The Nightly Feed
He is a warrior of the Dogfolk, facing down his destiny - and his eventual demise - all in one night.
There are those lucky folk who carry their sins for themselves, and only themselves. It is these folk who are blessed, for they merely have their own ills and evils to bear before they may pass into the beyond.
I am not so lucky.
My name is Tembo. I am a tribesman of the B'Senji, and a warrior of the Dogfolk. I am eighteen summers this year, and it is my first night in the old, rickety hut at the edge of the village.
Baba Yubi is here with me. He is the Spirit Feeder, and I am his apprentice. We are here, as each night, to protect our village. Our duty is to nourish the ghosts, with our very life essence, to prevent the havoc they would otherwise wreak. We feed the demons which cause sickness and decay, suffering unimaginable. It is like tossing meat to the jackals so they do not eat our goats. The hunger is sated, and we go about our lives, free of torment.
One soul is sacrificed to save the others. So it has always been. Little by little, we die for those we love.
We watch the sun sink into hills, and darkness descends upon the land. This will be a very long night indeed. We must look to each other for strength, and hope that Y'singa, goddess of our people, hears our prayers.
The fire has been lit, and the doors have been sealed tight, even as a chill seeps under the door. We feel them coming. Baba nods to himself, for he knows what comes. Aside from the weak fire we have built in the hut center, I can barely see him; Baba is an unusual color for our people, his pelt the black of a starless night. My father had said that this is because the darkness has touched him too many times, here in the rickety shack. But I see the stark yellow of his eyes, and the whiteness of his teeth, floating there - bodiless in the dark.
We speak the words that must be spoken, and Baba bids me to begin.
I call out to the spirits in a tongue that few of our folk know, no longer the harsh, throaty hunting anthem that we use to drive the antelope and the boar from the grass; it is a low sweetness that has taken me many years to master. Baba nods approvingly, and his own song calls out, dancing and twining with my words.
We call to the hungry demons of the world. Those who would wish us harm, that cause sickness and decay, hurt and suffering. I reach into the bucket beside me, down into a warm, thick liquid, grasping a bundle of soaked herbs. The stench of rancid blood, that of a bull calf's, floods my nostrils and makes me want to gag. I grip the bundle with determination, and with a practiced motion I throw them onto the fire, a damp thoomph the only sound.
It takes a few moments for the smoke to fill the room. We wait, our ears pricking and straining.
Finally, an eerie, terrible laughter begins to fill the room. It makes me want to run, and my tail tucks as close to my body as it possibly can. Suddenly, the smoke begins to take shape, and many forms now dance in the shadowy haze.
Blood-red eyes pierce the night, jagged teeth glinting in what little light there is. Growls and chuffs, insane laughter, cries and curses. I shudder as the shadows touch my fur, exploring my face. It feels like legions of spiders are crawling over me, and I swallow the urge to swat, to squeal in puplike terror. To do so would bring their attention, and might mean my death at the worst; and Death would be a welcome diversion from Baba's wrath, were I to insult the spirits.
Long moments pass. Finally, the chattering and snarling haunts make way for the biggest of them all. They cower in the shadows, in whatever places they can find.
For a moment, all goes deathly still. Then, she arrives.
The figure that now fills the room is that of a huge female hyena. Her eyes crackle with stabs of lightening. The stench roiling from her flanks hits me like a sack of rocks as it chokes the air inside the hut. She is bigger than Baba or I, like a great plains-cat, all covered in spots. Still as a last breath, she stares down at Baba, teeth bared, dribbling expectantly.
Hungry.
I feel the word more than hear it. It makes my stomach churn and hurt. Baba waves his hand, and stands. He spreads his hands open, trembling. The demoness casts a glance to me. Baba growls a warning to her, drawing her attention back on himself.
This one?
"No. Plenty of time for that. You came to take what is left."
So little.
"You already have more of me than I do of myself. Finish what you began."
As you wish, old one.
Baba looks to me, smiling warmly. Long have we foreseen this night. I see the fear behind his eyes, but a fierce determination as well. He steps toward the demoness...and the feed begins.
Baba begins screaming. He becomes as a corpse, flesh falling from bone, whisking away in a cold wind like sand falling from a dune. In a matter of moments, the ritual is over, and the creatures are gone. The feed has finished, once more.
I gasp, awaking as if from a terrible nightmare. I already know what I will find. My paws find the old dog already growing cold beside the fire, and my own fur now darker than it was when the night began.
But I will return, as he did, once more to let them feed. So it has been, and so it must be. The nightly feed must happen, or all is lost.
Goddess help me.