"And what if you're wrong?"
"If I'm wrong, and I pray to the angels I am, you come back to your lives tomorrow. I would rather err on the side of safety, though. Please grab only what you deem to be absolutely necessary. Don Millan, with the help of Tyro and the watchers, will escort you all to Nolka. You are leaving in ten minutes. Get moving!"
As some people scattered to their homes, others headed to the south part of the village. Millan was frozen as Skully hobbled toward the east side of the town with the support of his walking stick. For nearly a decade, Don Skully was the only priest in Nesinu. Anyone who wished to join Candelux went elsewhere to study. Despite his parents' wishes, Millan became the first squire to train with Don Skully. The old man was more than just a mentor to him. Skully's presence at Millan's Acceptance, his official induction into Candelux, meant more to the young priest than the attendance of his own parents.
Though Millan had been reassured that Skully would rejoin the group, he had an unsettling feeling in his stomach, something beyond the normal hunger pangs. Officially, the guild encouraged precautionary evacuations for very small towns that might be defenseless against a sizable attack, but most priests never instituted such drastic measures. Trusting the judgment of his superior, though, Millan reentered the rectory to pack his bag, after which he followed orders and led the villagers toward Nolka.
✽✽✽
In his head, the voice echoed, If you need help, seek out the Brotherhood.
He made his way across the open field. He concentrated on his breathing as he quietly endured the physical pain of his self-inflicted wounds. Although they had already healed, he was still covered in blood. The agony in his mind was only a nuisance, but he felt it slowly returning. He rubbed his temple to alleviate the pounding in his head, but there was little relief. The village wasn't much farther, and he pushed himself to keep going. As he neared it, the town appeared abandoned, save for a single person in the middle of the thoroughfare. Hunched over, he hung his head and his long white hair fell over his face.
When he arrived at the town, he used his left hand to pull his hair back behind his ear, exposing only the left side of his face. Before him, a short old man leaned gingerly on a walking stick. The villager, dressed in brown garb with a black scarf, lifted his hand, indicating the visitor to stop. He complied.
"Who are you?" the old man asked.
The visitor groaned. He felt the villager's eyes scrutinizing him. He straightened his back and towered over the old man.
"Did you hear me?" the villager asked. "My name is Don Skully. What's yours?"
He grimaced as his headache worsened. He did his best to focus on a response. "Onto djja."
His own words startled him. What he had meant to say and what his tongue produced were not one and the same. He was afraid to speak again.
"Well, that's too bad," the old man said. "Maybe I can help you there. Do you at least know you're a demon?"
There was no way he heard that correctly. He wasn't a demon. And, did this old man really understand the jargon he had spoken? The growing pain pressed him to speak. He needed answers. "Ajjes ujjditov?"
"Those words you're speaking. They're Kisejjad, the demon language. That would make you a demon."
"And are you a demon too?" the visitor asked in his twisted dialect.
Skully tapped his walking stick on the ground. "No, I'm a priest. I stop demons."
"If you're not a demon, how can you understand me?"
"All priests must learn Kisejjad."
He studied his claws and turned them over. He didn't want to believe it, but it seemed to make sense. He had to be certain, though. "And you're sure I'm a demon?"
"Yes," the old man said. "The dark energy is a dead giveaway. I guess the question now is how bad are you? You're not showing me everything."
"Showing you?"
"In a manner of speaking. I can see you're definitely not fray. I would pray you're a lesser iymed, but I doubt I'm that lucky."
He winced as his headache thumped louder in his head. Fray? Iymed? The words seemed familiar, but it was difficult to remember where he'd heard them. Was he really a demon? If so, how did he become one? No, it wasn't possible. He pushed past this train of thought to address the more pressing issue. "How do I stop the pain?"
"Pain? That's not good. Verago sent you here with a purpose, didn't he? What is it?"
The agony was getting worse. The demon threw his head back and yelled as loudly as he could, trying to expel the pain through his mouth. His nails dug into his palms as he tightened his fists. Fresh blood trickled down his arm. He leaned forward into a staggered stance and rested his hands on his knees. A few strands of his long white hair dangled over his exposed face. A bright-yellow aura surrounded the priest. Where had that come from?
Skully pointed at him. "Who did that to you?"
The demon felt the claw marks that ran down the right side of his face. "It was the only way to stop the pain."
"I can help with that. Knowing your name would make it easier, though."
"I already told you. I don't know. I don't remember anything."
"Not even your purpose?"
The demon recalled the voice he'd first heard in his prison. He may have forgotten everything before his arrival, but amid the torment, he knew this. His breathing became uneven as he tried to cope with the agony. "To kill King Batar."
The demon fell to his knees and cradled his head in his hands. With the heel of his palms, he pressed firmly against his eyes.
"Angels, help us," the old man said. "They were right."
The demon ignored the ambiguous statement. "Please, help me."
"Yes, of course. There's only one way to stop your pain."
It felt like daggers were being pushed through his brain. As he squeezed his head even harder, his nails punctured his scalp. He barely made out the words of the priest.
"May the power of the angels flow through me. Grant me the strength to fortify my soul and summon the light to— "
When Skully failed to continue his blessing, the demon opened his eyes. A silhouette behind the priest guided the old man to his knees. The shadowed figure slowly withdrew a dagger that had been plunged into the priest's side. The newcomer inched toward the demon and stepped into the light. The blood dripped sporadically from the tip of the knife.
The man crouched beside the demon. "My name is Pirok. I'm the watcher captain of this village. I'm also a Brother of Prevarra."
The agony was unbearable. "What? Who?"
"The Brotherhood of Prevarra. We're the devout followers of Verago, the one who sent you. I'm here to help you."
"The pain. It's getting worse."
"I know how to stop it. You must use your energy to kill that priest."
Chapter 3
The Purge
Plagued by mental torture, the demon targeted the injured old man. He leapt forward and reached for the priest's throat. An intense flash of light burst from Skully's hands, and the energy seared the torso and face of the demon. The pain was welcomed. The demon took hold of the priest's neck and squeezed. The old man struggled to breathe as he grabbed the claw with his blood-soaked hands.
"Angels, watch over him," the priest managed to utter.
The demon glimpsed at his chest. Needles of light protruded from his torso like a porcupine. He snarled and tightened his grip on Skully's neck. His talons pierced the elder's skin and crushed his throat. The demon's chest tingled and pulsed with pain from the priest's attack. It felt as if he'd fallen onto a fire, but he made no attempt to touch the affected area. Skully's body went limp, and the light faded away. As the priest slipped from his grasp and collapsed, the demon closed his eyes and reveled in the peace of the night. The agony had retreated just as the other human had promised.
"Oh, Dark-Hearted One. You are truly a powerful being that has been unleashed on our kingdom. I am at your service." The remaining human knelt with downcast eyes.
The demon noti
ced a difference in this man when compared to Don Skully. The priest had a glow that was bright-yellow and impressive, while this man's aura was gray and underwhelming.
"Mijjen rujj zovtov?"
"Pirok," the watcher said.
"Pirok," the demon repeated in his twisted tongue. "Why am I speaking this way?"
"Kisejjad is a distortion of normal language. Although you understand and think normally, when you speak, yours words are translated by your demon tongue."
"And you can understand me?"
"Yes. All Brothers of Prevarra must learn Kisejjad before becoming full members of the sect." Pirok glanced at the beast towering over him. "And how shall I address you?"
The demon growled softly. The question got more frustrating every time. "I don't know. I don't know my name. I don't remember anything before tonight. The pain has distorted my thoughts and memories."
"You're referring to the agony. That pain you feel is connected to your strength. If you don't use it, it builds up and hurts you. Most demons never encounter it, but some of the lesser and greater iymed are known to suffer. They're much more powerful than the fray."
"The fray. The fray." The demon struggled to recover the term from the recesses of his memory. "They are the weakest?"
"That's right. Not too bright either. The lesser iymed are stronger, smarter, and appear more human. And the greater iymed, even more so, but there's only a few of those. You should know the Brotherhood can help you fulfill your purpose."
"What do you know of that?"
Pirok lowered his head. "My apologies. I overheard you speaking to the priest. We can help you kill King Batar. We're all loyal servants to the Devil, and we're at your disposal."
The demon shuffled his feet through the dirt as he circled Pirok. He wasn't sure how, but he sensed the watcher's fear. "Very well then. Where can I find King Batar?"
"He lives in Light's Haven in the castle."
"Light's Haven. The name is familiar."
"Right. Your memory. Light's Haven is the capital of the kingdom. It's a few days by foot. Horse would be faster, but unfortunately, they were all taken when the town was evacuated. The capital is heavily guarded. Many years ago, Verago sent all the demons in the kingdom to attack it, but they were unsuccessful."
Wrinkles appeared on the demon's forehead. "If Verago's entire army couldn't conquer Light's Haven, then what hope do I have by myself?"
"I think you were sent here to tip the scales. But, you won't be alone. You'll have the Brotherhood by your side. You just need to gather the other demons."
"And how do I do that?" the demon asked.
"Well, uh, um," the watcher stuttered. "You, uh, you have to summon them, but I don't know how to do that. You'll need to speak with an overseer. They're the leaders within the Brotherhood. The closest one lives in Nolka, a few hours walk to the south. She'll be able to answer all your questions and help you contact the other demons."
"Good. Then let's go."
"Uh, yes, of course." Pirok hastened to his feet and brushed the dirt off his pants. "But before we go, we'll have to replace your clothing and cover your eye. We don't want to draw any unnecessary attention to ourselves. I think I may have something you can use."
The demon followed his new ally down the main thoroughfare of the village. Deep in his mind, he felt the sting again. Killing the priest had pushed aside the pain for a while, but he realized it wasn't a final solution. It was only a matter of time before he would be tearing at his flesh once again. In front of one of the houses, Pirok looked furtively up and down the street. He pushed open the door and beckoned the demon to enter.
The large demon crossed the threshold. "Is this your home?"
The watcher lit one of the indoor lamps and hurried into the adjacent room. "Yes. Come."
The demon leaned against the wooden frame of the bedroom, blocking the only exit out.
Pirok pulled clothes out of his wardrobe and threw them on the floor. "I can't describe what an honor it is that you showed up just outside of Nesinu. And, to be your first contact. This is truly an honor."
The demon was only half listening, more interested in his hands.
"So, you must've met Verago then. I couldn't even imagine what it's like to meet him. What a mighty presence he must have, awe-inspiring and breathtaking. Is that what it's like?"
"I don't know." His voice was flat. He didn't care.
Pirok popped out from the wardrobe. "You don't? Surely, a powerful demon like yourself would've met the Devil in his throne room."
The words of his companion bored him, but they also brought vague images swirling into his head. He had met Verago, but the details of the encounter were hazy. The room was dark with hints of light given off by tame fires. A figure he believed to be the Devil sat before him on a throne, and on either side of him rested two massive, indistinguishable shapes, one red and one black.
When the demon didn't speak, Pirok filled the silence. "Yeah, any Brother would give anything to meet Verago. We've pledged more than our lives to him after all. And we can't wait until his glorious return. It's so unjust what happened to him, and we're all fighting and doing our best to secure the Talisman of Zavi. But the Prima is very powerful. You'll probably have to defeat her before you can get to the king. She lives in Light's Haven as well. But I'm sure you'll have no problem dealing with her."
He stared blankly at Pirok. Not much of what the watcher said made sense to him.
The man returned with an armful of clothing. "The overseer can explain everything better than I can. Here. Best to change it all. This long shirt is actually a sleeping gown my parents gave me years ago. Never used it. With your height, it should fit you well. And the pants, well, they'll probably be a little short."
The demon removed what remained of his shirt and vest. The tattered fabric crumpled to the floor. The demon slid his arms through the sleeves of the white sleeping gown. The ends barely passed his elbows, and the bottom of the gown hovered above his knees. Dissatisfied with the length, the demon tore away enough material so that the tattered ends hung by his waist. Next, the demon lifted up the pants and surveyed the length before tossing them onto the bed. "Mine will do fine."
"Oh, um, sure. I also got you this, for your eye."
The demon examined the long piece of fabric. "For the scars?"
The watcher hesitated. "Uh, no, for your eye."
"What's wrong with it?"
Pirok waved the demon over to the wardrobe. The watcher pushed back the closet door to reveal a mirror. The demon was stunned. His right eye was far from human. The iris shimmered with shades of orange and red, and the pupil was long and thin, like that of a cat. As he fixated on his reflection, the iris receded, and the brilliant colors were replaced with the black void of the pupil.
"What…what is this?" His claws, his speech, his pain. Everything pointed to the fact that he was a demon, but he refused to believe it. He went to touch the demonic eye, and when he felt the scarring, he bellowed at the watcher. "What is this?!"
Pirok stumbled backward and dropped the white cloth. The demon snatched the mirror and flung it against the wall. The watcher covered his head as the glass shattered into thousands of pieces. Then, he scrambled to his feet and darted out of the room.
The demon steadied his breathing. The floor was covered in shards that glimmered faintly in the lamplight. As he crossed the room, he winced with each step. At the threshold to the bedroom, he stooped to pick up the white cloth. He gripped it tightly in his quivering claw. "This is a mistake."
"What is?" The watcher peeked from behind the doorframe.
"All of it. And the pain. It's still there."
"It'll only get worse. Come on, we should hurry. The overseer can help you better than I can."
The demon shook the cloth free of glass shards before wrapping it around his head to cover his eye. As he stepped back outside, he noticed that the gray aura around the watcher had vanished.
"It's this way," Piro
k said. "This road heads south. It's a bit of a walk, so if you have any questions, I'll do my best to answer them."
The demon had a multitude of questions, but the agony was scratching at his brain. They had only gotten as far as the edge of the town when he started to drag his feet along the ground. "How far did you say this was?"
"A few hours at a decent pace."
"Impossible." The demon halted. There was no way he would survive a few minutes, let alone a few hours. He gnashed his teeth as the pain grew steadily.
"It's…it's…it's going to be all right. You just have to keep moving."
The demon's knees struck the ground, and he began to pant. He heard the doubt in Pirok's voice.
"No, no, no, get up. Come on, you have to keep moving."
The demon curled his lips as his body tensed. The pain swelled in his head. He shoved his claws into the dirt, trying to keep them under control. He barely made out the pleas of the watcher.
"You need to use your energy! Do something, anything! Are you listening? Cast a spell! Use your energy!"
The demon had no idea how to fulfill Pirok's request, but soon, the shouts stopped. The agony grew at an alarming rate and before long, his body was convulsing. He made every effort to keep his claws buried, but it felt like pokers used to stoke a fire were being driven into his skull. He roared as the pain came to a head, and then he lost consciousness.
Chapter 4
Erynion
Millan woke up with a start. The details of his dream were mostly faded, but the trembling in his heart was not so quick to leave. For a moment, his surroundings were unfamiliar, but then he recalled his location. As Don Skully had ordered, Millan had led the villagers of Nesinu to Nolka. With the help of the town's watchers, he and Tyro kept guard as the party of a few hundred traveled through the darkness. To his relief, there was not a single disturbance during the entire trip. Millan prayed Skully's night was just as peaceful. Many of the citizens in Nolka were kind enough to take in the refugee families. Millan had been given a small bed in the Candelux rectory while Tyro was placed in the squire quarters.
The Twisted Gate Page 2