Daemons of Garaaga (Children of Garaaga) by Paul E Cooley

Author:Paul E Cooley [Cooley, Paul E]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Shadowpublications.com
Published: 2015-08-31T21:00:00+00:00

12

She ran her hands across the open wounds. Her fingers felt the deep grooves in the flesh of her shoulder and came away wet with blood. Tahira, or whatever she was, had scratched her nearly to the bone. Ama hissed in pain as she dabbed a piece of cloth against the bleeding wounds.

The crowd in the square was still cheering in drunken, rowdy voices. The celebrations would no doubt continue until Sin had set low in the sky and the opposite horizon glowed with dawn.

Ama dropped the soaked cloth into a reed basket. Blood continued to well from the deep marks. With a sigh, she chose a knife from the cupboard and held it over a burning lamp. After several seconds, the metal glowed a dull red. She gritted her teeth as she placed the burning metal against one of the wounds.

Blood hissed into steam and she moaned with pain. The burning sensation quickly became a low ache. Panting, Ama returned the blade to the flame. "Two more," she said aloud and repeated the process.

Once the cat-thing had escaped her home, Ama had cradled a hand against her shoulder. The pain there had turned from white-hot into something more insidious. Tahira's claws had been laced with something like poison. If she hadn't been a child of Garaaga, she surely would have died.

"And that's what you were counting on," Ama whispered.

Another predator roamed Ur. Another nephilim? And what of her companions, the bird and the snake?

Ama finished cauterizing the wounds and returned to her pallet. The straw was wet, although from blood or Tahira's secretions, she wasn't sure. She lay back and focused on the aching in her shoulder.

If she had been the beast, the claws would have skated across her armored skin. But as a human, they had ripped through her flesh with ease. A predator like Tahira would find little difficulty in dealing with the drunken revelers of Ur.

The image of the child's ripped and torn corpse floated across her mind. Had Tahira had a part in that?

Ama gritted her teeth. Last Name Day celebration, several children had gone missing. How many would end up missing this year? Somewhere in the night, Tahira was wandering the city, or perhaps resting in her tent. She'd have to pay the cat-thing a visit.

Someone knocked at her door.

Ama rose from the pallet and stepped toward the sound. As she approached the cedar door, her left hand enlarged. The skin silently turned the color of stone. A barely audible whisper accompanied the transformation of her fingers into talons.

"Hello?" she called out.

"Ama?" a male voice replied. "It is Fadil."

Ama let out her breath in a long hiss. She relaxed and her hand immediately returned to flesh. She opened the door.

The man standing before her was grimy. His once beautiful robes were covered in dirt. The long well-kept beard was curled and knotted. Purple welts and bruises covered the left side of his face.

"Sir? What happened?"

Fadil said nothing.

Ama reached out a hand and took his shoulder.

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