The Inner Circle: Holy Spirit

by Cael McIntosh

  ‘Run!’ El-i-miir cried.

  ‘Stop!’ the an’hadoan shouted as the group took off around the corner and into the dimly lit street.

  ‘Over here.’ El-i-miir raced across the road toward a large house built from ice bricks. The Elglair home had beautiful glass windows embedded in its surface at various locations and a large door carved from a single sheet of ice. Without hesitation, the forsaken rei banged on the door. Before long, it swung open, but the man within turned away in disbelief. The stranger had a neatly trimmed black moustache and beard. His eyes were dark and it didn’t look as though he’d slept in days. Of course, this was no surprise, given the recent fate of his eldest daughter.

  ‘Papa,’ El-i-miir panted, frantically waving the others inside and slamming the door behind them. ‘Papa,’ she repeated as her father strode over to the window and stared out onto the street without once looking at his daughter.

  ‘You shouldn’t have come here,’ Arl-an-dor intoned as he drew the curtains and turned around, but his eyes shifted immediately to the figure looming behind her. His jaw worked repeatedly as he threw out his hands defensively. ‘Silt,’ he finally choked out. Ilgrin fell to his knees, his face twisted in agony as Arl-an-dor assaulted his aura.

  ‘Stop it!’ El-i-miir raced toward her father. ‘I can explain.’

  ‘Explain what, El-i-miir?’ Arl-an-dor’s voice broke. ‘Explain why you’ve brought a demon into our home when your mother and sisters are sleeping upstairs? I’m beginning to think the allegations against you were true,’ he snarled, twitching his hand and driving Ilgrin onto all fours.

  ‘I said stop it.’ El-i-miir raised her hands to form a counter-strike against her father. Unable to compete with his daughter’s abilities, Arl-an-dor lowered his hands and moved away. His eyes became vacant and he took a seat in the chair across the room.

  ‘How dare you affiliate me,’ the man snapped upon regaining his senses, and leapt to his feet. El-i-miir merely repeated her former actions and again the man sat submissively.

  ‘I should call the hadoan,’ Arl-an-dor said darkly after El-i-miir had released him. He rose to his feet, but made no further attack on Ilgrin, who seemed a little wobbly on his own.

  Ilgrin was a demon as far as the majority of New World were concerned. The insulting term had been propagated by religious zealots throughout the ages, helped along by its frequent use in the Holy Tome. Few people believed in the ancient Scriptures anymore, but silts were still referred to as demons more often than not. With large, bat-like wings and pallid white flesh, Ilgrin easily looked the part of a foreboding villain, but on closer inspection, his large, almond-shaped, purple eyes were filled with kindness and somehow his lack of fingernails or toenails made him seem oddly harmless. But perhaps that was the illusion. With three to four times the strength of a human man, Seteal wasn’t certain she’d ever be able to trust him completely. But then, it was unlikely she’d ever trust any man again.

  ‘I’m Ilgrin.’ The silt went slowly in, removing his cloak. ‘I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.’

  ‘Don’t speak, demon,’ Arl-an-dor spat.

  Unlike the majority of modern Elglair, El-i-miir’s parents were deeply religious and actually believed in the old writings.

  ‘You were forsaken to Vish’el’Tei.’ Arl-an-dor waved his hands about furiously, his gaze settling on his daughter. ‘I know it was uncalled for, but it’s done now. Have you no pride? You should’ve taken your punishment and regained the honour you’ve lost this entire family.’

  ‘How can you speak of honour?’ El-i-miir cringed. ‘What kind of parents stand by and watch their children die?’

  ‘What is this worldly philosophy?’ Arl-an-dor’s face became red. ‘I warned Far-a-mael that you were too impressionable to leave the Frozen Lands.’

  ‘Impressionable?’ El-i-miir raised her eyebrows. ‘I’m not going live my life in accordance with your book of fairy-tales just because you think it’s the right thing to do.’

  ‘That’s enough.’ Seteal spoke softly, but everyone fell silent immediately. The air in the room seemed to thicken as she stepped forward, somehow having managed to draw the attention of everyone with two simple words. ‘You must be Arl-an-dor,’ Seteal continued, as the elf owl flitted off her arm to inspect the ice-boards underfoot. ‘My name is Seteal Eltari.’

  ‘Yes, I . . .’ The man trailed off, his expression bewildered by the soft, captivating tone of Seteal’s voice. Unlike regular Elglair, she could not manipulate the Ways of others, nor could she see their vibrant auras. Rather, Seteal’s own Way seemed to permeate the world around her, changing it to fit her mood.

  ‘I am Gil Arl-an-dor of the Sixth Cleff,’ the man attempted to say with more confidence, shaking off the peculiar feeling that confused him so. He was a slender man and Seteal immediately recognised the resemblance he shared with his daughter. ‘I demand you explain yourselves,’ Arl-an-dor said firmly.

  A door across the room creaked open and a small girl, no more than five years old, raced into the room with a big smile on her face. Her expression froze and fell suddenly as her eyes locked upon the demon standing behind Seteal. The girl’s mouth fell open and she screamed without restraint.

  ‘An-ii.’ El-i-miir raced over to the child and wrapped her arms around her to help stifle the scream. ‘It’s okay. He won’t hurt you.’ She stroked her little sister’s long black hair, undoubtedly affecting her aura as she did.

  Moments later, a youthful-looking woman entered the room, followed by a girl of about twelve. Both of them bore expressions of concern that quickly became ones resembling those seen on the faces of Arl-an-dor and his daughter.

  ‘Mil-i-que,’ Arl-an-dor addressed his wife, ‘take the girls to their room.’

  ‘No.’ Seteal shook her head and watched as all eyes turned to her. ‘We will all remain in this room until I’m certain you can be trusted.

  ‘Seteal,’ El-i-miir murmured warningly, ‘they’re my family.’

  ‘Your family were willing to stand by as you were sent to your death,’ Seteal said darkly.

  ‘That’s not true.’ Mil-i-que scowled. ‘We did everything we could to prevent it.’

  ‘No, you didn’t.’ Seteal took a step forward, her face clearly bearing disgust. ‘You should have ignored the elders, packed your things, and moved south.’

  ‘To live among outlanders?' Mil-i-que’s face twisted in contempt.

  Seteal raised her eyebrows and shook her head. ‘I’m not here to judge you.’ She sighed, although it was against her nature to ignore such things.

  ‘What darkness have you brought upon us?’ Arl-an-dor glared at El-i-miir, who lowered her eyes dejectedly.

  ‘We have important matters to discuss.’ Seteal decided to move the conversation along a more productive course.

  ‘What could you possibly have to discuss with us?’ Arl-an-dor frowned, his eyes once again returning to Ilgrin. ‘You don’t belong to these lands. None of you.’

  ‘Actually, I do,’ Seteal challenged. Whilst it was true that she did not have the white pupils of the Elglair, it was equally as true that her mother had come from the Frozen Lands. ‘My mother was Jil-e-an of the Eighth Cleff. Perhaps you’ve heard of her.’

  ‘A woman famed for her stupidity,’ Mil-i-que snarled, ‘and if you’re truly her half-caste child, all the more shame on you.’

  Attempting to keep a handle on her rather impatient temper, Seteal took a deep breath and ignored the ignorance shown by El-i-miir’s mother. ‘We do not have time to escape the cleff today. Already, it is too light. We need clothes, food, and rest. We’ll leave this evening as soon as it’s dark enough for us to escape unnoticed.’

  ‘You expect me to allow a demon to remain here in my home?’ Arl-an-dor barked incredulously. ‘A demon, a half-caste, a forsaken child, and . . . and whatever that thing is?’ He frowned at Seeol as he began scratching at the ice with his beak.

  ‘Please, Papa,’ El-i-miir begged, indicating to
ward Ilgrin. ‘He’s not what you think.’

  ‘I’ve heard enough.’ Ilgrin narrowed his eyes and flared his wings menacingly. His pale white flesh was riddled with ghastly wounds from the time he’d spent in the Dome of the Sixth, which served only to increase his menace. ‘Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I am a demon. And when I leave this house, I’m going to shout and scream and bring more attention to this place then you could ever begin to imagine. How do you think the Elglair will respond when they see you’ve been harbouring a demon?’

  ‘Scary, isn’t he?’ Seeol whispered through the heavy silence that followed.

  Arl-an-dor ignored the bird, instead choosing to stare at Ilgrin with utter hatred until finally his expression shifted. ‘I see you’ve backed me into a corner. You can stay, but I want you gone at dusk. All of you.’

  ‘Arl-an-dor,’ Mil-i-que squealed in wide-eyed horror.

  Seteal turned to El-i-miir in confusion. ‘Did you . . . ?’

  ‘Affiliate him?’ El-i-miir finished for her. ‘No,’ she replied, equally as confused by Arl-an-dor’s change of heart as everybody else.

  ‘This is not happening,’ Mil-i-que clamped a hand over her stomach.

  ‘You need to trust me,’ Arl-an-dor addressed his wife firmly. ‘If they leave now, they’ll most definitely get caught. And you know what’ll happen to El-i-miir and the rest of us if they do.’

  ‘I can’t believe what you’re saying.’ Mil-i-que looked like she was about to cry as she turned and stormed out of the room.

  Arl-an-dor raised his finger to the silt. ‘You have one day and I’ll be watching you every minute.’

  ‘Thank you,’ El-i-miir muttered as Ilgrin sank back into the shadows. ‘I know you’re not comfortable with this. I only hope that one day it will all make sense to you.

  ‘Oh, it makes perfect sense,’ the man said darkly. What he meant by that, Seteal couldn’t begin to imagine. ‘What have you gotten yourself into?’ He looked at El-i-miir regretfully. ‘In league with the Devil.’

  ‘Far-a-mael has gone mad,’ El-i-miir replied sadly. ‘He plans on going to war with Old World.’

  ‘That’s a good thing.’ Arl-an-dor looked at his daughter disbelievingly, his eyes filled with sorrow. ‘Where did I go wrong with you?’

  ‘It’s not good at all.’ Seeol pounced several handswidths forward before stopping to stand on one leg and point a toe at El-i-miir’s father. ‘You are a naughty man.’ He waved his toe back and forth. ‘Silts are cuddly and it’s mean to hurt people and you are mean to El-i-miish.’

  ‘How cute,’ El-i-miir’s youngest sister squealed with delight, hurrying across the room to gather up Seeol in her hands. ‘Can we keep it?’

  ‘No.’ Arl-an-dor stared at the owl suspiciously. ‘Put it back down. Now!’

  ‘Not fair.’ An-ii pouted, dropped Seeol, and stormed out of the room.

  ‘Take your sister to her room,’ Arl-an-dor ordered El-i-miir’s remaining sibling. ‘Both of you are to remain there until your mother comes for you.’

  ‘Yes, Papa.’ The girl looked at El-i-miir regretfully before leaving the room.

  ‘If Far-a-mael starts this war, he will not win,’ Seteal said solemnly. ‘He’ll start something you’ll all regret for a very long time.’

  ‘He is our War Elder.’ Arl-an-dor shrugged. ‘I will follow wherever he leads us.’

  ‘You think that makes you a great and loyal subject don’t you?’ Seteal shook her head. ‘You think it makes you a good man to fight for your people?’

  ‘It does.’ Arl-an-dor stood proudly.

  ‘No, it doesn’t,’ Seteal snapped. ‘It makes you a fool.’

  ‘I’m going to take my family to my sister’s place,’ Arl-an-dor said, ignoring Seteal’s comment. ‘They’re not safe with that thing here.’ He pointed at Ilgrin. ‘We will return at dusk. By then, you’d best not be here.’

  ‘How do we know you won’t report us to the first an’hadoan you come across?’ Seteal enquired suspiciously.

  ‘You really have no idea what it’s like to be Elglair, do you?’ Arl-an-dor scoffed. ‘Do you really think I want a bunch of drunken louts tearing up my house, looking for secret hiding places and evidence of betrayal? Of course not. I want you gone and my life to proceed as normal.’

  ‘He’s telling the truth,’ El-i-miir murmured.

  It didn’t take long for Arl-an-dor to gather his possessions and herd his family out of the house and into the street. Shortly thereafter, the sound or a horse and carriage pulling away told Seteal that they were once again alone.

  ‘I have no idea of what to do.’ She slumped, the fight having left her. ‘I need sleep,’ she murmured, only to stop suddenly at the expression on El-i-miir’s face. ‘What is it?’

  ‘There’s something . . .’ The Elglair woman trailed off to dig around in her pocket. She retrieved a letter and unfolded it. ‘High Elder Gez-reil followed me to the border of Vish’el’Tei.’ El-i-miir turned sharply. ‘He gave me this jacket, but I couldn’t understand why.’

  ‘And he’s written you a letter?’ Seteal replied with curiosity.

  ‘It seems that way,’ El-i-miir replied, her eyes tracing the neatly written lines. ‘He wants us to come to the Dark Water Inn at Setbrana in Garrishnell. He says he has urgent information.’

  ‘Is that all?’ Ilgrin leaned over El-i-miir’s shoulder to read the letter. ‘Setbrana is a little bit out of our way.’

  ‘What do you think?’ El-i-miir turned to Seteal.

  ‘We should go.’ Seteal shrugged. ‘It’s not as though we have any other options, and to be honest, we need all the help we can get.’

  ‘What that say?’ Seeol chirped from Ilgrin’s shoulder. ‘I want to read.’

  ‘I’m afraid that might be a little beyond you.’ Ilgrin chuckled.

  ‘We’ll head for Garrishnell tonight,’ Seteal confirmed, ‘but for now, I’d suggest we all get some rest.’

  ‘Yes!’ Seeol cried victoriously. ‘You will see now. Sleeping in the day time is much betterer. That’s the advices that I stand by.’

  *

  Beneath King Braihon Harundor’s mighty palace existed a dark, dank chamber, the majority of which was underground. The only exception to this was the tiny grate at the very top of the wall that occasionally allowed for sunlight to enter. Most of the time, however, such a light source was absent, as the princes made it their routine duty to cover it with mud.

  The dungeon smelt of old decay and the walls oozed with an unrecognisable brown substance. Many of them were stained with blood, especially in the places were chains had bound people to the masonry throughout the ages. It’d been rumoured that the chamber had once been used for torture, but had since been redesignated as a holding cell for those who were destined for execution.

  This day was better than those that’d preceded it for one very good reason. It had rained during the night. Although that resulted in ankle-deep water throughout the chamber, it also meant that the mud had fallen away from the bared window, allowing sunlight to enter along with a crisp spring breeze. It was the light, however, that brought a smile to Briel Keaco’s chapped lips, because in the light he was able to make out his wife’s beautiful face.

  Briel was a wild man of the open planes and scented fields. He was a creature of the earth, living each day bathed in the glory of being alive. He did not much care for religion or politics, preferring to live a simple, unencumbered life, allowing himself to become bound to none but his darling Fes. It was for that reason he suffered so greatly in the confines of prison.

  In like manner, Fes was shackled by her ankle to a large stone pillar. Like a caged animal, Briel had at first fought to tear the pillars down, but, of course, such actions had proven useless. He was a passionate man, but had never been foolish enough to think himself terribly bright. There were many greater minds than his, but even he should’ve seen the fault in his actions. Because he hadn’t, he and his wife and been sentenced to hanging. It was a lenient se
ntence, considering their crime: that of harbouring a demon.

  Briel had made mistakes before, but none so fatal as this. Was it because he’d almost come to see Ilgrin as human? Was it because of his certainty in the creature’s harmlessness? Perhaps. Whatever the reason, he’d overlooked a spattering of dried silt blood on the underside of his wagon and like a fool had taken it to be repaired at a wainwright in the most religiously bigoted country in the world.

  When the Keacos had returned to make payment and collect their wagon, they were immediately arrested. Being of very little means, Briel was unable to afford a proper lawyer, and as a result, the trial lasted only two hours. Frankly, he was surprised it’d taken that long for the Court of Veret to make a decision. Perhaps it was because of the Jenjen infatuation with keeping up appearances. Maker forbid they reveal themselves as being anything short of law-abiding and righteous. What a farce. Not a soul in the courtroom was under any illusions as to how the case would end.

  ‘Briel?’ Fes enquired scratchily, her small hand finding his.

  ‘Ye?’ Briel replied, surprised by the gruffness of his own voice. He couldn’t help but wonder how long it’d been since he’d had anything to eat or drink. The Keacos were large people and unused to going long without sustenance.

  ‘I be hearin’ ye think,’ Fes uttered softly. ‘Be at peace, me dear husband. We’ve lived happy lives. Our children be good and married.’

  ‘Ye nah be speakin’ that way,’ Briel was caught off-guard by the sob that escaped his throat. ‘We’ve nah lived long enough yet.’

  ‘We’ve got a few weeks ta go.’ Fes’s tone was melancholy.

  ‘There must be another way.’ Briel felt a tear trickle down his cheek, but quickly wiped away the evidence.

  ‘Hold me,’ Fes sobbed, resting heavily in his arms.

  Briel kissed the top of his wife’s head--which, remarkably, despite their living conditions, still smelled sweet. That scent had been intoxicating Briel since their mothers had set them up to dance at his brother’s wedding. Briel had been a skinny boy of sixteen at the time and more interested in taming wild horses than dancing with girls. Fes, on the other hand, had wanted to dance rather than tame horses. Briel danced with her and much to his surprise he’d enjoyed it. The pair were married not a year later, something not uncommon for Merry Islanders.