CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: A MATCH MADE IN HELL.
Neb kept his eyes fixed on the silver metal ball atop Father Thomas' staff as he led the procession into the grand building. His heart thumped in his chest as though it wanted to escape. Neb worried it might explode. Alfred kept his hand clamped around Neb's upper arm. Sandwiched between them and Father Thomas and Mother Catherine, Kattin also clamped her hand on Samara's arm. Neb felt the back of his neck prickle as he entered the building. Panels of dark wood gleamed on the walls, while metal frames clamped the coloured glass in place. Ned tilted his head back but couldn't see the ceiling. Even in daytime this place would be dank and gloomy, with no natural light allowed to enter.
Father Thomas moved diagonally across the marble floor. Behind Neb footsteps continued to clatter, he thought it was an echo but then Father Thomas reached the far wall and turned to address his audience.
'My children, here you must remain. Pray for us, pray for Sister Catherine, that her son's spirit shall defeat this pagan's spirit and be clothed in flesh again,' he raised a hand and laid it on Neb's head.
A dozen voices murmured 'we pray for you, for Sister Catherine, for her son, and the pagan.'
Shaking off Father Thomas' sweaty hand, Neb turned to stare in amazement at the shadowy grey robes.
Samara screeched: 'tell your crows to pray for your soul, or is it beyond redemption?'
Father Thomas merely stared at her with his jelly like eyes. 'Keep her quiet please, Lady Kattin,'
Then he turned, opened the door, and walked through, followed by Sister Catherine. Kattin pushed Samara in front of her, then ducked through the arch. Neb shuffled forwards and discovered a stone stairway in front of him. It curled upwards. He glimpsed a flash of blue cloth, heard Father Thomas' staff tapping up ahead, then Alfred urged him forwards.
The stairway emerged onto a flat roof enclosed by a waist high stone wall. Two huddles of black robed figures lurked either side of the stairwell. A voice emerged from one of the hoods. 'Remove your shoes, this is sacred ground.' The roof's surface was covered in a crumbly earth. It didn't look too sacred to Neb but while Alfred obeyed instructions, removing first his own and then Neb's footwear, Neb surveyed the scene; a table about ten paces away was surrounded by candles and pitch burning torches. Their flames mingled to provide a wall of fire. Father Thomas and Sister Catherine had already taken their places, and now stood behind the table. Their black robes were nearly invisible and their faces seemed to hover mid-air, like glowing spectres. There were two chairs at either end of the table, which was chest high and long enough to seat twelve people. One empty, one occupied, but Neb couldn't see by whom. An invasive smell of burning spice tickled Neb's senses and he sneezed. Alfred joined in and Kattin sniffled and blew her nose on her sleeve. Noticing Samara was breathing through her mouth, Neb copied her. A prod at his back urged him forwards. Father Thomas began to chant as the group approached the table. Neb gasped. Vander's lanky corpse slumped in one of the high backed chairs. His skin looked waxen under the candlelight. Samara's head twisted from side to side, and her lips began to move, 'no, no, no, no, no …' she gibbered. Father Thomas chanted louder. Neb looked at Alfred. His skin too looked waxen, he kept his eyes fixed on a point over the Father's bald head.
'Stop this!' Neb yelled, but Father Thomas chanted even louder. An echoing chant drifted up from the hall below. One of the Black Robes clamped Neb around the neck and forced him to sit in the chair opposite Vander. The Black Robes seemed to melt into the dark, apart from four of their number, who filed silently around the table and lined up to form a guard behind Father Thomas. Neb contracted his biceps and strained against the rope binding his wrists. His heart-beat stuttered when the rope slackened. Only a fraction, but there was a definite movement. He glanced towards Alfred. The man continued to stare straight ahead, but a tic showed at the side of his jaw. Neb contracted and relaxed his muscles again; stretching his tendons to breaking point, his actions hidden by the chair's high back. Father Thomas' chant gave way to a prayer. He paused at the end of each line and waited for a response to come from the hall below. Each time he paused, Sister Catherine swung a round metal container from the end of a chain in a wide semi-circle. Smoke drifted from pierced holes in the container and the air grew heavy with burning nutmeg mixed with another, more pungent, smell that Neb couldn't identify. Whatever it was it crept into his mouth and nose and stifled his thoughts. He continued to work at the rope around his wrists, but he couldn't remember why it seemed so important. He became entranced by flickering candlelight; hypnotised by the miniature flames reflected in the molten wax dimpled around the candles' wicks. Real world, imitation world, real world, imitation world, real world …his mind chanted in time to the flickering lights, while Father Thomas' voice droned on.
A scream pierced Neb's consciousness. He glared at Samara, annoyed to be shaken from his dream-like state. The candle flames flickered towards her as she drew in a sharp breath and screamed again. Her skin tightened over her face, her eyes bulged and her lips drew back over her teeth. Her entire body convulsed as she wriggled and squirmed and tried to free herself. But Kattin's hands clamped firmly against Samara's shoulders. Neb's gaze travelled up from Kattin's white knuckled fingers, to her face. The gouges on her cheeks stood out as inflamed red stripes and her eyes too were wide, not with horror, but anticipation. Still in a state of semi-fugue, Neb glanced towards the other end of the table. On the chair opposite him, Vander's mouth yawned open. Neb shook his head – that wasn't right – Vander was dead. Even more perplexing, a puff of vapour hung over Vander's mouth. Instead of dispersing into the night it began to spiral. Slowly at first, then faster and faster. As it spun it folded in on itself, becoming thicker and less transparent. Neb watched with fascination, until with a last twirl it disappeared inside Vander's mouth which promptly snapped shut. Vander's eyes sprung open. Reflected candlelight glistened in the black pupils; they didn't dilate, but still they saw. Vander's body straightened and his head tilted towards Father Thomas who increased the pace of his chanting. Above his voice and the crackle of burning pitch, Neb heard bones snapping. His eyes sought the candles again and he willed himself to re-enter a dream state. But then a voice spoke and Neb's flesh tried to creep away from his bones.
The demon had answered Father Thomas' summons.
'You have called, I am here. What do you ask of me? What payment will you offer?'
A rattling gurgle caused Neb to glance to his left. Alfred shook as convulsively as Samara. Neb realised suddenly that Alfred had never believed in demons or spirits of any kind. With his son laying at death's door, Alfred too was a prisoner. It must have seemed to him that he had no other choice but to play along with this madness. Neb glanced back at Vander's animated corpse, now only the whites of his eyes showed. The dead man's hands gripped the chair's arms. As Neb watched, Vander's nails elongated into talons. Neb's eyes shied away from this horrific sight and up to Father's Thomas' face. His lips worked wetly as he prepared to answer the demon. But before he could utter a word, Sister Catherine flew at him.
'That's not my son! That's not my son! You promised me my son would return from the dead – where's my son?!' she howled, sinking to her knees and clutching at her breast.
The demon mocked her: 'If you're so keen to be with your son again, go and meet him!' The candles blinked out and almost simultaneously re-ignited with a hiss. Startled, Neb jolted back in his chair, then glanced at Samara. Her hands covered her mouth and her eyes were fixed in horror. Neb turned his head to follow her stare and saw Sister Catherine slumped face upwards over the table. Her headscarf was dislodged and her long hook of a nose pointed accusingly at Father Thomas. One of the black robes stepped forwards, scraped her body from the table and carried it towards the stairs. Without Sister Catherine constantly scattering incense, the air became sharper and Neb sucked it in by the lungful. As his fear increased he felt his wits returning. He clenched and unclenched his fists; working the rope around his wris
t loose, then taut, then loose again.
The demon cackled, and repeated: 'If I do your bidding, what will you offer in return?'
Father Thomas smiled beatifically and gestured towards Neb.
'A fine young healthy body. Is that payment enough?'
Vander's corpse smiled, and Neb's blood froze in his veins.
Now a deal had been struck, Father Thomas began intoning the wedding ceremony. Samara's teeth chattered with fear. When it came for her to accept her vows her lips mouthed the word "no", but Kattin squeaked a "yes".
Father Thomas cocked an eyebrow and turned to his cohorts behind: 'You all heard Samara accept this man Vander's offer of wedlock?' As one they chorused, 'We heard a maiden's voice say "yes".'
Neb blinked; behind the Black Robes shadows cavorted wildly. If he looked at them from the corner of his eye, they appeared as wild eyed demons, grinning with triumph.
A stench of rotting meat caused him to gag. He looked up to see Vander's corpse standing over him. It reached out and its filth ridden fingernails scraped through Neb's hair. Pin pricks of red lights shone in Vander's eyes and the demon grinned with dead lips.
'Pretty, pretty blond hair. Pretty boy.' Vander's eyes rolled up in his head again, showing only the whites. The corpse's knees collapsed and it slumped against the table and almost tumbled forwards into Neb's lap. The demon screeched and tried to regain control of the corpse. A gruff voice emerged from one of the Black Robes: 'Patience brother, your new form will soon be prepared.'
Neb redoubled his efforts to free his wrists. His eyes darted frantically from face to face. Father Thomas wore his usual indolent expression; Samara and Alfred were deep in shock. He knew he could expect no help from Kattin; and as for the black robed figures behind Father Thomas – their faces were in shadow – they might even be demons themselves.
Neb gave up struggling and groaned out-loud 'Balkind, where are you?' but a voice inside his mind whispered, don't lose hope, hope is all that's left.
The demon twisted Vander's head again to stare at Father Thomas. This time there was no snapping of bones, just the slurp of broken blood vessels.
'What does the boy speak of, who is Balkind?'
Neb wondered at the tension in the demon's voice.
Father Thomas shrugged and gave a bewildered shake of his head. Kattin answered 'Balkind is no-one, it's the name of his griffin.' Because she couldn't resist showing off, she added: 'it isn't even yet a griffin – it's still only a gryffant.'
Vander's corpse jitterbugged as the demon struggled to manoeuvre Vander's head around. Kattin's dead brother's eyes stared into hers: 'Griffin? There's a griffin here?!' The tension had changed to panic.
A half remembered lesson rose in Neb's mind: Chantress Anderra smiled as she recalled an old legend and explained why baby griffins were called cherubs. The very first griffins on Ella-Earth had been heaven sent to be the guardians of ley lines, unseen paths of unseen spiritual energy. Apparently, Samara had also heard these legends; she raised her chin and her eyes met Neb's. The malicious smile he'd come to know so well played around Samara's lips and she quoted:
'…And the spirits of all living things danced along the ley-lines of Ella-Earth, making a joyful noise unto the heavens. And though demons spat with hatred to see such rejoicing, they dare not approach … '
Through Vander's eyes the demon glared at Samara: 'Be silent! Be still!'
Evading Kattin's grasp, Samara took a step closer to the bloodless face of Vander. Robed in her mother's finery, she suddenly appeared taller, all traces of the girl had vanished revealing a bewitching woman dressed in red. Through bared teeth she finished the quotation:
'… for with the courage of a lion and glorious flight of an eagle, the mighty griffins patrolled the ley-lines … and they feasted on the demons' souls.'
Behind Father Thomas, the Black Robes chuckled. Reduced to just a girl again, Samara's face crumpled into bewilderment. She didn't resist when Kattin grabbed at her and thrust her towards Alfred. Two of the Black Robes stepped forwards to flank Father Thomas. One spoke in a rough growl:
'The boy has summoned his griffin. Make certain when it arrives that our brother is wearing the boy's flesh.'
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