from him by an evil of his own making. The sacrifice of Thomas would open a gate by which one would leave and another enter. The Reverend Laden Long laughed. Had he been able to peer behind the invisible curtain of the spirit world, he would not have been so joyous, for there, another serpent smiled, and it laughed too.
Long reached into the back of his clothes closet to find the hidden door that lead deeper into the closet. He pulled out a robe: ancient, deep red, blood red actually to better hide the stains, and streaks of embroidered gold thread representing the reward of avarice. The robe, like the man who wore it, was a mockery, a wicked attempt to mimic, to counterfeit a glory it could not manifest. For centuries the members of Long’s family, and others like them, had worn such robes. He knew his daughter would also be wearing one.
Long placed the robe on his bed, stepped into the bathroom, and laid aside the rest of his clothes. As he stepped into the shower, he noticed his skin condition had worsened. The doctor labeled the scaly rash Ichthyosis Vulgaris, an inherited skin condition that occurs when the skin doesn’t shed its dead skin cells causing dry, blotchy patches on the surface of his skin. It was also known as “fish scale disease” because the dead skin accumulated in a pattern similar to fish scales, or as he liked to think in his case, dragon scales. If he had known what he really had, he would have ripped the skin off his own flesh with his finger nails, but he didn’t know, and after his hot, soothing shower, he donned the wicked cloak and proceeded down the stairs to the basement.
***
Thomas stood shivering, naked, and tied to a large wooden stake cemented deep into the basement floor. His mother had insisted he drink some nasty tasting hot tea. It didn’t taste anything like the rich coco he drank at the library, but she was his mother, and he had gotten used to her stringent ways and awful tasting concoctions. He was also extremely aware, from painful experience with her, and even worse his grandfather’s strap, that if he did not obey instantly, he would regret it for a long time.
His mother had bought many new bed sheets over the years because blood stains didn’t come out well. So, Thomas stood rigid, although drugged, as people began to gather in the large basement. At first his foggy brain was ashamed that so many people could see his nakedness, but the thought soon left, pushed back by a growing sense of fear. Even in his bewildered state, Fear’s pointed barbs had begun to prick him. As Thomas stood there, he tried to focus his eyes. It was hard but, he kept trying, and began to see that the people all gathered around him were folks he knew. People from town, members of the church he attended, a local police officer, the animal control lady, his mom, and grandfather.
As Thomas continued to stare through his drugged state, he also noticed a face he had never seen before. It belonged to a young man who wasn’t dressed like the others. Everyone else had on red robes, but not this young man. He just wore jeans and a long sleeve denim shirt. As Thomas stared at the young man, he began to hear the singing of the people in the room. It was really more like saying the same thing over and over again, softly. He knew it wasn’t regular singing because there was no music. They just kept repeating and repeating the same words.
Thomas saw everyone begin to move slowly around the pole where his mother had tied him. She had promised that if he stood very straight and still that he would not have to stay there long this time. Sometimes, she had tied him to the pole and left him for hours, once overnight, but this time, she promised that it would not take long. He wished he felt better and could see more clearly. He wanted to listen to the singing but couldn’t really hear it very well. His confused mind realized it must have been the hot tea his mother made him drink. Sometimes, when she made him drink it, it caused him to get foggy-headed, and then, in the mornings, after he woke up, he would have the worst headache.
His mom had promised him, as she tied the familiar ropes around his slender frame, that this would be the last time he had to do this. She looked troubled, and when he asked her if she was ok, she said she was. He didn’t believe her though and tried to make her feel better by telling her that, in the morning, he would fix her breakfast. It was just him bringing her a bowl of cereal and orange juice to her bed because he was too young to be allowed to cook. She looked at him funny and her eyes got all teary, then she covered her face and ran up the stairs. Thomas had searched his heart to see what he could have possibly said to hurt her feelings but couldn’t think of what it could be. As this last thought slipped away from his drugged mind, Thomas saw the young man move closer to him. He liked the man. He had a kind face and looked strong. His hands were calloused like Mr. Hank’s at the library. The young man knelt down and spoke to Thomas.
“You didn’t say anything wrong, Thomas. You just reminded you
r mother of what was right.”
“Then why did she start to cry and run away from me?” Thomas asked puzzled.
“You reminded her of her big brother, Thomas, and how much she misses him.”
“Oh.” Then Thomas looked around and noticed the singing had stopped, and the people had quit moving in a circle. They just stood as still as statues. It was like a movie he saw once where everyone was turned to stone until the hero came and freed them.
“Why did they stop?” Thomas asked.
“They stopped because they can’t go where you’re going. I am taking you on a beautiful trip.”
“I probably need to ask my mom first,” Thomas replied dutifully.
The young man stood up and tussled Thomas’ hair. “I will see to that, and we don’t have to be gone any longer than you want to be.”
As the young man stood, Thomas realized his ropes had fallen to the floor, and he was no longer naked, but dressed in play-clothes so bright they sparkled. He smiled, looked up at the young man, and said, “Ok. But I don’t want to be gone so long mom worries about me.”
The young man sighed, took Thomas by the hand, and pointed to a beautiful door that had opened in the dark basement. Thomas looked through the open door and said, “Wow, look at that!” then, hand in hand, walked through the door with the kind young man.
***
As the mutilated body of the little boy sagged over the ropes that bound him to the sacrificial pole, his grandfather laughed and the people in the room celebrated with him. Reverend Long stopped celebrating, however, when the darkness behind the still warm body of his grandson began to deepen. Long watched, mouth agape, as a scaly claw pushed through the darkness like a shark’s fin breaking through ocean waves. The first claw was followed by another, and then the huge head of a horrible dragon roared into the room. Reverend Long’s dark revelry quickly turned to terror as the laughter died in his throat. He tried to scream, but only a hoarse half-human cry broke out. Long wrapped his fingers around the stair balustrades as his feet flew off the ground. Hot sucking flames encircled his legs drawing him down, his skin blistered as his clothes burned away. His fingernails broke loose leaving a bloody trail as he was pulled along the fragile stair rails. With a loud crack, the wood broke and his tormented wails scraped the walls of his throat.
Time stopped and for an instant the screams were silenced. The huge serpent that had used an innocent’s blood to break its ancient chains smiled at the burned and broken body of the counterfeit clergy. Then, with one razor like claw, it sliced him from top to bottom, grabbed his writhing soul, threw it into the flaming pit, and took its place. As the creature pushed into the remains of the clergy, the body began to spasm, to change, to heal. In a moment, it was completely whole. The companions of the reverend who had participated in the sacrifice were standing wide eyed and trembling. Their mouths opened, but nothing resembling words came out. The new reverend smiled, and then, with a hungry leap, was upon them.
What Laden Long never knew, because no one was available to tell him, is that when you conjure dragons or demons, a vacuum is created. If something comes out, something else has to descend. A vacuum has to be filled. If the one sacrificed is pure, then, although his blood is powerful enough to open the gate, his soul cannot descend into the darkness, so someone else must take his place, usually the most wicked available, and in this case, that was Laden Long.
Chapter Eleven
As the old man and the library’s reigning scamp turned to leave, the door opened, and the fire marshal walked in.
“Grampa!” Sarah yelled, ran toward him, and leapt into his big arms.
“Hey, Tootle-butt. What’s the deal? It’s not like you haven’t seen me in years. I got held up. Seems there was a terrible traffic accident down the road.” The fire marshal looked at the old man and mouthed we need to talk behind Sarah’s back who hadn’t let go of his neck long enough to let her grandpa breathe.
The librarian, who saw the fire marshal’s silent request, looked at Sarah and said, “Sarah, I have something to show you. Come with me while your grandpa and my dad talk for a minute.”
As the two walked into an adjoining room, the fire marshal leaned into the old man and in a quiet voice said, “Hank, the accident I just mentioned involved Reverend Laden Long’s daughter and grandson. Apparently, they wrapped their car around a tree causing the vehicle to explode. Not sure how that could have happened. In real life, automobiles are not supposed to do that. I’m going to have to investigate as soon as the flames are out and the bodies removed.”
The old man gasped. “You’re talking about Thomas and his mother, aren’t you?”
“Yes, and I don’t know how to tell Sarah. I am pretty sure she is going to take it hard.”
The old man stared back at his new friend and sighed. “Kenneth, she already knows.”
The fire marshal’s eyes widened. “I am not surprised. She senses things like this all the time. What did she say to you about it?”
“She told me that the dragon slew the boy and came through the door made by the sacrifice. Those weren’t her exact words, but they convey the meaning. I don’t think the accident killed Thomas. I am pretty sure it was only after he had been killed that it occurred. As to his mother, I have no idea, but the car accident is a cover up, of that I am sure.”
The fire marshal shook his head slowly then looked at the old man and said, “I suppose you’ve seen a lot of things like this since you used to work for a group that investigated them?”
“More than I ever wanted.”
About that time Sarah came back accompanied by a very disturbed librarian who said, “Sarah just looked at me and said, ‘Thomas and his mother are dead. Thomas went to Heaven, but his mom did not.’ After that, I thought maybe I should bring her back to you.”
Both the old man and the fire marshal knelt down to be on eye level with Sarah. Her grandfather spoke first, “Honey, you know about Thomas?”
“Yes sir,” she answered quietly, “I do. I saw it in a dream. The dragon came through the door after the bad people used Thomas to open it, but the young man fooled them. He took Thomas before they could hurt his heart, and then he unlocked the door so the real dragon could come through it and eat them. They were surprised about that,” she stated so innocently it was disturbing.
The old man snorted, “I bet they were! Got a little more than they bargained for, didn’t they?”
“Sarah, do you know where this happened?” the old man continued.
Sarah stared hard at the floor like she didn’t want to answer the question.
Both men saw it, and her grandfather asked first, “Sarah, why don’t you want to tell us where Thomas was hurt and the bad people eaten?” The old man shifted from his knees to sitting down and whispered, “What’s wrong, Honey?”
Sarah looked up, tears glistening in her eyes, and whispered, “Because if we go there, he is going to hurt us.” Then she leaned into the men and sobbed.
As the old man and the fire marshal held Sarah close, the old man heard a familiar voice, “Don’t you think it would be better if, instead of crawling into a dragon’s lair again, you forced it to come to you?”
The old man flinched, but quickly caught himself, regained his composure, and then thought back, I haven’t heard from you in a long time. Good to hear your voice. I would ask you where you’ve been, but I happen to know. And yes, by the way, I do think it would be better to confront the dragon in an arena of my own choosing than his. What do you have in mind, Speaker?
“Not now,” Speaker said, “You take Sarah home so the fire Marshall can examine the accident and be sure to tell him to look for sulphur residue.”
Humph. Yeah, I’m sure that will be there in abundance.
“Hank, you ok...? You kinda went blank on us there for a moment,” the fire marshal asked, concerned.
“Huh?! Yeah, I’m sorry, just had a major flashback. Sometimes old voices flare up and remind me I have been here befor
e,” the old man marveled at how the truth could deceive if worded just right, then he volunteered, “Would you like for me to take Sarah home so you can get to the scene?”
“I was hoping you would ask. Yes sir, if you don’t mind, and if you want to feed her, I am sure her grandmother would be grateful as well. Let me call Grace and let her know you are coming.”
“Sure. Absolutely,” the old man replied, thinking: Kenneth you are as shrewd as a serpent yourself. You trust me, but you are also guarding your granddaughter by ensuring that Grace knows we are in route. You’re a good grandparent!
“There is something I need to ask you Kenneth,” the old man added. “When you search the wreckage, will you look for sulphur residue? It will probably be obvious, but just in case it is not…well... I will be surprised if you don’t find it.”
The fire marshal stared back at the old man for a moment and then answered, “I was kinda expecting it myself. We need to talk some more when I get home.”
“Yeah, we probably should,” the old man replied. “There is so much going on here, and I have come to the conclusion the more you know the better you can be prepared.” Up to a point, he rationalized immediately afterwards.
When Kenneth called his wife to let her know that Hank would be bringing Sarah home, she insisted that Hank stay for lunch instead of bringing a greasy hamburger to “warp his guts,” as she phrased it. As the old man and Sarah headed toward her grandparents’ farm, the fire marshal left for the grizzly scene of the accident.
The old man’s truck stuttered into life, and as he looked over to the little girl strapped into his passenger seat, he realized he didn’t know who he was addressing now. Was it the six-year-old queen of story time or his ancient princess? Speaker who, above all beings, was able to read his mind, answered. “Both I think... There seems to be a merging, an integration occurring between the two personalities. They are both Sarah, the little Sarah, and the big Sarah. One has been hidden, lying dormant, and as a result, the other grew naturally like a normal child would. Now, they are merging. In the wisdom of modern day, you would liken it to a multiple-personality disorder in the process of being reattached or assimilated with their alters, and by that, I mean the different fractured personalities are being merged back into one.”
The Princess Who Forgot She Was Beautiful (The Harry Ferguson Chronicles Book 1) Page 10