to
spring.
From my position on the floor, feeling almost too shocked to
move, I opened my eyes. “What the fuck was that?”
The cauldron in the middle of the floor was swirling with
colors that glowed and shifted and moved. It was the only light in the room. And
the growl… It came again. From that cauldron.
I crawled closer and looked at the impossible.
The swirling, hazy colors inside the cauldron were real. I
stared into them, through them. A shape formed. A torso—nude, male, muscular.
And then a head, a man’s head, except that it wore a demonically twisted grimace
of anger, and its eyes blazed red with an energy that blasted me with pure pain.
It hit me hard, and I couldn’t look away. And as I stared unwillingly at the
image of the beast inside the cauldron, it opened its mouth and released a roar
of anguish and rage. It had fangs. Cloven hooves. A tail?
The Devil himself?
But I don’t believe in the
Devil.
I jerked backward, but it held my eyes. I tried, I really did,
to look away, but it was like this thing held me.
And then the image in the cauldron changed. The colors swirled
again, overtaking the beast, hiding him, and then changing from oranges and reds
and yellows to soft blues and gentle greens as a different face formed. A
woman’s face this time, a black-haired beauty in flowing robes. Her brows were
thick and dark, her eyes like shining chunks of coal.
I know her! She’s one of the women from my
dream!
Her full lips parted, and she whispered two words. “Help him.”
“Who? The priest?”
The beautiful woman lowered her eyes to look down, into the
swirling orange and yellow depths at the demon I’d just seen.
“Him?”
“Help him.”
“But I don’t…I don’t know how. I don’t know what I’m supposed
to do. How am I— Wait. Wait!” I reached my hand toward the iron kettle as if I
could grab hold of the image inside, but it was fading. The cauldron turned
slowly black again. “At least tell me your name!” But it was useless. She was
gone.
Lilia.
The wind died with a soft sound that might have been nothing
more than its final gasping breeze. I stayed on the floor, lowered my head to
the carpet and tried to hold back the crying jag that was fighting to bust
out.
* * *
Great. I’m being sacrificed
again.
I stood near the cliff, not on the edge yet, but tied between
two posts nearby, arms raised and stretched to either side. The goddess position
again. Memories—yeah, memories, not illusions—flooded my brain. I heard a crack
and felt the brutal slash of a whip slicing my back, and it was as real as
anything I’ve ever felt in my life. And far more painful. It went on until the
cutting, burning pain was everywhere all at once. I was shaking all over in
agony. It was unbearable, and I longed to pass out, but I didn’t.
I screamed until my voice was gone and I could scream no more.
My faith went with it, severed along with the ropes that held me as the soldiers
cut me down and retied my hands behind my bleeding back. Then I—no, we—were
marched closer to the edge of the cliff. I’d seen him again, that other man near
the rocks, where soldiers held him. He was more battered and beaten than we
were. He’d been forced to watch as we’d been whipped, and he was being forced to
watch still, as we were about to be sent plummeting to our deaths on the rocks
far, far below. He struggled, though he had to be near death. Hell of a man,
that one. Too bad they probably killed him right after us.
I looked sideways at my sister Lilia. She was the youngest, and
I was amazed at how straight she stood. How proudly she held her head. She
looked like royalty. I was crying softly, almost silently, unlike my other
sister, Magdalena, who was loud and sloppy. But little Lilia, the one we’d
always thought of as the weakest of us, had been as cruelly tortured as we had,
and yet she was the strong one now.
We were at the cliff’s edge.
Wakeupwakeupwakeup!
I felt those warm,
spring.
From my position on the floor, feeling almost too shocked to
move, I opened my eyes. “What the fuck was that?”
The cauldron in the middle of the floor was swirling with
colors that glowed and shifted and moved. It was the only light in the room. And
the growl… It came again. From that cauldron.
I crawled closer and looked at the impossible.
The swirling, hazy colors inside the cauldron were real. I
stared into them, through them. A shape formed. A torso—nude, male, muscular.
And then a head, a man’s head, except that it wore a demonically twisted grimace
of anger, and its eyes blazed red with an energy that blasted me with pure pain.
It hit me hard, and I couldn’t look away. And as I stared unwillingly at the
image of the beast inside the cauldron, it opened its mouth and released a roar
of anguish and rage. It had fangs. Cloven hooves. A tail?
The Devil himself?
But I don’t believe in the
Devil.
I jerked backward, but it held my eyes. I tried, I really did,
to look away, but it was like this thing held me.
And then the image in the cauldron changed. The colors swirled
again, overtaking the beast, hiding him, and then changing from oranges and reds
and yellows to soft blues and gentle greens as a different face formed. A
woman’s face this time, a black-haired beauty in flowing robes. Her brows were
thick and dark, her eyes like shining chunks of coal.
I know her! She’s one of the women from my
dream!
Her full lips parted, and she whispered two words. “Help him.”
“Who? The priest?”
The beautiful woman lowered her eyes to look down, into the
swirling orange and yellow depths at the demon I’d just seen.
“Him?”
“Help him.”
“But I don’t…I don’t know how. I don’t know what I’m supposed
to do. How am I— Wait. Wait!” I reached my hand toward the iron kettle as if I
could grab hold of the image inside, but it was fading. The cauldron turned
slowly black again. “At least tell me your name!” But it was useless. She was
gone.
Lilia.
The wind died with a soft sound that might have been nothing
more than its final gasping breeze. I stayed on the floor, lowered my head to
the carpet and tried to hold back the crying jag that was fighting to bust
out.
* * *
Great. I’m being sacrificed
again.
I stood near the cliff, not on the edge yet, but tied between
two posts nearby, arms raised and stretched to either side. The goddess position
again. Memories—yeah, memories, not illusions—flooded my brain. I heard a crack
and felt the brutal slash of a whip slicing my back, and it was as real as
anything I’ve ever felt in my life. And far more painful. It went on until the
cutting, burning pain was everywhere all at once. I was shaking all over in
agony. It was unbearable, and I longed to pass out, but I didn’t.
I screamed until my voice was gone and I could scream no more.
My faith went with it, severed along with the ropes that held me as the soldiers
cut me down and retied my hands behind my bleeding back. Then I—no, we—were
marched closer to the edge of the cliff. I’d seen him again, that other man near
the rocks, where soldiers held him. He was more battered and beaten than we
were. He’d been forced to watch as we’d been whipped, and he was being forced to
watch still, as we were about to be sent plummeting to our deaths on the rocks
far, far below. He struggled, though he had to be near death. Hell of a man,
that one. Too bad they probably killed him right after us.
I looked sideways at my sister Lilia. She was the youngest, and
I was amazed at how straight she stood. How proudly she held her head. She
looked like royalty. I was crying softly, almost silently, unlike my other
sister, Magdalena, who was loud and sloppy. But little Lilia, the one we’d
always thought of as the weakest of us, had been as cruelly tortured as we had,
and yet she was the strong one now.
We were at the cliff’s edge.
Wakeupwakeupwakeup!
I felt those warm,
Similar Books
