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Benny frowned in his sleep. His dream was walking through a
deep forest. Shafts of sunlight filtered through arching branches to show the
tiny white blossoms of some plant. Mushrooms grew in the cool shade. A mouse
stuck its nose out of a hole in one trunk to wiggle its whiskers at him.
“Beat it, Mighty Mouse.”
The mouse snarled.
Smiling, Benny said, “Mine rat.”
The mouse growled and said, Beat you! No rat, a mouse! Rat evil. No rat allowed in Sacred Forest,
Grey Wolf Person.
Benny scowled. He opened his mouth. His jaws snapped shut.
“I'm arguing with a mouse.”
Mighty mouse am I!
“You're a–“
A screwy spirit. Shaking his head, Benny moved away.
He came to a quiet, still pool. Water ran down from a forest
of dark moss on the ancient boles of the trees to keep it filled.
Squatted down, he dipped a hand to drink. A salmon flashed,
the tail slapping the hand. Water showered over nodding ferns. Frowning, Benny
tried again. The fish leaped from the water, knocking him back, into the ferns.
“Hey,” Benny said, scowling at the pool.
Wolf's Child, the
fish said, You take and do not pray first
to ask. All is given you. Breath, sight, emotions, life itself. Take always, and
no thanks give you for the blessings of Creator. Thief!
Jumping to his feet, Benny dusted damp earth from the seat of
his jeans.
“Maybe I ain't thirsty, anyway.”
A robin sang on a twig.
He steals; he steals
from Creator.
Scowling at the bird, Benny stalked away. He came to a trail
and made a wary glance at the surrounding forest. Game trails attracted
predators.
A cool chill crept up his spine. Benny shook it away. This
was the quiet place, the Forest of the Sun; not that world of shadows called
Earth.
He looked around and almost smiled. Heaven.
The demon relaxed. It was frowning over something, and Carl
felt its anger and the punishing agony of the shon:gili. Benny's face floated for a brief instant in the
demon's thoughts then was gone.
Using all his might, Carl shouted in the animal's mind. Booby-traps.
The pain ceased, and the demon muttered to itself.
How ken ye? Know ye not
this place. ‘Tis not in the soul, and little wit have ye for lying. It
forced the clenched eyes to open, and the shon:gili
to scan the lane.
Then it turned the animal into the woods along the road. They
began to run till the shon:gili caught
the sound of the limousine. He slowed. There was a hiss, and he leaped to one
side, smashing to the bole of an oak. The ground opened up, wires slashing
through the air where he had stood.
Booby trap, Carl
said, and the shon:gili's muzzle
twisted in a wry contempt. The pit dissolved from around him. The demon snarled
and shattered the dark lust for hot blood with screams of hate in a language
Carl didn't know, yet knew. The shon:gili's
ugly jaws twisted in a grin at the bitter language.
The demon snarled. Go
thee, slave.
The shon:gili raced
around the trap and caught the scent of aging grease. He stopped. His spirit
filled the entire being of the shon:gili.
Carl blinked. Careful to hold his thoughts till later, he trembled at the vast
power the animal radiated.
Flexing the long paw-hands, Carl felt spring-steel muscle and
bones harder than iron.
Do thee, the demon
shrieked.
The head dipped in a slow nod. Carl made it hunt for a stick.
It found a piece of moss-covered cement block, then the broken and crushed
remains of a building. Black willow trees and alders grew from the boggy cellar.
The paws fumbling, the shon:gili threw
the cement at the source of the smell. A trapdoor dropped. Steel blades flashed
and snapped up around the trapdoor.
With a burst of speed, the shon:gili
shot over the place. A laser hissed, and the hair on one side crisped in a cloud
of smoke and reek like branding. The shon:gili
snarled. He dropped to the ground and burst through the brush onto a wide circle
of driveway. Between a Tudor-style mansion and the shon:gili was a low brick wall surrounding a bed of flowers and a
fountain. The shon:gili leaped it. A
guard ran from around the house with a short barrel automatic shotgun that
belched white smoke and balls of burning lead. The shon:gili
closed, and the jaws ripped away an arm.
Blood spurting from the stump of his shoulder; the man
shrieked, beating at the animal. A shrill scream rose up, over even the
guard's anguish. Grinning around the arm, the shon:gili
darted up a broad sweep of stairs and into the house, knocking a maid out of his
way.
The passenger wailed, and the stench of feces came as the shon:gili
rushed at him. A heavyset man tackled the shon:gili.
Carl caught the sight of a familiar face, and the jaws only clashed over the man
instead of killing him. An arm clamed around the heavy throat and bent back the
head.
In a rasping mutter, Carl said, “Ahn-ree. Less kh-go. Is-s
me, Car-al.”
The man gaped. The hold relaxed just enough the shon:gili
burst from Henri and pounced on the slender man, driving him into the floor.
“Sssay, harrisssohn. R'member me? From tha manse.”
Harrison, part owner of the whore house in Fern Ridge. The
man who supplied the slaves that acted as a cover for the Janissary Project and
Cindy VanTur. This one, raping and killing the people. Destroying what little
sanity remained in Carl, and very nearly killing Benny, as well. For Benny,
Carl/shon:gili grinned and drooled in
anticipation of the judge's screams. Harrison fainted.
Taking him by the coat, Carl shoved into a room
off the foyer. One hind leg kicked the door shut. He crawled up on a black
leather couch, settling in for a few hours of rest and relaxation and quick
snack.
©2004 StoriesByEmail.com
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