"Truly? G'way outta that!"
"I wouldn't lie to you. Never to a Sect member. You swore the oaths. You saw the power Seth has. God's own power. Do you now dare to doubt?"
Jeremy squatted and stared at the ropes and reached a hand out before stopping it mid-air and looking at Peter. Peter nodded and Jeremy touched the rope end. The end slithered around Jeremy's wrist and he gasped in shock. The rope continued to caress his hand and a smile slowly grew on Jeremy's face. "That's...that's beautiful Peter! I admit it — before it turned my heart crossways."
"Aye. The rope won't release unless a Sect member orders it. This is God's gift to our cause. Proof of His righteousness and ours on our path. Seth says it is divine providence. Now, enough gawking. We need to hoist him up over that branch of that big tree there. Quickly now before he wakes."
Peter took the free end of the rope, coiled it, and tossed it up and over the large branch that extended horizontally out from the massive trunk of the oak tree that dominated the centre of the clearing. Together Peter and Jeremy hoisted the Target up into the air until he hung parallel to the ground with his face down. Breathing was exceptionally difficult and forced the victim to narrow their focus on just breathing through their nose. The Target's eyes were covered; a gag forced deep into his mouth and softened wax pushed deep into his ears. This was the proven way to deal with the demons until Seth could arrive to deal with the rest.
Now that he was captured he didn't look like much. Certainly he did not look like the demons who preceded him. Those demons had always had an air about them. A strength borne from their heathen magycs. Something to be feared. This boy merely looked like any wild waif you would find begging in the streets. During the capture his eyes had been wide, round with fear and darting all about looking for a way out. The smell of urine filling his trousers was strong in the clearing and knowing the boy had pissed himself when they had grabbed him caused Peter and Jeremy to glance at each other more than once.
It had been years since Peter had captured one of the demons but he hadn't forgotten a single aspect of the process. Years of training guided his hands without much thought. Now Jeremy and Peter watched the boy closely. This was important if they wished to remain safe. They had to be sure he was secured before they tried to do anything else with him. They would need to stay and observe him for a couple of days. He would not eat or drink in that time. He needed to be isolated from his powers and forced to focus solely on human needs such as hunger, thirst, breathing and surviving pain.
Capturing demons was always the worst detail in the past. It was much easier to just knife them and be done with it. Jiggle the brain matter was always the preferred way. Demons can't heal when they can no longer think. Peter had seen a demon come back from having her throat cut and bind her captive's feet to the ground before running clear into the night. When they caught her again the next day they drove an axe into her skull and that was that. Dennis hadn't liked it, had said it was far too graphic for his tastes. He had always been a fan of the knife behind the ear and into the brain. Quick, painless and efficient, he always said. Seth had preferred the crossbow and a bolt in the eye. Hard to say which was the best, they had both killed dozens. Seth had even killed the head bitch with a bolt in the eye. The same bitch that had spawned this boy. The only demon to ever escape Seth. Peter again allowed a small sense of pride to fill him when he recognised he had done what Seth could not. It was sinful but so exquisite and he allowed himself a small sip from the fountain that led to Hell. A smile ghosted across his features before he smothered it internally. He would repent this sin later. He focused once more on the Target.
Seth was on his way, Peter knew with certainty. The missive he had sent would have reached His Holiness and Seth would now know he and Jeremy would soon capture the Target. Seth was probably making all haste to their location. Peter would send Jeremy to mark a trail from the road so Seth could find them here. Once Seth arrived they would be able to relax their vigil. Then he hoped Seth would bless them and allow them to return to the Sanctuary and be allowed to watch as he tortured the last demon. Peter shuddered with pleasure at the thought.
The next few hours saw no change in the Target but Peter knew it was too soon. It took many more days to weaken a demon. He lay unmoving, hanging from the tree limb two feet from the ground. He hung with a rope centred on his back, face down, with his knees drawn up so tight into his chest that his breathing was severely restricted. The blindfold, the waxed ears and the gag continued to isolate the demon from the earth and their power. Peter looked at the fingers and toes for signs of blue skin that would indicate lost circulation and, seeing the bright red hue, relaxed and knew the Target was still intact. He knew from personal experience the bindings cut off just enough circulation to make the limbs feel numb. He could not risk harming him beyond what Seth would want to see: a whole and hale demon. Seth would understand the black eye, a result of discovering Dennis' black boots hidden in the heathen's belongings. Peter sucked the air in between his teeth remembering the discovery. Finding them smugly in the Target's backpack had spun Peter into a violent rage he probably would not have escaped if not for Jeremy who had held him back. The boots had explained much of why they had such a difficult time tracking and locating the boy. When they failed to find a trail outside Jaipers they had assumed demon powers were at work and they had hurried straight to the next town to wait him out. It was in Belger they heard from the Finnow Mines shop of the boy stopping in.
When they had stripped the demon Peter had been stunned and excited to find the pouch around the neck of the Target containing the coin and obsidian sickle. The coins were well known by the Church and they knew they were used to first open up a demon's power. For whatever reason, demon powers needed to be started, much like a fire is started with a spark. The coin was the spark and, once lit, the demon powers would grow quickly. The Church had all the coins accounted for except for one. There had always been one missing coin. Long lost during the Purge and suspected to have been taken by the bitch. Seth had never found it and had feared the boy had it and feared, most of all, what that portended for the future. It was good to recover it. It could have been the seed to grow a whole new legion of demons.
But what had excited him the most was discovering the sickle. When Peter had watched Jeremy spill the contents into his hand he had almost cried out in elation. The small sickle was one of the most revered icons of the heathens and was carried by none other than the Cill Darae. The Sect had discovered the Target's heathen mother had been the Cill Darae of the Tree and her powers had been considerable, the strongest the Order had ever seen. The Tree had considered the sickle as a symbol of life and renewal but Peter knew it symbolised nothing more than death and pain.
As if in response to this thought, he watched as the sickle sliced cleanly through one of Jeremy's fingers and the sound of the finger hitting the ground seemed excessively loud until the wail from Jeremy replaced it. A fountain of blood jetted from the hand where the finger had once been. It had been an incredibly beautiful sight to see. The blood jetting with such strength had stirred something deep within Peter and he watched fascinated as Jeremy struggled to contain the blood loss. He clamped a hand over the wound and blood leaked between the fingers to drip heavily to the ground. Those crimson drops looked so beautiful to him and he watched transfixed. Only at the crying pleas from Jeremy had Peter finally stirred himself and he spent the next hour cauterising and wrapping the wound. Jeremy now rested on the ground with his back propped up against the tree and with his head lolling about on his chest. He had lost a surprising amount of blood in a short period of time and he was weak and delirious. The cut had been so clean it was as if his body hadn't even noticed the loss and had continued senselessly sending spurt after spurt of heart blood out from the opened veins. He's an idiot, thought Peter and laughed to himself. It had been fun to watch.
With Jeremy now resting, Peter had decided to thoroughly search the Target's backpack. The backp
ack itself was a wonder of design and construction and Jeremy had claimed it for himself when he saw the quality. But Peter knew Seth would take it for the Church — everything went to the Church first. The backpack would be sold and the coins transferred to the Sect to maintain operations. Inside the backpack, Peter found much he had not expected to find. The unguents, a fortune in Life Salts, and the herbs were only expected to be found on senior demons — the Stocs, as they called themselves. Through the lore learned through the Purge, Peter knew that only Stocs had the skills required to work the plants and make the salves. And yet the boy possessed rather potent ones. He used some on Jeremy and was not lost on the irony.
Peter reasoned this boy couldn't be anything more than a Duilleog, one of the apprentice demons. He was barely a man — still a child in many ways important to the demons. He had been separated from his mother, the Cill Darae, when he was barely eight summers old when Seth had put a crossbow bolt through her eye. Finding the unguents and potent herbs had Peter concerned. He suspected the sickle leant its powers to the boy. How else could it have made the potions? But, if he were a powerful demon, he should have easily evaded them. He could have just snared them in the woods. Instead he had gone down, drained of strength and gasping for water in the heat. A demon would never have used his own body strength. Instead, he would have pulled power from the land around him. No, he thought to himself. He has no real power; he's a Duilleog at best.
The ranks for the Tree members were from the old tongue, now long forgotten. The ranks went Duilleog, Craobh, Stoc and Freamhaigh, with the Cill Darae, also known as the Priest or Elevated Druid, holding a unique and specialised position reporting only to the sole Freamhaigh, the head of the Tree. Of course, the tree huggers had tree names for the same ranks: Duilleog was the Leaf, Craobh was the Branch, Stoc was the Trunk and the Freamhaigh was the Root. The idiot demons had it all in reverse; everyone knew the tree itself was the important part and not the roots.
Peter was cautious but professionally confused. His experience was telling him one thing but the evidence another. The coin and sickle were in the possession of the Target. The boy had detected them at over a half mile distance — an impossible skill. The herbs, potions, and salves were harvested and made with the potency only a fully trained demon could manage. The Target was an enigma. And yet, here he was, trussed in the Sect bindings — deaf, blind and mute — and suspended from the ground and cut off from his powers. For the hundredth time, he prayed to God for Seth to hurry up and arrive. He knew it would be another couple of weeks before Seth could arrive. The journey from Munsten was a long one. He grimaced. He needed Seth. Only Seth, imbued and blessed with God's Holy power, could counter a demon's powers. As always, good triumphed over evil. God must surely be watching out for me, hoped Peter, reverently.
Peter opened the bag of Life Salts and removed a pinch. He held it up to a nostril and inhaled it deeply. A feeling of euphoria and well-being filled him and he closed his eyes. Many of the Sect members were addicted to Life Salts. They claimed it brought them closer to God — Peter was one of them. He took another pinch and tucked it inside his cheek beside the gums. The salty taste filled his mouth and he felt the tips of his fingers tingle. Peter resumed his vigil of the Target and lost himself in the feeling of wellness that consumed him. He mouthed the Sect prayer:
Dear Lord, save us from the deceit of demons.
Lord Have Mercy.
Open our eyes to the lies of demons.
Lord, don't let demons divide your Church.
Help us to reject lies presented to us as the truth.
Lord, give us Strength.
Lord, give us Hope.
Lord, flood our souls with the Holy Spirit.
Amen.
Jeremy moaned softly and held his wounded hand to his chest. Peter glanced over to where he lay propped up against a tree. Peter cursed under his breath and considered ending the idiot's life now to shut him up. He regretted bringing him along. The vigil would be hard with only himself to give watch. I can't trust Jeremy any longer, he realised. Seth will end him when he arrives. The Sect never tolerates failure. From themselves or those who work for them. Such as the Finnow Mines salt proprietors in Belger.
Peter recalled with pleasure the joy he had experienced in killing the two store owners for their lapse in judgment. How they could have confused this whelp with a member of the Sect was beyond him. They hadn't deserved to remain alive. The night could have been a pleasurable one, he thought sadly, but with time against me I instead had to limit my pleasure to the quick death I gave them. Much too quick, he thought with regret. One of them, the short older one, he had punished years before and he remembered the savage glee he felt when he saw his own marks on the man's back. The Knife had approved the signing of his work on the skin of his charges. When he saw his own mark he had been elated. It had been one of his first tests so many years ago. It had felt good to complete God's good work.
They had been delayed by having to get the shop cleaned up and new proprietors arranged to take over. Finnow Mines didn't question the need. As always they complied. They all did. God's work was the only authority needed. Soon after they had raced after the target and found him strutting down the road like he owned it. Peter shook his head in remembrance at sighting the boy. It was only demons that could evoke fear in his heart. The sight of the demon in the open walking down the road in plain sight had almost weakened the bladder of Jeremy and Peter knew it shamed him. He was right to fear them. Their unholy powers were terrifying to see. They controlled the very ground they walked on. Plants moved and animals ran to their calling. It was horrific. They die like normal men and women though, he thought with satisfaction. And they bleed, shit and piss just like anyone else. Seth taught him that. It strengthened him at times.
Now he had to merely hand over the boy to Seth once he arrived. The mark on the road had been laid out, clearly visible to members of the Sect. Further marks on the trail would lead them directly here. He would go back later once they were in control and leave a second mark. That was important. It told those who followed it was safe. It could be a little while but Peter knew how to proceed carefully. Plants and grass were dug up and removed around where the boy hung. The rope provided the only contact to the tree but the rope would not allow the heathen to reach out to nature. All was in accordance with Seth's instructions, the instructions that had protected the Sect members for all these years. Peter followed them religiously.
More than twenty-four hours had passed and Peter was starting to feel more relaxed but warned himself to remain vigilant. It was the first day that always proved the most difficult. If they had missed something, it was the first day when the druid would use whatever powers they retained to escape. Peter smiled to himself; time was his enemy and his friend. The longer a druid was bound, the harder it was for them to escape. The lack of food and water and the pain from the reduced circulation always clouded their minds. And by now, Peter knew, the boy's limbs must feel on fire and, judging by the muffled whimpers, he was sure he was correct.
Peter watched the midges coming and going on the exposed skin of the Target and grinned. Mentally he urged them to suck and eat their fill. The boy's body was covered with them now. They added to the distraction required to keep the demon off balance. Peter watched them carefully despite the glee he felt. He looked for patterns — anything to indicate the demon was using them somehow. You could not be too careful with demons. Their evil powers could do much with nature. Peter and Jeremy had carefully laid tripwires on all the trails leading to the clearing. They needed as much advance warning as they could get to alert them to approaching animals — animals called by the demon for help. Peter had lost count of how many Sect members had lost their lives to that heinous trick.
In two days they would feed him a little. Each day he would get a measure of water — the total amount based on the weight of the demon. It was necessary to maintain the fine balance between life and death. And Peter was one of
the best at maintaining the fine line. The Knife had taught him well. He knew how to prolong a man's life just at the edge of death. The Church had required those particular skills and had honed him well under the apprenticeship of the Knife and, finally, under Seth himself. There wasn't a day that went by when Peter didn't thank God for providing him with the skills to honour Him. He basked in the righteousness of his task. God's work was so humbling and satisfying.
Twenty-Four
Somewhere between Belger and Laketown, 900 A.C.
WHEN I WOKE I found myself deaf, blind, gagged and hooded. I could feel myself swaying and realised I was suspended in mid-air. I tried to reach out with my senses but felt nothing. Whatever the source of my power was, it was simply gone. It was like losing your sight and I reeled internally at the loss. I tried everything I could to try to grasp my power. At some point, I rationalised they had suspended me for some reason and that was probably to sever my connection to the earth. I had no idea how high above the ground I was but I imagined it must be very high. I was completely isolated. The ropes that bound me were doing more than simply binding me. At first, I could feel them tightening on their own with every exhalation, making it harder to breathe with each breath. It was almost like they were alive. It was the only sensation I was aware of and I felt every squeeze. It frightened me very much. And so I hung in the air knowing only pain and fear. Panic beat at my senses continuously and I fought it off as best I could, knowing I was losing the fight.
I had never experienced such pain in my life. At first, it had merely hurt to be tied up so tight and I couldn't imagine it being worse. Then my own weight put a tremendous strain on my joints and spine and after moments, my muscles cramped into unbearable knots of pain. My eyes were covered, my mouth gagged and something had been pushed painfully into my ears where it had set solid blocking all sound. I screamed against the gag but heard nothing. Soon I felt my arms and legs go numb and the loss of the pain was such a relief. When the ropes didn't loosen I remembered that limbs cut off from circulation too long can quickly go bad and would need to be cut off from the body lest they infect the person. This fear of losing my limbs consumed me completely and the fear I was holding back overwhelmed my remaining senses.
Leaf and Branch (New Druids Series Vol 1 & 2) Page 39
