Colin Tabor - The Fall of Ossard

Vassini looked down to his hands where they nursed each other on the table. “We tried to suppress the news, but it still seems to have found the street. They say that I killed him, personally, that I strangled the very life out of him. They call him a martyr!” The Benefice opened his hands and flexed his plump fingers.

The monk beside Vassini added, “And already there are other Heletites preaching.”

Inquisitor Anton nodded. “I see, and what of Lady Juvela? I believe she is here amongst us.” His eyes turned to me.

“I am, Inquisitor.”

“So, what is your connection to this false saint?”

“None, we just saw the Heletite selling relics in Market Square.”

“Did you speak with him?”

“No.”

“Did he talk to you as part of his preaching, perhaps pointing you out in the crowd or some such thing?”

“No, not that I know of.”

“Did you buy one of his trinkets?”

“No.”

“So, why are you claimed as the saint’s lady?” His gaze was piercing.

“I don’t know. We never spoke to the Heletite, and only listened for the briefest of time.”

His eyes narrowed. “What happened after you left him?”

I took a deep breath and told my tale, “The Cathedral bells began to toll for the sixth kidnapping as we moved on. People panicked. In the chaos I noticed a lady crying out and trying to shield her child. I went to help, and it was then that I disturbed the kidnapper…”

He corrected me, “The cultist?”

“Yes. I was scared, but also so angry about the kidnappings that I just charged him.”

“And stabbed him?”

“Yes.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Do you normally walk the streets armed?”

“No. I took a knife from my daughter’s bodyguard, grabbing it from his belt.”

“Did it never occur to you that your bodyguard might be a better person to handle such a weapon?”

“It all happened so quickly, and I was so angry…”

“And scared?” he asked.

“Yes! But I just wanted to get him away from the child he was about to take. That the blade wounded him at all was as much luck as anything.”

He nodded. “Then what happened?”

“The child fell weakened and listless, but back into her mother’s arms. I think the little girl had fainted. At the same time my daughter’s bodyguard arrived and drew his sword. The kidnapper, startled by the challenge, worked some kind of magic and disappeared.”

The Inquisitor nodded. “We will speak of this further another time.” And in my mind his voice whispered, “I know your truth!”

The air prickled around me as a chill crawled over my skin. As if in answer, I heard the rising growl of the voices inside my head, they snarled like wild dogs, starved and desperate. They hated him, and the heat of that hate quickly melted away the chill.

Inquisitor Anton cleared his throat and continued, “To the matter at hand; the ritual. I have examined the scene and issued instructions for the warehouse to be piled high with wood, oiled, and burnt. The place is an open sore and will lie weeping until it is cleansed. We can live with a scar, but not a festering wound.

“Lord Liberigo, when the fire has burned down to the ground, taking those poor defiled bodies with it, you can see about sealing the sewers and rebuilding the warehouse if need be.”

The Lord asked, “What if the families wish to retrieve the bodies to conduct funeral rites?”

“There can be none.”

Benefice Vassini looked appalled. “But what of their souls?”

“It’s too late, they’re already gone.”

Vassini paled as did the others about the table. “Gone?”

“Consumed by the ritual.”

Lord Liberigo queried, “And the purpose of the ritual?”

The Inquisitor sobered for his answer. “To create something.”

“What?” Lord Liberigo pressed.

“A beacon, and if we don’t act quickly it will attract who it calls.”

Lord Liberigo whispered, “And who is that?”

With fatigue in his eyes, Inquisitor Anton replied, “The Horned God.”

During the course of the day we spoke of many things.

The Inquisitor voiced suspicions that the Santana sect might be a front for one of the forbidden faiths. He feared it was just a bridgehead, and perhaps the first of many, something that would allow the new and unknown to become accepted.

It made sense, for in our spiritually lax city the new saint had already achieved a following in just a few days.

He’d said, “And what happens when those perpetrating this myth provide something to lend it credence? What happens when the frightened see proof of this new saint’s power? We will lose them. We have to discredit the sect and quickly.”

No one disagreed, and in truth I think we were all impressed. Yes, he had a pit of venom to draw upon, spouting dogma and easy hate, but a good deal of what he said came considered.

By the late afternoon we’d finished our discussions, with most of the time taken up in the planning of various searches of the city by the watch. Many attendees left the chamber quickly, rushing to act on our discussions – but not the Inquisitor.

He walked across to Sef, Pedro, and myself, greeting us with a bow. All the while he never took his eyes from mine. Finally, he said, “You see?”

There seemed no point in denial. “A little, but it’s all I can do.”

“For now, until you receive training.”

“I’m alone. I have no plans for training and wouldn’t know where to go in any case.”

“You are a Flet. Your people have a long history of magic, something that has always been of concern to the Church. The forefathers of this city were well meaning when they accepted your people as refugees, but they were also blinded by the promise of cheap labour and convertible souls. Sadly, it’s not come to pass. You Flets have only maintained your old ways, spoiling what was once a godfearing city. Such divisions cause weakness.

“The people of this city will pay a high price for their forefathers’ decision, and Ossard will not come out of this as it went in. The city will be reborn, but afterwards there will be no place here for you or your kin.”

His eyes narrowed. “This is your warning: If you were of no use to me, I’d drag you outside and into the square and burn your tainted hide to cinders right now. Instead I ask you to help me clean the city. When all is done I will help you gain shelter elsewhere, we could even see you and your family settled in Fletland.”

I was stunned by his words.

His lips then curled into a scowl. “Fletland will be fine for you, anywhere will be as long as you leave here. You’ll not be welcome in the New Ossard. You are Demon. Even if you begged me to let you take Krienta as your saviour, I would deny you. Your soul is filth!”

Pedro gasped.

And any hope of last night’s warmth between us being rekindled died.

As if reading my mind, the Inquisitor said, “My son, mind yourself, if you give her your love she’ll take your soul.”

Pedro stood stunned by his words, yet accepted them.

The Inquisitor added, “If you want Krienta’s salvation you must be free of demons. You live with this one and bravely deny her, yet… yet there is another…” His eyes squinted as he concentrated, slipping his perception into the celestial to skim Pedro’s very being. His face tightened with the effort and then his lips drew themselves into a sneer. “My son, you have already given your love to the other. You are forsaken!”

My own mind raced; who could Pedro love?

And my husband paled. “I haven’t, I love no one!”

The Inquisitor’s sneer faded, but only to become grim. “You have thinned your Heletian blood by having issue with this witch, you have fathered a daughter of damnation!”