It had been a week since Ivor had last seen Silas. He assumed the exorcist was gone from his life entirely, until the morning he came knocking on his door.
And it was early. Ivor hadn't even woken up yet to light his forge. But he answered the door, the last person he expected on the other side.
Silas was in his full uniform: a draping navy cape, with choir boots and dress pants, his blouse neck and cuffs buttoned with the insignia of the second root. The ensemble stood starkly against the blood red of his hair and the grave depths in his eyes.
"I promised to let you see the athame's first ritual. It's today, if you wish to come."
There was a carriage behind Silas, waiting for them. Ivor knew he should say no, start his work, and move on. Instead, he dressed for a day of traveling and put a closed sign in the window.
The carriage ride was a long few hours. They sat across from one another, never saying a word, looking out opposite curtained views. Ivor pecked at a breakfast cake with no appetite. On occasion he'd sneak a glance at Silas, who often stared down at the athame, glinting in the open free from its sheath. Ivor for some reason couldn't bear the sight of his greatest work, and forced himself to look out into the nothing country passing by.
When they arrived, the sun was starting to beam along the horizon. There were morning stirrings going about the town, but the looming cathedral before them lay quiet. Ivor followed Silas up the steps, and waited to be shown in.
A young girl opened the massive doors that were three times her height as if they were nothing but parchment.
"Lord Exorcist, we are pleased to- Oh!" the girl said as she spotted Ivor. "We weren't aware you'd be having company."
"Is there a problem?"
If Ivor didn't know Silas, even he would have been frightened by that tone. He had never sized up the other man properly, he realized. In full regalia, Silas was a powerful sight, and even more clearly, a powerful man.
"No," the girl muttered. "Come in, please."
Save but a few candles lit down the pews, the cathedral was a grey ruin. Dust and cobwebs stuffed the atmosphere while weeds sprung defiantly from cracked stone. Ivor imagined it was once beautiful when in use, but clearly the town had decided this place was better left forgotten.
"Lord Exorcist, I ask that you be swift in your work," said the girl hurriedly down the aisle. "It was me who called you, not my overseeing mother. She rather let this place be taken to rot, but not me, I want it freed from the evil that haunts it. Could you please do so, within the morning?"
Silas said nothing as he walked past the forlorn girl. He stepped up to the large organ on the center of the stage and traced its grime covered surface.
"Leave. I'll do what I can."
The girl cast her eyes down and moved out the hall. It wasn't until her footsteps could no longer be heard that Silas looked at Ivor for the first time since arriving to his door. Ivor couldn't place the working expression of the exorcist. Tired, in-different, drawn, defeated, they all seemed true.
Once again Ivor felt captured in a moment, this one being torturous. He writhed in the unsaid, but this time there was a pop, and it came from Silas slitting his wrists with the athame.
Ivor gasped and ran up the stairs to the organ. He didn't know what to do, but Silas presented his hands to him, twisted around to both allow and show streams of blood falling down to his fingers. Ivor phantomed over the other man's hands, wanting to touch them, to help, but was unsure how.
Then, with a sad smile, and the softest voice, Silas told him: "Stay close to me."
The exorcist sat at the organ and began to play.
It was a dissonant, uneven calling from the pipes. The noise made Ivor shudder to the bone as notes strung together in an unnerving melody. The cathedral grew freezing with the noise ringing against the stone and Ivor clutched himself. He saw Silas muttering under his breath, or maybe singing aloud, but unhearable due to the all encompassing organ.
A new sound began to grow within the song. It was a scream. A belly retching howl of pain that came from a shadow on the floor, but now stretched into a figure.
Ivor balked at the terror before them. He grabbed at Silas' shoulder to tell him what was there, but the Exorcist had seemingly gone in a trance.
The song continued. The shadow drew closer. Ivor was unsure of what to do as the scream grew louder and closer and finally started reaching for them both with claws of sharp night.
Without a shred of hesitance, Ivor summoned the athame, still coated in the exorcist's blood, from Silas' lap to the awaiting palm of his hand. With anger and fear, he stabbed the shade in the net of its grip.
The cry of agony erupted out into the cathedral like thunder.
As the echo died, so did the sound of the organ's song, it's final notes pleasant chords of ending. Ivor breathed heavily against the instrument, Silas looking at him in wonder.
He'd betrayed himself, his family, and most likely every friend he had by showing his magic. Worse, he'd shown his magic to a choirman.
Silas rose from his seat and strode over to him. Ivor had nothing to say, no defense, and stared in guilt at the athame. Silas placed his hand over his, and Ivor opened his fist to give the blade back.
Instead, their fingers knit together. Ivor felt near shattering with the amount of ache building up in his chest. Fear, longing, confusion, hope, it all swirled in him as he looked at Silas, begging for him to pop this contentious reality.
"One secret for another," Silas said, taking the athame.
Ivor followed the exorcist's gaze to where the shadow once pooled from the ground and saw the little girl in its place. Like death himself, Silas threw the blade clean across the space and directly into the girls heart. She dropped like mud to the floor.
"She's been luring spiritual men here for years, a puppet body," Silas whispered. "The sad truth is, once fully taken, there's no way to bring the soul back. She's probably been dead longer than the missing cases have gone on."
The cathedral was now fully lit in morning sunlight. Ivor was bemused by Silas' mournful admission, by his duty, by the trust he had just bestowed. There was no reason to ask how often this happened, how many demons had been slain and bodies put to an end. There was only the truth that the work would continue and that Silas would keep to it alone. This was the new moment he found himself in.
"If you excuse me," Silas said in a return to professionalism. "I'm going to bury her body, so I can perform her rites. We can leave then."
Ivor cupped Silas' arms, delicately turning them to show the raw flesh of his wrists, still hot with blood. With reverence, Ivor kissed each cut, willing them not to be deep enough to scar.
"Allow me to bury her. You should rest."
Silas slid his hands back into Ivor's, their fingers intertwining in blood. They rested their foreheads against one another's, their chests all at once easing, and breathed.
Comments (0)
See all