Mael sat in her filthy eight-by-eight cell and tried to picture her home.
She envisioned herself standing on a hill blanketed with freshly fallen snow. The Plaesil Mountains were at her back; the village of Olmstead, with its tiny cluster of wooden one-and-two story buildings huddled close together was directly below her. She could imagine the perfume of fir trees and the piney scent of the jalasa fields riding the chilly gusts of wind. Not long ago the memory of her hometown had been so vivid she could lose herself in it.
Now it escaped her like strands of spider web falling apart. The memory was replaced with the reality of where she truly was, the predicament she found herself in. Her cell was just big enough for her to stretch out; the filthy heels of her bare feet were just inches away from touching the rusty bars. She rested on top of a mound of straw. The cells around her were exactly the same but empty. But for the rats that scampered through the fiery gloom she was alone. Sometimes she thought she heard agonized screaming coming from somewhere outside the dungeon. She shifted. The rough stone she leaned against was starting to make her back ache, but it was impossible to get comfortable.
The village in which Mael had grown up her entire life felt like a fleeting dream. There was no way to tell how long she had been in this place; it could have been a few days or longer. The only way she could measure time was when her captors brought her meals. Despite the grunginess of Mael's surroundings they fed her well. They had barely touched her. She couldn't even remember how she had come to be here.
The only clue she had to identify her captors with was by the red hooded robes they wore. She had never seen them before but she had heard enough stories to remember the details: the Scarlet Church, members of a heretic cult that stood against everything she believed in. They worshipped demons, the evil spirits that roamed the hellscape; these spirits were invisible to the naked eye unless they possessed a human host. Almost half a century ago the Eurchurch had wiped the Scarlet Church out. It seemed they were back.
Mael realized with a pang of defeat she had come to terms with the fact she would never leave this place. She would never again get to see the mercurial blue skies of the North or her home village. She would never get to partake in communion - O Mercius, the Bringer of Light and Mercy use my body to be Your Light so I may channel your Rays of Restoration - before a long day of healing was to begin. In this instance her ability to be able to channel Mercius' healing Light was useless.
The silence was broken by the scrape and thud of thick leather boots on the dusty floor, and something else like the turning of wheels. She realized there was more than one person coming towards her cell. She straightened up, wincing at the pain in her back. Just as Mansen's stocky, robed body came into view, Mael managed to rise on her bare feet.
Someone else stood behind Mansen but Mael couldn't yet tell who it was. All she could see was the tip of his long narrow nose and the sensual, almost feminine curve of his lips. There was something enigmatic about him in a way the other robed figures she'd seen were not. She sensed he was the kind of person who would only see what he wanted you to see, the rest kept concealed in shadow until the exact moment he was ready to reveal it. He lifted his head. The lines deepening around his mouth might have indicated speculation. Mael thought she caught the hint of a blue iris but couldn't be sure. At this angle, standing closer to the torchlight, Mael should have been able to see more of his features but couldn't.
"You're lucky," Mansen told her with a manic giggle. Under any other circumstances Mael would have found it nerve wracking. "You get to meet the High Priest."
It made sense the man behind him would be someone with a title: he held himself with the air of someone powerful, someone important. He stood with his back straight and his shoulders perfectly set. His hands were folded behind his back. The High Priest nodded once, without saying a word. Mansen pulled out a ring of keys and slid a key into the rusty lock. With a tortured squeak from the hinges, the door was pulled open. Mael rose slowly to her feet but stayed where she was. She didn't want to be any closer to these two than she had to.
"Thank you, Mansen," said the High Priest with a small quirk of his lips. He stepped back as Mansen pushed a dusty wheelchair towards the door.
The High Priest approached the cell. He stopped in the doorway and fixed Mael with his eyes - which she was now completely certain were blue. "What is your name, girl?" he asked. Mael stared at him for a moment. She was young, but no longer a girl. Surely he couldn't be much older than she was. And yet...she got the feeling he was much older than he appeared. It was a strange indescribable feeling: why her eyes provided no physical proof for this fact to be true, she knew it in her bones.
"Mael," she said. Though she knew she was no longer considered a girl, she felt like one. She felt small compared to him.
"Mael." The High Priest said her name as if savoringing a delicacy. He smiled, showing the white of his teeth, "A beautiful name for a beautiful girl. My name is Damen Orlys. I am the High Priest of Scarlet Church."
"Why am I here? Why did you bring me to this place?"
"I'm sure you have many questions. My acolytes tend not to be very forthcoming. I picked you because I have heard of your renown throughout the north. People travel for days to Olmsted so you will heal their sicknesses and vanquish the Casteless."
The Casteless: evil spirits who preyed upon the living in search of bodies.
"It is because of this," Damen said with great patience and admiration towards her, "that I have chosen you for a very special purpose."
"W-What purpose?" she stammered. Mael's heart galloped in her chest as the fear truly hit her for the first time today.
Damen smiled, straightened up. "We will talk about it later. First we need to get you a bath and changed into a nice dress I think. It would not do to have you looking like this." He looked down at Mael's dress. Her dress was nothing more than white tatters, clinging to her slim, shapeless body. The sleeves and front of her gown had been torn to show the knobs of her bony knees. With her greasy long hair and wide eyes she did not look like the type of woman who could take away tumors and exorcise demons.
Damen gestured for her to sit in the chair. She went to it on legs barely capable of holding her weight. She was thankful to be sitting on something other than the cold, hard ground. Mael knew she should be trying to run away but she also knew such an attempt would be futile. She had no means of defending herself. Mansen stood four feet away, waiting expectantly to be given an order. His extended spouts of giggling had ceased for the moment. Perhaps it was the cowed, browbeaten expression on his face that gave Mael an idea of what kind of man Damen Orlys was more than his appearance ever could.
Mansen's afraid of him, Mael thought.
Damen's shadow loomed over her. He was taller, more imposing than she'd previously realized. He towered over her, blocking her view of her cell. He patted her on the shoulder with a hand colder than human hands should be. Cold enough to make her shiver.
He was massaging her shoulder now. Normally Mael was repulsed by his touch but could not move away from it. Why did he feel so cold? His eyes were fathomless pinpricks of blue. Something passed from him into her, channeled through his touch: a tingling sensation that trickled through her body like water dripping down the side of a glass surface.
It was a wonderful feeling despite the chilliness of his touch.
She could feel herself growing calm and stupid with carelessness, as if she had drunk a mug of very potent jalasa tea. It was nice not to care for a change.
…
In one instance Mansen was steering her past the tarnished prison cells - she was only vaguely aware of the squeaks of the wheels - and in the next he was pushing her through the hall of a large castle, along plush scarlet carpeting. Gone was the dark stone and the gloom, replaced by marble slabbed walls and pillars, vaulted ceilings, and crystal glass windows that looked out on the icy landscape beyond. The halls smelled faintly of wine, a nice change from the dried coppery smell of blood and her own filth. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the shift of light.
Mael could only surmise she was still in the same place, just on a different floor. Had she ever been in a place so majestic? It made her realize how infinitesimal her life was, how insignificant she herself was despite what Damen had said about her reputation. She suddenly regretted not having left her town, not even once. She'd had an offer to serve at the headquarters of the Eurchurch as every healer who took their vow was given, but ultimately she had decided to stay in her village where she could still see her parents regularly.
She knew on this day she would die. Her chance to explore and see what laid beyond the northern quadrant of the hellscape had been wasted, snatched away from her as sure as she'd been snatched away from Olmsted.
You have stared into the face of the possessed and vanquished them from the body of the oppressed by using the Rays of Mercius! How can you just give up like this, without a fight? You may not be able to fight with your body but you can still pray!
She didn't even have the energy to pray to Mercius.
Just as Mansen was pushing her around the corner of a large pillar, Damen keeping up with long patient strides, there was another shift in which Mael lost all sense of time. When she came to once more she found herself sitting neck deep in the hot, soapy water of a bathing basin.
She was alone in the room. She could hear the murmur of quiet voices on the other side of the double doors. She couldn't tell if it was Damen's and Mansen's or not. Someone had given her a sponge to scrub herself with. She could feel its coarse texture against the soft skin of her palm. Suds and rose petals floated on the surface of the water. She breathed in the smell of perfume and lavender. This, she knew, was the last time she'd be able to take a hot bath so she might as well enjoy it.
Before her was a window. Beyond it she could see a white landscape riddled with glaciers, seracs, pressure ridges, and beyond that the skeletal buildings of a dead, long forgotten city. She knew then she was further north, past the Plaesil Mountains where she had lived her whole life. The Ubrios Waste, better yet known as The Graveyard of Forgotten Things. A bleached wasteland where nothing much lived. Only the courageous most experienced scavengers came out here usually in search through the dead cities for treasure. Or so Mael had thought until now. She should have felt a sense of amazement...or fear upon realizing this, but she only felt dumbly complacent, like a pig who doesn't know its days are numbered.
Some time later two women dressed in red flowing gowns entered the room. Their faces were stoic beneath their hoods. Though they were of different ages and appearances their expressions matched each other. One was older than the other, her eyes downcast so as not to look at Mael. The other was close to Mael's age with dark brown skin. She kept casting quick glances. Judging the nature of their silence, they were not allowed to talk to Mael.
They dried her off with towels, combed her hair, and dressed her in a beautiful flowing red dress. They touched her as if she was something delicate and holy. They pinned her hair up with a clip shaped like a silver rose. The dark haired nun gave her one last quick look as if to say goodbye, before leaving the room with her partner.
The door swung open. Damen and Mansen stepped into the room, pushing the wheelchair. Automatically Mael went to the chair and sat down. Damen touched her shoulder once more. There was another shift. The world darkened.
She came to for the second time. Mansen was pushing her through a maze of dark, gloomy corridors. She leaned back in the seat, head resting drunkenly on the back of the chair. The metal headrest felt uncomfortably hard against her scalp but she didn't have the energy to lift it. Each hallway they went through was exactly like the one before it, nondescript. The corridors they passed through were made of coarse rock, lit by dim orange light. Damen followed, moving silently.
"Don't worry," said Mansen, smiling down at her. "Today is a very special day for you..."
His words did not reassure her.
At long last they came to a stop. This hallway was much shorter at only half the length of the previous one; at the end of it was a black steel door with a metal wheel in its center. The door looked out of place surrounded by the rough-hewn rock. There was something about it that only increased the fear Mael felt. She couldn't describe how she knew, but on an almost psychic level she sensed there was evil on the other side of the door.
Tears welled in Mael's eyes. Before she could stop herself she began to sob helplessly.
"Don't cry," Damen said. He put a hand on her shoulder. "I know it's hard for you to understand and appreciate but you're being used for a very special purpose. Can you guess what's behind that door?"
She shook her head and managed to stammer, "N-n-no."
"Behind the door is a demon. Her name I dare not say out of respect. You are to be her vessel - her flesh."
Mael felt her insides turn to ice. Possession. He means possession. His words, she knew, were a lie. She'd seen what happened to one who had been possessed, even by a wraith, or a "Casteless" as they were often referred. Low-demons were the weakest, without Caste and without shape. Yet even they were dangerous towards humans and could spread from one person to the next like a plague. All it took was for them to possess a helpless soul and then bite into the flesh of another.
"You should be honored," the High Priest said softly.
"I just want to go home," she said.
To this he said nothing. Instead he turned to Mansen. "Open the door."
Mansen giggled nervously. He went to the door. Grunting, he pushed the wheel until, with a loud clank, the ancient hinges came free and the door swung slowly open.
Almost paternally, the High Priest, "Go on, girl. Go on and meet your destiny."
Mael rose to her feet. She felt like a puppet on a string; Damen was the one pulling the marionette. Though she could feel her insides shaking her legs felt steady beneath her. She walked forward with sure steps. Her life as she had known it was over, this she knew. She no longer had the will to pray to Mercius. For years I have served him, risked my life and my soul to heal others. I've never asked for anything and this is how he repays me. Before she would have felt ashamed to think so selfishly but now she only felt resentment.
She hesitated for a moment, trying to sense what awaited in the room beyond, and then without glancing at the two men standing behind her stepped through the door. When the door closed behind her with a final click she hardly noticed.
Mael remained still, taking in her surroundings. The room she stood in had four walls and was dimly lit. Just paces away was a stone altar. The top was covered with dancing candles and burning incense. The perfumey smell coming from the incense was a welcome respite from the stink of her own fear and underlying smell of rot in the room. There were strange hieroglyphs carved into the legs and side of the altar. She didn't recognize any of them. But even more terrifying was the sarcophagus standing upright behind the altar, placed directly in the center of the room.
The sarcophagus was made out of thick stone. The attention to detail took her breath away: On the front of the lid was the most majestic piece of art she'd ever laid her eyes on: a beautiful woman with high cheekbones and long curls. Her arms were crossed over her bosom. Her long flowing dress plumed about her, as if blown about by a gust of wind. Her face was relaxed, her eyes closed in an expression of peaceful dreaming.
"Mael," a voice said softly from behind her. A female's voice.
Mael's flesh broke out in goosebumps. Lips trembling she turned around to face the source of the voice. In the corner of the room, swathed in an unnatural shadow, stood a woman. Terrified, Mael stepped back until her back pressed up against the cold steel of the door. A high-pitched keening sound emitted from deep inside her throat but she was unaware of it.
She began to pray. "O Mercius, the Bringer of Light and Mercy use my body to be Your Light so I may channel your Rays of Restoration…"
But she could feel her faith fluttering uselessly around her, dying with the flames of the candles around her. She had devoted the last seven years of her life to this faith, had rejected any chance of being able to have the life most women had for this faith...and now it had deserted her when she needed it most.
"Yes," the voice said. "Why give your life to a faith that gives you nothing in return? I can give you so much more...Don't be afraid."
She stepped out of the shadows into the candlelight.
Mael began to scream.
…
Damen Orlys listened as the young girl's shrill screams came to an abrupt end. Silence filled the corridors of the church. Mansen's head swiveled from side to side, looking at him in wide-eyed amazement in one second and gawking at the door at the next. Together they waited.
Let this be it, the High Priest thought, his heart pounding in desperate anticipation though his face remained expressionless. Let this be the moment we've all been waiting for.
The wheel began to turn of its own accord. The High Priest straightened as the door slowly swung open. C'thla stood before Damen and Mansen, looking at them through Mael's pale face. Her eyes were a pale luminous grey, too pale to be of anything human.
"Your Grace." He dropped to his knees, the tail of his robes spreading out around him. He gestured impatiently for Mansen to do the same. The younger disciple obeyed but continued to gawk at the demon.
"You may rise," said the demon. She appraised them with a beautiful smile on her lips.
Damen rose to his feet. "How does it feel, your new flesh?"
C'thla's eyes knitted together in concentration. "It's hard to say at the moment. It's been so long since I've had a body..."
Before the demon could finish her sentence, she shuddered once as if in great pain, and then exploded. A foul shower of flesh, blood, guts, and intestines rained down on the High Priest and his disciple, covering the walls, ceiling, and floor.
Damen was enraged. The ritual had failed; they would have to begin the search for a second potential vessel. The demoness will not be pleased.
Mansen flinched back from the High Priest's fury. "Clean up this mess, Mansen!"
"Y-Yes, your eminence," Mansen stammered with a nervous titter.
Damen turned about in a wisp of his crimson cloak and disappeared around the corridor's corner.