The Inner Circle: Holy Spirit

by Cael McIntosh

  ‘We’ll be safe for now,’ he whispered. ‘Silts hate spending time on the ground and it’s impossible to see this place from above. Anyway--’ The man bent over, panting for breath. ‘Formally, I’m Jakob Fyne.’ He reached out to shake Ilgrin’s hand.

  He shook it. ‘Ilgrin Geld.’

  ‘So that’s what they decided to call you, is it?’ Jakob chuckled and made his way deeper into the cave. ‘I’ll stick with your real name, if that’s okay with you. I’ve gotten used to hearing it.’

  ‘My real name?’ Ilgrin followed the man with renewed interest.

  ‘Oh, yeah.’ Jakob’s face split into a broad smile and it occurred to Ilgrin that the man was thoroughly enjoying teasing him. ‘I forgot that you probably don’t even know your own name, do you, Enoch?’

  ‘Enoch?’ Ilgrin tested the unfamiliar word. ‘What a strange name. Is that my surname or given?’

  ‘Demons don’t have surnames.’ Jakob laughed. ‘Well, they sort of do, I suppose, but it’s the other way around. Your full name is Sa’Enoch. Sa being what you would call your family name.’

  ‘Why are you doing all this anyway?’ Ilgrin asked suspiciously. ‘You seem to be going to a lot of trouble for a silt.’

  Jakob chuckled. ‘You mean a demon.’

  ‘Stop calling me that,’ Ilgrin snapped, shoving Jakob up against the wall.

  ‘Why not?’ Jakob frowned. ‘It’s what you are. Oh . . . I see.’ He laughed aloud. ‘You thought that the word was just a defamatory term--an insult, if you will?’

  ‘It is an insult,’ Ilgrin said shakily, without much conviction.

  ‘No, it’s not.’ Jakob cringed. ‘It’s simply what you are. You can ask any silt you want. Almost all of them will freely admit to being demons.’

  ‘It’s not a derogatory term?’ Ilgrin swallowed, feeling sick to his stomach.

  ‘Well . . . people north of here probably use it so.’ Jakob shrugged. ‘But no, it’s not. You’re a demon. Why do you care, anyway? It’s just a word.’

  ‘It’s not just a word,’ Ilgrin said bitterly. ‘It means that my kind blatantly accept what the Tome says about us: that we’re monsters.’

  ‘You are monsters.’ Jakob put a hand on Ilgrin’s shoulder and winked at him cheekily in the firelight.

  ‘Wait,’ Ilgrin said as they resumed their progress through the cave. ‘You said almost all silts freely identify as demons. So . . . some of us aren’t demons?’

  ‘Smart boy.’ Jakob laughed. ‘Of course not all silts are demons, but all demons are silts.’

  ‘Enough with the riddles,’ Ilgrin said through gritted teeth.

  ‘There are other silts,’ Jakob admitted. ‘They’re called angels--horrible creatures for the most part. You really don’t want to get involved with them. They’re even worse than your lot.’

  The firelight danced in such a way that Ilgrin caught a glimpse of something he hoped he hadn’t seen on Jakob’s arm. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Oh, this?’ Jakob lifted his arm so that the silt wing tattoo could be plainly seen.

  ‘You’re a demon worshipper,’ Ilgrin choked out, his eyes fixed on the man’s tattoo.

  ‘That’s what they’re calling us now, are they?’ Jakob laughed. ‘I’m a Sa’Tanist, yes.’

  ‘Sa’Tan,’ Ilgrin said the name of the very first Devil slowly. ‘I’m Sa’Enoch.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Jakob smiled.

  ‘Please don’t say that . . .’

  ‘That name is the reason why everyone wants you dead. You’re the last in the original Devil’s lineage.’

  ‘I think I have to sit down,’ Ilgrin said scarcely above a whisper, his mouth having become dry. He leaned clumsily against the wall and wiped clammy hands over his pants.

  ‘For a Devil, you’re kind of pathetic.’ Jakob shook his head in disapproval.

  ‘I am,’ Ilgrin choked out, ‘the Devil?’

  ‘That’s right,’ the man confirmed. ‘And I’m going to help you get your throne back.’

  ‘Why?’ Ilgrin asked slowly, unable to wrap his mind around the fact that he was royalty by blood.

  ‘Let’s keep moving,’ Jakob urged, before continuing. ‘I’ll start at the beginning and tell you all I know.’

  ‘Please,’ Ilgrin encouraged.

  ‘It must be almost twenty-five years ago by now,’ Jakob began. ‘It would’ve been a few years before I was born. I know the story through my father and a few silts I’m associated with. Your father, Devil Sa’Abraham, died of a mysterious condition. It’d troubled him his entire life and one day his heart could take no more and gave out. Your mother, Sa’Sarah the She-Devil, was forced to rule Hel and all of Hades on her own. It was a difficult task. Seeing as though she was the only She-Devil to have ever gained the throne, very few people granted her the respect she deserved.’

  ‘Why didn’t she resurrect Sa’Abraham?’ Ilgrin uttered.

  ‘His condition was a birth defect,’ Jakob replied. ‘Much like old age, it cannot be healed properly. If he’d been resurrected, he’d have come back to life with the same condition and died again shortly thereafter. Resurrection only takes you back to the state you were in before death. It heals wounds, not scars.’

  ‘So what about--?’ Ilgrin was about to ask a question, only to be cut off by Jakob as he squinted deeper into the cave. There was an additional light source in the cavern up ahead.

  Jakob mumbled something to himself and then continued the story. ‘Weeks before Abraham’s death, Sarah fell pregnant with you. Realising that pregnancy would serve to incapacitate her in her duties, Sarah selected her late husband’s closest friend as an assistant,’ Jakob paused, again peering into the distance. ‘Du’Korah was a nobleman of no particular importance other than that the Devil had befriended him, but Sarah trusted him implicitly. By the time Sarah reached thirteen months--’

  ‘Thirteen months!’ Ilgrin gasped, cutting Jakob off.

  ‘Forgive me,’ Jakob laughed. ‘It takes a bit longer to grow a demon than it does a human. Anyway, as I was saying, by the time Sarah had reached thirteen months and was due to give birth, she’d effectively handed over every possible legional responsibility to Korah. It wasn’t until after she’d given birth that Sarah realised her mistake. The legion had come to see Korah as their Devil. All that was left was to make it official and so Korah ordered her assassination.

  ‘Sarah had few allies left, but was fortunate enough to be forewarned by a close friend. She took you and fled to the only place in which you’d be safer than you would be anywhere in Old World: Abnatol. She knew that of all the places in New World, it was the least likely place you’d be killed at first sight. I think you know the rest.’

  ‘They did pursue her, though,’ Ilgrin uttered softly.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Jakob nodded, as the cave became even lighter. Ilgrin was able to make out a brightly lit entrance up ahead. ‘Korah knew that if either of you survived, you might one day come back to reclaim what was yours by right.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ Ilgrin shook his head. ‘They caught up to us. They must have. Sarah’s dead. My parents found us at our front door.’

  ‘Maybe they shot her and then she escaped to die later. Or maybe your executioner was too weak to assassinate a newborn.’ Jakob shrugged. ‘Who knows?’

  ‘How can I believe you?’ Ilgrin bit his lip.

  ‘You really are suspicious, aren’t you? I suppose life amongst humans might do that to you, but I just risked my life to save yours.’ Jakob narrowed his eyes. ‘You don’t know me very well yet, but you’ll soon enough learn that I’m ordinarily one for self-preservation, not sacrifice.’

  ‘Then . . . why?’

  ‘I’m a Sa’Tanist.’ Jakob sighed. ‘I never asked for it. I was born into it and as things stand, I’ll never rise above the lowly station of grunt work while ever the current system remains in place. My father lived and died as a spy for Hel’s legion and never got anywhere. I do not wish to do the same. I’m helpin
g you get back what belongs to you, because you’re going to remember me when you get there.’

  ‘And how do you intend on doing that?’ Ilgrin asked. ‘We have a two-man army. They have an entire world. Even if I am the Devil, how can we prove it?’

  ‘The Devil’s crown.’ Jakob winked as the mouth of the cave loomed up before them. ‘It burns the flesh of anyone who touches it--the only exception being those of the Sa’Tanic bloodline. That means you. But don’t you worry your little head about the details. I happen to know a few like-minded individuals who are able and willing to offer a great deal of assistance.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  BETRAYAL

  An alliance between Jenjol and the Elglair was a matter of great significance. To the rest of the world, it demonstrated that the Jenjen were able to rise above their petty hatred and that the Elglair were able to coexist with outlanders. As a result, in the weeks that followed the combined armies’ departure from Veret, Far-a-mael and King Harundor had received offers of assistance from the lords of Riverend and the king of Engelta in Moor. Naturally, their offers had been accepted and once again the army increased innumerably.

  El-i-miir stared at the wall in her tent. She was attempting to meditate. Doing so would allow her to connect more entirely with the Ways. Too many times she’d been caught off-guard and had been unable to affiliate with sufficient haste. She refused to let that happen again.

  El-i-miir sighed, acknowledging that she’d been lying to herself. The truth was that she’d been meditating to take her mind off Ilgrin.

  The silt had come to haunt her thoughts. Was he safe? She felt certain he was. They’d become intimate enough that El-i-miir was confident she’d feel it if something went wrong. She tried to visualise Ilgrin’s face. His eyes were a deep shade of purple. His face was beautiful, though inhuman. El-i-miir stood up, having become frustrated by her thoughts.

  ‘It has to be this way,’ she murmured and headed for the exit.

  The midday sun bit into El-i-miir’s flesh as she wove between tents in an attempt to avoid the raucous gatherings of unruly soldiers. A few weeks earlier she’d suffered but a taste of what Seteal had gone through in Sitnic and she was still upset by it. At the centre of the camp--presently to the south of Elta--stood several large tents that loomed over those surrounding them. A number of them belonged to King Harundor and the various officials sent from the surrounding countries. One belonged to Far-a-mael and another ludicrously large tent was Seeol’s.

  El-i-miir made her way toward Far-a-mael’s tent. ‘I seek audience with the War Elder,’ El-i-miir told the an’hadoan standing guard outside.

  ‘Wait here,’ the man said before ducking inside. He returned shortly thereafter. ‘It’d better be important. The War Elder is not in good humour today, but you may enter.’

  After stepping through the entrance, El-i-miir was struck by the overpowering odour of decay. Far-a-mael paced in the depths.

  ‘What is it, El-i-miir?’

  ‘Far-a-mael,’ El-i-miir began informally. She approached cautiously, all the while trying to hide her repulsion. ‘We used to be close. Can’t you tell me what’s happening to you?’

  Far-a-mael sighed, stopped pacing, and turned to face her. His flesh was green and wrinkled. He was covered in weeping wounds that wouldn’t heal and one of his eyelids hung heavily. Several of his fingernails were gone, leaving puss-ridden sores in their place. His clothes were soaked through by a pungent-smelling liquid. ‘You remember I once told you of my allergies as a child?’

  ‘Of course.’ El-i-miir nodded sympathetically.

  ‘Most of them went away with age.’ Far-a-mael looked at his hands disparagingly. ‘Some of them remained. I still cannot eat seafood and bottle trees give me a terrible rash. It would appear that I’m also allergic to resurrection.’

  ‘I see,’ El-i-miir said. It was not unheard of.

  ‘My body is rejecting what you and Mister Geld did.’ Far-a-mael’s face fell. ‘I’m decaying.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ El-i-miir said.

  ‘Oh, what do you care?’ Far-a-mael snapped, his defensive walls returning. ‘I tried to have you killed.’

  ‘I’m in love with a demon.’ El-i-miir smiled sadly. ‘Anyone would’ve done the same.’

  ‘You’re a peculiar girl, El-i-miir.’ Far-a-mael gazed at her with a half-smile. ‘The world would be so much better off if the rest of us could be half as decent as you.’

  ‘I have something to tell you,’ El-i-miir said slowly, fearing that what she was about to say would count as betrayal to her friend.

  ‘What is it?’ The old man replied distractedly, his stomach making a strange squelching sound.

  ‘It’s Seteal,’ El-i-miir said nervously. ‘She plans to kill you.’

  ‘Of course she does.’ Far-a-mael put a hand to his chest and chuckled dismissively. ‘It’s no secret that she has my blood in her veins. My family are always so fond of revenge, aren’t we? Never mind. I’ll take care of it. Send her in here, will you?’

  ‘You won’t tell her,’ El-i-miir said pleadingly. ‘That I told you, I mean.’

  ‘Of course not,’ Far-a-mael said reassuringly. ‘I have a separate matter I wish to discuss with her.’ The old man waited until El-i-miir was about to exit before speaking again. ‘El-i-miir,’ he called.

  ‘Yes?’ She turned around.

  ‘How would you like to go home when all of this is over?’

  ‘You can’t undo condemnation.’ El-i-miir frowned at the cruel joke.

  ‘I’m the War Elder, my dear.’ Far-a-mael laughed. ‘I make the rules as I see fit and I’ve decided that I want you back. It pains me to say it, but I made a mistake in sending you to Vish’el’Tei.’

  ‘I can feel the truth in your words,’ El-i-miir choked out, ‘but still I cannot believe what I’m hearing.’

  ‘You don’t need me anymore,’ Far-a-mael said softly. ‘When we return, you will complete the Wil’ca examination. You’re ready to become a gil.’

  ‘I’ve dreamed of this,’ El-i-miir said shakily. ‘Thank you. Oh, thank you!’

  ‘You’ve earned it. In coming to me about Seteal, you’ve shown where your true loyalties lie. Besides, you’ve gotten rid of the demon. I can see no reason to further maintain your punishment.’ Far-a-mael smiled for a moment before jolting in response to a cracking sound in his mouth. He fished about for a moment and retrieved a tooth. ‘Well? Go and get her for me.’ He flicked the tooth absentmindedly across the tent.

  El-i-miir stepped into the sunlight, her heart beating fast and her breath coming in short bursts. She could go home. She’d be able to see her family again . . . be there to watch her sisters grow up. And never see Ilgrin again. El-i-miir’s heart sank. She shouldn’t think about that. No, she should just go and find Seteal as directed.

  ‘Seteal,’ El-i-miir called when she found the woman’s tent, but didn’t wait for a response before barging inside.

  ‘El-i-miir,’ Seteal looked up in surprise. She was sitting on a makeshift bed, cradling her rounded belly. Seeol stood over her, but stared at El-i-miir as though she’d intruded on a private conversation. The young man’s bright golden eyes were inhuman in colour and were all that remained of his avian form. ‘What is it?’ Seteal asked, standing slowly.

  ‘We was just talks about your,’ Seeol said almost incoherently, still struggling to work his human tongue.

  ‘Seeol,’ Seteal cautioned. ‘I said no.’

  ‘It’s just friendlies,’ Seeol insisted, bobbing his head a few times before stumbling toward El-i-miir. ‘Will you eating some dinner for me?’

  ‘You want me to eat your dinner for you?’ El-i-miir raised her eyebrows.

  ‘He wants you to have dinner with him,’ Seteal rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve been arguing with him for the better part of an hour.’

  ‘Oh,’ El-i-miir gaped, having been taken by surprise. ‘I guess.’ She squirmed beneath the young man’s steady gaze. He really was quite handsome
. ‘Just to catch up of course.’

  ‘Yessh!’ Seeol pumped a fist into the air, possibly mimicking behaviour he’d witnessed from the soldiers. ‘I told you,’ he gloated at Seteal before turning back to El-i-miir and taking her hands. ‘It will be the bestest night ever. We will talk and have fun and eat delicious beetles and dance in circles.’

  ‘Calm down there, Seeol,’ El-i-miir said nervously, immediately regretting having agreed to attend.

  ‘Oh, it will be marvellous and there will be no naughty silts.’ He skipped out of the tent and disappeared amongst the rabble.

  ‘What’d you agree for?’ Seteal asked. ‘I was trying to prepare him for rejection to make it easier on you. Now you’ve gotten his hopes up. He loves you. You do know that, don’t you?’

  ‘He doesn’t know what love is.’ El-i-miir frowned. ‘He’s just an owl. Don’t let the body of a man make you forget that.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right.’ Seteal frowned.

  ‘Besides,’ El-i-miir said irritably, ‘what makes you think you have the right to try convincing him not to ask me to dinner?’

  ‘Maker, I was just trying to help,’ Seteal said defensively.

  ‘Well, don’t,’ El-i-miir snapped. ‘I can take care of myself. Maybe I want to have dinner with Seeol.’

  ‘All right.’ Seteal chuckled. ‘You go ahead and have a lovely evening together. It’s a bit soon after Ilgrin, but who am I to judge?’

  ‘Oh, you think you’re so funny, don’t you?’ El-i-miir narrowed her eyes. ‘By the way, Far-a-mael wants to see you in his tent.’

  ‘And?’ Seteal replied with a flick of her hair. ‘If Far-a-mael wants to see me, he can come and find me.’

  ‘Whatever.’ El-i-miir raised her hands. ‘I’ve delivered the message. Do with it what you want.’

  Before long, the sun had set and El-i-miir found herself applying makeup before a small mirror in her tent. She was only seeing Seeol, but El-i-miir was a woman who prided herself on her appearance and intended to look her best at all times. Seteal watched idly, having made herself comfortable on El-i-miir’s bed. Somewhat more unexpectedly, Ieane, too, had joined them, leading El-i-miir to suspect that Seeol had sent her to ensure that she came.