Sovereigns of the Collapse Book 2 by Malcolm J Wardlaw

Author:Malcolm J Wardlaw [Malcolm]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Malcolm J Wardlaw
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

The flames of the bonfire reeled in the wind with trees waving their orange branches beyond it like the feelers of giant insects. Nude human silhouettes leaped across the glare, whooping and yelping. Lawrence huddled amongst the reeds, groaning with the pain of cold, his eyes on the life-saving heat of the fire while his instincts chilled at the thought of the death he would suffer if those jumping savages should see him. He checked his tag was tucked inside his hat to prevent it gleaming. The faint warmth from the fire taunted him.

One savage—tall, with a fine vee-chest and chiselled shoulders—hurled an object into the fire. There came a strange sound, a thin wail. In his life Lawrence had seen terrible things, he was not easily shocked. On his mind’s eye lingered a bundle, with outsized head and stubby limbs. A baby. The same savage did it again. This time the wretch got a cat-like screech out to the black void before it too vanished into flames. A spasm in the wind dragged the fire flat, stretching it so that its light reached further upstream. Lawrence sensed something up that way, a tower or warehouse, something the marsh people could not have built. Then the wind shifted and he lost it.

But the festival continued. The savages formed a ring about the fire and began clapping and chanting, a repetitive, sub-human bawling. It was a noise like a barking dog, or a machine that stamped metal parts. It beat and beat on the mind, pummelling, confusing, disorientating. Lawrence waited, baffled, repelled, unable to move. One silhouette sprinted forward and jumped into the fire, landing in the gleaming logs. It was a young girl, struggling as the logs shifted and cascades of sparks belched up. She rammed her legs through to firm embers at the bottom of the fire and stood upright, entirely within the flames, with her arms above her head. Even from his viewpoint, Lawrence could see her pubic hair blaze off, the pale skin blacken, blisters erupt and burst. The flames billowed around her, hugged her, entwined her. She staggered. Like clothing, the skin of her legs slid off and hissed about her thighs. The rigid arms faltered, drooped, she collapsed, a swarm of sparks leaped into the night like a fleeing soul. In her ordeal, she had uttered not a sound. A space-trip on mushrooms? Religious enthrallment? With these bloody savages, it could even be stone cold sobriety…

Lawrence shrivelled down, worming his way lower into the mat of mud and crushed reeds. He reverse-crawled back down into water so cold it winded him, and began pulling himself along the reeds with the current. To remain near the bank was dangerous. Fifteen strokes out into mid-stream, he rolled on his back to look over his feet, startled to see savages mingling in the waving reeds. A crowd of the bastards had infested the shore line, jabbering some crap. They certainly could not see him, so what was

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