Followed by Fire

by McKenzie Austin

  She could scarcely catch her breath. Perhaps it was the overwhelming incredulousness of everything that made her do so, but in the midst of her emotional chaos, a panting laugh tumbled out of her mouth. “My mother fell in love with a priest?”

  “And he for her,” Elias confirmed, nodding. “The greatest sin a holy man could commit, after promising their life to the Angel Lord, and the church.” His shoulders pulled back as his tone grew grim. “It cost him his life. I asked him, when I visited him in his cell, on the dawn of his execution… if he regretted anything.”

  Her father. Esven could hardly picture the man. Amadeia never made a mention of him, except to say that he loved his daughter very much. With all of Amadeia’s love, Esven never felt as if she was missing anything. Never felt any painful absences without a patriarch to guide the family. But how lonely must he have been, without his lover or his child at his side? Picturing what his last day on Brigovian soil must have been like, Esven clutched the book to her chest. “And what did he say?”

  Elias glanced at the book before he returned his attention to Esven. He smiled. It was the most authentic one she had witnessed since she arrived. “He told me he would do nothing different. He said if the Angel Lord wished to punish him for loving a woman who loved him back, then He was not the same god he had spent his entire life worshipping.”

  Esven saw in the priest’s eyes, that he missed the man. His words seemed higher when he spoke of him. More joyful, despite the tragedy that circled the story. She knew precisely from where Elias came. Esven experienced the same sad delight when she had a chance to speak of her mother. “Do you regret his choices?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.

  Elias adopted a look of consideration. He rubbed the back of his neck and pinched his lips together. “I believe his actions stemmed from love. I cannot fault him for that. Because of the actions he took, I believe that I can better focus on my own mission to save peoples’ souls. That if I remain as faithful to the Angel Lord as Father Asher did to his greatest love, I can show the people of Brigovia how to enter His paradise. They may not know peace in this lifetime, but… hopefully the next.”

  It felt good to hear hope in his voice. Esven smiled softly, spinning on her heels as she lowered her face to the book. Her eyes scanned the contents quickly, absorbing every word with unhindered fascination. A book, penned by her father, about her mother; it was as if a lost treasure had fallen into her hands. It brought a sad comfort with it. Peering into the past… reading about their torrid affair… how their love for one another defied what was expected of both of them… to read of Amadeia’s exploits, her—

  Her massacres.

  Esven frowned, bringing the book closer to her face to be sure she’d read the last passage correctly.

  Yes.

  Massacres.

  Massacres that, by most passages, seemed to be requested by the Demon Lord, Marumon.

  Countless lives, stolen by the great witch, Amadeia Greenbriar. Esven remembered that Elias had warned her—that the Amadeia Esven knew growing up was far different from the one she used to be, but… William Asher left no gruesome detail unmentioned.

  Trembling fingers turned the page as Esven stepped farther away. So many deaths were logged in here. The journal recounted the strain it put on the already dangerous relationship that Amadeia and William Asher shared. For him to serve the Angel Lord, while she served the Demon Lord…

  All that was not as bad as the sentence she caught herself re-reading several times over. Esven’s arms went numb. Her voice choked with disbelief as she spun to face Elias. “It says here that… that Amadeia was ruthless.”

  Elias buried his fingernails into his palm. “Yes. She was.”

  “Ruthless,” Esven continued, “until fate cursed her with a child.”

  The priest froze. He swallowed, as that was all he could think to do; it was the one page he feared her landing on the most. “I was wondering when you’d get to that part,” he muttered quietly.

  Esven’s eyes would have filled with tears had she not been too overwhelmed by the events the evening brought. She shook her head, unable to do anything other than stare at the book. “It says she tried to rid her womb of me… but for all the magic she possessed, she could not.” She gawked at the page endlessly until she forced herself to look away. “I was a curse?”

  “You were a blessing,” Elias corrected, approaching her and closing the book in her hands. “Father Asher said that the moment she held you in her arms, she wept for weeks. That Amadeia had shed tears for every life she’d ever cut short. For every son or daughter that she stole from a grieving mother.” Against his better judgment, Elias put his arm around her, rubbing her shoulder in an effort to bring relief. He regretted it immediately when her skin lit his pulse on fire. Disguising his nerves, Elias cleared his throat. “She vowed that day to never do harm again. Never. You saved her soul, Esven.”

  It was so much to process. Esven closed her eyes, squeezing the bridge of her nose between her fingers as she lingered in Elias’ arm. She pulled the book close to her chest, her grip tight.

  Steady breaths. A few of those would calm her. She did not wish to act embarrassingly. It was already too much that she showed her weakness at the tavern with Balvo. Falling to pieces in here would disgust her.

  Several measured breaths later, Esven felt herself grounding back into her reality. The contents of the journal remained too much to digest in a single evening. She’d have to read the rest at a later time. Though she couldn’t help but wonder how much the journal’s contents would differ from the tales that the demons of the Netherworld would utter.

  It seemed both nations knew Amadeia better than Esven had…

  “I apologize, Elias, I…” Esven sighed, stepping out of his touch. “I need a moment to absorb all of this.”

  “Of course,” he replied, feeling the absence of her body more than he wanted to. “Take your time. And please, try to find some closure in the chaos of his entries.” Concern bloomed on his face. “I would never be able to live with myself if you didn’t.”

  She nodded, jerking her head to throw some hair over her shoulder. “I will try. Thank you for telling me.” Catching sight of his pained expression, Esven softened. “I know it couldn’t have been easy to unveil all of this.”

  Elias offered a quick bow. When he righted himself, he put his hands together. “Esven… please… before you go, just know that Amadeia’s true life lives in those pages. The good and the bad. Father Asher knew her inside and out.” He took a step forward to emphasize his sincerity. His worry. “You needn’t enter the demon realm to find your answers. You have all of them, and more, in the palm of your hand.”

  The demon realm. Esven remembered then that Balvo awaited her outside. All she wanted in the moment was to retire to the Slumbering Rabbit and examine her thoughts. Things would make more sense after an in depth session of processing things in her mind. It was best not to let emotion rule over reasoning, and there had to be an explanation for everything. “Thank you, Elias. You are a true friend.”

  A sad smile formed. “And I shall remain one until our earthly lives end. If you need anything, Esven, anything at all…”

  “I know.” She returned his smile and patted his arm. “Thank you.”

  “So…” The priest put his hands on his hips, shifting his stance. “Do you know what you’ll do next?”

  Esven paused, rolling the question around in her mind. When she failed to arrive at a satisfying answer, she hitched a shoulder. “Fate will guide my hands, I am certain. I will check in with you tomorrow. I promise.”

  After finishing their wine, Elias escorted her down the staircase, stopping at the last step. He watched, lingering as she approached the door. The priest offered a final wave, and refused to take his eyes off of her, until she slid the entirety of her body outside the safety of his church.

  It was raining. Esven frowned, tucking the journal into her cloak. She pulled her hood up to k
eep the drizzle from hitting her hair.

  How would all of this effect Balvonak, she wondered? An unexpected sorrow spiked in her. Elias’ retelling of the Twin Gods returned to her. Too many lives were at stake. She’d have to tell Balvo that she wouldn’t open the door. Not that she had ever considered it in the first place…

  Or, did she?

  The church had betrayed her mother. It punished her father, too, simply for loving another when he promised his life to the Angel Lord. There was no love lost for the church as far as Esven was concerned… but Elias lived for it. It was his life. Esven felt the pressure of being tugged in two completely different directions as she started down the steps.

  She’d think on it more later. It was unwise to make rash decisions until one had the time to work through every detail.

  Esven was surprised to see no signs of Balvo when she hit the bottom step. Had the rain driven him away? It made sense. It was a risk for him to come in contact with water around others. Surely, it would have given away the secret of his breed.

  He must have returned to the inn without her.

  Starting in that direction, Esven did not traipse too far before she heard the distinct sounds of sizzling behind her. Water hitting heat. She remembered it from their encounter back at her house. He was still here.

  “Balvo?” She spun, a waiting smile on her face. It faded as soon as Esven realized it was not Balvonak who filled her vision.

  “A most delightful evening to you, m’lady.” Vahldod grinned, trying to cover the exposed bits of skin that remained prey to the rain. “Fear not,” he said, holding up a hand. “Balvo sent me to fetch you. It seems I will be taking over for him as your Sherpa to breaking the seal over the Netherworld’s door.”

  A demon. That much was obvious. Esven opened her mouth to speak, but found herself distracted by the sight of Maritimus at the stranger’s feet. The feline was as wet as he was displeased. His ears flattened on his head, and his spirit did little to fill her with any semblance of calm. “Where is Balvo?” Esven asked, narrowing her eyes.

  Vahldod put on a look of faux sorrow. “He had an emergency that needed his immediate attention. A pity, too. He’s good company.” The demon took a step forward, wrapping one arm around his torso. The other dangled at his side, limp. “I understand it’s a big adjustment, but I’m just as entertaining a companion as our dear, beloved Balvo. Perhaps we could get a room for the evening and discuss everything tomorrow.”

  Naturally, skepticism filled her. Maritimus’ displeasure only emphasized her caution, but she could not send the demon away. Wherever Balvo was, this creature knew the answer. Esven did not want to believe that the demon she had grown begrudgingly attached to over the last several days would simply disappear, without so much as a goodbye. “All right…” she mumbled, taking a step back. “But there’s no need for a room. I’ll stay at the church tonight. Meet me back here in the morning.”

  For as displeased as her answer made him, Vahldod showed none of it on his face. “Of course,” he replied, chuckling as he fell into a bow. “A wise woman. You barely know me, after all.” Righting his posture, he struck a pose. “I am Vahldod, by the way.”

  She studied him, taking note of the singe marks on his clothing. His blackened eye. His broken arm. His bruises. “Esven.”

  “Esven,” he murmured, drawing out the length of the name. “Beautiful.” Vahldod arched his back, smirking. “Well then, Esven… until the morrow makes us meet again.”

  “Until then, indeed,” she stated, walking backwards to the church steps, so as to keep a close watch on him at all times. Esven ascended the steps, holding the door open to allow Maritimus a moment to scamper inside. The witch soaked in all the last minute details that she could before she, too, disappeared back into the sanctuary of the church. It was the only place she knew for certain that she’d be safe for the night.

  With one hand on the door, and the other clutching the hidden journal against her chest, Esven’s mind raced. She tried in vain to figure out what could have convinced Balvo to leave her. He said he’d wait. Was it possible that Vahldod was right? That he left of his own accord?

  It couldn’t be. Or, did she simply want to believe that wasn’t the case?

  Hearing the sounds of movement and the closing of the grand church’s door, Elias appeared once more. He hurried back down the spiral staircase, wearing a look of surprise. The priest thought the noise may have stemmed from a beggar—a poorly individual hoping for a dry place to stay the night. He was astonished to see Esven once more.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, panic rising in his tone as he stepped toward her.

  The witch turned. Her brows were knit together as her vision scurried across the floor. She looked once to Maritimus, who met her regard with an aura of immediacy. Flicking her gaze to Elias, Esven straightened her back. “No. I think something’s happened to Balvo.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The crinkled leather journal sat on the table, mocking her. It looked so smug there, containing countless answers about her father, and perhaps most importantly, her mother’s former life. Answers she had craved since she was old enough to understand that there was more to her mother than met the eye. Esven tapped her fingers against the wood tabletop.

  Another time. She needed to focus on Vahldod. On Balvonak.

  Once again, she found herself in Elias’ room, sitting in his only functional chair. The priest calmly walked from one corner of the confined space to another, collecting small items of comfort in his arms. A wool blanket. A little canvas bag, that he stuffed with flock to form a makeshift pillow. A candleholder, and a candle.

  When he was certain he had everything he needed to make a temporary sleeping space, he returned to Esven’s side. “You may take my bed for the night,” he offered, gesturing to the simple, slated frame in the corner. It looked as inviting as any humble sleeping space, covered with a plain, woven coverlet, and a single pillow. “If you need anything, please, do not hesitate to ask.”

  Esven’s eyes jumped to the selection of objects that her friend held in his hands. Against the heaviness of the situation, she found her lips curving into a small smile. Chivalry was not dead. Not when Elias Deverell was present. “I appreciate the offer, Elias, but… I do not know that I’ll be able to find much rest tonight.”

  The man gazed down at the items he held before he turned, setting them atop the table. He pulled up a seat—the same bucket he had used before—beside Esven, and sat. “I know you’re concerned for your… for the demon. For Balvo.” His face twisted as he tripped over his words. “What I mean to say is, you should at least try to get some rest.” He attempted a smile. “Given the fact that you’ve been a beacon for demonic presences, I think you’ll need your strength.”

  His words went through her. Esven’s stare traveled to somewhere far away. She lost herself for a moment, a victim to the mounting collection of revelations she had to face as of late.

  Realizing his attempt at humor failed, Elias rubbed the back of his neck, and coughed quietly into his hand. “I do hate to bring it up, but… can you say for certain that this Vahldod fellow wasn’t speaking truthfully?” He tried to lighten the tone of his words, hoping to avoid offending the witch. “After all, you’ve only known Balvo for less than a week.”

  “I know.” Esven surprised him with her quick response, returning from whatever faraway land she ran to in her mind before. “But, I don’t think he would leave willingly. He was very insistent that I open the Netherworld’s door. He even gave me some collateral.” She slipped a hand into the satchel at her side, grabbing the metal object inside and pulling it out. Running a thumb over the locket, as she held it in her palm, Esven frowned. “He said it was his most prized possession. I know I do not know him well, Elias…” She lifted her eyes from the trinket, finding the priest’s face. “But I believed him when he said it.”

  Elias reached his hand out, a silent request to inspect the jewelry. When Esven placed
it in his palm, he brought it closer, turning it around in his fingers. Gold. An expensive pendant, but a cheaply made chain. Likely an heirloom for one of the lower-class citizens. The well-made pendants survived the years of wear, but the chains did not, commonly finding themselves replaced with whatever the wearer could afford at the time. He gently set it back down on the table. “I don’t doubt that it meant a lot to him,” he said.

  That strange inflection in his voice—it caused Esven to arch a brow, her focus shifting to the necklace. Clearly, Elias had more to say on it. “Oh?”

  Her subtle prod for him to elaborate made Elias lean forward, his elbows on his knees. “Many demons trick humans into inviting them to the surface world. They enter peoples’ dreams at night. It’s the only communication they can have with humans while they’re confined to the Netherworld. They do it with the intention of earning the dreamer’s trust. Or their affection.” Elias looked to the locket, his expression indicating that in this case, it was the latter. “The human, if they are willing, sleeps with an object of their choosing. If they figure out how, they can offer the object to the demon in their dreams. It then serves as a ‘key’ of sorts, to leave the Netherworld. It can be any object, so long as the sentiment of consent is there.” Elias paused, trying to think of a better way to explain it. “It’s… sort of like inviting a person into your house. He or she cannot enter your property without your permission. The same goes for demons trying to walk atop Brigovian soil. My guess is your Balvo acquired this from a woman who was quite smitten with him.” The priest rubbed his hands together, feeling a slight chill. “Love is often the quickest way to the human heart, after all.”

  While Esven found some fascination in the intricacies of the explanation, her expression showed her most prominent sentiment: a stab of dissatisfaction. Had Balvo tricked a woman into giving him that locket? More importantly… how did she die? Pulling forth the memories of their conversation back at the inn, she knew the giver of the gift was no longer among the living.