I shrug noncommittally.
“What did she say to you?”
“That she saw a vision. And there was no way out.”
The Hand of Justice looks over his shoulder. “That certainly seems true for her.”
And with that, we make our way to the stairs in silence and we follow the rest up the long march of steps. Behind us, through the arrow-slit windows and the broken triptych, the sun is low and red in the sky, as angry as the Hand of Justice, angry as the God himself must be to see his servant slain so.
And I find that it haunts me that this place is down in the earth instead of reaching for the sky, that it holds a demon instead of an angel, that it draws sin to the front of my character, rather than virtue, and that in just a few hours’ time it has slain the best of us.
And I find that I am afraid.
And So It Complicates …
Chapter Sixteen
Vagabond Paladin
Oooh, this is where things get exciting, little sweetmeat. Tell me, tell me, little morsel, tell me, little bite, who do you think ate the Seer in front of a locked door in a house she should never have visited?
I glanced upward at the demon still locked above us. It wasn’t him, was it?
If it was, then you’ve no defense. Look at him crouched there, ready to devour, ready to eat. But no, he could not reach down to possess her. He’s truly trapped. Don’t you see the mechanism?
I could not see the mechanism, but I trusted him that it was there. I could tell the demon was stuck. I couldn’t explain why, only that I’d known from the moment I’d recognized it existed, just as I’d known I could not remove it on my own.
I’d always thought demons could not be physically trapped. That they had to dwell within the body of something else to manifest themselves. The ones we saw always did. Except for that one time we found a demon possessing a creek.
Well, a creek is a living thing in its own way, dear girl. Imagine what it would be like to be a creek. The places you’d go! The people and animals you’d meet!
The demon seemed annoyed by that line of thought. Forget demons and creeks. Think about your Seer friend. Who do you think killed her, high and mighty one?
If her head hadn’t been placed on her chest, I would have thought she’d died of madness. She certainly seemed close to it.
You should have had her read your fates while you had the chance, morsel. One of your band of upright little knights is a murderer. But which? Which? The pretty one whose eyes melt for you? His statue of a friend? The pinched ascetic? The querulous son of order?
I still didn’t think it was a person who had killed her. We were all paladins. Above reproach. And besides, that monastery was haunted — by a demon at the very least, but I was sure the rest of them must have felt how it called to us, how it made demands. Plus, there was that blasphemy of a door. Perhaps some spirit manifested itself and killed the Seer. Perhaps the demon above was no longer dreaming. Perhaps whatever it was flew out the keyhole and into her heart.
And cut off her head?
Perhaps.
And her hand? And made a pretty picture in her blood? You’re grasping. You’re hoping. It makes you deliciously vulnerable. Will you be next?
No.
What a pity.
Perhaps I should leave.
Perhaps, my girl. Perhaps.
Sir Branson seemed troubled. But why?
We were not an aspect that usually meddled in politics. We didn’t stay in one place. We were the wind that blew as it chose or as the God directed. We were no more likely to remain than the castle a child builds out of dust on the edge of the road. Of course I would melt away and it would be as if I never was. If not today, then tomorrow or the next day. It was both the beauty and horror of our aspect. To be fed every day on adventure and new hope, and every day to discard all that went before for a taste of the novel. Blessing and curse in equal measure, but mine, all mine.
And it is beautiful and worthy. But it is the demon that concerns me. Were it to become free, it would become our responsibility. Our dread task. It hovers there over the heads of all who enter that house.
