The Child Thief

by Brom

  “Day after day we waited for the fog to lift. Women, children, and grown men even feared to leave the ships. Life on board became unbearable, so when the fog didn’t lift, we were forced to try and live on the island.

  “Captain Williams of the Foresight and most of his party decided they’d rather risk the fog than set foot back on that shore. They left the harbor and disappeared into that swirling wall of gray. We never knew their fate for certain, but shortly thereafter we heard their screams, horrible sounds, like people being eaten alive. Those screams eventually turned to wails, fading to plaintive pleas, then, after many a long hour, just drifted away altogether. But sometimes at night, when the mist comes in from the sea and crawls beneath our doors, we still hear them, along with all those that have fallen, wailing and begging us to come into the evil mist and save them.

  “We began to clear the land and build the fort. We planted crops and bred our livestock. We did our best to survive, hoping that each new day would be the day we could leave. But the island vexed us at every turn,

  blighted our crops, plagued our livestock, and cast spells on us that covered our skin with scaly pox, twisting our bodies and turning us into monsters. The change drove many mad, corrupted them into villainous murderers, and many had to be killed.

  “I’d not yet learned of the Lady and her black arts, but all knew there was a source of great evil out there, plaguing us with its sorcery. The forests teemed with wicked creatures, the very trees themselves were possessed by demons. We began to burn them down, to push the evil back. We were determined to raze the entire island if we had to, whatever it took to rid us of this deviltry. And it worked, the forest began to die, the wicked people began to disappear. We saw less and less of the evil ones. I began to have hope.

  “Later, once I’d learned of the Lady from Billy, it made more sense. It became obvious that the forest and creatures were indeed all a part of her sorcery, that our efforts weren’t in vain. We swore never to stop until either we found her or we erased all traces of her sorcery from this land.

  “So there lies the truth. You can plainly see how we’ve been trapped, tortured, vexed, and plagued at every turn. And if that weren’t suffering enough, on top of all that wickedness, the sorceress has summoned that demon, Peter, to trick and steal children. To bewitch children to do murder! To force us to kill children to protect ourselves!” The Captain took a deep breath. “See me for who I am. Beneath this horrible skin I am a man, father of two boys. Do you believe I should ever wish to harm a child? Have you any idea of the horror in this? Can you not see what Peter is? How he and the Lady are using you? How willing they are to sacrifice your lives? Surely you can see? Yes?”

  The Captain gave them a moment to think, to let what he had said sink in.

  “All we wish is to leave this Godforsaken island. Look into your hearts. Who among you will help me?” The Captain clasped his hands behind his back, strolled behind the table. He put two cups in front of himself, poured the water, taking his time, letting the water dribble into the cups. The Captain pushed one of the cups across the table. He looked from face to face. “Now who will come and share a cup of water with me?”

  The boys remained silent.

  The Captain hadn’t expected any of them to accept. Not yet anyway, not until they understood just what was at stake. He glanced over at the two Reverends. Men who’d once challenged popes and kings in their pursuit of religious purity, now reduced to little more than superstitious fools. “Reverend Senior,” the Captain inclined his head toward the crooked-faced man, “believes each of you is possessed by a demonic spirit. As a man of God, it is his sworn duty to try and free your soul. Exorcism is a highly skilled undertaking. Your Grace, if it’s not too much to ask, would you be willing to inform these boys of the more delicate nuances of your craft?”

  The Reverend Senior nodded and stood. The boys eyed him warily.

  “We’ve come to find,” the Reverend stated clinically, “that in a case of demonic possession, the possessed must undergo a series of tortures in order to drive the demon out. The host body must become so inhospitable that the demon can no longer bear to stay within. We start with drowning, as this does the least damage to the possessed. Here you’re merely held under water until you drown—several times if deemed necessary. If this, in our judgment, doesn’t free the possessed, we move to branding, or burning of the extremities. If there is still no success, we try breaking bones, starting with smaller bones in your fingers and working up to the leg and arm bones. And in the end, if all else fails, we burn the possessed to death. As this is the one sure way to cleanse the soul.”

  The Captain was still amazed, even after all these years, that the Reverend could discuss torturing children with no more emotion than if he were describing the process of churning cream to butter. But that was what made his words so effective, and the Captain was pleased to see that the Reverend’s words weren’t lost on the boys. He caught their quick, furtive looks, could plainly see the fear in their eyes.

  “There’s another way,” the Captain added. “A way in which you could avoid all of these unpleasantries. Some simple act to prove you’re not Satan’s pawn. Perhaps one of you could tell us the whereabouts of the Lady? Of the magical tree? This simple act would prove that you were indeed the master of your own soul and there’d be no need to go through the painful rigors of an exorcism.”

  The Captain waited, and when none of the boys spoke, he added, “Oh, you should be aware that once this exorcism starts, there’s little chance it will stop. For the Reverends know well that demons are full of tricks and cunning. That a clever demon will pretend to talk as the child, will say anything to try and stop the tortures. So think hard, boys, once you leave my cabin, you’re in God’s hands. Now take a moment and consider. For this will be your last chance.”

  The Captain strolled over to the window and pulled aside the curtain. The sound of hammering came into the room. “Are they readying the drowning cage already?” the Captain asked, addressing the Reverends.

  The Reverend Senior nodded. “The Lord’s work should never wait.”

  The Captain sighed. “No. No indeed.” He studied the boys. The wild-haired one, the boy with the scar on his face, he’d be lucky if he made it through the day, but there’d been no hope for that one anyway. The two in the middle looked scared, but stubborn. If only they could truly appreciate what was at stake. But the round-faced boy didn’t look stubborn. His eyes danced back and forth from the Reverend to the cup to the other boys. That one seemed to understand.

  The Captain walked over, picked up one of the cups, and stood before the boys. “So who will drink with me?” He spoke to all of them, but his eyes were only on the round-faced boy.

  The boy’s lips trembled as though he were trying to make himself speak. The Captain sat the cup down in front of him and untied his hands. The round-faced boy held his wrist to his chest and rubbed the rope burns as he stared at the water.

  “Go on,” the Captain said. “There’s no harm in it.”

  The boy bit his lip, his face tight as though in pain, then, slowly, he extended a dirty, trembling hand.

  “Danny, no!” the boy next to him hissed.

  Danny jerked his hand back as though bitten.

  But the Captain smiled. He had his boy and knew it. The Captain picked the cup up, pulled Danny to his feet, and led the boy to the table, pulling out a chair and seating him. He put a hand on his shoulder and handed him the cup. “It’s all right,” he said, his voice soft, comforting, like when he used to talk to his own children. “It’s all over. The nightmare. The horrible things they made you do. All over.”

  Danny clasped the cup in both hands and put it to his lips. He took a big gulp, then another, and another until he gasped and choked and finally broke down and began to sob. The Captain refilled the cup.

  “YOU LITTLE FUCK!” screamed the boy with the red bone in his hair.

  The Captain nodded and one of the guards took a
quick step over and kicked the wild-haired boy hard in the stomach. The boy doubled over, groaning, but still managed to glower at Danny.

  The other two boys looked on with a mixture of confusion and despair.

  It’s done, the Captain thought, and sighed. “I have my soldier.” He bowed to the Reverend Senior. “I thank you, your Grace. I leave the rest of them in your fair and compassionate hands.” As the two Reverends led the other three boys from the room, the Captain thought, And may God be merciful, because these twisted men will not.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Drowning Cage

  Move along,” the Reverend Senior spoke in his cold, detached tone as the guards herded the boys back toward the town square. The second Reverend, a short man with a pinched nose and a protrusive overbite of jagged teeth—which made him look like a mole to Nick—trailed along beside them, his hands clasped together as though in prayer, staring at them with wide, pitying eyes.

  Nick heard the commotion of the crowd. He tried to swallow and winced from the sharp pain in his parched throat. He found himself wishing he’d taken the water. All this talk of torture, it was a bluff, surely? A ploy? Then why was he so scared? Was it too late to change his mind? To fall to his knees and beg a cup of water? He wanted to hate Danny, but he’d almost given in himself. Would have, if he’d thought for a minute he could actually trust the Captain or any of these men. Because this whole situation was beyond hopeless, it was ridiculous. If not so tragic, it would be laughable. Both sides so blinded by their fear and hate of each other that they couldn’t see they were all fighting for the same thing—for the men to leave this island. Insanity!

  Nick couldn’t fathom how many had died on both sides because they couldn’t do as simple a thing as talk to each other. And if they had, would it have helped? Nick didn’t believe so. The Lady would never have lifted the Mist, because she would’ve never trusted the men to leave, would only have feared the coming of more men. Both sides had been doomed the moment the men had set foot on Avalon, and that was the simple, tragic truth of this whole nightmare.

  Nick heard a cry ahead, followed by a cheer. Oh, no. What now?

  The guards pushed them into the square. Nick was confronted by sullen-faced men and women gathered in front of the church, but none of them paid him any heed, all their attention fixed on the large cross set atop a platform. “Oh, God,” Nick gasped. Strapped to the cross was Peter.

  They’d crucified him, binding his hands, feet, and neck tightly to the post with rope. They’d stripped him down to his waist, and Nick saw several angry welts across Peter’s arms and chest and a fresh gash across his brow. Blood ran down Peter’s cheek and dripped onto his chest. The giant bald man stood beside him, a short lash in his hand. Peter’s eyes were closed, his face tight, lips pursed.

  Nick, Leroy, and Redbone were left with the guards as the Reverend Senior went forward and gained the stage. Low murmurs ran through the crowd. The Reverend Senior stepped up and raised his staff. The crowd quieted. There was an atmosphere of excitement in the air like before the main event at a carnival.

  “We’ve been plagued for far longer than an age by this child of Lucifer.” The Reverend swept a hand toward Peter. “But now we have him. Proof that God has not abandoned us. Proof that our sacrifices are not in vain. Proof that we are God’s chosen warriors. Lucifer has sent his own son to harry us, to test our faith. Today we send his son back. Back into the fetid pits of Hell from whence he came!” The Reverend smacked his staff on the platform and the crowd erupted in a jovial cheer, with several shouts of “Praise God” and “Amen.”

  The Reverend looked over to the giant bald man. “Ox, we are ready?”

  The giant man pulled on a thick leather glove, stepped over to a black pot, and plucked an iron brand from a bed of red coals. He held the end up, for the crowd to admire a glowing cross. The crowd murmured its approval. The Reverend Senior nodded, then left the platform. Ox moved toward Peter.

  The mole-faced Reverend leaned over. “Pay close attention, children. Let the demons amongst you see this very well. Let them see what awaits and maybe they will run off and your souls will be saved.”

  The painful knot in Nick’s stomach told him what was going to happen and begged him to turn away. But Nick couldn’t, and when the giant pushed the brand into Peter’s chest, Nick saw Peter’s eyes flash open, saw him clench his teeth and struggle not to scream as his flesh sizzled beneath the brand.

  The mole-faced Reverend grinned, and what Nick saw was not the face of the devout, but the simple lewdness of a sadist.

  Peter writhed against his bounds, his breath racing in and out of his chest as fast as a bird beats its wings. And somehow, through it all, Peter didn’t scream. When Ox finally pulled the brand away, Peter’s eyes rolled up into his head.

  It was then, as the smell of burned flesh took Nick back to Marko, to the kitchen, that Nick knew it was all real. Knew that before this day was over, he’d wish he was with Marko, wish he was anywhere but in this nightmare.

  “No,” Nick moaned and began to tremble all over. “No.” His small voice was lost among the cheers and taunts of the crowd.

  THE CAPTAIN WATCHED but didn’t watch. He’d come to the branding only because it was expected. But he was sick of this charade. Sick of watching people lose a little more of their humanity each day, and sick to death of seeing people tortured in the name of God. What had happened to these people? The Reverend Senior had once been an inspiring leader, a moral compass for his flock. Rarely had the Captain ever met such a fair-minded man. This island has taken so much, he thought. Has stolen our very souls.

  Another cheer, and the Captain could stand it no longer. Demon or not, it didn’t matter, suffering was everywhere he looked. He didn’t care to witness more. He’d made his appearance, surely that was enough. The Captain turned and began to walk away.

  “Captain,” a thin, strained voice called. The Captain knew even before he turned who it was. The Reverend Senior stood with his arms crossed, scrutinizing him.

  The three boys, held under guard, were just behind the Reverend. Witnessing the branding of the child demon had stripped them of any savageness; all that was left were the wide-eyed faces of terrified, confused children. Against his best efforts, the Captain still couldn’t help but think of his own boys in such a situation, and the thought all but brought tears to his eyes. Given time, he thought, I could bring a few of them around. There’s no need to torture them.

  “You find this act distasteful?” asked the Reverend.

  The Captain didn’t miss the underlining tone of the question. Always watching, the Captain thought, always vigilant for the stray sheep. The Captain’s keen survival instinct had been sharpened not only in the forest but, even more important, here, in the village, where these men of God had become more obsessed with finding demons than with getting off the island. Men who fear demons see demons everywhere, the Captain thought. “No, Your Grace,” the Captain said, and forced his eyes back upon Peter. “If you’re referring to branding that demon up upon the cross, then no, it matters not.”

  The Reverend’s good eye bored into the Captain’s own until the Captain feared he might be reading his thoughts. “But, Your Grace…” the Captain said and hesitated—one misstep and he could find himself branded a heretic. “I do wonder if there might not be a better way for the children?”

  The Reverend’s eye narrowed and he cocked his head. “Better way?”

  The Captain realized he’d made a poor choice of words.

  The Reverend took a step toward the Captain. “You believe you know a better way than the Council?”

  Better than a group of men that flogged themselves, a group of men who raced to denounce their own neighbors, brothers, sisters, wives? Yes, I most certainly do. But the Captain also wished to stay alive, so on this, like so many matters, he kept his true thoughts to himself. “Your Grace. None know better than the Council on these matters. My concern is only about how these boys migh
t best serve the Council. If I could but have some time with them?”

  The Reverend eyed him contemptuously. The Captain worked to keep his true emotions veiled, well aware that one word from this man and he would be on the cross next to Peter.

  “Captain, God has been most gracious to provide you with fruit for your labors. Do not ask for more than you need.”

  The Captain bowed slightly. “Of course, Your Grace. The Lord has been more than generous today,” he said, knowing he’d already gone too far.

  The Reverend addressed the guards, “Take them to the pond and prepare them.”

  The Captain saw the terror on the boys’ faces. Knew he’d be seeing those faces again, at night, when the mist came to haunt him.

  THE CAPTAIN PUSHED into his hut, pulling the heavy tapestry across the door behind him, hoping to block out as much of the sounds from the square as possible. He leaned against the door post and let out a long breath trying to clear his mind and heart.

  Domitila, one of the few people he could trust—thankfully, not everyone had lost their minds—was combing the tangles out of the boy’s hair. The Captain was surprised at what a difference simply washing the boy’s face and combing his hair made. It was obvious from Domitila’s eyes that she was deeply moved by the presence of this child, and he found himself moved as well. When was the last time any of them had a child near, or any person, for that matter, whose flesh was not twisted and blackened?

  Danny had finished the last bit of potato and gravy. He drank the cup dry and set it down. A muffled cry of pain came through the curtain. Danny stopped eating and pushed the plate away as though he didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to be reminded of what he’d done. He put his face in his hands and began to weep again.

  The Captain signaled Domitila to take the plate away and moved over next to the boy. He laid a hand on his shoulder. “I understand your name to be Daniel,” the Captain said. “A good Christian name.”