“I need you,” he whispered fiercely. “If you had just come to the church, this would never have had to happen.”
His eyes scanned the forest, wide and fearful. She saw his muscles twitch and vibrate, tensed with anxiety. Each rustle brought on by the gentle breeze sent him shivering violently.
“Quickly,” he continued, “before it comes again.”
He pulled her into the dim sunlight of the front yard, dragging her in the direction of his truck while she protested loudly. He wrenched her close to him, clamping his arm across her mouth to silence her.
“I understand now,” she heard him mutter to himself. “I know now.”
She cursed the trees for shrouding every window, and felt a deep dread when she saw the front doors shut tight and not a soul lingering outside. As she struggled, she pictured the inside of the castle, and the joyful excitement bursting through every room as each occupant prepared for the upcoming wedding. Once more, she kicked out at Jude, gratified when her heel connected with his shin and he swore under his breath.
Chapter 14
The inside of his truck reeked of old leather and gasoline. To Sophie’s disgust, after shoving her through the door, he reached deep behind the seat and pulled out a pair of dull and dented handcuffs.
“It will only make this harder on you if you struggle,” he said, his tone like that of a patient father.
Disregarding his words, Sophie flailed her arms and kicked at him until he was forced to climb on top of her, holding the lower half of her body down with his knees, while he struggled her wrists into the cold, metal circles. She jerked her body violently in an unsuccessful attempt to reach the shining handle on the door after Jude slammed it shut. He climbed in beside her, twisted the key in the ignition and shot away from the castle like an arrow from a bow. He took the bend at the end of the driveway with such speed that Sophie was sent flying across the seat and into the hard curve of his shoulder.
“Buckle up,” he said quietly, slowing the truck when they passed under the wide arch and turned onto the main road.
“Why are you doing this?” Sophie panted, her voice coming out stronger than she anticipated.
He cast a sidelong glance at her.
“It’s a long story, and you’ll hear it soon enough.”
Silence fell around them. Sophie held her tongue, despite the anger that boiled within her. It was no use trying to talk to him, and she had little desire to hear his excuses anyway. She could hear him muttering to himself, straining to hear his words. Moments later, he pulled the truck to a stop outside the church. The steps leading to the front doors sat vacant, as they had the last time she had seen them.
Jude slammed his door shut after stepping from his seat, and tapped the hood while he walked to open hers. She did not fight him as he unlocked the shackles on her wrists, knowing it was too late. He gripped her by the wrist, pulling her behind him as he ascended the steps and opened the oversized wooden doors, dropping his hold as soon as they crossed the threshold.
The scent of incense and rich wood invaded her senses and she could see pale red bricks underneath her feet. After a moment, another hand seized her by the arm, its clutch much stronger than the last. She was pulled forward by a tall man in a black robe, grey hair thinning from the top of his head.
“You told me she would be safe,” Jude spoke from behind her. “All you need is her information.”
“She is safe,” said the man holding her wrist. “For now.”
At last, Sophie found her voice.
“What am I doing here?”
“You should know that by now,” the man chuckled, his thick accent drowning the words so that Sophie could barely understand them.
“Please,” she said, trying in vain to tug her arm from his grip. “Let me go.”
“Perhaps, if you are obedient.”
His grip tightened with each tug, and Sophie stopped fighting when the pain of it grew too strong. He pulled her into a large room. Faded light streaming through tall stained-glass windows provided the only illumination.
Rows of pews lined the floor, and they walked between them, heading for the decorated pulpit at the end of the aisle. Every wall was built with thick stones and wide, wooden beams. Sophie would have marveled had the situation been appropriate.
When they reached the low stage of stone and mortar, she glimpsed another figure lurking in the shadows near the wide basin at its edge. The familiarity was shocking, but her mind refused to register why. The woman did not approach her, but her eyes remained glued to Sophie’s face. There was something in them – pity, perhaps – but it was gone in a heartbeat.
Finally, the man released her. She stood motionless and looked at Jude.
“What do you want with me?” she asked, balling her hands into fists and feeling a sear of pain run through her wrist.
“You know what I want,” Jude whispered, but the old man raised his hand for silence.
“You must understand, child,” he said. “We want only answers from you. Unless you fail to give them, in which case, I regret to say,” he paused, “we may have other uses for you.”
“Are you threatening me?” she growled, her eyes narrowing into furious slits. The ever-present anger that had been lurking beneath the surface doubled in intensity, filling her with reckless courage.
“Ludwig,” the woman spoke from her place in the corner, “you swore an oath, and I will not allow you to go back on your word.”
The man in the cloak turned to her, a small smile playing on his withered lips.
“Israyel, my dear,” he said, his voice full of menace. “Do not assume I have forgotten your mistakes. You are responsible for bringing my attention to the presence of the girl, of that I am thankful, but now you must proceed with caution, for I am not a man blessed with patience.”
“Yes, Minister, but-”
He shot her a look so full of spite that her words faltered in her throat and she bowed her head, resembling a reprimanded dog cowering in the presence of its master.
“Can we get on with this,” Jude said, rubbing his hands over his face. “I have things to do.”
“Yes,” Ludwig answered, “yes, let us move on. You,” he pointed at Sophie, “what is your knowledge of the demons, the spirits?”
“I won't answer anything until I know who you are and why you've brought me here,” Sophie replied defiantly, crossing her arms over her chest and pressing her shaking hands into her sides. Despite her fear, she knew she must maintain an illusion of courage. It was her only hope.
Jude laughed quietly, but Ludwig did not. The woman, Israyel, shifted on the edge of the stone platform. Sophie could see her only from the corner of her eye.
“Do you think this is a game,” the old man sneered, his black preacher's robes swirling around his feet as he began to circle her like a hunter would its prey. “I have been watching you. You do not fool me with this false bravery. Tell me, who do you visit in the woods? Is it true they live? Was her burning spell not only a fabrication of wanton storytellers?”
“I don't know who you're talking about.”
Her lie was smothered by the anxious vibration in her voice. She knew she had little chance of convincing him. Nothing in the man's face suggested he trusted her answer and his next question proved her assumption to be true.
“You do,” he said, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. “Do not risk your safety to protect these ghosts. They do not deserve your trust. We know the spirits lurk in some form of purgatory. We know the history. The witch my forefathers burned lives on, does she not? Do you choose to trust in demons rather than your own kind?”
She released her hands from beneath her arms and let them fall to her sides, shooting a glare in Jude’s direction. He did not meet her eyes.
“I can't trust anyone, it seems.”
“No,” Ludwig smiled, but it was not friendly, “you cannot. Answer my question. How did you come-”
“I don't know,” she interrup
ted. “It all happened so fast, I still don't understand any of it. Please tell me why I'm here. If you already knew about the witch and the curse, what use am I to you?”
“You,” he whispered, stepping closer to her and extended a hand, as if to stroke her hair, “are everything.” His body went still as he gazed into her eyes, a mixture of wonder and excitement filled his withering face. “You resemble her.”
“I… what?” Sophie was taken aback by the statement.
“You resemble her,” he repeated, a crooked smile crossing his face. “Your eyes, your hair. Even your lips. They are hers. I did not believe, at first, but now… now, there is hope.”
“I told you from the beginning,” Jude spoke from behind them. “I knew from that first day.”
“Israyel,” Ludwig waved a hand in the direction of the hovering woman, “come forward. Is she not striking in her resemblance?”
Thick black hair rustled around the woman’s shoulders as she stepped tentatively toward the old preacher. Sophie did not stir, but kept her eyes focused on the woman's face. Her expression remained empty, but her breath was shallow and quick. The dark shoes she wore made no sound against the stone platform. She stopped only inches from Sophie's face. After a moment, she cocked her head to the side, her eyes narrowing as she inspected.
“I suppose you could say,” she said softly, “there is some similarity. In the eyes, the most.”
“Similarity to who?” Sophie asked, glancing from the strange woman to Ludwig and, finally, letting her eyes rest on Jude.
He raised his eyebrows at her glance.
“Ziva,” he said, the name causing the preacher to twitch. “The witch, of course.”
For a moment, she did not respond.
“I look like her?” she mumbled to herself, but Jude nodded.
“And your sensitivity to her presence, your ability to see things, as you said. It must be true.”
“What?” Sophie asked, shaking her head in frustration. “What must be true?”
“That her blood is within you,” Ludwig raised his hands in the air in a dramatic gesture. “That you harbor traits of her in your own mind, body and spirit. You are a descendant.”
“A descendant,” she repeated, fighting the urge to laugh. “Are you serious? That's impossible. My family is-”
She stopped, realization striking her silent. The words she looked for would not come, for she knew her family was no longer any use in identifying her bloodline.
Ludwig watched her, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
“You have no family,” he said quietly. “You know that now.”
“How do you know that?” she asked, but the confidence had faded from her voice. Her heart settled in the pit of her stomach.
“I have my ways,” he answered. “Now, returning to the matter at hand. I believe, firmly now, that you are a descendant. This means a great deal to me, for I wish to contact the witch.”
“Contact,” Jude scoffed. “I'd like to burn her a second time.”
“Let us not be hasty,” Ludwig waved away Jude's words. “The time will come when you may make peace. This,” he motioned to Israyel, who stood with her head bowed and her hands clasped behind her back, “is a distant relative of yours. A disappointment to me, but that no longer matters. I have you.”
Israyel shuddered with the force of her sigh, and Sophie felt a twinge of pity.
“I am sorry, Minister,” Israyel whispered. “I tried.”
“Yes, yes, you tried,” he answered, waving her away. “And you failed. You see,” he turned back to Sophie, “she cannot see as you can. She does not sense them the way you do. I believed her lineage would be enough to offer results. It was not meant to be so, however. Her blood has been tainted, perhaps. Or she is simply weak in spirit. Regardless, she is useless.”
Ludwig pushed the woman away, touching her only with the tips of his fingers, and she sidled back to her previous position, huddled near the edge of the platform.
“If she is what you say,” Sophie said, “then why would she want to destroy her own family?”
“Because she is a demon,” Israyel whispered before Ludwig could answer. Sophie turned her head to look at her, seeing hate-filled eyes glaring back at her. “I do not wish to be seen as her kin. It is insulting.”
“As insulting as being called useless?” Sophie muttered.
Israyel did not answer, and Ludwig let out a low chuckle.
“She has fire in her,” he said to Jude, who nodded once but did not meet Sophie's eyes. “We must act quickly, time is running short.”
Time, Sophie thought, her heart thundering in her chest. She had entirely forgotten that her sister was being married at that very moment, and she was missing it.
“Please, I have to go,” she said quickly. “My sister-”
“You can't go, Sophie,” Jude interrupted, his voice less arrogant than before. “We need you here.”
“Are you serious?” she said, shaking her head in disbelief. “I came halfway across the world to watch my sister get married!”
“She is not your sister,” Ludwig said calmly, a maddening smile on his face.
“Yes,” Sophie responded. “She is. She's the closest thing I have to one, regardless.”
“Do you realize the importance of this? One hundred years we have been waiting to find the one to vanquish this monster from the earth, and you believe that I have any sentiment toward a wedding? One not even performed in my church, must I remind you.”
“I don't give a damn about your church,” she spat. “And I'm not about to help some lying, two-faced, cryptic strangers. Especially after what you did to me today.”
Ludwig sneered again.
“She must be destroyed, Sophie,” Jude spoke, stepping toward her. “You will only be doing what is necessary.”
She stood for a moment, looking at the three strangers and letting her eyes sweep through the church. She had been so keen to explore it since the day they had arrived. Now, though, it looked darkened and sinister – unappealing, even with all its intricacy.
“What did she do that was so terrible?” she whispered. “For you to justify burning her, she must have done awful things. Tell me what they were.”
Jude hesitated, but Ludwig stepped forward, his eyes full of a fire so volatile that her breath caught in her throat. She could feel the raw fury seeping from him.
“She used her beauty as a lure, to ensnare those around her and take them,” he spat the words, “as her own. The moment a drop of affection was displayed, she pounced, like a wild animal, onto their very souls. The documents describe her as a temptress, a seductress so empowered that no man could withstand the temptation.
“They tell of children, forced from their beds, to do her bidding. They speak of men, throwing themselves into the river to their death, of women pulling their hair from the roots in the throes of her power. Only when she reached the sanctuary of the Isa did the documentation cease. It seemed she had been appeased, but that only lasted a short time.”
“But she must have had a child, in all that time,” Sophie said. “If you say I'm a descendant of hers, she had to have had a baby.”
“She did,” he answered. “But like any wild, uncaring beast, she threw it away. A boy, the scrolls say, was brought to the orphanage in the dead of night. Tiny, just born, and still bearing the cord that connected him to life inside the womb. There he was raised, until the time when he began a life of his own.”
“What was his name?”
She did not know where the question came from, nor did she understand her desire to hear the answer, but when Ludwig spoke again she found herself intensely focused on his words.
“Grieg Prust,” he answered.
Her mind went blank, her jaw fell open. Ludwig seemed not to notice her reaction, he continued on with his rant against the witch.
Jude watched her carefully, his eyes narrowing. When she looked up at him, still at a loss for words, he raised his eyebrow
s, questioning her. Her flurried thoughts would not slow, though she scrambled to make sense of the new information. Ludwig continued, his words coming to her ears as though through thick gauze.
“-they followed his actions, suspicious of where he had come from. It was assumed Ziva was his mother, because of his appearance and the state in which he was abandoned. When he displayed an uncanny ability to sway others to his own desires, their assumptions were confirmed. He bore a child with a young woman from town before disappearing, never to be seen again.”
Sophie thought vaguely of Lukas, of his words the previous night when she had gone to him for comfort.
They found me there, beside the river; dirty, hungry, alone.
She gave her head a sharp shake, blinking the memory from her mind.
“If everything you say is true,” she said slowly, processing her thoughts, “then wouldn't you be satisfied that she is dead now?”
“Satisfied?” It was not Ludwig that answered her, but Jude, and his voice had gone icy with anger. “She is a demon now as much as she ever was. My mother stayed in that castle twenty-seven years ago. She stayed for only a week, but from then on was tormented by nightmares, plagued by shadows and visions. I was just a child, then, I did not understand. Father sent her away, to a special hospital, he said. Sixteen years she suffered the consequences of her stay in that castle until, finally, death gave her relief.”
“How do you know it was the witch?” Sophie asked.
“Don't be a fool,” he responded, giving her a withering look. “I got a taste of what it must have been like for her just now, if you remember. Attacked by a demon – it’s no wonder she went mad.”
The statement grated on her nerves. She had been called a fool too many times to endure it any longer.
“You are the fool,” she said. “Holding on to this plot for revenge for over ten years,” she waved a hand at Ludwig, “a hundred years? It's lunacy. Go ahead and blame her spirit, but you think that gives you the right to use me, like an animal? To hunt me down and lie to me? What purpose could that possibly have served you? The truth may have won me over in the beginning, but you didn't even try. You're a coward.”
Ashes of Iris Page 24
