gns.thegraveyardvultures-第13部分

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　　Totally　unrelated　thoughts　began　to　flood　his　mind　like　the　scrambling　of　a　radio　wavelength。　Adolescence；　the　shame　of　what　he'd　done；　but　God；　the　mind…blowing　sensuality　of　it　all；　the　super…charged　bodily　feeling　was　such　that　he'd　have　done　it　again　right　now。　Then　the　women　were　crowding　him；　one　after　another；　faces　and　bodies　he　vaguely　remembered　but　didn't　have　time　to　recognise。　Except　the　last　one　when　all　the　others　had　gone　…　Miranda*　He　could　not　get　rid　of　her；　almost　dropped　the　heavy　crucifix　in　his　desire　to　get　to　himself。　Almost。。。　a　supreme　mental　effort　sent　her　stumbling　back　into　oblivion　and　Sabat　was　fighting　again　with　all　the　mental　power　he　could　muster。　Maybe　he　should　have　brought　Maurice　Storton　along　after　all；　most　exorcists　were　acpanied　by　at　least　one　devoted　Christian　to　help　with　the　prayers。　But　no；　this　was　his　own　fight；　nobody　could　help　him。　This　church　was　no　place　for　a　near…senile　curate。
　　
　　He　made　it　up　into　the　pulpit　just　as　a　gale　sprung　up；　a　freezing　blast　that　wafted　and　fluttered　the　altar　tapestries　behind　him；　tore　at　his　own　clothes　as　though　determined　to　strip　him　naked。　The　pages　of　an　open　bible　were　flicking　over；　some　being　shredded　from　their　binding。　And　in　the　midst　of　it　all　he　heard　Quentin　's　maniacal　laughter。
　　
　　'Our　Father；'　he　yelled　at　the　top　of　his　voice；　the　words　being　whipped　away　so　that　he　did　not　hear　them；　might　have　been　miming　them/　。。。　hallowed　be　Thy　Name　。。。　as　it　is　in　Heaven　。　。　。　forgive　us　our　trespasses　。。。〃　a　pang　of　guilt　like　a　knife　being　driven　into　his　stomach。　He　writhed；　clung　to　the　mahogany　railings；　'deliver　us　from　evil。。　。　Oh　God；　deliver　us　from　evil。。　。'
　　
　　The　wind　seemed　to　check；　then　came　back　again；　Sabat's　long　hair　flowing　wildly。　Somehow　he　managed　a　confession　and　absolution；　feeling　himself　growing　weaker　all　the　time；　still　clutching　the　chalice　of　charged　water；　its　contents　slopping　from　side　to　side；　spilling。　He　dipped　his　free　hand；　wet　the　fingers　and　began　to　fling　droplets　in　all　directions；　a　spray　that　hissed　like　a　kettle　boiling　over　on　a　hob。　Spitting　protests；　angry　cat…beasts　temporarily　thwarted　as　they　surrounded　their　prey；　the　wind　suddenly　dropping。　A　deadly　calm；　a　lull　in　a　storm　of　evil　as　the　enemy　regrouped　for　a　massive　onslaught。
　　
　　Now　Sabat　could　hear　his　own　voice；　dry　and　rasping　but　determined。　'God；　the　Son　of　God；　who　by　death　destroyed　death；　and　overcame　him　who　had　the　power　of　death。　Beat　down　Satan　quickly。'
　　
　　He　hoisted　the　heavy　crucifix　aloft；　swung　it　defiantly　in　all　directions。　The　wind　outside；　a　kind　of　agonised　groan　。　。　。　but　not　in　here！　His　brain　began　to　function　more　easily　again。
　　
　　Shouting；　screaming；　hating　these　invisible　entities　with　all　the　power　he　could　muster。　'Deliver　this　church　from　all　evil　spirits；　all　vain　imaginations；　projections　and　phantasms；　all　deceits　of　the　evil　one；　bid　them　harm　no　one　but　depart　to　the　place　appointed　them；　there　to　remain　forever。　God；　Incarnate　God　who　came　to　give　peace；　bring　peace。　*
　　
　　Quentin's　voice；　a　cry　of　'hypocrite1；　but　it　faded　and　Sabat　was　moving　back　down　the　aisle；　chalice　in　one　hand；　crucifix　in　the　other。　The　shadows　seemed　to　fall　back；　a　kind　of　tranquility　infiltrating　this　hallowed　place。　A　desert　fortress；　in　effect；　a　strong　legionnaire's　outpost　where　the　hostile　bedouins　were　kept　at　bay；　safety　within　its　battlements。　But　Sabat　knew　that　he　had　to　go　outside　and　bat　the　foe　again；　he　could　not　skulk　in　false　safety。
　　
　　Clouds　scudded　across　the　sky；　the　wind　starting　to　get　up　again；　bringing　the　darkness　back　with　it。　He　caught　his　knee　against　the　sharp　edge　of　a　tombstone　concealed　in　a　clump　of　long　grass；　cried　out　aloud　in　pain　and　spilled　some　of　the　water。　Then　they　were　back　on　the　attack；　screaming　their　hate　as　they　closed　in　on　him。
　　
　　He　scattered　more　water；　heard　it　sizzling。　But　this　time　the　forces　around　him　were　not　retreating；　they　were　being　more　angry　than　before；　massing　in　the　blackness　of　the　shadows　for　a　bined　attack。　And　Sabat　felt　himself　starting　to　weaken；　his　brain　going　muzzy　again！
　　
　　He　had　difficulty　in　praying；　an　incoherent　mumbling。　The　laughter　came　again；　a　mocking　cackle　that　might　have　been　Quentin's　and　might　not。　Sabat　dipped　his　fingers；　felt　only　a　moistness　on　the　silver　…　the　holy　water　was　all　gone！　Peals　of　laughter；　the　wind　starting　to　strengthen；　a　tearing　freezing　blast　that　had　him　staggering　back。
　　
　　Run！　The　church；　it's　your　only　hope；　you'll　be　safe　in　there。　Too　late；　the　blackness　had　closed　in；　not　so　much　as　a　twinkling　star　to　silhouette　the　way　to　the　church；　blundering　blindly　on；　all　sense　of　direction　gone。
　　
　　Panic　gripped　him　　the　same　as　　it　had　　up　in　that　mountain　forest　when　he　had　suddenly　realised　that　Quentin　was　invincible。　He　threw　the　chalice；　felt　the　gale　whip　it　like　a　dead　leaf；　heard　it　strike　something　solid。　Something　sharp　pierced　the　back　of　his　neck；　scraped　the　flesh。　He　knew　what　it　was；　tangled　hawthorn；　the　straggling　boundary　hedge　of　the　cemetery。　He　could　go　no　further；　he　was　trapped！
　　
　　And　then　suddenly　Sabat　saw　them；　outlined　in　an　ethereal　glow　that　came　neither　from　the　moon　nor　stars。　Dozens　of　them；　an　angry　mob　in　filthy　tattered　garments；　screaming　for　him。　More　light；　now　he　could　see　their　faces；　grotesque　inhuman　features　that　had　no　right　to　exist　on　this　earth。　A　frenzied　mob　of　。。。　Oh　God；　what　were　they？
　　
　　Their　bodies　stank；　an　acrid　odour　of　sweat　and　urine　。　。　。　and　death　A　thought　crossed　his　mind；　nearly　froze　his　brain　with　terror；　the　old　Haiti　legends；　the　dead　raised　from　their　graves　by　the　bocors　and　made　to　work　in　the　fields；　Zombies！　No；　it　couldn't　be；　but　surely　these　creatures　in　human　shape　were　not　living　mortals。
　　
　　He　calmed　his　panic。　These　were　the　dark　forces　taking　on　terrifying　forms；　able　to　change　them　at　will；　deadly　dangerous　in　whatever　shape　they　chose　to　show　themselves。　Women　with　grimy　scaled　breasts；　pubic　hair　that　crawled　with　lice。　Except　one！　Sabat　recognised　her；　picked　her　out　of　the　howling　mass；　the　exquisite　figure；　so　sensual　at　the　height　of　her　fury；　long　auburn　hair　that　fell　tantalisingly　around　her　shoulders；　a　Beauty　amid　the　Beasts　…　Miranda　
　　
　　Her　eyes　met　his；　seemed　to　glow　with　a　greenish　hate；　the　full　lips　parting　into　a　lusting　smile。　And　even　in　the　throes　of　this　latest　terror　he　felt　himself　getting　an　erection。　He　tried　to　look　away　but　could　not；　a　kind　of　hypnotism　that　was　willing　him　to　rush　forward；　fall　at　her　naked　feet　and　worship　her　the　way　he　had　once　worshipped　God。　He'd　let　them　do　anything　they　wanted；　just　for　the　chance　to　copulate　with　her。
　　
　　e　to　me；　Sabat！
　　
　　He　found　himself　stepping　forward；　then　something　jerked　inside　him；　a　spark　kindled　into　flame；　a　determination　to　go　down　fighting。　He　grasped　the　crucifix　and　held　it　aloft　like　a　sword。　And　that　was　when　they　fell　back　screaming！
　　
　　A　half…realisation　within　himself　…　the　inverted　cross；　these　evil　ones'　own　blasphemous　symbol　from　which　they　drew　their　dark　power。　And　Sabat　was　turning　evil　on　evil；　using　fire　to　fight　fire！
　　
　　A　cry　escaped　his　lips；　more　of　a　howl　than　anything　the　human　vocal　chords　could　issue。　Discarding　one　power　for　another；　he　leaped　into　the　fray；　and　as　he　did　so　he　called　upon　one　to　help　him　for　whom　this　place　was　sacred　。　。　。　Baron　Cimeterre；　Lord　of　the　Cemetery；　chief　of　the　evil　Petro　gods　of　the　West　Indies。　A　prayer　that　was　a　blasphemy　in　itself；　a　black　invocation。
　　
　　The　gale　came　again；　colder　and　stronger　than　before；　whipping　into　the　faces　of　the　cowering　rabble；　several　of　them　stumbling　and　falling　as　they　turned　to　flee。　And　Sabat　was　upon　them；　his　crucifix　a　devastating　sword；　this　latest　disciple　of　Baron　Cimeterre　bent　upon　bloody　carnage。
　　
　　Sabat　raised　his　eyes　to　the　sky　above；　muttering　words　that　only　a　Creole　might　have　understood　but　there　was　no　humility　in　the　way　he　asked　the　ancient　Lord　of　the　Cemetery　to　help　him　in　his　hour　of　need；　a　mercenary　fought　for　the　highest　bidder。
　　
　　The　sword　came　round　in　a　sweeping　arc；　two　of　his　attackers　falling　to　the　ground　with　screams　of　unearthly　anguish。　A　squat　hairy　man　shrieked　as　he　clutched　with　one　hand　at　the　severed　stump　of　his　other　arm　…　but　there　was　no　blood　　A　cavalier　fighting　against　overwhelming　odds　and　driving　back　the　enemy；　rapid　thrusts　that　were　too　quick　for　the　eye　to　follow。　Had　the　fallen　been　mortals　then　this　wilderness　of　a　graveyard　would　have　run　red　with　spilt　blood；　gaping　wounds；　entrails　spilling　from　open　stomachs；　gashed　throats　and　eyes　that　dangled　from　skewered　sockets。　And　Sabat　was　relentless；　now　truly　a　demon　possessed　with　unbelievable　strength。　A　woman；　a　filthy　hag　of　indeterminate　age；　standing　her　ground　and　screaming　her　venom　at　him；　age…old　curses　that　elsewhere　would　have　brought　assistance　from　her　familiars　but　even　her　powers　were　useless　when　pitted　against　those　of　the　Lord　of　the　Undead；　the　chief　of　the　Petro　gods　in　a　far　off　dark　land。　The　godgame　was　the　ultimate　cla