Lost Souls in the Hunting Ground - Part two (cont)
Penelope Hill
There was a table, a low wooden table, wreathed in dust and smothered in cobwebs. At its head was set a carved throne. And in that throne there sat a corpse.
An old corpse, withered to a skeleton by centuries of damp air. The robes that draped around it were rotten and faded, leaving only hints of colour, touches of gold thread buried in the general decay.
He was attended by others of his kind, each heap of tumbled bone still holding vigil at its assigned place at the table. It was as if they had simply sat down in prayer and never got up again, letting death steal over them with quiet certainty.
I stared in total fascination, recalling Yun Shi's words earlier in the day.
They haunt their refuge, still guarding their greatest secret...
I walked a little further forward, drawn by the tranquillity that gathered in the hidden chamber. This death had been their decision, a choice to accept the needs of destiny rather than to fall to violent hands. And for me - whose dead soul had been denied its rest - their peaceful demeanour seemed something to envy, rather than to mourn.
They were watching us. I could feel their presences, distant and wary, weighing up our intentions like a silent jury passing judgement on our guilt or innocence.
"I - ah - think we should have gone the other way..." Al's voice was cracked with disquiet, his words tight and his sense of presence tense. I half-turned, seeing him hovering uncomfortably in the archway, his warmth and vitality an intrusion amidst the gathered shadows.
"I don't think they can hurt you, Al," I said, pacing down the length of the table to study the occupant of the throne.
Not the way I can...
"It's all right for you," he muttered, skirting the edge of the chamber so as to stay within the reach of the light. "You're already related... Did - did I see that one move?"
"No." I smiled, reacting to his unease with amused sympathy. I don't like dead things, he'd said to me, an admission of embarrassment. But this wasn't about being squeamish - he was well and truly spooked. And he didn't like it. Didn't like it at all.
"You - uh - think we can get outta here before one of them decides to?"
"In a minute." I'd caught sight of something, nestled in the folds of the robe where it lay over the seat of the throne. Something that reflected the light, that gleamed with a faint brilliance of its own.
I stepped closer, reaching down to push the rotting fabric aside. Al squeaked a protest that I ignored. It would have been wrong for a living man to disturb these quiet corpses, but I belonged to their company, was - as Al so rightly said - related.
And all I sensed was quiet approval as my fingers closed on the hidden object, as I lifted the weight of it free from ancient hands.
Fingers of bone released their treasure reluctantly; it was a delicate vessel of patinaed glass, wrapped with an equally delicate filigree of gold. The whole thing was no bigger than the curl of my hand, and its workmanship was exquisite, a thing of beauty, wrought with loving care.
The vessel of crystal and gold...
A treasure beyond all price. Not because of its craftsmanship, but because of what it contained. I could feel it, sparking against my palm, a whisper of energy, a sense of power.
A promise of life...
I lifted it up, letting the light of the torch fall on its rainbow-hued surface. Inside, barely visible, there lingered a swirl of liquid, less than a thumb's depth at the bottom of the bowl.
The elixir of Lao Tzu.
The liquor of the gods...
They would have measured it out, these ancient monks, the guardians of its secret, the inheritors of its power. Drop by careful drop, curing the sick, the wounded, and the dying. Dispensing its beneficence until the day came that greed and ambition reached out to snatch it from their wise hands.
So they sought their own death in preference to its surrender. Guarding it through the centuries until a dead man came to claim it for his own.
Need tore at me as I stood there, the savage howl of desire that yearned for the warmth it would forever be denied. It was growing stronger by the minute, the strength that had sustained it given up to heal the wounds of my undead flesh.
I think I had always thought - right up until the moment of my death - that the power that directed my Leaping would not desert me. But it had. It had left me to die instead of snatching me away, the way it had always done before. And after that... What hope had I had left to sustain me? Why had I refused to accept my fate?
Why had I clung so stubbornly to the illusion of life, wrestling with the darkness in my soul, when all I really craved was release...?
Because where my faith had faltered, that of my friend had never failed. It was his determination that had brought me here, his conviction, his strength. A belief - not in some distant and impartial power whose agenda he suspected - but in the essential purity, the righteousness of my cause. A refusal to accept defeat. There would be a way to save me, even if he had to surrender his own soul to find it.
And the proof of that faith now nestled in my hand, the echo of an old legend, the promise of a myth.
An impossibility as unlikely - and as real - as the demon that held my heart.
Would it be enough? Was there sufficient left to restore my life, to drive out the beast and to put an end to the hunger?
"Sam?" Al's voice lifted me from the swirl of my thoughts. "Is that - it?"
I turned in his direction, feeling the surge of want tug at my self-control.
"Yes," I admitted slowly. "I think it is."
"So what are you waiting for?"
I stared down at the vessel in my hand. Why was I hesitating? Why didn't I just break the seal and take the chance? Why couldn't I bring myself to drink, and the rest of the world be damned?
Because it wasn't just my life at stake.
"I can't, Al. We need it - to bargain with Lascale. The bottle alone won't be enough. He'll have to be sure there's enough of the elixir left to analyse."
Annoyance settled on his features, a glare of irritation backed by comprehending resignation. "Sam Beckett," he growled, "I just hope to god you know what you're doing..."
We left the silent monks behind us and climbed higher, guided through that maze of tunnels by the flicker of the torchlight as it reacted to fitful currents of air. I cradled the precious bottle against me, concentrating on that murmur of power in preference to that of the tempting warmth that paced at my heels. Al had known better than to try and argue me out of my chosen course of action, but I could feel his eyes on me, and could sense his disquiet at the situation.
You have to understand this, Al.
You know I could never claim back my life if it meant that others had
to die.
Of course he knew that. It was why he'd let me walk away without raising more than a token protest. But that didn't mean he had to like it. Even if - in his heart - he also had to know that I was right.
The sense of open air grew stronger - an impact of fresh, rather than musty dampness, the whisper of rain and the hint of night air. With it came other sensations; the hint of distant fire, the lure of prey.
I hope we're not too late.
We'd been walking through decorated passages ever since we'd left the lower chamber and its grisly occupants. Painted scenes of heaven paraded past us, visions of paradise and the promise of enlightenment jostling with instructional panels and the illustrations of legends and tales. I hadn't paid them much attention, although Al had paused once or twice, probably registering frank and erotic imagery in among the lotus flowers and the battle scenes. The paint was old and faded, priceless material to an archaeologist, but so much worthless junk to the man we had to face. There were no statues that might tempt him, no golden offerings and no ivory pieces that might replace the precious elixir as my bargaining price. Instead the upper tunnels showed evidence of that ancient sacking, marks of soot marring the paint and the occasional scattering of bones where a defender - or would-be looter - had fallen.
We turned another corner, and reached a spiral of steps leading upward. And at the top lay another door.
It was ajar, letting in a breath of night air. I thrust the torch into a nearby sconce and climbed the steps, extending my senses to catch every nuance of the waiting night. There were people close by: four of them. One I knew - Yun Shi's presence was unmistakable. The others I could guess.
"I think we made it ahead of them," I said, sliding out into the space beyond the door as I did so. Al followed me more cautiously, lacking both my heightened senses and my night vision. For him the ornate chamber that awaited us would be no more than a space filled with vague shapes and shadows. To me it was breathtaking.
If I'd had any breath to take, that was.
We'd emerged at one side of a hexagonal chamber, a vaulted arch forming the main entrance to our right. To our left, part of the building had fallen, revealing a hint of a star-filled sky. But in front of us rose a mountain of white marble, its lower edge cut into a series of shallow steps. A literal mountain, carved so that the tumble of streams and the cling of trees was clearly defined; clouds gathered at its summit and - seated on those clouds - was the Goddess herself.
Her right hand was lifted up in benediction. A scroll tumbled from her left, as if casually unrolled for the dispensing of wisdom. She was carved with attentive care, her expression serene and benevolent and her body draped with careful folds of cloth, one breast laid bare, the other covered.
It was an astounding work of art, far too big to ever be moved. It was with such regal grace that Diana must have held reign over Ephesus, or Athena guarded the Parthenon. I stood and I stared up at her smile, a smile as gentle and as enigmatic as that of the Mona Lisa herself.
She's been waiting a long time...
She'd been carved to wait until eternity. Would wait - until the unknowing impact of heavenly fire would tear her and her refuge apart. Until American bombers ravaged this region of her homeland and scattered the remnants of her people to the wind.
I found my eyes drawn to Al's pensive figure and wondered.
Were you one of them? Did you have a hand in her destruction?
He may have been wondering the same thing himself. I know he shivered and turned away, pacing to the vaulted entrance and peering out into the night. My sense of approaching fire was growing stronger.
"They're coming," I warned, taking the opposite side of the arch, no longer confident of my self-control. He nodded an affirmation of that while I studied the layout of the place with an appraising eye.
The rain had stopped, leaving behind a clear night and a sky that was sprinkled with stars, although only a little of that could be seen through the tangle of trees and ruined walls. A short flight of steps led down from the entranceway to the statue. Beyond that was a small open courtyard surrounded by ornate walls and flanked by stone guardians. There were three archways leading out of the open space that I could see, one partially blocked by the looming bulk of a tree. Vines crawled over the walls, and snatches of scrub and undergrowth had pushed their way through the courtyard stones. While the Goddess rested in reasonable repair, her temple was little more than a crumbled ruin, an echo of old grandeurs torn by the ravages of time. As we stood there, alert and wary for whatever might happen next, there came a sudden and unexpected scream.
My head jerked up, sensing the impact of death, the startled release of a soul sent straight to its maker. The scream had been short-lived and ended in a tight gurgle; the demon within me reacted to it with a howl, a surge of anger that I could not entirely resist.
So close. So wasteful.
I held on to my sense of self with an effort, barely avoiding the clench of my hand that would have shattered the precious vessel that lay within it.
"What the hell was that?" Al hissed in alarm.
"One of the mercenaries, I think." I could still sense the spiced fire of the village elder, and the matching echo of youth that accompanied it. The third fire - the one that remained - seethed with anger and frustration.
What's going on?
I let the beast out a little further - quivering with need as it opened my awareness to the glory that burned so close by - trying to use it to read the situation.
Just as Yun Shi was shoved through one of the arches to tumble painfully on the broken stones. Behind him came the arrogant stride of the man we had to face; Yun Ho was a struggle of protest beside him, the Frenchman's hand dragging at his ear.
"Merde!" Lascale was swearing, kicking at the old man to drive him forward. My free hand tensed in anger. "You will pay for that, you - you animals!"
He threw the boy forward so that he stumbled and tripped over his grandfather's huddled frame. "Don't try and run away," the angry voice went on to growl. "I only need one of you to guide me back, n'est-ce que pas?"
"I told him walking on the white stones was dangerous," Yun Ho protested, manoeuvring himself in front of his grandfather, who tried to stop him from doing so.
"All you tell me is lies," Lascale dismissed with contempt. "Pathetic ones. Is this it? Is this where you hide your secrets?"
I was measuring the man as he spoke, the first time I had really been able to. He was a reasonably handsome man, although he was heavily built, with his balding pate and his thick-set features carried on a equally thick neck; a child of strong peasant stock, the sort that ought to be the backbone of the earth.
But his soul was sour; ugly and angry, twisted up with self-interest and ambition...
"All that awaits here is the judgement of the Goddess," Yun Shi told him calmly. It wasn't the answer his captor wanted to hear. He lifted the gun, his lips curled into a sneer.
"Don't lie to me, old man. I know about these places. And I know about the legend, and if you don't start telling me what I want to know, I am going to..."
"Leave them alone," I advised coldly, stepping out of the shadows as I did so. From shadows into the darkness of the night. To Lascale I would have seemed no more than a looming figure, a shape drawn on the backdrop of ruin. But Yun Shi clearly realised who I was; he gave a startled gasp of alarm and grabbed for the boy in defensive terror.
Come back when you are dead, he'd said.
Time for prophecies to start coming true.
"Qu'est que...?" the Frenchman growled, taking a step toward me, swinging the gun in my direction. Just as I wanted him to. While his attentions were focused on me, Yun Shi and his grandson had a chance to escape.
Lascale's eyes narrowed, suspicion creasing his face. "Frazel?" he questioned, taking another step forward. "But - but you are dead."
He shook his head, edging closer, the gun still raised between us. He thought he had the master hand, the power of the weapon giving him an edge, giving him control. But while the bullets might hurt me, they would never stop me and I watched his approach with expectancy, much as a spider might watch a fly bumble into its web.
The old man was backing away with caution. The boy was simply staring.
And I could feel Al's eyes on me, accepting his presence as I always accept it, an observer hovering at the edges of event...
Forgetting for a moment that he was there.
"C'est impossible," Lascale concluded, arriving close enough to be sure of my identity. "There was no way you could survive that shot, let alone the fall-"
I allowed myself a smile. "Who said I did? Didn't they tell you? This is a place where ghosts walk."
"Non," he denied. "This is a trick. Just a trick."
"Maybe," I agreed, lifting my hand and uncurling my fingers so that the glitter of crystal that sat there caught the faint light from the stars. "But I'm the one who has what you want."
"Mon dieu..." His eyes went wide. "The elixir? It exists? Is that how you-?" He stepped closer still, reaching for the prize, the muzzle of the gun falling away. "Give it to me," he demanded. I took half a step backward.
"Uh-ah-ah," I admonished, shaking my head at his eagerness. "Not so fast. Nothing comes without a price."
The gun was re-aimed with alacrity. "How about your life?" he suggested. I chuckled, which completely disconcerted him.
He was a bully and a braggart, disguising his inner weaknesses with the lies of arrogance. His pleasures were in domination, in petty revenges and self-satisfactions; his soul was a fitful flame tainted by pitifulness. But even so, his warmth was a point of focus, a source of desire...
"Too late for that," I told him with confidence. "Put the gun away. You can't hurt me with it. But you might hurt this by accident."
I tilted the vial as I spoke, merely a pretence of threat, since I would never have deliberately let it fall, but his eyes widened with alarm.
"Non," he begged, hesitating only briefly before lowering the hand that held the gun. "Don't. Let us discuss your price."
"Put the gun away," I repeated firmly, packing a little of the demon's power into my words. Just a little. Just enough to hint that I might be more than I seemed. He shivered and did as he was told, sliding the deadly weapon back into its holster and making a show of taking his hand away afterward.
"What do you want, Frazel? Money? I can get you money. Papers, perhaps? Your clearance to return home? I can get that, too."
He was planning something. I could sense it, could sense the hollowness of his offers, the lies in his words.
"Guarantees," I said, keeping my voice level, my tone cold. "That you and your men will leave this village and its people alone; that Dr Schuster and myself are free to go back to Da Nang, or Saigon, or wherever we wish to go. And once we have done so, you can have the elixir to analyse-"
He jumped me, a sudden lurch forward designed to snatch the vial from my hand, to catch me unawares. He might as well have tried to catch the wind. I turned as he moved, the fragile crystal cradled in my palm, my other hand reaching to intercept his lunge. No doubt he had thought to win the prize and get it out of my reach, but all he succeeded in achieving was to find himself lifted up from the ground, held aloft and struggling at the end of a dead man's arm.
"Don't be so stupid," I said, considering him with contempt.
His life impacted against me with a sickly heat that burned my hand. I wanted it. Needed it. And he had so little right to have what I had been denied.
He clawed the gun free with distinct terror, aiming it at me with a shaking hand. I simply smiled, and the shake became more pronounced. His eyes darted sideways in desperation, seeking an escape, seeking a solution - and found it in the awestruck figure of the young man, still staring at the two of us with wide-eyed astonishment.
The gun swung round, Lascale intending it as threat, and the beast and I reacted almost without thinking. A snarl of anger rose inside me, emerging from my throat as a savage and inhuman growl. His whole body tensed at the sound, an involuntary response, and my heightened senses heard the mechanism click. Registered the trigger action being released.
No time for consideration. No time to weigh options and measure their balance. I had seconds. Less than seconds.
Before an innocent child was going to die...
I pulled my captive down toward me, my other hand tossing the precious vial away, high into the air, freeing me to reach and drag at the weapon. Lascale struggled, sending me off balance. The gun fired. The bullet ricocheted off the stones at Yun Ho's feet, and a cry of total despair registered from behind me, as Al realised what I had done.
"Noooo-!"
He made an heroic effort to retrieve the situation, lunging out of his hiding place to dive after the tumble of crystal and gold as it lazily cartwheeled to its destruction. He landed in a desperate sprawl, the vial falling between his hands before they had time to close, the delicate workmanship shattering into a thousand slivers of light.
"Nooo!" he howled a second time, a pained denial of inevitability. His desperate clutch closed only on broken glass, the priceless liquor it had contained streaming through his fingers to be lost forever in among the weed-strewn stones. "No. Oh my god, no-!"
Something inside me snapped at the sight. At my last and only chance at life spilt beyond recall. Anger and despair tore through my soul. And the demon broke free.
It surged out of its cage, howling triumph, demanding blood, taking control. The eyes I turned on Lascale were cold and hungry, filled with a power he could not resist.
"Enough is enough," I hissed, watching him squirm, taking pleasure in it. He went slack, the gun tumbling from nerveless fingers and his body betraying him with efficient terror. "The game is over. I win. And you lose."
He gave a little squeak, a snivelling whine in the back of his throat. He could see death in my face. Hell in my eyes.
And I didn't give a damn...
"We'll never know now," I purred, pulling him closer, savouring his terror, the panic in his soul, "how much truth there may have been in that legend. But I'm no myth. I'm real, Lascale. Did you want immortality?"
I laughed, deep-throated, confident. The scent of his life was tempting nectar; the savour of his fear was intoxicating.
"I can give you immortality. If that's what you really want..."
"Saaam!"
There were hands on my shoulders, hands of fire, pulling me back, pulling me away. I reacted to their touch with a snarl, turning my head, hissing with rage-
- and found myself looking into dark eyes that were torn with anguish, brimming with caught-back tears.
"Don't do it, pal. He's not worth it. For god's sake, Sam. Don't do it. Not after everything we've been through. Please-!"
It was a plea from the heart, a cry of despair from a man with nothing else left to give. He had fought so hard, endured so much, just to bring me to this moment. Just to win me that one chance, that one slim hope. And I had thrown it all away...
The hunger filled me. Fire stirred it into frenzy; his fire, the gift that had carried me when my own resolve had failed.
A fire that so easily outshone the pitiful terror of an equally pitiful man, the man whose death the demon craved.
I closed my eyes, threw back my head, and drew in a tight and silent scream.
I will not...
Let the demon tear me into shreds. Let the beast savage my soul and break me into a thousand, thousand moments of torment. I will not let it drag me into the dark.
Not while the light of his faith burns so brightly ...
I was shaking. Shuddering. Fighting for control in long gasps that were both protest and pain. Slowly I forced my hands to uncurl, to release their grip on Lascale's wrist and shirt. He took a moment to realise he was free; then he backed away with alacrity, swearing and trembling, stumbling on the misplaced stones, groping desperately for his discarded gun.
And the shot took him before he was aware of it, the bullet snatching at his heart, the impact briefly lifting him into an almost balletic leap - only to fall in a lifeless tumble like a discarded marionette.
What...?
His death - so sudden, so unexpected - hit me with the force of a physical blow. I fell back, into the support of my friend's embrace; Al's arms wrapped around me with protective strength, holding me, anchoring me.
The nearness of his soul was torture - but it was a pain I clung to, since within it lay the human warmth I craved.
The life I would never again possess.
In the night, standing in the ruin of his people's past, staring down at the distorted corpse, was Yun Ho. A boy become a man in one single moment of decision. The gun was a weight in his hands; the look on his face held determination.
Slowly - but with growing confidence - the young man looked up, letting his eyes focus on the two of us where we crouched together on the steps. Just as slowly he lifted the gun, its menace becoming part of him, its presence bestowing a sense of power.
"If we're gonna Leap," Al muttered worriedly in my ear, "now might be appropriate..."
He was cradling death in his arms, confronted by the nightmare of his past.
By the image that would come to haunt an entire nation.
The face of Vietnam.
The child with a gun in his hand...
"Enough," Yun Shi's voice declared, the old man reaching out of the dark to close his hand over that of his grandson. He added a terse phrase in his own tongue, and Yun Ho threw him a look of resentment. One that softened until it became comprehension. He let the gun fall and reached to embrace his grandfather with relief.
I felt Al let out a slow breath. "There's been enough death tonight. That's what he said. Are you okay, Sam?"
I clenched my hands, feeling the need tearing me in two. "No. And he's wrong, Al. There has to be one more death before this is over." I struggled free of his embrace, pulling away from him, fighting for self-control. "Mine."
"What?" He stared at me as if I'd gone crazy. "Sam-"
I shook my head, denying any protest, stepping back to increase the distance. I was balancing on a knife edge. Part of me wanted to turn and run, to put as much space between us as I could, to be certain of his life-
- and the rest of me wanted to reach out and take it, to immerse myself in his fire and make it my own...
"I can't go on, Al." We'd forgotten all pretence of being the men whose faces we wore. This was between him and me; a matter of friendship, a question of loyalty.
I know you love me. You're my best buddy, right? My pal. My friend. My - god help us both - my soulmate. But do you love me enough to let me go?
Can you bear to set me free...?
His anxious expression closed down into a resolve as certain as the one Yun Ho had discovered in himself. "Yes you can. You have to."
"No." My denial was anguished. "I can't. I just can't. Not any more. Don't you understand? I lost it back there. I was going to kill him. I wanted to kill him.
"And I - I - enjoyed making him afraid of me."
Al shook his head, refusing to accept my words. "Uh-uh. That wasn't you, Sam. That was - the thing you have to fight. The devil reaching out for you. You just can't let him win."
Oh, god!
I had to turn and stride away, into the shadows of the inner temple, into the presence of the Goddess, whose serene smile looked down on me with sympathy. I was trembling from head to foot, quivering with need, racked by something I knew was barely under my control.
And after a moment or two I sensed him follow me. A sweet seductive flame, walking in my shadow like a faithful hound close on its master's heels.
Al Calavicci, you are either a fool or the bravest man I will ever be privileged to know.
And maybe it's a bit of both.
"I can't go on like this," I told him, pacing each word to add emphasis. "I won't, Al. I won't. I threw away my chance. I know I did. But I couldn't let that boy die for nothing."
I steeled myself and turned to face him, willing him to understand, to comprehend my dilemmas. He was standing under the archway, watching me with concern, and absently sucking at one of the cuts on his fingers as he did so.
The sight - the scent - of blood was almost more than I could bear.
"Al," I pleaded, much as he had pleaded only that short time before. "Please. I'm dead. And I just want nothing more than to lie down and never get up again. I can't exist like this. McFarlane was right. The longer I fight, the more certain the final victory. And I know - now I know - it won't be mine.
"Please. Al," I asked again, packing the words with all the inner pain I carried. "Find a way to kill me. Find a way - to set me free."
Eternity held us; a moment of silence that seemed to last forever. His expression held nothing but quiet sympathy.
But the sense of anguished compassion that filled his soul, the love he held for me in that moment - that was the truth he had no need to express.
A truth I would carry to my grave.
"That really what you want, Sam?" His question was gentle. I nodded, not truly trusting my voice, and then had to turn away with a shudder. The hunger was clawing at me, long talons of agony ripping at my sense of self.
"Okay." The agreement was just as gentle as the question, a soft pronouncement of certainty. For a moment hope - and relief - blossomed in my heart. Until he cut it out with the equally certain statement that followed it. "Tomorrow. After the sun comes up."
"Nooo!" I turned on him with desperate anger, in pained fury. "Now, Al. Now. Tonight. It has to be tonight. I'm hurting here-!"
"I know." If he'd had a cigar left, he'd have been pulling it from his pocket to light it; he was facing me with that infuriating Calavicci confidence that I knew so well.
A good part of Sam Beckett was screaming.
But the rest of me was staring at him in astonishment.
Damn you, Al. You're hardly standing in the Imaging Chamber right now.
Oh, god.
At least you'd be safe if you were...
"Listen, pal," he said, jabbing the point home with a gestured finger. "It may be that I'm gonna have to stake your heart and cut off your head before I Leap outta here, and if that's the case, then believe me, I'll do it.
"But it was you that wanted to save this damned village, and there's no way I'm gonna let you walk out on the idea and leave me behind to shovel up all the fragging doodoo that's gonna hit the fan down there when Lascale don't come home in the morning. Capite?"
I hadn't thought about that.
Didn't want to think about that.
All I knew was the pain. The need.
And how much it was tearing me apart...
"So," my friend's voice went on, in tones of patient reasonableness, "we find a way to fix their problem, Sam. Then we fix yours." He paused to find me a small and resigned sigh. "Whatever it takes, kid. I promise."
I wrapped my arms around my shivering body, shaking my head in anguished denial. "It's too late, Al. I - I - need..."
"I know," he said a second time, walking toward me with deliberation. I gasped and staggered back, feeling his presence impact against me, feeling the beast howl for his blood.
"Aaal..."
Marble edges tripped me; I went down, sprawling on the cold surface, on the white stone steps at the Goddess's feet. Still I retreated, desperation and anguish warring within me. I was brought to a halt by the carved wall of the mountain, where I huddled down, closed my eyes and silently screamed my self-denial over and over again.
No. No.
Nooo...
"Sam." Al's words held a hint of exasperation. "Don't be such a goddamn martyr, kid."
He was right there, an overwhelming sweetness, a heat that perched itself on the edge of my awareness and would not go away.
"Damn you," I muttered brokenly. "You know what I want..."
"M'm-h'mm." There was amusement in his affirmation. "And since I know you won't want to order French or Vietnamese, I'm afraid there's only Italian on the menu again. Unless - you happen to think that little dash of Russian adds suitable variety? Borsch and bologna. Interesting combination, wouldn't you say?"
I opened my eyes. He was sitting right beside me, leaning his back against the mountain. Watching me with a comprehending gentleness I knew I did not deserve.
"I told ya before, Sammy," he grinned, sure of my astonished attention. "All you gotta do is ask."
Oh, my god...
I was past the point of rational consideration. There should have been a part of me to protest - it's only been two days, Al. You can't go on giving forever... But the pain and the need were both too strong. Instead I welcomed the offer with the headiness of relief, absolved from the horror of myself by his easy generosity.
He'll give you the release you crave, my treacherous heart whispered as I slowly uncurled from my huddle. He promised...
"I hope she doesn't mind," he joked, tilting his head up to catch a glimpse of the statue above us. A movement of unthinking trust; it exposed the vulnerability of his throat to the savage rake of my hand...
I caught the instinct just in time, flattening my fingers to lay them over his heart instead. He looked down at the contact, then across at me, and smiled.
Wryly.
A jeezus, Sam, do you have to make such a performance outta this? kind of smile that ended with a second backward tilt of his head and a patient sigh of forbearance.
I could feel the soft pounding of his heart beneath my palm. All I had to do was clench my fingers and it would be mine.
I moved closer instead, sliding my hand up to push away the fabric of his shirt and to administer the gentlest of caresses. One that freed the bounty imprisoned beneath his skin.
The true elixir of life.
I dipped my head to take that priceless gift one third and final time. I was nothing but a shadow, empty, cold...
The heat and the brilliance filled me, filled my senses, overwhelming the hunger, healing the pain. I drank in that familiar sweetness, savouring its essence, revelling in its depths.
Soothing my wounded spirit with the rich red wine of his life...
I felt my heart surge, abandoning its slow deceit to match the steady drumbeat that measured out the life I took.
And as it did so, somewhere, deep within me, the neglected embers of my soul flickered with a sudden incandescence of their own.
Flickered - first with fitful effort, and then flaring into fire.
A fire that was fed by fire. I was burning from the inside out, consumed by what I took, engulfed by flame, drowning in glory...
And I couldn't stop.
Couldn't break the contact, couldn't reject the flame.
Couldn't let go ...
If the anguish of my death had been unendurable, then this was beyond all words.
A surfeit of experience.
Past all pain.
Past all pleasure.
It immersed me- submerged me - in an unbearable light.
And then scattered me into endless and infinite moments of heaven...
Lost Souls in the Hunting Ground. Part Two. Disclaimer:This story has been written for love rather than profit and is not intended to violate any copyrights held by Donald P Bellasario, Bellasarius Productions, or any other holders of Quantum Leap trademarks or copyrights.
© 1996 by AAA Press. Written and reproduced by Penelope Hill. Artwork by Joan Jobson
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