CHAPTER TWO
"Father Gareth! Father Gareth! Are you awake?"
Gareth sat up with a start and realized he was in his own bed. His body ached, but a quick check confirmed that he was whole.
"Yes. I-I'll be right down," he called to the closed door. Rising from his bed, he went to the mirror and opened up his mouth. He needn't wonder if it was a dream, once he saw the mark the demon had laid on his tongue. A pang went through his chest and groin as his body remembered a dream of reacting to the creature. His arousal made him nauseous, and he rushed to the basin, clutching the sides of the enameled bowl and dry heaved until he saw black stars popping in front of his eyes.
"Reeeeally now…"
Whispers in his head— the demon spoke to him through his mind, leaving no doubt of what he'd done. He looked at his hands, nails free of blood, his knuckles bare of wounds from fighting. "The church… e-everything…"
"Hasn't happened yet. You really didn't think I would revive all of those people? No. The scars they would carry in their memories would be far worse than those on their bodies… far worse than death."
"So, it will not happen?"
The creature chuckled softly from inside Gareth's brain. "Oh, the assassins will still come, Crusader, but you will stop them. I will help you."
"I… see." Gareth felt that thanking the demon would be foolish. After all, the beast had done none of this out of kindness. "You will not hurt anyone else?"
"I can't, mostly. Well, not unless you direct me to do so. I am here for you… I belong to you, for now, to use as you need… and use me, you will." There was a pause, and then the demon's voice returned, sounding almost thoughtful. "Was it really so bad?"
"What?" Gareth rinsed his mouth out.
"You. Me. Your visions of sex between us. Was the thought of copulation so terrible that it makes you want to vomit?"
The demon's directness was unsettling and Gareth choked on the water before spitting it out. "I… it was… it is a most heinous sin… to derive pleasure from fornication… especially in that way."
"What way? Shoving your cock up a demon's ass? Would it be better if I toss on a pair of breasts? Carve out a hole of slick, womanly flesh for you? I can do that, you know, if you prefer."
"Cease with your blasphemy!" Gareth shouted, smacking his hands over his ears as if he could shut the demon out.
"Father Gareth?" More nervous rapping at the door. "Is everything all right?"
Milicent. "Yes, Milicent. Forgive me, my prayers are a bit boisterous this morning." In his head, the demon snickered.
Gareth went through his morning ritual, finding that his hands trembled as he proceeded with his ablutions. Grimacing, his hands curled into fists before he took his cassock down from where it hung on the back of his bedroom door. He kissed the cloth, uttering a few words from the Rite of Gratitude before he slipped it over his head. A yawn in Gareth's mind— not his own— made him grit his teeth. "Must I be subjected to your commentary for eternity, demon?" he demanded sharply, whispering in case someone else might hear.
"No. Not eternity. But I can rescind our bargain if you like… roll time forward a few hours, make sure everyone is good and dead…"
"No!" Gareth hissed, again trying to keep his voice lowered. He closed his eyes taking several deep, measured breaths to calm himself once more. "Will you be remaining as a voice in my head only, to make me appear mad?"
"Never fear, Crusader; we'll be speaking face-to-face very soon."
That worried him; but less so than the fact that in a few hours, he'd be faced with the very threat that caused him to call out for help in the first place.
***
Fydelis sat up high in the rafters of Father Gareth's church. Anyone who might have taken an opportunity to look upwards would have seen what appeared to be a very young chestnut-haired man, dressed in simple peasant's clothes. He could have passed for one of the villagers' older children from a distance. Either way, he did his best to project a persona that implied he posed to them no threat. Compared to the priest who ministered to them, Fydelis was still the angel he'd once been.
Most of the church's construction was new, built upon a structure that had, like the rest of the countryside, been ravaged by war… or at least, a campaign against a threat that remained dubious at best. Until a few years ago, Gareth had been a commanding officer in the very army that had driven these people from their homes, and killed their fathers, sons, husbands, and brothers. From what Fydelis knew, these people, who had come from many towns, did not realize that the man who cared for them now, fed, clothed, and ministered to them the words of the Faith, was once a soldier.
It was not his place to tell them.
It had been surprising for Fydelis to learn that Gareth had laid down his arms and joined the priesthood. It must have been difficult to maintain his vow of chastity around all of these women— some of whom were quite fetching. Perhaps it was nearly as difficult for these women not to notice that Father Gareth was more than the average priest. Gareth was a strikingly handsome man; tall and carved like the powerful warrior he'd once been. His face was still smooth, save for a few scars: one that met his hairline from his left eyebrow, a small nick on his upper lip, and a larger silvery line that crossed down his cheek on the right. The golden hair he'd kept shorn underneath his helmet was now starting to grow out and there was a hint that waves would eventually ripple through it. But Fydelis loved Gareth's eyes the most. They were like a child's— still pretty and open to the world around him. Blue, but as pale as ice, save for the ring around his iris that was twilight. Once, Fydelis remembered, those eyes were filled with hope, but now…
Fydelis blinked, shaking his head to clear the memories that had no place. Hope. Love. Peace. Joy. These were the pursuits of fools. Those things were so far out of reach for mortals— they were beyond even those who were close enough to touch them… like he'd once been.
Fydelis stood up, stretching as he balanced on the crossbeam. He couldn't help but want to indulge himself with Gareth's mortal body. Of course, soon, Gareth's body would no longer be merely mortal. Fydelis wanted to scold Gareth for being foolish enough to call to someone who could no longer save him… the angel he had apparently forgotten about when he'd left the Faith… or a Creator who no longer cared. Worse still, Gareth had willingly handed over his soul. No questions asked. For that, he deserved some punishment. He deserved to learn what kind of demon he'd called on when he'd reached out to a Guardian who could no longer serve.
But all of that would come later. After tonight, there would be no turning back for Gareth. In less than an hour, the men who had killed Father Gareth, tortured, raped, and murdered his flock, and burned down his church, would reach the square. Fydelis had to get things ready. Tonight would be telling.