Read Online Tucker’s Grove by Kevin J. Anderson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kevin J. Anderson
Ads: Link
hoping she hadn ’ t arrived too late. The Dark Ones would not be pleased if he died too soon; she doubted They could be fed with any but living blood. “ Don ’ t you go and perish on me b e fore I can proper ly conduct my sacrifice, Mister!”
A quick touch to the man ’ s bound wrist reassured her that his heart throbbed stubbornly, but weakly. Barely alive. No time to waste!
She quickly recited the prayer she had devised. “ Dark Ones! Hear me! I swear my solemn devotion to you. Hallowed be Thy Names. Though I walk through the valley of the shadow, Thy will be done. Blessed be the farmers… for we worship Thee and bring Thee sacrifices like Thou used to get.”
She reached up and drew the scythe blade across the scar e crow ’ s throat as if she were carving a Thanksgiving roast for her dead husband Jaacob. The razor edge parted beard-stubbled skin, sinew, and blood vessels all the way to his neckbone.
Blood gushed from the scarecrow ’ s jugular and splattered on the rune-car ved altar stone at his quivering bare feet. With a co n tented sigh, Elspeth propped the scythe against the altar stone and flung some blood in the air for good measure. With a finge r tip, she traced a cross of blood on her forehead and continued her chant. S he no longer needed to go to the church in Tucker ’ s Grove.
“ And we know that Thou makest my crops to grow with great abundance, and ensure that my stomach is full and I am warm and well. When Thou sufferest the sacrificial Lamb to come unto me, I shall del iver him up to Thee right quick. Amen.”
The large crow stared at her, as if it knew just what she was doing. Elspeth watched the bird, acknowledged its presence with a nod, then grunted as she knelt before the altar stone.
With the fresh blood she drew st range symbols on the stone. The runes were different with each sacrifice, things she had seen on barns and graves, or just designs she made up. She didn ’ t think the Dark Ones minded: They had never shown her the right way to conduct the ritual, after all. As long as she was sincere and did her best, she knew the Dark Ones would settle for what they got.
When the sacrifice was done, Elspeth cut the ropes holding the scarecrow to the crossbar and caught the body as he fell fo r ward. It seemed appropriate to w ait for the first sunset of the night of the full moon, but she had timed this one close… too close. At least the man was unconscious when she ’ d cut his throat. She hated when they screamed and gurgled.
The black crow flew off silently.
As she lifted the r agdoll body over her shoulders, she made a mental note to do the washing as soon as she got back to the farmhouse, or else the blood would never come off her dress. She plodded down the lane toward the garden, where she would bury him with all the others i n the tangles of the melon patch. Elspeth grunted with the burden.
Walking back to the house, she paused by the only two marked graves on the Sandsbury property. One rude cross said, “ Isaac Abraham Sandsbury: Beloved Son.”
— He had limped home with a gunsho t wound in the leg after a stupid hunting accident. Elspeth had taken Isaac to a hydrop a thist, who advised her to rinse her son ’ s injured leg and soak it in warm water. He instructed that Isaac should drink only water, that he must be surrounded by steamin g pots of water. And after the hydropathist took his fee and departed for Bartonville, E l speth had been helpless as her son ’ s gangrene spread and spread… .
The other cross, cruder than the first because Elspeth had done it all by herself, read, “ Jaacob Jon ah Sandsbury: Beloved Father and Husband.”
— An insanely religious man, Jaacob had accepted his smal l pox as no more than a Job-like test from his All-Powerful God. Jaacob had died, writhing and screaming, his flesh roiling with stinking pustules. He praised his Lord with his dying breath, n e glecting even to say goodbye to his wife of twenty-five
A quick touch to the man ’ s bound wrist reassured her that his heart throbbed stubbornly, but weakly. Barely alive. No time to waste!
She quickly recited the prayer she had devised. “ Dark Ones! Hear me! I swear my solemn devotion to you. Hallowed be Thy Names. Though I walk through the valley of the shadow, Thy will be done. Blessed be the farmers… for we worship Thee and bring Thee sacrifices like Thou used to get.”
She reached up and drew the scythe blade across the scar e crow ’ s throat as if she were carving a Thanksgiving roast for her dead husband Jaacob. The razor edge parted beard-stubbled skin, sinew, and blood vessels all the way to his neckbone.
Blood gushed from the scarecrow ’ s jugular and splattered on the rune-car ved altar stone at his quivering bare feet. With a co n tented sigh, Elspeth propped the scythe against the altar stone and flung some blood in the air for good measure. With a finge r tip, she traced a cross of blood on her forehead and continued her chant. S he no longer needed to go to the church in Tucker ’ s Grove.
“ And we know that Thou makest my crops to grow with great abundance, and ensure that my stomach is full and I am warm and well. When Thou sufferest the sacrificial Lamb to come unto me, I shall del iver him up to Thee right quick. Amen.”
The large crow stared at her, as if it knew just what she was doing. Elspeth watched the bird, acknowledged its presence with a nod, then grunted as she knelt before the altar stone.
With the fresh blood she drew st range symbols on the stone. The runes were different with each sacrifice, things she had seen on barns and graves, or just designs she made up. She didn ’ t think the Dark Ones minded: They had never shown her the right way to conduct the ritual, after all. As long as she was sincere and did her best, she knew the Dark Ones would settle for what they got.
When the sacrifice was done, Elspeth cut the ropes holding the scarecrow to the crossbar and caught the body as he fell fo r ward. It seemed appropriate to w ait for the first sunset of the night of the full moon, but she had timed this one close… too close. At least the man was unconscious when she ’ d cut his throat. She hated when they screamed and gurgled.
The black crow flew off silently.
As she lifted the r agdoll body over her shoulders, she made a mental note to do the washing as soon as she got back to the farmhouse, or else the blood would never come off her dress. She plodded down the lane toward the garden, where she would bury him with all the others i n the tangles of the melon patch. Elspeth grunted with the burden.
Walking back to the house, she paused by the only two marked graves on the Sandsbury property. One rude cross said, “ Isaac Abraham Sandsbury: Beloved Son.”
— He had limped home with a gunsho t wound in the leg after a stupid hunting accident. Elspeth had taken Isaac to a hydrop a thist, who advised her to rinse her son ’ s injured leg and soak it in warm water. He instructed that Isaac should drink only water, that he must be surrounded by steamin g pots of water. And after the hydropathist took his fee and departed for Bartonville, E l speth had been helpless as her son ’ s gangrene spread and spread… .
The other cross, cruder than the first because Elspeth had done it all by herself, read, “ Jaacob Jon ah Sandsbury: Beloved Father and Husband.”
— An insanely religious man, Jaacob had accepted his smal l pox as no more than a Job-like test from his All-Powerful God. Jaacob had died, writhing and screaming, his flesh roiling with stinking pustules. He praised his Lord with his dying breath, n e glecting even to say goodbye to his wife of twenty-five
Similar Books
