Chương 23: Vol 1. One Thought Remained

Tahir could hear them before he saw them. Distant, soft, gruff feminine voices drifted through the narrow slit in the door like wind passing through brush. The cultists approached the shrine in a half-circle, humming an eerily beautiful ancient hymn to Seroth in perfect unison. They did not charge. Instead, they emerged from the trees one by one, their black hoods and pale muzzles appearing between the trunks until the little shrine was surrounded.

Two of them carried an altar with burning pyres, settling it down gently. Vessa stood in the middle, still slightly wounded, a displeased grimace plastered across her face. They had tracked the human and the boy by blood and scent, and now it was clear they had taken refuge in one of Seroth's monuments as a mockery of their faith; that would only make the sacrifice more bountiful. She approached the door, lifted her sword, then said,"Human! I know you are in there."

"Nobody's home!" Morton called back in a high-pitched voice.

"There clearly is."

"No," Morton replied, "come back later; I don't got no pants on." Vessa growled.

"Mock us if you dare; that is your prerogative. You will be the one standing before Seroth, answering for your wicked ways and your worship of the demonic." She tightened her grip around the hilt of her sword.

"But I do offer you one mercy: hand over the boy so that we may satisfy Seroth's hunger, and we shall let you wander the land once more."

"I'll tell you one thing, miss, I've got exactly one answer to that," Morton said. He blew a raspberry.

"Write that down."

"I am giving you one last chance, human," Vessa said, her voice now deeper and colder.

"Open this door, or we shall tear you limb from limb and make you suffer as the First Beloved suffered."

"I think it will be you who will be sufferin', miss."

"Very well," Vessa said evenly.

"I will pray that Seroth is kind to your soul." She lifted one paw and called forth one of her colleagues.

"Vulka! Tear down this door for me."

"Yes, sister," Vulka said, bowing. She took several steps back, shrugged, then lowered her shoulders and launched herself towards the shrine. It happened almost too quickly to comprehend. Her foot caught on a thin piece of wire stretched low across the beaten path. She pitched forwards with a startled snarl, her claws scraping the dirt as she attempted to catch her fall. At the same moment, the wire pulled taut with a snapping sound and began to push something forward. Vessa looked up.

A stone icon of Seroth, having been loosened from its ancient resting place above the entrance, lurched forward. It hung there for a heartbeat. Then it dropped. The impact shook the building. Vessa closed her eyes and bared her fangs as warm blood coated the fur of her face. When she opened them again, Vulka lay crumpled without a head like a child's doll, her tail twitching once before going still. The stone face of Seroth stared back at her, slick with fresh blood.

"Ma'am," Morton said from inside the shrine, "I reckon you got about five seconds to turn around before I start makin' this a religious affair of my own." Two of the other sisters growled and marched forward, beginning to tear down the door. Bam! A bullet punched through the wood, sending splinters flying. One of the sisters jerked backward, a large, dark hole opening in her chest, before she crumpled to the ground. The other sister snarled and threw herself against the door. Bang! Bang! Bang!

She repeatedly hit it with all the vigour she could muster. The weak and wearied hinges finally gave way, and the door burst inward. She took one step inside. Her foot caught on a wire. There was a sharp snapping sound, and the cultist was pressed sideways into the stone wall by a metal panel with a horrible crack. Her body dropped in a heap, her neck bent at a fatal angle. Morton stepped forward and began shooting. One by one, the cultists fell. The first dropped long before she got near him.

The second caught a round in the shoulder and backed into the wall, crying in pain until Morton shot her in the head and she fell dead. A third came close, sword raised high, only for Morton to fire again and send her collapsing across the dirt path. When one of the sisters got close enough, Morton could see the sheen of the sword. He twisted away from the blade, caught her by the collar, and drove her head-first into the wall. Bash! Bash! Bash! Another rushed him from the side.

He ducked beneath her sword by less than an inch and smashed the butt of his revolver across her temple, letting her fall backwards, then shot her directly in the head. He reloaded. Bam. Another sister fell. Bam. Another one. Another came at him with no weapons save for her exposed claws. Morton's aim was slightly off from the pain in his leg. He shot her in the leg, causing her to fall. Morton shot her through the head. He continued until only Vessa and the high priestess remained.

Morton sucked in a harsh breath as he squinted. His leg nearly gave beneath him. That was when Vessa moved. She lunged, fast enough that Morton barely saw her until she was already upon him. Morton turned at the last second. He staggered back, avoiding the blade by a hair, but his bad leg betrayed him. He hit the ground hard, the revolver flying from his hand. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. Morton reached for it.

Vessa's boot came down on his wrist. He grunted. She looked him square in the eye, a devilish little fang grin spreading across her blood-speckled face. Then she kicked the revolver hard. It slid across the ground, struck the edge of the altar, and vanished beneath the flames. Morton's eyes flicked towards his belt. His Glock. He still had rounds for it. Not as many as he would have liked. He had wasted far too many hunting hares, gotten too comfortable, too greedy with his dinners.

When he first got here, he had fifty. Now he had twenty rounds, maybe. Twenty.

"Shit," Morton mumbled. He was kicked across the face. His head snapped sideways. Before he could recover, her boot slammed down against his ribs—once, twice, thrice. Morton growled in intense pain; he felt his mouth filling with blood. A single tooth had been freed from its resting spot, yanked from its nervous wiring. Morton was still slowly inching one hand towards his belt.

"You seem to be a skilled marksman, human," Vessa said slyly.

"That repeater of yours was certainly impressive, but I am afraid it can never match physical prowess." Morton spat blood and his freed tooth onto the ground and gave a red-toothed grin.

"Miss," he rasped, "you ain't seen all my tricks yet." Vessa saw the Glock aimed at her and immediately began to pull away. Morton caught her by the ankle. She stumbled forward with a startled snarl, her balance breaking beneath her. Morton lunged, dragged her down, and tore through her guard before she could recover. The Glock clicked empty. Morton let it fall. Then he began to pummel her. Thud. Thud. Thud. She growled and raked her claws across his arms and face. Morton grunted but did not let go.

The two collapsed into a snarling tangle of fur, blood, and thrashing limbs, rolling across the dirt. Tahir stood against the far wall, his ears drooped and his tail tucked close in horror. The high priestess had entered through the ruined doorway. She had a slight limp in her left leg, but the broad, eerie grin across her visage did not falter. A long knife rested in one paw.

"Hello there, pretty boy," she cooed.

"Why do you not come with me? You shall be given to Seroth—and your burning flesh will appease him." Tahir attempted to press himself against the wall even harder. His breathing was heavy. His paws quivered. But his eyes remained defiant."'For love does not come by the sword,'" he said. The high priestess stopped.

"What?" the high priestess said softly, with her head cocked. Tahir swallowed hard."'For love does not come by the sword, as it strips the wielder of the Great Mother's mercy; I say to you truly: any sister who lays a finger against another will not receive eternal life.'" The high priestess's smile eroded.

"That is from the Atika Codex, is it not?" Tahir continued.

"One of the oldest collections of Seroth's wisdom." Her grip tightened around the knife.

"I do not know what you are saying, boy."

"You… do not follow Seroth," Tahir said. His voice was quivery, but he forced himself to continue.

"You follow whatever suits your leadership; whatever makes you feel more powerful. You promise salvation by the sacrificial offering of the meek, but it is the meek whom Seroth calls to be his followers." The priestess's muzzle twisted into a snarl.

"Seroth regards you with great disgust."

"You little whore," the high priestess said. She lunged forward.

"You do not even deserve to die upon the altar!" She pinned Tahir against the wall and raised the knife above his chest. Tahir gasped. His eyes darted wildly around the shrine. He saw an empty lantern hanging from an iron hook beside him. He ripped it free. As the priestess brought the knife down, Tahir swung. The lantern struck the side of her head, the glass shattering as he did so. The high priestess cried out and collapsed hard onto her fundament. Tahir ran.

He ran as fast as his small legs could carry him, darting through the doorway and out into the evening air. Behind him, Morton and Vessa were still wrestling. Morton had managed to lock one arm beneath her throat. Vessa clawed wildly at his face, carving fresh red lines across his already tender skin. She kicked, twisted, and thrashed to and fro, but Morton held on. Her movements slowly weakened. Her claws slowly slipped from his cheek. Her tail struck the ground once. Then again. Then it went still.

Morton kept his arm locked around her for just a moment longer, making sure he was certain, then let go. Vessa collapsed against the dirt. She did not move. Tahir raced across the pathway and hugged Morton.

"Wow, easy there," Morton said with a tired smile. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Morton's smile vanished. Behind Tahir, the high priestess staggered through the broken archway, blood running down her muzzle. Her knife was still tightly clutched in one paw. Morton swiftly shoved Tahir aside and caught the priestess by the wrist. The knife stopped eerily close to his throat. Morton gritted his teeth. Then he twisted, stepped beneath her arm, and hurled her backward. The high priestess stumbled.

Her heel caught against the base of the altar outside the shrine, and she fell. The flames caught her robes. She thrashed and caterwauled.

"Help me!" she screamed. The flames ate her greedily, consuming first her skin, then her muscles, then her organs and bones until she was nothing but ash. Morton and Tahir stood beside one another in silence. As the sun set, the altar outside the shrine blazed. Tahir looked around. Once again, he was surrounded by bodies. With a grunt, Morton dropped onto one knee.

"Sir Christian," Tahir cried, reaching out to catch him.

"Are you all right?"

"I can't lie to you," Morton said.

"I… have certainly been better." He looked towards the burning altar.

"Maybe… we oughta rest here for the night." He managed a weary grin.

"Hell, we already got a fire going!" Tahir cleaned Morton's wounds as best he could, and together they slept on the stone flooring of the shrine. When darkness fully came over the land, save for the flames of the altar, Tahir looked up at Morton.

"Sir Christian?"

"Yeah, kid?"

"May I… sleep beside you?" Morton gave a tired chuckle.

"Heh, sure, kid." Tahir curled beneath his arm, and for the first time in a really long time, he felt at peace. Rain drummed against the leaky roof. Morton's warmth settled over him, soothing the tension in his body. Slowly, Tahir's eyes began to close, and he drifted further into sleep. Yet one thought remained in the back of his mind. It repeated itself over and over, like the refrain from a poem. Why could you not have been more of a woman?