Clouds of Blood |7|

A serialised dystopian horror story

Previously |1|. |6|

|7|

“Cry, them women ain’t comin’ back. I say, we better get a move on, while we still can. I bet they wouldn’t mind some fresh meat for dinner,” Colt had been whining and bitching for quite a while. The shadows grew longer; a freezing-cold night in the desert lay ahead of the two.

“They’re coming,” said Cry, jumping up.

Silently he observed the two frail silhouettes standing on top of the same sand dune.

“Our Grand Mother Savanah has invited you to talk about the seeding. Come with us,” the one with the perfect eyes said. Cry looked into them with thirsty craving he had never felt before.

“You think we can trust them gals?” Colt whispered.

“I trust them.” Cry didn’t take his eyes off the woman’s face. Those eyes were dark, and clear as a starlit night. Those eyes could never lie.

Cry lost all sense of time and space while they walked. His eyes traced her shape a hundred times. Though the two men kept their distance from the women like messengers should, their eyes were free to scout every curve of the ones leading them into the night. Cry did not even notice when the desert turned into a thick wall of bushes, and the day turned to night. A narrow path led the deep into the unknown, a menacing scent rose in the air. Cry felt uneasy, despite the pleasant sight of the woman’s backside in front of him. Danger lay ahead, that Cry knew the minute he stepped into the settlement.

***

“Welcome, messengers!” A voice sickly sweet as wild honey poured over them. A large fire roared in the middle of the shabby shacks, and ragtag tents. Cry and Colt approached it slowly. They saw a pack of women standing around the fire, young and old, their eyes full of fear and curiosity. The young ones with skin smooth as ripe fruit, and old ones – wrinkled as tree bark. One of them walked toward the messengers. Tall she was, not young, nor old. Eyes dark and quick. Cry saw her eyeing him, and Colt from head to toes. Then her sight returned, investigating Cry’s crotch, before it rose to his face.

“I hear your pack proposes a seeding?” she said.

“Yes. Our Shamani sent us here,” Cry did the talking.

“Good. We have women in the seeding age. Come, join us by the fire. You must be cold and hungry? Let us feed you,” there was something about her voice Cry did not trust.

“We must not eat.”

“Of course, you are the messengers. But… you must be thirsty. I see your lips are dry.”

She was right. After giving Colt the last of his, Cry needed water.

“Come, we live by a pure water stream. Don’t be afraid, boys.” She led them a bit further from the fire, where a small gurgling water source flowed right past the village. Cry smelled the water, gave it a taste - it was good. Shamani had taught him how to know a pure water source. Both Cry and Colt filled their water vessels, and returned to the fire.

“Come, sit. Let us arrange the seeding,” the woman addressed them sweetly. “I am Savanah, the Grand Mother of these fine gals. Look at them! Are they not fine?”

Then her voice changed to a dark commanding growl.

“Maya, call all our gals in the seeding age here! Get them ready for the seeding dance!”

“But…we’re not supposed to show it to the messengers, only when the other men come…” she objected.

“Silence, Maya! Get them ready! If I say dance, you dance!” Grand Mother Savanah yelled at her.

It was the same one. The one with the perfect eyes. Maya was her name, and Cry liked the sound of it. Maya disappeared in between the shacks.

Meanwhile Cry looked around the settlement. These women obviously hadn’t been travelling much lately. Weeds and moss grew on their roofs. Each tent, and shack had a human scull stuck on top of it.

“Them looks bigger than women skulls, Cry. I ain’t liking this,” Colt whispered, and Cry nodded. But Colt did like what he saw next. Some ten young women walked into the fire light, wearing knee-length skirts. Their nude breasts covered in shiny glass beads. Both men sat with their mouths ajar, while the women moved and swayed to the subtle rhythm of insects and night time birds chirping. Cry forgot himself, he forgot everything around, observing Maya’s hips swing and spin in the seeding dance. A ritual he was not supposed to see yet. Maya was the only one he saw. The older women clapped rhythmically to the young one’s dancing. Savanah disappeared for a moment, only to appear next to Cry when the dance ended.

His mouth was dry as hell. When he reached for his bottle, it was lying on the ground, not standing upright, as he left it near him. Maybe it had fallen while he watched the dance. Cry didn’t care. He gulped the cool water until the bottle was empty. Colt drank his water too.

“Now, boys, you see? We have some ten girls for seeding. Do you have enough men?” Savanah asked.

“Yes, we do, we…” suddenly Cry felt a nauseating wave of weakness rolling over his limbs.

“Cry, you good?” he heard Colt.

All around blurred, voices and colours spun in a nonsensical whirlwind.

“Go to your Shamani, and tell him we expect men for seeding seven days from now. Your friend is sick, and tired. He’ll stay,” said Savanah, but Cry barely heard her. He tried to get up, nearly fell, Savannah supported him, and led him away from the fire.

When Colt refused to leave without Cry, Savanah pulled a knife out, and two of her gals shot arrows at Colt.

“Leave now!”

Arrows spun in the air, but Colt was quicker. He ducked, then ran into the bushes leading back into the desert.

“What… Where… I…Colt…” Cry attempted to follow him, but could not. His feet felt heavy.

“Come, come to me. You are a different boy, aren’t you? I want to taste you, my sweet. I want your seed in me… I want to eat your heart, and taste your sweet blood,” Savanah’s dirty lips whispered into Cry’s ear, as she pulled him to her shack.