The Fall of Ossard Read online

  Maria sobbed.

  My eyes narrowed. “Regardless, I’m sure he can find a way around the castings your master put on me, and then your own shameful secret will be out. If I burn at the stake at least I’ll have company.”

  He could only stare at me as the colour drained from his face.

  I reached forward and picked up Maria, my poor daughter trying to push me away. With her in my arms, despite her resistance, I growled at Pedro, “Get ready!”

  Without a word he got up and headed upstairs.

  One of the voices in my head roused itself from its silence. It was the strongest and only stirred to laugh. Behind that hard bark I could hear the crack and snap of flames and the cries of a horrified crowd.

  A large crowd waited outside the Malnobla. The people of the city, scared and insecure, had come to see the newly arrived Inquisitor. Some waved branches of oleander while others clutched holy symbols such as the eight-pointed star of St Baimio. Many simply prayed.

  We arrived in our own coach with Maria and Sef. Our daughter was to go straight into the care of Pedro’s mother while the three of us would head for the council chamber.

  Each of us said an awkward goodbye to her in the entry hall; Pedro, because like all of us he loved her; Sef, because he hated having her taken out of his care; and me because I wondered if I’d be handed straight to the Inquisition and never get to see her again. At such thoughts the voices within me stirred in riled indignation.

  They’d never let that happen!

  I cursed them. They’d done nothing for me so far but bring me grief.

  I picked up Maria and held her close. She sensed something was wrong, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak of it. I just thought of my love for her. Lost in that focus and oblivious to all else another voice whispered in my head, “I love you too, Mama.”

  I opened my eyes to see hers locked on mine. Her gaze began to soften, and as I stood there certain we’d again touched minds, Pedro pulled her away.

  He whispered, his voice apologetic, “We must be quick, they’re waiting.” His anger had faded.

  Heinz Kurgar sat at the council table smiling in greeting. Beside him sat another guildsman, while four more stood behind him. I was shown to a seat, as was Sef, but Pedro, to his annoyance, was asked to stand.

  About us also sat Lord Liberigo, the captain of the city guard, and the head of the Merchants’ Guild, while other lesser officials stood. The five remaining chairs were reserved for churchmen with three of them already taken by the priests and monk who’d sat with us yesterday. The arrangement left two empty seats for the Benefice and Inquisitor.

  Pale and tired faces sat around that table. I guessed, like me, no one had slept well last night. Hopefully today’s proceedings would bring some reassurance, but I couldn’t help but think we’d only hear more unsettling information.

  After a short wait, the door opened to reveal the Benefice. He entered wearing a smug grin and leading a tall man robed in black. That other man wore a matching skullcap embroidered in golden thread set in a repeating pattern. With a stern and long face, its length exaggerated by a neatly trimmed beard, his hair, once black, now shone through white. His appearance lent him a distinguished air, but it was also severe.

  The voices in my head rose to hiss in anger, and for a moment the stink of smoke and burning flesh haunted me. I had to close my eyes and concentrate to take back my senses. The feeling left me shaken and even less prepared for the meeting.

  Vassini led the man to their seats. All the while the Benefice glanced about the table challenging anyone to disrespect him now.

  They arrived to stand before their chairs. One of the priests called, “All stand for the righteous, Inquisitor Anton and Benefice Vassini.”

  Hesitantly, but led by Lord Liberigo, we did.

  Benefice Vassini and the Inquisitor nodded in acknowledgement before taking their seats. That done we all followed.

  Lord Liberigo cleared his throat. “Benefice Vassini, would you care to handle proceedings?”

  The Benefice gave a wry smile. “To cope with this time of great crisis, something I might add foreseen by the Church, we have requested and received the services of the Holy Inquisition. I present to you Inquisitor Anton of the Expeditia Puritanica.

  The man gave a curt nod, but didn’t speak.

  The Benefice, a little flustered, continued, “Immediately after his arrival this morning we took Inquisitor Anton to the ritual site at his own request. He has already begun his investigation and convened this meeting, and thus I give him to you to speak.”

  And all eyes went to the Inquisitor.

  He seemed distant, as if he hadn’t been listening. Instead he sat there looking at the centre of the table as though staring at something only he could see.

  Was he searching the celestial?

  I forced myself to relax, my vision growing clearer as it jumped to a new level. Everything fell into shades of blue and black, the only exception being the flaring soul-lights of those who sat about me.

  I looked to the same spot as the Inquisitor, and there it was; some kind of beast.

  It hunkered down snarling and snapping. Jagged lines, something akin to horns and barbs, showed through its bright glare. With its every move it sent showers of black sparks spraying off of its horrid brilliance. It let out a deep and rumbling growl as it focussed its bitterness on the Inquisitor.

  He showed no fear.

  A straining sensation made my newfound perception falter and fall out of that world and back into ours.

  In the real world, all those about the table still waited for him to speak, yet he made no effort.

  Just as Benefice Vassini turned to prompt him, the Inquisitor’s eyes found focus and his hard voice rang out. “This city is doomed.” And after a deep pause he added, “The taint of many things haunts the streets of your city, a city that needs to be reborn to be saved. It is my grave duty to tell you that much birthing blood will flow before it may yet rise again.”

  And silence followed.

  “The agents of the Horned God walk here and do so almost freely. In their company are many who would smash the glory of Krienta. I can taste forbidden cults, cabalists, the wicked Sisterhood, and even the basest of magics, Green Witchery. This city is damned in many ways, but worst of all because it has chosen to be.”

  He then turned to stare at me, and I knew that my truth was revealed. “How can you hope to save the city when you’re so blind to the problem and its enemies?”

  Lord Liberigo and Benefice Vassini, both in their own ways responsible for the state of the city, sat stunned at the Inquisitor’s easy damning. Angered by such words, Lord Liberigo replied, “If those before you are so ignorant, why don’t you explain the problem and how to fix it? We need solutions, not theatrics!”

  The Inquisitor, cold and calm, gave him his answer. “Only an army of butchers can clean this place.” Then he resumed his silence.

  We joined him, stunned and mute.

  At first I wondered if he was mad. Then the thought arose, cold and clammy, trying to lift itself out of a chill sea of stinking brine; what if his words were true?

  A deep corruption had taken root in the city. Pedro had even said as much, it infesting the highest levels. As hideous as it sounded, perhaps we did need an army of butchers.

  As I considered his words others recovered. Kurgar was the first and simply laughed. “You can’t be serious! The city is beset by nothing more than a gang of kidnappers, perhaps with links to some cult or other. We’re probably up against twenty men, not some dark army!”

  “Silence!” The Inquisitor bellowed, and his voice roared backed by angels.

  Thoughts of laughter died.

  He began afresh. “I fight a war, a war to keep my people and my Church safe from corruption. While you consider yourself Heletian, of Krienta, or part of the Heletian League, you will listen to me and do what I say.

  “Some of you believe that all that is happening in
this incestuous city is the usual good business against an unfortunate backdrop of a little kidnapping. In truth, some of you wouldn’t care if the missing children were just being sold into slavery, and are only marginally more concerned that they’re being used to feed ritual magic.

  “This is wrong, and I have come to correct your thinking.

  “There are more factions sitting around this table than you know, and if we work together we can all get out of this what we need. There will be hard work ahead and much of it unpleasant, but you must believe me when I tell you that the situation is desperate.”

  Lord Liberigo interrupted the Inquisitor. “I assure you that I take the threat seriously, but what is the threat, what is happening to our city?”

  Inquisitor Anton looked at the assembled faces, his gaze lingering on me. He stood and said, “I wage a war against the servants of the Horned God. You all know this, it is after all what the Inquisition is for, but do you have any idea of what it means?”

  He let a silence settle, and then continued, “It means that I right what is wrong. I don’t do it for one poor soul, but for all our people. It sounds noble and I suppose is, but in its doing I am tasked with terrible deeds. I have orphaned children because their parents succumbed to heresy, but that’s not the worst of my judgements, I have also razed villages and even once a whole town.

  “Because of my work I am marked for damnation by a hundred different gods, all aspects of the same dark power. You see, I am the one sacrificing all, not the ones I judge, and I do it so the rest of you may live on through salvation.

  “You all have a chance at an afterlife. It’s your reward for the hard existence we lead here, but I will never see those heavenly fields, walk those olive groves, or see us dine together in a golden vineyard while relishing divine wine. My reward for fighting heresy in this life is damnation in the next. I shall be a plaything of the pits, the bitch-slave of dark powers, yet I would not change a thing. It is my penance.”

  His eyes came to rest on me as he continued, “If it means burning the high ladies of every Heletian city for witchery, I will, even if I have to build the pyres and light the fires myself. But on occasion some types of evil can be found to work towards good.” His eyes shifted to Kurgar. “Then there are times when we all need to work together regardless of where we come from or who we think our real enemies are.

  “Tell me of the people waving and burning oleander. They speak of Saint Santana, protector of children, an unknown to me. They also speak of her lady, one Juvela Liberigo.”

  The Benefice answered, “We’d not heard of Saint Santana either, not until yesterday. A lone Heletite began preaching of her in Market Square. Amidst the fear of the kidnappings he’s found it easy to gather believers.”

  “And what was this so-called Heletite doing for his flock?”

  Vassini answered, “Selling relics and amulets.”

  “And where is he now?”

  “Dead,” the Benefice said curtly.

  Surprised looks passed about the table.

  “I see, and how did that come to pass?”

  “He killed himself last night.”

  “I see. How convenient. Has word spread of our Heletite’s death?”

  Vassini looked down to his hands where they nursed each other on the table. “We tried to suppress the news, but it still seems to have found the street. They say that I killed him, personally, that I strangled the very life out of him. They call him a martyr!” The Benefice opened his hands and flexed his plump fingers.

  The monk beside Vassini added, “And already there are other Heletites preaching.”

  Inquisitor Anton nodded. “I see, and what of Lady Juvela? I believe she is here amongst us.” His eyes turned to me.

  “I am, Inquisitor.”

  “So, what is your connection to this false saint?”

  “None, we just saw the Heletite selling relics in Market Square.”

  “Did you speak with him?”

  “No.”

  “Did he talk to you as part of his preaching, perhaps pointing you out in the crowd or some such thing?”

  “No, not that I know of.”

  “Did you buy one of his trinkets?”

  “No.”

  “So, why are you claimed as the saint’s lady?” His gaze was piercing.

  “I don’t know. We never spoke to the Heletite, and only listened for the briefest of time.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What happened after you left him?”

  I took a deep breath and told my tale, “The Cathedral bells began to toll for the sixth kidnapping as we moved on. People panicked. In the chaos I noticed a lady crying out and trying to shield her child. I went to help, and it was then that I disturbed the kidnapper…”

  He corrected me, “The cultist?”

  “Yes. I was scared, but also so angry about the kidnappings that I just charged him.”

  “And stabbed him?”

  “Yes.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Do you normally walk the streets armed?”

  “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 cred
ence? 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 godfearing 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!”