He looked into the stone coffin and swallowed hard, it was as he suspected, the white bones of a stranger clothed in tattered rags. It would do. Slowly and carefully, he took the bones out and placed them at the feet of the coffin, and with shaking hands, he stripped the clothes from the skeletal frame. The cloth was rough, and the bones smooth and brittle. More than once he cracked a rib or let the fingers of a hand fall to pieces on the ground.
Harald let apologies stream forth, but he was silenced as the icy breath of an unknown wind streamed through the door. It sent chills down his spine, and panic filled his eyes. What was he doing? No, he thought, I must see this through.
He stripped himself down and put on the corpse's rags. They were loose on him and thin. Without his furs, Harald felt the freezing air and his body began to shake. He stepped into the stone coffin and lay down so that the walls of the sarcophagus swallowed him whole. Whoever this had been built for was bigger than Harald and he thanked his luck for picking this tomb. He stretched his legs out and tried to control his breathing. It was ragged, it halted and started unevenly as he tried to smooth it out. He could see the puffs of condensation with every exhale and did his best to calm down. You must be one with death... Vis had said, and so Harald tried his best to be as calm as the dead.
The chicken squawked from the cage and Harald's eyes strained open. Do not move... do not move... he had to be still, he had to be calm. He closed his eyes and began to count, another cold wind swept through the crypt like a long sigh and he heard the torch sputter and go out. Through his closed eyes he knew he was alone now, alone in the dark depths of death itself.
***
"The plan is the same as always," Nicolo said.
He had led Isolde down into a cellar with the eyes of a handful of other souls watching her every move. They didn't trust her, and Isolde understood why. Here, in this world, the enemy was everywhere. Nicolo had told her about the way people would sell out the resistance for cheap prizes and reprise from the arduous life under Bezhaal. But Nicolo had explained Isolde's story to everyone and they seemed to grudgingly give her trust... for now.
"We separate the devils so we can take them out, one by one," Nicolo explained. "Volo has spied the beasts, they've spread out through the ghetto, searching houses and seeking out Isolde."
An old man hidden in a deep hood gave a nod to the group.
"So, we do what we do," Nicolo continued, "we go in pairs, a runner, and a cutter. I’ll go with Isolde, she's my charge now. And if you get split up, you know where to go."
The group murmured in agreement.
"Good," Nicolo said, "happy hunting everyone."
The men began to pair off and take the dark steps back to street level until only Nicolo and the hooded man, Volo, remained with Isolde.
Volo looked up and Isolde saw that his face was a canvas of scars with one eye a cloudy white and the other a deep green like an emerald. He was studying her face.
"You betray us," he said, "and I will skin you alive."
He spat at her feet and took the stairs with heavy feet.
"Don't worry about him," Nicolo said. "If you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear."
"Your men don't trust much, do they?" she asked.
Nicolo shrugged, "do not trust the promises of gods and devils, Isolde."
Isolde felt a shiver run down her spine as she remembered the same words coming from Marco.
"Come on," Nicolo said, "we have work to do."
He led her back up to the street, it was empty, and the other groups had already left off into the shadows of the city to do their deadly work.
"I will be the runner," Nicolo said, "though at my age I don't have much more than a sprint in me so you have to be quick."
"So I am the cutter?" Isolde asked.
"Correct. We find the beast together, I go for a run, he goes for a chase, and you come sneaking up when he isn't looking and cut the head off."
Isolde nodded, though the idea of sneaking up on one of these demons was making her stomach churn. Nicolo looked at her doubtfully.
"You have to be brave, Isolde," he said. "If you back out at the last minute, I will be done for. I’m putting my life in your hands."
"I can do it," she said stubbornly.
His eyes were hard on her.
"Good. And you better be able to follow my lead. When I blow my whistle, then you come okay. Not beforehand, understood?"
"I got it," Isolde said and she pulled her sword out the scabbard.
"It’s a fine blade, no?" Nicolo asked.
"Very fine," she said examining the razor edge and etched runes before sheathing back.
Nicolo nodded, "good, let us go, we have devils to kill."
Nicolo led Isolde through the tight alleys and streets until the great church of Saint Tatania loomed in front of them in all its decaying glory. The walls were half caved in, as was the roof, but the structure's former grandeur was still obvious with the flying buttresses arching up the sides and holding the colossal church up. It was a beautifully horrific thing, looming up out of the slums in a way to dominate the people who lived here. Isolde marvelled at the heavily engraved facade facing them with its intricate scenes of demons and devils intertwined in stone. Their faces leered and their claws seemed to be frozen in time as if they were snapped in a moment of frenzy.
They slipped in the front door, Nicolo leading and always keeping to the shadows. But Isolde couldn't help but take in the ribbed ceiling that rose high above her head or the thin arched windows that rose toward the heavens. Nicolo clicked his fingers and snapped Isolde back to the situation. She slipped away from the open central nave into the aisle with him and they felt like rats scurrying through the ruins from shadow to shadow.
Nicolo slunk down below some rubble without warning and held his hand out to stop Isolde. Her heart was racing as the sound of scraping echoed through the cathedral. Nicolo pointed up toward the sanctuary at the end and Isolde craned her head up to take a better look. One of the demons was up there by the altar, kneeling down on one knee as if he were performing some kind of militarized prayer.
"Change of plan," Nicolo whispered to her.
Isolde felt her breathing go hard, she didn't like the sound of that. They should stick to the plan, last minute changes were never good.
"He is distracted," Nicolo went on, "I'll slip to the other aisle, we approach together. When I sound the whistle, charge in, go for the head."
Before she could say a word, the man was gone, double backing the way they came. She cursed him under her breath, and if all went to hell, what was she suppose to do? If he couldn't sound his whistle? If the demon spotted him first? She had to put her doubts aside, and slowly she began to edge herself on further up the tiled floor.
She got so close to the beast that she could smell the bitter sweat under its dark fur. She could see one foul hoof under its body and the other was square on the tiles as it knelt hard before the altar. Rusty iron chains ran down its body in a twisted armour shirt and a heavy axe lay motionless on the floor beside it, the demon’s hand only a grasp away. She looked at its head with hateful eyes, it looked like a bull with shaggy fur with its flat snout snuffing the air, and its great horns curving up from its skull and pointing toward the heavens.
The demon snorted the air and Isolde watched in horror as its bulging eyes opened. There was a cry from Nicolo and she watched the man charge forward into the open, and the demon scooped up its axe and turned to face him.
Where was the signal!? Where was the whistle!?
Isolde whipped her sword from her belt, there was no time to complain. The demon dove from the stepped sanctuary, axe arching high above its head, as Nicolo went low with his sword. The man's blade slid harmlessly against the beast’s iron shirt, and the devil’s axe came clanging down hard against the cathedral floor. They had switched sides and Isolde found herself next to Nicolo, the beast facing them both down.
"So much for surprise!" I
solde snapped.
"Where were you?" Nicolo growled, his body as tight as a cat's about to pounce.
The demon swung its axe high, looking to swoop Nicolo's head off, but the man was more nimble than he looked and managed to step back from the killing arch. The devil had overturned with the blow, and Isolde saw its open side. She dived in and hacked deep into its furry underarm, but the wound was a scratch to the monster, and she felt the weight of the beast’s fist crash down against her skull.
She went reeling back, feeling the rage of keeping her head undefended and Nicolo dove in keeping the pressure on. He came at the demon with a flurry of blows, but each one was shielded by the axe that the beast spun around as light as a stick. Isolde watched in horror, Nicolo never saw it coming, but the demon raised its heavy hoof and kicked out against the man's chest with enough force to send him airborne and crashing into the altar.
You are stronger...
The voice of Ama seemed to float to her like a heavenly choir. Isolde knew what she needed to do.
The demon charged her, head down and horns reared to skewer her soft flesh.
Click.
With a snap of her fingers, the world seemed to freeze in time, but Isolde knew better than to think that she had really done anything more than take control of the situation. She looked around, Nicolo was down, his body slumped against the altarpiece, but he wasn't dead, no, his hands were grasping at his chest, it was probably just some broken ribs. Right now, she had to deal with the fiend. She looked at it with pity. Its mangy fur and foaming mouth, the heavy axe and red eyes, iron linked armour and razor horns. There was nothing in this soul but fear and desperation, it lashed out and used violence as a way to protect its own weaknesses.
It didn't matter though, the fiend had to go. She raised her sword high, and silently prayed for forgiveness... for herself and for the demon. And in one swift blow, she followed the blade down through its sinewy neck and snapped her fingers a second time. The devil's horned head fell limply to the ground as its heavy body plummeted forward and crashed into the ground where she had been standing only moments before.
For a moment she looked into the eyes of the decapitated head and swore she saw the flicker of life in its eyes before they glazed over in finality.
Nicolo...
Isolde raced up the stair to the man and knelt beside him. He groaned and she pried his hands away from the ribs and felt around for signs of damage.
"How?" he rasped.
Isolde looked at the man for a moment, he was fine save for a massive bruise that was sure to come up.
"Because I have the strength of the living," she answered with a smile. "Come on, I have to get you out of here."
CHAPTER VIII
Harald's eyes burst open to the sheer darkness of the tomb. Had he fallen asleep in the stone coffin? He could not remember, he had no way to tell. The rough cloth of the corpse's rags scratched against his skin and made him itch all over.
He could feel his heart panicking and racing, he could hear it like a drum in his chest, pounding out into the darkness. His frozen fingers wormed themselves in the utter darkness until he could feel the icy edges of the stone sarcophagus. The torch... he remembered. If he could get to the doorway then he could relight it.
With a heave, he pulled himself up and stepped over the edge of the coffin. A shudder ran down him as his foot crunched hard through something brittle, and he felt his stomach turn as he realised he had crushed the remains of his host. Whispering a silent apology, he groped his way back to the door, bumped into the chicken’s cage and the bird went wild with terrified squawks that made Harald weak in the knees. He scrambled up the edge of the stone in the horrible blindness. He felt useless, all his senses had fled away. There were no sounds, no sight, only the smell of dry dust and the frigid cold of the air and walls. Still, he found the torch and managed to strike it alight with his flint and steel.
The fire streamed warm yellow light that died against the cold grey of the stone around him. He held his hands by it for a while, trying to rub some life back into his fingers. He had crushed the ribs of the skeleton, he could see it now and thanked the gods that the skull was still intact. Curse my clumsiness... he thought to himself.
His eyes followed the skulls perched on the walls and for the first time, he realised that they each had names engraved below the hollows in the walls. ROLFUS CUSTOS... SIGARUS CUSTOS... and on they went. His mind flashed for a moment, he knew that word, custos, it was the same one the elves had used. Guardian... that is what it meant, and it made sense now. He was being watched by the hollow eyes of twelve guardians. He looked at each of them grimly and thanked their souls in silence.
He took his axe and began to pry away one of the stone blocks from the floor. It was heavy, but age had opened its edges and he soon had it shifted away and dug himself a small hollow in the earth. The chicken cawed quietly and he paid it no heed. He had to harden himself for the job ahead. With gritted teeth, he moved back to the pile of bones on the floor and took the skull. He placed it on the far side of the hole and then began to smash the remaining skeleton into dust. It was a horrible task and he hated himself for it, but with no other choice at hand he went on until a fine powder was all that remained.
Harald took the powder up in cupped hands and smeared his skin and face with it. It didn't smell like anything, but the taste was dry and it found its way up his nose, into his mouth and stung his eyes. He rubbed it through his hair and across his chest until he was covered in the white grit of bonemeal. He took more of the meal and made a circle around the skull and pit, and then a second circle next to it, large enough for him to sit within.
A small fire was quickly lit in the pit and he sat down into the bonemeal circle. The light played shadows against the ancient skull sitting across from him. The flames between them made the empty eyes look alive. Harald shuddered and took a hand full of the bonemeal, he looked at the skull and apologised again, before flashing the powder into the flames. Blue light burst up at once and as quick as it came it was gone. The ritual had begun.
***
Nicolo wouldn't let Isolde help him up, he was too proud and his age brought a kind of stubbornness with it. They let the decapitated body of the demon lay where it fell on the church floor, but Isolde had taken its head and severed one of the horns with her sword. The bullish head clunked against the ground, Isolde stuffed the horn into her belt, and together, she and Nicolo filed down the silent streets and back to the makeshift headquarters that had set up in the slums.
There was a heaviness in the air, a silence that cried a foreboding warning that was lost on no one. The atmosphere seemed to lighten only a little as they creaked down the steps to the basement of the building. The hollow faces of the men that they had left with greeted them with the forced smiles and short nods.
"Everyone alright, then?" Nicolo asked as he rubbed his worn hands around one of the burning lamps.
Murmurs of acknowledgement answered him.
"Where's Volo and Bern?" Nicolo asked as he quickly counted the groups that had returned.
The door at the top of the stairs slammed shut with the heavy click of a bolt that made everyone jolt awake.
"Bern's gone, but the bastard demon died with him."
It was Volo, he came down the wooden steps with heavy feet, thumping his way down with what Isolde thought was a bad leg.
Nicolo nodded solemnly.
"We'll get him back," he said. "But, let's get this business done first."
Volo shuffled in with the rest and shook hands with one of the others who gave him a slight nod before Nicolo called the room together.
"Isolde is true," he said and cleared his throat. "She hacked the devil's head off herself and has its bloody horn to prove it."
The crowd gave a small cheer and Nicolo raised his hand for silence.
"There is more to her then we know though. She is not one of us. She isn't dead and she doesn’t intend to stay here in Bezhaal�
�s kingdom."
Isolde watched men as they shifted on their feet irritably and looked at one another for answers.
"But she does need our help," Nicolo continued, "and we will give it to her for a price. She can kill the Black Witch..."
That was it for the men. Isolde wasn't sure, but she thought it was Volo that cried out 'lies', in any case, it was on the lips of everyone anyway. She felt surrounded as they carried on, waving their hands in disbelief and calling Nicolo a fool.
"Enough!" he cried. He looked at Isolde with those terrifying eyes that pierced and held her gaze, "show them what you have."
She hesitated, the room was silent as the men looked at her for answers and it felt as though the flickering shadows in the room were closing in on her. Her hand trembled as she slipped it into her jacket and felt the small ruby against her breast. She pulled it out and the flame of a torch caught its rough edge letting light explode out of her palm.
"This is Orlog's soul," she said. "I was cursed to birth a mortal form of her but I had it cut out of me."
She pulled her jacket down a little to prove it by the scars.
Nicolo cleared his throat.
"She is going to throw it into the abyss, my brothers. We only need to get her there."
Volo laughed and stepped forward.
"And does she know the risk of entering the creator's keep? Have you told her the price it will cost her when she destroys his most precious creature?"
"I know the price," Isolde said, holding her gaze on Volo's. "It does not frighten me. You haven't seen the things that I have, you do not know what is to come like I do. Get me to the castle and have faith."
Volo spat on the ground.
"There's your faith," he said.
Isolde shook her head as Nicolo pushed passed her and shouldered his way through Volo. He walked to the back of the room and with the push of a brick, the back of the room shunted open and Nicolo pushed it until a tunnel appeared.
Land of the Gods (Isolde Saga Book 4) Page 5