Where the Devil Says Goodnight (Folk Lore #1) - K.A. Merikan Page 0,136
be grateful Chort still wants to feed on your rotten meat! Don’t make this any more difficult for us. You’ve got nothing to lose, and after so many years, we deserve what your grandmother promised!”
Adam couldn’t believe his ears, yet stepping back was physically impossible. His feet were lead slabs, his hunger a bottomless pit that would turn him inside out if it wasn’t fed soon.
“Go on, Father,” Mrs. Janina urged in the same soothing voice she used when speaking to her beloved grandson on the phone, as if she sensed the growing pain in Adam’s gut and knew the way to make it better. “Just the heart. You’ll die if we don’t go through with the ritual, and he chose to sacrifice himself for the greater good.”
Emil took a shivery breath, emotions passing through his features in stormy waves, but his whole body sagged as if his bones were removed. “Do it if there’s no other way. Golonko is right. I’ve got nothing to lose. Do it. Leave. And forget me. You’ve got better things ahead of you. You will live the life you were meant to, and you won’t have to be afraid any longer.”
Adam looked at the dagger, at the blade he knew to be human bone. How easy would it have been to just sink it into Emil’s flesh, to see the light leave Emil’s eyes as his fragrant blood seeped onto the altar. The mouthwatering scent of his flesh made Adam’s mind fuzzy with thirst, but as he met Emil’s gaze again, he tossed the knife away. The gesture hurt as if the handle had taken off his skin, but Adam focused, remembering the cross Emil had given back to him earlier. Fighting through the need to follow the aroma of meat and bite straight into one of the delicious pecs, he pulled the broken necklace out of his pocket and placed it on Emil’s chest.
“What if God saw how much suffering you’ve been through and sent me here to set you free from this place?”
Rumbling laughter echoed in the grove followed by low grunts of the beast. It stood behind its four apostles, waiting to confront its host.
“You were always mine, Adam, born from my seed. You might have been coerced to follow a foreign God, but this isn’t His land. It’s mine. And you are mine too,” the monster said in a voice that sounded like creaking wood.
Adam’s breath caught, and he glanced at Emil for support, but the strong, familiar chest no longer moved. Panic clutched at Adam’s throat before he realized the four cultists wouldn’t move a muscle either, stuck in one pose like wax sculptures. The wind was dead, and so were the dancing shadows. Time has stopped.
Chort huffed, circling the altar at a languid pace that came from a certainty that no one and nothing could thwart his plans. Adam’s human nature compelled him to keep ignoring the beast, to still pretend it wasn’t there, but time had come to confront the worst of his fears. His own nature.
Even in the slouched position reminiscent of a sitting dog, Chort was a massive presence in the grove. Humanoid and built of muscle packed under the thick pelt, he had long arms with clawed hands and powerful legs ending in hoofs twice the size of Jinx’s. The chest, as developed as that of a fully-grown gorilla kept moving as he inhaled Emil’s scent, but Adam’s stomach only dropped once he saw the monster’s head and the horns spiraling toward the sky.
Chort hummed as he leaned forward, reaching above the altar to tap his fingers against Adam’s shoulder. His features were an unholy mix between a wolf and a goat, but still appeared noble when the beast spoke, its hairy muzzle forming words without issue.
“I am a part of you and I always was. From the day you drew your first breath, we shared the body your parents have given to you. But we can part, if that’s what you want. You could live on and serve whatever gods you choose or no gods at all. But if you want to be free, you need to accept the offering. Eat his heart, so I can live within his skin.”
Adam’s body shook at the gruesomeness of that vision, but when he met Chort’s eyes, their golden color no longer struck him with fear. Even the touch of the heavy hand was somehow… familiar. “You mean… my mother hadn’t dreamt any of this?”