Shemmy squeezed Billiam’s hand, sensing that was not nearly the bad part. She forced herself to not envision the acts he just described, a near impossible feat for her, and tried to simply be there with him instead.
“The day we found out Micah had died… a year ago now… I was completely destroyed. I came to him for comfort. I knew not what had happened to his body nor that our comrades were already planning his resurrection. He went so far as to tell me his body had been destroyed. He let me give up all hope and seized the opportunity to make me his. I did not care any longer; I gave in to him and let him fuck me for the first time. He ravaged me, but something went wrong, something neither of us had intended. I lay there, bleeding out, and he refused to get me help, fearing someone would find out about his perversion. He would have let me die there in his arms sooner than have anyone know how he felt for me. Had Leke not sensed my anguish and come to my rescue, I would have perished. As she carried me, bleeding and sobbing, I learned of how Micah could be brought back. I let his evilness in me for nothing! He dashed my hope so he could have me and would do nothing to help his broken plaything.”
Shemmy hugged Billiam tight, burying his face into her hair. It was at that moment Zan reappeared from the woods, a big fake grin plastered on the monster’s face. She was up and running before Billiam could try to stop her. Her palm slapped hard and loud against Zan’s cheek, sending an echoing clap down the cliffside.
“You fockin’ raped him, you stupid bastard!”
He knew immediately what she referred to and what they must have been talking about since Billiam sent him off. He felt overwhelmed, so he just replied coldly, “Technically, no. He did consent.”
“Yeah, cos you lied to him! You broke his fuckin’ heart! I am sure he did’nae consent to bleedin’ to death.” She shook his shoulders, smacking his head against the tree behind him. “No wonder he is so pissed you won’t admit nuffin’! Your shame nearly killed him!” She was disgusted at herself for thinking Billiam was being dramatic and for partially taking Zan’s side. My brother just slid down to the ground, burying his face in his knees and wishing he could disappear completely.
Billiam stood up and actually did feel relieved. He had never talked about it. He and I scarcely mentioned it since that night. He had been letting it fester. As embarrassing and ill planned as this confession had been, he was happy he got to let it out before Micah was alive. He had no desire to bring this darkness and pain with him into his new life with the prince.
“All right, Shemmy. You can stop, we have a prince to revive,” he called and even helped Zan up. He was shocked to see Billiam touch him without looking immediately revolted for the first time in a year.
“Wait, what? Juss like that, yer all fine now? Now I’m not fine! What the bloody ’ell!” Shemmy stamped her feet, overwhelmed by the emotions Billiam’s story made her feel.
“I really do feel better. I didn’t realize speaking about it could possibly help so much. I do not want to make Micah wait longer. Thank you for being my friend, Shemmy. You know the rest of the way?” he asked Zan, unwilling to make eye contact, no matter how healing the conversation had been.
“Actually, the entrance is closer than we expected,” he answered, staring at his shoes. He pointed to a boulder jutting out from some trees, about twenty yards above them. “I see it right over there.”
Billiam picked up Micah, his energy mostly restored by the rest. They silently walked up toward where Zan had pointed. Shemmy had not stopped frowning and could hardly stand her proximity to a man who would hurt her new friend so.
The door was not yet open, so Zan explained, “I wasn’t sure how long it would stay open. I wanted to wait until we were all here.”
He stood in a strange position, bending both knees but with one pointed in, and holding up his blade to his nose. He flicked the fingers on his opposite hand and thrust his blade outward, faster than the other two could see. His blade was down by the time they caught up, and they no longer saw a boulder. A valance of ivy was there in its stead, with a warm scent beckoning them into the forest walkway.
“I cannae even believe this shite,” grumbled Shemmy, who had her feet dug deep in the ground, her teeth clenched tight with anger. Billiam grabbed her, and they followed Zan into the newly formed entrance, to enter a realm the likes of which none of them had ever experienced.
Chapter 6
May 6th, 989
ALL BLOOD was cleaned, all fires put out, and all other calamities resolved at Castle Helvendeere during the three days it took our heroes to get to Failingveil. News of the siege spread like pox through the streets of Drummond, though no concrete details were made public knowledge. All a given dimwit in the alleys of Westend might have known was this: someone broke into the castle, over fifty guards and monks were killed, and two reapers were seen shooting up from directly above the palace.
That last bit was most shocking, the unbelievable news getting the townspeople all uppity. Reapers had never been seen inside the city walls. In fact, when the Mortanion monks were brought in by the late King Quincey II to serve as advisors, strict restrictions were put on the use of the beasts. They were to only serve as defense against invasions and never to be allowed in proximity of civilians. Such an affront to the late king must’ve been a move of dire necessity from the cardinal—at least that was all the citizens could hope.
The twin spells released by Aldrious had caused widespread paranoia and a few conspiracy theories as well. For the most part, the simple folk of Drummond had to assume there had been an attack by a foreign agent. To doubt the cardinal or to think of domestic terror in any way was far too threatening to their ignorant status quo. One part they couldn’t ignore, however, was that for all anyone knew, the reapers were truly creatures. In that case, why did the cardinal have them in the castle? How long had Aldrious been defiling the wishes of their late king by hiding those beasts of death in his home?
The parliament was desperately trying to retain peace and hoping to hold counsel with the cardinal. He had completely ignored them, relaying the sentiment that they could do whatever they bloody well pleased. Aldrious cared not about settling anyone’s unease, aside from his own. The most vital piece of information, all that could undo him, was soon to be acquired. When he could become absolutely sure that no one in Casperland knew of the prince’s abduction, besides his own brothers, Aldrious could regain composure. As long as the hope of their sleeping prince being alive was still present, the people could remain putty in his elegant hands.
The monks had been executing a thorough investigation since the moment the prince floated out of the cardinal’s sight. All slaves and guards who witnessed the events were added to the pile of bodies we had created with our escape. The brothers found no whisper, no errant suspicion of anything pertaining to the golden boy of the Helvendeere family. They tread a fine line, needing to know as much about Micah as possible, while not encouraging the townspeople to put much thought into him. It was vital to their continued power that the citizens were content with their comatose prince, with no ideas of him currently being anything more or less. The monks conceded all worry was aimed at the eastern nation of Knox and returned to Aldrious, concerned for the growing fear he created with his counterattack.
Aldrious sat at the head of the royal dining table, having a spot of lunch, when Bishop Erek returned with his report. Erek turned green as he spied the cardinal’s dining companion. On the plate at the seat next to his sat Marla’s head, standing by the stump of her neck. Her eyes were still wide, and the tongue was wagging manically, not caring that Aldrious had ripped her lower jaw clean off.
Noticing his subordinate’s change in color, Aldrious indulged him with an explanation. “I am not one to throw away a gift. I’ve grown fond of this grotesque gesture those twats threw at me. Also, she had been my favorite lay as of late. Not a memory I’d like to forget until I find a new one,” he informed him, his thin lips curling a wicked smile around the sausage he ha
d snapped between his teeth.
Erek cleared his throat and attempted to also clear his mind of any judgment he may have for his brother. Surely someone so high in the brotherhood could sense a disloyal notion, Erek thought to himself. He is pure and chosen. I am unclean filth. My eyes deceive me. I know no true good, so this indulgence of a whore’s head could very well be it.
Bishop Erek was quite devout in the teachings and, unlike most ranking brothers, was actually born in Casperland. The church claimed its start and its home in the neutral nation of Enox, neighbor and last ally to the fearsome Knox. Naturally almost all of the brethren, Aldrious included, hailed from Enox as well. Erek had returned from his seminary studies there two years ago, feeling destined to give all his life and light to the salvation of his homeland. “Are you ready for the briefing, sir?”
“No, I’d rather you dance a bloody waltz with me first, you daft fool. Of course I want to know what you’ve dug up. Spit out your blatherings and then leave my lady and me be!” Aldrious seethed with anger, yet his voice was smooth and sweet like a hymn. The rage faded quickly; he laughed and smiled while throwing pieces of his toast against the waggling tongue of his disembodied lady friend.
“Right, sorry for my foolishness. Of all 3,748 citizens residing in the southwestern borough who were intervie—”
“Oh goodness me, are you truly going to be that drab? I suggest you come sit with us, in case you put yourself to sleep. Neither of us shall bite you, at least not anymore,” Aldrious interrupted and waved his hand luxuriously, motioning to the seat beside Marla’s head. His green eyes gleamed with the light of Aegis, somehow negating his abhorrent behavior, and did well to convince Erek to come over to his superior.
“Would you like the gist instead, brother?” His stomach turned and twisted when he heard those words spill from his mouth. It was common for all members of the order to be referred to as brother, aside from the archbishop who could only be addressed as father. Despite this being an appropriate way to address the cardinal, he somehow felt he was lacking respect and could expect punishment from him. To his surprise, Aldrious just nodded as he loudly sucked the pulp from a slice of grapefruit.
“No one has any notion of the prince other than the fact that he is here, asleep but well. There is absolutely no suspicion amongst the people of domestic involvement nor could we hear a murmur regarding the Logos. Should they be the culprits, their numbers are undoubtedly few.”
“Right, nothing to fret over, then. You lot will bring back my lamb, as unscathed as possible, and we will all be right as rain again! Do you doubt me, Erek?”
The question rang through Erek’s ears ominously, as he was sure that no emotion had been allowed to creep across his face. “No, I am simply troubled by the sentiment of the people. They are the ones who seem to be doubting you, brother.”
“If you are troubled, dear brother, then you too have doubt,” replied the cardinal, smiling pleasantly as opposed to deviously this time. Erek would never see this smile drop completely. Aldrious sat back in his chair, apparently done picking through his meal, and stretched his arms up in the air. “You still have your cherry, don’t you, Bishop? It’s funny how never having a bone goes hand in hand with having no backbone.”
“If you are asking if I am still chaste, I am indeed. I, of course, took the vow of abstinence,” Erek replied meekly, trying and failing to fight the blush that crept across his gentle face.
“I took that vow too! There was also that vow to never lie, to never take a life, to never drink vine on the holy day, and to never disobey my father. I am proud to say I have not upheld a single one of those, a load of rot they are. Moving on, brother, I’d like you to get it very clear—I care not what the scrambling masses of idiots out there think. It is meaningless. I simply needed you all to find out what they know. Surely, they still believe reapers are beasts of flesh and bone, and that the damn cardinal has soiled King Quincey’s underpants. I defecate all over the memory of that sod every chance I get, so they are right, and it doesn’t bloody matter. Are we clear, dear brother?”
“Crystal clear, sir. Perchance, had you questions for me?” Erek breathed deep and kept his mind clear. This is the will of Aegis; I needn’t understand. Praise be to the cardinal, he repeated over and again, pushing away all misgivings. His brow ceased its furrowing under his light curly hair, and his pale eyes gained peace.
“I see you’ve caught on?”
Erek was startled. Had he been right that the cardinal was reading his thoughts? Was the power of Aegis truly so strong to break the mortal coil and infiltrate the inner sanctum of a man’s mind?
“That I prefer to take the lead, dear brother,” Aldrious elaborated, delighted by how much anguish he was causing the bishop.
“Yes, sadly I find myself ill-equipped to anticipate your needs at the moment,” Erek responded, inhaling deeply and taking in the dining room at last. His lack of control of the situation actually felt a bit liberating. It did not matter what he said or how he said it; he was sure he would not please the cardinal, and there was no telling what his punishment for that might be.
This hopelessness freed him to appreciate his surroundings. Although he had been staying in the royal castle for the last year, he spent about 85 percent of his time between the cathedral and library. To witness this splendor, to sit where all of his nation’s kings had sat, was a wonderful gift, even if it was to be spent with a severed head and a madman.
The walls were the same crystalline white marble as the rest of the castle, but in this dining hall genuine sapphires were dotted throughout them. The gleam of the chandeliers shone against each gem, creating a dancing blue sparkle wherever you looked. The floors were coated in a plush navy carpet that looked more like the coat of a great beast than any sort of synthetic fiber. Amongst the shining stones, the walls also housed portraits of all the past kings, who looked upon Erek kindly. Although he was not yet officially crowned, Prince Micah’s portrait was hung behind the head of the table, the same image that inspired his menagerie of proposals as a boy.
Erek was lost in gazing upon the beautiful prince’s face when Aldrious finally spoke again. “So that’s what you like, Bishop? No wonder you are so strict to your vows. I myself have always thought the teachings and rules of MortiAegis are more for the people, not for the brotherhood. We enforce them to keep the masses in check, but once you have earned your stripes as we have, brother, they can tend to be optional. However, that ‘man shall not fornicate with man’ rule, can’t say I mind following that. Whatever, each pleasure is a person’s own, is it not?” Aldrious mused. He could toy with Erek’s mind all day, had he wanted. Manipulation of minds was by far and away his chief hobby.
“Sir, I never really gave it a thought either way. I am a humble man and never considered my vows anything but a solemn promise. I am, perhaps, not intelligent enough to see the true intentions of our teachings,” Erek replied honestly, feeling unruffled, much to Aldrious’s chagrin. Instead, he continued to stare at the portrait and into his prince’s innocent eyes, feeling for the first time that his devotion had perhaps been misplaced.
“I admire your purity, Erek. I always thought the devout were terribly boring and simply fooling themselves, but you are mildly interesting. Did any of you louts interview the DuBois family?”
“Naturally our investigation of Westend was thorough, as it is the believed hub of Logos sympathizers. As such, we spent a good deal of time with the patron family of that quarter. Nothing that seemed of note to us was gathered, but I have procured the transcripts for you and can read them.”
Aldrious waved his hand dismissively. “No, that would be dreadful! All I really need to know is the last time they saw their daughter.”
“We interviewed five of their daughters; however, the eldest is currently residing in a sanatorium to treat her fits of psychosis,” Erek informed plainly, before being startled by a chicken bone flying at his face.
“What do I care of those cows?
I meant the one of the family name. Do you know nothing, brother? Chammerline the XII is the only one of that rabble who I dare let cross my mind. What have they said of their dirty witch-whore daughter?”
Erek felt the fear return to him, clenching his gut in a vise. “Right, I’m sorry, brother. So stupid of me,” he said, feeling the desire to flagellate himself further but resisting it. “They haven’t seen her since her banishment. The lady DuBois fell into a state of maudlin when her name was mentioned, wishing to not be reminded of the family heir’s fall from grace. The eldest son, Connor, said he learned she had recently raised a corpse, which if true, would be the first successful resurrection in 428 years. He said the living corpse hadn’t fared well but that her success was still a miracle, albeit a heresy. Other than whispers of her accomplishments as an enchanter, none of them have seen or heard from Chammerline. No hint of deception was recognized in our interviews regarding her.”
Aldrious’s eyes lit up, and his smile regained a large portion of its luster. “So she really did do it? I heard whispers, but if peons like Connor know, then there must be real truth to it.” He clapped loudly while getting up from his chair. He grabbed Marla’s head and held it an inch from Erek’s face. Its wiggling tongue grazed the young bishop’s nose; he did his best not to flinch.
“That settles it, brother. I had little doubt that my dear cousin was the only one who could enchant this head so quickly and so strongly, but if she can truly reanimate, that would give her reason to take my lamb, would it not? You should look this over, Erek. As grotesque as it is, it is a brilliant display of Chammerline’s handiwork. This spell is over seventy-two hours old, and the enchantress could be halfway across the country, yet it still just chomps along with desperation. I really wish you were not such a plebeian and could appreciate her genius.”
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