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perelynnWe catch up with the shooter right after she pulls the trigger.
A cottage right in front of us is besieged. A fight is raging inside, and not just a drunken brawl. People there - youngsters, most like, their voices are clear and strong - are fighting for their lives. I can guess who their attackers are. I saw some half-naked silhouettes in the moonlight. If those bodies belonged to humans earlier, they are no longer.
The shooter is a slim female on skis. I don’t know who her mark is, but it’s definitely not one of the zombies. Her rifle is pointed at the big glass front window, where the commotion is the loudest.
When she notices our arrival, she wastes no time shooting us. Luckily, she chooses the biggest target, which is Hedgehog in any crowd. The sorcerer grunts, his left arm goes limp for a moment. The other arm tears the gun out of the woman’s grasp, sending the shooter flying in the process. She lands, skis askew, right next to me. Together with Hedgehog, we overpower her easily.
“She is not human,” the sorcerer tells me.
“I know,” I say. “You can tell by the eyes. They are like a snake’s. Unmoving and unblinking, see?”
Our captive stares at me blankly. The grey eyes gleam silver in the moonlight.
Like the figures assaulting the cottage, she used to be human, too. Now she is not even a person, she is “it”. Possessed. The woman’s essence is gone, replaced by a minor demon, not powerful enough to bring its kin into the world, but strong enough to destroy the soul of the vessel.
“Where is your master?” I ask.
Minor demons usually have a master. Or trying to summon one.
The silver eyes dart sideways. I whirl, looking around, but everything is quiet. Even the shrieks from the cottage subside. Could the master be there? Unlikely. I still hear the voices of the youngsters, they are calm now. Well, calm-er.
“She is possessed,” I tell Hedgehog. “There is a demon inside.”
“Which one?” he asks.
“You tell me! You’re the sorcerer here.”
“I don’t deal with demons,” he says defiantly. “Any sensible mage tries to stay away from them. Unlike you, crazy witch hunters!”
I let out a sigh, preparing for the upcoming mental acrobatics.
“I have a couple of guesses,” I admit tentatively. “Four of them, actually. No, six.”
“Pick one,” Hedgehog demands, struggling to keep the vessel pinned to the ground.
“That’s the problem!” I complain. “I cannot. My phone is barely working, and in any case, it’s roaming. They will charge me an arm and a leg for using it in Canada...”
“Just tell me your guesses!” Hedgehog roars.
The possessed is actively trying to wiggle out, adding to the sense of urgency.
“Fine!” I concede. “It’s definitely something animalistic, probably originated in the northern regions. Option one, the simplest: a spirit of local woods...”
“No,” Hedgehog says at once. “I would know. I worked with spirits.”
“Option two,” I continue. “A guarding dog of Xolotl, master of fire and lightning…”
Hedgehog dismisses this by shaking his head vigorously.
“Nah, it still has eyes. It would gauge them out first thing.”
“True,” I admit. “But the minion is using firearms, so its code allows gunpowder and explosives.”
“Xolotl was an Aztec god, no?” the sorcerer reminds me. “Didn’t Aztecs live in the south?”
“It can also be connected to mining,” I argue. “But I see your point. Back to the animals and the north, then. Option three: something Siberian or Scandinavian, such as Kutkh the Raven or Fenrir…”
For a moment, the silver eyes turn fiery, hungry gold.
“Fenrir it is,” I conclude smugly. “Well. Things may not be too bad after all. Fenrir is merely a demonic wolf. It is less dangerous than it appears to be. “
Hedgehog examines the face of the possessed, as much as it’s possible with the creature struggling and trying to bite his fingers off.
“Shouldn’t it have, I don’t know, fangs?” he says dubiously.
“Not this one,” I say. “It’s a minion. Fenrir would be its master. We may want to catch it before it makes more of those zombies.”
I nod towards the cottage. There is a commotion at the side door. The youngsters are taking the half-naked bodies of their attackers out to leave them in the snow. I can relate. I wouldn’t want to spend the rest of the night in such company either.
“Any ideas where this Fenrir could be?” Hedgehog asks.
I point in the direction where the possessed looked when asked about the master.
“Ok,” the sorcerer nods. “Now, turn away, please.”
I comply, turning towards the lake. Behind my back, Hedgehog is muttering something in his tongue, recognisable, but strangely unintelligible. My ear catches words here and there, like “pushka-mushka-babushka” and “lodka-vodka-skovorodka”, but they never unite into anything coherent.
There is a dry crack of a broken bone. Then, a faint wail. Then, silence.
Hedgehog joins me at the lakeshore.
“Lead the way,” he says.
(To be continued....)
(Картинка с Pinterest)
A cottage right in front of us is besieged. A fight is raging inside, and not just a drunken brawl. People there - youngsters, most like, their voices are clear and strong - are fighting for their lives. I can guess who their attackers are. I saw some half-naked silhouettes in the moonlight. If those bodies belonged to humans earlier, they are no longer.
The shooter is a slim female on skis. I don’t know who her mark is, but it’s definitely not one of the zombies. Her rifle is pointed at the big glass front window, where the commotion is the loudest.
When she notices our arrival, she wastes no time shooting us. Luckily, she chooses the biggest target, which is Hedgehog in any crowd. The sorcerer grunts, his left arm goes limp for a moment. The other arm tears the gun out of the woman’s grasp, sending the shooter flying in the process. She lands, skis askew, right next to me. Together with Hedgehog, we overpower her easily.
“She is not human,” the sorcerer tells me.
“I know,” I say. “You can tell by the eyes. They are like a snake’s. Unmoving and unblinking, see?”
Our captive stares at me blankly. The grey eyes gleam silver in the moonlight.
Like the figures assaulting the cottage, she used to be human, too. Now she is not even a person, she is “it”. Possessed. The woman’s essence is gone, replaced by a minor demon, not powerful enough to bring its kin into the world, but strong enough to destroy the soul of the vessel.
“Where is your master?” I ask.
Minor demons usually have a master. Or trying to summon one.
The silver eyes dart sideways. I whirl, looking around, but everything is quiet. Even the shrieks from the cottage subside. Could the master be there? Unlikely. I still hear the voices of the youngsters, they are calm now. Well, calm-er.
“She is possessed,” I tell Hedgehog. “There is a demon inside.”
“Which one?” he asks.
“You tell me! You’re the sorcerer here.”
“I don’t deal with demons,” he says defiantly. “Any sensible mage tries to stay away from them. Unlike you, crazy witch hunters!”
I let out a sigh, preparing for the upcoming mental acrobatics.
“I have a couple of guesses,” I admit tentatively. “Four of them, actually. No, six.”
“Pick one,” Hedgehog demands, struggling to keep the vessel pinned to the ground.
“That’s the problem!” I complain. “I cannot. My phone is barely working, and in any case, it’s roaming. They will charge me an arm and a leg for using it in Canada...”
“Just tell me your guesses!” Hedgehog roars.
The possessed is actively trying to wiggle out, adding to the sense of urgency.
“Fine!” I concede. “It’s definitely something animalistic, probably originated in the northern regions. Option one, the simplest: a spirit of local woods...”
“No,” Hedgehog says at once. “I would know. I worked with spirits.”
“Option two,” I continue. “A guarding dog of Xolotl, master of fire and lightning…”
Hedgehog dismisses this by shaking his head vigorously.
“Nah, it still has eyes. It would gauge them out first thing.”
“True,” I admit. “But the minion is using firearms, so its code allows gunpowder and explosives.”
“Xolotl was an Aztec god, no?” the sorcerer reminds me. “Didn’t Aztecs live in the south?”
“It can also be connected to mining,” I argue. “But I see your point. Back to the animals and the north, then. Option three: something Siberian or Scandinavian, such as Kutkh the Raven or Fenrir…”
For a moment, the silver eyes turn fiery, hungry gold.
“Fenrir it is,” I conclude smugly. “Well. Things may not be too bad after all. Fenrir is merely a demonic wolf. It is less dangerous than it appears to be. “
Hedgehog examines the face of the possessed, as much as it’s possible with the creature struggling and trying to bite his fingers off.
“Shouldn’t it have, I don’t know, fangs?” he says dubiously.
“Not this one,” I say. “It’s a minion. Fenrir would be its master. We may want to catch it before it makes more of those zombies.”
I nod towards the cottage. There is a commotion at the side door. The youngsters are taking the half-naked bodies of their attackers out to leave them in the snow. I can relate. I wouldn’t want to spend the rest of the night in such company either.
“Any ideas where this Fenrir could be?” Hedgehog asks.
I point in the direction where the possessed looked when asked about the master.
“Ok,” the sorcerer nods. “Now, turn away, please.”
I comply, turning towards the lake. Behind my back, Hedgehog is muttering something in his tongue, recognisable, but strangely unintelligible. My ear catches words here and there, like “pushka-mushka-babushka” and “lodka-vodka-skovorodka”, but they never unite into anything coherent.
There is a dry crack of a broken bone. Then, a faint wail. Then, silence.
Hedgehog joins me at the lakeshore.
“Lead the way,” he says.
(To be continued....)
(Картинка с Pinterest)
