Robert Adams - The Witch Goddess

The two brothers seemed to take immense and continuing pleasure from the executions, and, oddly to Erica’s mind, so too did the crowd of assembled Ganiks, some of that crowd actively assisting the brothers to clap hands on their chosen prey, tripping up and holding fleeing men until the brothers ‘ got to them.

Erica had brought along the pouches of loaded magazines and stripper clips, expecting to have to kill many more of the Ganiks when they rushed her en masse. But they never did; rather they willingly accepted the fact that this sometime captive was their new leader.

At any other time, Erica would have been repelled by the conduct of the gathering. They dragged the suffering, dying victims of her bullets to spots where small groups of them could increase their agonies, torment them, further maim their bodies and mimic their cries and pleas.

The very last of the bullies, one Wall-eyed Duane, sidled away, out of the crowd as he became aware of just how this new wind was blowing, leaped bareback upon a wandering pony and set out across the clearing, his heels beating a frantic tattoo against the prominent ribs of the shaggy little beast.

Erica, who had always been a good shot, brought the rifle up to her shoulder and blasted the man off the pony’s back. A knot of Ganiks ran over to where he lay in the dust, showing obvious disappointment when he died soon after they reached him, and then turned back to those victims still alive, still susceptible to added pain.

Throughout the next few days, Erica came to understand that she was in no danger from the remaining Ganiks. They all seemed to respect her, even to like her. With some dozen corpses to go around, all of them were better fed than was often the case, and it was amazing to her just how much human flesh these savages could consume at a single sitting.

When she had been offered Strong Tom’s liver, heart and several juicy cuts from one of his thighs, she had wisely masked her revulsion and indicated her preference for a steady diet of fish. There had been no question, either spoken or implied, and her two bullies had since kept her well supplied with fresh-caught fish, probably taken from other Ganiks, since she had never seen either of the two fishing in the stream or pond.

Her demands for pots of hot water were always met, and when she closed and barred her door to strip and bathe, no one ever tried to enter. After the executions, all of her clothing and her boots turned up amongst the effects of Strong Tom and Long Willy, so she now went about both clean and clad, though still a bit bemused at how easily she had won over these revolting, primitive, savage but in many ways childlike Ganiks.

Her self-appointed bullies, Lee-Roy and Abner, were a boon. Not only did they wait on her, cater to her and respectfully coach her in the necessary functions and duties of Ganik chieftaincy, but they willingly explained certain usages and customs when she seemed not to understand.

When, of a day, she announced that she wanted every man and the few women in the camp to troop down to the stream and there strip, wash thoroughly their bodies, hair and beards, then their verminous clothing, there was pure pandemonium in the camp, nor did the noise and agitation cease, despite the most sadistic efforts of the two bullies, until she had fired a shot from the rifle.

After a few moments of subdued muttering, one of the former coterie of Strong Tom shuffled out of the mob to face her. “Whutall you wawnts us to do, it ain’ jes’ ginst bunch-law, it’s plumb sinful. 01’ Plooshuhn, he kills Ganiks fer thet!”

Erica shrugged and stated flatly, “You’d better take that risk, then. Because if you don’t wash your stinking selves and soon, then I’m going to kill you for certain.”

Old Kevin set his jaw stubbornly. “Wai, I ain’ gonna!”

Erica leveled her rifle and, without another word, shot the Ganik spokesman down, the force of the charge hurling him back into the mob behind him. She ended by having to shoot two more, then her bullies beat another to death. But after that, the remaining Ganiks got the message and filed meekly down to the stream to indulge the singular whim of this strong and proven-merciless new leader. Like a pair of vicious dogs, the brothers rode herd on the throng, beating those who lagged, ripping the garments from those who did not strip fast enough for their liking, throwing in bodily those who hesitated at water’s edge.

As the brothers stood panting and giggling on the stream bank, Erica gestured with her rifle, saying, “You, too, Lee-Roy, Abner.” When the two just looked at her uncomprehendingly, she elucidated, “Strip and wash, you boneheaded apes!”

Still giggling, the brothers complied. For the next few days, they and the other Ganiks were far easier on Erica’s nose. She was, in fact, considering forcing the bunch to burn down all of the vermin-crawling huts, along with most of the contents, when more Ganiks came riding in from the north.

Although most of the newcomers forked real, full-size horses, one who was mounted on a big pony separated himself from the knot soon after they had debouched from the wooded track and kneed his mount over to a ring of Ganiks, squatting about a fire and consuming their first meal of the day.

“Heyo, Stinky.” One of the feasters raised an arm in greeting. “One-ball ‘lowed as how you’d done gone up nawth fer to jine up with ol’ Buhbuh.”

The small, wiry, big-nosed man thus addressed just nodded. “Heyo, Fartuh, where be Lowng Willy an’ the resta his bullies?”

The thick-lipped Fartuh Cartuh rolled onto a single buttock and broke wind loudly, then said, grinning, “We-awls been a-shittin’ out the bes’ parts of them ol’ boys awl week lowng! Thishere bunch is got us a new leaduh, naow, Stinky.”

The big-nosed man nodded, not looking at all surprised. “I knowed ol’ Strowng Tom’d do fer ol’ Lowng Willy soonuh ‘r latuh. Sumbody cawl him outchere, heanh?”

With an even broader grin, Fartuh Cartuh let loose another blast of foul methane. “Thet ‘un was Strowng Tom, Stinky, he’s sayin’ ‘heyo.’”

At this, Stinky’s dark eyes did widen perceptibly. “Yawl mean yawl done et Strowng Tom, too? Then who in Plooshuhn is a-leadin’ the bunch?”

“I am, you smelly bastard,” grated Erica, stepping into sight, the rifle held in the crook of her arm. “What are you and the rest of those pigs doing in my camp?”

Stinky stared at the Ahrmehnee woman in dull shock for a few moments, then reined about and rode back to the group of Ganik horsemen with whom he had ridden in. He spoke in such a low tone that none of Erica’s people could overhear, and when he rode back, two of the horsemen accompanied him.

Dismissing the obviously inferior Stinky, Erica studied his two companions warily. Both were very big men—as tall as Long Willy had been, yet as broad and as muscular as the late Strong Tom—and well armed with swords, targets, axes and pieces of plate armor of fine quality and new enough that it had not yet started to rust of the customary Ganik neglect. The one on Erica’s right was as dusky of skin tone as was her own, current body, with hair and beard that were jet-black and curly under the matted filth, and a nose even bigger than Stinky’s own beak; Erica thought that the man was at least half Ahrmehnee, Ganik or no, probably gotten upon some hapless kidnapped Ahrmehnee girl.

The other man, the one on her left, was possessed of a wild mop of brick-red hair but a singularly skimpy beard and a mere reddish fuzz rather than a mustache on his upper lip. “Hormonal imbalance,” thought the physician Erica. “Likely, very sparse body hair, too.”

On one side of the haired man’s stubby, freckle-splashed nose, from the inside corner of the eye, diagonally down the face and across the square jawline, was a still-healing gash. It had been a deep, severe wound, for Erica could see the glint of teeth through the opening in the cheek.