46.05 Axe Under Covers

[shoeless.db]

It would benefit you to read this first...

The former Wendy's building had fallen into further disrepair than the last time Shoeless visited. Scraggly weeds grew tall from the cracked pavement of the parking lot like prideful fugitives. The windows and doors were covered in rotting plywood, and amateur graffiti tattooed the brick exterior. But, the place was not vacant. Several newer vehicles sat outside the main entrance, and smoke from a furnace drifted from a steel chimney on the roof.

Shoeless pursed his lips as he pulled his old pickup into the lot. Six years. That's how long it had been since he had first met Carlos Camacho. Six years since Camacho's light first fell upon the darkness of his life, upon the sadness of his mind, and upon the cowering of his soul. The vehicles out front represented the last of the believers. The true followers. The Divine Mystics of the Camacho Order.

Shoeless hadn't set foot in this makeshift temple since watching Po-sin Shi run from it naked, screaming, and bleeding from both thighs two seasons ago. It took all he could to track Shi down that night on these vacant streets and convince him to get back in the pickup with him. Shoeless still tossed and turned at night when he remembered the horror on Shi's face, the blank stare of his eyes, the endless shaking of his arms. He had to trade Shi away after that night. Shoeless wanted to believe he sent him to Edmonton because he couldn't live with the guilt of ruining the man, but he knew, instead, it was the knowledge that Shi didn't have the fight in his spirit to be cleansed. Or the courage. Or the faith.

Faith. That is what brought Shoeless to this building this day.

He hesitated for a brief second as he grasped the handle of the front door. Faith had been easier alone. He had been Camacho's chosen disciple, his only true disciple. But, faith alone is sometimes not enough. He pulled the door open, and a man in a hooded black robe met Shoeless immediately upon entering.

"Shoeless, we are honored by your visit today. Please, take a seat," the man said, gesturing to a dark brown booth near the entrance, a remnant from the building's former occupant. "The Exalted One will meet with you shortly."

Shoeless nodded and took a seat as the robed man left the room through a beaded curtain doorway. Despite the lack of effort put into the aesthetics of the building itself, the Order had been busy creating artwork depicting Camacho and his ascension to the heavens. Above where Shoeless sat hung a painting of the giant Donkeagle appearing from the clouds, ready to swoop down and claim Camacho. On the former condiment cabinet, a collection of lit red candles illuminated a white marble bust of Camacho. Shoeless rose to get a better look at the work, but was interrupted immediately by the the sound of the robed man pushing through the beaded curtain and back into the room.

"The Exalted One of the Divine Mystics of the Camacho Order, Ralph Dewaldo, will see you now. Please, remove your shoes before ... ," the man paused. "My apologies, a lapse in thinking. Please, come in, Shoeless."

Shoeless followed the man through the curtain and into the sanctuary of the Order, preparing himself for the conversation to come and for the sight of Dewaldo, which Shoeless never was comfortable.

The room smelled of burnt sage, and Dewaldo, as always, was naked, sitting cross-legged behind a low stone alter, his grotesquely fat body covered entirely in red ocher. Two crimson banners with a black overlay of the donkeagle hung to each of his sides, and the only light in the room came from a brazier on the alter, whose coals radiated a deep red color, causing Dewaldo's large shadow to dance behind him.

Dewaldo's eyes were shut, but he stretched both arms out to Shoeless. "The great raptor. Thirsty. Forever bound to the sky. Must come to the earth to drink," he said, slowly opening both hands to reveal bleeding cuts on each palm. A bell chimed, and a small black falcon flew from a perch over Shoeless' head and landed on one of Dewaldo's wrists. It cocked it's head then pecked at the open wound in his palm.

"What brings the great raptor to drink, Shoeless?" Dewaldo said, eyes still closed.

"There is movement," Shoeless began. "An axe, having revealed her wooden handle, convinces the trees she is one of them. I come to ..."

Dewaldo opened his eyes and flicked the feeding falcon from his wrist. The bird quickly flew back to his perch over the door. "We know why you come. Are raptors not birds? You think Camacho doesn't speak to us? You think the great donkeagle doesn't feed us his scraps? I only need to know one thing from you. Is this axe, as you say, is it ... she ... sharp? Is its ... her ... foundations," he winked, "firm?"

"I do believe, unfortunately for her, she is quite sharp and quite," Shoeless wanted to retch, "firm."

Dewaldo smiled and licked his teeth. He brought a hand to his chest and circled his fingers delicately around his nipple, leaving a swirling pattern in the red ocher. "Well, an axe can be useful for more than chopping, I suppose."

Shoeless nodded, unable to continue looking at Dewaldo. "Praise be to Camacho."

"Oh, yes," Dewaldo said, his fingers still circling his nipple. "Praise be to Camacho."

[7teen]

Well, there went my run at the award for best TN of the season.

Well done.

[Dington]

Fantastic writing

[CTBrewCrew]