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Carl was dozing again. The aftertaste of burned plastic was a
minor annoyance that disturbed his rest.
A child shouted, then there was the crack of a hand on flesh, and
the girl started screaming. He was jerked out of sleep and running through the
door deeper into the warren of ruins. He stumbled. A scorching burn lifted him
from the floor to throw him into a pile of wood.
Carl cried out, foam running from his mouth. He bucked against the
pain, and a hoarse scream came from him.
The clothes. Hot. They
were ripped from his body, and Carl arched up to howl.
The girl’s screams were cut off by a slap.
The shon:gili’s head
jerked up. He breathed deeply at the smells of humanity. The smells of prey.
Carl shouted and was thrown into a pit.
The demon hissed. Carl stared up at it.
Art a fool, dog. Mocking
laughter drifted around Carl. The change.
All of thy body is changed. Everything set anew and young again when thee shift
form.
The shon:gili stilled.
The demon shouted and smashed its fists at the brain. The shon:gili crouched, whining and urine dribbled on the floor.
It obeys not. What hast thou
done, slave?
Carl straightened with a cool laugh. Nothing, creep.
Carl snapped his fingers. Let’s
go, Chicken. With a happy yip, the shon:gili
shot away. He ripped through a small copse of fruit trees and stilled, head low,
staring at several laughing men. The tiny family of the woman and children were
huddled away from the fire while the men were pawing through their few
belongings.
The shon:gili roared.
The men turned, firing at him. He tore through them ripping away arms and armor
and Safe Side clothing. They ran, and he pounced, bring one down to rip the spine
from the body. The man shrieked and died. The shon:gili
picked up the remains, his drool mixing with blood pouring over his jaws.
He glanced back to wink at the woman. She was beaten and bleeding,
her children no better, but they were armed.
“Sarge?” she whispered.
With small laugh, the shon:gili
disappeared into the night.
“Sarge?” the boy cried. “Don’t leave us.”
Mike slid into a phone booth in the police station. He stared at
the screen, frowning and his face drawn.
Taking a deep breath that did nothing to calm him, he pushed
credits into the slot before dialing the number of a neighbor in Myock.
Several minutes later he left the booth, his face dark, his eyes
bitter. Across the way, Creel was watching. The man was adjusting his suit, a
real suit now, not the one-piece he used to wear.
“Antone’s?” Creel said.
Mike gave a curt nod.
An hour later, Anna was seated in a well-lighted room. Potted
palms and blooming orchids hid the fact the room had no windows. Across from a
small, carved table was a smiling petite woman.
“One lump or two, dear?” Aloč Penn asked. She held silver
sugar tongs over a delicate bowel of cubes.
“None, thank you.”
Aloč poured tea into a tiny cup, setting it before Anna.
“Tell me, dear, why is your son so important?”
“He’s my son, ma’am,” Anna said, tensing and trying to
keep her voice pleasant. This was none other than Lord Penn’s mother. A word
in her ear went to Samuel Penn. This was the power behind the throne.
The petite woman nodded. “All sons are important to their
mothers. What I mean is, child, why are the United Nations police and spies from
several countries so interested in him?” She sipped at her tea and smiled over
the rim.
“Because he’s my son.”
For the first time, a little of the poise slipped from Aloč’s
face. She sat the cup on its saucer.
She recovered her composure, saying, “And why would that make
him different from my own dear boy?”
Anna smiled. She held the cup up and took her hand away. It
crashed to the table, spattering tea over them both and the white lace of the
doilies.
Anna snapped her fingers. The parts edged across the table to
rejoin. As the cup and saucer came together, the parts fused, the lines of
destruction disappearing.
“I . . . see,” Aloč said, staring at the cup. She reached for
it and hesitated, the hand hovering over it. “May I?”
Anna nodded. Aloč picked up the cup. The saucer came with it. The
woman stared. She sat the cup and saucer back on the table. Tea stains lay wet
and cold on the cloth under it.
“My son,” Anna said, “will be the father of the woman chosen
to be the first female katana–priest our people ever had. Under her, the
People will get back their lands and their heritage. She will come of age during
the Great Cleansing.”
Aloč gaped at Anna. She choked and lay a trembling hand over her
heart.
“My God. Armageddon.”
©2004 StoriesByEmail.com
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