Page 140 of Infernium
“What is it exactly?”
“Precisely as its name suggests,” the angel said over his shoulder, as he stepped over a toppled log. “A soul being stripped from the body.”
The baron followed over the log he’d already encountered once that afternoon. “Do demons not consume souls all the time?”
“This is not the same thing. It is a physical separation of body and soul.” Soreth used his hands to demonstrate, clasped together, then quickly unclasped. “A demon can feed on a soul, perhaps even consume it, but certainly not all at once. It’s a terribly painful procedure.”
“And so, why would we want to witness such a thing?”
“Because it is rare. And I am here to study such things. Therefore, I want to see.”
The baron glanced back toward the other direction and stumbled, catching himself before he fell. “Well, I suppose Solomon won’t mind if I come with you. If it is rare, as you say.”
They reached the edge of the forest and took the narrow footpath leading down into the village square. Most public executions took place on the grounds of the monastery, specifically in its courtyard, an area teeming with flowers around a small fountain, which the baron always thought added such an odd contrast to what took place there.
Once at the monastery wall, Soreth flattened himself against the stone and peered in on the courtyard. “Stay out of sight,” he whispered. “This one prefers young boys. Should she see you, she may try to feed on you.”
“Young boys? Whose soul is getting stripped?”
“Syrisa of Soldethaire.”
Syrisa.
Her name echoed inside his head. The baron’s stomach lurched, and he stepped back against the stones, where the gates to the monastery had been left open, as they often were during public executions. “Soreth, what exactly–”
His question was cut short by the sound of a gut-wrenching scream, and the baron turned to find horses approaching the monastery, galloping at an unusual speed. He remained off to the side to avoid a trampling, and when the carriage passed, he caught sight of an unclothed body, covered in dirt and grime and blood, being dragged behind it. Her blonde hair had been shorn down to her skin, making her nearly unrecognizable. If not for the familiar wounds on her shins, and the band at her throat which glistened in the afternoon sunlight, he’d have thought her to be someone else.
She screamed as the gravel tore at her naked flesh, while the carriage entered the square, circling the platform and the villagers. Tension wound in his stomach, his eyes riveted on the scene. Aside from the clacking of horse hooves, not a sound rose from the spectators who’d gathered to witness her execution.
The horses came to a stop, and the screams died to sobbing.
Tethered by her ankles, she clawed at the dirt, as if she could get away from the two Pentacrux soldiers who approached her.
“No! No!” Her outcry echoed through the mostly quiet square, smothering the sounds of the few who whispered amongst themselves.
One guard untied her feet, while the other yanked her upright. Seemingly weak and injured, she hung defenseless in their arms, as the two guardsmen carried her up onto the platform. The moment they climbed the staircase, a collective gasp filled the air as the wounds on her back where the gravel had torn at her skin became visible.
She had changed since the baron had last seen her in that undercroft, which must have been nearly a fortnight ago. Her body had grown thinner and frail, seemingly starved in that period of time, her bones sticking out through her mutilated skin.
The soldiers cuffed her to chains which hung from an ominous wooden contraption that had her legs spread, her arms stretched above her head. The starkness of her naked body–the light patch of hair between her legs and breasts, which carried horrific marks of torture--sent a queasy feeling to the baron’s gut. Unable to look upon her that way, he turned to find that Soreth remained fixated.
What kind of angel found such a thing so riveting was beyond his imagination.
From the crowd, Bishop Venable stepped forward, dressed in his ceremonial garb with elaborate embroidery and the Pentacrux symbol sewn into his mitre and lapels. “My good people, this woman stands before you as both a criminal and heretic. She has tainted our faith in humanity with despicable acts against mere children. She is a thief and witch who threatens our community. And so it is written in scripture that such atrocities be punished in a most grievous way, so that we may cleanse the evil which has descended upon us, and send a message to likeminded individuals that such wickedness will not be tolerated.”
The crowd erupted into shouts and screams. The baron could just make out the wordshereticandwhore.
Hands outstretched, the bishop quieted them once more and turned toward Syrisa. “Have you any final words?”
Laughter rose up from the stillness, and it took a moment for the baron to realize it had come from the woman on the platform. She lifted her head, staring out over the crowd. “You are all going to die. Every last one of you. By the flames of The Infernal, you will all perish when my beloved, Letifer, awakens!” Her laughter turned obnoxious, and the crowd broke into more shouts and screams. Beneath their raucousness arrived another familiar sound, and Jericho turned to where the crowd parted for four massive dogs. His father’s dogs, which were kept in kennels back at the manor. On a few occasions, he’d heard the vicious beasts feeding on a prisoner, the screams carrying through the night.
His stomach twisted, as their caregiver struggled to keep the dogs from pulling on leashes stretched so tight, it was a wonder they didn’t snap. The baron looked around the crowd that was made up of mothers and fathers and children, all of them shouting, pining for the blood of the woman.
While the baron certainly had no love for her, he could not help but wonder what compelled them to bear witness to such a thing.
Again, he turned his attention to Soreth. “Will they know?”
“Know what?”