THE BLOOD CIRCLE
by Ellen Anthony

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Publisher: Zumaya Publications
ISBN: 1-894869-34-6 (paperback)

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Other books by Ellen Anthony:

THE MANHUNTER
SEARCH FOR THE SUN
TOO YOUNG A KING
All from Hard Shell Word Factory

 On planet Syra, an assassin cult threatens the leaders of two cities. Valon Padrason draws them out, hoping to find one who will help destroy the Circle itself. Drolak Cranson wants out, but can he trust a man who has demon blood?

When Drolak is captured, he must choose and choose quickly for the dreaded Sunborn are launching an attack-an attack which will destroy the Circle and free him from his birthright.



THE BLOOD CIRCLE

by

Ellen Anthony

Copyright 2002 by Ellen Anthony

All rights reserved.

Published by Zumaya Publications
P. O. Box 44062
Kensington, Burnaby
B. C., V5B 3YK Canada





CHAPTER ONE

Circle Island, 6 Davos 795


     Drolak Cranson grimly studied the greystone house he used to call home.
     It looked the same. He kept expecting it to look different, but it was still two stories tall and still smoky grey. A multitude of cheery flowers bloomed in the window boxes just like when his mother had lived there. Even the same yellow curtains hung on the windows and he thought that was obscene.
     Didn't they have the decency to change them? His mother was dead--murdered by them. The very least they could have done was change her curtains.
     Hastily he buried the thought, knowing he didn't dare lose control today. To get what he wanted, what he needed, he had to convince his father he was willing to forget.
     He couldn't. Two years had passed since his mother's death and he still woke up in a cold sweat, remembering the robed forms of her judges, remembering the poison they had poured down her throat. Her vain struggles, her tortured cries were etched in his memory forever.
     How could he forget? They'd made him watch. They'd told him his mother was a traitor and they'd made him watch her execution--him and Dyana both.
     Well, he'd learned to keep quiet about it. They'd murdered his mother, but he'd learned to say what was expected of him, and keep his thoughts to himself. It had been a long two years, but he'd learned.
     His mother had tried to get them off the island and failed. He knew better than to try escaping again. The only way to get his freedom was to join them, but he'd make sure he got something out of it, too.
     Bracing himself for the coming meeting, he raised his hand and knocked on the wooden door.
     Mercifully, he didn't know the servant who opened it. The woman was old, far older than his mother, and she bowed him in, her tattooed forehead bending low.
     Spotted. Bitter bile rose in his throat, but he made no outward sign to show how that black mark repulsed him. He murmured his name and she led him down the paneled hall, treating him like a stranger who didn't know his way.
     He hadn't set foot in this house since his mother's death. His two little sisters, Willa and Pada, had come home to live with their father, but he'd been fostered. Dyana had been sent away, too, but not for fostering. No, they drove her into the forest to live like an animal, hoping she would die.
     A grimace twitched his mouth and was gone. Dyana was alive, but only because he'd found her. Now he hoped to rescue her. If he could get the bloody Circle to help her, he'd give them what they wanted. If not, he'd think of something else. Images of stalking the assassins and killing them one by one flitted through his mind. They'd pay. Somehow, they'd pay.
    "He's here?" The deep voice of his father shattered his thoughts. "Yes, I see he is."
     Drolak stepped into the room, giving a curt salute before standing at attention in front of his father's desk.
     His father hadn't changed. The same pepper grey hair and brown eyes stared impatiently back at him. His smile was forced and grim in a face devoid of beard. His lantern jaw was set as he nodded at him.
     Drolak knew he had the same eyes, but his jaw was more rounded than square. Nearly fifteen, he didn't have all his man's growth yet, but he'd never be as large as his father.
    "You're early. You still have four days before your birthday," Cran said, breaking the tense silence.
    "Yes, sir," Drolak muttered.
    "I suppose you're going to tell me you won't pledge."
    "No, sir."
     Cran stared at him, his eyes narrowing. "You'll take the cup? I thought you'd sworn on your mother's body that you wouldn't."
     Drolak forced himself to look sheepish. "I was just a boy," he defended. "Master Malor convinced me Mother wouldn't want that. And I've had time to think."
    "Time to think? About what?"
    "About Dyana."
    "Dyana's dead."
     The flat statement caught him by surprise. "She's not."
     His father looked surprised and Drolak wondered wildly if he really didn't know where Dyana was. Then he thought of his sister living in a cave and his mother dead and his heart hardened. If he thought she was dead, it was because he hadn't looked for her!
    "I didn't know she was alive," Cran slowly said. "You've seen her?"
    "Yes, sir," he defiantly answered. "I know where she is and I've smuggled supplies to her."
     His father studied him. "I should have known you'd find her. You were told you couldn't see her?"
    "Yes, sir," Drolak confirmed, knowing he was treading on dangerous ground. He could be forced to wear the Spot and join her exile if the Circle ever found out.
    "You shouldn't have told me," his father said. "You can't go breaking laws and expect me to shield you."
    "You have to shield me," Drolak said. "Dyana is my price. If you want me to join the Circle, you have to lift her exile."
     Father and son stared at each other, separated by the massive wooden desk in the darkened study. The light from the tall windows fell at a slant across the floor, but cast none on this dark pair.
     Cran moved first, taking a deep breath and then smiling at his son. It was a strained smile, unlike the ones he used to give, and Drolak didn't return it.
    "I'll bring it before the Circle. I never wanted her outcast, you know that. If she hadn't refused the cup . . ."
    "She had to refuse. Mother died trying to save her from it. How could she drink after seeing Mother executed--poisoned--by you?"
    "I was the hand of the Circle." His father brushed off his accusation. "She broke our laws and tried to leave. It could have been anyone holding the cup and she'd still be dead. It just happened to be me."
     Hah! Drolak wanted to spit in his face. He remembered his father forcing his mother's mouth open. He'd poured the potion down her throat! Instead of protecting her, his father had forced her to swallow and held her until the poison had done its work.
    "I'll pledge to the Circle, but only if Dyana is spared," Drolak insisted. "If I don't see the order before the ceremony, you can forget ever seeing me again. That's my price."
    "So be it."

* * *

Half a world away Jasper Baronson lit a lamp to dispel the gloom that had settled over the house with the darkening night. It did no good against the sorrow, but at least they could see each others' faces.
     Three hours had come and gone while the Temple examined the scene and bore the bodies of his lord and lady away. Their nine-year-old daughter was shuttered in her rooms with a priestess.
     Valon was also there. Lord Toryn's protege had issued orders to the City Guard, and disappeared into the solar. Even after the bodies had been removed, he remained behind and Jasper dully wondered if the Temple had removed all the poison.
     He'd failed his lord. He should have seen it coming. Half Sefron knew Lady Paran loved roses. The instant he heard the flower girl, he should have warned Lord Toryn away--insisted that he resist the call this one time. He hadn't, though. He'd watched every move the flower girl made and smelled the roses himself, but still they'd been poisoned.
    "Jasper!" Valon's muffled voice reached him.
     Jasper answered the summons, bracing himself for the interview.
     The solar looked so familiar, so innocent that it was eerie. The roses and vase were gone and the rest of the room restored to its normal, orderly appearance. Someone had even put Lady Paran's needlework back in its basket. There was no sign now that death had come here.
     Gods. Just three hours ago his lord had died here, his wife beside him. He'd done everything he could, but not even kural could keep them from dying. Thank Galton, Fara hadn't been here.
     Night had fallen and the world outside the windows was a mournful black with no trace of stars to relieve the gloom. The two lamps inside the solar drove the darkness away, but they couldn't lift the sorrow that hung over the house.
     Valon stood with his hands clasped behind his back as he stared blindly into the night. Jasper waited until the Sunlord turned away from the windows, then saluted.
     Valon's gold-flecked eyes met his and the Sunlord sighed, then rubbed a hand through his short brown hair.
    "Jasper, you were there?"
    "Yes, my lord," Jasper reported, his voice wooden. "I'm at fault. I shouldn't have let him buy roses from--"
    "You couldn't have stopped him," Valon snapped. "Now start at the beginning. I want to hear everything from the time you left me at the Tax Hall."
    "We left the Tax Hall shortly after the tenth bells," Jasper began. "Will, me, Race and Lot were the guards. When we crossed the square Toryn heard a girl hawking her roses. I should have reminded him of the threats," Jasper added. "I didn't, though. The girl looked innocent, maybe fifteen, and was good to look at--and she knew how to sell flowers!"
     Valon stopped him. "How did she get the poisoned flowers past you?"
    "I smelled them and they weren't poisoned then," Jasper said. "Lord Toryn smelled them, too. I think the flower girl sprayed poison on them when she wrapped them up."
    "You watched?"
    "We thought it was water."
    "Damn!" Valon exploded. "Everyone knew Paran loved roses."
    "Yes, sir."
    "How old was this assassin? What did she look like?"
    "A girl, sir. She looked to be fifteen. Black hair, brown eyes, and her hair was cut short."
    "Just pledged?" Valon's eyebrows rose.
    "That short." Jasper nodded, then hesitated. "Sir, I don't think she was a virgin. She was way too quick to flirt with me."
    "And that distracted you?"
    "It distracted everyone," Jasper bitterly recalled, "including Toryn. He offered to let me go back and check her out more closely, but I didn't and she escaped."
    "Was there anything else about her? Any rings, necklaces--anything we could use to identify her?"
     Jasper thought back, remembering her slender hands as she trimmed the roses and then when she bent over--was there anything around her neck?
    "No jewelry," he frowned, "but there was something else. She let me look down her dress and I saw something. A birthmark, I think."
    "Where?"
    "On her left breast. It was reddish and round--"
    "A circle?" Valon demanded. "A red circle?"
    "I'm not sure. It might have just been a splotch. I didn't see it too clearly."
    "Show me!" Valon suddenly demanded, his hands reaching for him.
     Jasper flinched, then forced himself to stand still.
    "Sorry." Valon stopped, dropping his hand. "I forgot myself. You haven't done a sharing before."
    "No, sir," Jasper woodenly replied.
    "It's not hard," Valon explained with a forced smile. "I won't touch anything except what you remember of the girl. If it weren't important, I wouldn't ask it."
    "I'm ready." Jasper braced himself. He wanted to refuse, but stilled the urge. This was Valon and the knowledge he was seeking would help him catch Toryn's killer.
     He'd failed his lord. If he had to let a Sunborn into his mind to make up for it, he would.
    "I can ask for someone from the Temple to do it, but that would take time--and we don't have a lot of time if we hope to catch her." Valon hesitated, then added, "I can do it without hurting you, but you must be willing."
    "I'm ready," Jasper repeated, looking into the blue eyes flecked with gold. "Please, just tell me what to do and I'll do it."
     Valon studied him, then nodded. "All right. You need to think about the girl--how she looked, how she moved, and what she showed you. I'll do the rest."
     Jasper obeyed, taking a deep breath and forcing himself not to flinch when Valon touched his temples. Closing his eyes, he tried to show the girl as she trimmed the thorns and bantered with them. She'd offered him the roses first and leaned over the counter, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of her firm white breasts.
     There it was! He saw the mark again and wondered why it was so clear this time. A reddish mark, an elongated circle, on her left breast. It was too perfect, too symmetrical to be natural.
     His eyes flew open at the Sunlord's gasp.
     The contact broken, Valon strode angrily once across the room and back, then stopped and stared at him.
    "The Circle! She was one of them," he spat.
    "A circle?" Jasper was confused.
    "Assassins," Valon told him. "That group Toryn was trying to uncover. They wear that bloody circle on their breasts."
     Jasper's blood went cold. "I didn't know that."
    "No way you could," Valon said. "That meeting today was to discuss it!"
    "Toryn was right. They are here." Valon looked grim. "I have to take this to the king."


CHAPTER TWO
Circle Island, 10 Davos 795

     The hour was almost here. Drolak paced the floor of the small chapel, impatient with waiting, but dreading the end. What if they discovered he'd lied? What if he died?
     His stomach hurt. He was hungry and there was nothing but water here to take the edge off his hunger. He couldn't get anything now. He was locked in this narrow room and was supposed to be holding his vigil.
    "Duty, devotion, sacrifice." he mumbled the words to himself, knowing that was the lesson he was supposed to be learning. Those words were engraved above the altar niche and again above the door. Even the book he was sentenced to read had that motto embossed on the cover.
     He'd read it. Confined to this small cell with only the book and the figures in the altar niche, he'd read it twice just for something to do. It was a history of the Circle and a story so familiar he could quote long parts of it from memory.
     Two hundred years ago Master Matok had founded the Circle and brought people together with his visions of an island where true believers could gather and live in peace. Their families had followed him, bringing their servants and everything they owned, to fulfill his dream.
     Four generations now, they'd kept the dream alive. They'd learned how to protect themselves from the demonic sosun, how to guard against being discovered, and how to keep their servants on the island. They'd even learned how to buy the loyalty of unbelievers when it was necessary. All in the name of their god.
     Too distracted to read it again, Drolak paced. Was he doing everything right? Would he be found out?
     Kneeling before the chapel's altar, he mechanically lit one of the offering candles and set it before the foot-high figure of the god.
     Malys smiled back at him, his face stern but loving. Drolak wasn't fooled. This god had demanded his mother's life and he would not put him first.
     With deliberate defiance, he turned his eyes to the smaller figure of the woman behind him.
     The goddess stood in the shadow of her mate, her eyes downcast and her hands clasped over the child she carried. She was submissive and easily dismissed, but Drolak knew this was not the true image of the goddess.
     His mother had whispered stories to him and Dyana about a goddess who was revered elsewhere, one who nurtured children and stood proudly beside her mate. Long before he knew what his father did on his long trips away from the island, he had believed in the goddess.
     His father had banished her from their house. Finding his wife making offerings to her and teaching about her had been too much for a Mentor of the Circle. He'd destroyed their household idol and tried to destroy their belief.
     He grimaced, remembering long nights on his knees while his father dedicated them to Malys. He'd learned to keep quiet and give all the right responses, but Dyana hadn't. She'd paid for it, too, but punishment only made her more rebellious.
     And the goddess hadn't gone far. He wasn't sure if it was Dyana or his mother who erected the altar in the garden, but it was there. His mother had kept a herb garden tucked in against the wall. In its center, there was a jumble of decorative rocks she'd piled up. To the uninterested, the rocks were just rocks, but Drolak had seen his mother and Dyana kneeling before the makeshift altar.
     They'd been careful. The goddess figure the entire island knew hadn't been there, but the Mother and Child. Even those had been uncarved stones, one nesting on the lap of the other. The larger stone had been no bigger than his palm, the smaller a quarter that size.
     He had them now. He wished he could have brought them here, but hastily discarded the thought. They were too precious. If anyone ever guessed what they represented, his loyalty would be questioned. He hadn't even brought them to his father's house, but left them hidden in a tree stump not far from town.
     He still remembered that terrible day when he'd got them. His mother was already dead, executed by the Circle, and his sister had refused the cup. In the wait before her sentence was given, he'd been sent in to change her mind.
     Dyana had pressed the stones in his hands. Somehow she'd managed to keep them secret that long, but then she'd given her precious stones to him. Not knowing if she would live, he'd taken them.
     During the long weeks before he found Dyana again and started smuggling her food, he'd prayed for her safety. Now he prayed his father would succeed in lifting her punishment, giving her a home where she could work for food and not be cast out into the cold.
     She'd be a slave. Forever marked with the Spot, she was the lowest of the low. With no one to love her or care if she lived or died, she'd be sent to the southern farms and made to work in the fields.
     It was still better than what she had, Drolak reminded himself. And he would try to visit her, even if he had to steal time--
     The door latch clicked and Drolak stiffened, glad he was on his knees at the altar. Looking devout, he reached out and touched the candle flame once, twice, then three times, to honor the god.
     A sound from behind made his nerves tighten, but he kept his feelings under tight control. He knew without looking that it was his father. Deliberately, he touched the candle flame again before rising to his feet.
    "Are you prepared?" His father studied him, his hard eyes showing no warmth even when he smiled.
    "Yes, sir."
    "Your price is paid," Cran said, thrusting a scroll at him. "I made them put it in writing. No matter what happens today, Dyana's sentence will be lifted on the next full moon. Master Ban even asked she be given to him, but I said no."
     Drolak quickly understood. His sister's sweetheart had been Ban's son. Rufon was married now and had his own home, but they shouldn't see each other.
    "Brala can't help her, either." His father looked grim. "Pada and Willa were told she was dead--just like her mother. I can't have Dyana suddenly coming back. She'll go to the South Farms."
    "Yes, sir," Drolak said. "But don't you want to see her?"
     His father looked at him like he was daft and Drolak flushed, forcibly reminded that, even though his father agreed to do this for him, it wasn't out of kindness to Dyana. No, she was just the price he had to pay to keep his son from disgracing him.
    "You've got the scroll. Get ready for the ceremony," his father growled.

* * *

     It was nearing dusk on his birthday--his fifteenth--when they came for him. He was already dressed in the white robes of the Promised, but wore no red circle on his skin. That would happen tonight--if he lived.
     The vaulted ceiling of the temple rose over the hall of Malys, protecting the twenty-foot statue of their god. He loomed over them, his open arms offering protection and his benevolent smile shining over his devoted children.
     Drolak paused to look at the statue, but the prayer he sent was brief. Malys had failed to protect his mother or his sister.
     He stole a sideways glance at the goddess who dwelt in his shadow. Only half the size of the god, she looked insignificant, but he knew she would intercede with the god. His mother had tried to protect her children. Surely, the goddess would hear him!
     Directing his silent prayer to her, he prepared himself for what was to come.
     The room was nearly empty. There were Circle members here--the red-robed Mentors, the black-robed Hands, and the white-robed Promised--but there were no children watching. That was unusual. He'd attended over a dozen ceremonies since his tenth birthday, preparing for his own dedication. Wryly, he remembered there hadn't been children at Dyana's pledging either.
     They didn't think he'd do it. There'd been a lot of doubt when Dyana's turn came because she'd tried to flee the island, but he'd been careful in the last few months not to give them reason to suspect him.
     Well, he would pledge. That was his only way off the island and the only way he could save his sisters. If he had to pledge to the Circle and learn their ways, he would.
     Guided to his place by the altar, he stood with downcast eyes and waited. His father joined him, but he didn't look up. Mistress Brala moved to stand on his other side. He knew without asking that she was taking his mother's place.
     Bells began to chime, not the big bell in the tower, but the little ones in the Temple chamber, and the trill of a flute joined them. It was time.
     Drolak heard a rustle of movement and knew the Circle was closing. The Mentors were joining hands with the Promised and ranking themselves around the figure of the god. Closer to the doors, the Hands completed the Circle. Within moments it was closed, trapping him in its center. There was no escape now--none except the route he planned to take.
    "We are gathered here in peace and joy," the voice of the Master declared. "We are gathered to praise Malys and welcome Drolak Cranson to our number. Let the follies of his childhood be forgotten and his life begin anew with this day, this celebration!"
    "Let him be reborn!"
    "Praise Malys! Let him be reborn," a hundred voices chorused.
     Drolak stepped forward, taking his place on the Circle of Rebirth, his father and Mistress Brala with him.
    "Mother, do your duty," the voice intoned.
     Brala stepped forward to admonish him.
    "Drolak, today you are a man. It's time to leave your childhood behind and accept your place in creation. You are here to serve Malys and his goddess and someday take a wife and guide her children on the path. Are you willing to leave your childhood behind?"
    "Yes." Drolak's voice was clear and steady. "I'm ready."
    "You aren't ready to take a wife," Brala rebuked him. "You haven't proved yourself a man and you must before the goddess will bless any union between you and another. Even though you grow impatient, the goddess commands you to wait until she gives you leave!"
    "How long?" Drolak asked the ritual question.
    "Until your promise is fulfilled."
     Drolak knew the law. He would be counted a man after today, but he wouldn't be allowed to marry until he'd proven his devotion to the Circle. He would have to kill to earn the right to wed.
     He thought he was prepared for that, but the concept of killing in order to give life was suddenly repugnant. Why hadn't he noticed that before? His friends had accepted that law without question. How could they?
     Feeling sick but not daring to let it show, Drolak waited for the real pledge--the one he couldn't escape.
    "As the goddess obeys Malys, so must we all," the voice of the Master said. "We are the children of Malys, descended from his favorite son. We are the children of Valor and our symbol, our unity, is the Circle! Who stands in the Circle?"
    "We do!" A chorus of shouts rolled up to the roof of the Temple and echoed back.
    "Who serves Malys?"
    "We do!"
    "Who are his Hands?"
    "We are," the Hands chorused.
    "Who are waiting to serve?"
    "We are!" The ragged voices of the Promised echoed.
    "Will you give your life for your god?"
    "We will," the Promised affirmed.
     The answers died away and suddenly it was time. The moment Drolak dreaded was here.
     A tray of gold was placed on the altar. One of the Mentors stepped forward, cradling a black cup reverently in his hands, and presented it first to the god and then to the goddess before placing it on the tray.
     Another stepped forward with a black bottle held high. The sign of the god was painted in gold on its surface. Offering it first to the god, then showing it to Drolak, he murmured a few words before placing it on the tray and retreating.
     A third Mentor, this time a woman, stepped into his place and presented another bottle.
     So it went. Each Mentor offered a bottle and placed it on the tray. Each one offered death.
     Drolak watched, tense as a drawn bow. He could see no difference in the bottles. How did his father know which to pour into the cup? They were all poison, but some were supposed to be mild and others deadly.
     As the bottles were gathered, one from each Mentor, his pulse raced. Would he die here or would the goddess protect him?
     Licking his dry lips, he forced himself to be calm. No Promised had ever died in the ceremony. One, just one, had been too sick to fulfill his Promise and died without ever leaving the island. He wasn't even sure that story was true, but he'd heard it. There must have been others like his sister who refused the cup, but he hadn't heard of any.
     If he died here or refused the cup, would he disappear or be sentenced like his sister?
     No! He had to succeed. He'd promised his mother's shadow that he would get his sisters free. Thinking of them, he quietly clenched his fists and waited.
     The bottles filled the tray. His father moved, picking up one bottle and then another and showing it the statue of the god. Twice he poured the contents of a bottle into the cup, then seemed to search for the right one to make it three.
     Drolak waited, his nerves drawn tight. What was taking him so long? Did he hope to find the most deadly or the weakest? Had his father seen through his show? Did he know about his vow? Everything was still except for the click as each bottle was handled and set down again. Finally someone coughed, the noise loud in the quiet room.
     Drolak nearly panicked when he heard liquid trickling into the cup. It was coming! He knew it! He would die--
    "Praise Malys," someone boomed and everyone joined in. "Praise Malys the Mighty. Praise Malys the One."
    "May he protect his servant. May he give him life in the face of death. May he give him courage to face his sacrifice."
     His father held the cup. Drolak stared at it, seeing it for the death that it was, and steeling himself to take it. He had to take it. If he refused, if he failed this test, he would be like Dyana or dead.
     His father met his eyes and gave him the briefest of smiles as the praises to Malys ended. His brown eyes, usually so hard and cold, seemed warm.
    "Take the cup, son. Have faith in our god."
     Pale and trembling, Drolak forced himself to raise his hands and take the cup. He thought wildly about dropping it, but knew he couldn't. With a show of courage he didn't feel, he raised it to the god.
    "I pledge my life to Malys." Lowering the cup, he didn't take just a single swallow. Wanting the ordeal to be done, his life to end or be saved, he gulped it down.
     The taste was bitter, stinging his tongue and throat, then numbing them. He forced himself to keep drinking.
     Suddenly there was a shout and the cup was torn from his lips. His father thrust his fingers down his throat and Drolak gagged, retching. There, in front of all the Circle, he threw up on the tiled floor.
    "Give him the antidote," someone yelled, but others were shouting no. Finally a bottle was pressed to his lips and Drolak barely managed to swallow it, his tongue thick and numb.
    "An excess of devotion if I ever saw one," a Mentor said and there was a murmur of agreement. "Boy, you were to take one swallow, not drain the cup!"
     Drolak managed to give him a weak smile. Several of the Promised looked worried and envious at once. Good! Suddenly glad he'd been so stupid, he retched again before he was helped to his feet.
     Standing there in the mess he'd made, he had to concentrate on his answers to the rest of the ceremony. Giving a bare yes to the request for obedience to the god and goddess, he trembled and felt faint. Would they kill him when he failed? He didn't know.     
      Hoping the goddess could intercede for him when that time came, he swore an oath he could never keep.
     Finally the Master himself stepped forward and two Hands, both chosen for their strength, flanked him. Drolak let them open his robe, bearing his breast to the cool air, and knew the time had come.
     Still woozy from the poison, it hardly registered when the Master asked him to accept the Circle. He saw the seal all bristling with closely packed needles and watched, detached, as they dipped it in red ink. Dully thinking it looked like blood, he didn't struggle when the two Hands held his arms.
     It was only when the seal was pressed against his chest and rapped, not once but three times that he screamed. The needles pierced his skin with each blow and he thought he would die.
     Finally it was taken away and someone pressed a compress against his wound. Drolak remembered answering one more question and then blackness closed in, taking him away from the pain.



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