Colin Tabor - The Fall of Ossard

Deeper and deeper…

The robed men stepped out of the darkness to close around us in their long blacks, their features lost to hood and shadow. With them came a chill that stirred a fear in me that was nothing but primal.

We had to get out of here!

The voices in my head grew louder, no longer whispering mumbled words, but joining together in a rising wail.

I tried to scream to get my lover’s attention, but his hand, once a tool of gentle pleasure, now pressed down so heavily that I barely raised a sound. Confused, I bucked, thrusting my hips up into his as I tried to throw him off.

He just rode out my efforts.

Harder and harder…

And then one of the robed men stepped forward.

Pedro turned his head in their direction, but instead of showing surprise, he nodded in greeting. My lover, with sweat from our efforts running down his brow, growled, “Hurry!”

He knew them!

The leader nodded and started a chant, the tongue of it foreign, but its rhythm making it ring out like a prayer. The others were quick to join in.

Panic finally overtook the alcohol and lotus in me, yet I lay helpless under Pedro’s weight.

What could I do?

What were they going to do?

Were they all going to jump on top of me once Pedro had finished?

It was then that I realised I knew their leader. I was staring into the same cold eyes that had arrogantly watched me as he stole the redheaded boy away. As if in answer to the thought, he snapped his fingers, and the same child appeared, pushed forward to stand mindless before us.

The voices sounding in my head climbed higher, their choral wail growing more intense.

They were terrified!

I struggled again, trying to force Pedro off. His weight made it impossible, and my bucking only seemed to give him more pleasure.

I had to do something!

I bit down on his hand, but he barely flinched. Blood came into my mouth, but he just kept working me.

Faster and faster…

The leader stood there with the child in front of him.

The chanting built in crescendo and then finally peaked.

Casually, as if filleting a fish, the leader opened the child’s throat with a blade and a quick flick of his wrist.

Pedro gave a throaty growl, pushing down so hard into me that I yelped. And with that deep movement my own body responded, trembling as it found its own release.

Then it was done, both he and I, and the red haired boy.

All of us finished.

I lay there with Pedro slumped on top of me, both of us wearing nothing more than sweat; his of exertion, mine of terror.

The boy still stood, held by two of the robed men. They were draining the life from his body, directing the red flow from his wound into a bowl of silver.

The robed leader wet a brush in the bowl, and then began painting something on Pedro’s back.

I shivered.

The leader finished his marking, and then looked to me. He leaned down, his breath on my cheek, and uttered something in the tongue of the chant before kissing me.

Slowly, Pedro removed his bloodied hand from my mouth.

I tried to scream, but no sound came.

All of them laughed at my horrified surprise, even Pedro.

Their leader said, “You will remember this, all of it, but you will never be able to speak of it.” And then he grinned.

He stepped back into the shadows, as did those with him. In a moment, only Pedro and I remained.

The alcohol had long ago relinquished its grip on me, replaced with horror and shame. Pedro knew, but refused to let me become a prude. He pulled out of me as he rolled off, and with his closest hand squeezed one of my breasts. “Perhaps I’ll see you again, Juvela, you are too special to let go.” Then he got up, turned around, and fetched our clothes from where they lay on the paving.

Under the silver-blue moonlight, I could see that the cultist had marked a four-sided diamond on his back. Painted in blood, it now trailed long dribbling lines from the base of his neck running all the way to his butt. He looked to me and smiled, but it wasn’t of shared joy, instead it was of selfish power.

We seemed to be alone, leaving me to wonder if I was safe. I also worried about the time; Isabella had been gone for far too long.

I wanted to run.

I wanted to go home.

I wanted Sef.

Pedro dressed himself and then helped me. He pulled me up and off the lounge, forcing me into my dress with well-practiced hands. I wondered with disgust; how many other women had he been with?

Then we stood facing each other.

I scowled at him.

Would he or his robed associates ever want to see me again? I hoped not.

This would be the end of it.

He regarded me. “Your dress looks as it should, but let me fix your hair. He fussed over me, his touch lingering, and then he wiped away tears I didn’t remember shedding.

As if nothing had happened, he asked, “How am I, orderly enough?”

Shocked and numb, I whispered, “Yes.” He actually looked magnificent, truly alive and vital, as if he’d been blessed.

He took my reluctant hand and led me along the path.

I felt stunned and confused. My guilty flesh still carried his memory, worse still a part of me revelled in it.

I’d unwittingly been part of a ritual that saw my previous silence on the redheaded boy’s kidnapping mature into the guilt of being present at his murder. I’d also shamed my family.

Voices rose from the stairs, we turned to meet them. I let go of Pedro’s hand.

It was the rest of our party.

I would try and tell them, I had to.

Pedro stepped forward to greet them.

Horseface and Heifer looked tired and bored, but I couldn’t hold their gaze.

My cousin carried the bouquet of roses. The sight of them hurt me; my perfect dream dead.

I tried to speak, to say that a boy had been killed, that forbidden magic had been worked, but my mouth would simply not move. Despite my efforts, neither my voice nor jaw would follow my command.

Pedro watched me. A sparkle in his eye told me that he knew of my plight. I could see his relief.

Isabella appeared out of the darkness behind us.

Had she been there all along?

Her face gave away nothing.

My cousin said, “It’s a good night for a rooftop stroll, but unfortunately the evening must come to an end.” He looked to Pedro and continued, “I must thank you for your invitation to dinner.“

Pedro bowed and looked to me. “It was a pleasure, and a pleasure I’d very much like to have again.”

I shivered.

I went through the next few days as if in a trance.

My mother worried, I think she thought I was drifting off, somehow becoming lost to the magic. Struggling with my own guilt, I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the truth. I convinced myself that I wouldn’t have been able to in any case because of the binding their leader had put upon me.

Slowly, I pulled myself out of the haze, helped by my mother reducing the amount of lotus she added to my meals. In the end, I reminded myself, it hadn’t been me drawing the blade across the boy’s throat. I was just a witness. If anything, I was also a victim – if perhaps a luckier one.

And so I went on, trying to soothe my troubles away. It didn’t work, not at first, but soon I found some solace and my malaise began to fade.

Pedro didn’t call on me, and for that I was glad. I even began to think I could put the whole thing behind me and settle for a simpler man.

Until I discovered I was pregnant.

Before long I wasn’t the only one who knew. My mother realised and told Father. The maids overheard, and through them the news of my shame spread.

Pedro’s next visit started without the charm of our first meeting.