A Tailor's Son (Valadfar) (25 page)

“
Atone thee creator.”
Harold said in chorus with everyone else to
end the prayer and he hoped that if there really was an all powerful
being he heard his wishes. Harold watched as Reverend Paul made his
escape behind the curtain that led down into the catacombs with the
same haste as he had tried during his father’s funeral. Harold waited as
the crowds left slowly one by one, keeping his head bent as if he was
still praying and not wanting to draw attention. For someone who, only
a week before, had been a tailor’s son and someone no one would have
recognised, Harold was learning fast about what it took to survive in
this new world of infamy that had opened up to him.

When the last straggler was gone and the door shut behind
them, Harold began tiptoeing towards the curtain, pressing his feet
down as softly as he could against the stone floor. Harold tried to stay
on the deep red carpet to deaden the sound. He wanted to catch Paul
unaware, so he could see what he was doing down there. Pushing past
the curtains Harold was thankful to see that the wooden door at the
head of the stairs was ajar and he knelt beside it gazing down into the
darkness. At the foot of the stairs Harold could see two coffins against
which was propped a table. Harold wondered how the old man was
able to hop over them each time he came down there. Surely his old
bones should have disintegrated under the effort. Then Harold saw
something which sickened him. Sitting deep in the shadows was Paul
Augustus and one of the residents of the catacombs. It was his father’s
body and that bastard was biting it. Harold had seen William do the
same to the guard officers the night he had escaped. Harold gave up his
hiding place and tossed the door aside, making a rapid descent and
almost losing his footing more than once on the herbs that were
scattered on the steps. Reverend Paul dropped Harold’s father to the
floor and turned to face him
.

Paul said smiling with blood soaked teeth.
“
Screw you, priest.”
Harold bellowed as he clambered over the
coffins, kicking the table aside. It was out of character for him but his
anger turned to fury, and Harold wanted to kill him there and then.
Harold forgot that he came for answers, to find out what William was.
None of that mattered in the light of his father being desecrated like
that. Harold wanted to see the priest dead. He slammed his foot down
on the leg of the table, breaking it free from the frame. He was tired and
it took a lot of effort but, with his blood boiling, his muscles pulled
tight with the surge of power felt only in the purest moments of rage.
The broken leg in his hand, Harold made his way towards Paul. His
mouth was dry and his heart beat faster than it ever had before in his
life.
“Now, my child, let’s not do anything hasty
.” Paul said. Harold was
too enraged to argue back. He could not shake the image of his father’s
lifeless corpse sullied in such a way, when they had lowered his father’s
body down the day before it was to rest forever with his lost kin, not to
feed some crazed old priest.
“Harold. I think I owe you some answers.”
Paul
continued, wiping his mouth on a handkerchief he pulled from his
robes.
“Too right you do old man and once I have them I intend to kill you.”
Harold said, tightening his grip on the table leg. The whole time Muriel
and he had been planning to kill William, Harold had no idea if he had
it in him to kill someone, but standing there in front of Paul, Harold
had no doubt in his intentions.
“I’ve come to know a lot about you, Harold. I know about the Queens. I
know how you got blamed.”
“
Is that why you called O’Brien’s boys here, to tell them of my innocence?”
Harold said, hoping to surprise Paul that he knew the priest had
involvement with the O’Brien’s and now, after seeing him feed on the
blood of his father, Harold knew Paul was no different to the beast
William.
Paul answered quickly and calmly.
“No, course not, I didn’t even
know about you until they came here. I called them here to kill William. You see, he
was a mistake of mine. The O’Brien’s made me aware of your involvement and I
could not risk you ruining all of this. So I ordered them to kill you too.”
The priest’s
honesty shocked Harold and he found himself looking around the
room while trying to think of what he wanted to say back. Harold
noticed an opening in the wall where a coffin would once have rested.
There was a pillow just inside of it and huge amounts of the herbs that
coated the stairs. Harold guessed that Paul had been sleeping there and
using what knowledge he had gained from reading the occult books of
mages and how they had used garlic and other plants in protective
wards Harold guessed that hideaway would have been to protect the
priest before his change.
“He was a mistake? What do you mean a mistake?”
Harold asked
holding the table leg out in front of him more for protection than in
anger now.
“It’s a long story, you sure you and your lady friend have the time? I mean
while you’re here she is all alone.”
Paul said trying to anger him. He wanted
him to make a move, to lunge at him.
“Don’t you dare threaten Muriel, priest.”
Harold said.
“I’m not, but William is still out there. He knows about you, too. You
see, we share the same memories. All of us do. We are more than you could imagine.”
Paul said and this was the first time Harold heard about the shared,
hive mind of the Rakta Ishvara.
“
What are you on about, old man?”
Harold said, taking another
look around the cold damp room. The brickwork changed halfway
down the wall and even with his limited knowledge of the lore of
Neeskmouth, Harold could tell the catacombs had broken into the old
labyrinth below the city.
“
You’re really not the brightest of young men, are you?”
Paul said. “
You
look at me as evil. I can see that in your eyes, but you are wrong. You do not realise
the power the Rakta Ishvara, the blood god, can give you. I’ve learnt how to control
it. The leaves you see around here stop it taking total control.”
Paul said, turning
to point around the catacombs. It was at that moment Harold took his
chance, swinging the table leg as hard as he could at Paul’s head. It
never made it. Paul’s movement was lightening fast and he splintered
the leg with a sideward swipe.
“You fool of a boy. Don’t let my looks deceive you. You cannot win. It is
only by my restraint that you still breathe
.” Paul spat at Harold with venom.
The lunge had taken him past Paul and Paul was now blocking his
escape back up the stairs. Harold could see the mass on Paul’s chest
starting to pulsate. It was almost instinctive on his part, like the jack
rabbit to dart into its burrow at the sight of a hawk’s shadow. Harold
dropped the shattered stick to the floor and darted into the wall
opening. Harold hoped that if Paul really had been using it to sleep
safely without fear from William then the herbs would keep Paul at bay
now too. It worked as Paul skulked back and forth keeping off the
mass of leaves. Harold was lucky.
“
It seems you are not as stupid as you look. You have an understanding
of the old magic’s it seems. It matters little though for you sadly Harold. I might not
be able to risk touching so many Abrus leaves but I am not going anywhere. Let us
see how long you can stay in there, shall we? Maybe me and your father could get back
to dinner while you watch?”
Paul disappeared from Harold’s line of sight.
He was right though, Harold could not stay in there forever. Harold
closed his eyes and pressed his hands over his ears trying to block out
the sucking sound as Paul returned to feeding on his father’s corpse.
The mention of the old magic’s made Harold wonder if these beasts
were the demons the Sacellum warned the people of. Had the time of
the last seal finally come?

Harold hid in the rocky crevice for almost an hour listening to
the priest pottering around just as if Harold was not there. He couldn’t
see what he was doing but maybe that was for the best. Thankfully, he
left his father’s body alone after a time. Harold was more worried about
Muriel than himself. She would have woken by now and Harold had
left so quickly. He hoped she wouldn’t come for him. If she did, then
Harold did not think he could save her from the demon creature that
Paul had become. Harold had little to do but sit and worry as he grew
colder and damper. It was then that Harold noticed Paul’s journal
which must have been knocked into the crevice when he upturned his
table. Harold had the time, stuck with the shadows and spiders to read
through it and learn what he could from it. It was hard to see it in the
dim light given off by the wall mounted candles outside of his hideaway
but Harold had to do something to keep his mind off what he had just
seen and heard. Even while reading, the image of his father’s body
slumped against the wall flashed in front of his eyes, sometimes
followed by one of Muriel laid out the same.

Harold had to keep reading, maybe there was something in
the diary that would help him. It turned out there was. The pages were
written by a mad man but between the rants of insanity was a wealth of
knowledge inside the book. It explained everything Paul knew about
the Rakta Ishvara. How the race of the Rakta Ishvara was around since
long before man and they survived in the muddy swamps of The Dark
Gulf. Harold did not know much about the colonies but he knew they
had their own religions that dated back to the time of the Titans, but
how many people worshipped the Rakta Ishvara there, and how many
were treated like cattle because of it? Harold wondered how many
followed these false gods and for how long people had their loved ones
slaughtered to feed these beasts. It was then Harold realised, if he was
killed and failed to stop Paul and his creation William, then that was
what would happen to the city. The creatures could gain a strong
foothold before people realised and they would all fall to them. The city
was so afraid of the demons in the fields they would not notice the
darkness spreading in the streets around them. It would be worse than
being under the ruthless rule of the Dragons again.

His mind was sucked away from its gruesome daydream by
the sound of creaking upstairs. The large wooden door at the entrance
to Saint Anne’s had opened and Harold could hear the clatter of shoes
against the stonework. They stopped somewhere above on the ground
floor. There was a click as the latch sprung open on the door to the
catacombs. Whomever it was had started descending the stairs.
Harold’s heart skipped a beat.

“No, not Muriel, please not Muriel.”
Harold prayed to himself and
waited to hear the priest move. Harold’s muscles had gone to sleep in
the cold dampness but he forced them tense, determined that if Paul
made one move at her, he would leap from his hiding place. Harold
would probably be dead before he even wounded the demon priest but
it would give Muriel time to escape.

“William?”
Paul called out and Harold’s heart jumped over
with happiness before realisation dawned. William being there did not
bode well for him.

“Why do you use that name for me priest. You know nothing of this host
remains.”
William said as he continued to creep down the stairs. Harold
risked sliding forward and peaking around the edge of the shaped
igneous rock. William had stopped only a few feet in front of Paul and
Harold waited, watching as events unfolded much to his surprise.

“I will call you by your spawn name then brother
דחא תא ינשה. Ihadn’t
thought I would see you again.”
Paul said. Even through his death rattle
Harold could sense his nerves. William remained silent. Harold
wondered if he had spoken in another way. Paul had said they shared
one memory. It seemed only reasonable that they could communicate
the same way without the need for words.

“Stay still
एक क
and I will make this painless.”
William
hissed after whatever silent conversation may have taken place beyond
his hearing. Harold risked leaning out further as William had not
noticed him and Harold studied him. His clothes were torn and grubby
and he looked like a beggar, with his mottled brown trousers ripped
and threaded. Even from a distance, Harold could see the dried blood
matted within his hair. Harold could relate to why they had once been
called wolf men with his bestial appearance.

“
Butדחא תא ינשה I am one of you now, soon to be your brother, your
kin.”
Paul pleaded, interrupting Harold’s study of William.
“No, old man you are not. You may have one of my brothers living inside
you, but you are too weak. Your sickness and weak mind make you a risk to us.
Your foolish antics have already disgraced us and we will not let your pride risk
ending our kind. You studied our ways but you are not of us, you have shamed us.
Three million years we have existed behind the eyes of man and you risk it all.”
The
moment the last word slid between William’s tight lips he attacked. The
fight between them both shook the very foundations of the church.
The first blow that William sent crashing into Paul’s chest, should have
killed the frail old man, but it did not.
Harold watched from his hiding place assessing just how
strong the Rakta Ishvara made each of them. Harold had seen William
kill the guard but that was back outside the hospital just after the
Queens
fire and they were just normal people. Paul would give him a true
match of strength and Harold wanted to see just what he was up
against. A hit sent Paul flailing backwards, crashing into the rear wall of
the catacombs and bringing down an array of rubble and loose mortar
from above. The coffins within the wall rattled as if their occupants
were banging on the wall annoyed by the ruckus of their neighbours.
William did not give Paul any time to recover and lunged at him again.
He covered the distance between them in no more than three bounds.
He sideswiped Paul with his iron-like hands across the face, sending
him to the ground. Even from his relatively safe haven, Harold could
hear as the bones in Paul’s face crumbled. To his sheer amazement the
priest rolled as he hit the floor and was back on his feet facing William.
The blood on his face seemed old, like that which you would get from
a pheasant that had hung for some time before you slit its throat. It was
Paul’s turn to attack and he did so quickly, swiping one of the small
brass candelabras from the side wall, ripping the bricks away with it. He
made for William, the burning candle held out at arm’s reach like the
point of a sword. It collided with William’s neck, sending wax flying
until the cold hard metal connected, tearing through the flesh. Harold
closed his eyes not wanting to see the fountain of life fluid squirt free.
After not hearing the splatter that Harold had been waiting for he
slowly opened his eyes just in time to see William go back at Paul, the
wound seemingly not affecting him as it was barely bleeding at all. It
was then Harold realised the body did not matter much to the Rakta
Ishvara – it was just a shell. Much like the hermit crabs Harold had
played with at the beach as a boy – if the shell broke, the crab would
find another, only the parasite had to survive. As if to back up his
presumptions, William sank his teeth into Paul’s neck, tearing at it.
Chunks of flesh fell to the ground before Paul managed to push
William back. The final blow came shortly after – William pressed his
fist into Paul’s chest. Harold heard his ribs crack and Harold watched
as Paul’s black eyes faded to white. Paul fell forwards into William’s
grasp, his legs falling out from under him. Harold knew he was dead.
William pulled a small black sphere from Paul and Harold
guessed it was the parasite itself. He moved towards a jar that rested in
an alcove not too far from him and placed the little ball inside. Harold
saw the creature inside squirm and uncoil, it was still alive.