Shadows of Fear -- Part 26
by Martin H Slusser

His was an ancient power, yet it was useless. Aye, totally devoid of power, without direct intervention of those who wear the envelope of flesh. Mohawk:Buu watched his slaves, human and spirit. A thin smile grew on the pale, coldly handsome face. He raised his hands and demanded his slaves stop Benny from calling on power. An old friend and compatriot was coming. Even now a telephone was being dialed. A servant was answering, the caller asking to speak to his friend.

“Come woman. Come and serve me, though thou knowest not. Take mine prey. And so shall he die, trying to escape thee, fool. Then -” He bared perfect teeth in an awful smile, whispering, “Then shall I take his corpse and rule thee.” The darkened-sun’s white-blond head went back in a roar of laughter.

A foot rammed Benny’s temple. Now barely conscious, Benny felt little of the punishment.

“Ga:i:io:wi:da -” The word gasp in his throat, “Sacred:Creator-God.”

Two Swords roared. The guardian heaved out of the pile smashing imps away. Other Guardians rushed to help. Imps and demons screamed in terror. Clawing over one another they fled the tavern.

Spent, panting for air, the men dragged him out. Benny swung limp in their hands. They took him to the lot and dumped him there.

The Corpse leaned over Benny and spat a mouthful of blood in his face.

Chest heaving for air, he said, “I ever see you in my place again, kid, I ain’t going to stop . . . till you are fish-bait on the bottom of Lake Wilkes-Barre. Got it?” Ramming the toe of his shoe into Benny’s ribs the man stumbled hard against his partners.

Ribs cracked. Waves of nausea rolling over him, Benny groaned,.

The bouncer leered, kicked Benny’s legs apart and hammered the point of his shoe in Benny’s crotch. Benny felt a jolt, one among many. The bouncer staggered away, laughing and joking about ‘breeds and kids.

“Money in the bank.

Half dead, bleeding from a mass of cuts and bruises, Benny curled into a ball and hugged his damaged body until enough of the pain and reeling nausea left for him to move.

Arm clutched around cracked ribs, he closed his eyes. This wasn’t how a man was supposed to be. Men don’t give up. God, but to just lay here and die.

Get up, or you’re no grandson of mine.

“Grampa Waya?” Benny tried to raise his head to look for the old man. Then remembered Grampa died years ago. Leda and the skean-dubh of her clan. Grampa’s blood pouring over him. Grampa bleeding to death, still trying to protect Benny, to teach him power. The old man breathed his spirit into Benny. And Benny suffered with a noisy old-fart conscience ever since.

“Lemme ‘lone, old man.” It persisted, the buzzing growing harsh, annoying.

“All right. Shut it, already.”

A low chortle whispered. The warm feeling of grandfatherly pride made him glow.

Sinking his teeth hard into his lower lip to keep from blackening out, he forced the pain to gather there. It took all his will. All of the stuff Grampa Waya had taught him about war and warrior heroes. Benny clamped down hard, bit into the pain,. He locked it away into that place where all nightmares are born.

Powerless to do more, Benny dragged his body over the rough, dusty parking area. Every stumble of his hands or knees brought a fresh welter of blackness before his eyes, a new agony to his body.

He fell, rose, fell again, continued doggedly on, clamping down hard on each fresh ache. He dropped into the dirt, black dust spurting with each gasp.

Starting again his slow crawl, his face hung low, nearly in the dirt. People drove around Benny, tittering behind their hands, blowing horns at him, demanding he move off the lane so they could get by.

Cars crowded past, barely missing him.

He is mine. In all his faded splendor, the Mohawk:Buu rose up before them, skin pale and glowing, robes that shimmered with a light all their own. His eyes were pure gold, and held less warmth. My slave, Ryan, comes. Project Janissary will give me that which you would not. It is but that which old man Grey lost of mine. The disdain on the too perfect face grew with Two Swords cold amusement.

With a hiss of scorn for the futility of the massive Warrior-Guardian’s love, the Owl drifted away on mocking laughter. Mine, Guardian. I claim mein prey.

After what seemed to be hours of trying to pull himself through the lot, he came to where he had left the Native American Built.

Benny sagged in the dirt, trying to gather the ambition and courage to make a try for the saddle. Eyes nearly swollen shut, he watched the late comers and those leaving early as they walked by, ignoring him as if he didn’t exist.

Most knew him from pictures reporters took after the raid on the Manse and were afraid to cross Ryan.

He had to get the kid out of here. Two Swords groaned a rumble and rapped his fist on his forehead. Worried voices snarled around him. The spirit-world, the real world, was arming for a coming battle. He knew he should have ripped out the gas tank. Something, anything to keep the little jerk out of Wilkes-Barre and back where he was safe, in the adohi:yi, the Forest of the God.

Two-Swords leaned over Benny, whispering, Ryan.

Benny shuddered.

The name whispered through a daze of semi-consciousness. It elicited a terror in people normally reserved for ghouls and things that go bump in the night. Only a few miles away. Why had he been so stupid to come down from the hills where he was safe? Why? Benny let the tears of frustration and anguish wash down his face, making small, insignificant puffs on the coal dust beneath his cheek. How had he been such a freekin stupe’ to think that pig really wanted him?

Why, Angie? Why’d you do it? I’d a done anything for you, to make you happy.

His fist balled, slapped into the packed dirt.

Grabbing at jutting rocks, Benny managed crawled out of the lane of traffic. With the voice of Grampa Waya egging him on, Benny clawed his way to the side of the motorcycle.

He lay there for an eternity of blistering pain. Red and black spots grew, flashed. He shuddered in the dirt. People either laughed or hurried past. It was the last thing he saw.

A massive, glowering figure patted Benny’s shoulder and murmured encouragement in a voice rough with emotion.

The hours passed in slow torment for the Warrior-Guardian. Two Swords crouched over his charge, his eyes flashing an orange/red at any unclean thing that dared to come near.

Shivering with cold and chilled by the dew, Benny roused a little. A few stars shown through a murky sky. Dawn wasn’t far off.

Two-Swords whispered, It’s a freekin miracle old man Ryan hain’t come by now.

 Had he, Benny would at least have wakened in some comfort. If you didn’t count the shackles. And Ryan’s limp-rope’s-end attempting to perpetrate the act of sodomy on him.

He snorted a weak laugh. Ryan was the least of his problems.

“Mom,” he whispered and tried to grin. Mom would take her crack at him when he got home. It would, in its own way, be less pleasant than what the three men and the slut had done. At least he stood a chance against the sassenatsi’i, outsiders. But Mom could be a royal bitch. He did chuckle at that. Carl always did say Benny was a son of a bitch.

Ryan . . . Got to get going. If he had Benny, Ryan would see to it Mom and Carl disappeared. It was the only way the old man, himself, would survive before either of the two found him. Carl would break the old man like a dry twig and not even sweat from the effort. And Mom would suffer guilt the rest of her life.

Benny raised a trembling hand. It fell onto the bumper of a powder blue three-wheel Trail car. He gasp at the flare of pain. In stiff, slow jerks Benny pulled himself up the sloping hood. Blackened dirt-filled scabs broke. The cleansing blood flowed, smearing the robin’s egg color a royal purple.

Staggering up, he fell his back against the car.

Breath coming in ragged gasps, Benny waited until the glare of pain eased. He reverently hoped the owners of the car wouldn’t leave the tavern until he was done with it. He thought for a moment of breaking in and hot wiring the vehicle, then squelched the idea. Life was too dammed short to be spending it in jail, fighting scared-horny wolves. Not that Cindy would leave him there. Compared to what that bim wanted even prison looked like paradise.

Benny rolled over and launched himself in the general direction of the patiently waiting motorcycle.

He caught the saddle and sagged over it. Drunken giggles came from the owners of the Trail as they staggered out of the tavern.

“Hey, look what the whore did to my car.” Swaying and muttering threats, the owner advanced on Benny.

From his knees, Benny looked up at him, stolid and unyielding even in defeat. Deep in Benny, he could hear the distant whisper of a growl. The wolf-spirit raised his black muzzle at a star-lit sky and cried for war.

            Kill.

Recognizing something stronger than the old Benny, the man ducked his head. “Guess it’ll wash.” He unlocked the passenger door for the woman and crawled in.

Not once had anyone bothered to ask Benny if he needed help. Had they, he would have spit at them. No-body gives nothing for nothing and dammed little for a dollar. He knew that like he knew that evil existed.

“Jersey jerks.” Benny half laughed, wheezing at the frightened man and his snapping girl friend. The entire focus of his world was drawn down to mounting his ride. Nothing more. It was the all of his all, and Benny clenched his jaws, demanding his body obey one more time.

Belly down on the saddle, his hands shook as they sought the bars. His jaws ground together. Benny tried to force his leg go up, over the saddle. It refused to budge more than a few inches.

Trying harder, he nearly knocked over the motorcycle. Benny snarled and tried again.

The motorcycle shuddered and grumbled.

Two Swords scolded the Uohali for its impatience. He rolled his eyes at the stars, and threw Benny’s leg over the saddle. The kid gagged on pain. Two Swords winced.

Pushing himself more or less upright, Benny crouched in the saddle. Strength flowed from the old Night Sun and into Benny. He grinned softly and gave the battered tank an unsteady pat. She had been his dad’s.

“Congratulate me,” he mumbled through swollen lips. “I made a world class ass out o’ myself tonight.”

Two Swords drawled, “No foolin’.” A worried second-degree guardian caught his eye. He nodded in and tried to get Benny to hurry. Ryan was coming. Someone was making a call from the tavern.

Ryan is coming.

And the Mohawk:Buu laughed.

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