Damien Black - Devils Night Dawning: A Gritty Dark Fantasy Epic

T he huts interior was exactly as they had left it: the same stench defiled the air, and again Adelko found himself gagging on the foul atmosphere. The walls were daubed with dried faeces and blood; the young monk shuddered at the memory of the girl gouging strips of flesh off her body in a frenzy.

That had been three nights ago, when her condition was at its worst. He could not recall how many of the Redeemers psalms it had taken to compel her back into bed on that occasion.

In the faint morning light peering through the single covered window Adelko could see her lying in bed, only her head discernible above the soiled blanket. In the half gloom it looked as though she were sleeping, though the novice knew that Gizel had not done that for a tenday now.

Only when his mentor lit the first tallow candle on the makeshift table near the entrance did the thing inside her show any sign of life. Hissing resentfully it forced the girls head to look up at the two monks without moving the rest of her body.

The eyelids flicked open. Soulless orbs scrutinised the pair balefully. Her pupils were horribly dilated, the bloodshot whites flecked with an unnatural yellowish tinge. The suppurating skin on the girls face began to twitch spasmodically, as though a thousand nervous tics suddenly consumed her morbid flesh.

Unperturbed, Adelkos mentor lit the second candle on the other side of the entrance. Turning to face the possessed girl, the adept brandished his circifix. It was a simple silver rood, depicting the Redeemer being broken on the Wheel but there was power in such a thing, if wielded by a true initiate.

As it had done on previous occasions, the thing that was and was not Gizel flinched back, pulling up the dirty blanket to abjure the hated symbol.

With a deft movement of his other hand Adelkos mentor reached into the folds of his grey habit and produced a silver phial, flicking several drops at her green-tinged hand. A piteous cry escaped the girl as the drops burned her fingers, causing her to let go of the blanket. To Adelkos ears it sounded like an infant in pain, but he knew better than to fall for the deception.

Moving in swiftly, he presented his own circifix and before long the two monks had Gizel backed up against the wall, crouching feebly on the far end of the bed.

In a sonorous voice the adept began to recite the Psalm of Banishing: O Reus Almighty, in thy heavenly kingdom, we implore thee: grant thy humble servants the power to cast out this denizen of the Other Side! Palomedes, sacred Prophet and Redeemer, broken on the Wheel in mortal form for our salvation, grant us now the strength of mind to resist this chimera of wickedness! In thy name, and by the grace of the Unseen, let the servants of the Fallen One be driven from the mortal vale!

The thing that was and was not Gizel squealed louder, writhing around on the filthy cot and trying in vain to block out the hated words. Flicking more drops at her, Adelkos mentor began to address the spirit directly.

No more shall you torment this innocent creature of the earth! Release that which is not yours to own! The works of Abaddon shall melt before the burning zeal of the righteous, as tallow melts beneath the flame! The deceits of Shaamiel shall be blown asunder as mist before a keen wind! Look on the Wheel, the unbroken circle of our faith, devil-spawn, and despair!

Recognising his cue, Adelko stammered the appropriate response from his copy of The Holy Book Of Psalms And Scriptures .

It is the power of the Redeemer that compels thee! His body was broken but through his death the Creed was born! The aegis of our faith shall turn aside the sword of Azazel!

His young voice sounded reedy in his ears. Adelko hoped he had mustered the necessary conviction, as he had done yesterday. For the first three days he had struggled to channel the Redeemers words properly; exorcisms were a lot harder to conduct than hed previously reckoned.

His mentor picked up the counter-response, again reciting scripture flawlessly from memory: It is the power of the Redeemer that commands thee! The fleshless horsemen of Abaddon shall turn and flee before the bright wings of the Archangels! The honest man shall not fear, though the stings of Maalfeccnuur assail him! Tell us your name, foul spirit, that we may encircle it with words of holy prayer, and send thee back to Gehenna!

Over and over they repeated the litany, and the fifth morning of their clash with demonkind grew old. As the candles burned down, Adelko felt his strength waning too. Despite the brisk weather the hut grew steadily warmer until it was stiflingly hot; the sweat poured from his body, soaking through his brown novices habit.

Throughout the ordeal the thing that was and was not Gizel continued to toss and turn frantically while screaming piteously in a thin high voice that was not her own. It sounded to Adelko like the noise a burning child would make.

He felt an unseen presence fighting him with unearthly weapons; a thousand doubts and worries that had never entered his mind before the exorcism gnawed at his soul. Were it not for the Redeemers words he knew he might well have succumbed to the spirits power and been driven mad.

But today he noticed a difference: that power was growing weaker, the unclean voices in his head fainter.

It was shortly before noon when they finally broke the spirits will. Brandishing his circifix, the older monk bellowed for the umpteenth time: By the Seven Seraphim and the blood of the Redeemer, through his agency as the Lord Almightys right hand, I command thee, demon, TELL US YOUR NAME!!!

Suddenly sitting bolt upright, the thing that was and was not Gizel stared at them again, face and limbs contorting horribly, her skin undulating across her flesh with a sick life of its own. From deep inside her young throat an awful and ancient voice spat out a handful of words: My... name... is... BELAACH!