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The Black Chapel
The stars shone with brilliant clarity in the coldness of the clear night sky as Nicholas leaned warily upon the freezing stone rampart. He stared fixedly at his hands. They felt colder than the Bridge’s stone, but he could still move them freely- more freely, in fact, than he had ever been able to before. His skin had slowly wrinkled over the past few weeks, and it had become a pale, inhuman grey. He could not stand to look in mirrors any longer, the gaze of his blazing red eyes made him shudder. Gods! What had he become?! His nails had become long, dirty yellow claws that he could retract when he wished. His teeth were more like fangs. Whatever Kraz had transformed him into, he was no longer human. VIII
The memory of his beloved Tara had faded, as if perhaps with his humanity. Her beautiful hair, red rose lips and ebony skin were distant ghosts in his mind. Only in his dreams was Tara still close and real. Every night he awoke with a scream, the sight of his dying Tara in his mind and the memory of her touch fading slowly into the shadows.
Still, the anger burned inside of him. The mere mention of the Master of Thieves caused him to snarl and his fists to clench. The power that Kraz had given him would well to the surface; and occasionally, when he could not control it, he would explode into a mass of wrath and unadulterated fury. He welcomed the coldness of the winter, the bitter snowstorms that swept through the city: they calmed the anger that burned inside of him like the very fires of Hell.
Ice had formed over much of the Sern, and the myriad stars in the sky gave it a bright, almost holy glow. Nicholas shifted his gaze from his inhuman hands to the ice-covered river just beneath him. Red eyes gazed back at him from the glossy ice, and slowly the rest of his decrepit visage came into focus. The few strands of dark brown hair that fell chaotically in front of his face were thin and sickly. His teeth were a thin yellow, and his jawbone finely pronounced by his tightly drawn cheeks. His lips were pale and cracked. With a sudden jolt he remembered Tara’s singeing last kiss.
A low, deep rumble began in his chest, and erupted as a shrill, demonic cry of anguish as Nicholas whirled away from the rampart. He slowed and then stopped in the middle of the bridge, then sank to his knees. His face suddenly lifted to the sky, confronted by the multitude of stars and Luna settled comfortably among her children. “Damn you!!” He screamed so loudly that his throat hurt; but he did not care. “Damn you all!!”
The silence that came in reply was as empty as Nicholas’ soul. He crumpled upon the stone bridge, curled tightly into a ball. If he were still human perhaps he could have wept. But no tears would come: only men could cry.
The soft pad of un-booted footsteps slowly dragged Nicholas from his hole of desolation. He raised himself to his knees and opened his eyes to watch Minj’s dark-skinned figure emerge from the shadows. The man – no, “man” was not the correct word; he knew Minj was not human. The mercenary has been doing well these past few weeks. Thieves all about Bridgeville were talking of him, his ferociousness, his sheer prowess and skill with that alien weapon. But the thieves of this city had been harassed for long enough, the thorn had been dug deeply into the side of the Master of Thieves.
“You summoned?” Minj asked flatly as he leaned against a stone rampart.
Nicholas quickly wrapped a thick black scarf about his face as he stood, grimacing at the near-contempt in Minj’s voice. “You have done your services well,” he said, taking a few steps toward Minj. “But I require them no longer. I shall take my vengeance tonight.” His fist tightened with the thought.
Minj did not react, the sign of a very good mercenary. “You have my payment?”
Nicholas took one more step towards Minj and struck the mercenary across the face. “You shall not take such a tone while addressing me,” he said, and then stepped away. There was a moment’s silence as Minj stroked his jaw, perhaps broken, and stared at Nicholas with malice. The priest ignored the glare. “As for your payment, I stated before that you shall receive your money after I have dealt with the Master of Thieves. Only after.”
Minj nodded mutely. A nervous, tenuous silence floated through the air for a few moments. “Where should I meet you?”
Nicholas could not help smirking slightly. A practiced mercenary, indeed, this Minj. Nothing mattered except the coins. “I will find you,” he said.
Minj’s eyebrows rose. “I’ve heard that before. Where should I meet you?”
Nicholas’ eyes narrowed to thin, burning slits and he smiled as Minj shrunk slightly away. “I will find you,” he stated with a growl, leaving no room for argument. “Now leave me.”
The slight click of boot heels upon the stone of the bridge made Nicholas pause. They were not the boots of the City Watch, and no thief would wear boots while crossing the bridge. No thief except –
“You!” Nicholas roared as he whirled around, drawing his dagger.
The Master of Thieves stood boldly in the center of the bridge. His hands were hanging, weaponless and still, by his side. The cold night air seemed to shroud itself around him, drawing close to an old friend. His figure was barely definable in the darkness, but his red eyes shone like two gems in a pool of pure shadow. He was unreal and daunting all at once, and the blackness and wrath of his thoughts seeped through the cold night air like angry ghosts. He said nothing, but merely stared at Nicholas, unmoving.
“The Immortal Darkness finally appears,” Nicholas spat as he crouched defensively and slowly began to approach the Master of Thieves. The dark figure did not move. Nicholas noticed from the corner of his eye that Minj was still present, pressing himself closely to the rampart. Fool. Equally foolish, the Master of Thieves had not moved. Nicholas moved slowly closer. “You have angered the great god Kraz,” he snarled. “For such grievances, you must pay.” He approached more swiftly. Still the Immortal Darkness did not move, as if somehow part of the bridge: cold black stone. Nicholas stopped only a man’s height from his demon enemy. The silence that had engulfed the Bridge was beginning to grate upon his already-fragile nerves. He held his dagger ready and glared viciously at the Immortal Darkness, whose own stare was a solid and furious as the priest’s. Nicholas began to snarl, and then ripped the scarf away from his face, baring its hideousness to the winter night. “You murdered my wife!” he roared, and then leapt, drawing together every ounce of power from within his enchanted being. A loud, demonic cry streaked through the air as he flew.
The Master of Thieves remained frozen as Nicholas flew nearer and nearer, but at the last possible moment his arm struck out from the shadows and knocked the priest aside. Nicholas hit the stone pavement with a loud grunt and rolled until he struck the rampart. In a moment he was on his feet again, snarling like a rabid dog.
The nervous shuffle of feet drew his fixed attention from his opponent. Minj was standing not an arm’s length away from him, a horrified and disgusted look contorting his face. Nicholas growled deeply, and then struck the mercenary across the face with the back of his hand. Minj was sent hurtling over the rampart, and a scream parted his lips just before he reached the freezing water of the river below.
Nicholas whipped about to face his opponent once more, the blood boiling in his veins. The Master of Thieves had not moved, and maintained his searing, ironclad stare. “Do you see what I have become?!” Nicholas howled as he doffed his hood. There was little hair left upon his head, and the winter wind bit at his disfigured face. “Do you see what you have done to me?!” he demanded. “You have left me with nothing! Nothing!” He ran full-tilt toward the Master of Thieves, his dagger bared and glistening in the night.
Once again, the Immortal Darkness did not move as Nicholas approached, but his arms darted into motion the moment before the priest’s dagger would have plunged into his heart. In a single swift and blurring motion Nicholas found himself held high from the stone bridge, and his dagger wrested from his iron grip. He gurgled for air as the demon-thief held him by the throat. The Master of Thieves now glared menacingly into Nicolas’ eyes, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still as Nicholas felt the full breadth of the fiery hatred now boring into his soul.
“I was left as nothing long before you were born, priest,” the words spat and sizzled as if from the deepest fires of hell. The arm holding Nicholas aloft trembled not with fatigue, but rage. “Do not guilt your folly upon me.” There was a long silence. The demon’s gaze remained fixed upon Nicholas, who burned and trembled under its unrelenting fury.
“To be merciful, I should kill you now.”
He paused.
“But there is no mercy left in my soul, Nicholas. I will only leave you the truth.”
With the greatest of ease, he tossed Nicholas to the side, and then disappeared into the shadows. The memory of the dissolving shadows within Kraz’s temple returned to Nicholas’ mind and with it the thought of his beloved Tara. Long into the night, he remained lying upon the cold ground, curled tightly into a ball once again. He prayed for tears.
But tears are not granted to the dead.
I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI
copyright november, 1999 noah mclaughlin