The Cold Road (Book 1)

Chapter Thirty-One.

The trees swayed, broken and skeletal in the winter, as the wind rushed through them. They moved gently against the ferocious turmoil as the wind raged, sending flurries of snow through the air. The wind whipped across the land, tearing pathways through the snow covered sidewalks and streets. Roaring across the fields, ripping out dried, frozen stalks of grass and carrying them on through the sky. It shook the shutters of Damascus, rattled doorways; houses groaned and heaved under the weight. It came through the town and spun, shuffling into a funnel that became so strong it torn the ground from the earth. It ripped across the land and pounded to sudden stillness at Rico Belberra's door.

Candle's flickered. They formed a ring around the group of black clad individuals that encircled the middle of the basement. The shadows curved up the walls, running away from the light of the flames. The light itself moved lethargically across the room as the wicks built up their form.

The black clad figures stood around the metal frame of a bed. Chains hung loose from the four corners. Just outside the ring on the wall hung an assortment of gleaming tools. Various hunting knives, flaying knives, clamps and forceps. They hung on a rack, imposing and out of place in the rustic setting of the basement.

A low hum arose from the group as they bowed their heads and began to rotate in a circle, their hands held high above their heads. On the opposite side of the room from the rack sat a large cauldron. It sat on a fire, the liquid within bubbling soothingly. The circle stopped, their arms dropping to their sides, their heads jerking up as they all turned to focus on the small shaft of light that sprang up underneath the door to the house above.

The door swung open and another robed figure appeared, holding a pair of shackles in front of him. Descending the stairs, he whispered under his breath the chant that would usher in the warmth of summer.

'My people,' he said, reaching the bottom and passing into the circle. 'As promised, as declared, the time has come. We've waited patiently for this moment, through many turmoils and panic. Through countless interrogations, we've survived. Through the countless mistrust of our very honest selves, we have risen. The night has come. Bring forth the willin' sacrifice.'

Two bodies broke apart from the group and unlocked the door of the small room beneath the stairs. At once, a dull moan filled the air. Low and tired, scared. The two bodies reappeared pulling the dirty, ragged body of Lindsey Perette. She struggled between the two, teeth clamping at the cloth in her mouth. Tears welled in her eyes as her feet dragged across the floor in a desperate attempt to slow the march.

As if she weighed nothing, the two robed members lifted Lindsey into the air and brought her down onto the bed. Hands moved forwards to grab her feet and arms and lock them into place. Just as quickly as they had stepped forwards, they sank back into the circle as it once more began to rotate. Only one figure stayed out of the circle, he stood at the head of the bed, just above Lindsey's own head. Her tear filled eyes stared widely up at him. Her nightie was stained with urine and faeces, it was torn and little more than a rag. Fear had led her to eat little of what had been given; her body was a shell of what it had once been.

Belberra raised his arms above his head as he whispered out an opening prayer to the Cold. It did not have a name and it did not matter.

'Your offering is near. Take it for our sake so that we can take your offerin' for ours.' Belberra whispered on, his murmuring rising in pitch and lowering in volume and then the opposite. The robed figures around him swayed to the tune, humming along. They could not understand what he said, blind faith allowed them to follow him. His word was true.

Finally, Belberra came to a crescendo and silenced the group with a wave of his hands. The room stiffened, only the stifled sobs of Lindsey could be heard. The room began to heat up; steam whooshed in from under the doors. The group shuffled awkwardly; sweat pouring under their warm robes.

Stretching out his right hand, Belberra took the large kitchen knife offered him. It glinted in the light before disappearing into the shadows of his robe. He began to mutter quietly as he stepped slowly towards the bed. One hand outstretched, he beckoned forth the two robed figures that had dragged Lindsey out of the room.

After a seconds pause, the two stepped forwards again. Beneath his cowl, Belberra smiled; he held out the knife and waited.

The two figures stood silent, breathing deeply in the stuffy basement, eyes locked on the knife. With a hollow sigh, one of them stepped forwards, snatching the knife offered. He rose up onto the bed until he straddled Lindsey's tied legs. His eyes stared down into Lindsey's own, pale and lifeless. They burned into hers and out the back of his head. She stared wide-eyed, unable to move her head to look away. She lacked the strength to struggle or attempt to kick out at him. Her eyes slowly found their way to the knife, the tip pointed straight down at her chest.

Belberra's whispers ceased and Lindsey watched in as the blade came down and pierced her chest. Her soft voicegasped, her body stiffening as the muscles contracted with shock and pain. Her face fell limp as Paul Perette pulled the knife out. The second figure hurried forwards, clasping their hand over Paul Perette's, the two of them stabbed down at the writhing body. The knife was pulled out and another soft groan escaped Lindsey's lips as her body relaxed for the first time on the bed.

Stepping forwards, Belberra took the knife, wiping it on his robe. Cleaned, he handed it over to the group.

'And tonight,' he began as he grappled to pull up his robe to reveal his pale, naked genitals beneath; 'The cold is appeased. Summer will come and winter will be safe.' The robe up around his waist, he clambered up onto the bed above the still child. One hand still holding onto his robe, he used the other to tear away at the remains of the nightie. Lindsey's body revealed to the group, he positioned himself and began to massage his limp penis. Once stiffened, he leaned over and thrust in.

One by one the group lined up behind Belberra. As each one took up their position above Lindsey's body, the one behind prepared themselves by hoisting up their robe. Paul Perette was last. He clambered up onto the bed and sat on his knees. He looked down at the bruised body of his daughter, his face blank of emotion. A small tear prickled in the corner of his eye and with a snarl, he forced himself into the small body. With each thrust, the bed shook and lurched, creaking and groaning. With a final heave and orgasm, the bed cracked and dropped, sending both bodies tumbling to the floor.

'Enough!' cried Belberra from the back of the group as they slowly moved forwards to help Perette to his feet. 'Before tonight is done we have arrangements to plan for our scapegoat. You,' he pointed to Amsler, 'You'll take the dead White back to her home and make the arrangements for her disposal and discovery. The rest'll come with me and we shall send our darlin' to her final rest before they return to help you.'

As Amsler disappeared up the stairs, the rest of the group gathered around Lindsey's body, lifted her up in their arms, and began their own procession out of the room.