gns.cannibalcult-第16部分

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　　　CHAPTER　NINE
　　　
　　IT　WAS　full　daylight　when　Sabat　stirred；　moved　his　stiff　limbs　with　some　difficulty。　He　was　naked　and　shivering　uncontrollably；　trying　to　tell　himself　that　the　fever　had　e　back　and　given　him　ghoulish　inexplicable　nightmares。
　　
　　But　it　was　all　so　horribly　real；　Madeleine　lying　there　by　the　altar；　which　was　draped　again　in　black　tapestries；　her　shapely　legs　lewdly　spread　as　though　she　had　been　waiting　for　him　to　awake　so　that　she　could　mand　him　to　kiss　her　again。　Her　eyes　were　closed　but　he　got　the　feeling　that　she　wasn't　asleep。　Maybe　a　trap　of　some　kind？　There　was　no　sign　of　the　others；　perhaps　they　were　hiding　outside　in　the　wood；　waiting　in　ambush。　Tempting　him　to　escape　so　that　they　could　strike　him　down。
　　
　　No；　they　didn't　need　to　do　that　because　he　would　not　flee。　He　was　a　prisoner　here　as　surely　as　though　his　limbs　were　chained　and　manacled；　a　bodyguard　to　the　dead。　If　they　wished　to　kill　him　they　would　have　done　so　by　now。
　　
　　'You　are　hungering　for　breakfast；　Sabat？'　Madeleine　Gaufridi's　eyes　opened；　there　was　a　mocking　expression　on　her　pale　features。
　　
　　'No；'　he　grunted；　felt　his　stomach　churn。　*I　could　not　eat　anything。'
　　
　　'Human　flesh　is　so　filling；　so　satisfying；'　she　laughed。　'It　is　good　for　the　figure；　too。'
　　
　　'Where　are　the　others？'
　　
　　'Gone　back　with　Andre。　We　shall　not　see　them　again　until　Walpurgisnacht。'
　　
　　'And　in　the　meantime？'
　　
　　'You　stay　here　and　guard　the　desecrated　body　of　my　beloved。　You　guard　him　with　your　soul；　for　if　he　suffers　harm　Andre　will　take　that。　Perhaps　your　body　also。'
　　
　　'What　about　you？'
　　
　　'I　shall　be　leaving　you　shortly。'　She　sat　up；　groped　for　her　clothes。　'There　is　work　for　me　to　do；　which　is　why　you　must　stay　here　alone。'
　　
　　Sabat　fell　silent。　Strangely　he　did　not　think　of　escape；　only　of　a　job　that　had　to　be　done。　Quentin　was　conditioned　to　serving　the　powers　of　darkness；　it　had　never　been　any　other　way。　He　still　had　the　？38；　he　would　fight　to　the　last　shell　to　defend　the　Left　Hand　Path　and　its　followers。
　　
　　Some　time　later　he　watched　her　go；　the　VW　bumping　and　skidding　down　the　muddy　track　through　the　trees。　He　stood　in　the　doorway　listening　to　the　sound　of　its　engine　dying　away。　Then　silence；　not　even　a　bird　singing　in　this　dense　patch　of　mountain　forest　where　all　noise　was　blanketed；　a　stronghold　of　escalating　evil　cut　off　from　the　rest　of　the　world。
　　
　　Sabat　felt　drained；　physically　and　mentally；　could　not　get　the　previous　night's　revulsion　out　of　his　mind。　God；　there　was　that　awful　taste　cloying　his　palate；　wouldn't　let　him　forget　it。　If　only　he　had　some　toothpaste　or　an　antiseptic　mouthwash。　Even　so　he　doubted　whether　it　would　rid　him　of　the　flavour。
　　
　　He　didn't　want　to　go　back　inside。　Not　with　that　hideous　unholy　body　in　the　coffin；　a　thing　that　was　almost　alive。　You　got　the　feeling　that　Nevillon　was　only　sleeping；　that　he　might　wake　up　at　any　moment。
　　
　　Sabat　tried　to　collect　his　thoughts。　Somehow　it　was　easier　without　Madeleine　around。　These　people　had　learned　from　the　rites　of　the　Cochon　Gris；　which　apparently　had　spread　across　the　world　from　the　West　Indies；　the　ultimate　in　voodoo　magic；　cannibals　who　were　determined　not　to　let　their　primitive　customs　die。　Nevillon　was　some　kind　of　grand　houngan；　a　disciple　of　Satan　who　was　determined　that　the　Left　Hand　Path　should　triumph　on　the　continent。　Doubtless　he　was　a　reincarnation　of　the　infamous　Silvain　Nevillon　just　as　Madeleine　Gaufridi；　as　she　called　herself；　was　Madeleine　de　Demandolx　de　la　Palud　reborn。　Together　their　evil　was　very　powerful；　almost　invincible。　It　was　little　wonder　that　they　sought　an　alliance　with　the　notorious　Quentin　Sabat；　knew　that　if　they　overcame　Mark　Sabat　then　Quentin　would　live　again；　a　kind　of　'hit　man'　to　do　their　dirty　work。　They　would　find　their　followers　amongst　the　black　magic　cults　of　the　world；　kids　who　did　it　for　kicks　then　suddenly　found　they'd　got　a　tiger　by　the　tail。　It　would　spread　like　a　fast…growing　malignant　cancer。
　　
　　Sabat　pursed　his　lips。　If　it　hadn't　been　for　that　bout　of　pneumonia　he　wouldn't　be　here　now；　at　least　not　in　his　present　predicament。　They'd　made　a　pretty　good　all　round　job　of　ensnaring　him。　Not　only　was　he　possessed　by　Quentin；　but　the　law　was　also　looking　for　the　killer　of　that　detective　in　Interlaken。　Schmid　and　his　friend　would　lose　no　time　in　producing　the　necessary　incriminating　evidence　if　Sabat　went　to　the　police。　And　after　Walpurgisnacht　there　would　be　no　hope。　Once　he　had　eaten　of　that　terrible　flesh　there　would　be　no　way　back　for　Sabat。　It　could　be　that　he　would　find　himself　possessed　by　Louis　Nevillon　then…Sabat；　the　Beast　of　France！　He　shuddered。
　　
　　Then；　amidst　the　despair；　a　sudden　idea　glimmered　like　a　distant　light　to　one　lost　in　a　nocturnal　wilderness。　The　astral　plane！　He　had　the　ability　to　transport　himself　there。　Madeleine　was　gone；　she　wouldn't　be　back　for　a　few　days　and　it　was　unlikely　that　anybody　else　would　e　here。　He　could　draw　the　pentagram　inside　the　chapel。　He　sighed。　A　defence　against　evil　was　no　good　when　he　was　evil　himself。　In　which　case　why　bother　with　a　defence？　One　did　not　have　to　be　pure　to　venture　on　to　the　plane！
　　
　　He　pursed　his　lips；　at　least　it　was　better　than　remaining　here。　It　was　no　means　of　physical　escape；　but　in　the　past　he　had　benefited　from　the　wisdom　of　those　who　were　not　shackled　by　mortal　bonds。
　　
　　Sabat　went　back　inside；　retched　at　the　stench　of　stale　cooking；　the　acrid　odour　of　roasted　human　flesh。　There　was　no　point　in　chalking　out　a　pentagram　on　the　floor。　Indeed；　he　was　probably　safer　without　its　confinement。　He　glanced　towards　the　oblong　shape　of　that　coffin　in　the　altar　shadows；　half…expected　to　see　the　lid　starting　to　rise。　No；　nothing　would　happen　until　Walpurgisnacht。
　　
　　He　stretched　himself　out　on　the　blanket　where　he　had　spent　the　night。　Every　muscle　in　his　body　ached；　every　nerve　taut。　It　wasn't　going　to　be　easy。　He　didn't　even　know　if　he　would　be　able　to　relax；　let　alone　sleep　the　slumber　necessary　for　his　soul　to　depart　his　earthly　body　and　go　in　search　of　the　astral　plane。
　　
　　Mark　or　Quentin　Sabat；　he　had　not　forgotten　the　technique。　He　took　a　deep　breath；　let　it　out　slowly。　Usually　relaxation　came　easily　but　not　this　time；　as　though　some　inner　obstruction　was　determined　to　prevent　him。　Quentin's　soul　was　reluctant　to　let　him　be　transported　to　the　astral。　Why？　There　was　nothing　to　fear；　good　or　evil。　The　risks　were　the　same　for　both；　the　danger　of　being　trapped　there　and　leaving　an　empty　shell　of　a　body　at　the　mercy　of　mortal　men…death　due　to　natural　causes。
　　
　　Sabat　had　to　relax　before　it　was　possible　to　concentrate。　He　tried　to　reflect　upon　his　past　life；　a　means　he　often　used。　A　turmoil。　The　shame　of　adolescence；　fleeing　to　the　protection　of　the　Church。　Another　disturbing　phase；　the　sheer　hypocrisy　of　the　Church's　hierarchy。　Was　not　Royston　Spode　an　example　of　that？　The　SAS。　Brutal　efficiency。　Learning　to　kill　and　having　no　conscience。　Catriona　Lealan　。。。　hell；　he　was　getting　an　erection　now。　Madeleine　。。。　Sabat　sweated；　became　angry　with　himself。　They　all　had　some　sort　of　hold　on　him；　had　found　a　chink　in　his　seemingly　invincible　armour。
　　
　　OK　he　was　weak；　had　succumbed　to　numerous　temptations　and　he'd　do　it　again。　He'd　join　them　in　their　Walpurgisnacht　unholy　feast；　resign　himself　to　being　one　of　them　because　there　was　nothing　he　could　do　about　it　He　would　not　fight　against　it。
　　
　　He　felt　himself　starting　to　relax。　Evil　had　found　its　own　level；　he　wasn't　fighting　it　anymore。　He　was　being　drowsy；　eyes　closing。　His　mind　was　calmer；　his　breathing　slower。　He　might　just　have　been　going　to　sleep。　Everything　seemed　so　tranquil；　such　a　natural　state　of　affairs。
　　
　　Subconsciously　he　knew　he　was　on　the　brink。　A　void　where　there　was　impenetrable　darkness；　utter　silence。　Then　a　light；　far　off；　being　brighter。　Dazzling；　blinding；　making　him　cringe。　His　relaxation　came　back　in　a　soothing　wave　and　he　was　listening　intently；　waiting　for　something；　a　signal　of　some　kind　maybe。
　　
　　He　had　no　recollection　of　having　received　that　signal；　only　that　he　was　moving。　Airbo