The Price of the Banshees

"Gideon Graveloch: son of Theophorus Graveloch, a blacksmith entrusted with his family's oath – to gather and destroy the weapons of the Divinities as they await for Armageddon. Demons and Angels lost their armouries and seek to find them, for the victor of Armageddon will awaken God and He will judge in their favour. But on Earth they can only observe and whisper. But when a demon and angel stand together they can affect – so they charged Gideon Graveloch with the task of retrieving the weapons scattered across the world by his father. And where the weapons are hidden, so too will he find the Beasts. Gideon refused but his wife and daughter were condemned to the Abyss until all the weapons are collected and a new batch can be forged. This is his quest ..."

The forest was dank and dark – the encroaching canopy of leaves blotted any star that might have otherwise caressed the forest floor with it timeless echo of starlight. Within the shadows between the trees, a lone figure was pressed against the mossy earth. He was covered with the detritus of the early fall season and his face was caked sombrely with coal black dirt. Insects and vermin crawled across his hands and nose but he remained silent – his scent was buried beneath the blanket of forest he had worn for the past two days. He awaited the Torathar Sidhe.

2 days earlier

The village of Dowster was plagued with a horror that many had tried to defeat to gain the 10 schilling reward the mayor had promised. But the shadowed woods around the village filled with the horrid wailing song of the Women of the Sidhe. Would be heroes fought uselessly against the nameless beast that scoured the wood and left many a man no more than a heap of putrid, bloodied flesh and shattered bone.

When the nights grew frigid and the sounds of the village and the woods fell away to unearthly silence, the nameless horror wandered the paths throughout the town until it found its prey – the chosen young woman recently come of age was snatched and her parents were always found in the same bloodied state as the fallen hunters who sought it out. But the silence that heralded the beast came after the Women of the Sidhe – the banshees – wailed for the fate of the townsfolk.

But another kind of silence settled over this night; the moon was watchful of the lone cloaked figure saddled upon a strangely grey stallion. The figure was broad of shoulder and thick of chest and his head was adorned with a black tricorn hat. His gloved hands held a relaxed grip upon his mount's reigns as he steered the mighty horse along the weaving road of the town – a well throned over the town's main square and a ragged watermill dominated the northern edge of the town, fed by the Dowster's Tear river. The cry of the killdeers resounded and stray dogs huddled near the warm exhausts of low storied houses while the occasional cat paused from their nightly trek along the rooftops to peer at the arriving stranger.

He patted the horse's powerful neck and whispered soothingly in its ear as it whinnied plaintively at being surrounded so tightly by hard things. The stranger dismounted the steed when it halted by the sign of the Rounder's Inn.

The old oak door creaked loudly as the stranger pushed it open although it resisted him like a stubborn mule. But once inside, it closed quietly while he descended a few stairs and entered the mess hall of the inn. An assortment of long and round tables littered the hall while the far wall was bordered by a wide bar and behind the bar was a small kitchen. A ruddy featured man was wiping the bar with a partially soiled rag while a young woman cleared some tables. Some patrons were huddled in a corner and whispered as the cloaked stranger saddled up to the bar.

The barkeep looked up at the tall, broad shouldered stranger as he removed his tricorn hat and deposited it on the bar – the keep snorted at the stranger's unwanted presence but suddenly swallowed hard when he met the stranger's cold blue eyes, framed by a mane of long, dark brown hair. His face was broad and his cheek bones high and his chin was strong. His nose was regal, but a bit crooked , and his lips were thin but still sensual. He placed a silver schilling on the bar.

"A room," the stranger said, his voice low and gravelly.

"Of course sir," the inn keep shined as he picked the coin and bit in to it. His sweat dripped onto the bar. "This'll cover for nearly a fortnight."

"Don't plan on staying that long."

"So you're in town for the reward, eh?" the inn keep chuckled conspiratorially.

"Do I look like I am wanting for coin?"

It was then that the inn keep noticed the the cool basket hilt broadsword hanging restlessly from the stranger's left thigh and the hilt of a dagger from his right.

"Another would-be hero, men!" A voice bellowed from the entrance to the hall -- shadows danced as hanging oil-lamps swayed under the disturbance.

The stranger listened as their footfalls shuffled towards the bar – the inn keep backed away as his eyes shifted from the men to the stranger and back.

"Please, Hebbler, he's paying good money," the inn keep pleaded.

"Then he owes us the welcoming committee tax," the one called Hebbler snickered.

The stranger turned slowly to face the committee – they were four. Hebbler was at the head of the group as they formed a semi-circle around him. The two largest men stood on each side of the stranger.

"I'm no hero – and I never expect to feel welcomed anywhere," the stranger warned. "Collect your fee somewhere else." Hebbler involuntarily took a step back when he locked eyes with the stranger.

"One of you or all of you?" the stranger growled.

"What?"

"Will one of you or all of you be be carried out of here?" the stranger hissed darkly – and then he pivoted to the left as the largest man rushed him. The stranger grabbed the man's wrist and used it as a lever to redirect his momentum and exposed his left side – his knee crashed into the man's ribs while he finished the man off with a punch to the back of his neck, rendering him unconscious. As the man fell, his companion struck from the right – the stranger slapped the punch aside and delivered a powerful kick to side of his attacker's knee. The man crumbled against the bar and the stranger landed and elbow to the man's temple, slamming his head into the bar's hardwood side. Two were now unconscious on the floor.

The stranger was immobile while his eyes pierced Hebbler's trembling heart. The third man with him backed away and fled the inn.

"You're related to the power in the town – nephew or son of the mayor? This is the only place you have any worth, isn't it? By your garb you've been to either London or Glasgow but you were a minnow among the sharks. You're top dog here but you hate yourself for failing to stop the attacks – yet you fear being upstaged even more.

"I don't give a fuck about you or your little power plays – I will see whomever is in charge on the morrow."

Hebbler nodded feebly and he managed to rouse his battered companions under the unfeeling eyes of the stranger. Once they were gone, the stranger pulled another five shillings from his purse. "For my horse and your troubles," the stranger said.

The innkeeper smiled sheepishly and said: "Hebbler has been trouble ever since he returned from Glasgow. His goons were the Parrignton boys – never saw a man route those bastards the way you did. My name's Reginald Vance-Altham. But my friends call me Rounder. What's your name, friend?"

The stranger pondered for a moment. "Gideon Graveloch."

"I'll remember that, my lord. Your room is upstairs and the second from the left."

Gideon nodded his thanks and followed Rounder's instructions.

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Gideon hung his heavy cloak and his tricorn hat on the stubs behind the wooden door of his fashionable room at the Rounder's inn – before closing the door he paused and lit a small oil lamp and a set of candles on the table next to the cot that was to be his bed. He sniffed it and it was clean enough; he unhooked his scabbard and his dagger and placed the knife next to the candles and then pulled off the small sac that held his belongings and the tesseract chest.

Gideon paused a moment before opening it, casting a glance at the crucifix adorning the doorway to his room – he wondered it the man knew what was being done in his name. He then put a hand on each side of the palm sized chest and moved his hands apart. The chest expanded to 5 times its size and it opened. He reached inside and pulled out a journal, a sketchbook and some plumes. There was also a glow and a hum from deep within the chest but he ignored both.

He closed the chest and it shrank back to its original size and he sat on the bed – he flicked the sketchbook open and looked upon the detailed rendering of a beautiful young woman and a lovely young girl. His eyes lingered on their serene faces before he flipped to another page. A ravenous mouth full of teeth stared back at him and there was a date at the bottom of the page. On another page was the image of a man with no skin on his skull and a chest full of razor sharp blades. Six other pages, 6 other beasts, 6 other dates – and with each he had found a prize he had put in the chest and the Hosts of Heaven and Hell were closer to their final battle.

He put the sketchbook aside when he suddenly glanced at his room door – the floorboards creaked ever so gently as a light step strode towards his room. The footfalls stopped in front of the door and a faint rapping made the wood shiver. Gideon opened the door and was met by the shy brown eyes of a flowering young woman. The top of her bonnet-covered head reached just beneath his chin as he stepped aside and allowed her into the room. She carried a tray holding a bowl of hot stew and a bottle of port wine.

"Compliments of my father," she said in a heavenly voice.

"I thank Rounder for his generosity," Gideon said.

She placed the tray on the table and uncorked the port and poured Gideon a glass. She then went to the door and closed it.

"How old are you?" Gideon asked as he grasped the glass and sipped the port.

"Nineteen years, my lord," she answered and removed her bonnet. Long blond air cascaded around her opal shaped face.

"You're very young -- is Rounder aware you're here?" Gideon asked as he stood next to her, noticing she had inherited her father's eyes and cleft chin.

"My father said a man like you does two things very well," she said as she faced him. "I witnessed one of your talents earlier tonight. I felt it was time to witness the other ... firsthand."

Gideon touched her shoulder and let his fingers trail down the length of her arm. "I'm not a gentleman – I've done horrible things."

"I know," she said. She breathed deeply, her partially exposed bosom heaving while her flawless alabaster complexion flushed. "But that's just Man's nature."

"You're too young to ponder such things," Gideon whispered as he began to undo the girdle cinched beneath her pert breasts and around her stomach. "What's your name?"

"Dorothy," she sighed. She gasped when the girdle fell to the floor.

Gideon returned his hands to Dorothy's shoulders and slid them across her skin, pushing back the edges of her scooped neck collared dress until it fell to the floor. Her body tensed when Gideon touched her forehead with his lips. But she soon relaxed when his lips found hers and she melted against his broad chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck and their lips danced – where his advances were controlled, she was wild. With each kiss he pinched her thumb-sized nipple or caressed the small of her back; she was aggressively attacking his britches, her fingers awkward but determined. They twirled around the small room in a dance of kisses until they fell onto the rickety cot that served as his bed, knocking over the small chest he had touched a few minutes earlier.

Gideon was on his back while Dorothy undid his shirt – his eyes wandered across her youthful beauty and he rested his hands on her curvaceous hips. She straightened and stretched her arms behind her head, pushing her breasts to the forefront. Gideon sat up and cupped them and crushed them together and plowed her nipples with his wanton tongue – she cooed as little sparks of pleasure coursed through her body. It reminded her of early explorations of her flesh by her own hand – but another's hand enhanced the sensations.

Gideon released his hold on her breasts and aided Dorothy in her struggle with his shirt. Once it was off, she brought a hand to her mouth as she gasped – his chest was well defined, as were his arms and shoulders, but the sheen of hair across his body was intersected with crisscrossing scars.

"My god," Dorothy uttered and slipped away from his reach and moved to the edge of the cot. "Those scars," she whispered, her lower lip trembling with fright that masked and underlying desire. No one should have to go through that."

"I told you -- I did horrible things," Gideon tossed his legs over the side of the cot and sat, his head hanging over his upturned hands. In the presence of this delicate young woman, willing to offer her taut body, Gideon suddenly felt the weight of his mission and his shoulders slumped. His mind wandered back to the night the shadows reached out and snatched his family – his wife Tess and his daughter Caressa – and took them. Collateral, he was told.

But before the memories could bury him, Gideon felt a gentle touch upon his knees – Dorothy was before him, on her knees while she massaged his thighs. Gideon gaze met hers -- his usually cold blue eyes were lightened by her presence. Beyond her presence, he perceived her fascination for the world and her desire to experience its myriad facets. Her boldness demonstrated a thirst for sensation and delight, yet he noticed the slightest tremor of her lower lip and hesitation in her touch.

Gideon took Dorothy's hands in his and stood up while leading her to her feet. He turned her around and pushed her back onto the cot. He took a kneeling position by the edge of the cot and pushed back on her thighs. Her folds were plump with excitement while droplets of her pussy's moistness wetted her inner thighs. He pressed his tongue to her tangy skin and slowly licked from her knees towards her pussy.

Dorothy shivered and goosebumps riddled her flesh as Gideon's tongue grew closer to her nethers – she was frightened and fascinated by what he was doing. Her understanding of sex was that men fucked women with their cocks – if they were sweet they would kiss you. Gideon had kissed her in a way that was dangerous but gentle, and he was repeating the same kisses in a place she had never even seen before.

Gideon sensed her trepidation so he slowed his pace and replaced his licks with gentle pecks – Dorothy squirmed as her skin seemed to burn everywhere he kissed her. She felt her pussy moisten all the more as his delicate touch drove her more towards an odd madness which prompted her to pinch her nipples hard, drawing a hiss from her lips. But it caught in her throat and she froze when she felt his lips encounter the soft folds of her wet pussy. He wiggled his tongue where only her fingers had travelled and Dorothy became like a leaf twisting in the wind as each point of contact between his tongue and her pussy made her convulse with pleasure.

Dorothy was awashed in tides of sensations she had never felt so intently – she suddenly wondered if this made her a witch like the old traditions had labelled women who enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh. And she wondered if that was why she had been drawn to this man who had neighboured the darkness of the world that she had never known.

Gideon laboured slowly around the aroused nub of her clitoris – he parted the lips of her pussy and ran his tongue from the bottom of the slit of her pussy to the tip of her clit. His breath was hot against her flesh and Dorothy moaned loudly as she surrendered to her bliss and her body expressed its pleasure with a dance of limbs and a symphony of sighs.

"Ohhh ... Ahhh ...!" Dorothy moaned as Gideon's tongue lead her to the irrevocable climax – when his fingers caressed the edges of her slit she screamed and a gush of fluid erupted from her pussy and across his chin.

Dorothy was devastated by the release of her orgasm and the subsequent exhaustion gripped her and she laid her head back onto the cot. Gideon stood and went over to the plateau she had brought in and used a napkin to wipe her juices from his chin. He then poured a glass of port wine and drank it down, the taste tangier as it mixed with her fluids in his mouth. He set the glass down and went back to the cot where Dorothy had curled up and fallen asleep. He looked down at her and remembered Tess – she had been younger than Gideon – and on their first night she had curled up on their wedding bed in the same manner.

Gideon covered Dorothy with a wool blanket and laid next to her.

He fell asleep cursing his father.

1 day earlier

Gideon had left Rounder's inn without breakfast but after downing some bitter tea imported from China – he had declined the laudanum tincture Dorothy has offered him when she assumed her role as serving girl. Gideon noticed that she never strayed so far that she could not spy him from the corner of her eye.

Slipping from the inn, Gideon now stood at the outskirts of the town – he sniffed the air and registered the scent of peat moss and decomposition. The scent of the leaves and the conifers blanketed the other smells. Yet he could perceive through the odours of life and death the distinct scent of sulphur and brimstone that always heralded the coming of a Beast. He reached into his cloak and found the hidden pocket that held the flint lock pistol the nephilim Landra had given him before his journey. It was the only guaranteed weapon to destroy the Beasts. When he destroyed the Beast terrorizing Dowster, he would be a step closed to releasing his family from Limbo, but also a step closer to the battle of Armageddon.

"Four girls have been taken over 4 months," a crackling voice echoed from Gideon's left – he had barely registered the lithe footfalls of his new found companion before the elderly woman had spoken. Very few people were silent enough to approach him unnoticed. Her silver hair was pulled into a tight bun and her red and blue dress hung loosely on her frail body.

"You're the town's crone," Gideon said as he removed his tricorn hat and bowed before her. "But also its power."

"My son is the mayor," she said, brushing aside Gideon's comment. "but I will admit to having his ear when I have an opinion to share."

"No doubt, lady ..?"

"Madelyne. Madelyne Hebbler."

Gideon smiled as he returned his tricorn hat to his head and extended an arm so that he and Lady Madelyne could stroll the town limits. "So it was your grandson I met last night," he said as he matched her slow but steady pace.

"I often felt he required a lesson in manners," she said as her hook like fingers held his sleeve with surprising strength. "The same could be said of travellers. You should not touch what belongs to another."

"Dorothy came to me of her own free will," Gideon said as he noticed a crow perched high on a tree branch, observing them as they passed.

"She is promised to my grandson nonetheless, Mr Graveloch," Madelyne said gravely. "I am aware of the stories that precede you, sir. The world of the occult is small and I have an ear to it as well. Destroy the Beast and take whatever bounty you find and be gone to woo another maiden."

"Perhaps I should bed you," Gideon said as a he stopped by a trail that lead into the deeper section of the woods. "I am not a libertine, lady Hebbler, despite rumours to the contrary. Dorothy Vance-Altham's maidenhood is safe."