SWNOVELS Chapter CHAPTER FIVE
THE SCENT OF BOILING BLOOD was in the air.
Deep in the boreal forest of Quebec, it snowed black snowflakes. The large flakes were surreal as they descended, both beautiful and foreboding, like little gentle kites that had lost their strings. The small clumps of black snow took their places on the trees, ground, and a nearby crow. It was too cold to snow, but it did nonetheless. Even the wind blew in different directions, making the flakes dance oddly at times, being pushed and pulled. The crow zeroed in on a flake above the trees and followed it as it fell, finally taking a bite out of it as it neared. The bird screeched and sounded confused, or was it distressed? Was it struggling for its breath as its head bobbed up and down?
The clouds over the small forest section were also different shades of black as if their colors could only show different hues of darkness. The animals had never observed a more peculiar sight in the area. It looked like the world was ending with the shiny black snowflakes falling. Two dark clouds had come together and slowly started to swirl. The clouds had stopped their rotation in less than a minute as if frozen.
The Ojibwe-style wigwam made the forest look as though it had gone back in time. Even though it was summer, it snowed, and about two inches of the cold black stuff covered the round domed shelter and the surrounding area. The irregular flakes clung to trees and branches, but beyond the spelled area, it was a warm summer day; inside that circle of paranormal energy, it was as cold as the Arctic. Insects froze and perished as if the season had abruptly ended; tiny legs wiggled their last movements of life as their remaining bits of energy were pulled into the air. The trees felt betrayed by the unexpected departure of summer.
“Oooooohhsaa!” Achak’s breath turned to black mist in the cold atmosphere as he stood with his palms toward the sky. The wizard’s concentration was emotional. He had two small brown leather pouches near his waist, one below each shoulder. He took dried vampire blood out of one, and out of the other, he took sulfur and enchanted salt. With the ingredients rubbed together as if warming hands, combined with an incantation, black lightning flashed out of the sky, electrifying the air. The hair stood on his arms, legs, and neck. He pushed out large amounts of air from his lungs, sounding like the wind in a storm; he sucked in the air and again pushed it out slow and noisily. This time Achak was up to nothing good. He sought more energy, more fire, and more destructive power. One day Achak wanted to be able to challenge Dracula and destroy him. He was never happier than when he was up to no good.
The crow fell dead from high up in the tree in mid-caw; it tumbled down, hitting several branches, and balanced on one on the fir tree for several seconds before an invisible hand knocked it off, enabling the dead bird to continue its fall. When the warm-blooded vertebrate hit the forest floor, it turned to dust. The air picked up in a small area and blew the remains away as if adding insult to injury. Afterward, it was almost as if the American crow had never existed.
Achak’s red-beaded headband had become wet with sweat. He was a large native man who worked with good and evil magic, but lately, his offensive side pushed away all remnants of the good he once had in him. His destroyer side enjoyed increasing his power, overshadowing all the virtuous deeds he had done in the past. People evolved, and unfortunately, his change was not for the good of humankind. The more he learned of the dark ways, the more ideas formed. Now only evil deeds satisfied him.
Several feet from the wigwam was a vigorous fire and a large black pot with the blood of several animals boiling in it, rabbit, deer, bobcat, and crow. The bottom of the old clay pot was just starting to burn, adding to its nasty odor, and it was all part of the enchantment. Until that burning had commenced, it had been possible for the victim to escape. But the scorched blood had binding properties that took to the air and followed the spell’s path. It now followed the invisible road in the sky. The scent had already found its victim, who could not fight its alluring qualities, having no choice but to seek its source. An offer of ten million dollars would not have dissuaded him from pursuing it.
A large black raven in a coniferous tree looked puzzled while the black snow covered it; it shook off the dark stuff with attitude. The bird looked down at Achak in his buffalo hide as he walked peculiarly around the wigwam, with three steps forward and two steps back. The native made disturbing faces into the air and toward the trees, glaring evilly, morphing into disgusting faces that could not be measured. Achak was entranced in his spell and could sense that it was working. His victim was now less than a mile away, and he had no choice but to continue his approach to the area.
Booker was a red sheriff called down Newport, Vermont, finding himself captured by the spell. He was a tall blond Canadian that had been called down to New Hampshire to help battle a small group of vampires that had been defiant until the end. His brown trench coat was torn from him repeatedly bumping into trees as Booker blurred for short distances through the woods. Booker had been the sheriff closest to the enchantment, and now he was pushing through the forest, heading for that captivating scent. His mind was fuzzy, with only brief moments of lucidity. Booker passed a black bear scratching its back against a tree; the animal was puzzled by the visible black aura surrounding the sheriff but ignored him. An attack from the bear could have possibly taken him out of the spell, but unfortunately, it didn’t happen. The bear wanted no part of the black stench. It burned the bear’s nose and made him sneeze repeatedly.
Achak watched as Booker entered the area of the powerful spell; he walked to the wigwam and stood motionless, unable to move. He was a puppet with no control over his body. Booker appeared hypnotized, willingly awaiting his fate. The blood wizard walked around him and smiled as the black snowflakes continued to fall. Achak exposed his fangs biting into the sheriff’s neck; he drained all his blood in less than a minute, sucking up the extra power that Dracula had placed into him, thus taking his life. The sheriff’s bones collapsed to the forest floor into the black snow.
Achak enjoyed the extra energy that flowed through him; whether factual or not, he felt like a more powerful sorcerer.