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For both the shon:gili
and the dog, minutes past in slow torment. The dog was a big mixed breed
weighing more than one hundred pounds. A broad leather collar studded with black
spikes was his only adornment. He was brown with darker splotches across a
smooth coat.
Small, clipped ears twitched and sought out the source of
noise, a low panting. In the abandoned factories and warehouses of Washington
Crossing the hunting was poor these days. The human’s population was once
thick all through here, but no longer. A few moldering skeletons were all that
remained. Cottontails and rats were common. Deer, turkeys, snakes. All were
thick as the leaves blowing through the new forest. Young trees, not the ancient
boles of an untouched forest, feed the animals. But not at night. Not when
humans hunted.
In the distance a bull roared. Not allowed to take cattle,
even the viscous wild ones, he ignored it.
A low whistle sounded. Eyes bright, seeking, he stepped back
and whined but didn’t go to greet the man.
“Hey, boy,” the man whispered. He came up to squat by the
dog, stroking the broad head. “What you findin’?”
The voice was pleasant. It was filled with youth and a love
for the dog. The shon:gili saw
something in the man’s hand. Witness to what was happening but helpless to
protest, the Carl part of the shon:gili
recognized it as a rough-made bow. The demon echoed: Crossbow.
"A rabbit?”
The hunter started forward, but the dog thrust himself between
the shon:gili and the man.
“Here, boy. Behave, you. You wanna eat don’t ya? Me, too.
Ma and Dad are hungry.”
He tried to shove the dog out of the way. The dog growled, and
the man stilled. A faint reek of alarm, but not fear, came from the man. The
growl died to a worried whine. In his hands, the man tightened his grip on the
crossbow.
“Raider?”
The low rumble started again in the dog’s broad chest. The
animal was staring directly at where the shon:gili
lay. The man followed the point and squinted. Slowly, he raised to his feet with
the crossbow pointing at the shadows.
“Buddy, you best get on out o’ here. This is our turf.”
The shon:gili
gathered himself for a strike.
The dog yelped.
“Back,” the man snapped. “Lay off. Buddy,” he said,
“Come out slow and easy and beat it.”
Lips drawn back, the shon:gili
rasped a growl, and the dog shuddered. Frowning, the man glanced at the dog.
"A dog?”
Inching on his belly, the dog crept between the shon:gili
and the man.
Claws pressed through a decade’s worth of rotten leaves,
the shon:gili tensed. He pounced, and
the dog screamed, smashing into him. Pain lanced through the shon:gili’s neck as fangs tore through the thick fur and hide. He
snarled, twisting around and crushing the dog’s shoulder in his jaws. The dog
screamed, and the shon:gili tore the
head in half, swallowed, and let it fall away. A searing pain flashed through
his side.
Throwing himself away from the trembling carcass, the shon:gili
snapped at the feather vanes of a crossbow bolt. He ripped it from his side and
spat it out. The pit shuddered.
Jerking his head up, Carl snarled a grin. He leaped, caught
at the edge of the hole and clambered out to seethe along the shon:gili’s nerves. His
nerves.
The demon made the shon:gili
rasp a low growl. Carl rolled into a ball and covered all but his eyes.
Cold yellow eyes surveyed the man. The hunter was shaking,
angry but silent as he used a stick to pull the wire back and cock the crossbow.
He slapped a bolt in and aimed it at the shon:gili.
In a flash of black pain the wound in the shon:gili’s side seethed shut. The bleeding from the tear in his
neck stopped and closed, and the shon:gili
lowered himself for a leap at the man.
The crossbow snapped, a sharp note in the still night. The shon:gili
ducked and rushed forward, bowling the man over and spinning to attack. Carl
screamed and threw the shon:gili away
from the man. The demon shrieked. Pain tore at Carl’s soul, and the shon:gili
screamed in echo.
Before the demon could stop it, the shon:gili grabbed the dog and raced into the night.
His face shadowed by the hood of the robe, Tommy Drobnicki
stepped out behind the man. The hunter was on his knees and staring in the
direction the shon:gili had fled.
Tommy raised a long black knife, the skean dubh of the Sandy Valley coven, and
thrust it into the hunter’s back.
The man shuddered, and the eye on the haft of the knife
opened. With a greedy sucking noise, the demonic blade fed on the hunter’s
life, stealing it away till the body slumped forward.
Tommy jerked the knife free. He kicked the body over and bent
down to cut into the chest. Pushing a hand in, he found the heart, withered and
black, but still fluttering with a faint beat, and tore it free.
He raised it high, holding it out to the moon and intoned in
a soft voice the prayers.
The owl floated down and snatched it from the upraised hand.
Tommy bowed.
Careful not to let the blade touch him, he cleaned it on the
hunter’s clothing and wrapped it in a silk-fine leather made of human skin. It
slid back in the pocket of his sleeve.
Taking a knife from a sheath on his hip, Tommy hacked open
the worn clothes of the hunter. To his surprise, he found the hunter was not a
man, but a woman. In swift strokes he skinned her.
Pulling the raw legs apart, Tommy positioned himself between
them.
“I do this for you,” he said, and shrieked a laugh.
The owl dropped to a tree to watch as Tommy made
another offering.
©2004 StoriesByEmail.com
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