Assassin of the Damned

— 14-

I cringed as a drip hissed into my sputtering torch. I jerked the torch from side to side, fanned the flame into greater life, but was careful not to strike the walls. The tunnel was narrow. Sometimes I’d twisted through passages. Too often, I had to crouch and once I’d crawled. I’d also splashed through more than one puddle. Water clung to the cramped ceiling like evil beads. They were wily, these drops, and only dripped when I glanced elsewhere.

Black spots now danced before my eyes. It wasn’t a lack of air, for I didn’t breathe. I could feel the weight of millions of tons of rock and dirt ready to crush me into oblivion as a man crushes a flea between his fingers. It terrified me. Every time I squeezed through a particularly tight spot, I dreaded wedging myself.

The torch sputtered again. I closed my eyes and retraced in my thoughts the various choices I’d made. Had I correctly followed Lorelei’s instructions? She hadn’t said anything about these tight passages. Might I have taken a wrong turn?

Maybe because I had my eyes closed, I felt a soft voice calling. It was soothing. I cocked my head. I heard nothing audible…I felt the voice, and I found that I clutched my belt where I kept the coin hidden. I palmed the coin, fingered the engravings. The sense of soothing grew. I had the feeling that if I begged the Moon Lady, if I knelt and pledged my soul that all would be forgiven. She would show me the way out of these tunnels. I could walk under the stars again. I could-

Something roared in the tunnels behind me. My eyes snapped open. I twisted round and stared into the dread blackness. It had sounded like the guardian beast, the chained thing. Was it loose? Had it sniffed out my trail?

I sensed the softest of chuckles. I stared at the traitorous coin, at the mocking curve of the Moon Lady’s lips. The coin had led the beast to me. The coin, or the Moon Lady, had betrayed me.

I wanted to hurl the coin into the darkness, but didn’t dare. It held my spark of life.

“I’ll never be yours!” I shouted.

An answering roar dislodged a shower of droplets. One hissed as it dripped into my torch. Another slid under my collar. Then scratches and leathery sliding sounds told me the beast wriggled through a narrow part of the underground tunnels. I believe I knew where it was by my memory of that particular tight spot, and it was much too near to me.

I saw a momentary picture in my mind of what would happen when the beast arrived. The thought showed a giant, lizard-like creature dragging me back to the castle like a wolf-bitch carrying a pup.

I squeezed the traitorous coin. Then I thrust it into my belt. It was impossible that I could fight such a monster in these narrow tunnels. I heard a clink, maybe that of a giant collar striking rock.

“Curse you,” I whispered. The black splotches before my eyes increased. I fled crouched over. My poor eyes missed a curve and I slammed against stone. I wanted to weep. Then I slammed against stone again. The jar knocked the torch out of my hand. It slid into a puddle. The flame hissed. I snatched it up, shook the torch and watched as the flame shrank. I would rave like a lunatic if it went pitch black.

The monster roared once more. It was closer than before. The tap of its claws and the brush of its leathery hide-

I scrambled faster and with grim fatalism took yet another crash against a rock wall. This couldn’t last. Then I realized the tunnel had widened. I could stand upright, and did, and I ran. I took corners faster and struck outcroppings of rock less often. Then I noticed the faint scent of…of lilies! I laughed like a madman. I must be near the surface. Hope revived me, and it shot anger through me like hot oil. I cursed the priestess of the Moon and her beast. I would never enter a deep tunnel like this again. It would be better to die fighting above ground than allow oneself into this wretched kingdom of rats and worms.

The strain of my thighs told me the grade angled steeply upward. Unfortunately, the wheeze of the beast behind made my back crawl. I could hear its belly slide over rock. Then the ceiling vanished. And in the dim illumination of my flickering torch, I only spied rock walls. I had raced into a cul-de-sac, a dead end.

I must have taken a wrong turn. The urge to grab the coin and make a deal-

I looked up at a glimmer of faint light. I hurled aside the worthless torch. The walls around me had cracks and stony juts. It would take an acrobat to scale them or a desperate soul. I put my boot onto an outcropping and hoisted myself upward. I had no time for niceties, no time for caution. The approaching monster roared. I hoisted myself higher. The boots must have had magical qualities. The slightest protrusion was enough to push me upward. My fingers and wrists seemed stronger than I recalled. I was almost like a fly in my ability to cling and climb. The opening above was a jagged crack, the kind earthquakes make. It seemed too small for me.

A loud, leathery scrape announced the monster as it popped out of the underground tunnel. It was huge, a giant lizard greater than the crocodiles that Moors boasted lived in the Nile River. Its flickering tongue darted at the torch on the stone floor, and it hissed in rage as it burned itself.

Maybe I should have flattened myself on the wall. I was about halfway up. Maybe my cloak had properties that would have allowed assassin-like stealth. But I feared losing my grip if I didn’t keep climbing. It would be a wretched end, swallowed alive into the beast’s gullet. I kept climbing, and my belt-buckle scraped against stone.

The monster’s head jerked up. It was a lizard-quick move. It lunged awkwardly as its tongue darted at me. Like a frog’s tongue, it was much too long. The tongue lashed against my boot with a wet splat and held as if glued. It numbed my ankle as if a strong man had hit it. The tongue yanked at my boot as the beast dropped down. I clung to cracks in the wall with manic strength, but felt my fingers slipping. I shook my foot, tried to dislodge the sticky tongue. The tongue stretched to an obscene degree. Then, just before it tore me off, the tongue peeled away and slithered back into its gapping maw.

I scrambled like a beetle, and would have fallen but for the magical boots. The beast croaked a deafening cry, and it lunged upward once more, claws scrabbling rock. Its long tail seemed to propel it higher. The forked tongue shot out and wriggled inches from my boot heel. Then the giant creature slumped back onto the floor.

My fingers latched onto an edge of dirt. My biceps bunched. My head broke through to the surface. I heaved, squeezed through the narrow opening and rolled onto damp grass. Then I scrambled upright and laughed. The monster roared below, and my laugh turned into a snarl. I pried a rock out of the ground and heaved it at the beast. A leathery thud told me I’d hit. I hurled more stones, certain it would find a means to climb out otherwise. Finally, it retreated into the stygian gloom of the tunnels.

As I stood there peering into the depths, strength flooded into me. Weariness vanished, as did the black spots before my eyes. I seemed to swell with power. Baffled, I turned. The full moon blazed. It fed me strength like a maiden trickling me grapes. I’d yet to see the moon since waking with grass through my armor. When I’d been with Ofelia, there hadn’t been a moon. Staring at the bright orb made me wonder about time. How much of it had passed since Ofelia had driven me through the castle’s black gate?

By the phase of the moon, it seemed as if many nights had passed. Perhaps the castle had been like an evil fairy tale. In those, time often moved strangely. The nightmare of the tunnels…it seemed like I’d been down there a lifetime.

I lifted my arms and soaked in the moon rays. This was my food, water and air. It felt wonderful, glorious. The coin wanted my attention. The presence felt stronger now that I stood in the moonlight.

“No,” I said.

I felt a brief moment of anger-that I’d be sorry for this decision. Then there was nothing at all.

Shortly, I recalled Lorelei’s parting words. I must beware the minions of the Lord of Night. They would be hunting for me. The priestess of the Moon yet hunted for me, I knew. I glanced about, but couldn’t spy the vile castle or even the hills that had surrounded it.

I did notice a faint stench. The crack lay at the bottom of a narrow valley. There were pools of scummy water edged with lilies and nearby hills. Those were more jagged than the pervious hills and lacked vineyards. A fire shined like a beacon on one of the hills. With my hand, I shaded my eyes from the moon. A dark town lay higher up on that mountain. A dirt road wriggled its way past the town. The stench came from that direction.

Was that a watch fire? Did a sorcerer and his underlings wait for my arrival? I needed directions to Perugia. Maybe Erasmo waited there with his minions. He was the Lord of Night. Erasmo. My hands clenched of their own accord. I headed for the hill fire, all the while keeping a wary eye out for the lizard-beast.

***

The stench made horrible sense. I looked down at an old limestone pit. Rotting corpses lay in heaps, one atop the other. There were men, women and children, hundreds of them. I recalled Ofelia’s words about the plague. The corpses had whole heads, meaning no axe or sword had smashed their skulls. Many had lumps under their armpits and ugly sores. It hadn’t been a massacre, but pestilence.

I squinted at the hillside fire.

The limestone pit was at the bottom of the hill. The fire was a quarter way up. Instead of vineyards or orchards, this hill looked like pastureland for sheep. I sensed motion there, but couldn’t see the actual flames. It seemed as if shapes moved around the fire. A breeze brought what seemed like songs. When the wind stilled, the sounds became silent.

Would creatures of the night sing songs? I could not picture Erasmo sitting among them tapping his fingers. But I was curious nonetheless. I followed the dirt road up the mountain.

***

I crept toward the bonfire, and I swear my coin wriggled. I clutched my belt there. The feeling was more than a premonition. Stay away. You’re not yet ready for this.

I smiled grimly and slipped behind a mossy boulder.

The bonfire blazed with a tepee of pine trunks. Flames leapt twenty feet high and trails of sparks spiraled toward the stars. Why would the Moon Lady fear that I saw this?

A cluster of parked wagons stood at the edge of the bonfire’s light. Mules and horses cropped grass or munched oats from feedbags. Hobbles kept them stationary. Equine curiosity kept the animals focused on the people around the fire. There were young and old, rich and poor. They held hands and danced around the giant fire. They chanted:

Ring around the rosy,

Pockets full of posy,

Hush, hush, hush, hush,

We all fall down.

At ‘down,’ they collapsed as if struck dead. They lay there as the fire crackled. Soon they arose, clasped hands and once more began the dance and chant. Dogs wandered among the people. A few of the curs barked along as if part of the ceremony.

As I watched, a pang of loneliness touched me. These were ordinary folk, even if their activity was baffling. Since awakening, I’d only seen sulking mercenaries, a gravedigger, a sorcerer’s minion and altered men as hounds. I’d seen shambling corpses, an invisible gambler and a priestess of the Moon. Lorelei had claimed to be immortal. Here were normal people. They wore holiday finery, although a feeling of fear pervaded among them. Many glanced at a group of men and women who stood apart in the shadows.

Maybe those were Erasmo’s people. Those others wore cloth of gold garments and stood among velvet banners. They had silk jackets and fur capes. Yet their heavy faces, their facial scars and brutish mien spoke of peasants. A priest stood with them. He had his hands tied behind his back, and by his purpled face had taken a beating.

That seemed wrong. Yes, there was a feeling of wrongness here. Despite the holiday finery, the people were tense and kept glancing at the other group.

A bearded fat man detached himself from the shadowed group and approached the dancers. He sauntered like a knight, dressed like a prince in tight hose and yet had the features of a town butcher. He raised meaty hands as one who held authority. When the dancers noticed that, they left the fire and flocked around him. They had sweaty faces and many breathed heavily. I debated climbing my boulder as they circled him. They blocked my view.

My coin seemed to grow heavier then. But the Moon Lady’s warning only increased my desire to stay.

The butcher spoke. At least, I presumed he did. He had a strangely high voice, although the villagers listened raptly.

He said, “The clergy tell us they know why we die. They say we’re wicked. They say if we pray in the churches, if we give them extra florins they’ll beg the saints to help us. We’ve prayed. We’ve paid, and yet people die like sheep among raving wolves. The saints are deaf. The priests are liars and death stalks us unmercifully. We’ve all lost kin. We’ve all fled doomed villages, or many of us have. I’ve seen death everywhere. I’ve seen it in Milan. It rages in France.”

The butcher worked himself into a passion. I’d seen his type before in taverns: the drunkards who bellowed before they rose up to fight. Dogs had to growl and bark first. His words entranced the people and more than one glanced at the bound priest. Did they mean to hang the poor fellow?

Maybe my curiosity dulled my caution. Maybe I’d grown weary of the Moon Lady’s nagging. Maybe it was because they were ordinary folk. His speech and their dance were extraordinary. I wanted to know more, even told myself I needed knowledge of this so-called changed world if I were to outwit Erasmo.

I left the boulder and strode to the back of the crowd. I sidled next to a man who stood apart from others. He wore elaborate leather boots that reached his mid-thighs. He had a long face and a wide-brimmed hat with a crow’s feather. The hat and boots declared him a noble. The crow’s feather seemed strange. It should have been an ostrich feather.

I nodded as he glanced at me. “Who is he?” I whispered.

The noble stared at me too long. Maybe this had been a mistake. Could people sense my difference?

“Are you new here?” He whispered hoarsely and without moving his lips.

“…I fled my village,” I said.

He nodded as if understanding, although his lips twitched, perhaps in mockery.

I realized my garments and cloak were well tailored. I’d foolishly picked a peasant persona. “I noticed the fire,” I said. “I’m hungry.”

“They’ll be food afterward. First the flagellants must help expedite our sins.”

“The speaker is a…flagellant?” I asked.

“You’ve never heard of them?” The noble seemed more amused by the moment.

I shook my head.

He adjusted the brim of his hat, leaned closer. “The priests are powerless against the plague. Or so the flagellant says. If it is sins that have caused this-”

“The Great Mortality?” I asked.

“The Black Death,” he whispered. “That’s what we call it. Prayers are no good, so the flagellants practice harsher methods.”

The noble’s lips had remained motionless throughout his whisperings. It was more than odd. I felt as if he concealed something. His manner was too superior, too amused with me, as if he knew a joke I didn’t. It was then I noticed his scent, much like a wet hound.

“You don’t mean they beat the priest?” I asked.

He gave a strange chuckle. “The priest is given the choice of blessing the affair. If he’s stubborn and refuses, he earns his beating.” The noble glanced at me sidelong. “Do you think that’s wrong?”

The butcher shouted and interrupted our talk. I heard cloth tearing.

Women moaned. Some men shouted. A few children laughed wildly. The crowd surged back and jostled the two of us. It allowed me to spy the fat man, the butcher. He’d ripped off his expensive shirt. He had white skin with countless thin scabs.

One from his group handed him a whip. It was like a cat-o-nine tails, but with little iron spikes that rattled at the ends.

“Spare us!” the fat man shouted toward the heavens. He slashed himself with the whip, cut his skin. “Forgive us our sins!” He slashed a second time, a third and a fourth.

A woman shrieked as blood began to flow.

A second man from the group of flagellants ripped off his silk shirt. He joined the fat man, whipped himself until blood mingled with his sweat.

“Stop this madness!” the priest howled. “This is evil. You must stop!”

“We abase ourselves before thee!” the fat man shouted skyward. “We spill our blood to cleanse the Earth of stinking plague!”

Several of the women of the flagellants scratched their faces until they bled. The villagers swayed. They mumbled in horror. They shrank back. Some bowed their heads and prayed fervently.

“This is against the holy-” the priest shouted.

“Shut up!” a flagellant bellowed. He clouted the bound priest on the side of the head. The priest crumpled. The flagellant kicked him viciously in the side.

“Stop that,” I said.

“Don’t bother,” the noble with the wide-brimmed hat whispered.

I glanced at him. He grinned, and I noticed then that he had fangs instead of teeth. He had long canines. He backed away from me and into the darkness.

People turned and stared, and I stood alone. The butcher stopped in mid-stroke. Worse for me, the hounds swiveled around. Most of the dogs had worked in near the two men bloodying themselves. A big brute of a hound raised its head and began to sniff the air. Its hackles rose and it barked at me. The other hounds followed its lead. Several curs moved stiff-legged toward me.

“Shoo,” I said. “Get out of here.”

The closest hounds tucked their tails between their legs. One whined, backed away. Several barked more wildly.

“Look at his face,” a woman screamed. “It’s the color of a corpse.”

The butcher, the bloody head flagellant, edged toward me. He pointed his gory whip. “Who are?” he asked in a nervous voice. “Name yourself, I command it.”

All the while, the hounds barked as if I was a bear they were too afraid to attack.

“Stop kicking the priest,” I said.

“He’s dressed in black!” a man shouted. I recognized it as the voice of the noble I’d been talking with, the noble with fangs for teeth.

The butcher’s eyes lit up. “It’s a demon!” he roared. “It’s a demon of Death. Our torments have brought it up from Hell. Now we must stone it. Kill it and the plague will stop.”

“Nonsense,” I said. “What-”

A stone hit me in the back of the head, enough so I staggered. The only one who was behind me, at least that I knew about, was the noble with fangs instead of teeth.

Men and women scrambled out of my path.

“He’s doesn’t bled,” a man shouted, one hidden in darkness, my evil benefactor. “His head is gashed and he doesn’t bleed.”

“Stone the demon of Death!” the butcher roared. “He’s colored like a corpse because he’s walking death. Kill it and save yourselves. Do as I-”

I dashed at the butcher, leapt to avoid the thrusting dagger of a nearby man and dodged the butcher’s wild whip-slash. Then I slammed an elbow into his face. The thud was loud, but he had a strong neck. It snapped back, but not as Ox’s had. Blood gushed from the butcher’s broken nose and he toppled backward. I whirled around. Stones flew, a half dozen. I dodged and ducked and only one struck me a grazing blow on the shoulder. I picked up the flagellant’s whip and snapped it at the nearest people. They surged back with screams. A few tripped over others and sprawled backward onto the ground.

The people feared and hated me. The noble with fangs for teeth had disappeared. I hurled the whip, turned and raced into the night. I had no desire to hurt regular folk.

I expected the people to bay like hounds and give chase. The butcher, however, lifted himself on one elbow.

“No!” he shouted. “Stay! We’ve driven the demon of Death from us. Now we must celebrate our victory. Help me up, and then someone bring that devil-priest to the fire. It’s time he learned a lesson.”

I heard no more, too busy sprinting up the lonely road. I hoped the noble with fangs for teeth followed. I’d pay him back for his troubles. All the while, I ignored the sense of smugness emanating from my coin.