Chương 39: Chapter 38: The Anguish of the Father

Arno sprinted down the stairwell with Alice in his arms. Her blood spilled onto his coat, staining it a deep red. When he reached the bottom, he kicked open the iron doors and rushed into the Ghoulification Chambers. Dim orange lights flickered above, shining down on the half-dozen corpses lying on cold steel tables scattered about the chamber. In the corner, a hunched man clad in a red robe and a black mask froze in place, his gloved hand hovering above the split stomach of a corpse.

He was Gerald, the Cathedral's Ghoul Keeper.

"Save her!" Arno yelled.

"What in the…" Gerald pulled an empty operating table from the side. Arno lowered Alice onto the cold steel surface, watching as the colors of her face quickly faded. Blood was spurting out of her chest like a small open fountain, staining her clothes a bright red. Gerald pressed his crooked ear close to her wound and cursed.

"Lungs… punctured." He slipped off his gloves, revealing a pair of shriveled and blackened hands, whose nails had been plucked off. He tore the child's evening dress apart, revealing her flat, bloodstained chest, with hardly a mound to speak of. His fingers dug into the center, ripping open the flesh as easily as one would part dough. Her flesh withered and blackened, and the blood solidified into deep sparkling crystals.

Her rib cage lay beneath the grotesque filth, with one of the long bones plunging into the squirming blue sack that was her lung. With every breath, chunks and pieces of organs and flesh sputtered out of the wound. Gerald wrapped his hand around the rib, melting it as if it were made of wax, and he split it right in half when it was weak enough. He pulled the sharp end out with one smooth motion, letting all sorts of lung matter gush out of the orifice.

He scraped a layer off the underside of her chest and plastered the withered flesh over the wound. It melded and joined, turning the surrounding lung tissue a similar black. Gerald pulled his hands out from within her innards and pressed her split-open chest back into place. The bones creaked and the flesh squirmed as they filled in the gaps and holes they once had, leaving only that one gaping hole peering straight through the center. He reached down to her thighs and ripped off a small chunk of skin and flesh.

He rolled it like dough into a ball and used it to seal the gaping hole. Though half her chest was now blackened and charred, the girl yet breathed, and fingers yet tingled in the cold.

"Will she make it?" Arno clenched the sides of the operating table, leaning over the child's unmoving body. Gerald dropped his scalpel on the steel tray and looked down, shaking his head.

"No…" Arno's grip loosened, and he felt his heart drop to his stomach.

"She will live…" A low, gravelly voice left Gerald's mouth.

"As all my subjects do." Gerald walked over to the sink, dousing his bloodied hands with fresh water. Arno let out a sigh of relief, wiping the sweat off his brow.

"You ought to have said that."

"But her wounds are deep, and my rot is but a temporary seal. She would need proper care from a healer sooner or later." Gerald looked back, his green eyes glowing behind his mask.

"Might I ask… what happened to her?"

"She was attacked by a succumbed."

"One of the children?" Arno took a deep breath and averted his gaze.

"Yes." Gerald let out a low sigh.

"I told you this would happen."

"And yet here we are, Gerald. What am I supposed to do?"

"That is your job, not mine." Gerald pulled open a top drawer and grabbed a long stretch of white cloth.

"But I would watch over this one, in particular. Succumbings breed more succumbings."

"I know. I've already had Father Orlando deal with the situation above." Gerald draped the cloth over Alice's body, and he rested his palm on her forehead for a few seconds.

"I will care for this one to the best of my ability. But you must soon have a healer take over. Lest you want her to become a ghoul."

"Thank you, Gerald. I will send for one."

"Now go, Father Arno. I am certain you have other problems to attend to." Gerald pushed open the chamber doors, gesturing for Arno to leave. Father Arno left the Ghoulification Chambers and walked up to the first floor with his hands hidden in his pockets. His eyes narrowed, catching Father Orlando standing at the end of the stairwell, looking down on him with a worried frown.

"Is she safe?"

"Gerald said she'd live." Father Orlando closed his eyes and pinched his temples together.

"Thank the Goddess."

"What about the bodies? Have you done it?"

"I have. They're in the Sanctuary."

"I want to see them." Father Orlando looked behind his shoulder.

"There's… something else you'd want to see." He walked down the hall and stopped in front of a spare classroom. Father Arno looked him in the eye for a split second before coiling his hand around the brass knob. He pushed the door open and saw Marcus sitting with three little boys in the corner of the room. The three lads looked up at him, their eyes widening in fear, and their legs shaking in doubt.

"Father." Marcus stood up and bowed. Father Arno peeked at the three boys. One had blond hair, and the rest had black. He'd seen them in the classes and in the nave before, but their names had never come up in Orlando's reports.

"Why are they here?"

"They were with the others, but they managed to escape. Marcus caught them before they got to their dorms," Father Orlando said.

"I see." Father Arno walked over and crouched in front of them to match their height. The boys all looked down, not daring to gaze at his eyes. Arno placed his palm on the blond boy's head.

"Don't worry, you're not in any trouble. Just tell me what happened." The boy stiffened up for a moment. He clenched his fist, and soon enough he began to speak.

"It wasn't our fault… we were just hanging out in the garden. And then he… Marley came toward us. We told him to leave, but there was something wrong with him… before we knew it he came running at us. He jumped on Brian… we tried to help, but… I think it slit Marius's throat…" The boy's voice trembled as tears swelled in the corners of his eyes. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. Arno grimaced at his words, and then he turned to the second boy.

"What about Alice? Was she with you when you were attacked?"

"N… No. We came running, and we saw her in the hallway. I… I told her to run, but she didn't listen; she went inside. Is she… is she…" The boy looked up, his eyes widening in realization.

"She's alive," Arno said.

"What about Brian? Marius?" the boy murmured. Arno took a deep breath.

"They are in a better place."

"Oh God… God, why…" The boy buried his face into his hands and wept. Arno turned to the last boy, but the child was already sobbing. There was no point in asking, at least not now. He rose to his feet and rubbed the corners of his eyes.

"Marcus. Take them to the infirmary. They will rest there for the night. And have one of the healers tend to Alice; she's in the Ghoulification Chambers."

"Of course, Father," Marcus replied. Arno whispered into Marcus's ear.

"Let them leave only when I say so." Marcus nodded without a word.

"Come now, Father Orlando. We have other business to attend to." Arno walked out of the empty classroom, his strides faster than before. Father Orlando caught up to him.

"What are we to do with them?"

"They will rest, they will recover. No word of this shall leave their mouths until everything has been dealt with."

"And the rest?" Arno stopped in his tracks and gulped.

"I must see the bodies first." Arno went down a nearby set of stairs to the Sanctuary. It went deep into the earth, and it was settled near the center of the Church. The marble walls turned into old and loose bricks, alongside long faded reliefs. A pair of ghouls stood by a large wooden door at the end of the hallway, and without saying a word they bowed like the loyal servants they were. Arno pushed open the doors and strode into the Sanctuary.

The place once served as a safe room hundreds of years ago; now, it was just one of the many crypts hidden beneath the Church. The dim moonlight shimmered through a small grate on the ceiling, shining down on ancient skeletons tucked within the gaps and creases of the walls, too many to count. Three bodies draped in gray cloth lay on the ground, their filthy feet and boots sticking out of the bottom.

"Which one is the succumbed?"

"This one, brother." Father Orlando went to the far right side and pulled down the gray cloth. Arno covered his mouth as he took in what little was left of the boy. In place of its head were bloodied lumps of flesh, bone, and brain battered together into a disgusting red slop. Deep purple veins ran down its limbs, while clumps of pustules festered on its neck trying to stitch its wounds together, unaware that it was already dead.

"It really is Marley… first his parents, and now him… the world is a cruel place," Arno said.

"We should not have told him so soon… He was doing fine before. His soul was one of the most powerful I've seen, and he was improving every day."

"And yet we did. Was he doing anything else before this?"

"He… he and Alice were practicing the sight at night. I didn't stop them; Marley's control was improving every day. And I didn't want to show any more favoritism in the class."

"Perhaps you were wrong about that. But it is done. We are both to blame; it was our duty to take care of them." Arno took a deep breath and quickly averted his gaze from the corpse.

"Goddess… I can't believe a little girl did this…"

"I found this while taking the bodies." Orlando reached into his pocket, pulling out a pair of bloodied scissors. Arno grabbed the pair of scissors, holding them against the moonlight.

"She knew." He furrowed his brows as realization set in.

"But I don't think she set out to kill the boy. She is smart; she'd know better than to hunt a succumbed."

"I want you to investigate this matter, question everyone involved." Arno returned the scissors to Orlando.

"Who else knows of this?"

"Those you've seen, and the nurse as well."

"Let us keep it like that for now."

"What about their families? What do we tell them?" Arno gripped his fist and looked back at the bodies.

"The two can be silenced with gold. But we must tell them."

"And the Austigs?"

"I could not even send a letter if I so wished. We cannot do anything in that regard. I will seek counsel from above, brother. We must find the correct path forward." Orlando opened his mouth to speak, but only silence emerged. He shook his head and said instead, "Very well. Hopefully His Majesty will help us." Arno retreated to the solace of his chambers on the third floor. He locked the door behind him, feeling a heavy weight lifted off his shoulders the moment he stepped inside.

He walked up to a large window facing the Cathedral front; it was as tall as two full-grown men standing on top of each other. He took six incense candles from his cabinet and red chalk. Then he drew a complex hexagram on the floorboards and placed a candle on each point. He lowered himself to his knees, rested his palm on his chest, and with closed eyes he prayed.

"Oh Goddess, send to me your gracious aid. The shepherd of the lost, and the Guardian of the Ill. His heavenly name, Myr." Arno opened his eyes and looked up. A sheer white thing, with skin akin to snow, sat on the windowsill, and it was clad in a gray veil that covered the upper half of its face, its lips as black as dead dahlias curling into a light smile. Its head was inches away from the top of the window.

It wore a long black robe with sleeves up to its elbows and ends that fluttered to its knees, and its two arms were too long and thin to be those of the living, and its hands were wide and white with seven spindly fingers instead of five. It had hooves in place of feet, and they hung from the window, nearly touching the floor. It was Myr, an Angel of Death, the redeemer and shepherd of the lost. A lulling voice, neither man nor woman, echoed inside Arno's head.

"And so the honored one seeks my counsel yet again." Myr's lips were still smiling, unmoving even as he spoke. Arno lowered his head, gazing directly at the floor.

"My Lord… one of the children had succumbed." Myr hummed, his spindly fingers rasping against the wall.

"Indeed. And he was not put down by your people. He was put down by another child, one much younger."

"You… you already know." Myr let out a soft chuckle.

"The one that killed him was a girl, a friend of the succumbed. She tried to run away, but she was pinned to the ground. The boy punctured her lungs and nearly crumpled her throat. Out of instinct, she stabbed him in the neck with a pair of scissors, one that she often carries with her. And when he fell, she used a rock to smash its head in, again and again, until it stopped moving." Was it watching the whole time? Watching my failure?

"You said this was the safest course, and yet…"

"Safest. Not harmless. If you had done as your brothers had suggested, it would not have been just one succumbed, but two, three, maybe even four." He is right. I let my guard down.

"I… it is my fault."

"And so here you are, seeking my counsel. Speak, child. I will answer, as I always have."

"Help me, my Lord. Guide me." Myr let out another hum, as though falling into thought. Though it was obvious he already had an answer. If I continue like this… more children would succumb. The moment they learn the truth, it would be like wildfire, and by then… we cannot control it. But… if I order stricter testing, it will harm their souls, and might even influence their succumbing. They're so little, so frail… I doubt many would leave unscathed if I did as such.

"You already know the answer. You must change your ways, and seek their souls as thoroughly as possible. Now that one has succumbed, many more will follow. You must catch them, before they fall."

"But… it will harm them. Their souls would crack."

"It is a lesser evil. Or would you rather stand back, and let them succumb one by one? Your brothers will see it as stagnation, as failure. The children will not only perish, but you will also be scorned, and damned." Arno drew in a cold breath. All those years… those efforts… it'll be for nothing. He suddenly felt Myr's chilling hand rest on the crown of his head.

"Trust me, little one. I have always helped you. Among these holy men, you have the potential to make change. And you need only follow my word, and greatness and holiness shall flow into your body."

"Yes, My Lord. I will do as you ask."

"I have a gift for you, child." Myr snapped his fingers, and an old yellowed scroll fell to the floor, landing directly in front of Arno.

"What… what is this?" Arno reached out and unfurled the scroll, laying it flat against the ground. It was a technique to scry the contents of a soul, and unveil the deepest reaches where darkness may hide. At first glance it was similar to the Clergy's method, but the longer he read, the more he realized some parts were so utterly alien and bizarre it might as well be entirely different. I always prized myself as an expert on the soul, but… I don't understand how this works.

"I've never seen anything like this before."

"It is my personal technique. Compared to the Clergy's method, it is slower, but it will yield better results to ascertain one's soul." Arno clutched the scroll tightly.

"I am forever in your debt, my Lord."

"As you always have been. It brings me great joy to see you succeed, child. All I wish is for the betterment of this Sanctuary." Arno closed his eyes, pressing his palm against his chest.

"Thank you." When he opened them, Myr was nowhere to be found, and the window was shut. He looked down at the parchment; it seemed whiter and clearer than before, the ink still wet as though it had been written mere moments before.