The Inner Circle: Holy Spirit

by Cael McIntosh

  ‘Maker damn it,’ El-i-miir turned her back and remained silent for a long time. Finally, her shoulders slumped and she turned around. ‘You’re right.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Seteal asked, hardly able to believe her ears.

  ‘You’re right,’ El-i-miir repeated softly. ‘I’ve recently learnt of horrible things . . . horrible things that the Elglair have done to angels. Ilgrin has every right to be angry. I just wish there was another way: something we could do, but there’s nothing, is there?’

  ‘Come with us, dear.’ Fes put an arm around the young woman’s shoulders.

  El-i-miir’s eyes filled with tears and she nodded woefully. ‘I thought he was one of us.’

  ‘Ilgrin has ta da what he be thinkin’ is best,’ Fes said softly. ‘We all da.’

  *

  ‘Quickly,’ Far-a-mael ordered as he limped across the battlefield looking for signs of life. ‘You have to make sure every last one of them is dead or else they’ll all start coming back. Sever the heads with your silver blades,’ he ordered the an’hadoans.

  ‘What do you intend we do now?’ Tim-a-nie approached Far-a-mael nervously as the War Elder fished a tooth out of his mouth and spat it into the dirt. ‘Do we still go on knowing as little as we do?’

  ‘Tim-a-nie, my good man,’ Far-a-mael barked. ‘I will ride north to gather reinforcements. You must carry on south with the armies of New World. If all goes accordingly, you’ll have conquered Hel by the time of my return.’

  ‘Are you certain?’ Tim-a-nie asked through narrowed eyes. ‘There may be legions other than those in Hel.’

  ‘If that’s the case, simply wait for my return,’ Far-a-mael grumbled. ‘Maintain your hold on Hel until I get there. I have faith in you.’

  As Far-a-mael galloped into the distance, he turned his attention to the whisp-darkened skies. He hadn’t simply imagined it. The great cloud had moved north, but he couldn’t make sense as to why. It’d remained in place for thousands of years. Why start moving now?

  ‘Please,’ a young silt gargled, dark blue blood trickling from his mouth. ‘Help me.’

  ‘A live one,’ Far-a-mael murmured, making his way over to the creature. ‘I’m sure you fought bravely,’ he uttered, pushing his blade into the creature’s neck until he was satisfied that it was dead.

  *

  The royal gowns billowed about Ilgrin’s feet as he paced his private quarters in contemplation of his next move. He needed to ensure the inhabitants of Hades wouldn’t cast him aside as a simple farmer’s boy. He had to make an impression.

  ‘So you’re telling me Hel is the largest legion in all of Hades?’

  ‘That’s correct,’ General Li’John replied. ‘Lesser legions such as Sodom and Gomorrah are still standing strong, but the likes of Gahanna were completely overrun by whisp infestation some twenty years ago. Anyone left alive fled to Hades as refugees.’

  ‘Did you know about this?’ Ilgrin turned to Jakob.

  ‘Of course.’ Jakob shrugged. ‘But I also knew it was irrelevant. Demons are superior to humans in strength and in many other ways. With help from the lesser legions, we’ll defeat New World with ease.’

  ‘Not with angelic protection,’ Ilgrin growled. ‘Anyway, it’s not New World I wish to conquer. It’s the Elglair.’

  ‘And?’ John tilted his head.

  ‘Jakob.’ Ilgrin turned to the human. ‘I want every last Sa’Tanist spy we’ve got to get close to the Elglair. I want to know what they’re doing before they do it. When the time is right, we’ll attack with everything we have. And I want those angels freed and back on our side.’

  ‘Certainly, Sa’Enoch.’ Jakob scurried out of the room obediently.

  ‘But it was us who betrayed the angels,’ John stated sceptically.

  ‘They will answer to their Devil,’ Ilgrin replied with more confidence than he felt.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  A TURN FOR THE WORST

  The sun bit into Seteal’s flesh as she forced one heavy leg in front of the other. Sweat trailed down her forehead and into her eyes as the sunlight became ever brighter. The piercing blue sky twisted above her at a sickening pace and Seteal hit the ground with a thud.

  ‘Ma’am?’ a voice enquired softly before two large hands shook her.

  ‘What?’ Seteal moaned, acknowledging the uncomfortable feeling of dirt on the side of her face. As she lifted her head and turned around the world swam back into focus. Seteal screamed. A grizzled old farmer filled her vision.

  ‘Don’t be like that.’ The man put a hand around her arm. ‘I just want to help you. It’s no bother.’

  ‘No!’ Seteal heard herself cry out at the eerily familiar words. ‘Get away from me!’ She tore free of Fasil’s grip. ‘Get off me! Get off me! Get off me!’ Seteal shrieked, struggling against the man’s grip, fearing a fate worse than death. But the stranger hadn’t been Master Fasil at all and he’d released her immediately.

  The old man stumbled backward, an expression of disbelief on his face. ‘You deal with her,’ he spat defensively when Briel approached. ‘There’s something wrong with the girl.’

  ‘Seteal.’ Briel put a hand on her shoulder. ‘I’ll be helpin’ ye get up now, okay?’

  ‘What happened?’ Seteal shuddered nervously as Briel lifted her to a sitting position.

  ‘Ye fell down.’ He patted her back. ‘Do ye nah remember?’

  Seteal ignored him and took in her surroundings. The city was bustling. They’d arrived in Kintor. The day’s heat was blistering. ‘Might we find a place to rest?’

  ‘Rest?’ An elderly voice pierced the air as an old woman approached. ‘You’re fit to do nothing but rest until that baby gets here. You all should be ashamed of yourselves.’ She glared at the others and waggled a finger under Seteal’s nose. ‘Where’s your husband? I’d quite like a word with him.’

  ‘He died in battle,’ Seteal mumbled with her eyes lowered, unable to admit the truth.

  ‘I see,’ replied the old woman. ‘Well, you’d best come and stay with me and I won’t take no for an answer.’

  ‘That be all right.’ Briel raised his hands to reject the offer. ‘We’ll just be stayin’ at the inn.’

  ‘For a month or so?’ The old woman cackled. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but you don’t look like you’re worth that much. My house needs some fixing up. You can repay me in that way, but please let this poor girl have some rest.’

  ‘Nah,’ Briel said firmly.

  ‘Briel,’ Fes uttered. ‘We’ve nah got money.’

  ‘It’s settled, then,’ the bony old lady nodded in satisfaction. ‘I’m Mistress Daorey. This way.’ She turned and headed along the street without a backward glance.

  ‘Come on, dearie.’ Fes helped Seteal to her feet and offered a shoulder for support before following after the forceful woman.

  It wasn’t long before Seteal found herself once again feeling too dizzy to move and Briel had to all but carry her. A cold hand squeezed her arm and Seteal looked around to see El-i-miir smiling reassuringly. Why was her hand so cold? Surely she had to have been feeling the heat. She was from the Frozen Lands for Maker’s sake. A glance about the street revealed countless strangers going about their day dressed in flowing gowns and warm cloaks. Seteal was astounded. What was wrong with them? The heat was insufferable.

  Seteal’s legs buckled beneath her and Briel grunted as he moved to compensate. Head rolling forward, Seteal watched her feet being dragged along the ground. She giggled and sniffled her runny nose. A strange taste filled her mouth. A droplet fell away to make the dirt red where it landed. Seteal lifted her hand, uneasily touching her nose, only to pull it away covered in blood.

  A door opened and the air became cooler. Seteal’s head hit the wall as Briel stumbled. Fes reprimanded him harshly, but Seteal had scarcely noticed the impact. There was a bed beneath her and someone removed her shoes. A moment later El-i-miir used a towel to clean Seteal’s nose, her face full of concern. Seteal wanted to tell he
r not to worry but she couldn’t find the strength to speak.

  Master Fasil smiled and winked at her from his place leaning against the doorframe. ‘It’s all because you couldn’t keep your legs together,’ he laughed eerily.

  ‘It’s not true,’ Seteal felt herself whisper inaudibly.

  ‘What is it, Seteal?’ El-i-miir’s face hovered in her vision. ‘You have to tell me what’s happening to you.’

  ‘It’s . . .’ Seteal wheezed, staring past El-i-miir to look Master Fasil in his smug little eye. ‘It wasn’t my fault. You did this to me.’

  ‘What’s happening to her?’ El-i-miir’s face shrivelled into the distance. ‘It’s like she’s delirious.’ She floated toward Fes, vanishing in and out of reality as she went.

  ‘I nah know much.’ Fes’s voice was too loud. ‘She was with Far-a-mael and whisps be gettin’ in her. She’s nah been the same ever since.’

  ‘Stop shouting,’ Seteal screamed, but no one seemed able to hear her.

  ‘Sweetheart.’ Master Fasil sat at the end of the bed. ‘I’ll take care of you. We’re going to be parents.’

  ‘Torrid,’ Seteal squeezed out. ‘Go to torrid.’ She moved her fingers to her mouth and bit hard at her fingernails until again she tasted blood.

  ‘Seteal!’ El-i-miir rushed over and pulled Seteal’s hands away from her mouth. ‘Don’t do that.’

  Seteal kicked and moaned in her sheets, the nausea in her stomach becoming painfully overwhelming. She saw through a film of red. She was crying tears of blood.

  ‘I’ve nah seen anything like it,’ Briel’s voice rumbled fearfully.

  ‘It be the madness,’ Fes whispered solemnly.

  ‘All we can do is keep her comfortable.’ Mistress Daorey trickled into the room, her skeletal form rocking toward Seteal, driving her heart into her throat.

  Get it away! she screamed internally, whilst failing to produce any words. ‘No!’ she cried, her eyes locked on the strange old woman. Who was she? She couldn’t be trusted! ‘No,’ Seteal moaned and pushed herself sideways in an effort to escape. Rolling off the bed, she hit the floorboards with a thud. El-i-miir and Ieane dove forward to catch her, but they were too late. Now there was a splinter in her thumb. She’d have to get it out. Briel picked her up and put her back to bed.

  ‘She be terribly hot,’ Fes said worriedly, dabbing her forehead with a wet towel. ‘She almost be too hot ta touch.’

  ‘Oh,’ Seteal moaned, having lost the ability to hold her bladder. Even through her misery she felt terribly embarrassed. She lifted her head in humiliation, but where she’d expected to see a pool of urine was just more blood. ‘Please.’ She clutched El-i-miir’s dress and clung to it weakly. ‘Please get me out of here.’

  ‘I can’t, Seteal.’ El-i-miir stroked her hair. ‘You’re too sick. You have to rest.’

  ‘Not out of here,’ Seteal moaned. ‘Out of here,’ she slapped at the desecrated body that imprisoned her. ‘Do something. Get me out.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ El-i-miir murmured with an expression of remorse before hurriedly backing out of the room.

  Seteal was removed while fresh sheets were laid out. Fes cleaned her up and put her back in place.

  ‘Get this out of here.’ Fes snatched a wriggling, scratching, clawing Seeol out of Seteal’s collar by the wing and handed him to Briel. ‘The last thing the girl be needin’ right now be another curse.’

  ‘No,’ Seeol shrieked, clearly anguished by the separation. ‘Seteal. Seteal. Seteal!’

  ‘Come on,’ Briel said without compassion as he crossed the room to toss the owl out the window before quickly slamming it shut.

  Seeol, Seteal tried to call but heard nothing other than a wheeze in her throat. ‘See . . .’ she failed a second time, before breaking down into tears. She wanted him back. He was hers. She’d found him first. She couldn’t say why she wanted him back . . . but she did. ‘Seeol,’ she finally choked out, but Fes pushed her back down and continued dabbing her face with a towel.

  ‘Seteal!’ Seeol cried repeatedly, his voice dulled by the glass.

  ‘It’s only an elf owl,’ Seteal whispered defeatedly as she tumbled into sweet and merciful unconsciousness.

  *

  El-i-miir entered Seteal’s room and closed the door for no other reason than to repeatedly pace its length. The others had left long ago, thinking it best not to crowd the room, but if there was anything El-i-miir could do to ease Seteal’s pain, she had to try. She shuddered now to think how cruel she’d been to her just days earlier when she’d tried to force Seteal’s reinvolvement in the war. Such an act was almost indistinguishable from what Far-a-mael had done a year earlier. This wasn’t Seteal’s war. It never had been.

  ‘Focus,’ El-i-miir snapped at herself, turning her attention back to Seteal’s aura, only to shudder at what she saw there. The colours moved lazily. Most of them where dark and ugly hues ever-threatening to turn black. Sludgy reds slithered across cold purples and sickening olive greens. Beneath it all was a dirty brown that churned and frothed within the others. Seteal’s aura was very sick indeed.

  Raising her hands before her, El-i-miir gritted her teeth and took a deep breath. At first, the air above her fingertips seemed only to be bending slightly, before tendrils of soft light made their presence known. The light danced through the air as El-i-miir encouraged tendrils of her own aura to make their way into Seteal’s. The initial contact was such that at first El-i-miir pulled away with a woozy stomach. But after taking a steadying breath, she again burrowed into the dark.

  Sharp bands of red were coiled around and around Seteal’s aura, ever-tightening their hold. El-i-miir reached for the red light but snapped away when she felt a sharp barb stinging all the way through and biting into her finger at the other end. Far-a-mael’s anchor was so complex that she doubted she’d be able to sever it without sacrificing a decent portion of her own soul.

  Moving her hands through the air as though she were parting heavy curtains, El-i-miir watched as her light split Seteal’s aura open allowing her to gaze upon the deeper layers. She was looking for the smaller aura that should’ve been there . . . but it wasn’t. Within Seteal El-i-miir found only the kind of darkness that she often felt around Seeol. Perhaps this was how Seeol had come to be, El-i-miir mused. Perhaps a whisp had penetrated his mother’s soul so that she too would pass on the evil. Somehow being affected so young gave the whisp a better footing, causing it to merge entirely with the unborn.

  Digging deeper, El-i-miir soon found herself overwhelmed by an impending sense of doom. A face flashed repeatedly through her mind: Seteal’s rapist. She moved deeper, finding herself in an almost unbearable vacuum of sorrow. How did Seteal go on living this way? Reaching further still, El-i-miir struck a solid black wall. She tried to pull back, but something had taken hold of her light and refused to let go. Panting fearfully she pulled, but failed again to snap away from the aura. There was a burning sensation in her finger that slowly spread through to her hand and along her arm.

  With a desperate gasp, El-i-miir severed the connection and the pain began to subside. There was something warm on her face. Touching it tentatively, El-i-miir discovered blood trickling down her chin. She looked at Seteal in true fear for the first time and raced out of the room. There was nothing she could do for her friend but pray like everyone else.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  THE SUFFERERS

  ‘Stop your fussing,’ Teah urged from the doorway. ‘You mustn’t be late for your own coronation.’

  ‘The whole thing seems a bit silly to me,’ Ilgrin muttered as he fiddled with the elaborate collar folded over his nape. He spun around abruptly and almost tripped over his trailing scarlet cape. ‘They already know I have his blood. I’ve held the crown before plenty of witnesses.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Teah chuckled, taking Ilgrin’s hand and dragging him from the room. ‘You wouldn’t rob the people of their rituals, now would you? They just want to meet their n
ew Devil.’

  ‘Oh, I know, I know,’ Ilgrin grumbled, following Teah through the tree and out onto a balcony grown from the side. A din of satisfied cries filled the air as Ilgrin raised his hands and bowed to the countless thousands that’d gathered in the trees below. Others flew in loops above him, cheering and dancing through the air.

  ‘You must kneel.’ Teah put a hand on Ilgrin’s shoulder and pushed him to his knees. Trumpets blew fitfully as an elderly silt made his way onto the balcony dressed almost as elaborately as Ilgrin. Behind him trailed two younger men, a tray stretched out between them with the horned crown balanced on top. The old man placed a copy of the Holy Tome on a small bench at Ilgrin’s right hand, before turning to stare at him. ‘Put your hand on it,’ Teah whispered.

  ‘Oh.’ Ilgrin jolted and laid his hand flat against the ancient book.

  ‘Long ago we’d given up hope that the old ways would come back to us.’ The old man spoke with an unexpectedly strong voice. ‘We were wrong. Here before us we have the true descendent of Sa’Tan who was ordained as the first Devil by Maker himself. As it has always been: why should we pull apart that which Maker has made sacred? I bless you once.’ The old silt turned a flask sideways over Ilgrin’s head so that a sweet-smelling oil dripped into his hair. ‘I bless you twice.’ He repeated the action. ‘I bless you thrice.’ He repeated the action a final time. ‘The crown,’ he said softly and the two men made their way passed him to stand before Ilgrin. ‘Arise Sa’Enoch, the one and only Devil of Hel and all of Hades, and receive your crown.’

  Standing slowly, Ilgrin reached out tentatively and placed his hands on either side of the crown. The crowd of observers cheered ferociously at the confirmation they’d been holding their breath for, but none more so than when Ilgrin lifted the heavy ornament and placed it atop his head. ‘Is that it?’ he whispered over his shoulder.

  ‘Not quite,’ Teah replied from her place in the corner.

  ‘You must address your people,’ the old man said, flabbergasted by Ilgrin’s ignorance.

  ‘Address them?’ Ilgrin gaped in surprise. ‘What should I say?’