Chapter XI

With the setting of the sun the Inquisition's Monastery rang the bells, the signal for all citizens to go home. There was a strictly enforced curfew in the Inquisition's lands, for so often crime took place in the cover of darkness. Even those sleeping in homes other than their own for a night had to explain to the inquisitors exactly why, and not all answers were considered satisfactory. Those caught violating the curfew were locked in dark cells in the dungeons under the monastery for weeks at a time, with just enough food and water to survive. In said cells they were often beaten in the pitch blackness by inquisitors who were skilled enough to sneak up on them without a sound and hit them by surprise. After that they never violated curfew again, they became afraid of the dark. Still most of the citizenry was content with this set of rules, because they all felt safe enough to leave their doors unlocked and their windows open when they went to sleep at night during the hot summers, and in the winter time this gave them an excuse to sleep in, spend more time with their families, and work less.

Once the day-guards and inquisitors were all inside and the night-watch was out on the streets, Father Gonen, the Grand Inquisitor, went into the Sacred Sanctum, a place where only the Grand Inquisitor himself was permitted. All others who had entered that room had dropped dead instantly, in some cases even previous Grand Inquistors who had proven themselves to be unworthy. This was why whenever the Grand Inquisitor entered said room, through the black curtains that hid what was inside, he always wore a rope around his ankle, so that if he were to be unworthy and die other inquisitors could pull him out without having to enter the Sacred Sanctum and risk the justice of Sandalphon. The very aura of the place was enough to scare off all bugs and rodents who otherwise had free reign over every other room in the monastery.

The Sacred Sanctum had only seven candles in it, candles that were only lit when a Grand Inquisitor was present in the room, and that he was required to put out before he left. In the center of the sanctum was a stone altar, with the name of Sandalphon written upon it. Father Gonen approached the altar and produced a knife from his robe. He cut the palm of his hand and let his blood fall upon the altar. “Sandalphon, I, a sinner, humbly approach your altar and ask for communion with you. I concede that your will is far more important than mine and your council is far wiser than any wisdom I may, in my hubris, think I have.”

The ground shook, and a hole tore open in the floor on the other side of the idol. The hole seemed to stretch on forever down under the ground, and Father Gonen could hear the sound of something climbing up the hole. Ten fingers that looked as if they were made of glass grasped the edge of the hole, and soon Sandalphon climbed up and stood before Father Gonen. He was two heads taller than the average human, and had seven crystal horns on top of his head, arranged like a crown. Coming from his back were wings, like those of a bird, also made of crystal. The wings reflected the light of the candles across the room, magnifying it, and lighting up the Sacred Sanctum far better than it was before. His eyes resembled sapphires, and his voice was deep and grainy, and unnervingly calm. For how hard the inquisitors tried to be emotionless, or at least seem emotionless, the eery lack of inflection in his voice far surpassed anything they could ever aspire to.

“Gonen, what troubles you?”

Gonen knelt and averted his eyes, as was standard protocol when speaking to Sandalphon. “Forgive me my sin, Sandalphon, but I fear for Grigori. Doubt and fear. By my fault, by my most grievous fault!”

“You must not let this fear rule over you. Indulging in fear leads to cowardice, which prevents you from doing what's right,” Sandalphon said.

“I know.”

“Grigori is facing the greatest test of his life. Even at this moment he struggles with the sin of pity. He has also struggled with hunger, rage, and desire. I sense that desire, worst of all, will tempt him.”

“Poor Grigori! Will he overcome these temptations?”

“You know that even I cannot tell the future, Gonen, for the future is not set in stone as the Law is. I believe in his abilities and his virtue, though. That is why I chose him for this quest. He is punishing himself for his pity as we speak, which will undoubtedly purge such sinful feelings from his heart.”

“Maybe we shouldn't have sent him,” Gonen said. “his very soul is at risk.”

“Ah, there is the doubt coupled with your fear, Father Gonen. Be sure that you purge yourself of your sins once our communion is done, or you will no longer be worthy of entering the Sacred Sanctum. Understood?”

“Yes. I apologize, Sandalphon. It is my fault! My most grievous fault!”

“You are all soldiers in the holiest of wars, a spiritual war over the souls of mankind. This war is not always fought with swords or arrows, but rather is fought with words and actions, prayer and faith. Grigori has been sent to the front-lines, where he can achieve victory, but in order for him to have a chance at achieving victory he must risk his soul. Do not fear for his soul, he agreed to put it to the risk, and if he falls do not pity him, for he still has a choice. If he falls he chooses his own damnation, and becomes the enemy.”

“I understand.”

“Write to Grigori. Tell him in your letter that the King of Arx is holding a deep secret, and tell him to do everything in his power to remain in the King's castle so that he may find this secret and use it as leverage. The King of Arx is our key to bringing the Inquisition to the rest of the land, and our key to gaining the military might we'll need to destroy the warlocks of Nihilus. On that day the grass will be stained with the blood of countless blasphemers, and the souls of the faithful will finally be safe.”

Elsewhere, in Nihilus, the land where the worst of all “blasphemers” dwelt, Boanne and Therion listened to Deidra's newest prophecy, though with great difficulty figuring out what it meant.

“The third crystalline hand of the idol shall birth a terrible wound, the likes of which the flesh shall never experience. In that wound rubble shall fall into nothing. She shall have four horns upon her head, each one enforcing her will over the princes of the air. The seventh shall see paradise and weep openly, tears of gray. From this vessel's own oven will come a pair that will bring no hope.”

For a moment after this they waited to see if she had any more to say, and when they knew for certain she was done Therion shook his head. “It's getting harder and harder for us to understand her.”

“I agree,” Boanne said. “I'm terribly sorry, your Majesty, but I have no idea what that prophecy meant. I wrote it all down so that I can study the words carefully later and maybe come up with something, but I'm afraid for now I've got nothing.”

“Deidra.”

“Yes, sire?” Deidra said. She snapped out of her trance and looked up at Therion from the chair she'd been lounging in with her big, black eyes, her curly blonde locks falling over her face. Everything Deidra did, when not in a trance and spouting her incomprehensible prophecies, Therion found to be beyond adorable, bringing forth a feeling in him that he didn't know he still could feel after how much he'd hardened his heart; affection. He'd been interested in other women before, certainly, but his attraction to them could best be described as lust, passion, or sometimes even a more strategic interest, or perhaps something to do with gain. Deidra was somehow different, and not just because she was a soothsayer.

“Do you remember any of that last prophecy? Any idea what it means?” Therion asked.

“What prophecy?” Deidra tilted her head to one side, clearly confused by his question.

Therion sighed. “We thought as much. Can't ask the soothsayer what her prophecies mean, if she's coherent enough to speak she's not tapped into the minds of the daemons at the moment. Never mind, Deidra. It's getting late. Why don't we all retire for the night?”

“I could use some rest,” Boanne said. “Maybe a clearer head will help me comprehend the prophecy better.”

“I'm not sleepy yet,” Deidra said.

“Then do what you usually do to get to sleep,” Therion said with a smirk. “Jump on the bed for about an hour.”

And so the three of them headed off to their separate rooms, but they did not all sleep so soundly. Boanne was thoroughly exhausted from the day, so she fell asleep pretty quickly, but Therion, still wondering about Deidra's prophecy, and even worried about what it might mean, lied awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling. Deidra had said, “The seventh shall see paradise and weep openly tears of gray.” It was the only part of Deidra's prophecy that seemed close to comprehensible, and it was the part that caused him great fear. He was the seventh-born prince, thus he feared it was about him. He liked the idea of seeing paradise, that, of course, sounded good, but the prophecy saying that he'd weep openly suggested that something was terrible about this. Would he see paradise but not be able to enter it? he did think perhaps the tears were tears of joy, but the words “tears of gray” seemed to suggest they were anything but happy tears.

As Therion lay there, thinking about this, he heard the sound of something clicking in his door and the door slowly creaking open. Apparently the click was the door unlocking, and Therion reached for the dagger he kept under his pillow. The door closed behind the figure that had walked in, and as Therion sat up in his bed, his dagger in his hand, he could see that it was not an assassin as he feared.

Deidra had walked into his room, but at the same time it seemed she was not Deidra. Her expression was the first thing to give this away, as she had the same look in her eyes that she normally did when she was delivering a prophecy. The daemons had control over her at the moment. The second thing that gave away that she was not entirely herself was what she was wearing. Deidra was wearing a see-through, white slip, and apparently nothing underneath. Even in the dim light of the moon coming through Therion's window he could see this, and was in awe of her slender curves and soft features. She walked towards Therion's bed, her hips swaying gently, and crawled on the foot of the bed, her eyes transfixed on his, and one of the straps of the transparent slip slid off her shoulder.

“Deidra?” Therion said. Often when she was in a trance saying her name got her to snap out of it.

“Shhh...” Deidra, or rather the daemons controlling her, whispered back. “This vessel wants this, though she lacks the nerve. This reward for her service we give her. Will you deny her? Will you deny us?”

Therion trembled a little. He was a man, and so the thought of taking Deidra that night, making love to her, did cross his mind, and it was very tempting. The sight of her body through that see-through slip as she crawled towards him drove him wild, but at the same time this felt so very wrong. She was not truly doing this herself, even if it was what she wanted, as the daemons said. It was they who were driving her forward to do this. Could he really say this was her choice? “Can we speak to Deidra?”

“Deidra chose us to speak for her for now. Easier it is for us to communicate something so simple as desire is.” Deidra's hands roamed over Therion's muscled chest, causing him to shiver at the softness of her fingertips. “Where is the beast this vessel so desires? Suddenly so afraid is the beast to capture his prey?”

Under normal circumstances Therion might have questioned why the daemons were so clear when speaking through Deidra during a seduction but so vague when they spoke through her for a prophecy, but he was hardly in a position to think of anything of the sort. Everything about Deidra in her current state was intoxicating. Therion justified it in his head, based on what the daemons told him. Deidra wanted this, she was just far too shy, far too afraid to go after it on her own. How long Deidra had wanted him Therion didn't know, but looking as she did he could hardly refuse her.

The daemons pushed Deidra forward until her lips met with Therion's, and she brought her hand up to his cheek. Therion could resist no more, and brought Deidra in close. He wrapped his strong arms around her and held her tightly as their tongues probed each other and the sounds of their moans filled the King's bedroom for hours.

The warmth of the sunlight peering in the window awakened Deidra early in the morning, and when her eyes opened she found herself staring up at a ceiling she didn't recognize, and suddenly wondering where she was. It was only when she tried to sit up that she felt the weight of something on her chest, an arm that was not her own. Clearly it was not her own, for it was muscular and covered in hair. For a second she stopped and made sure, counting her own arms and then looking down at the one across her chest. Unless she'd grown an extra arm during the night. How amazing would that be? To grow an extra arm, but one that didn't look like the others. Hoping that this was what happened she followed the arm to her left and saw who it belonged to. “Your Majesty?”

Therion stirred and awakened. “Oh, you're awake.”

“Where are we?” Deidra looked him over and then came to a startling realization. “By Prunikos! You're naked!” She jumped out of bed and backed up, then looked down and realized something else about the situation. “And I'm naked!” She yanked the blankets off of the bed to cover herself, in the process uncovering Therion, which in turn caused her to cover her eyes, drop that very same blanket, and stammer incoherently for a few moments.

“It's alright, Deidra, let me explain...”

“The daemons granted my wish?”

Therion paused for a moment. “...We guess so. Is that so surprising?”

“It worked, that is surprising. Didn't think you'd like me.”

“Oh, Deidra.” Therion walked over to her and gave her a tight hug. “Why so self-conscious?”

“...Never mind,” Deidra said, “Was it satisfactory?”

Therion tried hard not to laugh at the question. Truth be told it was far more than “satisfactory,” if anything after her performance the previous night he may as well have asked if it was satisfactory for her, though it seemed she remembered none of it. “It was great, Deidra.”

“Good. I didn't know exactly what they'd do.”

“What?”

“Well, I asked them to help me make you like me. I said by any means necessary.”

Therion had never truly thought of himself as being so basic that copulation was the only way to get him to like a woman, but apparently the daemons thought him so. Or perhaps they merely thought of this as the simplest way. “Do you regret that they chose to do...this?”

“No!” Deidra said immediately. “Just wish...I could...remember it...” The more she said the redder her face got.

“Well, if you're feeling brave enough any time soon maybe we should do it again without their help.”