The Bestiarum Vocabulum (TRES LIBRORUM PROHIBITUM)

by Dean M. Drinkel

  “I’m not sure. The bird is blocking…ah, it’s only a…”

  He leapt.

  Control over the human was harder. Each change of consciousness had drained precious energy. Thoughts and memories flooded his mind like a thick, choking fog and she fought against him as he wove his way through them.

  She?

  That couldn’t be right. He’d seen the shirt, the trousers. No woman would be allowed to dress like that.

  He eased his approach, searching the passing fragments. Emotions, teachings, all he knew about the human race seemed mixed, without order. She knew nothing of her place, believed herself equal to men, and with two decades of her life already passed, had no maternal desires. Something had turned the natural order of things on its head while he’d been locked in his prison and he wanted so much to explore the rest of her memories, but he bit back his impatience.

  He pushed forward once more, slamming through her mind. She could sense his presence, he felt that, and rather than being accepting of him, she slammed back. Her strength surprised him. He willed her to move forward but she dropped to her knees, her hands wrapping around her head. He tried again.

  Nothing.

  His breathing increased as panic took over. She was maybe his last hope for freedom and she was too strong to control. There had to be a way. He wasn’t ready to give up, not yet.

  Craven probed gently, looking for weakness, and there it was, age-old and still more powerful than all others. Greed. Hope bounced back like a faithful hound. A single thought, a feeling placed in just the right spot, would grab her interest, and then…he didn’t want to think past then.

  He planted the seed, gold in colour, and scratched at her mind until he grabbed her attention. Her hands dropped and her head tilted slightly. He scratched some more until her eyes narrowed, searching the surrounding desert. A rock formation jutted out from the sand, its ragged features the same as he remembered, and he whispered in her ear, “Find the cave.”

  “Rauf, can we move our base over here? I have a feeling those rocks are important.”

  The words set his heart alight and he whispered in her head once more, filling it with untold riches before returning to the darkness.

  His cold hands rubbed together. That brief moment shared with the female had shown him a whole new world. The human ego had grown so large that it could no longer accept that there were living breathing creatures more powerful than them. They had become creators and destroyers, with all others a mere afterthought to their own superiority. The old ways were forgotten, reduced to myths. This new world was no longer a threat to his existence and he couldn’t wait to taste it.

  Time passed slowly.

  Faint echoes of metal on rock drifted through the cave, breaking the silence. Craven lay on the ground, knees pulled up tight, arms cradling his emaciated chest. All he could do was wait. The sound grew in volume but slowed in speed. Outside, he’d listened intently to everything but it was through the ears of others. His own ears were tuned to silence and the sharp, metallic smacks sent spears through his brain. He cupped his hands around the sides of his head, trying to block the sound, but it made no difference. Muffled chatter joined the sharp hammering. They were close. He breathed steadily, keeping his heart rate slow. In his mind he pictured the human form, willed his body to reform, but his starved frame stayed as it was. He clenched a fist and slammed it against the ground.

  A sudden beam of light danced off the ceiling. Scrunching his eyes against the onslaught, Craven scuttled towards its origin.

  “I think we’re through.”

  “Do you see anything?”

  “Not yet. The rock is thicker here.”

  “Can you squeeze through?”

  “No, I’m going to try to break a bit more off first.”

  “Come back. Let me try.”

  The sound of shuffling filtered through from a small hole near the top of the cave. Craven pressed himself against the wall, watching for movement.

  “I think I can get through this. Hand me that rope.” It slipped from the hole, followed by an arm. A spinning light descended, illuminating the dust cloud that burst upward as it impacted with the ground. A bag followed, tools clattering together as it joined the torch.

  The female’s head poked through the hole. He breathed her in, filled his lungs with her scent. There would be no negotiation this time, his need was too great. The rest of her body slipped into the cave, suspended high above the floor, the singing of metal on rope masking the sighing of the dead as he moved through them, readying himself below her swaying form.

  Her feet landed on the ground with a loud thump, and before she could catch her balance, Craven drew a hand across her mouth. Her stifled scream burned his palm as he held her, his other hand pulling her head back by her hair. In the light from the fallen torch he could see the artery in her neck expand and contract with each pump of blood from her heart.

  His mouth exploded with saliva as he ran his nose against her skin. Her essence was strong and sweet smelling, like the delicious scent of the lotus flower. He sank his teeth into the soft flesh of her neck, sighing as her warmth filled his stomach. She flailed her arms, clawing with her nails before her body sagged, pulling him downward to the floor, but his hold remained firm.

  Sharp contractions spread throughout his stomach. He threw the woman to one side and grabbed hold of his gut. The female groaned lightly as she fought to retain consciousness, but it wasn’t enough to raise the alarm. His throat contracted as blood and bile forced their way upward, and he vomited.

  Voices echoed through the cave, filled with worry. He ignored them, his eyelids closed as he spat the last remnants from his mouth. After centuries of surviving on miniscule amounts, his body was not accustomed to food. He should have known. Gluttony was the reason he was here in the first place so why was he blowing his chance for escape with the same foolish act? With his stomach empty, the pain started to subside and he crawled back to her to feed once more. Slowly.

  The voices continued with their questions, becoming louder and higher pitched as he lay motionless on the ground. Any sudden movement would force the last of her blood from his body and he couldn’t risk that so he blocked them out with a silent prayer.

  Heat flooded his veins as her essence seeped into him and synapses sizzled, creating silver patterns inside his head, their electrical bursts drowning out the sound of hammering. His rage built as he revelled in his new-found strength. Hatred for those who’d taken everything, who’d turned him into a weak, insect-eating creature, threatened to take over every thought.

  Not yet, too soon.

  They were almost through the opening, the air becoming clearer, warmer as the hole grew larger. Thin shards of daylight now played on the walls, their movement quick and graceful. It reminded him of the hanging mirrors in the palace gardens, how the sun’s rays would bounce off the glass in all directions.

  The local cats would chase the light as if it were alive, hunting and pouncing only to find the ground beneath their paws empty. Still, they continued, fuelled by hunger yet growing weaker with every passing hour. He was the cat, and his sunlight had finally taken form.

  “Aamira, are you ok? We’re almost through.”

  Craven looked at the broken body of the female and then the rest of the cave. It was now or never. He opened his mind to her, allowing her thoughts to become his. Lifting a hand in front of his face, he watched for change. There was none. Maybe more time was needed for his body to fully absorb her essence. He shook his head and tried again. The deep blue hue of his skin turned a shade lighter, and then another, the skin itself thickening, masking the veins beneath. Bones cracked, more of a mild discomfort than pain, as his nose protruded and ears shrank. Coughing first, he tried the new vocal chords. A quiet sound escaped, like the coo of a newborn child.

  He coughed again. “I’m here,” he said.

  “Is that you, Aamira? Talk to me again.”

  “It’s ok, Rauf. I’
m ok.” Her voice was silky smooth as it glided over his tongue.

  Laughter burst from the hole. “We thought you’d hurt yourself. What’s it like in there?”

  Full of death. Craven stared at the corpse strewn floor. “You have to see it to believe it,” he said.

  The old ones could be left as they were. Caves like this were often used as burial grounds so the men wouldn’t be suspicious. Aamira’s body was another matter.

  Pulling her into his arms, he sank his teeth through her chest, straight into her heart and sucked. Her skin wrinkled, tightening against her ribcage. He sucked harder, draining every last drop of fluid from the hardening flesh, only releasing her when her body resembled the others. The clashing of picks against rock continued as he dragged her clothes off, hiding them within a small crevice in the wall before turning to admire his work.

  Her hair.

  The body looked old, but the hair was still a silky black. Not wanting to waste precious energy, he ran a nail around the hairline and removed it from her scalp like orange peel. The delicate strands flowed between his fingers and he buried his face in it, coating himself with her smell. It was too precious to join the clothing, a souvenir of his saviour, so he packed it into the bottom of her bag and covered it over with a scarf. Maybe he’d add the scalps of the men later, there was plenty of room.

  All that was left was to wait. He slowed his breathing, using the time to sift through the females memories. Everything had changed so much. There were large, beautiful houses, schools for the girls, strange sounding music, magical boxes with people inside, small plastic boxes that lit up and talked. Why these people, with all their knowledge of witchcraft knew nothing of him was a mystery.

  The metal box they’d travelled in was called a Jeep. It held its own power, constrained by levers and wheels, but in all her memories, he couldn’t find one to show him how to use it. He thought back to the desert. It was one of the men who controlled the Jeep, which meant he needed them.

  Alive.

  Craven’s eyes narrowed. Killing them would have been easy. To trick them in his state, was it possible? He concentrated on the corpses, seeing them adorned with gold and jewels. Pain shot through his head as he solidified the images, and his skin rippled with a blue sheen.

  “Appear,” he said, his voice wavering between soft caresses and gravelly rasps, and he placed his hands against his temples, massaging them. Glints of colour appeared on the withered skin. “Yes, that’s it.” They took form. Bright greens and reds against golden backgrounds, one for every child, wrapped around their withered necks. The pain in his head increased.

  “Hey, are you sure you’re ok?”

  The voice came from within the cave this time. Craven tried to open his eyes but even the dim light cut like a sword. “Yes, I’m fine.” He whispered the words, not trusting his new voice. “The change in temperature has made me dizzy, that’s all.”

  Footsteps closed in behind him

  “You don’t look too good, Aamira. Look at your skin.” Something brushed against his cheek and he pulled away from it. “You’re burning up.”

  “It’s probably just the cold of the cave. I feel fine, honestly, and it’s hard to see in this light.” He rolled down the sleeves of his blouse, hiding the mottled blue of his arms. The headache was subsiding now and control over his body was getting stronger once more. “Anyway, you have bigger things to think of. Take a look.”

  Again, the sound of rope. Lambs to the slaughter, Craven thought. He scanned Aamira’s memories for a name.

  Jibril.

  The archangel. Apt.

  Allah was looking out for him at last.

  “Glad you could join us,” he said, his confidence growing along with his strength. “It looks as if we have quite the find here.”

  Jibril stared at the glistening floor, eyes wide, mouth open, barely breathing. Rauf was crouched in the centre, carefully removing a piece from around the wearer’s neck.

  “Wait,” Jibril said, “shouldn’t we document this first?”

  “We should…” Rauf paused, running a shirt-sleeve across the ornate surface, “but we don’t have the equipment, and if we go back to Riyadh, who knows who else will find out about this.”

  “I don’t know. This could be the find of the century. I’ve never seen anything like it. What do you think, Aamira?”

  Craven was watching Rauf’s face as he held the necklace up to the light. This one was greedy, it was in his eyes. “It is unique, but what will happen to it if we make the find official?”

  Rauf’s gaze broke from the jewelled necklace and flitted between Craven and Jibril. “The Government will claim it as its own. You both know that.” He held one of the pieces up with both hands. “Look at this. Do you really think they’ll let us be a part of it? We’re geologists not archaeologists. They’ll send in their own team to excavate the cave and this will be the last we see of it. Are you prepared to give up a fortune like this?” He stood and walked over to Jibril, placing the gold in the palm of his hand. “Are you?”

  Craven left the men to collect their treasures and crawled through the hole towards the light. He reached a hand out beyond the rocky walls, leaving it bask in the warmth of the sun for a moment before pulling it back.

  Simple pleasures long forgotten.

  He reached out once more, running hot desert grains through his fingers, before pressing his whole body against the baking sand. Rolling over, he let the breeze massage his face. Dragging and scraping echoed from the rocks as the men made their way back to the surface, their inane chatter shattering the silence. Craven ground his teeth together, blocking some of the sound and raised himself on clenched fists to greet them.

  “So, what now?” Rauf hauled the last of the bags into the Jeep. “Do we split it now or shall we try to find a buyer first?”

  “I really don’t mind,” Craven said, raising his hand to his forehead. “I think you were right. I’m not feeling too good. Can we talk about this later?”

  He climbed through the back door and rested his head against the hard leather seat. The talking continued as the Jeep rumbled to life. Words flew through the air at breakneck speed, high pitched and excitable. He drew his arm over his head, drowning them out. In times past he’d feigned interest in the lives of humans, even faked a friendship or two, but in actuality they were nothing more than a game and he was not in the mood to play.

  The first signs of civilisation presented themselves under the silver glow of the moon. Craven pressed his nose against the cool glass, his eyes darting from one building to another. Village huts had been replaced with tall, solid structures, their harsh lines dominating the barren ground. First few and far between, they grew in number as the jeep rumbled on towards the glow on the horizon.

  Figures milled in the shadows, close but distanced from each other as if their own world stopped at arms-reach. His eyes grew wider as the shadows faded, eaten away by bright coloured lights.

  The buildings were larger here, closer and the noise…the beating of drums, rising and falling, interwoven with singing, screaming, laughing. Half-naked bodies by the dozens swayed and staggered, caressed and cajoled as they moved from one doorway to another.

  It was a place where fighting and mating seemed to be the only focus and consequences became obsolete. He ran his fingers down the window, his smile growing larger with every sight. This new world was the perfect hunting ground.

  “Is there somewhere we can stop?” He turned his attention back to the men in the front. “There are a few things I’d like to discuss before we carry on.” He rested his arms on the backs of the seats.

  “Sure,” Jibril said and swung the steering wheel to the left. In less than a minute they were parked behind one of the buildings. A few other vehicles stared out of the gloom, some with parts missing, others bouncing up and down with regularity. “Look, before you say anything, I was thinking…”

  A slight flick of Craven’s wrist sent the windows from clear t
o dark, blocking the view from outside. He lunged forward, sinking his teeth into Jibril’s neck. Rauf scurried backwards in his seat, his mouth flapping like a dying fish. Craven threw an arm out, pinning Rauf to the door by his neck.

  “Please,” Rauf said, tears streaming down his face. “Don’t!”

  “Don’t?” Craven let out a guttural laugh. “You don’t get to tell me what to do. Not anymore.” He pushed Jibril’s lifeless body aside and climbed across the seat, straddling Rauf’s quivering limbs.

  Blood dripped down his chin as he leant in closer, inhaling the pungent smell of fear. “Now I am master of my own destiny and you will all pay.” He tightened his grip on Rauf’s neck and twisted. Rauf’s head fell sideways, arterial spray coating the ceiling of the Jeep before Craven could get his mouth around the wound.

  He stood in the alleyway breathing in the city air. The change has been easier this time, quicker, and he ran a hand across his newly formed facial features. A quick check in the Jeeps window showed a blood-free reflection and he practiced his smile a few times.

  Raising his head to the night sky he whispered “welcome home, Craven,” before turning and casually making his way towards the prey-filled streets...

  E Is For Ellerwoman

  The Death Dance of the Ellerwoman

  Peter Mark May

  Somehow they were missed in the fog, darkness and chaos of battle.

  The three German Kriegsmarine sailors lay against the rounded sides of their orange dingy, each frozen to the bone, by the chill November wind and the North Sea splashing over the sides of their inflatable craft. They could do nothing but sit numbly in their own personal Hells as their body heat ebbed away. All they could do was stare at each other and hope for rescue, not caring now if friend or foe found them.

  A noise under the dingy and then the pressing, pushing waves, made them feel the hard pebbles under their numb seats, signalling they were now on a beach or reef. Oberleutnant Zur Kruger the youngest and less affected by the freezing cold was the first to move, pulling himself over the side of the rubber dingy into the shallow waves of a rocky beach. The dawn had come grey and silent and the thick fog showed little of what lay ahead, but dry land was better than dying of hyperthermia in the North Sea.