Profane rites, p.5
Profane Rites, page 5
Honorata stopped listening to their chatter as she sensed something from the other side of the square. That same sense of tainted power she felt the night before. The disgusting roiling of Shankar’s evil aura. There was no mistaking that feeling. It ran through her and made her blood run cold. Yonas must have noticed Honorata stiffen, because he became alert, his hand on his sword.
And then they saw him. Someone had given Shankar a shirt, a vain attempt to cover the evidence of his torture. It was not enough though, because his arms remained exposed, and they betrayed the puncture wounds and countless bruises which marked his time in captivity. Honorata doubted anyone in the crowd cared though. As if to demonstrate that thought, the mob began jeering as Shankar was led through them. His hands were bound before him, and he was being dragged along by a thickset man dressed in leather armour. The guard carried a gurz—a heavy flanged mace—in the other hand. Trailing Shankar were two more guards, carrying spears, and behind them walked Mihir and Falgun, both still wearing their dark suits.
As the crowd yelled and insulted the heretic, Shankar walked confidently, his back straight and his head held high. A man spat in his face and said something in anger. Honorata could not hear from this distance, but she had a fair idea what it could have been. The ghoul has stirred the entire village into a frenzy. They were terrified of these supernatural occurrences, and they saw this as an opportunity to fight back in the only way that they could. Their anger just another facet of their fear. Despite still feeling Shankar’s discomforting aura, Honorata took a deep breath and tried to calm her mind. If there was anyone in this crowd who should be expected to be able to remain dispassionate, it should be her.
They dragged Shankar onto the platform they had erected in the square. The heavy guard unceremoniously shoved Shankar’s head through the noose and tightened it around his neck before standing back. The heretic still looked unperturbed by it all, peering down at the crowd in a curious way. He scanned the crowd until his eyes seem to come to rest on Honorata. She felt like he held her gaze from across the square, but that was probably just her imagination. The man was about to be executed; why would he be interested in staring at her.
Mihir stepped forward. “I’ll be quick today, ladies and gentlemen, because this is a foul thing that needs to be done and best we get on with it. This man is a heretic. Shankar Panni is his name. He was caught red-handed using forbidden rituals. He is an evil man, and the only fitting punishment is death.” The crowd murmured in approval at that. “Shankar, you are entitled to give us your last words, but make it quick.”
Shankar nodded to Mihir and tried to step forward but was thwarted by the noose around his neck. He did not speak. Instead, he closed his eyes, and Honorata felt the tainted aura around the man intensify. A purple glow, subtle at first, grew to envelop him. The heretic’s foul work continued, right to the end! Honorata went to run forward; she did not know why but she had to do something. A troubling sensation halted her. She felt the strong tainted aura before her, but now she felt it behind her as well! Weaker and more distant, but it was there. She turned and saw nothing but an empty street. The crowd were now grumbling in confusion, firstly at Shankar’s silence and then in slow realization that something was amiss as the bizarre purple glow surrounded him.
And then the ghoul burst into the square, a dark figure, low to the ground, moving with unsettling speed. Honorata saw it perhaps twenty feet away as it ran from a neighbouring street into the open space. The crowd scattered amongst a cacophony of screams, leaving the monster to stand alone.
The first thing Honorata noticed was the purple nimbus around the twisted creature’s head, the twin of the glow emanating from Shankar. Next, she saw its eyes—glowing red, burning with hatred, savagery writ large. Its body looked like that of a tall, sinewy man, broken and remade into something hideous, its joints hinting at unnatural movement. Bent over, crouching like a wary animal, the ghoul surveyed the square. Long black hair hung over its face. Pale skin striped with streaks of gray and black. The torn remnants of clothes, soaked with filth and blood. Its hands and bare feet ending in cruel claws, encrusted with gore.
The ghoul let out a bone-chilling howl before rushing towards the gallows, moving quicker than Honorata thought possible with such mishapen limbs. The villagers ran for safety, screaming and yelling, panic taking them completely. Honorata stood frozen as the ghoul leapt onto the wooden stage. Yonas had drawn his tulwar and stood with it held before him, at the ready.
Mihir stumbled backwards, pushing Falgun forwards into the path of the ghoul, and then falling from the platform. The monster raked his claws across Falgun’s face, leaving four red gouges. Falgun crumpled to the ground, his hands to his face.
Two guards charged at the beast in unison. The first was the heavy man who had escorted Shankar to the gallows. He swung his gurz overhead wildly and tried to bring it down onto the ghoul. At the same time, another man, this one a grizzled veteran slight of build, thrust his spear at the beast. Both blows missed as the ghoul moved fluidly and with blinding speed, slipping inside the arc of the first swing and evading the point of the spear at the same time. Both men were rewarded with vicious slashes from the ghoul’s claws, the first across his chest and the second up the spearman’s forearm.
The ghoul stood alone atop the gallows, breathing heavily. It let out another howl, this one an expression of rage, its body tense and shaking, claws at the ready. Honorata could feel the same awful taint radiating from the ghoul that she had first felt with Shankar. The feeling had grown and grown as the monster charged about the square, its intensity revolting Honorata.
Yonas stepped forward towards the ghoul, placing his feet carefully. The ghoul glared at him and Yonas stared back. The standoff lasted a handful of heartbeats before the beast launched itself into the air, arcing towards Yonas. Yonas stepped to his left, pivoting on his front foot and slashing out with his sword. The blade came back red, but the ghoul showed no sign of pain as it landed heavily and twisted to face Yonas again. More warily this time, it approached him. Yonas’s face looked calm—Honorata had no idea how the man maintained his composure while facing a monster like this—and he shuffled backwards and to his left steadily, maintaining the wide base of his fighting stance.
The ghoul lashed out at him and Yonas stepped back to avoid the blow. Again, the ghoul attempted to strike him, furious blows launched without any subtlety, and again Yonas deftly avoided the claws. The third time the beast attacked, Yonas ducked under the claws, feet moving fluidly, dashed in close and slashed at the ribcage of the ghoul before pivoting and escaping his opponent’s reach again. Honorata could see the ugly red wound on the ghoul’s chest, the stark whiteness of the monster’s ribs exposed in one deep section, but the monster showed no signs of pain.
The injured veteran with the spear joined the fight, blood dripping down his arm onto the haft of the spear. Yonas continued to fight defensively, constantly moving in and out, holding the ghoul’s attention with his curved blade regularly finding its mark. Meanwhile, the other man thrust his spear at the flank of the monster, occasionally finding his mark also, but, more often than not, distracting Yonas from his disciplined approach to this fight.
The ghoul snarled in frustration at this. It was a beast of fury, not conditioned for this type of attritional combat. That frustration come to a head when the ghoul feinted at Yonas, who drew back reflexively, before turning on the veteran, weaving past the point of his spear and tackling the man to the ground. Those vicious claws flashed over and over again, blood and gore flicked into the air as the man was torn apart in a frenzy of violence.
Without fully understanding why, Honorata began to chant the words of the ancient exorcism ritual that she had pored over in Rampura. As the words flowed through her, she embraced the Song of Devi, that familiar, and much-needed, sense of calm taking her. From within the cocoon of that feeling, the carnage playing out before her lost its visceral impact. The shock and panic that had dominated her mind, ever since the moment when the ghoul first appeared, faded into the background. Still present, but no longer controlling her.
Holding her holy symbol in both hands before her, she began. “Sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio, contra nequitiam et insidias diaboli esto praesidium.” With those words, the nimbus of blue light began to form around her. She focused her mind on the ghoul as it ran amok, ignoring Yonas now, scattering the remaining terrified villagers.
“Imperet illi Deus, supplices deprecamur: tuque, Princeps militiae caelestis, in virtute Dei . . .” The blue glow grew in intensity; it seemed to Honorata to be more intense than she had ever conjured in the past. She felt the Song flow through her and towards the ghoul.
“. . . in infernum detrude satanam aliosque spiritus malignos, qui ad perditionem animarum pervagantur in mundo. Amen.” With the prayer at its conclusion, the Song that she channeled towards the ghoul began to interact with the power at work within the beast. Its purple outline was disrupted for a moment, and then disappeared entirely. A blue glow slowly replaced it, surrounding the ghoul in just a few heartbeats.
The ghoul froze in place, and then snapped to face Honorata. The feeling of that sickening aura gone entirely from the square, nothing more than an unsettling memory. The monster stared at Honorata from that distance, drawing deep slow breaths. And with that, the ghoul turned and fled, leaving the square from the opposite side, and disappearing into the streets of Aluia.
“Sister Honorata, what was that? What did you do?” Yonas was at her side, covered by a sheen of sweat from the exertion of the fight, sliding his sword back into its sheath.
Her mind reeled, trying to make sense of what she had done, the echo of sensation from the taint of the ghoul’s touch the only remnant of the ritual. “I honestly do not know, Yonas. I could feel the evil power fueling the ghoul’s rage, and the ritual I performed was an old one, used to expel demons, to cleanse people’s souls.”
“Well, whatever you did, it worked! I can hardly believe what we just saw—a ghoul! There is no doubt that that thing is a true monster. I have never seen anything like it, and I hope that I never do again!”
“Yonas . . . where is Shankar?” Honorata urgently scanned the square. The heretic had disappeared in the confusion.
Chapter Six
That afternoon, Mihir called Honorata and Yonas to meet with him in his manor. They gathered in his study, a generous platter of figs, melon and grapes laid out for them. A bottle of light brown arrack and a flask of water sat on the table alongside three cups.
“Sister, you have our eternal thanks. Without your help, the ghoul could have killed all of us. I have spoken to the elders, and it has been agreed; we intend on doubling our tithe this year in honour of what you have done. Devi bless you, Sister.”
Yonas picked at the food, helping himself to a large slice of melon. Mihir picked up the bottle of liquor, pulled out the cork and poured some into a cup. Honorata could smell the pungent alcohol. He offered her a cup and she shook her head, pointing to the water instead.
“And you, Yonas, your skill puts our soldiers to shame. I’ve never seen such a courageous display. I shudder to think of how many more we would have lost without your bravery.”
Yonas shrugged and gave Mihir a wry smile.
“Mihir, while I appreciate your devotion to the Church, and that donation would surely be welcome, you do not owe me your gratitude,” Honorata said as she accepted a cup of water. “The Trial of Saint Mirai compels me to render assistance to you and your people in whatever way I can. I imagined that I would only be performing healing rituals and bestowing blessings, but today was an extraordinary event. I still do not entirely know what I did, but I am pleased that Devi saw fit to guide my hand and we are fortuitous with how events turned out.”
Yonas accepted a cup of arrack with a wide smile and sat back in his chair, enjoying the food and drink as the others spoke. Mihir sat also, drinking deeply from his own cup.
“Well, you might not need our thanks but that scene in the square means that we must come begging to the Church once more for aid. Not only do we have a murderous ghoul terrorising the village, that heretic Shankar escaped. Before we suspected it, but now there can be no doubt; the ghoul and the heretic are linked. I don’t know whether it was Shankar that conjured that foul monster or whether they’re both the servants of some other evil, but this is more than we can handle. We need the Church’s help. Urgently.”
Honorata sighed. “Mihir, I do not mean to be difficult, but I expect that there is little that I can do. I will, of course, write a letter to the Bishop, requesting her immediate assistance. That letter can be sent today, and I will urge the Bishop of the dire nature of the situation. We will see what comes of it. But, I do not expect the Church to be forthcoming.”
“Why not, Sister? Why on earth would they not help us?” The man was practically begging.
“It is more complex than you could imagine. My knowledge of the affairs of the capital are some months old now, but Rampura is riven by disunity. The Queen ignores domestic issues. In public she is focused almost entirely on stamping out the rebellion. What she is concerned with in private is a mystery, but she has not involved herself with the management of the provinces in many years. There are whispers of disquiet about this. Some suggest that after three centuries on the throne, she has become too far removed from the plight of the commoners. I worry that the Bishop’s hands will be tied by this.”
She took a sip of water, carefully considering her words on this sensitive topic before continuing. “Even that observation could be a dangerous remark to make in Rampura. But the Church is powerful in its own right and what I say is becoming orthodoxy. Perhaps the Queen does not care about dissent just as long as there are more obvious foes to deal with.”
“But, Sister, surely the Queen can fight the rebels while also helping us survive? We send so much to Rampura every season, we cannot be abandoned now!” Mihir’s pleading tone began to sap Honorata’s patience with the man.
“The real issue for you is the politics below the throne. The Accord of Rampura dictates what is and is not done, now more than ever. I am no expert in these matters—far from it—but it is impossible to ignore the machinations of the factions. Ever since the Bhagava forged the Empire, the factions have jockeyed for influence so that they are ready to strike whenever the Sacred Council is called.”
She had been taught every day of her life in the abbey that it was not for a priestess to even contemplate issues of politics. Matters of the soul were all that was important. But it was impossible for girls, growing up in the most conservative of environments, to not gossip about things such as the Sacred Council. Speculation as to how long the Queens’s rule might last. Who was best placed to succeed her once the Council was called? Which power broker had managed to sway the votes of the abbeys? Would the representatives of Old Pala support one of their own, or would they bargain their influence in furtherance of some scheme? Who looked like marshalling the votes of the merchants? And, often the most scandalous question of all, what was their price? It was a forbidden topic for one devoted to religion, but it was a topic with an almost irresistible pull.
Mihir broke her train of thought. “But, it’s as you say, the Queen has ruled for three centuries. What use is influence if the Sacred Council might not be convened again in our lifetimes? What is the point of all that politics if it does nothing to help us when we so desperately need it?”
“That is not a question I can answer, Mihir. I thank Devi every day that I need only concern myself with what the deeds that I perform every day. I am not responsible for the actions of others. But make no mistake; the Bishop herself has a place at the Sacred Council and you can be certain that even my being here today has some role to play in the tapestry of politics that goes on in the capital.”
“Well, you have no one to concern yourself with but me, Sister,” said Yonas. “I’m as low on the ladder as possible.”
“Yes, Yonas, you are correct. I am responsible for you, as you are for me. But we have the privilege of being able to focus on our own actions. And that is why I offer you everything I have, Mihir, but you cannot expect any help from Rampura. Not in a real way. Perhaps you’ll be lucky, and your request will suit the political needs of a claimant somewhere and help will make its way to Aluia. But I fear that such a hope is not sensible.”
“So, that’s it then? We’ll have to face this threat alone.”
“Not alone, Mihir. I will do what I can, however humble my efforts will be. And Yonas will be by my side. He is not a soldier to be ordered into battle, but he will be of assistance, of that I am certain,” Honorata said. “What about Captain Brewer? Surely you have considered asking him for help?”
Mihir rolled his cup around in his hand for a moment. He took a deep drink before reaching for the arrack bottle to refill his cup.
“Brewer will be of no help. The man is terrified of the rebels that remain hidden in the jungle. And well he should; Partho is a dangerous man. When we’ve spoken to Brewer in the past, he’s made it very clear that he doesn’t have the manpower to do anything but hold his current position,” said Mihir, before pausing for a moment to sip from his cup. “No, he will be of no help at all. He will stand by while we are slaughtered and claim that he is doing the Queen’s work while we all end up in our graves.”
“Well, what about Partho? If Brewer believes that he is outmatched by him, perhaps he has men to spare?”
“Sister, there is much you don’t know about men like Partho. I’m worried that he’d be a bigger threat within these walls than a host of heretics. He grew up not far from here and those who knew him as a child do not speak of him being a bloodthirsty youth, but bloodshed has changed him. If the stories are true, he has become a formidable soldier and that’s why Brewer is concerned about him. The tales about what he has done on the battlefield are troubling. His men won the last skirmish before the front moved on from around here, but the story goes that he took twenty of the Queen’s soldiers captive. Each and every one of them was butchered, their heads put on spikes.” Mihir shook his head at that. “Savage stuff, Sister. I don’t want anything to do with the man. Which should I fear more? A human butcher or a monstrous one?”
