by T. M. Lakomy
“Feast upon their souls,” she cried, intoxicated with fury. “Feast upon these enemies of freedom, these enemies of mankind hiding behind the banner of God.”
The demons ran wild, pouncing like ravenous beasts upon the knights unseen, savagely assaulting their auras and devouring their souls and minds. And still she stood towering above them like a pagan goddess of bygone days, thunder following in her wake. She watched dispassionately as the fires below burned red and unworldly, while the hordes swarmed around the knights in an ever expanding bloodbath. The distraction gave the artisans the chance to flee unharmed.
The knights, bewildered and not knowing what assailed them, fell back, gathering around their captain. He was a black-haired, middle-aged brute of a man, and he ordered his men to take hostages in retaliation. Waving his sword and barking for order, he then began to make examples of the artisans, slitting their throats indiscriminately—man, woman, and child.
One woman fought against her attackers particularly violently. They smote her across the face and dragged her by the hair to their leader. To Mikhail she seemed morbidly familiar with her high cheekbones and thick eyebrows. Like a ragdoll she was seized by the throat and with a single sweeping blow her throat was slit. Without so much as a cry, she fell limp before the captain’s feet, and he pushed her over to the side with contempt. He smiled triumphantly as Estella screamed from the rooftop.
Mikhail ran to the knights standing in the street amid the blood and carnage. The frenzied, suffering knights still thrashed madly while the demons feasted on their minds and souls. Mikhail shouted out to the captain amid the tumult, displaying the royal sigils upon his rings as Oswald followed him into the melee.
“The order was decreed by Cardinal Pious,” the man spat at them sourly, “to burn this place to the ground and eradicate the vermin within.” He looked at them with malignant spite but didn’t dare affront them. They were knights of a higher order than he, although they held no jurisdiction there.
Mikhail held his peace, watching the burning and killing with distaste and bitterness. He then spotted Estella emerging from a house and running towards the woman, her slit throat still gurgling. The knights attempted to cut her down, unsheathing their bloodied swords, but she cried out, and a fiery ring burst into flame around them. They backed away crying, “Witchcraft!” as the fire hounded them.
Alone, Estella wept aloud, a cry that echoed amid the carnage, sobbing in a language that pierced his heart. The artisans bowed their heads as they watched their houses burn before them. The woman touched Estella’s face and smiled despite her suffering as the blood fell in rivulets across her face. Estella tried to lift the woman, vainly staggering against her weight as a man from the inn rushed to her side.
“Tsura, they will come for you. Cover your face and hide. You honored us in life and death. Run and hide, you have our blessing.” His voice quivered but he held himself resolute, kneeling by Estella and rearranging the scarf that had fallen from her face. The knights gathered around them with torches.
“Burn alive, witches, you abominations of God!” they cried, spurring their horses towards Estella.
Mikhail summoned his might and the horses halted abruptly, shaking their riders from their backs. The man, taking advantage of the diversion, hauled Estella away, pushing her forward into the darkness of the night while she struggled and hit at him with all of her failing strength.
5
WADING INTO FATE
It sat upon its lofty throne erected upon your cranial seat
And drove the stakes of conquest into your brain
For never shall the waves of solace and comfort meet
In that sundered solitary heart wildly insane
MIKHAIL SURVEYED THE CHAOS SOLEMNLY. THEN, WITH A SINGLE, succinct prayer, he bound the demons as they fled, vanishing like mist from the square. He walked seven times around the scene muttering incantations. As he worked, the afflicted knights ceased their writhing and lay alleviated, gasping for breath.
With the air cleared, the moon showed her argent face, casting its pure white light on the destruction below. The wind whispered solace to the survivors as they stood among the wreckage of their homes, broken and shaken, their hearts laden with vengeful sorrow and shock. Mikhail cautiously approached the woman with the slit throat and knelt beside her, cradling her head to feel the abode of her soul. He found it empty. Instead, he found a little demon lurking within. It hid from him artfully, but he coaxed it out with a few words and the threat of his sigil ring.
“Who are you and what are you doing within this woman?” Mikhail demanded sternly. “Talk!”
“I lived here comfortably, my lord,” croaked the demon. “Please don’t bind me! I was Florica’s pet, and I kept her company, nothing more. Harmless, she would have told you I was.”
“And what was this Florica to Estella?” he inquired.
The demon shrank away as if struck, shaking like a leaf. “I am bound by bigger spells than you know of. My tongue is tied, my lord. And I know no Estella, though I know of Tsura.”
“Tsura? Is that Estella’s true name?” But heavy footsteps distracted him and the demon fled at the opportunity. Mikhail crossed himself and blessed the woman respectfully, looking over her features perturbed. He couldn’t guess her story, but she was surely Estella’s kin—her similar features attested to this.
“Well, this shall forever mar our chances of reconciling with the Twilit,” said Oswald as he approached from behind. “And I think we may be falling out of papal favor ourselves.” His jaw was clenched tightly. “Though I have an idea of how I may remedy this a little.”
“I’m going to Red Fern Manor, it’s time to pay Estella a call,” said Mikhail.
Oswald grunted in acquiescence.
“Where is Elmer?” Mikhail added irritably.
“Looking after the victims,” Oswald replied, sounding defeated. This was precisely what they had tried to avoid—an attack on the Twilit people, the schism the church was deliberately creating.
“The devil is in the house of God,” came an ominous whisper from behind them. Oswald and Mikhail whipped around only to see an old woman clutching the walls as she walked. She was blind in both eyes and toothless, her skin sagging like crumpled old parchment. “The devil is among the sheep. Beware, you will be next.” Then she hurriedly hobbled away, shooting furtive looks at the pair as she went. Mikhail shook his head and stood to leave.
“Do you even know your way?” Oswald called out behind him.
“I’m following her trail. It’s like wildfire, you cannot miss it,” Mikhail called back, disappearing into the night.
ESTELLA WAS IN bed, her hair untied and a goblet of wine on the dresser next to her. There was an entire bottle open next to it, newly decanted, and she was lying face down on her bed sobbing. She had cast off her plain garments and lay there in her pale yellow underdress, her body heaving. A few of the children anxiously congregated outside her door, but none dared enter, for when Estella was upset she wanted solitude. She had bolted the manor doors like she had not done in quite a while, stationing archers to watch over Red Fern Manor.
“I could have averted that, you know,” came the suave, oily voice of the androgynous demon standing by the window, savoring the spectacle of her sorrow. Estella ignored him, covering her face with her hands, her body quivering uncontrollably. He tutted with feigned sympathy, detaching himself from the window and slinking up to crouch over her.
“Get off me you filth,” she spat, removing her hands from her face and revealing a mask of agony and wrath.
He licked his lips appreciatively and his waist-length black hair fell over Estella like a drape. “Let me avenge you, my pretty one. I can give you their eyes on a platter and their hearts on a skewer, just allow me to share your soul!” He bent down suddenly, kissing Estella on the mouth.
Outraged, she tried to push him off, but the demon pinned her arms down, his face close to hers. “Tell me you don’t want reve
nge, my doll.” His face was close, breathing into hers. Even at that proximity she struggled to tell whether he was male or female.
“Oh, for you I am definitely male,” he purred, pressing his body further into hers. With a cry of disgust, she pushed him away, invoking a ward sign. The demon hissed shrilly. “None of that!” he warned her icily, his blue eye becoming a pool of darkness.
Her chest began to tighten rapidly until she couldn’t breathe. He smiled as she gulped in shock, choking and clutching her neck, one hand pressing against her heart. The demon kneeled over her, tracing his fingers across her bosom, slowly edging beneath the fabric of her undergarment.
“See, I am not your enemy, I am your only friend and I admire you. You’re beautiful and dangerous, and you have much more power than you know how to unlock.” He bent down to her ear and she recoiled with a shiver. “I can help unlock it for you. And while I exact revenge on your behalf, you could give me what I want . . .”
With one last, urgent struggle she broke free from his spell, frantically bellowing a warding chant. He retreated from her gracefully as she continued chanting. But her voice, hoarse from sobbing, soon began to fail, cracking with each renewed breath. The demon approached again, smiling, this time lying next to her and stretching luxuriously, caressing her hair.
“Poor star of the sea, you are wounded like a deer caught in flight.” His fingers found her neck as she jolted in disgust. “I know you want my help but not my price. Believe me, once you get your revenge and give me what I want of you, it will be the last thing you think of. You will have the power you desire.” His fingers reached for her lips as she smacked him angrily away. Raising her hand, she resumed her chanting. The demon laughed, slinking back to the window. “I will return tomorrow. I know your rage and your heart’s moods. And maybe in your dreams I can give you a taste of the pleasure I can offer you.” He laughed knowingly and vanished.
Estella sighed with relief, falling back onto her bed. She reached for the wine, pouring herself a goblet and drinking deeply. Her head ached, and she felt tainted by the demon’s touch. She lit the candles in the sconces, then crawled into her bed and curled up.
Her dreams had not yet begun when she felt the presence of something in her room stirring. She turned grudgingly to find the count closing the door behind him with a grim expression on his face. The candles in the sconces were still burning and the game of lights cast a yellow glow on his fine features. He did not move or speak, but his bearing conveyed warning and dark purpose. Estella swore in disbelief, fumbling beneath her pillow to retrieve a poisoned dagger.
“I need to talk with you, Estella,” Mikhail said at length, coming closer to her bed.
“I can tell you crawled your way to your position, you base born dog! You brought those murderers against my people,” she whispered in a deadly tone, wetting her lips.
“I am innocent of the carnage upon your people,” Mikhail frowned. “That was the blind hatred of the church.”
Estella’s face crumpled as tears ran down her cheeks. Mikhail sat next to her on the edge of the bed with an expression of concern as she shook with emotion, her eyes averted.
“Of late my searches always begin and end with you,” Mikhail sighed. “You are an elusive piece of an unknown puzzle. Talk to me about what happened, Estella. This time, no games.”
In one swift move, Estella had drawn the dagger and held it to Mikhail’s throat. Mikhail flinched, as he felt the edge of the dagger graze his skin.
Estella stood over him with dry, triumphant eyes, her face twisted into an ugly mask. “The dagger is poisoned. Should I but nick the skin, the effect will be deadly. You ought to be flattered, you will be joining the ranks of other hapless fools who thought to enter my chambers unannounced and unwanted.”
“You would be murdering the only man alive who can save you from what is coming,” Mikhail replied. “I came to learn from you the truth, so that I may confront the danger that stalks you. He is coming for you!” Mikhail remained perfectly still, aware of the swift death that awaited at his throat. “I came here led by a vision. A hand guided me to you, and I knew not what it was till I learned the extent of your sight. Then I realized your potential, yet I still had to discern why you could be crucial to him.” He leaned on his arm and inhaled deeply, struggling to maintain his composure. Estella raised a brow in mock puzzlement, but her eyes betrayed a brewing panic.
“Who is after me, Templar? Who is it now? Talk or I’ll make your death even more painful.” The false assurance in the tenor of her voice was weak and her pitch elevated.
“Samael himself!” Mikhail hissed coldly, his face covered with a sheet of sweat.
Estella blanched.
“The Blind One will destroy all those who carry the bright flames that can tip the balance of the chessboard between the gods,” Mikhail continued. “Better to die than be his prey.”
Estella caught a sliver of the horror Mikhail had seen, which he had deliberately projected onto her like the flail of a whip. She searched the room furtively with her eyes, as if the mere mention of Samael’s name could conjure him.
“Tell me, what do they want from you?” Mikhail asked urgently. “You owe me at least this grace before taking my life. I tried to protect you. Whose tool are you?”
Hesitantly, she withdrew the dagger from his throat.
“Why couldn’t you talk plainly before?” she countered. “I thought you were going to betray me to the church. There is always some demon after my gift.” She gave him a look of misgiving.
“Tell what you are, Estella, or what you have done, then I can at least warn you,” he murmured.
“I have sight, that is true, but more than that I can extend my sight so far into the void that, unlike mere Twilit fortune tellers, I can see what goes on beyond the veil, the angels and their nemesis and the secrets of creation that no one has ever dreamed of. I always knew I was alone in that gift, as none else could comprehend me. But why would Samael pursue me? Speak!”
With bewildering rapidity and strength, Mikhail rose up, wrenching the dagger from her hand. Spinning her around, he pressed it against her neck.
Estella choked out a shrill scream as he tightened his grip. Then she composed herself, mustering her outraged dignity with the blade now pressed against her throat.
“Were you lying to me about Samael? But of course, you must be! You are in league with those demons that have plagued my life for as long as I can remember.”
Mikhail released some of the knife’s pressure and observed her with genuine discomfort.
“I trusted beneath that veneer of cruelty you had something that was kind,” he began, “and I trust I am a worthy audience for your story. But tell me of your own accord, before I begin the game of torture that you wished to inflict upon me.” He spoke lightly but with an underscore of warning.
Estella turned her face to him, the incandescent flame in her eyes dripping hatred. “What do you wish to know about a hapless woman who did not ask for her gifts?” she replied slowly.
“Start with who you are, Tsura,” said Mikhail releasing her, “and be truthful. Then we can progress as to why I suspect Samael is after you.”
6
REVELATIONS OF THE DANCER
I am the deluge of sorrow and the bereaved weeping in the plain
I am the last ray of sunlight hunting a lost echo in the vale
When my spark is devoured whole and relieves me of my pain
I am still the oil in a dying lamp held by a fool’s hope frail
“I AM NOT DUKE DELCOUR’S DAUGHTER, THOUGH HE NEVER KNEW. He consummated his marriage to the contessa in Portugal, and there she gave birth to Duchess Estella of Delcour. The contessa and her daughter remained there for five years. You see it was a marriage of convenience, not love. Portugal had the trade the duke wanted through the alliance.”
Mikhail frowned faintly, his keen attention fixed on Estella.
“And then Duke Delcour woke up one morning
and had an epiphany, and guess what it was? He needed an heir, and none of his illegitimate bastards would suffice. And because he was sickly, he decided to secure his lands and inheritance through his daughter, and then sire more children on the contessa. So he sent a large retinue to fetch the contessa and her daughter to him.” Estella tilted her head and produced from the folds of her dress a locket, pensively wiping it with her fingers, her lucent eyes gleaming with memory.
“They traveled across those beautiful lands and entered into the Frankish kingdoms. All was well until one night, on the return journey, the carriage was attacked. The duke had sent his prize warriors and champions for the parade to bring his wife and child home, and they killed off the assailants. But the robbers had already made off with most of the jewels—and with several lives. This included the contessa and her child.
“Then they were terribly afraid. They knew the duke would hang them, confiscate their lands, and then turn his wrath on their families. Not out of love, but out of spite and pride that his dignity had been affronted and his honor besmirched in such a way. So they bethought themselves to find a way around it. They cleaned up the carriage and set it back together, for the axle had broken. Then they buried the bodies and set off hunting in the neighboring villages and towns till they found what they needed and more, for on their way they came upon a family of poor travelers. And the duke’s champion Sir Ryan noted that they were dark skinned like the people of Portugal.
“A certain couple among them had a little girl exactly the same age as the duke’s precious heir. So Sir Ryan conceived in his brilliant mind a plausible story that told how the carriage was attacked by robbers and how he had fought valiantly to save the contessa, but alas, he had failed. But with his last ounce of strength he had valiantly managed to save the life of the duke’s beloved heir. And with that Sir Ryan cut the family down—or rather cut down the father who stood in his way, and the older siblings. But the woman, who had the gift of sight, used her magic to move the hearts of the knights, and she succeeded; they spared her and carried her little daughter away crying.