A Prayer of Freaks and Sinners

by D Elias Jenkins

  He knew that morning that he could continue with this no longer. He knew that he would end it today and forfeit his life. He would take matters into his own hands, as he had almost done on the balcony of his bedchamber that morning. Now he stood there, sweating from the acrid green steam that permeated the room like jungle air. Looking down at the top of the reliquary.

  Swirling and swirling like toxic soup in some great cauldron.

  He made his decision. The king turned to his councilor and smiled.

  "Merrick, is it true that the Sorrow's hunger will never be abated? That it will consume the entire world?"

  Merrick Clay gave a manic smile.

  "It consumes magic with an endless lust. Until the world is like a squeezed lemon."

  Oligan nodded and looked below.

  "Then, my friend. Let us keep him happy."

  In a sudden rush Oligan grabbed the bony Witchfinder by the shoulders and threw him over the railing with a roar.

  The Witchfinder fell backwards. His burned hands clawed at the air. His expression was of both shock and ecstasy as the pain-lover in him tasted the betrayal. To Oligan's eyes he seemed to fall forever, staring up at him all the way.

  Then Merrick Clay vanished into the mist. The fog churned faster and shadows of movement could be seen within. Something was feeding below. King Oligan stood there for a long time, looking down into the reliquary.

  He knew his life was over. The brotherhood of vicissitude would pick him apart inch by inch. His own wife and daughter, or the husks once such, would kill him first.

  He didn't care anymore.

  There was nothing he could do to stop the Sorrow now.

  But he took small victories where he could.

  11

  The devils came for Invar on his first night in Crowburgh.

  After forty years of fighting, Invar ironbound still didn't like the word crusade. It meant running towards something very dangerous. He had charged at many a creature that would cause most to turn and run. This time it was different.

  As he approached the walls of the city of Crowburgh, the entire place was deathly silent.

  Deserted.

  A city of thousands of people, and it was quiet as a graveyard. It had taken him many days to get here. The old highways had fallen into disrepair and it was hard work for a horse. Invar had not seen another living soul for two nights.

  There was something strange about the silence as he rode through the sparse woods close to the city. Then he realized that no birds singing. He saw no insects crawling on the dry old boughs. No goats or sheep grazing in the foothills.

  All life was asleep, hidden or deceased.

  Invar had been here before, many years ago. Crowburgh was a bustling river city, buzzing with trade and life. The people a sturdy lot of old stock, but liberal of mind due to the influx of merchants and goods. Something more ominous troubled Invar as he rode closer to the gates of the city. They opened wide, but not only that, they hung broken from the hinges. Like some huge siege engine had smashed through them. Invar paused his horse just outside the gates. He scanned the walls and the cobbled road leading inside. Not a soul.

  He looked up. A dark island of cloud hung over the city, casting it in shadow. The cloud did not drift in the wind but circled like a great whirlpool. He knew then that the visions from the sight-thieves had told the truth. The Sorrow had made Crowburgh its first target. And he was too late.

  But how could an entire population just vanish? There's no blood. No bodies. No scattered weapons. Just disappeared.

  Invar knew that whatever waited for him inside was a trap. But what choice did he have?

  There could be survivors. Helpless and hiding. I cannot leave them to their fate in there. And I cannot leave without the page from the Libram of Ashes.

  Not for the first time Invar wondered what his old master Ulric Godwine would do. He thought it silly that he should imagine the council of a man who had been dead for decades, but his voice often came to Invar in times of confusion.

  The paladin's way is to run straight at a problem, lad. Always been.

  Invar smiled at the ghost's advice.

  "Aye, master Godwine, and look where it got you. A Manticore's sting right in your big head."

  Invar swallowed his fear. He spurred his horse on and the beast obeyed. The only sound was the rattling of Invar's armour and mail as he proceeded into the city.

  A sudden crack. Invar half drew his sword until he saw the sign for an ale house blowing in the wind. He rode onwards along the cobbled street towards the market square. Invar imagined eyes watching him from behind every shuttered window. He could sense the Sorrow had been here. Their stench was in the air. But there was no way to tell what form it had taken.

  That was the curse of having to fight a life-form like the Sorrow. It warped and corrupted everything it came into contact with. You could battle it all your life and never fight the same thing twice.

  Invar had hated leaving Alfred and the other acolytes when he did. They needed him to be there for council and guidance. But Invar's was a life of duty. Invar knew how stupid this was. One old man galloping to save a city from the old devils and retrieve a prize.

  Yet here he was.

  Invar looked up at the slow bank of dark cloud rotating over the city. A drizzle began to fall, chilling the air. It was getting dark. Invar had to find some kind of shelter. Make a fire and then search for survivors in an organized way come morning. At the same time he didn't trust entering any of the buildings. He needed escape routes, and who knew what lurked in any of the structures lining the streets?

  Instead he rode into a wide round courtyard. At its centre was a fountain. Invar thirsted. He dismounted and ran his gauntlet through the clear water. It looked clean but no real way to tell if it was poisoned. Invar muttered a prayer of cleansing as he cupped a handful of water in his gauntlet.

  Lord Angall,

  Filter your Light through this water

  Remove dark deed and thought

  And make it as pure and clear as your care for us.

  The water in Invar's hand began to glow with a soft light until it glimmered like a mirror. Then the light faded and Invar drunk deep. Once he was sated, he thrust his hand into the fountain and purified it all, before setting his horse to drink.

  Invar looked around the courtyard. Four streets led into it with the fountain at its centre. Overhanging shambles made three of the streets very gloomy, but the fourth was a wide thoroughfare. All of the streets had been barricaded with something. Overturned carts and market stalls shoved in the alleyways. As if a desperate fight had taken place. Yet still not a body in sight. Not of friend or foe. Invar broke off a few pieces of wood from one shattered cart and proceeded to build a fire in the courtyard.

  He figured that he had a good option of escape routes if it came to it, and a decent view in several directions. But if anyone was still active in the city, he stood a chance of seeing smoke from chimneys or hearing voices. It was as good a plan as any. It took him fifteen minutes to build enough of a stack to last through the night. Invar knelt down and cupped his hands together. He blew into his hands as if cold, and his gauntlets began to glow red hot. Holding them beneath the fire stack, the kindling caught and within a few minutes he had a roaring fire. It had taken a lifetime for Invar to hone his skills and utilize the tiny sliver of angelic spirit that dwelled within him. It gave him much. But for all that he knew that his potential as a paladin was infinitesimal compared to the light Alfred and the acolytes could wield if they ever made it out of the Torrent.

  Yet it was his light in the dark, and it had served him for many years.

  Invar took out some hard bread and a pot of honey. He dipped it in the jar and had his supper, getting a lot of it on his beard. After he had eaten Invar sat next to the fire and reached out his mind. Straining his senses, man and god given, out into the falling night to detect any presence of the citizenry. There was not a sound in the night. It was aft
er two hours of this, weary from his long journey to Crowburgh, that Invar fell asleep.

  Three hours passed.

  He awoke to the sound of his horse being eaten alive.

  He shot to his feet with a rattle of steel. He drew his sword and strained out into the dark.

  His horse was being dragged into one of the gloomy alleyways. Invar could see many dark limbs hooked into its flank but it was too dark to see what they belonged to. He ran forward screaming a war cry with his sword held high, desperate to save the poor beast.

  But the horse's cries cut short. Something vital was severed and a gout of blood sprayed up onto the wall. The limp cadaver was slid further back into the gloom leaving a trail of slick blood on the cobbles. Invar stood there, breathing hard. He shouted a cry of rage. He gripped his sword tight and stared out into the dark.

  Then he began to hear the chattering.

  It was a cacophony of high pitched communication. A plethora of skittering claws on stone. Invar watched a thousand eyes switched on in the dark alley like little green candles. The diseased stench of the Sorrow grew overpowering and he was began to wretch. The same sinister sounds came from behind in var. Then from his left and right. He spun around and saw the same hungry eyes peering out from each of the dark escape routes from the courtyard. Invar stepped backwards towards the fire he had made next to the fountain. He stood there, sword ready, with the fire reflecting off the steel of his breastplate.

  He did not know what had ambushed him. But he knew it was the work of the Sorrow. And whatever it was had removed all trace of the population of Crowburgh.

  But where? Where are they all?

  Invar did not have long to ponder the fate of the citizenry.

  The creatures were tentative and reluctant to approach the light of the fire. But soon their bloodlust and hunger overcame this natural aversion. The first few crept out of the alley in front of Invar and edged closer to the light of the fire.

  Invar could not see them. He could see things as big as hunting dogs that had sickly hairless skin mapped with veins. The creatures circled Invar, sniffing and chittering. Testing him for weakness. The first one pounced. Invar had only a second to react. The hairless creature's dripping jaws opened wide and a scarlet tongue flickered.

  Invar sidestepped and cut the thing in two. It fell with a heavy slap onto the cobbles with the limbs still twitching. Invar took a step back and observed it in horror. It used to be rat, he thought.

  It was warped and twisted in a way only the Sorrow could play with flesh. The whole creature would have been five foot from nose to tail. Devoid of all fur and with moon-white skin. The eyes reflected the sickly disease that had mutated its flesh, green with phosphorescence. The blood that flowed from its bisected halves was also pale green as slime.

  Invar only had a few seconds to marvel in revulsion at the aberration. Another three found their opportunity and scuttled out of the dark. One clamped its jaws on Invar's leg, only the steel greave preventing his bones from snapping. He still felt the pressure though as tight as a vice. It drew fast backwards, trying to drag him out of the firelight and into the dark with its brethren. The other two snapped at his unarmored head. One of their claws caught Invar just above the brow, opening a jagged cut and causing blood to spill down into his eyes.

  Invar roared in outrage and dug his gauntlet into the cracks between the cobblestones. He jarred and stuck fast, giving him a moment to slash at the creature clamped onto his leg. A couple of hard blows and the rat's snout exploded in a glut of bone and slime. It squealed and retreated off into the gloom. Invar fought to his feet and turned on the other two. They crouched just out of reach, snapping every few moments towards his fingers. But they had learned to shy from the blade. Invar was aware of the sound of countless sets of claws in the dark all around him. The ghostly eyes drifted in careful circles, each looking for a chance to maim him and drag him away.

  The two rats in front of him hissed and pounced at once. Invar bunched his fist and punched one in the snout with a blow that broke the thing's neck. The second had attacked so fast that it impaled itself on his sword. The creature fought its way up the blade towards Invar's arm, jaws still snapping in ever weakening bites. Invar threw the thing off his sword and it landed in the fire. A shower of cinders rose up as the skin crackled. In the light that bloomed from this, Invar saw his predicament. Every inch of wall, roof and cobbles was covered in the slavering creatures. He estimated at least fifty had crawled into the courtyard, cutting off all escape.

  Invar had fought many dangerous things over the years, but numbers were numbers. He edged backwards until the back of his legs hit the low wall of the fountain.

  He had a last desperate idea.

  Without taking his eyes off the approaching predators, Invar climbed back over the wall and found himself thigh deep in cold water. He slid further back until he stood by the fountainhead. He saw the rats closing in all around. They had nothing to rush for, Invar was trapped. The paladin kept his sword at arm's length and crouched. With his teeth he tugged at the ties for his gauntlet and loosened them. Then he stuck it under his armpit and tugged the metal sheath free. It dropped into the water and vanished. He dipped his bare hand into the water and spoke.

  "Lord Angall,

  Filter your Light through this water

  Remove dark deed and thought

  And make it as pure and clear as your care for us."

  Invar felt the Magus within him ignite, focusing all his sliver of angelic power to one purpose. Like all of his kind, he knew it would drain his reserves and make him ill, but what choice did he have?

  For a moment nothing happened.

  Then the water around Invar began to glow, soft and pale as gossamer. It glimmered off his armour and lit up his face. Blessing water was a talent several paladins through the ages had possessed. It was like throwing a pinch of salt into a pond, enough to purify for drinking but little more. This time Invar had poured a soul full into the water. It bubbled with Holy Light. Invar knew it would not last long, but it offered a barrier of sorts between him and the Sorrow. The rats hissed and chattered in pain. The Light burned their eyes and their minds and they could not look at it. But their rage built each moment, and they became determined to bypass this pool of poisonous illumination.

  The first beast to try was twice the size of the others that Invar had fought. Fat bodied and grotesque, it leapt from the wall with dirty claws extended. Invar ducked as its claws struck the fountainhead, cracking the stone. The bulbous creature fell into the blessed fountain with a hideous gurgle. Its skin hissed and steamed like it was boiling alive. The beast thrashed and yelped as the holy water burned the venom in its veins. Invar raised his sword high and impaled the creature through the heart. It sank underwater in a cloud of bubbles. Invar raised his sword to face the next few brave beasts that crouched on the edge of the fountain wall. He gritted his teeth and offered them a grim smile.

  "Come on then, pretty beasts. I have warmed your bath for you."

  The rats at the edge nudged forward by the multitude behind and before they knew it they pushed into the fountain. The screams horrific as their skin sizzled and the water bubbled around them, searing them with Holy Light. Invar walked around in the fountain, the icy water sloshing about his legs. Every time of the creatures came close to the edge, he slashed its hide with his sword.

  He had a good solid position for a last stand, but that was about the best of it. For a full five minutes he hacked and slashed at the unholy warped beasts as they snapped and circled the fountain. Then, the Light in the water began to fade. The creature's predatory instincts could sense this, the way they could sense an injured animal weakening. Invar wiped the blood from his eyes as it ran from the gash in his head. The rats began to close in, leaping up on the edge of the fountain wall and squatting there like gargoyles. Invar knew that they prepared to attack as a group and he prepared himself for the fight.

  Then he became aware of a strang
e light behind him. He turned and saw a pale sickly glow emanating from one of the alleyways. It was a cold unhealthy light as far from the Holy Light around him as was possible.

  A small figure stood silhouetted in the alley. It looked like a little girl. Invar's paladin instinct told him otherwise however. This was no human child. He spat blood in the water and stood square to the small figure. Invar shouted over.

  "Is this your doing, foul puppet? Get out of this city and take your vile pets with you. This place is under protection."

  A child's laugh came from the alley.

  "Under whose protection, old man? I see no safe persons here."

  Invar's spine shivered at the voice. A child's but not a child's. Something old and without kindness.

  "Under my protection. Under the Light of Angall and the Knights of the Blaze."

  Again the unpleasant giggling. Like a child playing hide and seek.

  "There are no such things, anymore, old grandfather. We whispered to our puppet king Oligan and he snuffed out those zealots and crusaders long ago."

  Invar gritted his teeth and tasted blood. He gripped his sword tight as he heard the sniffing and squealing all around him. The rats closed in.

  "It is not dark until the last candle goes out, worm."

  The little figure stepped forward into the light and Invar saw a girl of no more than ten. A once beautiful child, now grey skinned and wizened. A husk as possessed by the Sorrow as Invar had ever seen anyone. It was smiling at him. Lank blonde hair hung around her shoulders.

  "Then snuff out, old man. Let them take you. I promise you that your death will be beautiful. Let your light fade."

  Invar looked around his knees and saw that the light in the water was fading whether he willed it or not. He knew that time was fast running out. Invar heard the mutated predators around him becoming bolder. They edged closer to the water. Some of them tried to step into the fountain but the water still burned their warped skin and they withdrew with a hiss. Invar whispered a quiet prayer to himself, making his peace with god and asking Angall to bless Alfred and the others on their quest.