Stained Credence. Book One: The Wretched

NINE

Kyrylo. He had not heard that name spoken in ages.

He had changed his name many times. As of late, he had simply gone by Sir.

He was compelled, not simply by fear, to keep his face pressed to the dirt floor; breathing in its old, earthen muskiness, but as though a hand held him there.

The shadow-man walked near and Kyrylo turned his head away, scrapping his face against the pressed dirt, leaving the man an enigma still dressed in shade.

"Sit up Kyrylo, but remain on the floor."

He did as commanded.

"Open your eyes, fool."

He obeyed.

The man sat in a plush, burgundy chair, abstract from the shack they were in with its limited and crudely fundamental furnishings which were really nothing more than walls and ceiling.

"Do you not recognize where you are, Kyrylo?"

He looked about the room until his eyes fell across the fireplace. The picture roughly engraved in the stone above it made his mouth slack with realization.

"Close your mouth, you stupid pig." Kyrylo did. "Yes, this is the house you were raised in. I find it odd that this is what she found suitable to be your Hell."

Though he did not understand the comment, he did not ask for clarification.

"Kyrylo." He forcibly looked at him and the man's stare was intense and dehumanizing. "I believe you may possess something that I want. Now, I don't typically negotiate with you humans, but I am willing to bargain with you for the moment."

Kyrylo remained silent, berated under the man's icy glare.

"How old are you Kyrylo?" The man's voice was smooth and soulful, but soul-wrenching to hear call his name. "I highly suggest that you do not lie to me."

Kyrylo found himself unable to speak and only gulped air in response.

The man sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Answer me!" He yelled. The beast outside growled.

"Five – over five centuries... I have not kept count."

"Five hundred years old. That's rather impressive for a human. How, exactly, have you managed such a generous feat?"

"I – I have a book," Kyrylo trembled.

"Describe to me this book."

Kyrylo sucked a shuddering breath in. "The pages are made from human skin. It is bound in the flesh of something else."

"What of the words, Kyrylo?"

"They are invisible until washed with the blood of an angel."

The man stood and walked to Kyrylo, who still sat on his knees, and bent closely before speaking to him. "Angel's blood is not something easily found Kyrylo. I imagine you had a fresh supply constantly at your greedy little finger tips?"

Kyrylo nodded and the man reared back and slapped him across the face, causing Kyrylo to reel to the side and the man ruthlessly kicked him in his exposed side. "YOU? You are the single reason I haven't been able to find her all these years? How could someone so perilously stupid hide her all this time?" He kicked him again and Kyrylo wheezed as his breath left him.

Regaining his composure, the man calmly asked, "How were you able to read these words once washed in blood?"

Kyrylo spat blood onto the dirt floor, "There is another book that I use to translate, they were together in the chest."

The man, seemingly satisfied, walked back to the chair and sat down, crossing his legs.

"Do you know what I am, Kyrylo?"

He hesitated, "A demon?"

The man chuckled with pleasure, "You could say that. Now, I want to make a deal with you."

"You want my soul?"

The man burst into laughter, "I believe you have watched too many television shows, Kyrylo. No, I have no use for that putrid thing. It is lost to you already anyway and no longer yours to give. No Kyrylo, what I want is that book." He wiped tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes. "I will take you from this place but, in turn, you must hand over that book and all accompanying knowledge you have of it."

"But, I will die without it."

"What choice do you really have here?" A deep chitter vibrated throughout the room. "You will die one way or the other. At least I'm allowing you the choice of leaving this Hell of yours to die. What you hear out there is Cymmeria, my pet. Either she can rip you apart here, or you can go back with me and die the death you should have died half a millennium ago."

He did not answer, blood shined in the corner of his mouth while he contemplated. "Is that all?"

The demon gave a look of mild amusement, "Is what all?"

"Is that all I need to do?"

A smile spread across his face, "For the moment, yes."

Kyrylo remained silent on the floor.

"WHAT WILL IT BE, KYRYLO! I have grown past impatient with you!" He bellowed and the creature wailed outside at her master's words.

"I will take you to the book!"

The demon stood and walked to him again. Outside, his pet whined, saddened that it was being denied a new chew toy.

"Tell me, Kyrylo, where we must go." His voice was drenched in sultry eagerness.

x

Grady felt absorbed by her, that they were one. His existence solely rested upon her beating, thriving heart. She was warm and wholesome and he fell into her willingly. He never wanted to emerge. He no longer cared for anything or anyone. All that mattered was the blind euphoria that he dwelled in. Blissfully weightless, he floated deeper and deeper into the blue-hued, white light.

Abruptly, he felt solid ground beneath his feet and the light began to dim and her warmth began to cool. She released him and, unable to support the weight of his own body, he collapsed to the ground. She fell next to him.

Exhaustion soaked, he looked at her and saw that she was utterly expended. A grayness had seeped into her skin, dulling her natural luster. He reached for her but was unable to touch her.

Sleep Grady.

He relented.