by Colin Taber
“No. I took a knife from my daughter’s bodyguard, grabbing it from his belt.”
“Did it never occur to you that your bodyguard might be a better person to handle such a weapon?”
“It all happened so quickly, and I was so angry...”
“And scared?” he asked.
“Yes! But I just wanted to get him away from the child he was about to take. That the blade wounded him at all was as much luck as anything.”
He nodded. “Then what happened?”
“The child fell weakened and listless, but back into her mother’s arms. I think the little girl had fainted. At the same time my daughter’s bodyguard arrived and drew his sword. The kidnapper, startled by the challenge, worked some kind of magic and disappeared.”
The Inquisitor nodded. “We will speak of this further another time.” And in my mind his voice whispered, “I know your truth!”
The air prickled around me as a chill crawled over my skin. As if in answer, I heard the rising growl of the voices inside my head, they snarled like wild dogs, starved and desperate. They hated him, and the heat of that hate quickly melted away the chill.
Inquisitor Anton cleared his throat and continued, “To the matter at hand; the ritual. I have examined the scene and issued instructions for the warehouse to be piled high with wood, oiled, and burnt. The place is an open sore and will lie weeping until it is cleansed. We can live with a scar, but not a festering wound.
“Lord Liberigo, when the fire has burned down to the ground, taking those poor defiled bodies with it, you can see about sealing the sewers and rebuilding the warehouse if need be.”
The Lord asked, “What if the families wish to retrieve the bodies to conduct funeral rites?”
“There can be none.”
Benefice Vassini looked appalled. “But what of their souls?”
“It’s too late, they’re already gone.”
Vassini paled as did the others about the table. “Gone?”
“Consumed by the ritual.”
Lord Liberigo queried, “And the purpose of the ritual?”
The Inquisitor sobered for his answer. “To create something.”
“What?” Lord Liberigo pressed.
“A beacon, and if we don't act quickly it will attract who it calls.”
Lord Liberigo whispered, “And who is that?”
With fatigue in his eyes, Inquisitor Anton replied, “The Horned God.”
-
During the course of the day we spoke of many things.
The Inquisitor voiced suspicions that the Santana sect might be a front for one of the forbidden faiths. He feared it was just a bridgehead, and perhaps the first of many, something that would allow the new and unknown to become accepted.
It made sense, for in our spiritually lax city the new saint had already achieved a following in just a few days.
He’d said, “And what happens when those perpetrating this myth provide something to lend it credence? What happens when the frightened see proof of this new saint’s power? We will lose them. We have to discredit the sect and quickly.”
No one disagreed, and in truth I think we were all impressed. Yes, he had a pit of venom to draw upon, spouting dogma and easy hate, but a good deal of what he said came considered.
-
By the late afternoon we’d finished our discussions, with most of the time taken up in the planning of various searches of the city by the watch. Many attendees left the chamber quickly, rushing to act on our discussions – but not the Inquisitor.
He walked across to Sef, Pedro, and myself, greeting us with a bow. All the while he never took his eyes from mine. Finally, he said, “You see?”
There seemed no point in denial. “A little, but it’s all I can do.”
“For now, until you receive training.”
“I’m alone. I have no plans for training and wouldn't know where to go in any case.”
“You are a Flet. Your people have a long history of magic, something that has always been of concern to the Church. The forefathers of this city were well meaning when they accepted your people as refugees, but they were also blinded by the promise of cheap labour and convertible souls. Sadly, it’s not come to pass. You Flets have only maintained your old ways, spoiling what was once a god-fearing city. Such divisions cause weakness.
“The people of this city will pay a high price for their forefathers’ decision, and Ossard will not come out of this as it went in. The city will be reborn, but afterwards there will be no place here for you or your kin.”
His eyes narrowed. “This is your warning: If you were of no use to me, I’d drag you outside and into the square and burn your tainted hide to cinders right now. Instead I ask you to help me clean the city. When all is done I will help you gain shelter elsewhere, we could even see you and your family settled in Fletland.”
I was stunned by his words.
His lips then curled into a scowl. “Fletland will be fine for you, anywhere will be as long as you leave here. You’ll not be welcome in the New Ossard. You are Demon. Even if you begged me to let you take Krienta as your saviour, I would deny you. Your soul is filth!”
Pedro gasped.
And any hope of last night's warmth between us being rekindled died.
As if reading my mind, the Inquisitor said, “My son, mind yourself, if you give her your love she’ll take your soul.”
Pedro stood stunned by his words, yet accepted them.
The Inquisitor added, “If you want Krienta's salvation you must be free of demons. You live with this one and bravely deny her, yet... yet there is another...” His eyes squinted as he concentrated, slipping his perception into the celestial to skim Pedro's very being. His face tightened with the effort and then his lips drew themselves into a sneer. “My son, you have already given your love to the other. You are forsaken!”
My own mind raced; who could Pedro love?
And my husband paled. “I haven’t, I love no one!”
The Inquisitor’s sneer faded, but only to become grim. “You have thinned your Heletian blood by having issue with this witch, you have fathered a daughter of damnation!”
Pedro’s face lost its fear, colour flushing his cheeks. He raised his arms to fold them across his chest, the movement squaring his shoulders. He would listen to me be branded a demon, but not his beloved Maria.
The Inquisitor said, “See, the little beast has already ensnared you. She no doubt uses her big blue eyes, curly black hair, and honeyed giggles as her weapons.”
I turned to Pedro to see his eyes sparkling with anger.
The Inquisitor said, “Such spirit! Most melt away, some have even dropped to their knees and offered me their own kin for burning, but not you, oh no, not you our most pious Pedro. I've heard about you, and I know that you will offer me nothing, not even your own wife despite the crippled feelings between the two of you.”
Pedro didn’t flinch. “I offer you nothing, but to my god I offer everything.”
Anton smiled. “And what god is that?”
“The same god as you.”
“But your daughter is demon-spawn, do you not fear her?”
Pedro unfolded his arms, and reached across to grab one of my hands, “Our daughter is but a little girl, innocent and loved.”
Anton looked down at our joined hands. “Nothing is what it seems.” He then turned to me. “And what of my offer?”
I noticed Kurgar loitering behind the Inquisitor, distant but listening.
“You speak to me as though I’m nothing, but also ask my help?”
He smiled. “Strange, isn't it. I am genuine. You help me get the city through this, and I’ll spare you and your family, but you will have to leave it along with your people.”
I said nothing, so he added, “Please, there is so much more happening here and no one is telling you the full truth of it. If you help me, I will give you one morsel of it here and now.”
“What do you want me to do?” I as
ked.
“I will address the crowd gathering in the square, you need do no more than stand tall and proud and deny any involvement with this new saint.”
“And this truth?”
His tone softened as he took a step forward so only Sef, Pedro, and I could hear. Gently, like a father, he said, “There are countless factions at work in this city, and they all want power. Across all of them there is only one thing that they fear.”
“What?” I asked.
“You.”
8
-
The Inquisition's Answer
-
Anton and I took the stairs to the third level, heading for the balcony that ran the length of the Malnobla’s front. We followed Lord Liberigo, the Benefice, Pedro, Sef, and Kurgar. Word had come via an attendant; the crowd was demanding to see the Inquisitor.
Maria and Lady Liberigo were waiting for us in the ballroom that opened onto the balcony, accompanied by two men at arms. Before we reached them we could hear the crowd’s rumble.
The Inquisitor said, “The Lord and Lady will step out first to address the crowd and introduce me. Benefice Vassini will accompany them, but shall not speak.”
Vassini looked affronted.
Anton ignored him. “I will follow with Pedro and Juvela.” He then turned to face Kurgar and Sef. “You two shall stay here and well back from the doors, we don’t want to confuse our message with too many faces.”
Too many Flet faces...
Pedro said, “I’ll bring our daughter.”
“Yes, of course.” Anton paused before continuing, “Once out there, I’ll undo the damage caused by the fraudulent Heletite, and offer the people some reassurance. That will be all.”
-
The square spread as a sea of scared faces with thousands upon thousands holding branches of oleander in the air. Clearly those preaching the word of the Protector of Children had been busy.
The crowd hushed at the sight of their Lord and Lady, not so much out of respect, but because they wanted answers. The silence was short-lived. When Benefice Vassini came into view many began to shake their oleander in anger and boo.
A lone voice yelled, “Remember Saint Santana's martyr!” And thousands of voices sounded in agreement.
Lord Liberigo let the crowd settle while the dusk sky grumbled in its own disquiet. A thunderstorm had come rolling across the heavens bringing with it a whipping wind.
The Inquisitor and I waited for our turn, watching from a window by the doors. Pedro stood with us and held Maria. Sef and Kurgar watched from another window where they’d been exiled to a far corner.
The air grew tense, suddenly cooling.
Anton closed his eyes for a brief prayer, before opening them to ask, “Did you feel that?”
And I did.
Outside, a growing vortex of power made the air prickle as it hung over the city. “What is it?”
“Take a look.”
I relaxed as the room before me sprang into clarity. I looked further, my view fading into the hues of blues and blacks while the soul-lights of those around me flared. My perception shifted as I swung it about.
Market Square spread as a blinding sea of life-lights, but above it all swirled a dim blue whirlpool of gathering power. At the heart of that disturbance lay a huge circle, as wide as a warship is long, and within lay a stunning cobalt-blue iris that was split by a sharp edged pupil. It was an eye.
My soul felt brittle.
Only one thing could be so big and make me feel so small.
It was a god!
I lost my concentration and fell back into normal vision. The shock of it left me weak with my legs buckling to send me slumping against the wall.
Anton moved to my side, but not to help. “See, he’s sensed the beacon and now comes for Ossard!”
Pedro paled and took a step back.
I cursed; I'd just let him see me look into another world. Turning to him, I reached out with a hand and begged, “Please, Pedro...”
Anton laughed.
Pedro flinched at my reaching hand, but stilled himself at Anton’s mirth. He composed himself as he stood there. He didn’t take my hand, or step closer, but neither did he step any further away.
Outside on the balcony, Lord Liberigo addressed the crowd, “People of Ossard, it is true that the kidnappings threaten to spiral out of control, that they are linked to ritual magic, and that last night the city watch discovered the bodies of many victims.
“My people, we of the city are working hard to get answers, and each new answer brings us closer to the guilty!
“Still, it is such a diabolical thing, that we’ve felt it wise to accept the offered aid of the Inquisition. The Black Fleet is currently moored in distant Lucera, but has heard our cry and dispatched a ship. That ship, the blessed Ba-Mora, has arrived this very day. I present to you Inquisitor Anton, their mission’s leader.”
Anton grabbed my hand and led me onto the balcony.
People generously applauded the Inquisitor, but a cheer erupted as they laid eyes on me. Some in the crowd yelled, “The Lady of the Saint!” It didn’t take long for those calls to fall into a chant, “Lady of the Saint! Lady of the Saint! Lady of the Saint!”
The Inquisitor stood before them with me at his side, while Pedro followed but kept a couple of steps back with Maria.
My husband watched me with questions in his eyes. He loved his daughter, loved her more than life itself, and not so long ago a seed of love had begun to sprout between us despite the barren soil of our marriage. That poor love, a union that had waited so long to take, still seemed determined to struggle on.
Briefly our eyes met.
I offered him a smile to try and reassure him.
His tense face relaxed, but he couldn’t hold my gaze.
Maria also looked to me.
I called to her, “Be good, Maria, be good for your father.”
She smiled and then nuzzled into his chest.
He again met my gaze and this time held it. There was hope there, in his beautiful brown eyes – but also so much pain.
The noise of the crowd faded, but Inquisitor Anton waited for silence. Finally he addressed them, “People of Ossard, you live in grave times, the gravest, but know that I have come to put things right!
“You think the kidnappings are out of control, but they aren’t. It’s your faith that’s run amuck!
“What kind of city allows its people to grow so lax? What kind of people accepts it becoming so? Your home might be rich in coin, but it’s a pauper of devotion!
A lone voice yelled, “Saint Santana will save us!”
The Inquisitor's face grew sharp with rage. “You have been deceived, there is no such saint! She is nothing but a fraud and vile heresy!
“It is the weak-willed and feeble-minded who are prepared to adopt a new saint on a whim that have allowed the cults to gain a foothold in your city. You have been fooled by the very people who are stealing your children!”
The crowd grumbled with several voices rising above the noise.
“They said Saint Baimio was a false prophet too!”
“Our faith is strong!”
“Saint Santana has kept my child safe!”
“The Lady fights with her blessing, we saw it!”
Inquisitor Anton turned to me and beckoned me forward.
So this was what he wanted me for.
I stepped up, nervous, half expecting him to denounce me. Behind me, Pedro moved closer in support, but Anton waved him back.
Maria looked to me with sad eyes while the air of unease grew.
Pedro stood anxiously. He could also feel it.
I whispered something to him that surprised me, “I love you.”
My husband, that tall, strong, and handsome man I'd always dreamed of, stood there with our daughter in his arms and tears in his eyes. He nodded, and for the first time in years no fear beshadowed him.
Something had grown between us, and not something to k
eep us apart, but something to bind us together. Regardless of what might come, right there and then I found some solace. It was as if, finally, we were a true family.
Inquisitor Anton turned to the crowd and said, “Before you stands Lady Juvela Liberigo, a symbol of this city. She is a Flet with a Heletian husband and name, and a mixed-blood daughter, little Maria. Many of you also believe that she is the servant of Saint Santana, I ask her now: Are you in the service of this so-called saint?”
The crowd fell silent for my answer.
So the Inquisitor wanted me to denounce Saint Santana, fine, simple enough. I cleared my throat and said, “I have never been in the service of the false saint, Saint Santana.”
“Had you ever heard of this fraudulent saint prior to the events of yesterday in which suspicious third parties anointed you her instrument?”
“No.”
“Would you describe yourself as a particularly spiritual person?”
I hesitated, not sure what answer he wanted. I'd promised my soul to Schoperde, and while he probably expected that, I doubted it was the revelation he was after. “My faith is strong and righteous, and it isn’t owed to any false saint.”
He raised an eyebrow, but didn't look angry. “And you have never, in any way, felt that you have been touched by the questionable power of this supposed saint?”
The vision of the huge eye watching over the city came back to haunt me. With a slight shiver, I couldn't help but glance skywards. “No, never.”
“So your actions yesterday were your own, and not guided by divine power?”
“They were my own. I saw a mother crying for help and went to her aid.”
“Do you believe in Saint Santana, or that she is the protector of children?”
“No, she is a fraud.”
And the faces in the crowd began to drain of the little hope that had lit them.
Inquisitor Anton turned back to the packed square, raising his arms beseechingly. “You have been lied to! Cast aside your false relics and oleander. Krienta will look kindly on those of you who renounce your heresy, but only if you do it now!”
Across the square, oleander dropped to the cobblestones amidst the clatter of discarded amulets. Satisfied, the Inquisitor didn’t even bother to suppress a grin.