Those who had little sanity left, paced the grounds like animals. They were waiting. Waiting for the next rare glimpse of the outside world. Of Brigovia’s surface.
Though he wanted little to do with them and their pitiful existence, Balvonak found himself sitting upright. He would have to share a small shred of their wretchedness. He, too, would keep a keen eye on his surroundings.
Some day, sooner or later, that door would open again. And if Vahldod was standing outside of it with Esven in tow, Balvo would be there to make sure she turned around. To see that she never set foot in this place.
Even if it meant he had to spend the rest of his shameful life here.
A pulling energy made the demon spin. He flinched at the sight of the soul beside him, hovering nearby with giant, somber eyes. As was customary, it said nothing.
“What are you looking at?” Balvo grumbled, knowing full well it couldn’t respond.
The soul continued to float wordlessly beside him, its legs disappearing into nothingness at the knees.
Balvo smacked his lips, turning away. The damn things made his hair stand on end. When his eyes focused on his new direction, he frowned. He should have just continued facing the one. Several dozen souls stood at his other side, gawking at him with emotionless expressions.
He’d probably have to get used to that…
Chapter Fifteen
The rising sun shone on the small, lonely window in Elias’ humble space. Though limited room existed for the light to squeeze through, the priest was diligent about keeping the glass clean. A step ladder stood near the window. A bucket and old cloth rested on the top rung. Esven sat at the table, watching the dust particles highlighted by the sunlight dance as they spilled into the room.
Sizzling eggs bubbled in a cast iron pan. They filled the air with a delicious scent. Esven could taste the flavor before it hit her tongue. Before Elias set the four pullet eggs in front of her. Esven glanced at them. Small little things. Four tiny, yellowed yolks looked up at her, surrounded by a frame of white.
Elias sat beside her, setting down his own plate of food. He slid some silverware toward Esven’s fingers. The priest assessed her far-off stare, her distant focus, before he cleared his throat. “I would highly recommend eating something. To keep your energy up.” His forehead creased, as his brows drew together. “You… look like you may need it.”
Pulled back into her reality, Esven scrubbed at her face with both hands. She spun on her chair, facing Elias with a tired smile. Her expression showcased her gratitude, but the dark circles beneath her eyes shouted of the fatigue she lived with. “Thank you, Elias.” Though she felt no hunger, Esven reached over and grabbed a fork. Appetite or no, Elias was right. She needed to eat. “It smells lovely.”
The priest nodded. He gazed down at his own plate and whispered words of prayer under his breath. Words of thanks. He was never one to disregard his loyalty to the Angel Lord, and the treats the god provided him.
The pair ate quietly for several minutes. Only the clanking sound of silverware, as it scraped across the plates, filled the little room. Elias slid a mouthful of egg into his mouth, trying to keep the worry off of his expression.
His first service started in half an hour. He would have to master putting on a good face to convince De’Savaria he was not distracted. It seemed like an impossible feat. Stealing a glimpse of Esven, and her condition, Elias felt a storm of concern growing more destructive by each second.
She looked so exhausted.
“Did it contain any useful information to you?” he asked, gesturing to the spell book on the table, partially obscured beneath the cloth from last night.
Swallowing a mouthful of food, Esven kept her eyes on her plate. She couldn’t look at the book. Not right now. “I found a spell that will act as a shield,” she explained, leaning back in her chair. “It should offset the pressure in the Netherworld and keep a fair amount of oxygen inside while I’m there, but…”
Elias’ face twisted immediately. “But?”
Running her tongue across her lips, Esven set her cutlery down. She stood, lifting her hands, and summoned the shield to the tips of her fingers. A rippling, transparent sphere molded over her, containing her inside.
Elias could only see it in the right light—but yes. There it was. An enchanted creation, ripped from the pages of Amadeia’s spell book. He reached a hand out to touch it, admittedly enthralled, but stopped himself. “It… it looks great,” he said, unsure whether or not that was the case. He had not found himself in many situations where he had to formally assess protection spheres.
“I can’t get it to last for longer than twenty minutes,” Esven informed, sweeping her hand downward and disbanding the sphere. It burst like a bubble, the remnants of it falling to her feet in mist-like particles. “According to the text, my mother could make it last hours.” The witch frowned, returning to her seat. “I still mix them up sometimes. I get the sentiment wrong. The focus is off. The spells, all of them, they’re so… intricate.”
Dabbing at his mouth with a cloth napkin, Elias tilted his head. “You cannot compare yourself to her, Esven. She had years of practice.”
The woman’s face paled. Her eyes wandered somewhere else again. “Yes,” she uttered, a strange sound hiding in the lone word. “She did.”
Elias glanced out the window, trying to guess the time of day. He had to descend to the main floor of the church soon. But the look of defeat that Esven wore on her face…
Reaching over, Elias moved closer, though he kept himself from touching her. “Are you all right, Esven?”
Several blinks brought the witch back to the room. She turned to him, a still-present caution in her eyes. “You weren’t wrong about the contents of her spell book, Elias.” Her manner became guarded as she glanced at her plate. “It’s… it’s…”
He knew the mixed feelings that infected her. Elias found himself a victim to them as well, when he first glanced through Amadeia’s book. Nothing gentle rested in those pages. “She didn’t die that woman, Esven. She changed.”
“Yes,” Esven answered quickly, pushing the last few bites of food around on her plate. “It’s just… it’s hard to picture her that way. Writing these spells. Perfecting them.” Her concentration flitted toward the obscured book on the table. Her talent should have allowed her to perfect them. There was no spell from her childhood that Esven did not master under a day. But these… she couldn’t focus. Not when the incantations screamed such disparaging things. “I only touched on the defensive tactics to stay alive in the Netherworld. I haven’t even glimpsed the offensive techniques.” The defensive strategies were already so gruesome. “I’m almost afraid to,” she admitted.
“They are not for the faint of heart,” Elias replied, nodding as he stood to take his empty plate to the basin he used as a sink.
“Elias… can I ask you something?”
The priest turned, a curious brow rounded over his eye. “Of course, Esven. Anything.”
Collecting her plate, Esven approached the priest, setting her dish down in the same place he had placed his. “When you first met Father Asher,” she started, rolling her lips together, “did you have a clear picture of who he was in your mind?”
His expression adopted a look of contemplation. Elias tapped his finger against the side of his cheek before he shrugged. “I suppose so. His sermons were very motivating. Inspiring. I heard it in his voice. Saw it in his eyes.” When Elias spoke of Father Asher, his entire manner lifted. He smiled, though it fell away as he continued. “Even in my young life, I have met… unflattering members of the church. But Father Asher, he really loved the Angel Lord. He did.”
Esven nodded, listening intently. “And when you found out that he wasn’t who you thought… when he betrayed the Angel Lord—the priesthood—in order to love my mother… how did that effect you?”
Elias winced. He leaned back, holding his elbow with his opposite hand. “I still remember the day he called me
into his study. This very place,” he explained, gesturing around the room. “The war between the church and enchanters had grown increasingly violent. You must have been… seventeen, eighteen at the time. Destruction spread to parts outside of Pinesguard, but they wanted to take no risks that it would spread here. He asked if he could trust me with his life.” Elias’ expelled a thoughtful breath through his nostrils. “Of course I said yes, I revered him so much. He told me that night of Amadeia. Of his treason to the church. Of you. I couldn’t find it in me to hate him for what others would see as betrayal.” Elias ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “It wasn’t betrayal to me. All I saw was a father who loved his daughter. A man who wanted to protect the woman he adored. He wanted to keep you both safe. He told me from that day on, that if anything happened to either him or Amadeia… that he would die happy if I vowed to protect you.” He fiddled with the rosary in his palm, shaking his head. “I suppose he suspected his death was on the horizon, given how aggressive the Brotherhood was getting…”
Some comfort came from listening to Elias talk about her father. About how much he loved her, and her mother. It was a shame he did not have the privilege of being a bigger part of her life. With the corners of her lips tightening, the witch looked to the priest once more, too driven by a need not to ask. “Did it let you down at all? Even a little bit, that he betrayed his cause? That he turned out to be someone entirely different than you thought him to be?”
Mulling over the inquiry, Elias crossed his arms over his chest. “A small part of me felt aggrieved,” he admitted. “I thought I could reroute him back to the Angel Lord’s path. I thought I could help him. That’s all I ever wanted to do for people, but… I came to understand him.” He peeled his focus off of the floorboards and found her face, trying to hide the breath that caught in his throat. “Sometimes temptation surprises us, with how powerful and unexpected it can really be.”
A smile crossed her face. It wiped some of the fatigue off with it. “Thank you, Elias. That helps.” She glanced at her cloak, hanging on the coat hook in the corner. “I should go. I suspect Vahldod is already waiting for me outside. I’d hate to ruin your service by having a demon present.”
The priest returned her smile, walking over to retrieve her cloak from the hook. His lighthearted countenance fizzled when he handed her the item. “Be careful, Esven. Please.”
Esven nodded while accepting the object and wrapping it around her shoulders. She pulled up the hood, concealing her tumbling red locks beneath it. “I will try my best.”
Elias pat her once on the shoulder, smiling. “Then I already know you will succeed.”
The two headed down the stairs at the same time. Esven left the books. Better that they did not fall into the wrong hands. She would return for them later.
Maritimus managed to slink out at some point, sweeping down each step like a dark ghost. Esven never needed to worry about the feline’s location. If Maritimus wanted to be somewhere, he always found a way.
Parting with an embrace at the bottom of the steps, Esven and the cat slipped out the door. Elias watched her go. His nerves grew more persistent. More worried. Dealing with demons was one thing… but facing the Demon Lord, Himself…
He whispered another quiet prayer for her safety before he marched to the church’s main room.
The blinding sunlight caught Esven off guard more than she thought it would. A hand immediately rose to shield her eyes as she strode down the steps, stopping at the bottom. Quickly surveying the area, she did not spy Vahldod at first, but he did not leave her waiting for long.
“A precious good morning to you, m’lady.”
The smooth voice from behind, made Esven spin. He stood in the shadow of the church, and while it took her eyes a moment to adjust from the light that had accosted them, she knew immediately who it was. “Good morning, Vahldod.”
Stepping from the darkness, the demon sucked in a fresh inhalation of oxygen as he stretched one hand out from his side. He couldn’t wait to taste that sweet air forever. Soon, he would be freed from his ties to the Demon Lord. Soon, he could soak in all the freedoms the surface world had to offer. “Now,” he started, unwilling to waste any more time, “about that topic that you and Balvonak were discussing…”
Esven surprised him by holding up her hands. She lowered her voice, so that the patrons who started piling into the church doors for Elias’ service would not hear her. “Spare me the speech, Vahldod. I’ve decided. Take me to the forest, far from this terrible place. Show me how to enter the Netherworld.”
Several rapid blinks showcased Vahldod’s surprise. The demon placed a hand on his hip. It was almost… disappointing. He did not receive the thrill of manipulating her. He lived for that kind of pleasure.
Ah, well. A shortcut to the prize. No complaints there. Vahldod did not discredit his good fortune, but he did not let it keep him from maintaining a healthy level of skepticism. The demon bowed, extending an arm. “Ladies first,” he grinned.
Esven glanced at the people who paraded into the church doors. They chatted amongst themselves; each one more oblivious than the last, that a demon stood in their midst. She spied the crowd, searching for De’Savaria’s face. It was a relief that she didn’t see it. “Right,” she breathed, turning away. “Quickly now.”
Returning to the forest should have felt like a reprieve. Certain plants perked up as Esven walked by them. The wildflowers. The tiny dots of yellow and purple petals. It was as close to a ‘welcome home’ celebration as she would receive. It would have brought a smile to her face, if her mind was not drowning in the pressure of her current situation.
The two busied themselves with small talk. Esven wondered if half of what Vahldod sputtered out of his mouth had any truth to it at all. He seemed to mold each conversation a certain way after she’d grant him a reply. As if he catered his words to match her preferences. He was clever that way. Had Maritimus, whose location was unknown to her, not alerted her to Vahldod’s true character, it would have been very difficult not to fall for his charm.
Esven wondered if all demons utilized their charisma as a strategic maneuver.
“So,” the witch asked, as she carefully stepped over a patch of poppies, “how did you get out of the Netherworld?”
Vahldod chanced a glimpse of her as he strode alongside. How much had Balvo told her? He must have mentioned it at some point, for her to have brought it up. He needed to maintain her trust if he wished for her to continue on the path to opening the door.
Unwilling to risk getting caught in a lie, the demon smirked and redirected. “Did Balvo tell you how he got out?”
Not Balvo, no, but she did not need to illuminate that. The last thing she wanted Vahldod to know was how much she had learned about demons from a priest. “He gave me his locket,” she replied without elaborating, patting the satchel at her side. “A little security that he would stick around, but…”
So, she did know. Sensing her mounting doubt surrounding Balvo’s disappearance, Vahldod tried to keep the conversation on track. “I’ve a piece much like his,” he explained, trekking farther into the woods. “I keep it very close to my heart.”
What Vahldod tried to pass off as a tender sentiment wedged into Esven’s calculating mind. Close to his heart, he said. She glanced at his neckline, spying the nearly invisible links of a chain around his throat. The pendant tucked down into his tunic, hidden away.
That had to be it. Good to know.
It took the better part of an hour to walk far enough away from Pinesguard where Esven felt comfortable opening a gateway to a demonic realm. Clear off the beaten path, she stopped between two birch trees, resting her hand on one of the trunks. “Can we open the door anywhere?” she wondered out loud, turning toward her traveling companion.
“Wherever we like,” Vahldod replied, reaching into his pocket to remove the key. He stepped closer, violating her space as he grinned down at her. Without breaking eye contact, he placed the bone key
behind the witch, settling it into the invisible padlock that could have been anywhere, and twisted.
The door appeared behind her suddenly. Esven bolted forward at its resurrection, collapsing into Vahldod’s chest. The demon slid his hand around her waist and pulled her closer. He did not seem to mind her presence.
It wasn’t until his hand on the small of her back started to burn through her clothing that Esven pushed herself out of his arms. She swept her arms behind her, one of them rubbing away the warmth that remained on her cloak. The other slid the necklace Vahldod used to wear, into her pocket concealing the secret of its theft.
The witch opened her mouth to speak, but the sight of the door sucked all the words from her tongue.
Having seen it the majority of his life, the rarity of the sight was lost on Vahldod. He stepped aside, holding up his arms. “I’ll just stand over here while you do your… ‘witchy’ business.”
Esven frowned. She took in a deep breath, before putting the protection spell around herself. Small crackles sizzled around the sphere like lightning, until the enchantment took. She still had not perfected it. Twelve hours to master faultlessness would have been more than enough time, if her concentration was not tainted by the weight of recent revelations.
“No need for that, m’lady.” Vahldod waved his finger toward her protection sphere, chuckling at the absurdity of it.
Arching an unimpressed brow, Esven looked toward the open door. Snarling demons had already started running for the beam of light, their jaws unhinged. They looked inhuman. Nothing like Balvonak and Vahldod. “I beg to differ,” she muttered, motioning to the approaching threats.
Another dim laugh from Vahldod only irritated her. “Forgive me; I’m so used to them. I’m sure they won’t hurt you,” he lied. “I would just stand aside as quickly as you can once you break the seal. That way they won’t trample over you.”
Followed by Fire Page 22