Kaleb was about to pull back so they could both fall onto the soft mattress, when he glimpsed the sculpture sitting at the bottom of his bed. It seemed that the tendrils had grown longer and reached out to him from the sphere. Josie’s hand came to rest on his belt buckle. She hesitated for a second, pressing against his lips again before she began to slide the leather from its metal clasp. The image screamed out to him, overwhelming the intensity of Josie’s body pressing against his. He closed his eyes, trying to block it out, concentrating on Josie’s heat, and how much she wanted him.
‘Oh, shit – sorry.’ Martha’s voice from the doorway caused them to separate, breaking their hold, and the calling from elsewhere. They looked to Martha with embarrassment.
She would have found it sweet, if not for the pressing issues they now faced. ‘We need to talk. The others are waiting downstairs in the study.’
‘We’ll follow you down,’ Kaleb said. When Martha closed the door behind her, instead of looking to Josie, he chose to look upon the sculpture. Its calls had ceased, but he could still feel the chill of its grim shadow. He knew he would never be rid of it until he found out what it wanted.
4
Jerrico stood in one of the fields neighbouring the manor’s grounds, overlooking the dense woodland that separated them from civilization. He had been lost over the last few days, barely even noticing the burning mass hanging above the world. He clung to a faint hope that he might suddenly wake strapped to a hospital bed, pumped full of drugs to calm his mania. The first time Kaleb laid on hands, he’d been grateful. Perhaps with hindsight, he would have preferred Kaleb to leave him lying on the study floor until he’d bled out. At least that way he would never have heard the truth about his life – his destiny. To discover he had been the orchestrator of all that pain and torture, the cause of all of it. The only thing left to look forward to, watching all that he loved turn to dust, before Cradleworth fed on his broken soul. For most of his life he strived to be normal; how he craved for madness now.
In the distance, a couple of fields away, he could see the outline of a chasing pack of foxhounds, and six scarlet riders following close behind. Jerrico traced ahead of them until he pinpointed the fox bounding across the sullied ground, unclear about which line of escape it should take. He honed in on the animal’s terror as easily as he picked out its orange coat against the cold grass. The fox had been flushed from its covert, still barely awake – one moment sleeping, the next, running for its life. The hounds were baying for fresh blood, entering that golden stretch where the fox had missed its window of escape. The scarlet coats also sensed the end was near – they craved it. Jerrico focussed on the front rider, master of the foxhounds imagining the smell of the fox’s insides breaking the crisp afternoon chill, almost tasting its blood in his mouth as he anticipated the hounds tearing it limb from limb – the power – so much power. So addictive was their past time, not even the most global of events could prevent it from taking place. Life and death continued.
‘Fox is starting to tire.’
As soon as Jerrico heard Clover’s southern drawl his skin began to crawl. ‘I know,’ he replied.
‘If Jerrico thinks fox afraid now, wait till those dogs get their teeth into him.’
Jerrico was calm. He never flinched when Clover crept up behind him and lent toward his ear. ‘I’ve felt worse.’
‘Jerrico don’t need to remind Clover of that now, do he?’ Jerrico could not see the creature’s rotten grin, but he heard the stretching of the dirty thread through the flesh of its lips.
‘What do you want?’
‘Clover only wants what Jerrico wants – wants to go down there and save that little fox from its cruel masters. Wants to turn their sick enjoyment of animals’ fear around on them, so they can really see the demons that they pretend to flirt with.’
‘The only reason you want to go down there is to kill.’
‘All that means is Jerrico knows he must want it too.’ Clover ran its tongue over the withered cracks of its mouth.
Jerrico closed his eyes, attempting to wish his pet demon from existence, but its hot breath still stung the back of his neck. He sighed, taking another deep breath before he spoke again. ‘Don’t harm the horses.’ He looked to the ground as Clover growled softly with delight, pushed past him, and disappeared into the undergrowth, heading for the hunting trail.
Trespass
1
The fox was waning. The hounds shortened the distance between them and their prey with each bounding stride. Before the take down and kill was complete, the fox veered off into the tree line on the right.
‘Christ!’ One of the riders shouted in frustration. ‘Little bugger’s making a fight of it.’
‘Nothing ever goes quietly when they have a pack of hounds on their tail.’ The female hunter rode through the middle of her two counterparts, her spirited horse forcing both of theirs aside. Once the men brought their horses back under control, they looked at each other.
‘Your sisters a feisty bitch,’ one said.
‘Yes – and if she hears you saying that, she’ll rip your balls off,’ the other replied.
‘And have them for breakfast?’
‘Sick bastard! She’s nearly half your age.’
‘Oh come on, Henry. Don’t tell me you’ve never entertained the idea.’ The man smiled at his friend mischievously.
‘Unlike you, I don’t see incest as something quaint and upper class.’ They both laughed as they watched the female rider head towards the assistant huntsman, who followed the hound pack past the tree line.
‘Shit!’ The assistant huntsman cursed, jumping down from his mount so he could ease it around the trees.
‘What’s the matter?’ the female rider said.
‘The dogs are rioting again,’ he replied.
She peered into the shadows of the woods and noticed the hounds had not split into two groups but three. Digging her heels into her horse, she forced her way past the huntsman, snatching the whip from his hand.
The morose-looking man rolled his eyes at her brazen behaviour and followed her lead. ‘This is ridiculous. Something must have spooked them.’ The huntsman flicked the swarming gnats from his eyes. He lost sight of all but one group of hounds. He could see four of them a hundred yards to the left, and they were fighting over something.
The young woman set off towards them, guiding her horse over the broken trees and undergrowth. As she got close, she saw the dogs moving in a circle, jaws clamped onto something in the centre. She got down while her horse was still in motion and ran over to investigate the object of the dog’s dispute. Whatever it was, they were trying to tear it apart, each using their powerful neck muscles in an attempt to yank it free from the grip of the others. Even when she came upon them, with all the commotion, it was difficult for her to make out what they were fighting over. She raised the whip above her head, bringing it down onto the hindquarters of the closest dog. The animal yelped, more in shock than in pain, releasing its prey and wandering away with its tail between its legs. The other dogs didn’t need to take a lick. They all fled, dropping the object of their desire onto the soft earth. She brushed away the beads of sweat stinging her eyes and leaned in to take a closer look. At first, the chewed up mound seemed to resemble a human hand, sending a cold shiver through her body. After a second inspection she realised it was a doll – a chewed up, plastic baby doll.
‘What did they have hold of – a cat?’ The huntsman caught up to her, dismounting again.
‘Not a cat,’ she replied, disengaged from him. She was far too concerned by what lay at her feet, and why it had been so desirable to the pack.
‘Well, what is it then?’ As the huntsman approached from behind, she picked up the ravaged doll and lifted it over her shoulder. ‘What the bloody hell—’
‘Exactly,’ she said. ‘What the bloody hell.’ The dolls severed head hung down beside its belly, attached by the merest of threads at the base of its neck. She notice
d that a greenie-brown sludge coated the toys insides and inserted a gloved finger into the hole at the top of its body. The sludge clung to the leather and she lifted it to her nose. The smell was so offensive that the woman recoiled. She dropped the doll, covering her nostrils with her other hand.
‘Is there something on it?’ The huntsman bent down to take a sniff.
‘I don’t recognise it,’ she replied, still recovering from the stench, ‘but it certainly worked in getting the dogs riled up.’
‘It’s too much to think this was just sitting in the woods. I’m thinking sabotage.’ The huntsman lifted his rifle onto his shoulder, his thumb resting on its cocking mechanism.
‘They’re not that good at hiding themselves. If it were saboteurs, we would have seen, or at least heard some of them by now,’ the woman said.
‘What then?’
‘Not sure – but something doesn’t feel right.’
The huntsman agreed. He scanned around the darkened trees, and then looked back to her. ‘Will your father come after us?’
‘I doubt it. They will wait for the hill-toppers to catch up.’
‘I think we should abandon this, Miss Warden. Round up the dogs and—’
‘Shh.’ She stopped him mid-sentence, alerted by a sudden cracking sound that echoed through their surroundings.
Before they had time to look up, Clover plummeted from the tree next to them, landing on top of the woman. She collapsed under the creature’s weight, striking her cheekbone on a rock as she hit the ground.
The huntsman froze for a second. Still crouched on all fours over the woman’s body, Clover looked up, fixing its buttons on him, curling its butchered mouth into a smile of anticipation. The huntsman fumbled over the rifle to arm it, but his actions were too little, too late. Clover was upon him before he could cover the rifle’s trigger. The creature straddled his waist, knocking him onto his back. The rifle escaped from his hands and landed beyond his reach. The huntsman wanted to scream, but fear had locked his throat shut. He turned his head from the horrible sight, pressing his face into the dirt as Clover’s hot breath singed the surface of his skin.
‘What have we here? Clover sees inside you – knows you takes trophies after a kill. Clover takes trophies too. So what it’ll be today.’ Clover ran the cruel edge of its knife along the inside of the man’s leg and up to his waist. ‘His cock?’ The knife lingered for a moment, continuing up to his chest. ‘His heart?’ Clover observed the man’s desperation with interest. The creature’s ragged face lifted in another grin, pulling the stitches tight around its lips, sending flakes of dead flesh down into the man’s hair. Clover grabbed the huntsman’s head, forcing him to look up at its inhuman features. ‘Clover decided what it wants from him and he ain’t gonna like it. Don’t worry, ain’t gonna matter soon anyhow. Once Cradleworth gets hold of him, he’s gonna wish Clover had killed him slower.’ Clover reached into the huntsman’s mouth, choking off his cries for help and stretching out his tongue. The creature placed its blade against the under-side of the wet, vein-ridden flesh, flicking it towards the roof of his mouth, severing his tongue with the first cut. The knife lodged into the man’s pallet, shattering several of his teeth. He tried to scream out again, but could only gargle on the blood, which now poured from the wound and down his throat.
‘Hush now.’ Clover whipped the blade from the huntsman’s mouth and brought it down squarely into his chest. After the sickening crack, his body fell still. ‘Time to meet the man.’ Clover smiled again, and lifting the severed tongue to its lips, licked inside the exposed tissue where it had made the cut.
When Clover became bored of the dead man, and had sucked the remaining blood from his missing body part, it glanced over to the injured woman. She was starting to regain consciousness. Opening her eyes gingerly, she winced as she moved her jaw. A bruise had already begun to form, the bone in her cheek splintered. Managing to turn her head, she caught sight of the huntsman slumped beside her before Clover landed on top of her. Its twisted hand smothered her scream, squeezing its dirty fingernails into her face. The creature licked its rotten teeth and drew its finger down her cheek, painting her with the huntsman’s blood. She wept with helplessness as it slid the strap from underneath her chin and removed her helmet. Lifting her head, Clover reached back to release the band tying her hair in a ponytail. The creature’s twisted hands caressed her hair from her scalp down to the very tips. Clover’s manner was curious – almost gentle.
They were both startled from this blood-drenched intimacy by the shouts from the hunting party. The hill-toppers had caught up with the riders, and Henry was leading the scarlet coats into the forest in search of his sister.
Clover’s synthetic eyes never altered, but the woman saw her fate within them nonetheless. The creature rammed its knife into her mouth to stop her screams and gripped around her neck. It squeezed down hard, leaving one hand to keep the blade between her teeth. The calls from the hunt were getting closer. The sounds of cracking wood echoed around them. The woman struggled for air but could only gag on the dirty steel.
‘Harriet! Harriet!’ As her faculties deserted her and she started to lose consciousness again, she recognised the voice of her brother.
Clover could smell the sweat from the horses, catching a glimpse of the scarlet jackets as they bobbed through the trees. When the snap came, it looked back to the woman. She’d stopped struggling all of a sudden. Clover released its grip on her broken neck. Her face had turned purple. The thick, still pulsing veins had risen to the surface of her skin. Her eyes were wide, startled and bloodshot. The blade in her mouth had sliced through her flesh on one side, right down to the edge of her ear. Clover retrieved its possession from the throttled, bloody mess. Jumping to its feet it dragged the two bodies together, concealing the large patches of blood with dirt and fallen leaves. Five scarlet coats were visible now, all calling the woman’s name. Clover scuttled over to the standing horses, slapping each one hard across their hides. The shock sent them galloping in the opposite direction to the hunters. It gathered up the woman’s helmet on the way back and hauled the fresh corpses into the undergrowth.
2
Jerrico felt it all – the mortal panic of both huntsman and woman; the sudden realisation that they were about to face the greatest of uncertainties, sent on their way by the grotesque precision of Clover’s blade. The creature’s masochistic pleasure burned just as hard within him, coaxing him to taste its bitter delights. It was horrible, but it felt no different than when he’d watched the scarlet coats racing after the fox. He remembered he had wanted it, gave his permission even – granted the wish of his dirty little secret. What sick, twisted mind could conjure such a thing? Jerrico stooped as if he was going to be sick. He turned away from the tree line and started to jog back to the manor. He could still hear the rest of the hunting party calling for Harriet.
Before he managed to get halfway back, he blacked-out, stumbling forward onto his belly. A vision flashed into his mind, one of flying high above the earth. He could feel the wind on his face. The clouds raged their red war in the sky, but the cityscape below did not belong to the British Isles. He couldn’t be sure – it seemed like northern France. The vision evaporated. He could see his own hands placed on the grass in front of him. Disorientated, Jerrico staggered to his feet and headed back towards the manor again. There was a certain little girl he wanted to see, a little girl who better start providing him with some straight answers.
3
Everyone else made it to the study and started their debate about what to do next. They had hardly warmed up when Ashley came to usher them upstairs for another communion with their self-appointed leader. They all knew the way. They remembered every step from the first night; the night everything changed forever.
Martha brought up the rear, carrying Stuart. As she reached the top of the first flight of stairs, she saw the fire blazing in the sky through the large candle-shaped window. Evelyn’s ravens circled the house in
formation, their flapping wings against the unearthly backdrop like a portent. The pain of separation weighed heavy upon her now. She curtailed her thoughts when she felt Barnes brush against her shin. She looked down to him and smiled.
‘He says he knows what you’re going through,’ Stuart said.
She frowned, looking back to the dog. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Barnes told me to tell you he’s worried about another little boy, who looks a lot like Davy.’
Martha shivered. It was the first time she’d felt exposed to the dog’s power. ‘How does he?’
‘He sees inside our minds – like Celeste, I suppose, except he can only communicate through me.’ Stuart said.
‘So what’s he saying now?’
‘He says you have been thinking about leaving…he has too.’ Stuart spoke as if it was the first he knew of it.
Martha became incredibly self-conscious; she’d thought about leaving on the previous night. For the rest of the climb, she averted her attention from both of them, not saying a word.
They filtered into Celeste’s room and took up positions around the bed. The little girl had not moved an inch – the only signs of life amongst the beeps and hissing from the machinery was the rising and falling of her chest. Ashley sat down on the chair by her bedside, hesitating before she took hold of Celeste’s hand.
Kaleb felt Ashley’s dread keenly. He kept his mouth shut. It had taken years of experience to master, but he’d learnt to keep his reactions to himself when tuning into someone.
Infanticide (Fallen Gods Saga Book 2) Page 2
