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The Black Chapel
Minj jumped when he first heard the hoarse whisper. X
“Mercenary.”
It seemed to float upon the breeze, but somehow it sought him out and struck Minj like a cold blast. He looked about the deserted street, but shadows were deep in the pre-dawn twilight and there was no one to be seen. For a moment the filthy streets stood in icy silence, but then Minj shrugged and hurried on towards the Dancing Maid.
“Mercenary!” the whisper came again, this time more urgent.
Another worried glance about the empty street, and another frozen silence. From the corner of his eye, there was movement, and Minj pressed himself tightly against a wall as a hunched and gruesome figure emerged from the shadows as if poured from liquid darkness. Its skin was a pale and wrinkled grey, and its burning red eyes had sunk deep into their sockets. There were only a few wisps of hair left clinging to its bald and decaying scalp.
“Mercenary,” it said. Its decrepit lips hardly moved as it spoke, but Minj caught flashes of yellow and corroded teeth. “You must help me. You must help me die.”
Minj’s gaze remained fixed upon the monstrosity before him, and his body remained fixed to the wall, muscles frozen in fear. A cold sense of utter horror emanated from the ghastly figure. Finally, Minj managed a slight shake of his head.
“You must!” the creature roared as it moved violently towards Minj, bringing its rotting face not a hand’s breadth from his own. Its gleaming red eyes bore into him like hot irons. Its pale grey hands took him by the shirt and gripped it tightly with inexplicable rage. “I am not dying, Minj,” it said. “I am only wasting away to an empty shell.” Its voice hissed and crackled, like paper being torn slowly apart. “That bastard thief has won, curse him! His words have haunted me since that night, upon the Bridge. They have haunted me far longer than the blessings of my god.”
Minj felt the incredible urge to somehow, anyhow, make this rambling creature be quiet. But the horror had grown as the creature had drawn nearer; Minj found it difficult to blink. How did this… this thing now his name?
“You remain silent, stranger,” it remarked. “Do you want your money?” It produced a pouch and poured a hundred shining gold coins onto the filthy ground. They glittered almost gaily in the sharp winter starlight. “There! You have your money and more. Now help me die!”
Minj dove to the ground to greedily scoop up the coins. Then he looked into the creature’s decrepit face and his eyes grew wide with recognition and horror. “It’s… you,” he stammered. It had taken him long weeks to discover the identity of this man, if he was indeed a man anymore: Nicholas Bhyd, the Dreaded, the Feared, the Dark. The Order of the Black Hand was discussed only in whispers with a haunted and fearful look in one’s eyes, as if even the name would conjure the evil in these men’s souls. Minj had soon given up on his search for his money, but this giant of dark priests looked more like a pitiful freak than a powerful assassin.
“Me,” Nicholas mused upon the word. “Not truly anymore.” His grip tightened further upon Minj’s shirt. “But now you must help me die! Help me or by Kraz’s black hand, I will tear you from limb to limb!”
“How?” Minj gasped. He glanced uneasily at the raq-jah hanging at his side.
“Your strange weapon is useless, mercenary,” Nicholas spat. “Any weapon is useless. You must take me to the cemetery, by the Ruins.”
Nicholas released his furious grip and Minj felt control of his body return with a flush of warmth, but he paused in hesitancy.
“Do not wait!” Nicholas bellowed. “Now!” He gripped Minj’s shoulder and the luyj felt a bitter cold sting strike through his clothing and almost singe his skin. “Go!”
Minj took a deep breath and turned to retrace his steps, past the large cemetery that stood almost in the center of the Dark Alleys. They moved slowly, Nicholas creeping along only at a gangling shuffle. They passed a number of shops and even commoner houses, but no lamps were burning, not so late at night. No sane man would be walking the streets of the Dark Alley at this time. The burned rubble and tattered ruins of what had surely been a stately chapel were within view when Nicholas’s clawed hand brought Minj to a painful halt.
The stars in the sky had slowly been dying, fading away from sight as dawn approached with increasing speed. Minj looked down a street to the East and saw the tall grey Mountains of the Unknown, shrouded still in shadow, but their tips glowed with the coming of dawn.
“Over there,” Nicholas’ voice once again reminded Minj of the sound of ripping parchment. The priest, the creature, pointed within the cemetery. “Do you see that?”
Minj followed his bony and clawed finger to a mist that seemed to be clinging unnaturally to the tombstones, as if perhaps it were loath to leave with the dawn. Darker shadows could be seen swirling about inside the mist. Minj shivered, and then nodded.
“You must bring that to the gate,” Nicholas said. “It will not leave the cemetery; but you must bring it here, close.”
Minj looked at Nicholas questioningly, and opened his mouth to speak.
“’How?’!” Nicholas roared. “Must I tell you everything?!” He shook his head. “The initiates of the Black Hand would never ask such a fool question, they would already know. My dearest Tara would not even look at me, she would not ask me what I needed; she would simply do it. But you…” He pointed a grotesque finger at Minj, and then sighed, all the tension and rage crumpling from his body. “Tap your strange weapon upon the gate there.”
Minj took a few cautious steps forward, then drew his raq-jah and tapped lightly upon the barred and locked metal gate.
“Louder!” Nicholas demanded. “They do not recognize the living easily.” He looked nervously at the horizon. “And do it quickly! There is not much time.”
Minj rapped his weapon hard upon the gate, and then stepped swiftly away as the mist approached. It swarmed up close against the gate, but somehow could not leave the confines of the cemetery.
Nicholas smiled maniacally and shuffled to the bars. A darker patch of mist swirled directly before him. “My friends,” he crooned. “I have come to join you. My work here is done. My heart is dead, my mind is slipping away, and my soul is the plaything of a god who has abandoned me. My work here is done indeed: I have found the Truth. And it burns.” The patch of darker mist did not reply, but it began to swirl about, as if perhaps excited, or agitated. Nicholas turned towards Minj. “When the sun rises, you must strike me down. Only then will I die.”
Minj felt unsure, but drew his raq-jah again. He waited in the utter, hungry silence for the first ray of sunlight to fall directly onto the priest. “Forgive me, my love,” Nicholas prayed to the sky. “Forgive me. I have failed you.” The mist began to fade, as the grey of the cemetery walls grew brighter. “And the truth burns.” He looked into Minj eyes as a thin ray of light struck his forehead. “It burns.”
Minj’s weapon came down upon Nicholas with a force the luyj had never known. Nicholas’ body crumpled with the force of the blow, but then swiftly dissolved in the sunlight. Only an empty and rotting cloak lay where Nicholas’ body should have been. Minj stood and stared at the empty cloak for a long while as the mist disappeared into the morning shadows of the cemetery. Then the mercenary turned to leave.
The tall, black figure froze him in place for a second time. The Master of Thieves seemed to stare at the fading mist for a few moments, and then at Nicholas’ empty robes. There was a cold sadness in his gaze. He looked at Minj, the fire in his eyes somehow subdued, turned, and walked silently away.
Minj shivered, and then ran away down the street. He felt a cold emptiness begin to fill him, and found that it followed him wherever he went.
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copyright november, 1999 noah mclaughlin