by Jodhan Ford
The Inquisitor turned his back and moved inside, leaving the door open. He retrieved more of his gear and went to the table, knowing there would be no sleep this night. He began to sharpen his sword, scouring the blade with a whetstone. The dull, abrasive sound of the stone on the metal edge brought with it unkind memories; her boots had sounded just like that as she danced on the wet slate.
His father had been a blacksmith long ago, before the epidemic. As a boy he had learned how to forge a sword, keep its edge, and how to apply the right amount of oil and soot. The soot was his father’s secret. After his family died, he was taken in by a vicar who was a friend of the family and sent to Constantinople to be trained as a friar.
The Inquisitor shook out his damp clothing and re-hung it, then checked his powder horns and cut new cloth. He kept a primed pistol in its brace. As he sat down, he lit his father’s pipe again—his now, but still his father’s in his mind. With curls of blue-grey smoke filling the air, he sat back down and inspected the shovel. He grunted at the split, dulled edge. With a will, he set to repairing the tool, taking care with it, knowing the work it would see in the morning.
Out from the deep night the cloaked man stepped. Steam wafted off his cloak as he stood in the entry—a shadow given life. Stepping into the light of the fire, the figure looked more like a battered old scarecrow than a man: robes dishevelled and tattered, the cowl of its cloak pulled low. It moved with barely a sound and sat opposite the Inquisitor, head canted to the side, regarding Germanus. “Thank you for leaving the door open.”
The Inquisitor grunted. “No reason to be inhospitable.” The war dog gave a growl of disapproval.
Germanus’ hand moved with practiced ease over the shovel’s blade. The dull rasp of the whetstone was the only sound for a long time, accompanied by the occasional snap of flame from the fire.
“You sound familiar, spirit. Do I know you?”
“Perhaps, in another life.”
Germanus grunted. “Why are you here?”
“I thought you might want to talk about it.” Scarecrow said, with a quick glance at the bundle.
“No. There is no point. That life is behind me now.”
“It is a rather important decision. Are you sure you made the right one, Inquisitor?”
Inquisitor? “They did not give me a choice!” Germanus retorted harshly before his voice returned to a neutral tone. “I did not make a rash choice. This was bound to happen.”
“True, true. Frankly, I am surprised it took this long, all things considered. The state of things being what they are and the world being what it is.”
“Is not all of this your doing?” Germanus asked, raising his deep brown eyes to regard the hooded figure.
“Yes, but there’s no need to point fingers. I have my task and you have yours. And I thank you for your cordiality, given that we work on opposite sides in this struggle.”
“That is an odd word to use for this epidemic.”
The other smiled, the whites of its teeth gleaming in the firelight. “It’s about perspective, young man. You’re new to this contest, whereas I’ve been here since the very first. You could say it was I who threw down the gauntlet and the Enemy that hesitated to pick it up.”
The Inquisitor snorted. “I think you give yourself too much credit. All this patting yourself on the back must put your shoulder out of joint.”
“Who are you to lecture me, Germanus?” The hooded man half stood from his seat. “Doesn’t your order teach respect for your elders?”
“You are one to talk, rebelling against the Maker.”
“Fool!” the wraith said with heat, bringing his fist down on the table. “High and mighty, you think you’re better than I?”
“I am no better than any man. Perhaps it is your own inferiority that drives you?” Germanus said with heat.
The war dog turned inside to regard its master and whined plaintively.
“Even your hound disagrees with you!”
“Unlikely, since this is a one-sided argument. You are not wanted here, shade. I neither like you nor agree with you.”
“And yet you were expecting me,” the scarecrow said, waving a hand towards the door open.
Inquisitor Germanus rose and walked to the door. He stared out, not looking at anything in particular, and then shut out the rain and wind.
Returning to his pack, the Inquisitor crumbled some dry leaves into a cup and then poured hot water from the pot that he had set near the fire. He stared indifferently at the table with its one chair before he sat down—alone. He sipped at his tea, savouring the spreading warmth it provided. Germanus went back to work on the shovel. Images swirled in his mind; a girl’s twirling dress, sparklers in her small hand; the high sound of her voice singing with abandon. He blinked away the images, focusing on the task at hand—sliding the whetstone in strong, purposeful strokes.
This shovel will need to work hard, and quickly.
When he was satisfied, he put the shovel aside and lit a torch.
It was time to prepare.
Germanus took his time, first by sweeping the floor and making a painstaking inspection of the ground to be sure there would be no obstructions. That done, he walked over to the tied bundle, lifted it with reverence, and placed it carefully in the middle of the floor before loosening the bindings. He placed torches on makeshift poles, retrieved some chalk from his tools, and opened another book. Kneeling on the floor, he outlined a large circle and then filled the inner space near the epicenter with ancient diagrams and cuneiform symbols.
After an hour of intense writing and scrutiny, Germanus leaned back on his haunches. With his left hand, he reached over and pulled on his sore right shoulder, pushed pent up breath out his nose, and stood.
Germanus could delay no longer; wherever his squire Dareus was, the boy was likely still leading the soldiers away. He would have to work without his squire and hope he had strength enough to complete the task. He blinked his eyes, hard, took a deep wakeful breath and moved on.
Germanus finished the dregs of his tea and cleared his throat before he began the incantation. The war dog and horse cringed as Germanus’ voice twisted with the inflection of his words. Syllables in Enochian and Latin blurred, dimming flames and bending the light around the Inquisitor.
“Charlotte,” he called quietly. “Charlotte, I, Germanus, call and do summon you to your appointed rest. Heed my voice and follow.”
Outside, the wind howled and whipped about, suddenly frenzied and alive. The Inquisitor heard voices and whispers of long silent echoes. He bore down, concentrating in dread earnest. He could feel the spirits, restless and angry, clawing at the walls of the mill.
“Charlotte, hear me!” Germanus called, drawing a breath and stretching to his full stature.
A girl’s voice, childlike and pure, giggled. The sound of feet shuffling in a dance offset the slight pat of hands clapping to a tune. The Inquisitor’s eyes narrowed, but his voice remained steady.
The bundle twitched and began to unfurl.
“Old man, what do you want with us?” a deep voice spoke above the cacophony of the other unintelligible voices, mixing with the young child’s voice and casting a dark edge over it.
“Charlotte, it is time to rest,” Germanus said.
“The girl is mine!” a coarse, familiar voice replied. “Abandon this endeavour! You might have been able to save the girl if you had cast us out while she was alive. Now, she is ours.”
“I hear you, Scarecrow! I will not be swayed!”
The bundle of canvas fell free as the body of young Charlotte stood. Young Charlotte smoothed out her soiled peasant dress, her once-white, knee-high socks; she scuffed at her church shoes. Her dark hair was pulled back into pig tails under her embroidered bonnet. Her grey splotched skin and dirty fingernails were in stark contrast to her luminescent puss-coloured eyes. The pink discolouration around her eyes and deep, bruise-like stains on her skin gave mute evidence to the sickness that had claimed h
er life.
Charlotte smiled. “Hello Inquisitor, come to play with me today?” her voice overlaid with the others.
“What is your name, Scarecrow?”
The voice laughed and snarled.
“I command you, speak your name!” Germanus said, clenching his fist.
The spirit cried out once, visibly flinching. “Bacchus! I was known as Bacchus.”
Germanus stiffened involuntarily, his voice caught momentarily in his throat.
“You?!”
“Yes, me! Why so surprised?”
“Release her!” Inquisitor Germanus commanded.
“Why, are you going to make me?” Bacchus laughed with Charlotte’s voice.
Germanus spoke a single word and the girl’s body jerked and shuddered. “I will if you force me to,” he said with dark intent. “Leave her alone.”
“No! The child’s soul is mine. She has forgotten who she is, so I claim her.”
“Charlotte, if you can hear me, remember, remember who you are and fight!”
Charlotte’s body shook itself, “Germanus?” a quavering voice asked.
“Yes child, it is I.”
“Who am I?”
“You are Charlotte of Rosehill village. You must remember.”
“Remember…”
Sweat streamed from his hairline. “Dance Charlotte! Remember the sun winks and kisses you when you dance!” Germanus told her.
Charlotte’s body took a faltering step, and then another. She began to dance, broken and faltering, but it was a dance. The Inquisitor watched silently for a moment, his thoughts caught up in a painful memory.
“Enough!” Bacchus said, his voice cold and hard.
Charlotte’s body jerked to a stop. “I will not let her go!”
His voice raw with emotion, Germanus began his chanting again. At first nothing seemed to happen, then Charlotte began to dance again within the inner circle. Her childlike voice sang a rhyme filled with madness and blasphemy.
“Why do you serve such an absent God? Is he listening to you now? Serve our master and enjoy his rich rewards. Wealth and ease, fame and glory, and those fleshly delights you have always denied yourself.”
Germanus raised his voice again, making his words deliberate and clear; his voice became more pronounced and stern as he brought his will to bear.
“Naughty, naughty old man, let us play, hear us sing.”
“Be gone, Bacchus!” he commanded.
Charlotte’s head snapped up as a malevolent laugh poured from her mouth.
“I damn thee in thy Lord and God’s name,
Throw thee into the abyss from whence I came.
The shadow of thy fear is the purgatory of Hel,
I shall breathe evil upon this land that thou dwellest in.
When the flesh of thy skin shall wither and waste,
Then dust of thy bones shall be mine to taste.”
Charlotte’s body began to twirl—arms outstretched, her voice hard, writhing with filth and impiety. Charlotte’s body began to writhe and spasm as the Inquisitor’s commands began to erode the spirits’ wills.The Inquisitor’s voice rose in cadence as he matched the others; he was almost screaming as he brought the creatures under his will. The voices cut off and Charlotte’s body toppled lifelessly to the ground. The torches sputtered wildly in an unseen wind and then the light steadied. Germanus slid to his hands and knees, his throat raw and rasping with breath. With the back of his hand, he wiped sweat from his brow. He sat back, breathing deep and steady to calm himself.
From outside he heard the sound of shuffling hooves; looking up, he saw the goat standing in the open doorway.
“For shame, young man, you should have done better!” the voices from the mouth of the goat commented.
Desperately, Germanus looked down at the circle; it only took a few moments to find it, spots in the chalk where his sweat had degraded the image. Fool, he remonstrated to himself.
The sound of snapping bone brought his eyes back up. A shuddering spasm shook the goat’s body erratically as its bones snapped and rearranged themselves. The fur-covered flesh around the face and hooves also changed, seeming to bubble as the face took on a more human aspect and the fore-hooves fell off and clawed fingers sprouted from the open wounds. In mere moments, what stood in the door was no longer a small goat but a man-sized nightmare taken form. The goat was more human than beast, legs and arms bent at odd but human angles, the head and face of the goat present but changed to accommodate the voices that spoke.
“Foolish Germanus, we are greater than you and you have freed us!” The laughter that rolled from those torn lips shivered throughout the Inquisitor’s body. His hands shook and his skin puckered with dread.
“Prepare to die, pathetic man!” the voices cried as the beast leapt into the mill, snapping its tether, and charged with an ungainly lope at the prone man. Copious rivulets of noxious, thick fluid ran down the vermin goat’s body. Before the goat-thing could strike, the dark blur of muscled war dog that was Dis crashed into the unsuspecting creature, bowling it over. The respite was short lived as the creature gathered its hind legs under itself and bucked the war dog off.
Seemingly in one movement, the creature regained it hoofs and charged the fallen Inquisitor, flinging Germanus through the derelict wall of the mill. As he lay just within the pale torchlight, he looked up through blood and tears and saw the vile, blasphemous thing stalk over before it kicked him. The blow was hard enough to send the Inquisitor tumbling down the hill, where he landed in a heap.
He could draw no breath; his lungs burned with the same fire that erupted from his broken ribs. His vision swam and his thoughts scattered. He managed to roll over and begin to backpedal as the goat demon bore down on him. In its left hand, a broken wood beam served as a cudgel. The malignant beast drew back its arm and swung the improvised weapon down.
Germanus closed his eyes.
The sound of wood striking metal made the Inquisitor’s eyes snap open. Young Dareus stood resolute above him, bracing a shield against the creature’s strike.
“Get up, my lord,” Dareus said tersely as he drew his mace. “I’ll cover you.”
Dareus swung at the creature, forcing it back a step, then immediately filled the gap, giving Germanus space to gather himself.
Get up! Germanus commanded himself. He rolled to his knees, causing pain to spasm through his chest. The Inquisitor wiped mud and blood from his face and looked around for his weapons. His pistol was nearby and he made a mad dash on hands and knees for it, trying in vain to stifle a cry of pain. Retrieving the weapon, he checked it quickly, then, sure of the powder and shot, drew a bead on the creature as Dareus sprang aside, and fired.
The shot took the creature in the left shoulder and spun it fully about. It almost fell but managed to keep its hoofs under it. Dareus did not miss his opportunity. He swung at the creature’s exposed back and was rewarded with a bone-crunching snap. The demon bleated a demonic howl but did not slow down, despite its obvious wounds. It turned to face Dareus once more and swung its cudgel repeatedly. Each blow was blocked by Dareus’ shield and was countered by a swift strike of the mace. The wounds never seemed to faze the demon; it just came back relentlessly. By this time, the Inquisitor had gained his feet and found his sword.
“The horse!” Dareus shouted, as Germanus approached. He ducked and weaved and blocked more attacks, giving little better than he got. The Inquisitor turned quickly and spotted Dareus’ horse not far off. On it, he saw his helm and Dareus’ spare shield hanging from the saddle bow.
Good boy, Dareus.
Arming himself, Germanus turned back. He saw that Dis had joined Dareus and was savaging the creature’s legs. Germanus waded into the fray, taking up position at Dareus’ right shoulder. Long hours of daily drills quickly brought the master and apprentice into a working harmony, blocking and striking in concert. Soon the demon’s wounds were so grievous it could hardly stand—Dis had hamstrung the right leg. One arm hun
g useless, and some of its internal organs hung exposed and shredded.
“I yield!” the foul beast cried as it toppled backwards to the ground, landing in mud and slime. “Spare me!”
Dareus said nothing, but his expression turned to stone, his mace held at the ready. Inquisitor Germanus looked down on the demon and rested his sword tip under the creature’s chin.
“No mercy to rebel angels.” he stated flatly, as he thrust the sword home, plunging it up the beast’s brain while Dareus swung and crushed its skull. The creature stiffened and then collapsed. Black ichor and gore had sprayed the war dog and the two weary men, but the rain washed most of the slime away.
The two men stared down at the mangled and malevolent beast.
“Possessed goat?” Dareus asked in disgust.
The Inquisitor nodded in assent. “Better than another possessed bull like the one we destroyed last year.” He chuckled darkly at the memory and put a hand to the wound the minotaur had left him with.
“Thankfully, the Patriarch’s haven't sent me out to hunt monsters since that last one.”
“The red haired harpy at the brothel was worse.”
“The harpy?!” Germanus gave his squire a look of deep incredulity. “What harpy?”
“You are encamped in the mill?” Dareus said quickly, changing the subject. He broke eye contact with Germanus, and stepped ahead. “Let’s get you inside, before you catch your death.”
“Yes, the mill,” Germanus said as he indicated the missing wall. “By the way, what took you so long?”
“Persistent church soldiers. Their commander was rather dogged about hunting you down. He persevered in the weather until his men began falling down around his feet! It took me a few days to shake them, then another three to get clear of the forest. I almost missed this place until I saw your fire. Was that meant to be a beacon fire for me or for everyone in the county? That was probably not the best idea.”
“Good thing I did it, then, or this skirmish might have gone very differently. Are you wounded?”
“Nothing serious. Some bruises, a minor ankle sprain and some long-overdue bed rest. What about you?”