“Speak, child. Believer or not, you are safe in these halls.”
I looked at him, but I couldn’t discern anything behind those eyes. I chose to trust him.
“I killed a man, Father, in self-defence. He was attempting to kill me and I had no choice but to take his life to save my own.”
“The Lord, much like human law, forgives killing in self-defence.”
“I know…but I want…need to know why he wanted to kill me.”
He raised his eyebrow, a flicker of emotion. “And you think I can help you understand his motivation? I can only tell you what you probably already know. There are men of wickedness in this world. Monsters in human vessels. There is no reason to their actions. Only malice.”
“I don’t think this is the case with this man. The reason I come to you is that I discovered that the man is…was…a Christian.”
“And you want to understand what could drive a Christian to kill?”
“Not a Christian but, specifically, this Christian. He worked under the Titan Cult but had a crucifix in his house.”
“A crucifix doesn’t make someone a Christian,” he said, a little bit defensively.
“Of course, but it was the only thing that stood out in the house. It was prominently placed and he had nothing else to suggest he was merely a collector. And, he mentioned God before. I didn’t think much of it then, but it had a sense of sincerity. I am sure he was a believer.”
“And you believe that this may have something to do with why he wanted to kill you?”
I nodded.
He sighed and turned away, taking his hand off my shoulder. I felt a relief at the lack of touch.
“It is difficult to be a man of God in an age of supermen,” he stated, as if reciting something he’d been thinking about for a long time. “For some, it drives them crazy. It pushes them to the edge of their faith. Too many go over that edge and forsake their saviour.”
I resisted rolling my eyes. This wasn’t the type of answer I was hoping for.
Digby turned, as if he’d sensed my irritation.
“You are such a sheep who has strayed from the flock.”
“If the flock keeps running off cliffs, it’s wise to leave it,” I said, just a hint of venom in my voice.
“I understand, Kat,” he said. “That you blame God for your parents’ deaths.”
“I don’t,” I said, without thinking, but realising that my words were true. “I blame a man. I blame his discipline. I blame the society that allowed him to persist.”
I shook my head and continued. “I do not blame God, Father. How can I blame what I don’t believe in? God didn’t kill my parents. A man did.”
His expression, previously emotionless, looked devastated. Would he have looked any happier if I hated God?
“Sorry, Father…” I began, attempting to be diplomatic.
“No, no.” He raised his palm to stop me and looked away. “I understand. Atheism is easier these days. It is deemed healthier to blame the here and now, than the cosmic.”
“Shouldn’t we not blame God at all?” I asked, truly curious. “Even if one believes in him.”
He looked at me, a look of incredulity on his face.
“Why?” he asked, simply.
“Well,” I said, sheepishly. “Wouldn’t it be blasphemy to blame the God you’re meant to worship?”
He pondered the question, and then looked at me firmly. “But, child, if God is responsible for an action, should he not hold the blame?”
“Can he not be responsible and blameless?”
“Explain.”
“Blame implies wrongdoing. But if God is ineffable, then he cannot fail. Therefore, he might be responsible, but then he cannot be blamed. For there is nothing to blame on him. It went according to plan.”
“Even your parents’ death?”
I repressed a wince. “No, but that is why I don’t believe in your God. I cannot believe that a blameless one can do something which I would so want to blame on them. So, I do not place blame or responsibility with God or his cosmic plan. I place it with the man who murdered my family.”
I did not hear the birds chirping behind these thick stone walls. Neither did I hear the traffic nor the wind. I heard the beat of my own heart. My breathing. And the faint echo of my own words inside my head.
Digby, finally, looked down.
“You are right,” he whispered. “God, or no God, blame and responsibility rests with man.”
I didn’t know why it seemed to matter so much to Digby. It was a conclusion I had come to years ago. Do not confuse my atheism with youthful angst. I threw away my faith over a long period of self-doubt and self-loathing. I’ve fought my battle, and this was my result.
“Kat!” Treth yelled, and I turned down the aisle, to face the archdemon in his black suit.
“Priest,” he said, with a juvenile smirk. “Why wouldn’t you discuss such interesting topics with me? I could help you realise that you can’t place the blame of what you’ve done on God alone.”
I drew Voidshot but as I aimed it at the demon, a magical blast of air knocked it out of my hand. It hung loosely on its chain. Before I could draw my swords, I was pushed backwards into the embrace of the Virgin Mary.
Digby was still looking down, but his fingers were pointing towards me, exuding power.
A sorcerer.
How could I have missed it? Actually, how could I have known? Digby had always been a husk, like me. Like all good Catholics. Magic was playing God. Good Christians didn’t play God.
But, I realised, even the most devoted Christian would play God if the way of the world was too obscene for them to allow it to persist.
I tried to speak, but the force of Digby’s sorcery threatened to crush my chest. All I managed to accomplish were short wheezes.
“You were meant to kill her,” Digby said, simply.
The demon shrugged, hands in his pockets.
Digby sighed, and looked up at me. Or the statue. I’m not sure which.
“I hoped we wouldn’t have to have this confrontation, Ms Drummond. I liked your parents. It was a shame that you took a darker path after their deaths.”
I felt anger rise at his mentioning of my parents, but I couldn’t voice it.
“You asked what made Cornelius do what he did. You wondered why he wanted to kill you. I think, he actually mentioned it to you before…”
Digby came closer, standing just by my feet. I strained to look down at him. My arms were splayed behind the statue. I felt the work of the healers being undone and pain returning to my old wounds.
“The cause,” Digby said. “Cornelius’ cause. And mine. You asked what could drive a Christian to kill. It was a stupid question. Christians have killed for salvation for all of history. And I do the same.”
I managed to wheeze out a single word: “Why?”
“Because…” his face contorted and reddened. No more impassivity. He looked angry. Passionate. And despairing. “When the Vortex came, when the world was rent asunder – that was meant to be the end. To be Armageddon. When hosts of demons attacked our world, the faithful were meant to be risen to Heaven. Then, the forces of Good and Evil would finally clash. A final battle. A final conflict to end the pain of existence.”
The archdemon snorted scathingly. Digby ignored him.
“We were…I was meant to rise up. To be raptured, as all good Christians should be. But…I was left behind. I, a faithful servant of the Lord, was denied my place in Heaven. And I had to think what I had done. I pondered this for years. Decades. What had I done? How did I sin? Were my confessions insufficient? Was I wrong? I lost my faith in the Lord. But how can one throw away one’s entire life? Their entire world view? I couldn’t. I continued to believe that I had done something wrong. That it was not God but I who was wrong. That I had sinned, irredeemably. Only a few – a blessed few – were pure enough to rise-up. I was not among them.
“This thought destroyed me. Almost utterly.
How could my God, my all-loving God, abandon me? How could so many, made in his image, be denied? But, finally, I realised what was wrong. Yes, this was Armageddon. The ending of the world. But, it hasn’t ended yet.”
He paused, staring pointedly into the void.
“The Saviour has not returned. That meant that I still had a chance. The Rapture is still happening. And I have been left on Earth with a purpose. I am to play a role in the upcoming battle. For, if there is to be a battle, there must be an adversary. While the forces of darkness and sin seep into our world, they haven’t risen in earnest. Earth has not faced the wholesale destruction yet to require a Saviour. But it must. For, as you said, the responsibility and blame of everything must lie with man. As it is man’s role to suffer, it is our role to cause the suffering. And it is our role to cause Armageddon. Only then will God intervene.”
I wanted to call him mad, but the pressure on my chest threatened to crack my ribcage. It took everything in me just to gasp in drops of air.
“I will not be left behind,” he said, hushed. Much quieter than before. No longer giving his doomed sermon. But, despite its lower volume, it was filled with a determination that surpassed everything else he had said. It suggested to me that, despite his words, he did not care about salvation for mankind. He cared about salvation for himself. And he would destroy the world to get it.
He clicked his fingers and I dropped to the ground, landing on my hands and knees. I tried to stand, but another force held my hands to the ground.
“I will not kill you,” Digby said, looking down at me. “A final favour for Rachel and Fred.”
He turned his back on me. I gritted my teeth, but was still catching my breath, unable to yell at him.
He stopped by the demon.
“I cannot allow her to live, however. And I seem to be unable to trust you to finish the job. The imps will do it. They will also serve to destroy this place.”
He paused and looked around. I saw no hint of sadness in his eyes.
“An end of an era,” he said. “The start of another.”
Digby proceeded down the aisle, his hands clasped behind his back. The demon looked at me, and then shook his head. Was that shame? Disappointment? Did it matter?
I heard the growls the moment the doors closed behind Digby and the archdemon. Hisses and flaming sputters filled the gaps between growls and deep chittering.
“Kat? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine, Treth. But not sure for how long.”
“Is his magic still holding?”
“Yes.”
“Can you dispel it?”
“I’m not a wizard.”
“Your demanzite?”
“I need hands to get it.”
I felt fear wash over me. I felt a pang of appreciation for Treth’s concern. At least he was afraid for my death. I was too busy pondering what I’d just learnt.
Digby, my childhood priest, was the ringleader. He was abducting the mages. He had ordered Cornelius and the demon to kill me. And he was insane.
Before I could ponder anymore, the stained glass exploded inwards, sending multi-coloured shards across the room. Red and black horned creatures poured into the church, their clawed hands afire. They tore towards me, while my hands were glued to the ground. If only I had one hand free. I could at least take a few of them down with me.
The pews, tapestries and carpets were ignited as the imps crossed them, barrelling across the room towards me.
“Kat…” Treth began.
“No need,” I whispered. “I understand.”
Treth smiled, sadly.
The imps were metres away. I felt the demonic heat swelter off their unnatural mottled flesh. Their horns did not look like any animal horns or those of the archdemon. They were twisted. Unnatural. I could hear the hiss of steam as the imps’ saliva hit the ground and evaporated from their own heat.
I didn’t close my eyes. I’d stare death down, the way I’d done almost every single time before.
They were a metre away.
An imp licked its lips, revealing rows of jagged, razor teeth in a mouth as wide as its head.
They were so close. I felt like I was in an oven. If they didn’t kill me, the heat would.
I still didn’t close my eyes. I stared them down. Stared right into their yellow-red toxic eyes.
At least I’d heard the birds chirp one last time.
Cold replaced heat so suddenly that I felt nauseous. A wave of frost flooded the room, blanketing everything in a layer of bluish-white. Everything except me. The imps before me were frozen solid, their expressions looked comical in their icy state. Icicles hung from their horns.
Pranish? Was my first thought. But then I smelled rot. An all too familiar smell.
Zombies advanced towards me. No, not zombies. They were too coordinated. They moved like humans, despite their peeling, pale skin, and hollow eyes.
Flesh-puppets. Coordinated undead minions, directly under control by a necromancer or their lieutenants.
They moved into the room bearing sledgehammers, axes and even a shotgun, and proceeded to break the imps’ frozen bodies. Only a single undead did not partake in the exercise. The undead man wore polished plate-mail, with a purple cape. Atop his head was a cavalier hat, bearing a purple plume. A thin blade was sheathed by his side.
He advanced towards me, and I felt myself unconsciously struggling to break my magical bonds.
Closer, I saw how old and preserved he was. Dry, blackened. Gaunt. Skin clinging to the bone. Hollow eyes, bearing a blue fire that spoke of a far-reaching intelligence. A wight. An intelligent undead.
“Kat…Drummond…” It rasped, shaky, as a mouth, long dead, created words it should have not been able to utter.
I stared, wide-eyed. I must admit, I felt fear now. They were my prey – the undead – but they were still my most extreme fear. I hated them above all else.
It clicked its fingers and I felt the pressure on my hands release. I stood, backing up towards the Virgin Mary.
“My mistress sends a message, Kat Drummond…” It trailed off at my name, cocked its head and continued. “You are not meant to die. Not yet.”
At that, the wight turned and left. Its flesh puppet forces followed after, leaving the frozen imps in pieces.
I did not move, until long after the undead disappeared.
Chapter 21.
The Trail
“I don’t like it, Kat,” Treth said.
“Me neither. But it isn’t like I asked to be saved by the undead,” I replied, only just catching my breath after our ordeal. My hands shook.
“Being helped by evil…it stinks of being evil. Are we on the right path?” Treth asked.
“Too far down it to look back now.”
I was running. I’m not sure where. Just away from the frozen church, with its destroyed stained-glass windows and its stink of demons and undeath.
“What’s the next move?” Treth asked, still a hint of reluctance in his voice. He hated the undead just as much as I did. If not more.
“We will figure out who this mistress is and what she wants with me after we’re done. Digby is still out there, and so are the missing Titan Mages.”
I clenched my fists as I ran. Digby had tried to kill me. He’d ordered Cornelius to kill me. He’d made me kill him.
This was personal.
“What is it he wants?” Treth asked.
I slowed down to catch my breath. The sky was darkening with rain clouds. Rare this time of the year.
“To destroy the world – or at least to cause enough damage that his vague prophecies come true.”
“And how is he going to do that?”
“He’s stealing mages. I suspect to use them as batteries to help him summon demons. That will be the adversary he needs for his holy war.”
“He’d need an army of mages to summon the number of demons needed to destroy the world.”
“No, not an army. He only needs enough to disrupt
the Citadel. Cause if the mages stop their work…”
“The Titan awakes.”
“And then we’d be left wishing it was just demons.”
I stopped and looked around. I was…somewhere. I checked my cell phone. Thankfully, the demon hadn’t fried it this time.
“We need to find out where he could have gone.”
And then kill him. I’d resigned myself to that fact. I’d already killed Cornelius and Digby deserved to be killed far more than he had.
“Perhaps, phone the Citadel,” Treth suggested. “They may have some way of tracking the mages.”
“Why wouldn’t they have used it already?”
“They thought the mages were dead…”
“Fair enough.”
I dialled Charlotte.
“Ms Drummond? I am very busy. Has there been a problem with payment?”
“I know who took the mages.”
Silence. I had her attention.
“Do you have any way to track them?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “We would have tried already if we did. Who took them?”
“A priest. A Father Digby.”
I almost spat the words.
“Digby, you say?”
She pondered the name.
“There was a Digby who worked for the Citadel years ago, when I was an intern. A Joshua Digby, I think.”
Now, that was a shock.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure there was a Joshua Digby. A sorcerer tasked with providing energy to the circle.”
I heard the clatter of a keyboard.
“Here it is…” A pause. “He was fired. Considered a security risk. And you say he is the culprit?”
“Yes, he just tried to kill me - again.”
“Congratulations on him not succeeding,” Charlotte replied, drily.
“Do you have any idea where he might be hiding? Any records of his properties. His residences?”
“Our records are not that extensive. I’m sorry, Ms Drummond, but the meister needs something. Good luck with the search.”
Devil's Gambit Page 19
