The Footfalls Within

Sat, 20/03/2010 - 7:06pm — euchoo

Solomon Kane gazed somberly at the black woman who lay dead at his feet. Little more than a girl she was, but her wasted limbs and staring eyes showed that she had suffered much before death brought her merciful relief.
His cold eyes deepened strangely, showing chill glints and lights like clouds passing across depths of ice.
He raised his head and gazed eastward. Black dots against the blue wheeled and circled.
"The kites mark their trail," muttered the tall Englishman. "Destruction goeth before them and death followeth after. Wo unto ye, sons of iniquity, for the wrath of God is upon ye. The cords be loosened on the iron necks of the hounds of hate and the bow of vengeance is strung. Ye are proud-stomached and strong, and the people cry out beneath your feet, but retribution cometh in the blackness of midnight and the redness of dawn."

Kane followed like a brooding ghost and his rage and hatred at into his soul like a canker. Each crack of the whips was like a blow on his own shoulders. The heat and cruelty of the tropics played queer tricks with white men. Ordinary passions become monstrous things; irritation turns to a berserker rage; anger flames into unexpected madness and men kill in a red mist of passion, and wonder, aghast, afterward.
The fury Solomon Kane felt would have been enough at any time and in any place to shake a man to his foundation; now it assumed monstrous proportions, so that Kane shivered as if with a chill, iron claws scratched at his brain and he saw the slaves and the slavers through a crimson mist.

"Take up these weapons which the warriors dropped in their haste," said he, "and get you home. This is an evil place. Get ye back to your villages and when the next Arabs come, die in the ruins of your huts rather than be slaves."

Recent updates:

EuCHO0.NET - (^(0o)^) The Pigatory

User login

Navigation

Who's online

Who's new