The Record of the Saints Caliber

by M. David White

  “There, there, now, child.” said the mother warmly as she looked down upon Nuriel. “Crying won’t bring us back from the flames.”

  “Come on,” urged the boy, his skeletal hand still extended through the flames for her. “Come burn with us.” In his arms the skeletal baby kicked and squealed with delight as its hollow eyes fell upon Nuriel.

  “Come now,” said the mother, smiling at her. “You know what you must do. Burning is the only way to cleanse yourself.”

  Nuriel’s hands gripped at the snow as her body was wracked with uncontrollable sobbing and tears fell in steady drops from her face. “I can’t do it,” she said, crying. She looked up at the mother. “I can’t do it.”

  “Burning is the only way, dear.” said the mother.

  Nuriel buried her face in her hands, sobbing. “No! No. No…no…no…no…”

  “Your baby needs you,” pleaded the boy. “You did this to him. You did this and you said you’d come back. You promised us.”

  “Come burn with us.” said the mother, smiling warmly. “Then everything will be right. Everything will be forgiven.”

  Nuriel looked up, the vision blurry through her tears. The boy’s skeletal hand was extended to her, the skeletal baby squealing with delight in his arms. The mother looked down at her, smiling softly. “You know what you must do,” said the mother.

  Nuriel collapsed upon the snow, bawling for a long moment before her tears finally let her get a word out. “I’ll do it,” said Nuriel between her choking sobs. “I’ll do it.” Her hands clutched at the snow before her, spilling out between her fingers as her grip tightened. “I’ll give my soul to Apollyon. I’ll be free of everything, and then I can burn with you forever.”

  Nuriel sat up in the snow and wiped the snot from her face. Through the fire she could see the boy jumping up and down excitedly. “She’s gonna do it, mama! She’s gonna do it!”

  Nuriel buried her face into her hands and wept. “I do it. I offer my soul.” she said between sobs. Then she looked up, and it took all her will to scream out into the night, “I offer my soul to Apollyon! I give it to you! Take me! Take me!”

  There was a tremor in the ground. It was almost imperceptible at first, but it grew slowly in intensity. Nuriel wiped her nose and looked around. The trees shook. It was like something large and unseen was walking towards her. The ground shook again, rattling the very logs in the fire, causing them to settle and the fire to die a little. Nuriel stood up, her feet feeling a little uneasy beneath her.

  All around her the land began to crack. Great veins opened in the snow and glowed in a soft, vermillion light. A sulfurous reek seeped from the earth. The ground shook again. And again. There was a strange sound in the air, a thrumming that was at once unsettling and otherworldly. From deep beneath the earth an eerie sound came that chilled Nuriel to the bone. It was a moan, like the very dirt and stone of the earth was pained. Then, no more than twenty-feet before her, there was a terrible crack. A giant fissure in the snow opened and a fierce, red light shown from it. That terrifying moan reverberated beneath the land again, and then a dark form rose up from the fissure.

  “A soul of Aeoria’s own has given a cry and the Demon, Yig, beckons to call!” roared the beast as its enormous, clawed feet came to stand upon the earth. The snow at once began to melt in its presence and the very earth shuddered as if in protest of the creature. The cold air smoked around it, the atmosphere trembled with its heat waves. It was a hulking monster at least fifteen-feet tall, and it stank of rust, decay and brimstone. It was demonic in form and entirely black as pitch except where veins of pulsing fire shown. It was like a blackened log in a fire, cracked and pitted and pulsing with raw heat. The creature had thick legs and arms, both equipped with terrible claws that throbbed with fire. Its face was not bestial, but a twisted mockery of a man’s whose eyes shown like white-hot coals. Great, curved horns upon its head seemed too large and heavy for it, and they too pulsed with infernal reds and yellows.

  Nuriel stumbled back from the creature. Radiant heat from its body washed over her, carrying with it the reek of charred flesh. Everywhere around her water trickled as the snow melted, and her own fire was dowsed as the tree branches above it poured off water. The beast fixed its impossibly hot eyes upon Nuriel and her feet failed her and she fell into a wet puddle of melting snow. This creature was something Nuriel had learned about in Sanctuary. It was one of Apollyon’s Unbound, a demon freed to walk the mortal world and who delighted in its destruction. It was rumored amongst the Saints that the Unbound were once men; once mortals. What had brought them demonic life to the service of Apollyon was unknown.

  The demon’s mouth spread into a wicked smile, but instead of seeing the gleam of white teeth, rows of charred fangs appeared, each pocked with throbbing heat. Steam wafted from its mouth, obscuring it in eerie fog as it barked an unholy sounding laugh. “You’re a precious one,” its hideous voice tore at the very atmosphere. Its eyes fell upon Nuriel’s crotch. “But not as precious as you were once.”

  Nuriel scrambled to her feet and grabbed her star-metal claymore. Her Caliber began to shine a brilliant gold around her and she felt the Ev washed from her mind. Sparks of lucidity began to fire and the world around her was once again something real; something tangible; something that had consequences.

  “Oh my precious darling,” said the beast, wagging a long finger that looked more like the charred branch from a tree in autumn. “I am not so easily fooled as to be summoned up just for a fight. In Hell despair rings like church bells and your cries were a most delightful melody.”

  The beast took a step forward and the ground whined in protest. Nuriel raised her sword and became aware that she was trembling. She felt impotent before the creature; subservient even. Her Ev-muddled mind tried to focus and she told herself it was a trick. She had learned of it back in Sanctuary, of how demons could make one feel such a way.

  “Oh, no-no-no,” said the demon. “Put down your sword and let me hear your song again.”

  Nuriel flourished her blade and fell into a defensive stance. Her mind fluttered from the Ev but she held tight to the conscious lucidity that seemed so delicate.

  The beast laughed. “Mmm,” it moaned as it raised its head, sniffing at the wind. “I smell the delicacies of my Master coursing through you.” It looked at Nuriel and she felt its white-hot eyes burning into her mind. She was flooded by warmth…a pleasing warmth. It started in her left arm, right where she had last injected the Ev, and it coursed its way up into her shoulder and spread through her chest and head and then down her body and into her legs and crotch where a sudden ecstasy erupted and she fell, weak-in-the-knees to the earth. Her sword collapsed beside her with a tremendous thud.

  The creature stepped to her, the heat from its body pouring over her. Nuriel laid upon the cold, wet earth, her eyes upturned as an unending rush of Ev coursed through her. She smiled and writhed upon the ground. She was assaulted by a disarray of thoughts: hugs from Karinael; bloody spatters from dead Icelanders; Mother Brendaline’s tarts; her dead cat; the day she received her Call to Guard; the falling limbs of Gamalael. They were all so pleasant. All of them so equally pleasant and satisfactory and thrilling.

  “There you are my precious darling,” it said in its otherworldly voice. Nuriel was certain it was next to her cheek, but she was too caught up in her own memories to care. “Mmm,” it moaned. “The things that have been done to you.”

  Something deep within Nuriel stirred and told her to shine her Caliber. She did. She didn’t know how, but she did. A white radiance engulfed her and conscious thought began to flicker to life. She managed to look upon the demon as she lay on the ground, Ev coursing too violently within her for her to manage anything else.

  “Oh, there you are my precious.” said the charred beast. “I see your problem. You never learned how to use the gifts of my Master. You’re chasing memories. Memories are like butterflies, my darling. There’s an entire field of them, and you go sn
atching after them. But there are too many, too hard to follow. And if you catch one, it’s so fragile that it breaks in your hand.” The creature paused and made a tisking sound at her. “You have to follow the emotions of those memories. Instead of chasing the butterflies, you just sit there and watch them, or walk amongst them, but never try to catch them. Look at their colors, my precious, and what do you see?”

  Nuriel lay there, her eyes barely open. She looked at the memories as they flooded her. Her lips began to turn in a snarl.

  “There it is, precious.” said the beast with delight. “Your memories are all filled with red. Fire and blood and the hatred you feel for what has been done to you and what you have been made to do to others.” The creature made its disgusting moan of pleasure again. “Yes, your butterflies are all red. The color of anger and hatred.”

  Nuriel felt herself welling with a rage that she had never felt before and she sat up. She looked around, snarling. They all deserved it. They all deserved what they got, she thought, and she had the sudden inclination to kill. They had taken her freedom. They had taken her life. They had taken her womanhood. They had taken everything from her. Nuriel looked the demon in its eyes as she sat upon the ground.

  The demon laughed. “You’ve offered your soul, and now you remember why. You’re not some animal to be caged. You’re meant to be free. Give your soul to Apollyon and I shall take the stellaglyph from your neck. No longer will you be bound to anyone or anything. No longer will a Sanguinastrum hold sway of your life. You’ll be free, and your pleasure shall be the whole of the law.”

  Nuriel looked at the beast, her own eyes as hot and molten as its.

  “Mmm,” it moaned, its charred tongue, veined with fire, licked at its cheek with lurid sexuality. “Tell me your name. Tell me your star.”

  Nuriel was about to say her name when her eyes caught sight of something. From the dark snowfields a shadow approached.

  The creature turned and let loose a long hiss, its breath smoking in the arctic air. “Mmm. Another Saint.” it hissed with pleasure. “Another soul.”

  “There you are Nuriel.” chirped Celacia as she strode across the snow, her armor and hair as black as the night around her, her emerald eyes gleaming large and bright.

  “Offer now,” warned the demon to Nuriel. “Don’t let her words sway you from what you want. Just tell me your name. I already know you as Nuriel. I just need to hear it from you. Quickly now, precious.”

  Celacia stopped about twenty-feet from the creature and shook her head, tisking at Nuriel. “Nuriel, Nuriel, Nuriel. Whatever have you gotten yourself into now?”

  The demon looked at Celacia curiously. “Your soul does not smell as ripe.” it said. “Mmm, but my master is not so particular. Offer it and I shall accept it.”

  Celacia turned her eyes up at the demon and scowled. She flicked her hand at it in a shooing motion. “Run along, why don’t you.” She looked back at Nuriel. “Let’s go.”

  “I warn you,” growled the demon. “Mind your business.”

  Celacia rolled her eyes. She looked at Nuriel and tilted her head quizzically. “Are you on drugs?”

  Nuriel felt the Ev stir within her. It coursed through her hotter than ever, her lips turned up in a snarl and she stood up, gripping her large sword. Her breaths came both deep and frantic. It was her fault. Everything was Celacia’s fault.

  The demon chuckled cruelly. “I see now, my darling,” said the demon. “She’s one of those butterflies, isn’t she? One of the redder ones too. Mmm, this is no Saint. Who are you?”

  Celacia’s eyes flicked up to the demon and she scowled at him briefly. She looked back at Nuriel. “I can’t say I approve of your new friend. He seems to be a bad influence on you. Time to come home, Nuriel.”

  The demon let loose a low, terrifying chuckle. Then, hardly aware of her own motions, Nuriel sprang forward, her claymore a flash of black lightning in the night. She brought it up in a scything swing at Celacia but the woman stepped sideways and avoided it. Like some sort of giant cat predator, Nuriel landed and turned with fluid grace, her claymore a whirl as she drove back in at Celacia.

  With casual efficiency Celacia turned and stepped into Nuriel, throwing aside her sword-swing with her forearm. Then she brought her leg up into her own waist and delivered a powerful kick to Nuriel’s abdomen that sent her stumbling backward. Nuriel recovered quickly—only slightly aware of the excruciating pain that had come with such near proximity to Celacia—and drove right back in, her claymore whipping about in a storm of black star-metal.

  Celacia was quick on her feet but had no weapon of her own. She ducked and dodged with aqueous motions, never faltering, never seeming to be at any sort of disadvantage. Nuriel’s mind through all of this was a haze of red anger. Her subdued consciousness caught glimpses here and there of the pain of Celacia’s presence. She could feel death breathing upon all her joints, in the very tissue of her skin. Yet, for the pain, Nuriel could see the flesh of her hands was still whole, that the leather of her bodysuit was not flaking or cracking. Part of her mind echoed with a thought that Celacia must be holding back her aura, and something about that just made Nuriel all the more angry.

  Nuriel growled and her Caliber suddenly flared a blinding white. She doggedly pressed in on the woman, her sword strikes coming with blinding speed and precision, each one meant to decapitate limbs at the joints of her armor. All Nuriel could see was anger now. Not even her Caliber could clear the Ev that coursed through her.

  Celacia chirped a little curse as she narrowly ducked a swing meant for her head. She rolled upon the ground in the opposite direction the strike had come and in a single, fluid motion was back on her feet and pulled what appeared to be a bladeless sword handle from her boot.

  Nuriel turned to face the woman just in time to see a midnight-black blade materialize upon the handle. The sword was black. Blacker than black. Blacker than Nuriel’s own star-metal. It was like solidified shadow and it glowed with a faint, purple hue. The air around the blade grew visibly stale and dry.

  Celacia scowled at Nuriel and with her free hand wiped at her cheek where a fine scarlet line of blood shone. “That kind of hurt.” she said, but already the wound was sealed and the blood that had been there was dust in the wind. “Put down your sword, Nuriel.”

  Nuriel stood there panting, her breath smoking, her eyes molten gold. The warmth of the Ev was fiery in her veins and she felt clouded by the raw feelings of hatred and despair. Something in her wanted to let go of her sword, but louder, more unforgiving voices screamed out for death.

  “Kill her!” growled the demon. “Kill her and Apollyon’s rewards shall be many and great!”

  “It’s over, Nuriel.” said Celacia, an obvious annoyance in her tone. “I’m done playing with you. But I do have to commend you. You’re the first person I’ve ever fought who’s made me draw Deathwind.”

  “Kill her!” demanded the demon.

  Despite Nuriel’s best efforts to clear the Ev from her system by flaring her Caliber, the demon’s command hit her with a surge of anger and a hot deluge of Ev rolled through her body. Nuriel dashed forward, her sword arcing in a death-blow to Celacia’s head. Celacia brought her sword up and the two blades clashed, black sparks twinkling in the inky, arctic night.

  Nuriel growled and her sword became a blur of motion as she danced in at Celacia. More black sparks flew as strike after strike was turned away. Celacia gave no ground to Nuriel. The woman’s feet turned and repositioned, the snow beneath her melting and subsequently drying to nothing, leaving barren, scarred earth beneath her boots.

  Celacia’s own parries came as smoothly and fluidly as Nuriel’s strikes, but the force of Nuriel’s star-metal sword was ferocious. Celacia grunted as she tossed aside one of Nuriel’s strikes, but her foot slipped on dead earth beneath her. Celacia quickly tucked and rolled with her slip, and by the time she was on her knees, Nuriel was already back on her.

  White, foamy spit trickled from Nuriel�
�s lips and her eyes were wild with rage. She could hear the demon’s voice in some sort of distant consciousness as he urged her to kill. Celacia was still on her knees when Nuriel drove her blade down upon the woman’s own, and the two swords cracked like thunder. Celacia let out a little yelp but she had no time to stand or even roll out of the way. Nuriel brought her blade down again and again in vicious, swift repetition. Each crack of her sword against Celacia’s drove the woman’s blade another inch closer to her face.

  Nuriel was about to deliver another blow when she caught a glimpse of herself reflecting in Celacia’s black armor. Her face was twisted in hideous rage, made uglier by the slight withering created by Celacia’s aura. She saw her own golden eyes, more monstrous than beautiful. Her lips were turned up in a snarl, foamy spit at the edges of her mouth.

  And she hesitated.

  Her blade paused in mid-strike for only a fraction of a second, but in that time there was a fleeting glimpse of clarity. She could feel Ev burning through her veins. She was aware of her clouded mind. She could see the broken images of her own rape; of the cat that Adonael and Hamon had killed; of being forced to go with Isley to Duroton; of the day she had to say goodbye to Karinael, the only true friend she ever had; of the burning villagers she had set to torch back in Jerusa; of all the terrible things she had done or had been done to her. Suddenly Nuriel didn’t know what she was doing. She wanted everything to end. She just wanted to be done with this life. Her grip loosened on her sword and she would have dropped it, but a fresh surge of Ev tore through her body as the demon commanded her to take vengeance.

  And just like that, clarity left her mind.

  Reds flashed everywhere. Hatred and anger were the only things that were real. Everything was a blur. She felt her sword cracking hard against Celacia’s own. She felt the woman’s parries and dodges beginning to falter. More Ev, hot and searing in its intensity, raged in her body. She could hear echoes of Celacia’s voice somewhere in her mind. They urged her to stop, to put down her sword. But the voice was so distant and drowned by the demon’s own, and she had no ability to act on anything but her rage.