Archive for January, 2012


                              PAN IS THE MAN WHO COUNTS TO FOUR
                                                          By MARK SLADE copyright m.s. 2012
                                                           
1943—CENTURY CITY, USA
                                                                      (1)
Century City is the place where Kate Mcbain and her rogues have their base for business.
They have converted an empty warehouse with three floors. Top floor is where they first host all the relics they find for the museum and Prof. Henders, before it is shipped to the museum. Second floor is living quarters for Kate and her men. Consisting of Graham Longly, her body guard. Ah, Mogulah. Her chief researcher, guide for lands foreign, and master of ten languages. There is Clint Harper. The kid brother of a friend in the police force Kate once was friendly with. Clint is an Arms specialist. He has another specialty, which is letting his mouth get him into trouble.
On the third floor, the basement, is where Kate keeps her God safely in his pine box of fresh dirt. The God Dailis. The God of Vengeance and Death. When he is in his human form, in the day, he is Capt. Rick Cooper. Cooper served in U.S. Army during world war one. He was caught by bullet in the face, which is why he wears a kerchief around his lower part of his face. In the trench one day Cooper was caught in a mustard gas attack. He wasn’t quite dead yet. Another soldier from his unit made sure he was.
This comrade in arms wore a gas mask, went looking for Cooper. He found him lying face down, coughing up his insides, and shot him in the face.
                                                                      (2)
Kate went into the basement to speak with Dailis, or as the Newspapers know him, BLOODFLOWER.
His box was empty. Kate looked everywhere for him. Clint had followed her down to the basement. “What’s the big deal if Cooper is gone?” He stood in the doorway, folded his arms. “Maybe he had a hot date,” He laughed.
“Yes, a twit like you wouldn’t also notice that the Krunell Ring we found in Greece was missing along with Cooper. Who happens to be a God as well!” Kate pushed Clint out of the doorway.
“I love it when a woman is angry.” Clint chuckled.
Mogulah followed Kate up the stairs. “Where do you think he is going?” Mogulah nearly lost his fez, tipped it back on his head with one hand. “He’s a very frail man. He couldn’t have gone far.”
“Oh, he’s still in the city Mogulah. I’m sure Clint and Graham can ask our fellow city dwellers if they’ve seen a man with half a face.”
Clint sighed, rolled his eyes. “We always get stuck with leg work.”
                                                                (3)
Cooper had found his way to the Golden Lamb club on the east side. It had taken a lot of his energy just to walk two blocks from where the bus had dropped him off. All eyes were on the old man in a trench coat, homburg and red kerchief covering his face. Since it was the dead of winter, not too many people thought it strange. As anyone could feel what a collective thought of all who caught glances of Cooper, he must have been a criminal of some sort.
He was met at the door of the club by a young woman in a top hat and a sequined short skirt. She took Cooper’s homburg and trench coat. “The bar is to the left and the stage show is in the back with the tables,” The girl said. Cooper looked twice. He could have sworn he saw her talking without moving her lips. “My name is Ecko and if I can be of any service feel free to assert yourself.”
She took Cooper by the arm, and with his gimpy leg, Cooper slowly went through the door to the stage in the back of the room. He sat at a table far from the stage. He noticed it was all young girls working in this establishment.
He took his chair and immediately a waitress appeared. “My name is Syrnx. Is there anything I can get you,” Through the smoke that seemed waver past the blond girls face and short bobbed hair, Cooper saw she wore a necklace made from reeds from a river bank.
This made Cooper smile. “Of course,” He said, nodding his head. “Two things: A scotch on the rocks and tell Robertto Panzini I’m here. Capt. Cooper is the name.”
The waitress gave him a inquisitive look.
“Don’t worry, he knows the name.” Cooper ran a hand through his balding head. He looked around, watched the waitress skirt around tables holding host to a full house, mostly men in suits and thick new york accents.
Cooper put his hand in his trouser pocket. The Kruner ring was still there. That had been an easy job. Beat out the millionaire Jacob Stern in a race to dive in the deep waters of the Mediterranean.
From Mogulah’s research, a statue that was spotted by deep sea divers was the statue of Katrine, former lover of the God Zeus. Inside this statue held the Kruner ring. A ring made of Quartz. Clint and Graham had to not only dive for this statue and attach the ropes to pull it up by Kate on the boat, they had to take care of Stern’s men. Daybreak prevented Cooper changing into Dailis.
The curtains raised on the stage. The spotlights appeared, and out of the dark stepped a tall slender man with a goatee in a black tuxedo. A microphone was lowered by a string and the man took it with both hands.
“Here’s your host,” He said with a slight lisp. “Good evening all. My name is Robertto Panzinni. I own the joint. I present the house band, Billie and his Kids. 1-2-3-4!” Panzinni screamed.
Upbeat swing music began with a drum roll and the seven piece horn section raged with a vicarious frenzy. The singer danced in his newly shined shoes and his waxed down sprung into action, sticking out on both sides as he shook his head and his legs kicked in the air as he slid forwards and backwards. Then he heard his cue, another drum roll.
The singer had a golden voice, velvety. He sang: “Mares eat oats and Does eat oats and little Lambs eat ivy.”
The crowd went wild. Catcalls, whistles, clapping their hands, grown men pounding their fists on the tables. Cooper put his hands over his ears. All that ruckus hurt his ears, and he was referring to the music. He stood, asked a waitress as loud as he could for his bill and he would pay as he got his coat and hat.
Panzinni put his hand on the waitress’ shoulder. “No, Capt. Cooper does not pay single cent for his drink. You cant’ leave yet. The music get’s hotter, my friend.”
“That’s what’s driving me out of here,” Cooper quipped. “Really I just came to see you…but if you’re busy with you’re party..”
“Nonsense! Never too busy for a friend.” Panzinni whispered in the young woman’s ear, stole up her skirt with a hand. She giggled and whisked away to the bar.
“Come this way, Captain,” Panzinni took the frail man by the elbow, helping him out of the stage area and down a long hallway toward steps down to a bottom floor. “Do you have what I asked for?”
Cooper stopped short of entering a room with table and six chairs. At the door was two large goons with thick curly hair and thick beards. Cooper looked both of them up and down. “All of that depends if you have what I asked for.”
Panzinni sighed, shrugged his shoulders. “Would I let a friend down?” His lisp becoming more apparent as he spoke to his goons in Greek. They nodded to him in unison. “Of course,” Panzinni urged Cooper in the room. “Our guests will be arriving soon.”
Cooper took a chair at the end of the square table. He took a handkerchief to wipe sweat rolling down to his scarred side of his face under the kerchief. Panzinni met the waitress at the door. He took the tray of bourbon and glasses from her, blew a kiss. She swished away, a huge smile on her face.
                                                                           (4)
“That lady didn’t have to throw her coffee in my face,” Clint wiped the liquid from his left cheek. They were standing in the crowded streets asking anyone questions who would listen.
“No,” Graham patted Clint on the back. “She didn’t have to, but she did. Looked like she enjoyed it as well.”
“Lately I have had that effect on people,” Clint snarled.
Graham laughed. “Lately, you say?”
“Psst….” They heard a voice from around the corner. Then a head would peer round once in awhile.
Graham started to walk to find the voice, Clint grabbed him by the arm. “Wait, it might be a trap,” He said with a serious tone. Graham gave him a look, then laughed.
“Not this time, Clint, old boy.” He walked to the corner, looked around to find a boy of twelve standing there, posing as the toughest man on the street. The boy was dressed in short pants and a cabby hat on his tilted to side, a green and brown scarf around his neck that was too long for his body. He was chewing on a tooth pick and averting his eyes from anyone else eyes.
“Did you say you were looking for somebody? The boy said.
“What’s it to you, rugrat?” Clint stepped in close to the boy.
Graham pulled Clint away by his elbow. “I’ll handle this Clint.”
“Names Paddy, boy- o!” The boy spat his tooth pick at Clint and Graham’s feet.
“I’m sorry, my friend has no tact,” Graham put his hand out for Paddy to shake, instead he just stared at it. “My name is Graham, this is Clint. Nice to meet you Paddy.”
“Yeah, yeah, likewise.” Paddy shook Graham’s hand.
“You have information for us, Paddy?”
“ Lookin’ for a strange lookin’ guy in a trench coat and a red handkerchief across his face. I’ll tell youse guys. For a price.”
“A con job is what this is,” Clint said.
“Tell your dog to heel,” Paddy spread his arms like an eagle ready to pounce.
“Clint, be quiet!” Graham shoved Clint. Clint gave him a hurtful glance. “What’s your price, Paddy?”
“A fiver.” Paddy put his hands up.
“Don’t give this kid five bucks, Graham.” Clint said in Graham’s ears.
“I said shut-up Clint. You better not con me, kid. Or I’ll wipe your snotty nose with my fists. Got it, punk?” Graham pushed Paddy against the brick wall.
Paddy was shocked by this gesture. “I ain’t conning nobody, mister. I swear.”
Graham stared at Paddy a few seconds. He took out a five dollar bill and slapped it in the boy’s hand. “Okay. You’re going to show us where you saw him. Got me?”
“Yeah, yeah. No problem, mister.”
                                                                   (5)
A short stout man in a gray fedora and gray overcoat entered and sat next to Cooper. Panzini appeared, sending his men away, with orders to evacuate the nightclub, all of this spoken in Greek.
“ Ah, Micha. You’ve arrived,” Panzini placed a glass of beer in front of the man. “Cooper, may I present Adolfis Micha.”
Cooper nodded. Micha looked at this man with indifference. “What the hell is this, Panzini?” The man in his early fifties said. “I’ve already paid you this month. Where’d you get the freak?”
“Yes, yes. You have indeed, Micha.” Panzinni sat across from the other two. “And up until now, you were under my protection here in Century City.”
“What do you mean up until now? We don’t need a war do we, Panzini?”
Panzini shrugged. “I don’t think there will be, Micha. You see..there is a need for change in your…grocery business.”
Micha was leering at him. “You do, do you?” Micha had retrieved a snub nose pistol from his overcoat. “Who did you have in mind, Panzini?”
“Claski can handle things…you are not going to need that gun. I’m afraid it’s useless.” Panzini said.
“A gun is never useless,” His fat cheeks became flushed, sweat rolled down his forehead. He felt very unusually hot.
“Do you recognize me,” Cooper said. “We served together in the first great war…”
A moment of clarity crossed Micha’s face. He pulled the trigger, the gun aimed actually at no one. It was rather unintentional. Micha screamed.
Micha felt the yellow fiery smoke exit his overcoat. His eyes began to tear up, then sores formed over them. His skin became irritated, itchy. The vapor had filled his entire body. He convulsed for a few minutes before falling dead to the floor, the gun fell and rolled under the table.
“Well,” Panzini stood, when the yellow vapor cleared the room. “That was easier than I thought. I absolutely feel no grief loosing him as a business partner.”
“I never thought I would track him down,” Cooper said, feeling rather weak, he placed a hand on his head, closed his eyes. “I need to rest a moment.”
Panzini put his hand out. “Of course…but I must insist on the ring.”
Cooper took from his pocket and tossed the chunky square ring to Panzini.
“Now, I am no longer a victim of the curse..I am a God not part, but whole.” Panzini slipped the ring on.
When Cooper reopened his eyes, Panzini had changed. He had grown legs of a goat as well as horns.
                                                               (6)
Cooper saw the crowd of people in the street when he exited Panzini’s club. In that crowd Clint and Graham emerged, calling his name. Paddy ran after them. Cooper kept walking, they trailed him. Clint ran up in front of him.
“Please, Clint, I’m very tired.”
“You got some angry people after you, and Kate is one of them,” Clint said.
Paddy called out to Graham. “Where’s my fiver?”
Graham handed him the money. “Where’s your folks, kid?”
“That’s not important. What is, is that I can now get my supper,” Paddy disappeared into the dark night.
Clint was left standing there, wondering how a kid got in that situation. He heard Clint say, “Let’s get you home, old man. You know it’s after midnight?”
“Of course I do you fool! I planned it this way. Get your hands off me.”
“I guess a body has to accept it’s situation, no choice,” Graham said. He ran to catch up with Clint and Cooper.
                                             

Franz could not rise from his chair, nor leave the table, for the Face on his stomach would not allow him to leave a feast especially prepared for him.
Every time he would try to stand, the weight of the Face on his mid-section was so great, he would have to sit again or fall forward on the table. The Face would screw up it’s eyes and laugh heartily.
“You can not leave the table until you are full,” It told him.
“But I am not hungry,” Franz spoke in weak voice.
“Make yourself eat!” The Face growled.
The Face had always been with Franz. It’s horrible scowl on it’s large square pink canvas. It spread as far as Franz big round belly was wide, but not as tall as his chest. Even when he was a baby, that old man- face, wrinkled and dimpled forehead, had been born as a birthmark. Or as the wet nurse said a curse. Franz Father turned to the bottle, which caused quite a bit of problems being the village school headmaster. Franz Mother refused to believe the Face ever existed. She pushed for Franz to be treated as normal as everyone else. She never allowed him to acknowledge the problem.
“I never liked your Mother,” The Face said. Mira, his maid entered She put more dishes down containing more vegetables, corn, eggplant, asparagus. The Face made lewd sounds at her. Mira wrinkled her nose at him.
“Shut up about my Mother,” Franz picked at a turkey leg that had been placed on his plate by Mira. She leaned across him, letting her breast brush against him. “My Mother was a saint to put up with things.”
“You are speaking of your Father, aren’t you? Not me, of course. Now, your Father, that was a fellow only bums and cheap guys could have respect for.”
“Are you alright, Mr. Franz? Should I gag him?” Mira smiled big, those lovely ruby lips sparkling under the lights. She put a hand upon her dark hair, making sure it was still in the bun she’d fixed. Her green eyes danced back and forth between Franz and the Face.
“No, Mira, thank you. It wouldn’t help matters now. He still wouldn’t permit me to leave the table.”
“As you wish, sir,” Mira pranced to the door of the kitchen. She stopped, turned to Franz, blew him a kiss.
The Face felt stirrings in Franz nether parts. It laughed. “You know she only likes you for Uncle Havel’s money.”
“Leave it!” Screamed Franz. He placed his hands over his head and wished there was something he could do with The Face. Perhaps, it was right. Mira only found Franz attractive because of the vast family fortune Havel made from black market electronics he sold on the streets of Prague in the nineties.
“Eat!” The Face demanded. “I’m starving!”
“God have pity on me! You are always starving! Please let me up…give me back the use of my legs. Just for a few minutes. I wish to go to bed.”
“Eat! Damn you, you’re trying to starve me. I know it.”
“All right! I’m feeding you, you demon from hell!” Franz grabbed a bowl with potatoes and sucked them down. He ate like a wild man, just as much turkey fell on the floor and his clothes as it entered his mouth.
Then Franz stopped eating. He heard The Face enjoying the food from Franz plate. The sounds it was making was sickening and annoying. Franz threw his hands over his ears. Still, he could hear The Face gurgling and cooing. Smacking it’s lips.
“More!” The Face growled once more. “Feed my face! Or you will never leave your chair!”
Franz could take no more. He had snapped. He laughed uncontrollably, tears welled up in his eyes. Franz had made up his mind.
“Yes,” He said, ringing the bell and Mira swashed in. He motioned for her to bend down. Franz whispered his diabolical plan in her ear. “Let’s both never leave the table.”
Mira was horrified.
“What do you mean?” The Face said. “Have you lost your mind. Yes I can tell that by your pernicious laughter. You always want to leave the table.”
Mira left. Ten minutes later she returned with two mirrors. She set one on a smaller end table she’d moved to the right of the table. She placed another mirror on the other side of the first mirror to catch the image from it, pointed the second mirror toward Franz midsection.
She drew a chair next to Franz, pulled him and his chair away from her.
“What madness is this?” The Face said nervously.
“Madness indeed,” Franz retorted with a small giggle.
Mira carried on with her work, an infinite amount of sadness overtaking her emotions. She took from pockets a large spool of thread and a needle. She pushed through the eye of the needle the end of the thread, weeping softly.
Franz looked in one of the mirrors and saw The Face closing it’s eyes. “Oh, no, you demon. Don’t close your eyes, by all means. You wouldn’t want to miss this for the world.”
Mira forced the needle into the left side of Franz lips, pulled the thread through. He winced, blood dribbled down his chin. Mira carried on, with a shaky hand, tears falling from her cheeks, the needle and thread made a long zig- zag across Franz lips.
“Nooo…” The hungry Face cried out, petrified by the terrible mirror images.

                                            THE GOD OF VENGEANCE
                                                   by MARK SLADE
                                                       copyright MS. 2012
                                                      (1) 
              1937-TUSKENIA-
She heard the music of Tuskenian men and felt a shiver down her back. Timpani and flute were the instruments that brought death to the victims of the Furakah gang. They controlled the City of Kyulah, the heart Tuskenia in the mountains of India.
Kate Mcbain was on a mission. She was there to find the key to the box of shadows and light. That would bring an end to all of her worries. And no one, least of all a group cutthroats were not going to stop her.
Kate and her men, consisting of Graham, her body guard and partner in this quest, Moguhla, her guide, and Clint, the young, often impetuous big-mouth of the group, but was also handy with a six shooter; was headed north across the mountains on a bridge made of tasseled rope with the Furakah close behind them.
                                                            (2)
Kate’s troubles began five years ago when her Father, Dr. Douglas Mcbain, was murdered and the crime was never solved.
Mcbain left a nightclub called the Half Moon with a woman named Betty Blue, a performer for that club. In the morning, Dr. Mcbain was discovered hunched over his desk with a bullet hole in the back of his head the size of a silver dollar. Betty Blue had given a statement Dr. Mcbain left her apartment at midnight, when witnesses had seen them both at the club at closing hour, 2:00 A.M. With a mysterious man.
Her Father had no enemies to speak of, and Kate had no idea he’d been dating, especially a woman half his age and half his intelligence. No fingerprints, no other leads.
The Police were dumbfounded.
Kate swore she’d find the killer and seek vengeance.
                                                           (3)
In mere moments, the music drew closer to them as they tried to cross the rope bridge in their jeep. Gun shots were fired and several bullets zipped past their heads like buzzing flies. Kate looked behind her to see ten armed men in the back of a military truck.
“The Furakah…” Kate whispered.
Clint was driving, but not paying attention, drew his Colt and fired twice, the revolver resting just above Mogulah’s head. Mogulah curse him in Arabic.
“Look out!” Screamed Graham, trying to take control of the wheel.
It was too late, the front end of the jeep was hanging off a cliff. If anyone moved, the whole vehicle would take a nosedive into the heart of the Indian valley.
Kate closed her eyes and prayed for help. She could hear the other three fight among each other until another vehicle pulled in behind them. She continued her prayer, even as the voices of her men quieted down. Then she heard a familiar voice.
“Kate, darling. Why in the hell would you let your Father’s obsession drag half way across the world?”
Kate opened her eyes to find Ross Holland leaning in the teetering jeep. The tall, muscular blond man was grinning from ear to ear. He had one of the creepiest smiles Kate had ever seen, which was a reason she never found him interesting enough to go further than share her Father’s work with him.
“Fancy seeing you here, Ross,” Kate laughed nervously.
“Yes, strange that we should meet up again. Haven’t seen you since—”
“Since my Father fired you, Ross.” The jeep rocked back and forth slightly. Kate swallowed hard, dug her nails into the car seat.
“That’s not a very happy memory, Katie, darling.”
“You shouldn’t have sold the Gillespie Cross from underneath Father.” Kate shot back.
“Bloody hell, darling, it was for everyone’s best intentions.”
“Look,” Clint piped up. “Is there any way you two can bicker after someone saves us?’
“Yes,” Ross said. “I think the boy is right.” Ross yelled to the Furakahs in an Hindu dialect and they immediately went to work on pulling the jeep out of harm’s way.
                                                              (4)
Hours later, the Fuakahs led Kate and her men to camp. The others were led to a tent of their own. While Kate was led to Ross’ personal quarters. As she entered the tent, Kate saw tall dark haired woman lounging on pillows.
“Oh my God!” Betty Blue threw her head back and let out a healthy laugh. “Everything comes full circle, doesn’t it.”
Kate folded her arms, a gentle breeze blew a few of her red strands hair in her face.
“It’s not much of a surprise your here with Ross. Now I understand.”
“Do you, darling?” Ross entered the tent and took hold of a giggling Betty Blue and kissed her long and hard.
“You didn’t have to kill Father for this item.” Kate said.
“Oh sure I did! I have a private collector for this Bloodflower Mummy. You wouldn’t believe how much this man in Germany was willing to pay.”
“I get goose bumps just thinking how much money we’re getting!” Betty exclaimed.
“I’m sure you could have stolen the key from him.”
“I did,” Ross help up a skeleton key carved out of granite. On the sides of it were engraved markings in Hindu. “I also needed your Father out of the way. He would just muck things up.”
Kate’s face fell. She didn’t know her Father had the key to the Bloodflower tomb. “Then what was that business from a Dr. Denning sending me and my crew out here?”
Ross began laughing, Betty joined in.
“Oh,” Kate said. “You are Dr. Denning. Why the game.”
“That’s when this story gets really interesting, darling. Do you know the myth of the Bloodflower Tomb?”
“I didn’t have time–”
“Kate, I can’t believe you didn’t follow your Father’s advise. Always do the research. Anyways, it seems this tomb harbors more than just a silly corpse. It’s the corpse of an apparent God! A Hindu God…the God of Vengeance…wait….he’s also the God of Death. Isn’t that rich?”
“I still don’t understand why you need us, Ross.”
“There seems to be two types of people involved in this affair, darling. Those who believe in Blood flower—which is spectacular story—the name! He, the God, Dailis, when death is extracted from his all powerful fingertips, a marigold appears bleeding…hence the name. Oh, yes I saying. The types who are involved are non-believers, such as yourself. And those who are believers. I fall in that category as does the chap in Germany. Did I mention he is head of the government there?
“Oh, moving on…Your presence will make it easier for me to meet this God Dailis by giving your life to him. Isn’t that exciting!”
At this moment, the obvious leader of the Furakas entered the tent. He whispered in Ross’ ear. That awful smile appeared on his face. He sighed. He looked over at Betty, took her hand. “It’s nearing midnight I’m being informed.” He turns to Kate. “It’s time, darling. Your men have already been escorted to the tomb. You will join them.”
                                                        (5)
The tomb was a cave not more than hundred yards from camp. Kate was tied as well as the other three. It seemed Clint tried to talk his way out of the situation and was unsuccessful by the looks of the bruises on his face. Mogullah had already begun his prayer in Hindu.
Graham had been tight lipped and stone faced until he saw Kate join them. Tears rolled down his cheeks. “I want you to know, Kate. I have loved you since the first day I met you.”
“Graham, don’t do this.” Kate said. “Your making this difficult.”
“I needed you to know, I will take my love for to my grave, and it will not be in vain.”
“How touching.,” Ross stated. “But you are keeping the man of the hour.” He pushed Graham out of his way, dangled the granite key in Kate’s face. Ross yelled in Hindu at the leader of Furakahs to begin and the man bowed in front of the closed off entrance of the tomb. From the Hindu’s lips a prayer was whispered. A prayer to the God of Vengeance and Death.
Ross placed the granite key in the stone keyhole and turned to left. The stone door moved and a light appeared in the dark tomb. It grew brighter as each of Kate’s men were shoved inside the tomb. Finally Kate was pushed inside.
Still, the Furakah chanted faster, bobbing his head up and down, his words intertwining.
The light went dim.
Ross listened, there were no screams. He was puzzled. Maybe it was all a lie. This God of Vengeance and Death was just a myth. He was curious. He had to see. He motioned for the Furakah to enter the tomb. The leader stopped chanting, went with his men. After them, only after them, did Ross enter the tomb.
Kate and her men were still alive. No corpse had risen. No death from anyone’s fingertips.
“This is a travesty!” Ross stomped his feet. He turned to the leader of the Furakah. “How dare you con me!” Ross took a pistol from the man’s belt and shot him twice in chest. The Furakah men were stunned as everyone else when the body of the leader fell to the ground.
Under Ross’ boots small white things moved, slithered rather. It began as a few, which turned into ten. Then twenty, then a hundred, finally thousands of bone-white maggots had consumed Ross.
He screamed as his entire body was covered, only the outline of him remained. It was followed by the Furakahs screams. All of them suffering the same fate as Ross.
Kate closed her eyes and said her prayers.
Silence came. Kate would only reopen her eyes at the request of Clint. “Look,” He said. “Kate, look damn you!”
Kate opened her eyes to find a tall skeletal man in a robe standing before her. His face consisted of two large red eyes set deep inside two black holes. His ivory skin had several small maggots crawling in and out as if trying to find somewhere to rest. There was that grin, where part of his blackened lips had been caught by a fishing hook and pulled to the left, exposing a cheekbone.
She held her breath, anticipating death.
Instead, the ropes that bound her and her men, dissolved and fell to their feet. She looked up in awe of the God of Vengeance and death.
“Now what?” She said to the robed figure, who was now sitting in a corner of his tomb, facing away from everyone.
“I obey you, but first I must rest.” Dailis said.
“Why didn’t you kill us?” Kate approached him, stopped halfway.
“You did not speak the wrong prayer…nor was your heart black as the night.”
“Look,” Mogulah pointed to where the skeletal remains of Ross were laying.
A marigold had grown from his ribcage. Blood dripped from it’s petals into a pool of red forming on the floor of the tomb.