Heretics book 3 - The Apocryphile Press

222 :: JOHN R. MABRY
tars, lunging toward them, so close that Richard felt the
wind of the blades.
He swung the holy water vial furiously, sending streams of
silver beads arcing through the air toward the faltering
demon, great gushes of steam issuing from where they landed.
Howls of pain unnerved the friars as they strove to hold
their ground.
Richard flung another arc of holy water, and then the
stream ceased. The vial was empty. Richard shook it and
tried again, to no avail. Sensing the worst of it was over and
that victory was near, the demon advanced again, forcing
Richard to step back to avoid the slashing blades. He tripped
over Dylan, and both men went down with a groan. The
demon raised her blade over her head in an act of ritual victory
before taking off their heads.
Just then Terry ceased the recitation and began a chant.
“Keshava klesha-harana, narayana janardana, govinda paramananda,
mam samuddhara madhava....”
The demon stopped short, dropped both blades, and
shrunk back, holding her various hands to her head to block
out the sound. Richard noticed, and although he did not
know the chant, picked it up as best he could and added his
own voice. Dylan did the same with his deep baritone, and
the hallway was soon thrumming with the insistent, even
militant cadence of the chant.
The demon fell to the floor, and the lights in her palms guttered
out. With a final cry of anguish, the friars found themselves
engulfed once again in clean darkness and cold silence.
“Thanks be to God,” Richard breathed.
“Ah heard that,” Dylan agreed.
The feeble flame of the lighter sprung up again, and Dylan
and Richard lifted Mikael to their shoulders. Following
Terry, they stepped over the demon’s carcass toward the
stairs.