By Moonlight Wrought (Bt Moonlight Wrought)

by Crandall, John

  Fiona led her back into the shrine and stood her before the altar, turning Cinder toward the crowd as she removed the robe. Cinder raised her hands above her head and Fiona fastened her wrists into the manacles. As Fiona struck her with the whip across the back, Cinder winced and whimpered, but not a sound emerged. She could see Fiona readying various instruments of torture for the coming aspects of physical pain and Cinder’s demonstration of how one could overcome it, deal with it, enjoy it. Cinder must have fainted, because the next thing she realized was that the room was empty: she was alone. She looked around the long, low chamber. The silver benches stood in perfect order upon the jet floor. The numerous candles burned smoothly, not a breeze to cause even a flicker. She pulled on the manacles and stretched, trying to reach the floor, to maybe flick the chain off of the hook by which she was suspended above and free herself. But, just then, the door flew open and a cold blast blew out the candles.

  The room was illuminated only by the light which entered from the hall. Then, even that glow was cut out momentarily as a large, broad shadow entered the room. She had thought at first that maybe It was Dirk, but she knew It; It was the one from her dreams: the dreams she could never remember.

  It walked up the step and down the aisle to her. Her excitement was immense. Cinder struggled faster, stretching, trying to touch the floor so she could release the chains above. But the fear grew to an unbearable level, stronger and stronger. Even Cinder, in the peak of her sexual culmination, could not stand the fear she often found exciting. Her heart had never beat so fast, she thought it would burst within her heaving, convulsing chest. She wanted down. She wanted out and away from there. For the first time since entering humanity, Cinder wanted nothing to due with arousal, with excitement.

  “No! No!” she screamed, but no words came. The form went to the altar and picked up the sacrificial dagger. “Melissa! Fiona!” she thought and tried to scream, but Cinder could only gasp, the fear had so seized her stomach that she could no longer breathe. “Melissa! Fiona!”

  It stood before her. It was immense; huge; taller and broader even than Dirk, “and those eyes,” she thought. It stood pointing the knife at her, Its face twisted and horrid, the wickedness plain. Cinder’s stomach was so knotted that she could not even move her legs or even wiggle at all. She shook her head “no” furiously and looked to the door for Fiona, but no one was there, no one came.

  Then just as she brought her eyes back to It, the Fiend thrust the blade into her; burying the steel to the hilt. She gasped as it penetrated her abdomen, just below the sternum. Her body swayed from the force of the blow and It put Its hand up between her legs and grabbed her to prevent her from swaying. With her abdominal muscles severed, Cinder could not raise a leg in a feeble attempt to kick It, even if she had not been previously paralyzed by immense, unconquerable fear. The Fiend slowly dragged the knife down toward her pelvis and Cinder tried to scream, the pain and tearing unbearable as the tears streamed down her face. She looked down and saw the dark blood flow down her corset and down over Its black hand, down her thighs and run onto the floor, splashing in a great pool. Her skin peeled back to reveal her minced, pink insides and It drew the blade even further. Her corset snapped away as It cut the last thread and the blade met her pelvic bone with a scraping sound. She heard Dirk calling in the distance and she tried to scream one last time, and she finally succeeded.

  Cinder sat upright in bed, and a deep-throated, gutteral moan erupted from her chest, sounding nothing like her normally lilting voice. Her chest heaved up and down, her supple breasts rose and fell as she clutched her arms across her naked torso, covering as much of her body as she could, looking as if she were trying to hold her body together. Dirk had been awakened by Cinder trembling in her sleep, her whining and sobbing, as well as her constant, but nearly imperceptible convulsions which merely seemed to Dirk like vibrations. Now he sat away from her, startled back by her distorted cry, his face white with fear. In seconds, which seemed minutes to Dirk, her terror passed and he leaned to her.

  “Geez, Cinder. What’s the matter?” he asked, his voice trembling. She clung fiercely to him, her nails digging into the flesh of his back. She said nothing, but trembled incessantly, unable to speak; she seemed to be in shock. Cinder then pulled away and, leaning over the edge of the bed, vomited forth a stomach full of brandy, as pure as if poured from a bottle. Dirk pulled her back and held her tightly. Her trembling stopped as she mercifully fell into deep, dreamless slumber; the next morning, she again remembered nothing. The dream had been so terrifying that once more she had forced it completely from her conscious waking mind and into the dream world of her half-human subconscious. Dirk didn’t mention the terrifying and bizarre episode; not to anyone.

  12

  It was a windless night. The heavy air and falling snow made it difficult for the Fiend to detect the scent of prey. Windows were shut and sounds deadened by the thick snowfall. It needed to close on Its prey in order to sense it, and the Fiend had to concentrate; something It found increasingly hard to do. It walked through the night, Its heavy boots stepping lightly, crunching the gentle snow. The Fiend had looked for several hours, finding nothing, ready to try a random window, hoping to snatch a feminine victim into the night. Then It saw three ladies, cloaked against the cold, their long hair flowing down behind them as they stood under a street lamp.

  The Fiend approached. It eyed them then decided, the one with the dark hair and the bright eyes; she would be the one. The others would live, for now, but if she did not satisfy the Fiend, It would come back. The Fiend pulled forth a handful of coins and she took his generous offer, and Its arm. She peered into the dark hood, but could see nothing.

  “Where to?” the weak one asked sweetly. It pointed Its gloved hand to an alley and took her there, carrying her to keep her feet out of the snow when she had balked at entering a drift. Even a delay of a second was painful for It. “You’re too kind,” she said, but when they reached their destination, the Fiend set her down and immediately struck her with a vicious forearm blow, stunning her and knocking her into an alcove, blood from her nose and mouth spraying across the snow. As she tried to rise, the Fiend seized her cloak and ripped it off, then her dress. She wiped the blood from her mouth as she was jostled back and forth by Its stripping attack. She stood before It, half-naked, a look of defiance on her face and It stepped forward. She slapped It as hard as she could.

  The Fiend kept on, drawing Itself up, all disguise shed and her defiance turned to fear: exactly what It wanted. “Fight,” It growled low. “Futility brings fear.” She opened her mouth to scream, but It punched her in the stomach, doubling her over and snapping several of her ribs. Then It pulled back the woman’s hair and lightly slit her throat. She bled only a little, but she had learned that her attacker did not simply want to beat and rape her, but instead to kill her. Her fear grew tenfold.

  The Fiend forced his prey down on her back into the snow where It raped her brutally, viciously. The Fiend sucked the gash on her neck, tasting the blood and feeling her fear as It enjoyed Itself. Then It heard the snow crunch behind It. The Fiend whirled Its head as It kept in motion atop her, and It saw a shape duck back behind the corner. Hurriedly finishing Its business, the Fiend stood and drove Its knife into her stomach, ripping the blade down her body. As the female winced and whimpered, blood squirting from her mouth, the Fiend relished, cruelly twisting the blade one more time before withdrawing it. Then It drove the steel down into her neck until the blade struck stone, to silence her, then slit her throat again, this time deeply.

  Will had wandered ahead of them: Selric and Dirk walked along kicking up the snow, Melissa strolled between them. “Look, I’m a tracker,” Will said as he followed a distinct set of footprints. They were separated by great strides and Will had to jump from print to print to avoid making tracks of his own. Melissa walked in the tracks as well, kicking them into oblivion. As she did so, Melissa felt slightly ill; the onset of the flu, she believe
d.

  Shortly, Will came running back out of the darkness ahead, his face white with total and merciless horror. “Selric. Selric!” he stuttered, eyes bulging with fear as he stumbled and fell headfirst into the snow. Without bothering to wipe the icy snow from his face, Will rose again and ran to his master, squeezing him incredibly hard and pointing wordlessly ahead into the dark, which was broken occasionally by glistening white and silver snow banks. His look of terror froze the blood in the others, but only momentarily, for Selric sprang fearlessly forward, sword drawn. Melissa and Dirk immediately followed their leader. Ahead, down a small side branch of the alley, Selric spied a large shadow raising Itself, looming over the bloody body of a woman who lay in the trampled snow, now slushy with and expanding pool of warm blood. She writhed and moved slowly, but Selric could tell from her wounds that she would not live more than a few seconds: her throat had been slashed so deeply that her head was had nearly been severed, and her abdomen was ripped open wide.

  As Dirk and Melissa rounded the corner they were belted with fear so strong that they stopped in their tracks as if they had run into a wall. The shadow turned slowly toward them, Its green eyes glowing eerily within the black of Its form, as if it peered through Its own darkness. “Great gods! What in the Abyss...” Selric thought aloud. Dirk then saw the woman, blood flowing down out of the alcove where she had been butchered in a red icy stream. He covered his mouth, trying not to vomit, while Melissa instinctively loosened an arrow in her quiver with her trembling hand. The Fiend sensed their fear and rose up like some great serpent. All three stepped uncontrollably back several paces as the Fiend crouched, then hurled Itself through the air toward them an incredible distance.

  It covered the gap so quickly that Melissa could not loose an accurate shot, the arrow glancing off the building, three stories up, as the Fiend flew down at them. It landed on Dirk, kicking him into a great snow drift, then It grabbed Melissa’s bow with a howl of pain, the elfin magic burning Its hand as she readied another shaft. She held it so tightly that when the Fiend jerked the weapon away she flew with it, but was unable to hold on for long, flying into the midst of a pile of snow covered crates. The Fiend then hurled the bow as far as It could, drawing Its great curved sword with the other hand. The sword was raised just as Selric swept his keen blade across, attempting to behead his opponent. Sparks flew, but the Fiend’s enchanted steel held; it was the ancient sword given It by Bixby in exchange for the dark pact they had made.

  Dirk drew his own sword and rushed instinctively forward, fear subdued as the Fiend grabbed Selric’s sword arm and hurled him into a wall and the deliveryman feared for his friend’s life. Dirk and the Fiend exchanged blows, but it was all Dirk could do to keep from getting slashed. He could make no attack without sacrificing his defense: the Fiend was a great sword fighter as well as incredibly ferocious and strong. While engaging Dirk’s sword, the Fiend used Its free hand to punch him in the face, stunning him. Then It kicked him back again into the snowdrift. It went to Selric knowing, despite Dirk’s strength, it was he who It needed to worry about most. Ready to bring the scimitar down on Selric as the young nobleman frantically searched the snow for his sword, the Fiend’s hand was pierced by a small knife and the scimitar fell from Its grasp. The Fiend whirled and saw Will, his tongue sticking out arrogantly, the insolence driving the Fiend insane with rage.

  It flew at the boy and Melissa came rushing forward, her small sword gleaming in the moonlight. The Fiend felt little fear from her and It was impressed by such great bravery, especially in one as pretty as she. “If only she knows what I’m going to do to her when I kill the others,” It thought. Secretly, behind Its back, the Fiend drew Its long dagger. As she brought her blade to bear, the Fiend knocked Melissa’s arm wide and drove the knife into her abdomen so hard that It actually lifted her off the ground. It continued the violent motion and hurled her over Its head and onto Dirk just as he stood, knocking him down yet once more.

  The Fiend pursued Will, who ducked just ahead of Its blade into a small basement window, much too small for the Fiend to ever enter; as it was. “Fuck off, you big piece of shit!” Will yelled, afraid and angry, worried for his friends’ safety. “You’d better get outa here before my master cuts your head off and I cut your balls off, you scum.” The Fiend raged, pounding the masonry around the window, again and again, loosening the mortar and sliding the stones, destroying the building’s very foundation in Its rage. Will’s eyes bulged as he realized that his hole was not as safe as he had first thought. Will reached for his small knife, then remembered he had thrown it already, so he picked up a stone and hurled it. One of the Fiend’s green eyes winked out as It closed it in pain. “Ha, ha. Take that, Fiend,” he mocked.

  Selric charged, sword now in hand once more. The Fiend leapt up and turned the sword aside with Its dagger, then It grasped Its sword again and held both weapons aloft. Dirk who had been comforting Melissa, rose and came running to the melee, bellowing like a bull. The Fiend looked at the blood dripping from Its hand and felt how weakened was Its grip. Just before Dirk reached It, the Fiend put Its blades away and leapt up, a full ten feet onto a drainpipe, then scampered up, and in just a few seconds disappeared. All was quiet.

  Selric may have been able to chase It, but Dirk grabbed him. “Not alone,” he said. “Let’s get Melissa to Fiona.” Selric nodded his agreement, looking warily to the rooftops, ready for the creature’s return. Dirk lifted Melissa in his arms and carried her down the alley while Selric called Will forth from his burrow. Reluctantly, the boy came, and immediately he began searching for his knife. He found it in a black, blood-stained patch of snow where the Fiend had hurled it in his rage as It flicked Its great hand. “Thank you,” Selric said to Will, handshake so firm and sincere that it caused Will to blush with pride.

  Melissa was moaning, her wound deep in her stomach. Dirk could smell the beer she had drunk which the blood now forced out through the open gash. “Dirk,” she said, “why do you call me Melissa all the time?”

  “I don’t know,” Dirk said in puzzlement as he rushed her down the alley and out into the street. “That is your name,” he explained.

  “Yeah, I know, but the others call me Mel,” she said weakly.

  “Is that what you want me to call you?” he asked, watching her eyes slowly close. She moaned loudly.

  “It hurts,” Melissa screamed. “Dirk, hurry. Get me home!” Dirk looked back to find Selric just now running up, Will close behind him. Selric had Melissa’s bow.

  “Hurry up, Selric!” Dirk snapped, overcome with worry. He knew nothing about healing and felt that Melissa might die at any moment.

  “The other day,” Melissa continued, swallowing heavily, “a man, one of your guards, called me Missy.”

  “Yeah?” Dirk asked.

  “That’s what my Daddy calls me.” She paused, trying to catch her breath. “Would you call me that?” she asked, forcing her eyes wide open for a few labored seconds; their big, brown centers glossy and shiny.

  “Yeah, sure,” Dirk said, but Melissa still seemed uncomfortable. She repeatedly opened her eyes, looking impatiently at him.

  “Now, stupid,” she finally murmured. She was very tired, and Selric laid his cloak over her for warmth.

  “Now, what?” Dirk asked her, confused, so overcome with worry that he had no idea what is was that she wanted “now.”

  “Call me that, now,” she urged.

  “Oh!” he exclaimed, finally enlightened. “Okay. Uh, um. Missy,” he said none too deftly. “Missy,” he said again, this time more fluidly. Melissa closed her eyes and fell silent, a soft smile on her strained face; a soft smile which quickly faded. Dirk nearly cried, holding her out to Selric like a child with a broken toy. Selric put his hand to her neck, shaking his head and Dirk began to sob.

  “No!” Selric urged. “No, Dirk. She’s not dead, that’s what I meant. We still have time. Her wound is not that serious. Painful, yes. Deadly...but we have some time.” Dirk
cheered up and Selric commandeered the first wagon they encountered. They loaded her aboard then rushed Melissa home where Dirk carried her to bed. Meanwhile, Selric ran to the manor house where Fiona was working. Fiona came straight over and ran directly up the stairs. Relarius, Donagee, Marlo, and Aldren all stood outside the door, worried expressions on their faces and she pushed past them. “No, no,” she said to Dirk impatiently, her eyes glaring. “Get her up!” she snapped, “on the altar.”

  “You’re going to sacrifice her?” Dirk asked, worried.

  “No, fool. That’s where my power is greatest. Do it now.” Dirk whisked Melissa up as if she weighed nothing and carried her up to the altar in his great strides, laying her upon the cold stone. Selric was in the back of the room with Aldren, and the other three came and knelt in front of the benches.

  “You have worshipped here, Dirk. You should join them.”

  “I don’t believe in that nonsense,” he replied angrily.

  Fiona cast him a wicked glance. “These men don’t want to hear your blasphemy. This is the goddess that saved your life, and this is the goddess that is about to save Melissa. You’ve worshiped with us. Kneel down,” she commanded and Dirk did without argument. She raced out and returned shortly with the small box given them by Ponjess Thunderstaff and pulled forth one of the healing potions and gave it to Melissa.

  After several minutes of chanting and praying, Fiona announced that her ceremony was complete. “We’ll leave her here overnight. The potion and my healing prayers will mend her just fine. Marlo, go over and replace me at the house. Aldren, Relarius, and Donagee, take turns standing in here. If she wakes, get me.” Fiona paused when they all stood dumbly by. “She’ll be fine. Go!” She pushed all of them out but Donagee, whom she left on first watch.