Succubi Part 1

Succubi.

Edward Lee.

Prologue.

"They cooked heads," Ms. Eberle said.

Professor Fredrick quailed. His mind seemed adrift in the presiding pause. They cooked heads. They cooked heads. He stared at the odd, gracile woman, then stared back down into the pit of skulls. He stared at the odd, gracile woman, then stared back down into the pit of skulls.

A cooking pit, he realized. he realized.

Despite the sun's fierce blaze, he s.h.i.+vered in the clean, highland air. The site made him think of violations, of rape. A line of enthusiastic students tore at the face of the ridge with 20pound pickaxes. Others turned shovels around amorphous shapes of things that the last six days of excavation had raised from the oblivion of ages. Dust rose in billows. The hectic sound of metal striking rock rang as a familiar song. Fredrick had spent his life doing this: disgorging smothered civilizations from the thick skin of the earth. Yet he'd never felt this way before. He felt like a trespa.s.ser.

Ms. Eberle stood beside him, gazing down into the dig like a G.o.d on a precipice. She was skinny and rather tall, pallida female version of Fredrick. Straight grayblack hair had been cut around her gaunt face like a helmet. She had inordinately large b.r.e.a.s.t.s for her frame, which stretched the front of her khaki field blouse. Big paleblue eyes watched intently over the dig's activity. When she smiled, the slit of her mouth showed a row of sharp, even white teeth.

She carried a bizarre expertise: an archaeological sociologist. Fredrick had read many of her papers in the journals; her work fascinated him-the application of societal mechanics to mythology. She was also perhaps the world's only expert on the obscure preIberian race known as the Urlocs. Fredrick had contacted her in the states when the Oxford dig had begun to unearth things that weren't supposed to be in the inclusion perimeter.

Cenotaphs. Dolmens. Huge ma.s.s graves in the middle of the plush English countryside.

A British air survey had notified Oxford University when some telltale traits had shown up on the topography plates. They'd thought it was an urnfield. Oxford had then commissioned Fredrick and his team to start digging; they'd been looking for a misplaced Saxon settlement in the area since the discovery of several Brython tomes twenty years ago. Fredrick hadn't been on the site a day when he realized they'd stumbled upon something else altogether.

They cooked heads, the woman's soft throaty voice slipped back into his mind. the woman's soft throaty voice slipped back into his mind. Butchers. Cannibals. Butchers. Cannibals.

A big diesel dredger pumped racket and fumes into the dappled sky. Young stratigraphy technicians finnicked with core cutters at the face of the deepest stope. Here time was a measurement, not in years, but in strati, in camelhair brushes, and in dust. Fluorine probes were thrust into orifices of wet clay and shale. No, this was no urnfield-it was a corpsevault.

Tall trees shuddered around the dells, as if in pain. The site looked bombed, craterpocked. Dirtsmudged students lifted buckets of trinkets off the winzeline, and carried them off on poles across their shoulders. The conveyor rolled up rock chunks and human bones out of the main trench.

"The Urlocs," Fredrick said. "So you're certain now?"

Ms. Eberle twisted a macro lens onto a modified Nikon F. "There's no doubt," she told him. "Everything your people have found corresponds directly to the archives of the Roman Occupation. This is the archaeological find of the decade."

Her big eyes beamed back into the exhumation. Their glint made Fredrick think of l.u.s.t.

The dig was nearly over. They were already past budget. Fredrick and Ms. Eberle walked past the last copse toward the tents. He looked down at his clayflecked leather boots, the same he'd worn on countless digs. From Galli to Nineveh, from Jericho to Troy to Knossos. He abstracted, wanting to smile. He thought of himself as a specter of the future. All these cities, once great, had been predestined to be trod upon by Fredrick's old boots a millennium later. Time buried. Whole civilizations locked in layers of clay. He was walking on worlds, and some day, he realized, someone like him would walk on his.

"We're going to be famous," Ms. Eberle whispered.

"What?"

She didn't answer, trudging on. Trucks rumbled out of the excavation, their springs straining against the proof of ages. Lots of bronze and primal iron. Brooches, juponclips, stavecaps and decorative armlets. Crates of potsherds exhaled rising ageless dust as the trucks rumbled on. They'd found a lot of cutlery, finely crafted and still sharp. Flat blades with long tangs, clearly not Saxon or Frisian. Cnifs, Cnifs, Eberle had called them. Eberle had called them. For human sacrifice. For human sacrifice. They'd found several cauldrons that were huge. They'd found several cauldrons that were huge. Fek-chettles. Fek-chettles. But Ms. Eberle seemed most excited by the ma.n.u.scripts. The wellmade earthenware and highnitrogen soil had preserved them; she photographed almost all of them before the truth of the open air had disintegrated the parchment to fine dust, infinity taking back what it was owed. But Ms. Eberle seemed most excited by the ma.n.u.scripts. The wellmade earthenware and highnitrogen soil had preserved them; she photographed almost all of them before the truth of the open air had disintegrated the parchment to fine dust, infinity taking back what it was owed.

They stopped at the crossroads, to watch the last of the exodus. The trucks moved on, full of crates of the entrails of another time.

The last trucks carried significantly more: Bones.

How many pits had they disinterred? How many graves? How many trenches ensiled with human heads?

"The graves will take months to exhume," Ms. Eberle remarked.

"We don't have months," Fredrick replied. He stood upright against the mounting weight of his age. His tanned, lined face looked like a dried creek bed. "That's what I need to talk to you about. We may not even have hours."

"What do you mean?" she stiffened to object. "Don't you realize what this is? This dig is the only physical evidence in the world of the Urlocs' existence. They're not an obscurity anymore, this excavation proves that they were real."

"I'll tell you something that's more real. Recession. Tax rates. Inflation. We think we've got it bad in the states? This is England. Oxford will probably terminate the funds now. They paid us to find a Saxon urnfield."

The awkward woman's face seemed to redden. "It's history. How can they turn their backs on their own history? history?"

Easy, Fredrick thought. "You'll get your chance to convince them. The appropriations liaison will be here in the morning. Just don't get your hopes up." Fredrick thought. "You'll get your chance to convince them. The appropriations liaison will be here in the morning. Just don't get your hopes up."

Their footsteps crunched up the weedtangled path. The sun seemed misshapen this close to dusk, an orb of molten orange light losing its contour to the slow and steady churn of the earth.

Fredrick held open the canvas flap. As she entered the tent, he stared after her, and the lithe shadow. He paused in time, then entered the tent himself, wondering how many thousands of people had been butchered here.

It was the ease with which Ms. Eberle spoke that made Fredrick queasy. She a.s.sessed several field photos of the huge cauldrons. "The Urlocs did things that would make Vlad the Impaler look like Captain Kangaroo. Skinning, castrating, dismembering-it was all part of their art. They plundered whole settlements, not for spoils or territorial expansion, but for infydels infydels to serve either as sacrificial victims, slaves, or food. They were big on sacrificing children from conquered settlements. Babies provided the ultimate sacrifice to the object of the Urlocs' belief. Men were taken as slaves. Women were butchered for food. The Urlocs considered any women out of their bloodline to be spiritual enemies. So they ate them." to serve either as sacrificial victims, slaves, or food. They were big on sacrificing children from conquered settlements. Babies provided the ultimate sacrifice to the object of the Urlocs' belief. Men were taken as slaves. Women were butchered for food. The Urlocs considered any women out of their bloodline to be spiritual enemies. So they ate them."

Fredrick's old hand shook slightly as he poured tea from a thermos. The tea steamed before their faces.

"And these cauldrons, the chettles?" She pointed to one of the photos. "They've got a volumetric capacity of about 100 gallons. They filled them with blood and cooked their festival meats in them. I figured it out. Do you know how many human beings would be needed to provide 100 gallons of blood?"

Fredrick winced in the wake of the revolting question. "How many?" he dared himself to ask.

"About seventyfive."

Jesus, Fredrick thought. Fredrick thought.

"They roasted babies by the dozens on dolmens," she went on, brus.h.i.+ng clay dust out of her hair. "They were very concerned with youth, or should I say with the spiritual cyclic inversion of human worldliness to infinity. Hence, the ritual obsession with the sacrifice sacrifice of youth. It was all a transaction, a gesture of tribute by way of a of youth. It was all a transaction, a gesture of tribute by way of a spiritual spiritual emulation." emulation."

"That's preposterous," Fredrick said.

"Is it? Is it really? The Urlocs were a very secretive occult society. They lived for over a thousand years amongst the Celts, Goidels, and Brythons with little or no knowledge of their existence. Ur, by the way, is a preOld English derivative for weik weik or or wicc. wicc."

"Witches," Fredrick offered.

"Yes. We're talking about a subcultural belief system that predates European record. Witches, before the existence of witchcraft. It was all transitive. By sacrificing youth, they reasoned that they could metamorphose metamorphose that youth into the object of their beliefs. Faith and sacrifice. It's the foundry of all religious systems, Christianity included." that youth into the object of their beliefs. Faith and sacrifice. It's the foundry of all religious systems, Christianity included."

"Christians didn't roast babies on dolmens," Fredrick said.

"No, but read about what the Christians were before Christ, before the laws of the Old Testament were eradicated by the New Covenant. They believed in the same G.o.d, yet they were notoriously sacrificial. Read Leviticus, Leviticus, if you have the stomach. It's universal, Professor. It's proof of sanct.i.ty." if you have the stomach. It's universal, Professor. It's proof of sanct.i.ty."

"Sanct.i.ty? What does cooking human flesh in 100gallon cauldrons of blood have to do with sanct.i.ty?" What does cooking human flesh in 100gallon cauldrons of blood have to do with sanct.i.ty?"

"Blood," she replied. "The essence of life. It was a symbol, and it can be said that any religion functions through a mechanical utility of sociological symbols. It can also be said that religion demonstrates a society's sense of hope hope through through faith faith." Did she pause to smile? "Blood, the essence of life. Is not the consumption of blood a universal gesture of perpetuity? Of sanct.i.ty? The Druids were doing it six hundred years before Christ was born. Ever heard of Holy Communion?"

"Fine," Fredrick said. He felt disgusted, tired. What would the funds liaison think when he was told what the Urlocs really were? He wished they'd found their dull, easy urnfield instead.

Ms. Eberle splayed out more photos. One showed a deep cooking pit. "The Urlocs had a particular taste for human brains, slowcooked in the skull. The heads would steam in their own juices for several hours, whereupon they were removed and cracked open with stone mallets. They had slaves who were trained exclusively for this task, called c.o.k-braegans c.o.k-braegans, which means, literally, braincookers. The brains were served piping hot over chunks of baked oatmash."

Now Fredrick's stomach seemed to be intent on turning itself insideout. His bile roiled.

"And you've heard of Rocky Mountain Oysters? Well, the Urlocs had their own variation. Human t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es were corn-floured and deep fried in pots of sesame oil. They also had a bone marrow potpourri that proved a favorite appetizer. The marrow was blended with peppers and wild onions, pansimmered to coagulation, and served on wheat cakes. Kind of like pate on toast points. A most notorious ceremonial dish-reserved for highranking Urloc priestesses-was called 'wombbread.' Human uteri were stuffed with stoneground wheat and leaven and then baked in stone ovens. Quite often, s.e.m.e.n was used as a baste."

Wombbread, Fredrick thought in bald revulsion. Fredrick thought in bald revulsion.

"Ovaries were marinated and skewered over an open wood fire. Lungs were pureed, carefully blended with wild raspberries, and cooked like pudding. Tongues, lips, and facial muscles were minced, spiced, wrapped in human skin, then fried in oil until crisp. The most famous Urloc festival meal was known as entrillus-brok entrillus-brok-which means 'gutroll': chopped bowel wrapped in lotus leaves and steamed in blood."

Fredrick paled, looking back at her in utter silence. His mouth felt dry as sand as Ms. Eberle continued her alltoodetailed description of Urloc cuisine.

"As for the cauldrons, they were brought to a high, roaring boil. Choice organs such as the liver, the spleen, the kidneys, were immersed into the boiling blood and stirred regularly. All of the larger muscle groups were expertly filleted and tossed into the pot, too. Herbs and spices were added gradually, and toward the end of the boil, veggies were tossed in."

Veggies. Fredrick's mind swam in a momentary fog of terrible imagery. He could picture the Urloc abattoirs, where human beings were filleted like trout, where abdominal cavities were systematically cleaned of their choicest parts, and where throats were slit and pitilessly emptied into hot cauldrons. Fredrick's mind swam in a momentary fog of terrible imagery. He could picture the Urloc abattoirs, where human beings were filleted like trout, where abdominal cavities were systematically cleaned of their choicest parts, and where throats were slit and pitilessly emptied into hot cauldrons. Wombbread, Wombbread, he thought. he thought. Gutroll. Gutroll. Could such a society have really existed? Could spiritual beliefs actually have compelled people to Could such a society have really existed? Could spiritual beliefs actually have compelled people to roast babies? roast babies? "Ms. Eberle," he said, shaking off the fog. "When the liaison arrives, I think you might spare him these culinary details. He'll want to know why the Urlocs are important from an archaeological standpoint. What are you going to tell him?" "Ms. Eberle," he said, shaking off the fog. "When the liaison arrives, I think you might spare him these culinary details. He'll want to know why the Urlocs are important from an archaeological standpoint. What are you going to tell him?"

"The truth," Ms. Eberle returned. "The Urlocs were a femaledominant femaledominant society. They regarded the whole of the male race as a necessary evil. Whenever an Urloc gave birth to a male child, that child was summarily sacrificed to the object of their beliefs. Urloc commanders attacked outside settlements with a militia composed entirely of male slaves from previous conquests." society. They regarded the whole of the male race as a necessary evil. Whenever an Urloc gave birth to a male child, that child was summarily sacrificed to the object of their beliefs. Urloc commanders attacked outside settlements with a militia composed entirely of male slaves from previous conquests."

"That's a bit hard to believe."

"Perhaps you just don't want to believe it. You just don't want to believe that women have existed as a sociological superior over men, when in fact there are many such examples throughout history."

Was that it? Fredrick didn't think so. "How did they do it, then? How were a bunch of renegade amazons able to enslave whole communities of men?"

"That's a legitimate query, Professor," she admitted. "But unfortunately there's no clear-cut answer. As I've stated, the Urlocs were witches. The Roman registry abounds with occult reference to them, and though the Celts left very little written record of themselves, the little they did leave doc.u.ments it all."

"Witches, you mean? You're telling me that the Urlocs reigned over a territory for a thousand years because they put spells on men?"

"I'm not saying that myself. Just read the registries. According to record, the Urlocs ritualistically called upon the object of their beliefs to empower them against their enemies. But it scarcely matters. I don't believe in the occult, Professor Fredrick. However, I do believe in the importance of studying the function of the Urloc race as a sociological unit. You must admit, though, how quickly we tend to laugh at that which we cannot objectively or scientifically explain..."

As she spoke, he tuned out her words. Very slowly an image began to supplant itself into Fredrick's head. He saw peasants fleeing in horror at the thunder of hoofs, shadows descending, swords and battleaxes held high. He saw the innocent butchered in place, torsos shorn and limbs severed in the wake of horses and dust. Great blades glimmered, sinking into random flesh as simple dwellings were set ablaze. He saw women cutting heads off people. He saw babies plucked out of the arms of shrieking mothers. Beautiful strong women dismounted amid the terror, long dark hair flowing like manes, their bodies limber in battledress. Dismembered corpses twitched in the dirt as heads were dropped into the smoking pits. Blood gushed. Screams wheeled into the air. The glorious Urlocs directed blankfaced slaves to eviscerate the dying and the dead. And through the atrocious clarity of the image, Professor Fredrick was able to glimpse the face of one of these dest.i.tute servitors.

It was his own.

"...and quite regrettable, though, the tendency of our intellectualism to discount the esoteric and the obscure."

Fredrick's consciousness resurfaced. His old heart slowed down like an afterfright when the image lapsed and was replaced by Ms. Eberle's glinting eyes and grin.

"What happened to them?" Fredrick asked. He sipped his tea, to distract himself. The tea was cold.

"No one knows for sure. Like the Mayans and the Tai'tks, the Urlocs seemed to have disappeared within a very specified chronology. There's no evidence to support the likelihood of a military annexation or genocide. Famine or plague are equally unlikely. My guess, based on the nomenclature of their religion, is that they probably disappeared via a premeditated population dispersal."

"What makes you say that?"

"A simple connotative survey of their practice of wors.h.i.+p. Every aspect of Urloc culture is wellrecorded in the Roman archival records. The Urlocs, like the Druids and the Hindus, practiced a religion that was ascensional. ascensional. They viewed physical life as a process of spiritual purification. More than likely the Urlocs deemed that they had risen to a sufficient spiritual stratification of purity, whereupon they dispersed themselves into outside populations, as per the mandates of the object of their belief." They viewed physical life as a process of spiritual purification. More than likely the Urlocs deemed that they had risen to a sufficient spiritual stratification of purity, whereupon they dispersed themselves into outside populations, as per the mandates of the object of their belief."

Incomprehension bloomed on Fredrick's facial features. The object of their belief. The object of their belief. She'd used that term several times, hadn't she? He didn't want to ask, but he asked anyway: "What exactly She'd used that term several times, hadn't she? He didn't want to ask, but he asked anyway: "What exactly was was the object of their belief?" the object of their belief?"

"According to the Romans, they called it the ArdatLil," she told him, "though countless religious systems have wors.h.i.+pped a similar or even identical deity. Consider the derivations from Middle and Old English: the loc loc in Urloc, and the in Urloc, and the Lil Lil in ArdatLil. Hence, in ArdatLil. Hence, liloc liloc, which roughly translates as s.e.xspirit. s.e.xspirit."

Professor Fredrick still didn't understand.

Ms. Eberle leaned back in the folding chair. Very subtly, then, she seemed to grin. "The ArdatLil was a succubus."

Chapter 1.

Up ahead, shadows merged behind flas.h.i.+ng red and blue lights. Her headlights illumined the great orange sign: "State Police Field Sobriety Checkpoint. Prepare To Stop."

Oh, goodie, she thought. By now, after all the hubbub at the office, then Dr. Harold's diagnostic inexplicabilities, Ann needed something to liven her up. she thought. By now, after all the hubbub at the office, then Dr. Harold's diagnostic inexplicabilities, Ann needed something to liven her up.

I am going to kick some a.s.s.

Naturally, the police would pick the least convenient place to conduct this infamous unconst.i.tutionality: the city's main drag during homeward rush hour. Ann stopped her Mustang GT before one state trooper's opened palm. Two more troopers, faceless before the stroboscopic backlighting, approached the driver's window.

"Good evening, ma'am" one said.

"It was," Ann replied.

"Pardon me?"

"I mean to say it was was a good evening until you saw fit to burdening me with this unwarranted and unreasonable deprivation of my civilian right to vehicular transit." a good evening until you saw fit to burdening me with this unwarranted and unreasonable deprivation of my civilian right to vehicular transit."

"That's not a very good att.i.tude, is it, ma'am?"

"Is it the prerogative of the state police to enforce att.i.tudes, Officer?"

The trooper paused. "Can I see you driver's license and registration, please?"

"I don't know if you can, Officer. I'm not an eye doctor. Therefore, I'm in no credible position to determine what you can see. May May you see my driver's license and registration? Well, I suppose so." Ann handed them over. you see my driver's license and registration? Well, I suppose so." Ann handed them over.

"Have you been drinking, Ms. Slavik?"

"Yes," she replied.

"How much?"

"I'm not quite sure. I didn't know it was a requirement of law for citizens to inventory their daily intake of fluids. Is it?"

"How much have you had to drink today, Ms. Slavik?"

She considered this. "Probably half a dozen cups of coffee. One Diet c.o.ke for lunch. And one bottle of YooHoo for the ride home." She held the YooHoo bottle up for him to see.