"Guy N. Smith - Sabat 1 - The Graveyard Vultures" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Guy N)

A movement, so sudden that the bird almost obeyed its natural instincts and took to the wing in sudden
fright. It stiffened like some taxidermist's exhibit, saw the ill-fitting door being scraped back; a human
form emerging.

An old man, so old that it was almost impossible to believe that he still lived, threadbare garments barely
hiding the wasted frame beneath. Hairless, the skin like ancient parchment, eyes receding into deep black
sockets, nostril cavities that bubbled thick mucus in time with the wheezing lungs. A slit of a toothless
mouth from which came grunts brought about by the sheer effort of each movement from this revolting
Methuselah.

Mark Sabat in his hawk form experienced a fleeting pang of pity that his own brother, one conceived in
the same womb as himself, should have rotted away to this! But he dispelled the feeling, replacing it
immediately with one of hate. For Quentin Sabat was no more than ten years his senior, his physical state
self-induced so that he might precipitate himself into his next life, the desire to spawn a new evil, and
throw the hunter off his trail. A desperate measure, indeed, or was there a more insidious motive for this
premature senility?

The old man picked up an axe with difficulty, swung it weakly at a block of wood and urinated down a
skeletal leg with the effort. The log split, fell into two halves and he spat out a glob of pink-tinged spittle,
rested on the shaft of his axe, cursing profanely in a mixture of German and French.

Then the kestrel was airborne, winging its way swiftly and silently over the treetops, a headlong flight that
took it back to the slumbering human form within the pentagram stirring it into wakefulness, a naked form
that stretched and yawned and knew that its search was over.

Now Mark Sabat was back, treading the track which he had committed to memory, knowing that this
time he must come in his own form for his astral body was powerless to bring about the demise of the
devil's henchman. He did not hurry, almost euphoric because the end was in sight, fearful because he
might not be strong enough. Quentin would know he was coming but he would not flee this time. He, too,
would relish the encounter now, the direct conflict of good and evil, opposing forces battling for greater
ideals than their own personal hatred of each other, something that had gone on since life began.

Fleeting memories came to plague Mark Sabat like a drowning man experiencing flashbacks of his life.
An upper-class upbringing, his future ensured by a legacy from wealthy parents, boyhood rebellion
against this planned life and in a moment of weakness, a pleasurable teenage homosexual experience
which had driven him into priesthood in the hope of cleansing his tortured mind. Then the discovery of his
own powers, the realisation that night when he had exorcised the poltergeist, followed by the doubting of
his own faith brought about by the hypocrisy of church leaders. Precipitated into yet another phase; army
life that had found him in the SAS . . . and the sheer pleasure derived from killing an enemy \ Legitimate
murder, not once but many times. A new Sabat, so ruthless and yet still in possession of those
inexplicable powers; powers that had saved his life on many occasions until a dishonourable discharge
had tumbled him back into civilian life. Embittered, all that mattered now was the destruction of Quentin,
because no one such as he had any right to exist amid Mankind.

The clearing, swamped by shadow so that Mark Sabat could only just make out the silhouette of the hut
and the towering pines. Cold and getting colder all the time. He checked his means of protection. The
herbs, the garlic, the silver crucifix and the tiny prayer book which was almost a blasphemy in the pocket
of one who delighted in killing. And the revolver, a .38 which he carried at all times, useless in a situation
such as this but a comfort in hostile places where earthly bodies might threaten him. Since those SAS