Within that the thirteen-spired citadel dwells hob. He is thirsty for blood
We will give him blood until he drowns.
Amabramdata: the Genthai book of prophecy
Hob is waiting for the woman in the darkness; just waiting beyond the river, under the trees where the lake light of the moon cannot reach him. He sniffs the air twice, exploring it tentatively until the sharp scent of her blood is carried towards him on the breeze. Now he can taste her on the back of his tongue.
Shola is alone. Her husband and child are left behind in the farmhouse at the top of the hill. Her son is sleeping; the husband, Lasar, can do nothing to help her now.
The summons is strong; more powerful than ever. Shola must answer Hobs call. Her will deserts her, and she runs down the slope until she reaches the river. She knows exactly where to go. She kicks off her shoes lifts her dress to her knees and begins to wade through the shallow water towards the waiting darkness of the trees. At one point she almost loses her balance on the slippery stones. The water is cool and caresses her feet like the touch of a silk scarf, but her brow is hot and fevered and her mouth is dry.
The woman is at war with herself. One part of her wishes she can remain behind with her family, but she quickly dismisses the thought. If she does not go when summoned , then Hob will climb the slope to the farmhouse and kill her son.
Hob has threatened this.
Her husband would be unable to defend their son.
Better to suffer the will of Hob.
Tonight as the sun went down , Lasar carried the bat-tered leather case down from the attic, lumped across the flags and placed it on the kitchen table. He drew from it two blades of ornate handles, each crafted in the shape of a wolfs head.
These were the Trigladius blades; the blades he'd once wielded in arena 14 in the city of Gindeen, a lifetime ago.
' don't go to him!' His voice was filled with anger 'I will go in your place tonight and slice that creature to pieces!'
'No!' Shola protested. 'Think of our son. If I don't go, Hob will kill him. He's warned me of that many times. You know that even if you were able to kill him this night, another would replace him tomorrow. You can't fight them at all. You above all must know this! Please! Please! Let me go to him.' At last shola's relief, Lamar relented and replaced the blades in the leather case. He wept as he did so.
Now, as she steps out of the moonlight, she sees the outline of Hob,s body against the sky. His eyes glitter on the darkness, brighter than the stars. He is huge; larger than she has ever seen him before.
She stands before him, trembling; her heart is pounding and the breath flutters in her throats like a soul ready for flight. She sways but does not fall. Hob has moved closer now and has gripped her hard by the shoulders.
He will just take a little of her blood, she tells herself; her heart will labour for a while and her legs will tremble. There will be some pain, but she will be able to endure it. It will be just like the other times, soon over, and then she will be free to return to her family.
But this is different. This is the time she has always feared — the last time he will ever summon her. She has heard tales; she knew that it would come to an end eventually...
One night Hob would not allow her to return.
His teeth pierce her throats deeply— too deeply. The pain is worse than ever before. He is drinking her blood in great greedy gulps.
This is the beginning of her death. As her vision darkens, memories of her husband and child flicker into her mind and she is submerged by a wave of sadness and longing. She struggles to block them out.
Memories can only bring PAIN.
And as she falls into the darkness, she experiences something even more terrible. It is as if a hand is reaching deep within her to snatch and twist and loosen; reaching beyond her flesh, to draw her essence forth like a tooth.
It is as if something is sucking fort her very soul. Some call him Old Hob. Others whisper Pouke to frighten children. Some name him Gob or Gobble. Women call him Fang.
By any name he is an abomination.
A creature suck as this deserves to be cut into pieces and scattered in the winds.
But men are weak and afraid, and here Hob rules.
For this Midgard, the land of a defeated and fallen people.
THIS IS THE PLACE WHERE MEN DWELL.
