“Days.”
He tore off another morsel, chewing reflectively. A full, deep flavor filled his mouth. “Go on, Toni.”
“Ah,” The man spoke for five minutes, mentioning names and tying them to events; villains the team had taken down; bosses and lines of communication. None of it was much use to Dantanion, except to confirm that the threat he faced was the real deal.
“Send me everything you have by email.” He reeled off one of the highly protected addresses.
“I will, Mr. D.”
“And my fresh recruits? How many today?”
“They just set off. Four, I am told. Yes, four.”
“Good. Keep them coming. I must cover my losses.” Picking delicately at what was left at the toe he shredded skin from slivers of bone, seeking out a juicy morsel. The meaty flavor only set his appetite blazing in anticipation of tonight’s feast.
Quickly, he rounded off the call and dabbed at his cheeks and lips, removing a little drool. That was a good sign, of course, never frowned upon. It showed satisfaction, eagerness, gratification. Time was fleeting and he made his way quickly to the feasting hall, entering unnoticed as was his way and slipping quietly into the seat at the head of the table.
Men and women stood all around, behind chairs and lining the corners of the wide room, chatting, smiling, studying modern artistic masterpieces. They were waiting for the gong to sound. They were his followers, his family, though none sought to catch his eye. Dantanion watched them in silence, testing the room’s ambiance, its mood, its underlying layer of feeling. Until now, his family had never lost in battle, never returned home in defeat, never faced anything as powerful as this.
He wanted to see how they coped.
The gong chimed out. The feasters all took their seats, no doubt happy this was their night on the rota. Not only was feasting night their greatest pleasure, it also made a nice change from the caves.
Studying the assembled mass carefully, he waved for the waiters to start serving the meal. Carried on five platters it was the severed arms, legs and body of one of their own; the identity respectfully kept secret by the removal of the head. Of course, the meat had been properly prepared — stripped, cooked and then replaced as best they could — he kept his chefs for their culinary not presentation skills. More waiters appeared with sharp, gleaming knives and started to carve the meat, directed by the feasters who then placed the flesh on gleaming plates and looked to the head of the table, to Dantanion.
“With this feast we gain the strength to overcome our enemies, replenish and renew our knowledge, expand our skills and accept new successes. We give thanks to the offering for giving their essence and all that they were, to nourish and sustain us.”
They recited it back and raised their glasses. Servers poured a rich, red liquid until they were half full. Merlot. They drank together.
“It is a fine day for a feast,” Dantanion said and tore flesh from bone. With a flick of his wrist he instructed a waiter to pick him a selection of the tastiest looking unmentionables from around the table and a bowl of dipping sauce, its barbecue-flavored contents enriched with a light spray of hot blood.
One more problem preyed on his mind, casting a little pall over proceedings. The buyer for the Inca relics had fallen off the grid. Dantanion couldn’t reach him, nor could he reach any of the middlemen. Clearly, something had gone wrong and again, was now a threat to the society.
Dantanion wiped his face with a napkin that came away soaked in red. A waiter appeared, took it away and presented a fresh one.
“Nice sauce,” said the man to his right.
Dantanion nodded. “Exquisite.”
Unhappiness clung to his aura like a black shroud, ever tighter so that he could barely shrug it off. He managed it though when the most anticipated event of the night began. Every time new followers arrived they spent their first night visiting the feasting hall after the family had eaten their fill. They were seated at the table, watched over by the family, and allowed to show just how grateful they were by severing, cooking and then eating a tiny part of themselves. Dantanion found it helped the initiation immensely and was eagerly awaited by the long-standing members because, until recently, it had been a rare event.
Today there had been three new recruits.
And, happiness, tomorrow there would be four.
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Drake took Curtis and Desiree out for some target practice and a little field work. The skills he could teach them were limited to the time he had, but he could at least help them live longer.
Live longer?
That realization came down hard and fast, like a cloudburst. Their situation, for all of them, was pretty dire. Defending a village with a handful of soldiers against a local insane, motivated and organized enemy was the riskiest venture they’d ever undertaken… well, maybe. They’d fought through more than one frenzied battle over the last few years, engaged in several do-or-die confrontations.
And here they stood.
Kinimaka and Mai were helping make booby traps around the village. Pits and camouflaged boulder traps; sharpened stakes and rope snares. Smyth was fashioning a hollow in the earth behind the place where the creatures had assembled last time. He would hide here, covered by a ghillie suit of his own fashioning. Made of a strong brown, rough material, originally a bed sheet, he cut it down to cover his body and head, stuck vegetation over it, then covered it in dust, soil and plants. He made sure it blended with the landscape because, soon, it would be his night’s resting place.
Villagers helped, and now Drake began to recognize people and remember their names. Basilio and Marco were farmers, helping Alicia get the houses’ defenses ready. Anica and Clarabelle were weavers, able to create intricate craftwork, and were helping Dahl, Kenzie and Yorgi to limit access to the village. Fewer routes of entry meant less people deployed randomly.
Drake trained others too; as much as he was able to in the short hours. They sat in the dirt and ate sandwiches at lunchtime. He listened to their stories, spoken in stilted English just for him, often translated by Brynn, who seemed to be everywhere at once. It seemed that every hour a man or woman came up to him offering some kind of good luck charm, or a thank you gesture. He kept focus, working until mid-afternoon when he decided the team needed a small, private, discussion.
Together, they wandered up to the summit of a nearby hill, water bottles in hand, jackets turned up against the wind and the all-encompassing cold. Views commanded every horizon, drawing their gazes. Drake waited a moment and then looked back, downward, at Kimbiri.
“Does anyone else feel responsible as all hell now for those people?”
“Fighting with friends is tough,” Alicia spoke up, happy to express herself. “You never know what will happen,” A recent loss weighted her words to the dejected side. “But fighting for friends?” She sighed.
Mai appeared surprised even as she agreed. “I find it harder because they are all so enthusiastic.”
They all laughed a little, more sadness in the sound than cheer. Drake found himself having to say the hard thing now that Hayden was gone.
“And our differences? Can we put them on hold for tonight?”
“At least tonight,” Alicia spoke up. “Despite the personal stuff nobody works better as a team than us lot.”
Dahl grinned at that. “Even with Kenzie here?”
The relic smuggler clapped him on the back. “Hey!” The movement set her katana shifting from side to side.
“I dunno.” Alicia eyed another of her one-time enemies. “I’m taking your word for it, Torsty.”
“I’ll show my true colors,” Kenzie said. “Just make sure you don’t miss it by doing your girlie, ‘running away from a spider’ act when I do.”