Shadows of Falling Night by S. M. Stirling

Author:S. M. Stirling [Stirling, S. M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781101608944
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2013-05-07T04:00:00+00:00

He could tell it was much later than sunset when he woke in his own body, or at least regained a little consciousness there. Maybe it was the icy draft that did it, or perhaps the voice yammering—screaming—at the back of his head. He forced gummy eyes open, suppressing an impulse to whimper at the inrush of sick physical misery and the contrast to recent memory of perfect health. The window was open, and a little reflected light trickled past the figure that crouched there.

He couldn’t make it out between the fever and the darkness…Except for the yellow eyes.

Am I awake? he thought, unsure for an instant whether or not he was in the evil dreams of fever.

And a calling hummed through the air, a sultry seductive music, a crooning in his head. It reminded him of something—the feeling you got looking out of a helicopter hatch or the edge of a cliff, telling you to throw yourself off. The voice was distant, as if he had his thumbs in his ears or there was white noise closer. Cheba stood between the beds; then she took a step forward towards the window, then another small step, slow and infinitely reluctant. All he could see was her back; she was wearing a big T-shirt, one that reached nearly to her knees.

Both of them ignored him, the woman and the monster, as if they were moving through some ritual in a place and time endlessly distant. He fought not to let his breath rasp as he made an arm heavier than lead and weaker than a child’s move towards the nightstand between the beds. His fingers were like stale sausages that belonged to somebody else, every motion needing deliberate thought and an effort of will that made him sweat as chills rippled through his body.

Cheba stopped, and her head tilted back.

—and the yellow eyes moved forward—

—and Cheba’s hand whipped out from where she’d held the knife behind her back—

—and slashed like a glint of moonlight—

There was an appalling scream, a squalling cry of rage. A shriek from Cheba too, as something struck her and she spun aside in a tangle of limbs and a spray of blood. That put her out of the line between his bed and the window. Thick and clumsy and distant, he still made his finger tighten on the trigger.

Thump!

Recoil wrenched the coach gun out of his hand like a blow from a hammer. Silvered shot cracked into plaster and shattered glass, and he sank back shivering and retching. There was another squalling scream, trailing away into the distance. Voices, feet pounding, anxious faces. He let it all trail away.

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