I Am Warcry ( The Horsemen Chronicles)

I am Warcry

The Horsemen Chronicles

By

KAEL RHYS

Published by Kael Rhys Publishing at Smashwords

Copyright 2012, Kael Rhys

Discover more at http://WWW.thehorsemenchronicles.com

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

About the Author

Prologue

Someone once told me that for every Hell Horseman I slay, a miracle must happen; looks like there are about to be a lot of happy fucking Christians. Warcry

Chapter One

Balam was an evil bastard.

As malevolent as they come, and when the opportunity came for Hell to offer sanctuary, Balam was refused. But he wasn’t always this way, deranged and filled with vengeful wrath. He once walked the earth as a human, and was blessed with a natural gift rarely seen before or since.

When his time came to join the faithful in Heaven, his gift grew tenfold and beyond contestation. However, his blood thirsted for power, and his mind was filled with self-grandeur to the point he challenged God himself, and in the end, he became a casualty of his own doing. Humbled by God, Balam was rejected, and the angels turned their backs on one of their own. Balam was now unwanted, banished, and labeled as one of Heaven’s fallen.

His failure left him an outcast, but not weak, albeit far from it. Instead, Balam was now free from Heaven’s constraints, and this unrestrained freedom only strengthened his maddening mind. He could now act out his torturous plots, and welcome the fears of mankind. He was a God among men, and sat arrogantly on his throne, overseeing his newly found kingdom.

Now exiled by Heaven, and shunned by Hell, all that remained was earth in the middle. It was the ideal playground for Balam to create his masterpiece of mayhem. The weak followed him out of fear, and those who opposed him were never heard from again. He temporarily quenched his lust for power when he became the most ruthless and most powerful drug kingpin the world had ever seen.

Where there once was a heart, beating, pumping the life blood of a human, now thumped a hatred for mankind unlike the Hell Demons he once battled. Only his small thin body frame resembled a man; the soul inside was an unstoppable force set in motion to bring on his own Armageddon.

Balam spent the last hundred years roaming the earth, but his look was much younger than he appeared since demons and Angelics aged slower than humans. The small wrinkles on his leather-skinned forehead and crows feet under his deep brown eyes gave him small doses of character and human-like features, in perfect balance with the grey hairs multiplying around his temples, giving him a more distinguished gentleman-like persona.

The veneer white teeth his ego insisted on was in direct competition with the oversized diamond earring and gold chain he wore; all wanted to see which would shine the brightest in the stifling Mexican desert heat.

Balam sat comfortably in the back of his black SUV, enjoying the soft cool sensation coming from the air conditioner while his loyal human servant Eduardo was making the final preparations Balam had requested. His tan leather seat encompassed him in luxury as Balam bathed in his two favorite vices, a Cuban cigar and a snifter of room temperature cognac. There was no need to crack open the darkly tinted window or the moon roof above him; he wanted to bathe in the aroma of his cigar and let the ashy burn last in his nostrils and lungs.

As Balam relaxed in the cool sixty-eight degree cabin of the SUV, Eduardo and the other handymen Balam employed worked frantically in the ninety-plus dry desert heat arranging the horses and weather-beaten barn as instructed. Outside Balam’s car stood two of his prized stallions that he never rode. They were far enough away to make sure there was no dust rustled in the air to land on his freshly detailed vehicle.

The outside of the barely habitable barn housed large chunks of crusted blue paint chips and flakes. Where places of paint had dried and fallen off now exposed the bare under body of rotted wood and holes. The sun beamed into the barn from gaps of missing sheets of cheap tin the wind had blown off during the years of neglect and exposure.

Balam turned his head in the direction of the barn to watch as his handymen brought out a frightened nude man from one of the unsanitary horse stables inside. His hands were bound to one another in front, helping him hide his exposed genitals; his feet, bound a little more loosely, allowing some freedom to walk as his feet shuffled in the dirt and stiff hay on the barn floor.

Eduardo’s left hand held the inside of the man’s right arm to help guide him in place since he was unaware of his location with his head hidden by a black bag.

Once the prisoner was in his proper place, Balam swirled his cognac in the snifter, his nostrils resting against the edge of the glass taking in the sweet smell before tilting it against his lips and tasting. As the final drop left the glass, Balam parted his lips for a long drag on his Cuban cigar, waiting for Eduardo to give him his queue.

Eduardo was brisk in his walk to the waiting SUV shuffling the tan dirt in the air, landing some on his shoes, but making sure none landed on his master’s vehicle.

Eduardo gave three knocks to the tinted window.

Senor, we are ready.

The barn smelled of musk and heat as Balam entered through the falling down double red doors. The paint remained only on the interior, as the outside had faded and peeled away from exposure to the dry desert heat and wind. The floor was sparsely covered with abandoned strands of hay mixed with the warm tan desert sand. He twitched his nostrils in annoyance from the uncomfortable odors invading his lungs.

The sound of squealing pigs from the other side of the barn could be heard as he took the careful steps toward his prisoner. His walk was gentle to ensure no dirt dulled the shine coming from his brown alligator shoes.

"YO NO SE NADA! YO NO SE NADA!"

Reverberated from the old brown wood beams and metal rusted roof, the loose hay scattered across the ground did little to muffle the panic tone in his scream. The nude man’s English was good, but in this frantic state of mind he reverted to his natural Spanish tongue to plead his innocence.

Balam took the final drag from his Cuban cigar, holding it deep into his chest, savoring the burning taste in his lungs before handing it over to Eduardo to mash out on the ground.

The man hovered a foot from the ground tied in a position that would make any sadist salivate at the mouth. His arms were bound and outstretched, tied to two different pulley’s hanging from the ceiling. His legs were tied as well, connected to separate lower pulleys coming up from the floor. The black bag hiding his frightened face was made of a thin mesh blocking out the light but still allowing him to breathe in some panic filled air.

With a simple nod, Balam motioned to one of his henchmen standing on a wooden chair behind the tortured soul, triggering him to pour a bucket of water onto the young man’s covered head. The timid older gentleman did as instructed, sending the young man into a squirming frenzy. His panic screams and the flaring motions by his tied up limbs caused the four horses on the other end of his ropes to stomp their feet and become restless, tightening the rope’s tension.

The horses’ nervousness stirred up the other animals in the barn. The chickens in their coop began to cackle, flailing their wings feverishly, sending minute dust particles in the stale animal stench-soaked air. This in turn had the odorous, mud-slinging pigs in their pen squealing out a ravenous high pitch anthem in their sty.

On the south side of the barn near the chicken coop and pig sty stomped restlessly Balam’s pale and white horses. Both animals held their ropes taunt from the horn of their saddle. The pale horse drew the assignment of controlling the tension against the man’s right leg, while the excited white horse drew his right arm.

The north side of the barn, where Balam had entered, had a mirror image to the south. The black and red steeds had ropes equal in length connected to the horns on their saddles that could be traced back to the pulleys tied to the man’s left extremities.

As the majestic beasts snorted and nodded their muzzles up and down, their hoofs danced in the desert sand, sending clouds of dust into the hot air. Some minute particles found their way inside the barn and clung to the naked man’s wet, hairy body like a fly on flypaper. The occasional glimmer refracted from the dust and water droplets clinging to the dark black hair on his chest. The water cascaded down the black bag over the man’s head, soaking the thick, dark hair on his chest and torso.

Sounds came from the bag of a young man gasping for air between the water droplets, shooting pain in his lungs and the tearful cries of his innocence. A fast-paced breathing sound could be heard coming from inside the bag. Outside, a small black mound expanded out, then inward, then out again with ever shallow breath.

An ear-piercing pop broke into the scene from the small black taser gun now in Balam’s hand. He made sure to have the electric bolts streaming in random order and in different places to intimidate and strike fear. Each time he did so, it made the nude man twitch and squirm.

Like a tiger focused on his prey, Balam’s cold brown eyes peered into the man’s soul. He wanted answers and felt his prisoner had them and, if he didn’t get the answers he sought, retribution would be a suitable consolation.

Balam addressed any out of place hairs on his head, then undid his cufflinks to roll up the sleeves on his white designer dress shirt.

I want to know who tipped off the fucking Americans about my coke! he exclaimed. You’re the fucking Chief of Police, Hector. You must have been told something! Balam addressed Hector in Spanish, trying to convey his seriousness. I don’t pay you good money not to give me answers!

Once again through tearful cries, the young man repeated he didn’t know anything, and once more Balam refused to believe him. Balam exhaled a deep heavy sigh and flared his nostrils, showing that what little patience he had was now thin. He needed to raise the level of intensity, so his idle threats with the taser ended. The rapid popping symphony from the gun rang like sadistic church bells through the barn as Balam was methodical in pressing the taser against Hector’s genitals.

Hector screamed and squirmed, twisting his body in awkward positions in a failing attempt to move away from the torturous pain Balam was gleefully inflicting. The more Hector jerked and moved, the more uneasy the horses on the other end of his ropes became.

A loud pop reverberated in the hallow barn originating in Hector’s right shoulder near his hooded head. Under his skin was a large concaved indention where his shoulder bones once connected in their socket. The timid Eduardo, who was standing next to his master, noticed a thick strand of blood flowing out from under the black bag, implying that Hector must have either bit through his quivering lips or flailing tongue to quiet his screams and dull the pain. None of this had any effect on Balam and his quest for answers.

The horses' handlers held onto their reigns tightly, gently caressing the frantic horse’s muzzles and cheeks, attempting to calm them down. The poverty-stricken workers felt a sickness in their stomachs watching the pain being forced on by Balam. Grieving tears swelled and trickled down the workers eyes.

Balam smoothed his hair back in place, then addressed Hector once more, taking two steps forward and arching his head upward to make his voice as clear as he could.

Hector, Hector, Hector, what are we going to do, my friend? I know there's something you're not telling me, but I don’t understand why. Balam turned away and took a couple of steps back again. He noticed a few specks of dirt on his neatly pressed shirt and brushed them off arrogantly to maintain his perfect appearance.

You see, Hector, Balam stated while turning back to face his prey. Your fate is already set. You're going to die today, but what you need to consider is if you're going to die alone. His speech was peppered in a Spanish twang.

Above this barn on a hill is my house. My bedroom faces this direction, so at night when the windows are open, I can see this old barn and hear my wonderful pigs making beautiful music. Right now those windows are open, and in my room is your wife, Maria, waiting and listening to every sound you make. Balam moved in closer with rage underlining his tone.

Now I want you to think of something. After you die a painful death, I'm going to feed your rotting corpse to my pigs, and they'll eat every piece of meat and flesh from your bones. And while my pigs are feasting on your dead body, I'll be up in my room watching them out my window and fucking your wife. Now whether or not I give her the same fate as you once I'm done depends on the answer you give to my question.

He paused once more before screaming angrily at the black bag. WHO TOLD THE FUCKING AMERICANS ABOUT MY COKE?

The man whimpered amidst the sobs. Please do not hurt Maria. She is innocent and knows nothing. He then pleaded profoundly to his captor, It was me. I gave the Americans the information. Please do not hurt Maria!

Balam turned away pleased and cocky. He then handed the taser over to his servant Eduardo standing at his side. An arrogant smile parted along his face, exposing his ivory colored smile. Balam then spun around, returning his attention back to the helpless man dangling from the ropes, but making sure to do it carefully so no dust landed on his freshly polished shoes.

See, now why did you have to make this so difficult? All you had to do was tell me that the first time and your pain would have been less.

Balam pressed his palm on the black bag where the man’s cheek rested underneath. Sobs came in unison with his head bobbing up and down with every breath.

Balam didn’t say a word to the man, only saluting him with a confident smile knowing he finally got the answer he sought. Then, with self-gratifying pleasure flowing through his veins, Balam gave a forceful slap across the black bag; a sign of disgrace and humiliation he felt Hector had shown him. He had known all along it was Hector who betrayed him; Balam just wanted the satisfaction of hearing the words from his own lips.

You should have never crossed me, Hector! There'll be far worse pain and suffering waiting for you in Hell, I'll see to that! exclaimed Balam as he walked away, with Eduardo subserviently following. Cries of remorse and fear played behind Balam as he walked back toward the waiting SUV.

Before he returned to the waiting car, Balam made one final pause next to one of his beautiful stallions. He held out his hand to Eduardo, palm open. Eduardo knew what his master wanted without a word being uttered. He then reached inside his shirt pocket, pulling out a dark wood box, placing it into Balam’s waiting hand. The box made a creaking sound of an old rocking chair as he opened it to see a waiting dark brown tobacco fix. Balam graced the thick Cuban torpedo under his grateful nostrils, inhaling a deep breath of the enriched tobacco leaf aroma. He loved the smell and taste of a good cigar.

Balam clipped the back end clean before placing the cigar between his lips. Then, with a little boy’s smile, he pulled out the small box of matches from his front pocket. With one strike, a puff of sulfur fell under Eduardo’s nose as Balam lit his victory cigar.

He puffed on one end of the cigar until the other was amber, red, and orange, then he held in a long relaxing drag before tilting his head back and making a glorious smoke ring in Heaven’s direction.

His white veneer teeth held his cigar firmly in place. A little mound of flesh could be seen in his right cheek from the back end of his cigar. Balam gave one final glance back into the rustic barn, eyeing the sobbing man now alone inside, his head held weakly forward and his body casting an eerie shadow of defeat.

Balam placed his right hand gently on the back hip of the black stallion. He rubbed the horse gently in a circular motion, enjoying the firm build of the beast and the power it implied. With his head never moving and his eyes firmly in place on the horse, Balam let out a devilish cry.

Enjoy Hell, Hector!

PLEASE FORGIVE ME, MARIA, the hanging man bellowed. He flung his head back hard and screamed till his lungs burned.

Balam’s hand echoed a loud pop when it made contact to the backside of the solid black stallion. The horse jolted in shock, alerting the other three to mimic his reaction and running in panic.

Hector’s loud scream seared through the barn, piercing the ears of Balam’s workers standing helplessly nearby. This loud cry in turn began a chain reaction within the barn animals, starting with the chickens being sent into a mass hysteria. Loose feathers floated in clouds of dust as their panicked wings disturbed the loose particles in their pen.

Balam’s workers all turned their heads away instinctively, not willing to watch the brutality of Balam’s sadistic enjoyment. Their intensions were noble in not watching, but they failed to protect their ears from hearing the pain of Hector’s bones and flesh being ripped away from his torso.

The dying cries coming from under the black bag were nauseating. Gurgling sounds of blood swelled in the back of Hector’s throat as he screamed in agony from the tearing of his muscle fibers being stretched past their limits. Bones cracked and popped in unison when they tore away from the joints in Hector’s shoulders and hips. The force behind the sudden jerk of the horses caused the small bones in his wrists and ankles underneath the rope restraints to shatter in an instant.

The effort of all four horses quartering Hector was over quickly, but the horrendous act itself seemed to drag on endlessly. Balam watched gleefully as the horses galloped off into the desolate horizon, dragging Hector’s stubby limbs on the end of their long ropes.

The lifeless and limbless body of Hector flopped onto the ground. Under the shadow of the hooded bag came the convulsing gurgles of pain and blood seeping out from Hector’s gaping mouth and oozing into the musky desert sand. Hector’s fate had come to a cruel end at the hands of a man who lavished in the power torture demanded.

Balam lowered the tinted window, releasing a sparse amount of the comfortable cool air out of the vehicle, and motioned to the waiting Eduardo.

I want you to feed his body to the pigs. Then, have his head delivered to the fucking American police station in San Diego. I want these Americans to learn this area belongs to me. When that's done, have our men in California find out who this asshole is who got to Hector and where he lives. And when they do, I'll teach him a lesson with my bare hands!

A young male servant waited as Balam’s car pulled through the circular drive, stopping under the covered port. He was dressed in a white button up shirt with old sweat stains under his arms.

The young man patiently waited to deliver pleasant news as Balam exited the SUV.

Senor, your guest is waiting in your room as requested.

There was too much arrogance flowing through Balam to even fathom an acknowledgement or kind gesture to the loyal servant. He made one quick stop in the kitchen to grab two bottles of water before heading upstairs to meet his guest. Balam opened one to take a long thirst quenching swig before making his way upstairs.

In the room waiting was the raven-haired maiden sitting sheepishly on the edge of the bed, her hands folded together resting between her legs and thin flowery dress skirt. Dry salty streaks stained her cheeks from the tears she'd been crying. The hopeless expression on her face told of her knowing the fate of her loving husband when only Balam entered the room.

The bay doors leading to his seating patio were open, allowing the warm desert breeze to flow into the spacious bedroom. Next to the door, a thin white fan stood humming at maximum speed, and above his bed the ceiling fan rotated feverishly as though it was on spin cycle.

The speed at which it turned had the fan rotating a little off tilt. The metal cord hanging down and oscillating clinked against the glass light fixture at a steady rhythm.

Without her husband, there was no will in Maria to fight. Her body language expressed an empty, lifeless shell.

Balam approached the plus-sized young lady offering her the second bottle of water. Maria’s head rose from its submissive position to notice his kind gesture. "Gracias," she said as she took the bottle.

She wasted little time in drinking the cool water to parch her dry, cracking throat; crying till there are no more tears can do that to a person. Balam stood above her watching, and waiting for her nerves to settle.

While she drank her water, Balam took a moment to observe a little more about Maria. He noticed the little details, like the callouses on her fingers, possibly from years of manual labor in the fields, or maybe a housekeeper position at a wealthy man’s estate, and how there were tiny dirt patches hidden in the skin folds of her neck. did she collect them from working outside or did they get there on her travels to his house? He pondered these things to try and get a better sense of how to approach her.

Together with her old and dusty dress she wore, he could sense the poverty in which she had lived. He spoke to her in Spanish, hoping to make her more comfortable in his presence.

Do you know who I am? he asked.

"Si, Senor."

Good. I should tell you that my reputation is nothing like the real me. There's a compassionate side that few actually see. But I'm also a businessman, and I take my business seriously. That's the side that carries the reputation everyone fears.

Maria was a frightened doe in Balam’s eyes. There was no challenge; therefore, no excitement. Her fear and emotional disconnect took all the fun out of the sport. He needed her more relaxed and trusting to complete the fantasy.

Are you hungry? he asked in a concerned tone. I can have Eduardo bring you up some fruit?

No, thank you, she responded. Again, cowering down, her head trying not to make eye contact, her right thumb and index finger now began twisting her wedding band nervously.

Balam knelt in front of her low enough to draw her eyes in his direction, a psychological ploy to make her feel he was down to her level and give her some security in his presence.

Her naturally curly black hair had fallen forward, hiding her plump round face. He took his right hand and ran his fingers through her oily dark hair, pushing it back behind her left ear.

There now, I can see your beauty, he said, smiling, making sure to wait until she made eye contact with him before continuing.

Consider my home a sanctuary. No longer will you walk around in tattered dresses or bathed in dirt and sweat. I can free you from this life of hopeless existence. All I ask is your trust in return. You do believe me, right, Maria? he questioned, still making sure she looked him in the eye, begging to earn her trust.

Maria looked at him and nodded in agreement. Her life was no longer hers to control. She knew ultimately Balam was in control of her fate; how she lived her remaining days or moments all depended on how little she resisted.

A hint of a wounded soul’s smile came out, parting Maria’s plump cheeks. Balam smiled back like a crocodile waiting for the fawn to creep closer to the water's edge. He finally got what he wanted. The fantasy was now complete.

Chapter Two

Just a little over one hundred miles away, yet seeming in another world, the warm June heat waves beaded down on Warric’s face. The mild ocean breeze coming in from the west kept the temperature comfortable for early summer in Southern California.

It was mid-afternoon, and he felt the need to get his mind off work, so taking a few hacks over at the driving range sounded like a pretty good way to relax.

Warric was a natural when it came to sports. His drive to compete and win served him well through high school and college. Like his high school football coach once said about him, Warric is drawn to sports like fish are to water; one can’t live without the other. And now approaching thirty, it seemed his coach maybe knew what he was talking about.

If it wasn’t for that one play his junior year in college, who knows where his life could have ended up. Instead, now Warric used the same focus and self-motivation that earned him his football scholarship to move him in succeeding as an owner of his own real estate company.

Warric focused his steady eye on the white dimpled ball, sitting on the small wooden tee. His hands were calm as they moved back, loading up his power swing before coming down to make contact, launching the ball straight and true.

He held a perfect pose while admiring the ideal drive before getting interrupted