Childhood Demons Ch. 03

The things we do...

I remember standing next to a woman as we looked at an autographed photo of a country singer. I admitted that I liked some of his stuff and she astounded me by saying "I'd crawl through a mile of broken glass to get to that boy."

I got the feeling, but the statement sort of rattled me, since if I had to, I guess that I'd crawl through a mile of broken glass to get to a medical kit, personally. Because I'm sure that my lust for whomever it was at the outset would have cooled just a tad by that time, just sayin'.

Still, with that in mind, consider that Yasmikha has that kind of drive.

I'm sure that for her, it might only take like 5 minutes or so anyway. But God help the object of her desire if the attraction wasn't mutual.

For the second half of this chapter, well... try to imagine what it might be like to be reunited with friends who would do anything for you if they found you in a tight spot.

Yeah, Anything. 0_o

******

Yasmikha stopped for a moment as she walked up the incline carefully, feeling a little for her footing in the early evening gloom. The snow could hide all sorts of surprises on a night with as little moon as this one promised to show. She didn't mind particularly, since she could see well in the darkness. The issue was what might lie under the cold white blanket which hid her feet at present.

She was tracking, hunting as she often had to, but it was seldom a good thing to press your game if they'd become a little aware of your presence behind them at this early stage. She wasn't in a hurry and she wasn't driven by hunger; she just liked to hunt here for a couple of reasons.

There were a lot fewer people here and she liked the climate. As well, the terrain reminded her in some ways of home. Right now she was enjoying it all and was in no hurry to return to the coast. She already had one kill waiting to be carried down the steep passes to the flatter and warmer land beyond.

She chose a large boulder to hide herself behind and to lean against as she looked down to watch the little drama down below for a time. She didn't know all that much of the combatants and she didn't particularly care to learn of every one of their reasons - though she would in a little time.

All that she knew for certain was that the more numerous side was comprised of locals - Kabyles and a few Berbers. The other side was a much smaller force and she'd been around enough to know Europeans when she saw them - even here. And since out here, there likely wasn't a large blonde Caucasian behind every rock, the fact that she was seeing Europeans at all meant that she was likely fairly close to the real quarry to her.

She didn't much care who won in their slow struggle, though if she had known what fuelled the hatred in the hearts of the ones who lived around here, she might have been swayed. Throwing off an oppressor had always counted for something in her book. She was really only after one man, knowing that he might well be in need of a little help.

But what settled the way that she sided in the end came down to one of them, a large man who looked as though he belonged here even less than the others. Yasmikha sighed.

She'd found him.

She was a little entertained as she leaned and watched saw the way that the locals all tried to slip forward undetected. But it didn't often work because of that man, most often. He seldom used the rifle which was issued to the troops on his side. His prize for being as large and strong as he was - was to be the one who used the belt-fed machine gun.

Which meant that most of the time, he had to carry the thing.

But he didn't use it in the normal way, not here anyway. It was set on it's low stand, but he didn't use it to spray down the landscape. He used it more like a rifle, shooting only one shot at a time or two at most.

From that, she knew that he was running low on ammunition as were they all. And yet, whenever she watched him and followed along the line of his aim, she saw that he hit almost every time.

She didn't know this place particularly well, other than to know that it had been a village once and was now a few dilapidated and pock-marked buildings to hole up in.

It was snowing lightly and growing darker, but as she watched, she found that the large one appealed to her even more somehow and after a little time, she was filled with wonder and curiosity. By watching the actions of any of the others of either side, it was easy to see who was afraid. There were now no more than ten of the soldiers and of that number, she could see the tremor in the rifle barrels from where she stood. Unless something changed down there, the ending was a foregone conclusion.

Still that one man and another near him took their time to aim and when they fired, most often it was telling, leaving another dead or dying man lying in the snow, his corpse half-hidden behind some cover.

She watched the other soldier who stayed near to the large blonde gunner. He looked nothing like that one. He had dark hair and slightly darker skin, seen easily against the snowy backdrop. He shot like he meant it as well and most of all, he looked angry at the others and like his large companion, he never wasted a round.

Her quarry forgotten for the moment, she watched some more until there were no more than five of the soldiers left alive. That was when she unslung her own long gun and as one tribesman fired at the soldiers, she saw it and he became her next target.

She seldom missed also, but for perhaps a different reason. To miss was usually more than a reason to curse quietly to her. A wasted shot in her case was an expense which no foreign government stepped up to replace.

Somewhat surprisingly, it was quite a while before anyone began to look around, having put it together that there was someone else out here that evening.

She stopped shooting then and drew back into the shadows for a time.

After a little while, she slung her rifle over her shoulder and began to walk back down. At a place that looked good as a hiding spot, she laid her long gun down and went on with other weapons.

The shooting match died almost completely away as she strode silently onto the flatter ground, stealing from stone to stone. It was too dark for men to really try to shoot each other, though she didn't suffer from that failing.

In the ruins, a young trooper stood up and stepped back a little from the fire that he'd laid, holding out his hands, just wanting a little warmth. But the darker soldier not far away began to curse him quietly for being an idiot. His words were wasted, since the young soldier didn't care and thought that he was well-enough concealed to be able to enjoy a few moments of something that felt a little like home to him.

He was on his back a few moments later, coughing up blood in between desperate gasps from the damage done by the ragged volley of shots fired at him.

With no one to tend it in it's infancy, the little fire almost died soon after as well. It sputtered and blew down in the fitful breeze, coming close to being blown out many times, and yet still it hung on somehow, beckoning anyone to come for a little warmth in exchange for something else to burn. It's light wasn't much, but it did cast enough of a glow into the air to make seeing nearby things just a little easier.

But no man came near it. One look at the young man's body was enough.

The four who were left set up the best defensive position that they could, and things settled back down to a stalemate in the dark.

It was over an hour before anything at all happened. The soldiers were taking turns on watch through the night trying, most of them, to get a little sleep. Most of them didn't want to fall asleep at all, but after a day and a half of fighting and slowly losing ground, they were beyond weary and soon slept deeply, trusting in their sentry not to give in to the same thing.

So for a time - a long while - there was nothing but the wind and the light snow which was blown by it in that little valley, high up in the Djurdjura Mountains late that night.

The Finn was awakened by the gentle nudge of the Spaniard's boot in the darkness and he looked up. He expected to see the motion of the man's chin in a sideward direction, silently telling him that it was his turn to go on watch.

As he stood up a little slowly, his companion dipped down and began to whisper in rough French, "They're not doing anything but keeping us trapped," he hissed softly, "They know they only have to keep us here until more come in the morning." The big blonde nodded and pulled his cloak around himself in preparation to step out on watch.

"One thing," the Spaniard said, "There's something else out there tonight. I'll be fucked if I know what it is Northman, but it's hunting."

The statement caused the Finn to glance around, but the Spaniard pulled him close and whispered, "Whatever it is, it doesn't seem to be hunting us, thank the virgin Mother. I think it might be a lion. All I've seen is the outline of a lion's head for only a moment now and then.

Then it's gone again. But I've heard it out there, killing them."

"A lion," the northerner said in a doubting whisper, "Why here? Lions have to have more sense than that. Are you sure of what you saw?"

"Hell no, I'm not sure," the man whispered, "All I'm telling you is what I thought that I saw. And it's not any of us out there crying out for our mothers for a moment before it's still again. Just be watchful and try to stay a little warm."

The big man chuckled softly, "This is a little warm to me, Juan. I was born to this.

I'm not like the rest of you babies, crying because you can't feel your fingertips. I hate the heat like you all hate this, but I never say a word then. This is a fine night to me. I just wish that this was home. I'd at least have a fucking beard then. It's not a cold night where I'm from until at least an hour and a half after your beard freezes up.

When you have to walk backward as you piss, that's when you know it's cold."

The Spaniard grinned at the image, "Just don't let it come for me while I get a little sleep, uh? And try not to shit your pants when you hear the next one of them scream when what's out there comes for them."

The blonde nodded, "Get some sleep, you half-crazy fuck. I'll keep an eye on you."

He picked up the dead kid's rifle and after going through the pack next to the body as well as the pockets to take the ammunition, he stepped over near his machine gun. Pulling his hood over his head, he slipped into the shadow of a pillar; the remains of a gate long ago as he settled down to wait.

Maybe a quarter of an hour passed, before he heard it.

Somewhere close out in front of him, maybe thirty, forty yards, he heard a sound. It was soft and lasted only half an instant and then it was followed by another sound. The second sound was something like meat being hit in a way to his mind. There was no cry or sound of alarm.

What he heard next caused him to really listen hard. It was a sigh - like the last outward breath of someone out there. Most of all, it had been the first sound that held his ear as he listened. He knew what it was; it just took him a little while to search his memory until it clicked.

It was the sound of a large blade singing through the air before it hit something.

He looked off in the direction that it had come from and as hard as he looked, he saw nothing. But almost a minute later, not far off to the side of where he'd been looking, he saw a shape rising up a bit, something just a little darker against the snow out there.

Damned if the Spaniard wasn't right.

He saw - or at least he thought that he saw, the shape of what looked like the head of a lion for just an instant. But... that sound. It bothered him a little and it seemed incongruous to what his eyes tried to tell him.

There was a scream that time, high and thin and full of fear. It ended in a short prayer which was cut off at the end of the first sentence. None of it had bothered him but one sound - coming somewhere in there just before the scream. For maybe a quarter of a second...

He heard that blade sing.

What lion could use a sword?

Fifteen minutes later, off in another direction, there was a cry and a rifle shot, followed by the sounds of something being hit over and over several times.

Then nothing once more.

The last time, he heard someone alright.

He heard a man's voice begging and then crying out as those striking sounds began again. The voice stopped speaking and began to sob as whoever it was cried out in agony. He counted more than four strikes before there was silence for a moment. And then he heard more of the strikes against meat, perhaps five more and then there was silence.

He glanced back and saw that the others still slept and he gave a thought to waking them. Looking back outward once more, the Finn began to see something out there. It grew in both size and consistency and he realized that it was coming his way. He just didn't know what it was.

Then he saw that shape to the head once again, but there was something wrong even still.

No lion in the world grows that tall.

No lion on Earth walks on two legs.

And no lion or any other kind of large cat can manage to form low words out there in the darkness.

The voice that he heard was low and quiet with a bit of a growl to it and he wondered then, because it sounded almost female in a way. It wasn't loud, though the way that it carried to him indicated that it was meant for him to hear, and it spoke French, only a little better than he did himself.

"I bring gifts. Point the rifle away. I mean no harm to you."

As he was digesting it, the figure moved a little and something sailed through the air to land and roll crookedly up to near where he stood in the shadows and there were two of them.

Human heads.

"The rest are gone," the voice said flatly, "Those I did not kill, those four ran. They will bring others when it gets light."

"Who are you?" the man asked quietly, "and thank you."

He wasn't aware of it, but his voice, even carrying that accent and the question delivered without a hint of fear, went a long way to keeping him alive.

"I have come here, clearing my own path because I... I wanted to ask you the same thing," the voice said, "I think that the answers for us both will come if we step a little closer. Keep your rifle ready if you think you might need it, but I will do nothing unless you look to be ready to shoot."

He pointed the gun away and down, easing his grip as he stepped forward.

The figure stepped toward him as well and they stopped about two short paces from each other.

Neither one said a word; they only looked, trying not to stare too much.

It was the head of a lion that she wore, but there was no skull inside of it anymore and the eye sockets held a pair of yellow-colored stones. That empty head served her as the hood of a long, dark fur cloak. And there was something more, he saw after a second. His view of her face was a little obstructed and he reached out very slowly to touch the edge of... a rough, but efficient helm underneath.

He must have looked puzzled because she smiled a little and told him that wearing a pot on her head on a night like this would give anyone a headache from the cold, even though she didn't mind the night air much.

He looked into her eyes and saw that they were like the overcast of a rainy day - a light gray with vertical irises. Her nose was a little wide, but not much and her lips were full and...

He saw the two small tusks on her lower jaw, just visible as they peeked out at him.

Up until then, she'd been standing, looking to him as though she held her hand on one hip - and she wasn't wearing much under the cloak. What he saw was a brown, heavily-muscled, heavenly body only covered a little in pieces of fur over her well-shaped breasts and around her hips. It was then that he saw the broad-bladed axe in her right hand, dripping a little blood even now.

He drew his hand back just as slowly and he saw the cloak fall forward on the one side and it was then that he saw that she'd been holding the butt of a firearm of some kind, ready to draw it if necessary.

But she didn't. She hadn't needed to.

She set the head of the axe in the snow next to her and leaned it against her leg as she pulled off a bloodied gauntlet and her long fingers reached out and up a little to touch his mustache.

"I like it but... Where is the rest?" she asked.

He gave her a small, somewhat sheepish smile then, "They won't let me grow it. Only the sappers in the regiment may grow beards."

"You are not French," she said as a statement and he nodded, "No. Not many of us are. Only some and the officers. You are not French either," he pointed out and she smiled for him again.

"No. I have seen Frenchmen with light hair, but never hair like yours. To me, you must come from the north, far away. Do you know what I am?"

He nodded a little, "Someone I never thought that I would ever see. You are... Jötunn?"

She chuckled, "Maybe I am, and maybe I am only a little like the ones with that name."

"Close enough," he smiled.

"You also," she smiled back, "I have never seen one of the Jötunn either, but you are big enough. Where are you from? Do I hear Finnish in your voice?"

"In a way," he smiled, "so you are near enough again."

He smiled a little ruefully, "Here I have to speak French. What are you doing in this place?"

She changed instantly to Finnish and they both grinned at being able to speak with less trouble in finding words.

"Again," she nodded, "I wonder the same thing of you. I come from mountains - under them - as is the way of my kind. But we lived in an age-old place. Men came to mine and we hid from them, not wanting trouble. Now I think that we should have killed them in the beginning, for what they did weakened the walls of our home and it all fell in one day.

I was twelve, walking outside with my little brother and sisters when it happened. Everyone inside was crushed in a moment and we took to wandering with a few others. My brother was only eight then and I protected him."

"Why were you out without your parents?" he asked. "An errand?"

There was a pause while she considered the differences in their cultures for a moment. At last she shrugged, "I wasn't a stick thing anymore. By then, I'd begun to... develop. My kind, no matter how much males might care for their females... they can often... admire their daughters a little too much. That did not happen in my family. My father taught me much, seeing that I would be big one day. He even taught me his magic and he never touched me in the wrong way. But our women..."

She looked a little sad, "Most mothers love their daughters dearly from birth. But as the girls develop, they know that there are some males who... well, it is natural for mothers to grow slowly jealous of their daughters and think that they see something which is not there. It was not there in my family either, but my mother grew to slowly dislike me.

This is sad, but for us, it is natural too, for the females wish to keep their males and not lose them to their own daughters, so girls are driven out not long before they reach their eighteenth year. My mother had already begun to pick fights with me over little things. My brother spoke for me, wanting to defend me, but she hit him and I took him and our sisters to go for a walk outside then."

He looked as though he understood in a way, though it was a strange thing to him, "You took him out before she could hit him again?"

She shook her head, "No. I took him away before I killed her. I was already stronger than my mother."

She looked at him, trying to come up with ways for him to maybe understand. "We were a little different, my family. My father was large and very strong, and I take many things from him in that way. My mother was half-human and she was neither of those things. My father loved her very much, but she had more doubts than she would have had if she was not... what she was.