Chapter XXXIV

A philosophy born on the idea that what we, as mere human beings, want is innately evil. A religion bent on the very idea of giving up free will for the sake of some greater good we cannot understand.

Emylas could think of nothing more abominable than that.

With four Rahmit at his back Emylas broke into one of the houses in Nox to find a sleeping witch-hunter.

Perfect.

Strike them down before they become a real threat.

He drove his dagger into the sleeping witch hunter's chest over and over. Streams of red followed each stroke.

A jab in the lungs so that he could not scream.

A stab in the heart so that he would die quickly.

Another in the heart to spread the blood.

Another in the lungs.

Another in the heart.

When he was sure the witch hunter was gone, he knelt over the blood pouring on the ground and used it to draw glyphs on the stone floor. “Spirits of the dead who linger in this place, those of you who desperately wish for a taste of life again, accept this blood as an offering. Make a covenant with me this day. Help me to slay my enemies and I will offer you much more.”

Total silence. Then the wind blew around him, and what appeared to be wisps of white smoke descended onto the blood. The blood seemed to evaporate from the ground as the spirits drank it up. Soon Emylas could see faces in the smoke. Faint, but they were there. The faces they wore in their most recent lives.

“Follow me,” Emylas said, “And there will be much more where that came from. Soon enough you'll feel like you never died!”

With the ghosts following him, Emylas took to the streets again, walking with total confidence.

From the shadows a witch-hunter leaped to attack him. Immediately the spirits surrounded the witch-hunter, seized him by his arms, and forced him to the ground.

“Good!” Emylas said with a wide smile. “Just like that! We're a team now.”

“What the...?” the witch-hunter yelled, flailing against the spirits. “Let me go! What is this?”

Emylas drove his dagger into the witch-hunter's chest. “An offering,” he said. “Not one that you would understand, though.” He drew his dagger and stabbed over and over to ensure that the spirits would have as much blood as they needed. Again they drank from the blood. This time, though, he could see their mouths open up and take it in. Bony hands formed in the white smoke.

Crash! Emylas' jerked his head up and saw a woman in a black cassock limping through the streets, clearly fleeing from something. In spite of the injury to her leg, she was moving surprisingly fast. She briefly glanced in his direction and their eyes met. “The Grand Inquisitor!” He muttered. “After her!”

Both he and the spirits dashed down the street in pursuit of Yashen.

. . .

Every other step Yashen took was total agony, but she couldn't stop fleeing, not even for a second. Those bizarre creatures were after her, as was the sorcerer covered in blood and the spirits who accompanied him. Sandalphon was brave enough to cover her escape, so she had to be brave enough not to give up.

Each step echoed through the city, as did her groans as she limped along. She'd never be able to hide from them at this rate. Even with the screams she heard in the distance she was certain they'd hear the drumming of her heart. It was all she could hear.

She glanced over her shoulder only momentarily. The blood-soaked sorcerer was not long behind her, and he showed no sign of slowing. She had to lose him.

Yashen turned down the next street to her left, but skidded to a halt and fell flat on her butt. A legion of those creatures slaughtered her people on that street. Several perked up when she fell. Their ears twitched and they all let out a strange shriek. Their teeth were jagged, sharp. The shriek felt like thousands of tiny spiders crawling over Yashen's skin.

She pushed herself to her feet and fled again as the monsters pursued her, running on all fours. She couldn't outrun them either, especially with her bad leg, but she stood no chance fighting so many. Could she hide from them? No. These creatures had big ears and no eyes, which meant they relied almost entirely on their hearing. They'd find her.

Kezib! He was probably still injured from the fight, but he was her hope for survival! Even injured as he was maybe he could fight them off, especially with her help.

Yashen took off down an alleyway and knocked over piles of filth and garbage on her way. Hopefully that would slow down her pursuers.

No such luck.

She could hear them shrieking as they easily climbed over the rubbish. Of course creatures who ran on all fours wouldn't be slowed by such an obstacle.

Kezib and Cilicia's house was just ahead. Salvation! If she could just make it. Yashen threw her weight forward, hoping that it would pull her closer to the goal. Shooting pain through her leg. It felt as if the splint wasn't going to hold much longer.

Slam! One of the creatures fell upon her. Its teeth were so close to her face and she could smell its horrible breath.

The creature raised its knife. Yashen grabbed the monster's wrist and wrestled to keep the knife away from her neck.

The creature shrieked in her face and her ears stung. She punched it in the face, nearly knocking it off. It responded in kind by biting her arm. The needle-like teeth sank into the glyph, between the tendons in her forearm and she screamed.

With her good foot firmly planted on the ground she kicked as hard as she could, throwing the beast off of her.

It was stunned.

Just long enough for her to scramble away and force herself to her feet with her good arm.

One arm and one leg now? She'd never felt so helpless.

And somewhere along the line she'd dropped her sword. Now Kezib truly was her only hope, and the beast who'd knocked her down had allowed the others to get closer.

Helpless. Alone. She fled with all her strength. If she could not reach Kezib it was all over. The creatures galloped behind her, their knuckles and soles clicking on the stone streets.

Yashen's lungs stung.

Her legs throbbed.

Her arm bled.

Her head pounded.

So close now. So close to the door that would bring her salvation. She stumbled into the wooden door. With the creatures closing in on her she banged on the door as hard as she could with her one good hand.

“Kezib! Please! Help me!”

Only seconds away. The creatures would be on her in a few heartbeats now.

No answer from within.

“Kezib!” she cried. “KEZIB! PLEASE!” She banged on the door over and over, striking it so hard she could swear she heard the wood splinter. Her knuckles bled. “I'll do anything!” She kicked the door over and over again, so hard she was certain she broke one of her toes. “Please, Kezib, help me!”

Still no answer.

The creatures caught up to her and grabbed her by the legs.

“NO!” She clutched the door handle, dug her nails into the wood, but it wasn't enough. Her nails tore and splinters dug into her fingers.

The beasts dragged her away, all shrieking and clicking in unison.

Yashen flailed and screamed. “No! Let me go! Let me go!”

The monsters dragged her along every little bump in the road, every hole, and through the refuse her neighbors had tossed out their windows. The seams of her cassock tore. Her left sleeve came loose. The buttons ripped off, and the cassock came open.

“Sandalphon! Help!” Yashen called out, but all that met her cries were more shrieks from the monsters dragging her away.

Where was he?

Had he not sworn to always protect her?

Now when she needed him most he was gone.

More and more of her cassock tore, and soon she lost her strength to fight back. Was it her strength or her will? She wasn't sure anymore. Nothing mattered. There was no one left to beg, no one left to pray to. All she could do was hope that these strangers would show her some mercy.

Those hopes were dashed when she saw who it was they were dragging her before. Now that she was close she recognized his face.

“No...no, you were executed!” she cried.

The blood-soaked sorcerer laughed as the spirits floated around him. “Sure looked like it, didn't it? Truth is, though, the headsman died that day, and old Emylas survived.”

“Why are you doing this?” Yashen asked.

Emylas played with the dagger in his hand. The smile on his face slipped away, replaced by a cruel scowl.

“You know why, dream merchant.” Emylas pounded his fist on the nearest wall. “You know EXACTLY why! You murdered the innocent en masse! You burned people alive simply for worshiping gods other than your own! Truth is, I detest religion, but I would never take the life of another simply for practicing it! People like you? You're the reason I hate the faiths so. You and your archangel. May your deaths truly mean the end of the cruelest church in Erets!” Emylas held his dagger over her.

“No!” Yashen cried. “I'll change! I'll disband the Inquisition!”

“I can't trust you. No one can,” said Emylas.

“I'll do whatever you say! I'll join your army, fight for-”

Emylas dropped to his knees and cut her off. His blade sunk into her chest, piercing her lung. She couldn't breathe. She could feel the blood leaking into her lungs and over her flesh. Then his blade rose and fell again, this time into her heart. This was what it was to die. In her last moments she'd given up on everything she stood for and begged for her life.

As the blade struck her again and again, and all the world around her faded to black, all she could think was, “I'm so sorry...”