"Roberts, Nora - Divine Evil(1)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Roberts Nora)

After the calling of each name, the others repeated it. The list was long.
The group was swaying now, a deep hum rising up among them while the high priest
drank from a silver chalice. Finished, he set the cup down between the breasts
of the altar.
He took up a sword and pointing it south, east, north, and west, called up the
four princes of hell.
Satan, lord of fire Lucifer, bringer of light Belial, who has no master
Leviathan, serpent of the deep
In the brush, the young girl shuddered and was afraid.
"Ave, Satan."
"/ call upon you, Master, Prince of Darkness, King of the Night, throw wide the
Gates of Hell and hear us." The high priest shouted the words, not like a
prayer, but a demand. As his voice rang out, he held up a parchment. The lights
from the greedy flames washed through it like blood. "We ask that our crops be
bountiful, our cattle fruitful. Destroy our enemies, bring sickness and pain to
those who would harm us. We, your faithful, demand fortune and pleasure." He
placed a hand on the breast of the altar. "We take what we wish, in your name,
Lord of the Flies. In your name, we speak: Death to the weak. Wealth to the
strong. The rods of our sex grow hard, our blood hot. Let our women burn for us.
Let them receive us lustfully. " He stroked down the altarТs torso and between
the thighs as the prostitute, well-schooled, moaned and began to move under his
hand.
His voice rose as he continued his requests. He thrust the swordТs point through
the parchment and held it over the flame of a black candle until all that
remained of it was the stink of smoke. The chant of the circle of twelve swelled
behind him.
At some signal, two of the cloaked figures pulled a young goat into the circle.
As its eyes rolled in fright, they chanted over it, nearly screaming now. The
athamas was drawn, the ceremonial knife whose freshly whetted blade glimmered
under the rising moon.
When the girl saw the blade slice across the white goatТs throat, she tried to
scream, but no sound passed her lips. She wanted to run, but her legs seemed
rooted to the ground. She covered her face with her hands, weeping and wanting
to call for her father.
When at last she looked again, the ground ran with blood. It dripped over the
sides of a shallow silver bowl. The voices of the men were a roaring buzz in her
ears as she watched them throw the headless carcass of the goat into the fire
pit.
Now the stink of roasting flesh hung sickeningly in the air.
With an ululant cry, the man in the goat mask tore off his cloak. Beneath he was
naked, his white, white skin glimmering with sweat, though the night was cool.
Glinting on his chest was a silver amulet inscribed with old and secret symbols.
He straddled the altar, then drove himself hard between her thighs. With a
howling scream, a second man fell on the other woman, dragging her to the
ground, while the others tore off their cloaks to dance naked around the pit of
fire.
She saw her father, her own father, dip his hands into the sacrificial blood. As
he capered with the others, it dripped from his fingersЕ
Clare woke, screaming.
Breathless, chilled with sweat, she huddled under the blankets. With one