Trebon, South Bohemia
1586
Moans as from orgy and shrieks as from murder bombarded Edward Kelley’s ears as he pushed through the heavy door into the antechamber. He found himself in a small, circular room. In the center, between himself and another door from which resounded the horrible noises, sat a robed figure behind a desk.
“I assume you are Father Jedlicka,” Edward said. It was no question.
The old priest’s face sagged, his eyes haggard and rimmed in scarlet. Still, there was resolve in his stern lips. He motioned to a chair in front of his desk.
“Please have a seat, Mr. Kelley.”
The howls and groans continued as Edward shifted his brocade cape to one side and eased into the chair.
“Let me make something clear to you,” Father Jedlicka said. “The church fathers have only sought your aid because the exorcism rituals have yet to have effect. And, the boy’s father has a friendship with Count Rozmberk, who vouches for you.”
Edward grinned.
Father Jedlicka went on. “And I want you to know not only do I not appreciate the interference of someone with your background, but I do not appreciate the intrusion of a foreigner into these most dangerous affairs.”
“You mean an English occultist,” Edward said.
A solid, curt nod answered.
“Though I claim its nationality, I am no child of England,” Edward said. “I was born a Jew.”
Jedlicka’s eyes broadened.
“Have no fear,” Edward continued, “I have been baptized into the faith of our Lord.”
“By a priest?”
“By a saint.”
Jedlicka sneered. “I have my doubts.”
“As for the rumors of my being an astrologer, a seer, a … sorceror …” Edward paused, “they are unfounded. I am merely a student of the esoteric.”
“More likely a student of the profane.”
Edward chuckled. It was not a warm laugh, made more chill by the continued screeches behind the closed door.
Father Jedlicka waved a hand behind himself at the door and the awful sounds. “Have at it, then,” he said. “Whether you rid us of the beast, or he rids us of you, the world will have one less evil..”
***
As soon as Edward Kelley placed a hand on the door, the clamor from beyond died.
With no hesitation, Edward limped his way into the room and shut the door behind him. What he found was a small chamber occupied by a wide bed that had once been of fine gilded wood but now was stained dark and shabby. A barred window behind and above the bed allowed the only light.
Atop the bed lay a youth of no more than eighteen years. He lay naked except for strips of knotted muslin holding his wrists and ankles to the bed. Steam rose from his body, and he lay with unblinking eyes staring at the ceiling. Small gasps of whispy air coughed from his round lips every few seconds.
“I suppose you know who I am,” Edward said from the foot of the bed.
The boy’s eyes drifted to the man.
“If me you do not recognize, then we can dispense with this nonsense of demons and devils,” Edward said, “and pronounce you insane.”
The boy’s lips parted. “I know you of old,” a voice croaked from within, as if from the bottom of a well. “Then you were the magus, from Samaria, who went by the name Simon, cursed to eternity by the Apostles themselves.”
Edward’s lips grew into a sharp grin.
“You have gone by many names since,” the voice said.
“You are who you claim to be.” Edward’s voice lifted.
The boy’s lips closed, but deep laughter echoed from inside his chest, rocking the small body.
“Speak with me!” Edward pleaded. “It has been centuries since any sign from heaven. Now I have one from hell! You must speak with me.”
The dried, round lips parted once more. “What would you have us say, Simon Magus? You are no priest. You have not the power to drive us from this frail little body.”
“Us?” Edward asked.
The boy thing chuckled again. “We are many as one inside here.”
Edward moved to the side of the bed, pausing in his excitement as if trying to decide whether he should sit or not next to the thin figure.
“We have no use for you, magus,” the thing’s voice said. “You are already one of our own.”
This brought change to Edward’s demeanor. His face grew flat and he stood away from the bed. “I am no vassal to the Father of Lies.”
“It matters not. You have served him well. You have accomplished more horrors than any man could hope in a dozen lives.”
“I have lived a dozen lives.”
“We know!” the thing went back to its laughing, the body shuddering beneath its bindings.
Edward slapped the boy, the blow ringing and leaving a red mark on youthful cheeks.
The thing’s eyes rolled back behind its lids, the face turning slowly to offer white orbs to the mage. “No man is forever, Samarian,” the monster said. “The Majesty of Heaven will eventually tire of allowing you life, and then your soul will be forfeit!”
Edward stood straighter. “Perhaps,” he said, “but you will return to hell long before I.”
The thing’s lips tugged back in a sneer. “The mere tricks of a sorceror are no match for the legion of evils residing within this youth’s frame.”
Edward slid a hand beneath his cape. “As you said, I am no priest, but it is a simple matter to remove a demon ensconced in a person.”
The monster tossed back its head and its laughter returned.
Edward’s hand came forth once more, this time gripping a short, thin sword. “You simply remove the person first.”
The laughter ceased.
—
©2009 Ty Johnston
Ty Johnston has been writing fiction nearly twenty years. Most recently stories of his have appeared in the anthologies “Deadlines” and “The Return of the Sword.” He has a story upcoming in the anthology, “The Infinity Swords.” When not writing or reading, Ty enjoys spending time with his wife, their beagle and three house rabbits. Find out more at tyjohnston.blogspot.com.
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Tags: Ty Johnston
May 29th, 2009 at 1:46 am
Well told tale of terror with a nice twist at end. Good voice and flow and great dialogue,too.
–dj