Bitter Moon

by R. L. Giddings

  I said, “Is this because Stahl had been such a public figure? She had met with the pope, after all.”

  “She’d worked with the last pope not the current one. And that makes all the difference.”

  Valeria was clicking through the slides on the screen, several of which showed Stahl actually meeting with the pope. From the Vatican’s perspective – if the truth ever got out – this was clearly going to be a P.R. disaster.

  “The Church of Rome has literally billions of followers,” Valeria said her gloved hand resting on the desk. “One point three billion by the last count. They can’t afford to be seen to be taking a soft line on this. Stahl was attempting to resurrect some of the most powerful witches in history. The Church would see this as a terrible affront. They have to respond in the strongest possible terms. So this morning they officially declared Melissa Stahl to be a heretic.”

  “Oh God,” I said suddenly feeling incredibly hot. I could see where this was heading.

  Helena said, “And the punishment for heresy is what exactly? I mean, I know what it used to be in the middle ages but …”

  Valeria moved down her list of slides and clicked on an image. “This is the execution of Edward Wightman in 1612. He was the last person in this country to be burned at the stake. And if you think things have changed, think again: ‘The Ordinance for the Punishment of Blasphemies and Heresies’ has never been repealed.”

  The slide was an artist’s impression of a man standing on a pyre being consumed by flames before a watching crowd.

  “Really?” I said. “They’re planning a public execution?”

  Valeria stared back at me. “We have no way of knowing what their intentions are though I think a public execution’s out of the question. As it is the church statement says that she will be ‘punished for said offence for the manifest example of other Christians that they may not fall into the same crime.’ Read into that what you will.”

  “And that’s not the end of it,” Kinsella added.

  All eyes turned in his direction.

  “Six other witches are to be investigated on similar charges.”

  “Anathema?”

  He nodded.

  “I don’t remember there being six other witches at the ceremony,” I said.

  “You’re right,” Kinsella continued. “Including Anathema there were four other witches. We currently have them all under arrest.”

  “So where do they get six from?”

  “You and Helena here. You’re the other two.”

  I stood up, letting the impact of what he’d said sink in.

  “I want to talk to Helena on her own.”

  I levelled this last comment towards Amir who was looking as shell-shocked as the rest of us. He stood up making to move around the table but Helena waved him away, clearly upset. He stiffened, looked to me for clarification and then left.

  The others started to file out after him. Kinsella came over and went to touch my arm but I stepped away from him.

  Once the door was closed, Helena picked up her cup as if to take a drink but it was empty. She put it back down.

  “What are we going to do?” she said.

  “I don’t know, I really don’t.”

  The image of the burning heretic was still being projected onto the far wall so I went across and tried to get rid of it but I pressed the wrong button, switching it back to a picture of Stahl shaking hands with the pope.

  “Look like she’s still pulling the strings, even now,” I said.

  “I can’t think why I’m even on that list,” she sounded distraught. “You, I can understand. You assisted in the actual ceremony. But I wasn’t even there”

  I made a conscious effort to calm myself. Helena was still a very sick woman. I tried to imagine how I’d feel in her position.

  “Look,” I said. “This is an awful shock to both of us. We just have to work out what we’re going to do about it.”

  “You’re talking as though we have any choice in the matter,” she grasped the arms of her wheelchair. “Kinsella has probably already worked it out. We’ll no doubt become fugitives, with the Ministry moving us from place to place.”

  “But what if we refuse to go?”

  “I don’t think that’s an option.”

  I didn’t want to argue with her.

  Instead, I said, “How are you now? What have the doctors said about your recovery?”

  She made a contemptuous snort. “The doctors? The doctors? Let me tell you about the doctors. Everyone assumes that I owe them my life. And yes, they might have kept me alive but at what cost? They’ve diminished me in so many ways. Initially, they failed to identify how much blood I’d lost at the scene so they failed to give me an adequate transfusion. My chest cavity had been penetrated by the knife but it took them two days to realise. By the time they discovered that I had a punctured lung I’d already developed pneumonia.

  “When they finally came to operate they found they failed to stop the bleeding. I’d been sewn up and returned to the ward before a nurse spotted that my blood pressure had dropped through the floor. When they opened me up again they found that my stomach was filled with blood. Their solution? An emergency hysterectomy. No time for any consultation; no time to harvest any of my eggs; no time for anything other than to avoid an incompetency claim.

  “I went out that morning intending to simply to go to work. But by eight o’clock that night my life expectancy had been reduced by twenty years; my career was over and whatever hopes I might have had for a family had been snuffed out. So, yes, you might say that I do have some issues with the doctors.”

  As quickly as her anger had appeared it was gone again leaving me looking down at a woman whose skin was so thin I could see her pericardium pulsing in her chest. Although we were alone in the room together, Helena had never seemed so distant. She was lost to me now, the tenuous attachment between us completely washed away. I wanted to reach out, to reassure her that all would be well but we’d both know that that would be a lie. So, instead I just stood there.

  She didn’t look at me again, she’d become as remote as a statue in a crypt. I went out into the corridor where the other four were just standing around. It was clear from their faces that they’d heard most of her outburst.

  “Amir? Would you come inside?”

  He followed me back into the room. One look at Helena was enough to prompt him into action. He went over to the yellow holdall and took out an oxygen cylinder. He placed it by Helena’s wheelchair before attaching a long tube to a breathing mask. Helena was too weak to hold the mask herself so Amir held it to her face. She’d gone a delicate grey colour but I only realised just how bad she looked when the colour started to return to her cheeks. Neither Amir or I said anything, we just listened to the sound of her struggling for breath.

  After a while, Kinsella appeared at the door.

  “Everything alright?”

  Amir curled his lip at him then surprised me by stroking Helena’s hair.

  “She really wanted to see this thing through but it’s all been too much for her.”

  Helena took hold of the breathing mask.

  “I want to hear everything,” her voice little more than a whisper.

  Amir squatted beside her, his dark brown eyes conveying his concern. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

  “Could we re-convene tomorrow?” I suggested.

  She looked pointedly at Kinsella, “How much more is there?”

  Kinsella put a hand on Amir’s arm, “We’ll be as quick as we can.”

  I went back to the door and waved for Valeria and Szabo to join us.

  Everyone stood around – the formal meeting over. Kinsella sat on the table directly in front of Helena and crossed his arms.

  “Okay, we’ll keep this brief. Yesterday afternoon this man flew into Heathrow.”

  Valeria worked the power-point settling on an image of a man walking through a busy terminal building. He had on a long grey ov
er-coat with a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. He was carrying a brown leather briefcase.

  “Andreas Kohl. Or should I say Father Kohl. A Catholic priest who comes with quite an impressive C.V.. Worked as a missionary in Central America for many years, in areas where drug cartels frequently murder anyone they see as helping to organise local communities. He helped re-build a church in Columbia which had been the scene of an atrocity twenty years earlier. Two rival groups contested the area leading to a bloody turf war after which the church seemed to thrive.”

  We looked at a picture of a rugged looking priest in shirt sleeves helping re-build a wall.

  Kinsella continued, “After that he was moved to Africa’s Gold Coast where he set up a school which took in boy soldiers and gave them an education. Again, local Warlords objected but, after one particular Warlord and his lieutenants disappeared, Kohl was allowed to continue undeterred.”

  “And he was instrumental in these disappearances?”

  Kinsella clapped his hands together. “All I’m saying is that Father Kohl is a very effective member of the church. They give him a difficult job, he takes it on and then exceeds expectations. Did I mention that he speaks six languages? Anyway, he must have caught someone’s eye in the gold Coast because that’s when he was moved to the Vatican where his star really has started to shine. No, Father Kohl isn’t easily intimidated – in fact, quite the reverse. People who go up against him tend not to live very long.”

  “Are you saying that he kills people?” I asked, incredulous.

  “He’s not a hitman with a dog-collar, no. I wish it were that simple. His skills are far more unique. Let me put it this way: Father Kohl sees himself as a living embodiment of God’s will.”

  “But how is he doing all of this?” I said. “He must have help.”

  Kinsella and Szabo exchanged looks.

  Valeria said, “This was taken forty eight hours ago.”

  Another picture came up of Kohl dressed as a Catholic Monsignor speaking with an archbishop in a beautifully ornate garden. The other man was grey haired but had the poise of a retired athlete.

  “That’s the papal garden in Rome,” Valeria continued. “And that’s Archbishop Castellano. He was very critical of the previous pope for agreeing to meet with Stahl in the first place. Nowadays, things are different: the new pope is said to have absolute trust in Castellano. Rumour has it that he’s in charge of The Holy Alliance. The Church’s version of the Secret Service. Things have changed in the Vatican.”

  “How did you get these photographs?”

  “That’s not important,” Kinsella said. “Finding Kohl is now our main priority. It’s enough for you both to know that he’s in the country and that he’s dangerous. We have the other people on the list under close guard which leaves us with the pair of you.”

  I ignored him and went across to take a closer look at the two men in the photograph.

  “Surely, Stahl is his main target. You should put all your energies into guarding her. She’s the heretic after all.”

  “We don’t know what his intentions are. He may target the other women on the list first. I’m not suggesting that your lives are in imminent danger but, make no mistake, he’s here for a reason. He could just be planning to snatch you off the streets and take you back to Rome. They could hold you there for years while they questioned you. I don’t have to remind you that the Vatican is a separate city state with its own unique laws. They’d be happy enough to let you waste away without so much as a public hearing. Once they have you it would be very difficult to get you back.”

  Helena said, “So, you intend to lock us up instead. For our own good.”

  Kinsella nodded. “However you want to put it. We have safe houses. You’d be protected until things calm down.”

  “Which could take years,” I said, suddenly angry. “I’m not going into hiding.”

  Szabo moved across and squatted down beside my chair. When he spoke he kept his voice low.

  “We believe Kohl to be a Vedimyns. This is very old church. They draw heavily on the scriptures of Elijah which commands its followers to go out into the world and do God’s bidding, whatever the cost. He will have already been administered the Last Rites – that’s their way. He has been absolved of all sin should he die in the execution of his role as Protector of the Faith. The Vedimyns played quite an important role in the 18th Century but their role has fallen into disrepute of late.”

  “Sorry, did you just say: Vedimyn?”

  “Vedimyns. It’s a well known term in Scandinavian countries. Translates as ‘witch man’ but, really, he’s a Witchfinder. He hunts down witches and demons for a living.”

  I nearly laughed, but then I caught sight of Helena, her face pinched.

  “What happens now?” she asked.

  Kinsella nodded to Valeria who went across and retrieved two small wooden boxes from her bag. The boxes were similar in size to the ones you store chess pieces in. She handed one to me and one to Amir. They were heavy. I popped the lid on mine and looked inside. The contents were wrapped in purple velvet

  “These are Modal Spheres,” Valeria explained. “Be very careful with them – you don’t really want to break one if you can help it.”

  I eased the velvet to one side revealing a pair of perfect glass balls. They reflected the purple of the velvet in a way that suggested that the colour was bleeding into them.

  “Very nice,” I said. “What do they do?”

  “A modern take on an old idea. You’re familiar with the concept of carrying a magical ward or amulet to protect yourself from magical attacks. Well, this uses a similar idea utilising modern glass blowing techniques to incorporate a thousand such wards. Its unique strength comes from the fact that it can only be used once. Crush the sphere and the wards are released sealing you inside a protective bubble. You’ll be perfectly insulated from all manner of attacks, man-made or magical.”

  “Any side-effects?” There were always side-effects when you started messing around with magic as powerful as this. I took the sphere out and weighed it in my hand. It was extremely dense and extremely fragile all at the same time.

  “When I said that nothing could get in I meant it. Not even oxygen. Otherwise they could just smoke you out.”

  “But wouldn’t we be in danger of suffocating?” Helena asked.

  Kinsella frowned. “The bubble only lasts for a couple of hours so there’ll be plenty enough air trapped inside.”

  “And you’re giving us these in case we come up against this Kohl character?”

  “It’s a way of keeping you safe whilst, hopefully, buying us some time. He won’t be able to touch you with the bubble in place.”

  I said, “You say that this is a defence against magical attack. I take it that Kohl’s a practitioner then?”

  Something in Kinsella’s face twitched. Seamlessly, Valeria stepped forward.

  “We haven’t got time to go into his entire background. It’s enough for you to know that his abilities were identified at an early age but, despite some initial training he decided to leave the study. We believe him to be a formidable wizard in his own right but that is only one aspect of his skillset. Trust me on this one thing: if you come up against him just make sure that you’ve got one of these spheres handy.”

  “I’m not liking the sound of this,” I said.

  “Our best strategy is one of defence,” Kinsella said. Helena’s eyes blinked open at the sound of his voice, she was struggling to concentrate. “We intend to squirrel you both away somewhere until this threat is passed. In the meantime, The Inner Council is doing everything it can to have this list rescinded.”

  I couldn’t help shaking my head. “I can’t believe that one man has got us all running scared.”

  “We would all do well not to under-estimate him,” Valeria said, raising her gloved hand.

  She snagged one of the fingers between her teeth and pulled.

  What remained of her hand was little mor
e than a blackened stump, two of her withered fingers extending no further than the first joint.

  “I have to bathe my hand three times a day. Even then, the pain can be excruciating.”

  “Kohl did this?”

  “I had the pleasure of crossing paths with him once.”

  Helena said, “But you survived.”

  Valeria dropped her head back, her lips curling back as she flexed the fingers which still worked. Time had not made it any easier to deal with her wounds.

  “Three of us who went up against him that day. I was the only survivor.”

  I moved a little closer my eyes fixing on the blackened ruin. “But, if it’s so painful. Why don’t you…”

  “Have it amputated? I’ve lost count of the times I’ve resolved to just chop it off. It’s not an easy thing to live with but lately I’ve been meeting with a healing sister and that has helped …” her voice trailed off. “Let’s just say that it keeps me focussed.”

  She started to pull the glove back on. It was a finicky manoeuvre but when I made to help her she quickly pulled away.

  “Well, I for one am convinced,” Helena said. “Where do you intend on sending me?”

  “Not as straightforward as that,” Kinsella said. “First of all, I have to be certain that Mr Hussein is willing to accompany you.”

  Amir winced as if he’d just been insulted.

  “Good,” said Kinsella. “But I’m afraid that we can’t give you a definite answer, Helena. No one must know your final destination. Not even you.”

  “Oh, that’s ridiculous,” Helena said. “We’re not to know where we’re going.”

  “I’m afraid not,” Kinsella said.

  “That’s fine with me,” I said. “I don’t want to know. Because I’m not going.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Kinsella followed me out onto the staircase. I was walking as fast as I could but he had no problem keeping up with me.

  “I can’t order you to comply.”