Possession 1
The demon possessed man Jonah has fallen under the dark authority of Priest Sabaste, patron of the four gods of Rainor. Sabaste crosses boundaries that no priest should, forcing Jonah to confront the vulnerability of his condition.He’s thrust into the intrigue of the Rainor court, while at the mercy of its diabolical priest.
The start of a dark sensual slow-burn series by the author of Maelstrom!
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1 The Sheriff and the Half-Sister
“You have to oversee things, brother.” Valeria twisted her apron in both her fists
as she beseeched Priest Sabaste in the stable.
“He’s possessed of a demon. A
holy man must be present or he’ll wreak havoc.”
Her body language bespoke anxiety, but Sebaste knew it wasn’t due to the disturbed man in his church aspe. His estranged half-sister fretted over asking him favors.
Her body language bespoke anxiety, but Sebaste knew it wasn’t due to the disturbed man in his church aspe. His estranged half-sister fretted over asking him favors.
“I
wish not to get involved in pointless pursuits.” He kept his gaze steady on her, forcing her
to look at the floor to avoid the fire in his blue eyes. Valeria,
wide-faced beneath dark blond curls and with lines on the corners of her kind
gray eyes, shrank before him.
“But
it’s for Sabina,” she said, uttering Sabaste’s twin sister’s name in a cajoling
way. “She must be sick over this. Her little one’s been missing so long. If it could help—”
“I
don’t believe she’s concerned.”
This
made Valeria gape at him. Sheriff Edmont
picked himself off the stable post he’d been leaning on behind her. The man, whose face reminded Sebaste of a
weasel, planted his skinny legs wide and crossed his arms. The priest didn’t allow him the benefit of a
glance.
“It
was only a girl-child. Sabina’s focus is
on producing heirs. She considers her a
wasted pregnancy.”
“Hey,
now watch it,” Edmont said. Sabaste eyed
him while noting his vernacular had grown more like the peasantry. “Juelet’s a niece to you and me both, a sweet
little girl. Don’t be saying her mother
doesn’t love her. The only one who’s
cruel enough to hate an innocent lamb like that is you.”
Beside
him the priest’s black stallion bristled at the raised voice. His focus returned to the beautiful
creature’s gleaming hide. He worked his
brush through its mane twice, forcing both Valeria and Edmont to endure an
extended silence.
“You
brought a charlatan to our keep, Sheriff.
Kindly engage him in his scam as your wont and then get him the hell out
of my church.”
“He
ain’t a charlatan, you pompous ass!”
“That’s
what I was going to mention,” Valeria said.
Sabaste gave her the benefit of his attention since she was by no means
as despicable as the sheriff. “He didn’t
come offering to help for a fee. He was
kidnapped and brung here.”
“Arrested,”
Edmont corrected.
“Well,
brought against his will in any case.
He’s truly possessed of this demon or spirit, and it sees things that
none of us can.”
“You
ought to let me tell it,” Edmont said, “if your brother will hear me for half a
minute.”
Sabaste
led his horse to its stall a few steps away.
“I’m listening.” An arrested man
was now worthy of his interest. What
might the pathetic fellow give to earn his freedom?
“So
Jonah’s his name, no surname given.”
Edmont paused to clear his throat, a cue for insecurity Sabaste
recognized. “He lives alone out in the
moors in some wooden shack, goddess only knows how long. Apparently he sells the coal out there, has
some arrangement with a sheepherder, a grocer, and a rye farmer, what have
you.”
“Get
to the point.”
“That’s
what I’m doing! I’m saying he’s coming
back late from the market one time and a man named Otho, a bootmaker well known
in the county, sees that his eyes have gone red, his teeth have gone sharp,
horns sprouted out of his head, claws on his fingers, and black marks about his
face. Otho runs at him with his
pitchfork, but the demon makes him freeze with fear. He tells him he ought to get home because his
baby’s coming early and sideways. Sure
enough it’s true, and Otho is able to find the midwife in time to save both his
wife and child. Otho tells a few others,
and they tell a few others, and so a woman goes to him about her young one who
was carried off by a bird. And she learns
the girl wasn’t taken by a bird like her husband said, but she’d been hauled to
a brothel. She retrieves her before her
virginity is sold. There’s many more
stories as this. He helps some here and
there, always saying never to trouble him again. He says what has him possessed is evil and
wants to do harm. He tells all to stay
away.”
Sabaste
held back signs of his burgeoning excitement.
It was likely untrue. Both Edmont
and the peasants of their county were dullards.
But,
oh if such a creature truly did exist.
“I
asked him to help with young Juelet. He
wouldn’t open his door to me—demanded I get off his property. He knew full well I was the sheriff. I had no choice but to come back with my
men.” He looked at Valeria. “It was the right thing to do, taking
him. If he really is a demon, we can’t
have him loose in the county.”
“You’ll
talk to him, won’t you, brother?”
Valeria’s nerve had been reinvigorated.
“The men are all scared of him.”
Sabaste
made a forthright stride past both of them.
“I’ll speak to him alone.”
“I
need to be there!” Edmont said.
He
heard Valeria softly convincing him to let him have his way. In such situations she proved
invaluable. The sheriff could yield to
her without compromising his pride.
The
stable connected to the manor house, which was not quite a castle, but was
still the second most impressive building in the county. The thatched roof worked around windowed
dormers. A balcony stood on tall piers
off the second story, with rolling views of the low meadows and village. The concrete was immaculately shaped and
whitewashed, with decorative shutters adorning numerous small windows.
He
continued to his church beyond this, the Temple
of the Four Gods, which dwarfed the manor enough to keep it enclosed in its
shadow three hours of every day. His
roofs were made of rounded clay slates, baked a hundred at a time in former
church’s kiln. Large stones comprised
the main floor, as many as the county’s meager foundry had to provide. Smaller rocks had to be used to create the
walls of his spires and great tower.
He
entered through doors of colored glass to the nave of his church. At the end of the central aisle he could see
sheriff’s men, a half-dozen uncouth barbarians desecrating the sanctity of his
apse. He noticed their muddy boot prints
on the polished wood of his floor. It
was peat and darkened soil from the moors.
As
he drew nearer, he saw a youth among them who was damp from his left shoulder
to the soles of his boots. He visualized
how the arrested man must have tossed him in a desperate bid to flee. The others, twice as thick as the youth, had
subdued him without succumbing to the muck.
So
he may not truly be possessed of a demon.
He was unable to summon its preternatural strength to escape them.
They
clustered around the office of his high druid.
A few who’d been seated came to their feet as he approached. They gave him questioning looks for an
instance, then avoided his radiant eyes.
Sabaste said nothing to them, produced a key for the door, and went in.
2 The Prisoner
Seated on a carved wooden bench before the desk of his druid
was a man of thirty, his brown shock of hair tussled, his worn hemp trousers and
long-tunic caked in mud. He sat huddled
and holding himself like the personification of a trapped fawn. The raising and lowering of his shoulders
with each breath came faster than they should, as though he were still
panicked. Despite filth coating one side
of his face, Sabaste saw beauty. He had
a narrow cleft chin beneath a wide pleasing jaw and large soulful eyes that
matched in depth what his own had in fire.
He fixed these wide eyes on Sabaste, and his breaths grew
more rapid still. The priest closed the
door but made no move to sit. He allowed
the man to absorb him on his feet, where he could present the most intimidating
impression. He wore a black linen
Cossack which started at his collared neck and draped with a skirt to the
floor. His thin cloak, also black as
coal pitch, remained hooded over his dark locks of hair. It shadowed his eyes, but in no way inhibited
their brilliance.
“You’re Jonah,” Sabaste said, while moving to his druid’s
desk, “the man possessed by a demon?”
Jonah’s voice came out in the full tenor of
desperation. “I’ve done nothing
wrong. If my presence offends the county
I’ll take my leave at once and will never return. I beg to plead before his lordship.”
Sabaste looked him over once more. He hadn’t expected a cultured tongue to match
the refinement of his face. Now he was
forced to wonder whom he was dealing with.
He entwined his fingers and tented his thumbs. “The earl heeds my council on all matters,
particularly those involving demonic spirits.
Plead before me, as you would him.”
Jonah swallowed, collecting himself before beginning once
more. “I beg you to let me leave.”
“What of the earl’s missing daughter?”
Genuine bewilderment formed on his face. “His daughter is missing?”
Sabaste nodded.
“I knew nothing of this.
They…didn’t tell me anything.”
Of course not, the buffoons.
“So I’ve been brought here to give aid?”
The priest leaned back his head to look down his nose at the
man. “Can you find her?”
“Yes.”
His lack of hesitation made Sabaste’s brow twitch.
“He can—or he can tell you what’s become of her.”
“‘He’ being your demon?”
The man pursed his lips and nodded. “And then I may go free? Once I’ve assisted you, I can return to the
moors?”
“I’ll make a determination on the matter after you produce
the girl.”
“I won’t help you unless you promise to set me free.”
The bluff made Sabaste grin.
“I promise you absolutely nothing.
And you will help us. You’d be
wise not to test me.”
Jonah bowed his head, both angry and resigned. The priest most enjoyed the anger, since it heralded
an enticing conflict. Were he too
complaint Sabaste would get bored.
Proceed slowly, cautiously, estimate him fully before deciding
which move to make. He was so rarely
at a disadvantage with his adversaries.
For the first time he knew nothing of his opponent’s powers.
The priest waited half a minute before moving, to be sure
the man had yielded to his control. Then
he rose and tipped his chin at him.
“Come. You may
cleanse yourself of this mud in my quarters.
I’ll find you a fresh set of clothes.”
The soulful eyes looked upwards, absorbing the grain of
kindness like succor. He climbed to his
feet, still huddling his arms around his body, and followed Sabaste out.
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