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Apparently he didn't know the phones were out because he appeared to be buying it. |
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Kelto held up his hand. "Wait a minute," he pleaded. |
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"Straight story, that's all I want, the straight story." |
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"We are approaching the Sabbat of Sate," he whispered, "the year of the fallow fields and the year of the feast, the year for an appeal of the fates." |
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"Look," I sputtered, "the jury is still out on you. Watch my lips; talk to me. Talk to me straight. Knock off the cult crap. What's going on here?" |
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Kelto tried to clear his throat and folded his long feminine fingers into a prayer pyramid; his eyes were closed. He began again, this time with his voice coming through as little more than a muted whisper. "We are about to witness the equinoctial awakening of Sate. It is the eleven year cycle of birth and death . . . " |
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"All right," I fumed, "hold it right there. You're talking about Sate, the Mongol, the one they call the Ancient of Ancients?" |
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Kelto nodded, eyes still closed. |
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"Come on," I sighed, "surely you don't have the audacity to sit there and tell me some second-rate Middle Ages witch doctor has survived all these years?" |
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"I speak the truth," Kelto replied grimly. |
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