Dark Lady

Chapter 7 ~ Liath’s Dilemma

“Confess your consort, hell spawn spirit of the Damned! Who has given you half of his soul? You cannot hide from the eyes of heaven! Confess, demon, before I send you back to the fiery depths which vomited you up!”

The murmur of prayers rose and fell in the background of the torture chamber situated beneath the monastery. Any religious order worth its salt had such an area beneath its foundations, literally and figuratively. The Order of the Immaculate Brotherhood was no exception.

Liath had underestimated the cheese and wine-making monks when he appeared at their door, despondent, disheveled, and apparently broken-hearted, stating he was tired of the ways of the world and sought solace from the evils of men. He should have won an award from the Orange British Academy for his acting. Liath was a demon of many dubious talents.

The Brotherhood turned no one away, and accepted the demon in, seeming willing to take him among their ranks. In fact, most were. Despite being religious men, belief in demons and even the Father of Lies himself had dropped to an all time low, due to lack of actual confrontations. Modern times allowed hell to operate in a more insidious matter. The media mostly handled the temptation of innocents to sin. And quite effectively.

Political arenas were another area souls could easily be picked up, the owners hardly even noticing. Most new politicians weren’t aware if they were selling their souls to lobbyists or demons. Those who were aware really didn’t see the difference. But back to poor, unfortunate Liath.

Still in human form, stretched on a rack and bloody from the scourge, Liath squinted up at the hooded figure snarling down at him. The stone walls flickered with torchlight, and a line of other hooded figures rested against the farthest wall, muttering prayers to keep his power from manifesting. He was not only bound by monks, but also by Heaven, which Liath found distinctly unfair since Heaven wouldn’t accept him, and death wouldn’t take him.

Apparently, someone up above had discovered Liath’s plan and tipped off a certain monk named Optun Mooreshead. The others called him Brother Dickhead behind his back, which pissed him off. He was a sullen monk of forty-eight years, with graying hair and pinched, craggy features who actually hated the empty, tepid services and labors performed day after day.

What was the sense of making wine and cheese when there was such evil in the world? The call to prayer and the vows were simply lip service. Gone were the days of actively rooting out evil in every way possible. How he longed for the righteousness of the good old days, when the fear of hell was heavy on every soul, and the scourge freely lifted that weight without prejudice.

Now look at the world. Every lust and wickedness in men’s hearts was freely indulged in. Sin was prevalent and the Father of Lies as strong as ever. But no one saw that. No one but him. He pored over old texts about dealing with the spirits of hell, how they operated, the insidious ways they stole or possessed men’s souls. When he went to the village to drop off their product for distribution, people would shy away from his piercing gaze and make signs to protect themselves from his Eye of Evil. Not that they considered him evil, but a monk that could see the evil inside them. Everyone believed they had some evil inside them.

And when Optun, incensed by self-righteousness and drunk on wine, would rail to the brethren about the evil in the world and how they had to get out from behind the monastery walls and fight with all their heart and souls, the other monks would tell him to stick a cork in it.

But now, now he had proof that evil was real in the form of the creature tied down before him, covered in blood and sweat beneath the glistening firelight. Proof that the Father of Lies was in operation. True, Liath hadn’t yet confessed his secret, but he would, or continue to suffer. Optun had been sent a vision of Liath in his full demon form, copulating with a woman as if she were a bitch in heat. The monk couldn’t see her face, however, it was turned away from him. He only saw bushy, rather matted brown hair and that she was small.

Optun began to watch Liath closely and noticed the new monk would not touch the Holy water, regardless of being called to prayer or making devotions. And Liath was so accommodating, so willing to help, to extend himself to others, it was nauseating. No one was that good. Optun shared his vision with Cryptus, the head of the Order, who didn’t believe him.

”You’ve consumed too much wine, Brother Optun. You need to repent,” Cryptus said tiredly.

”I had a vision! Brother Liath will not touch holy water. Not for prayers, invocations or even devotions. You have to admit that is suspicious, Brother Cryptus! Evil is among us! At least observe him!”

To shut Optun up, Brother Cryptus did just that. He observed within a week, that Liath had not touched Holy water once. He called the monk into his quarters and sat him down. Optun and several other monks were hidden within the walls, watching through grates.

Of course, Liath was aware of them and had the power to protect himself if he chose to do so. But the demon didn’t choose to do so. His soul had grown over the weeks as he applied himself in service to others. He strove to be kind and compassionate, and made some progress, especially when he entered the village and showed the children “magic” tricks and they gathered around him, pulling at his robes, laughing and smiling and begging for small pieces of cheese in his pockets. To fight and kill these monks would stain his soul and hamper his progress.

”Liath, is there something you need to tell me?” Cryptus asked the demon, his sharp blue eyes resting on him. Liath was the perfect monk, except for his aversion to holy water.

”No, Brother Cryptus. I do not need to tell you anything,” the demon replied, knowing that the monk already knew his nature.

Cryptus nodded and pushed a small bowl of holy water over his desk toward the demon.

”Place your finger into the bowl, Brother,” Cryptus said.

Optun tensed as Liath slowly raised his hand and stuck out an index finger. The demon lowered it into the clear liquid, which immediately begin to boil, steam rising from it as the pain tore through him. But he held it there, staring at Cryptus who was staring back at him in numb horror.

”Demon spawn!” Optun cried, bursting from behind the wall, a heavy club in his raised hand. Liath watched calmly as the monk ran toward him and brought the club down with a death blow, blood and brains bursting from the demon’s skull.

Liath fell heavily to the floor, Optun standing over him, his chest rising and falling, bits of hair, flesh and bone sticking to the end of his club as blood slowly pooled around the fallen demon’s head

Cryptus looked up at him, more horror in his eyes now as he looked at the dead monk.

”A demon who dies, Brother? I think—I think—perhaps—“

Cryptus fell silent, too horrified to voice the thought they may have killed an innocent man, despite what they witnessed. Maybe Brother Liath had only been touched by evil.

Optun stood there, staring down at Liath as the other monks gathered around him, their eyes rounded at what they had witnessed with the holy water, and at Optun’s act of violence against another.

”You’ve killed, Optun, a grave sin . . .”

“It’s no sin to kill hell spawn,” Optun snarled, unrepentant. Then, Liath stirred, causing the others to back away as the great wound in his head filled in and he sat up in his blood-soaked robes, looking around him.

”There!” Optun shouted triumphantly. “There is your proof that evil walks among us. The beast will suffer a deadly head wound and be healed!”

Liath got to his feet.

”What have I done?” he asked Cryptus. “What have I done to be beset upon?”

”It’s not what you’ve done, but what you are, hell spawn!” Optun cried, brandishing the club again. “You are a demon!”

”No, no longer. I have a soul. Demons have no souls. I am no longer of Hell. Be merciful and allow me to stay among you, to learn the ways of men and atone. Allow me the judgment given men so I am not left to walk the spaces between reward and punishment for all eternity, unacceptable to heaven, hell or death.”

Liath took a shot. These were holy men. Holy men were supposed to be merciful. Cryptus looked uncomfortable as did the others. Optun looked around at them, seeing their weakness in the face of evil itself.

”They shall beg for mercy and there will be no mercy,” Optun hissed, turning to Cryptus. “If he has a soul, it isn’t complete or he would have been a man, and died. He only contains a partial soul, which means there is someone else out in the world who is incomplete with demonic powers, Cryptus. Someone incapable of human compassion, an abomination to both heaven and earth. Even now, he could be spreading evil throughout the world. Give the demon to me, that I may make him reveal who this person is, and track him down in the name of all that is holy! Then, I will send them both back to the Father of Lies!”

Faced with Liath’s confession, and sadly lacking in the knowledge necessary to deal with the demon himself, Cryptus had no choice but to hand him over to Optun. Liath made no attempt to defend himself as the monks took hold of him and led him away.

”Brother Optun, he didn’t try to defend himself,” Cryptus said to the monk. “He didn’t try to harm anyone. Are you certain he is truly evil?”

“He is only playing at good, Brother Cryptus. I have studied the ways of demons for more than twenty-five years in preparation for this day. They are all tricksters like their master. You all have put away such things, become mired in disbelief, thinking the times of true evil are over. But the world is full of evil. There are demons, witches and wizards throughout our world. Maybe now, you see it, and now we’ll do more than make cheese. The demon is trying to generate a full soul, a foul and blasphemous thing indeed. That the vision came to me is proof I am the one to deal with this creature. Leave him to me.”

And so, that is how Liath Greyman came to be under the lash of Optun Mooreshead.

”I have told you, hell will not accept me, Optun,” Liath rasped. “And I cannot die until my soul is completed. Free me and I will serve the Order until my goal is accomplished. Then, I will gladly give myself to you to part from my mortal coil. My eternity will be established, and if it is my fate I will be relegated to hell for my manipulations.”

Optun ripped the cowl from his head, his face contorted as he glared down at the demon

”Serve? You cannot fool me with your lies, demon! You will lie here and be questioned until you give me the information I desire, the name of the person who has given you half his soul and where he dwells!”

”You can’t go where she dwells,” Optun said tiredly.

”She? She? A woman? A witch! Yes, a witch! The whore you placed your unholy seed in . . . the one in the vision. What is her name?”

Optun groaned. Pronouns got him. Shit. He fell silent as Optun raged at him, spittle flying as he demanded more information.

”Heat the coals!” the monk snarled. “Maybe a bit of fire on his tongue will loosen it!”

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A/N: Just a bit more drama. I have to take Tweet to the doctor this morning. Chi is very sick. So I just wrote this out. I’ll get back to Glass ASAP. Thanks for reading.