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Authors: Frank P. Ryan
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repeated the selfsamecourse to elicit another scream. A pause for the scream to fade before the whisper, slobbery now with glee, continued to torment her:
‘You hope it will end? I believe you really want it to end. You would welcome death, would you not? Or perhaps you hope that Faltana will tire of her sport? No, no – Faltana will never tire.’ The arm rose again, the same precise and delicate sketch upon Kate’s skin, probing for the same nerve to see if it would work again.
It worked.
Somehow Kate had to find a source of strength, of comfort. She must bear it in the knowledge that it had to stop. Faltana was taking a risk. She was disobeying the Witch’s orders. Somehow, she had to find a way to make it stop.
As if Faltana was reading her mind those lips smacked again. ‘You are praying, perhaps? Praying to some misbegotten god of your world? But it will not work. Believe me, they all pray. But it never works.’
‘Damn you!’ Kate’s lips tried to make the sound. Her mind willed her lips to make the words, but no words came.
The barb whispered over her skin, finding precisely the same place, following what must be a livid gouge. Kate shrieked.
Slobbering with the joy of it, drooling spittle onto her chin and neck, Faltana exulted in the fact that she had so easily found her rhythm.
‘No respite will come of such wishful praying. No hope lies in your friend coming here to save you. No hope in any direction you wheel and turn. For in this world there is but you and me.’ She toyed with the weal but fleetingly with the tip of the barb, evoking an exquisite agony merely through toying with her. Kate heard her throaty gurgle of delight. ‘No hope of Faltana tiring.’ The barb descended. Another scream. Was it the fifth or sixth time? Kate had lost track of the number. How long could a single nerve be tormented before it died? Then the dreadful thought: just how many such nerves like this were there in the human body?
‘No respite – no hope! Faltana will increase your pain, little by little, until you cannot bear it. You will beg your god to let you die. But you will not die. Not until your saviour takes the bait and enters the trap.’
She was lost in a sea of agony, yet she sensed the barb’s descent to score its precise curve of fire through her bewildered consciousness. She would not scream. Not again. She would not scream … The scream tore through her clenched teeth, through the fabric of her mind, bringing the darkness she craved, the darkness she hoped would bring a final end to this torment …
She rose from darkness to a vague awareness of utter silence. Her eyes were too exhausted to open. As if from a great distance Kate felt Faltana raise her wrist, the probing finger on her pulse. The succubus was terrified she had killed her. But the pause would not last. Faltanawould merely wait for her to recover from her faint before starting again. But, somehow, Kate was determined that from now on she would not give her the pleasure of hearing her scream. From now on …
A hiss in the darkness, a different sound … a scary sound, yet it seemed to come from so far, far away …
A new voice, much deeper, a cawing … It sounded like the scuttling of something dark and evil through caverns of slime and bone:
Did we not give you warning, wretch? If you have killed it …!
‘No – no! See! I feel her pulse. It is fast but strong. She lives yet. Certainly, she lives. She merely sleeps.’
Silence!
The voice alone was more frightening than all of Faltana’s tormenting.
Fool! You have amused yourself at our expense. You have scourged it perilously close to death.
Kate heard the sound of weeping from very close to where she lay. She cracked open her eyes. Through the slitted lids she saw an enormous claw confront the remaining eye in Faltana’s terrified face. The claw made a gouging movement, a pantomime of slowly tearing away the small muscles that held the eye, a painstaking dissection,
‘You hope it will end? I believe you really want it to end. You would welcome death, would you not? Or perhaps you hope that Faltana will tire of her sport? No, no – Faltana will never tire.’ The arm rose again, the same precise and delicate sketch upon Kate’s skin, probing for the same nerve to see if it would work again.
It worked.
Somehow Kate had to find a source of strength, of comfort. She must bear it in the knowledge that it had to stop. Faltana was taking a risk. She was disobeying the Witch’s orders. Somehow, she had to find a way to make it stop.
As if Faltana was reading her mind those lips smacked again. ‘You are praying, perhaps? Praying to some misbegotten god of your world? But it will not work. Believe me, they all pray. But it never works.’
‘Damn you!’ Kate’s lips tried to make the sound. Her mind willed her lips to make the words, but no words came.
The barb whispered over her skin, finding precisely the same place, following what must be a livid gouge. Kate shrieked.
Slobbering with the joy of it, drooling spittle onto her chin and neck, Faltana exulted in the fact that she had so easily found her rhythm.
‘No respite will come of such wishful praying. No hope lies in your friend coming here to save you. No hope in any direction you wheel and turn. For in this world there is but you and me.’ She toyed with the weal but fleetingly with the tip of the barb, evoking an exquisite agony merely through toying with her. Kate heard her throaty gurgle of delight. ‘No hope of Faltana tiring.’ The barb descended. Another scream. Was it the fifth or sixth time? Kate had lost track of the number. How long could a single nerve be tormented before it died? Then the dreadful thought: just how many such nerves like this were there in the human body?
‘No respite – no hope! Faltana will increase your pain, little by little, until you cannot bear it. You will beg your god to let you die. But you will not die. Not until your saviour takes the bait and enters the trap.’
She was lost in a sea of agony, yet she sensed the barb’s descent to score its precise curve of fire through her bewildered consciousness. She would not scream. Not again. She would not scream … The scream tore through her clenched teeth, through the fabric of her mind, bringing the darkness she craved, the darkness she hoped would bring a final end to this torment …
She rose from darkness to a vague awareness of utter silence. Her eyes were too exhausted to open. As if from a great distance Kate felt Faltana raise her wrist, the probing finger on her pulse. The succubus was terrified she had killed her. But the pause would not last. Faltanawould merely wait for her to recover from her faint before starting again. But, somehow, Kate was determined that from now on she would not give her the pleasure of hearing her scream. From now on …
A hiss in the darkness, a different sound … a scary sound, yet it seemed to come from so far, far away …
A new voice, much deeper, a cawing … It sounded like the scuttling of something dark and evil through caverns of slime and bone:
Did we not give you warning, wretch? If you have killed it …!
‘No – no! See! I feel her pulse. It is fast but strong. She lives yet. Certainly, she lives. She merely sleeps.’
Silence!
The voice alone was more frightening than all of Faltana’s tormenting.
Fool! You have amused yourself at our expense. You have scourged it perilously close to death.
Kate heard the sound of weeping from very close to where she lay. She cracked open her eyes. Through the slitted lids she saw an enormous claw confront the remaining eye in Faltana’s terrified face. The claw made a gouging movement, a pantomime of slowly tearing away the small muscles that held the eye, a painstaking dissection,
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