Gabriel Hunt 03 Hunt at World's End by Gabriel Hunt (Nicholas Kaufmann)

Author:Gabriel Hunt (Nicholas Kaufmann) [Hunt, Gabriel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

The cave smelled of spice and smoke. Deep in meditation, Vassily Platonov knelt before the altar, a low, flat boulder surrounded by candles whose flames illuminated the cave with a flickering glow. Incense smoldered from inside a stone brazier next to the boulder. With his headdress on the ground by his knees, he bowed his bald head in reverence. No statue of Ulikummis graced the altar. Such images were forbidden—theirs was a god of darkness and secrecy, his face so terrible it was said no mortal, not even his most devoted follower, could look upon it. Instead, resting at the center of the altar on a small woven blanket was a human skull that had recently been flensed of its skin.

In a low singsong Vassily chanted verses from memory—the ones he had been taught as a child and the ones he had only been permitted to learn upon turning twenty-one. He had recited them morning and night for decades now, and the words blended together as he sang them rapidly, his tongue flicking against his palate. With both hands he made the signs of Ulikummis and traced them along his chest. The time was coming near: World’s End, as the prophecies described it. When it came, the ancient stories would be played out again Just as Ulikummis had been born to defeat Teshub, Vassily had been born to become Ulikummis’s renewed vessel on earth, a shell for their god to inhabit when he once again descended to their plane to plunge the world into darkness and despair.

A rustle of movement drew Vassily from his thoughts as someone entered the cave behind him. “High Priest,” a voice said in Russian.

Vassily got up from where he knelt, placing the headdress back on his head. One of the younger brethren stood in the doorway, dressed in his street clothes instead of the ritual robe and skull mask. The young man was breathing hard and rubbing his hands anxiously on the thighs of his jeans. It was clear he had run to the cave with important news, but as with so many of the younger brethren, he had to be taught proper respect first.

“In the presence of our god’s altar, Arkady,” Vassily said, “you will address me in the sacred tongue, not the corrupt language of our adopted land. Is that clear?”

Arkady’s face flushed with embarrassment. “Yes, High Priest,” he answered in Nesili.

“Deliver your news,” Vassily said.

“We have confirmation our enemies have left Borneo,” Arkady said. “Our brother in the…” He paused, struggling to find words that didn’t exist in the ancient language. Vassily nodded, allowing him to substitute Russian words for them. “…in the airport reports both the man and the woman were on a flight to Turkey this morning.”

“And the Star of Arnuwanda is with them?”

“Yes. Our brother caught it on the…” He struggled for the words again. Vassily was losing patience with this young one, as he often did with so many of them. The younger generation seemed less interested

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