The Conqueror Worm Page 8

  The situation was going to get much worse before it got any better.

  “Do you have to memorize the prayers to do that exorcism stuff?” asked Elio. “Seems like a lot to handle. How're you supposed to read out of a prayer book when the devil's looking out at you and spitting pea soup in your face?” He chuckled.

  Ossian tensed. For an instant, the faces of those two dead children flashed across his mind's eye. He remembered their suffering; the way he'd prayed till his throat was raw, hoping that God might save their souls. "That was a different time, when demons could be cast out merely by the recitation of some pretty words. Times have changed, Elio. The only thing that drives them out now is steel." He sat against the back of his chair and loosed a great sigh.

  “Those kids have been gone a while," muttered Elio, looking out the window. "Think they caught that rabbit? Man, I haven't had a good piece of meat in a few weeks. Not much game around here."

  "Maybe they did," offered the priest, catching a hint of movement outside the window. He looked to the thicket of trees beyond the house, at the thin, sprinting form of Cesare. The youth, emaciated and weak though he was, barreled through the woods as quickly as his toothpick-thin legs could carry him, eyes teeming.

  Something was wrong.

  "Cesare? What in the..." uttered Ossian. Standing, the priest made his way to the door and waited outside as the boy continued his sprint, never slowing. When finally the youth returned to the house, he crashed into the ground in a blubbering, breathless heap. Ossian knelt down and helped him up. "Cesare, what happened?" He looked out to the woods in search of Elio's boy, Aristide. "Where is Aristide? What's the matter?"

  Cesare's tears eyes were unfocused for a minute, and the veins sticking out of his neck writhed as he sought to shovel air into his lungs. His ball cap was gone, and his wiry black hair was sticking out in wild licks. When he finally spoke, it was in a ragged, manic voice. "It got him... It got him," he repeated.

  By this point, Elio and Mattea were outside, looking nervously to the woods. "What do you mean?" Asked Elio. "Where's my boy? What's happened? Did you two split up? Is he lost?"

  Try as they might, they could extract from Cesare nothing more than, "It got him."

  "Where is Aristide?" asked Ossian once again, shaking Cesare by the shoulders. "Hurry now, child. Where is he?"

  Cesare pointed out at the woods feebly.

  Sword in hand, Ossian motioned to the others. “Cesare, show us the way.”

  The group started for the trees.

  11

  The woods were scented in death.

  Ossian knew there would be a body, but he could scarcely have anticipated the state it was found in.

  The group arrived in the large field from which wild edibles had been gathered earlier. The verdant stretch was bathed in sunlight, except for in those spaces where the unruly forest encroached. From overhead there came the mournful song of a single bird. They didn't have to search for the boy very long.

  Few things in life are more distressing on sight than the corpse of a child, though in its present state the body of young Aristide was barely recognizable even to his own parents. It was only the presence of torn denim overalls amidst the human wreckage that made them feel sure it was him.

  On the almost mile-long trek, the breathless Cesare had done his best to fill them in. The adults in the group listened first in disbelief, then in horror.

  According to the youth, the two of them had gone running after a large hare, following it a reasonable distance from the house till they were very nearly returned to that spot where earlier Ossian and Elio had found their lunch. Upon their arrival there, the hare had seemingly disappeared, and in its place, standing in the shade of several tall trees, they glimpsed a figure dressed totally in black. Though the individual's face was covered in a veil, Cesare insisted they could feel a penetrating gaze coming from behind it. He felt sure it was the same monstrous presence they'd seen at the basilica the day before.

  Aristide, curious or perhaps transfixed at the sight of the garbed man, approached cautiously despite Cesare's warnings. When the gap between the boy and the mysterious figure was sufficiently closed, the death blow was struck out of nowhere. "It was like before," Cesare insisted. "The man in black... he got bigger, and from beneath the cloak I saw a big, black arm. Like a tentacle. Just like we saw in the woods before. And it reached out, grabbing Aristide by the neck. It ripped him apart really quick and easy and started dragging him away. That was when I ran. I thought I was done for, that I was going to end up the same way. I didn't see what happened to him after that."

  Having no reason to doubt the boy's story, Ossian felt a wave of nausea wash over him. Here? In broad daylight, no less? It's unheard of...

  A tentative examination of Aristide's broken remains bore out the youth's account in full. Limbs had been snapped like twigs. The head, once positioned on a stocky neck, now faced the wrong direction as if it'd been wrenched with incredible force. The grass was dewey with gore for several feet around the body, and judging by the look of terror still etched across the face of the corpse, it had not been a quick or painless ordeal.

  As might be expected, the dead boy's parents were inconsolable. Rage and despair coursed through them in equal parts, and Elio shook Cesare repeatedly till he burst into tears, demanding to know what had really gone on. "How did this happen? What... what animal did this?" he sobbed, face red and eyes twinkling at the thought of vengeance.

  No matter how many times he was asked, Cesare didn't change his tune.

  "Elio, please," said Ossian, dragging the group away from the corpse. "This is the work of something diabolical." Peering about the woods, he found the trees and grass unnaturally still. There were pockets of shadow to be found there, and if he focused on the scattered blood stains about the nearby trunks, he could almost visualize the murder.

  Tugging feebly at her husband's arm and falling to her knees, Mattea wept. "What can we do? W-who can we call?" she asked. "What can we do, Elio?"

  The man had no reply and collapsed into the grass beside his wife, trembling in her embrace. "There is no one," he finally said through the tears. "We're alone in this world. There are no police... no one to help us." He turned his red eyes up to the priest and then suddenly sprang up, balling a fist. "T-the boy said that... that this reminded him of something that happened before. What did he mean by that, hm? Hm?" He divided a suspicious gaze between Ossian and his ward. "Well?" he barked at the boy. "What did you mean by that? Did you two bring something with you to this city? Were you followed by something? Is that it? Do you know what it is that killed my boy?"

  Ossian placed a firm hand on Elio's shoulder, but was promptly shaken off.

  More and more the grieving man was focusing on the priest's sword.

  Clutching the scabbard to preempt any attempts at theft, Ossian shook his head. "I can't give you the answer you're looking for, Elio. I was at the house. We've no choice but to take the boy at his word, and I can assure you that diabolical elements do exist in this world. The lad and I have seen them with our own eyes, have been attacked by them elsewhere on our travels. Cesare's own mother was occupied by such a thing."

  "Nonsense!" shouted Elio. "This is fantasy! I'm done talking about your faith, your lousy God. Fuck your God, priest! My boy is dead! Don't you see that? I want answers, not your damned fables! What's happened to my son?" He shouted till his lips dripped with spittle. "Why not ask your boss upstairs what happened? If He's listening I'll spit in his fucking ear!"

  Ossian took a step back. "I'm sorry, Elio, Mattea. There is nothing that can be done. Something targeted your boy. And whatever it is, it's still out there. Please, come away from here. We should get indoors."

  Mattea crawled through the grass, unable to gain her feet. Laying beside the heap of her son's remains, she smoothed out the rumpled, blood-soaked denim of his overalls and buried her face in the ground. Elio paced about the field in a daze, staring at the sky. There was
nothing the priest could say to comfort them, to bring their son back, and so he stood with Cesare, hands folded in prayer.

  There is evil here. I feel confident that it's tied to the heresy being spread by that church. God forgive me, I should set fire to the basilica and smoke the bastards out. Slay each and every one, starting with that black bishop of theirs. He is the one who is responsible for this atrocity...

  Elio helped his wife to her feet and supported her. Approaching the priest and seeming to have come to his senses, he wiped at his eyes and motioned to the corpse, hanging his head low. "P-please, father. Lay my son to rest. Pray for his soul."

  The priest did as he was asked, and took to the unhappy task of dispensing the final rites to the body that seeped into the grass. The boy is in God's hands now.

  But what of the assassin? Cesare, when the mood had calmed and he was later requestioned by the priest, maintained his claim that the assailant had been a figure clad in black robes and veil. The very same, he asserted, as they had seen in the rear of the basilica during the previous evening's Mass.

  In other words, Bishop Carnivale.

  Ossian jumped to no conclusions, did not set off at once to claim the bishop's head, but instead followed the grief-stricken parents back to their home, where he made himself useful around the abode and attempted to bring them comfort. Comfort was in short supply, and although prayers were uttered throughout the day and into the evening, they felt somehow hollow and impotent, even to the priest.

  That evening, just before sundown, Ossian set out with Elio to handle the boy's remains. With a shovel, they dug a shallow grave, into which they lowered the battered body. They then said some words, holding a makeshift funeral.

  But not before discovering something curious within the hole they'd dug.

  The head of a large bone, possibly a humerus, jutted out of the soil just beneath the surface. Further exploration of the site yielded still more remains, seemingly of different corpses. Before giving up, Ossian had uncovered the bones of no less than four different individuals, and had good reason to believe that the ground upon which they stood had been used as a massive, unmarked grave for some time. Probably the abundance of bodies were the reason the edibles in this stretch grew with such gusto.

  Returning to the house, Ossian sat up in the living room by the fire well into the night. The mood was somber, and the silence was seldom broken except by the Mattea's pained sobs. In the hours since the burial Elio had fallen silent and refused to speak. Now and then his face would contort, shift away from the mask of sadness, into something resembling wild anger. Without a target for his rage, his wrath would be whittled down by hurt and he would once again slip into an hours-long lethargy.

  Sitting up by the hearth, Ossian kept one eye always on the window, wondering if the assailant wouldn't stop by and pay them a visit under the cover of night. There were a few occasions when he fancied he glimpsed something standing amidst the trees outside, or curious shapes passing in the moonlight just beyond the window, but in the end, the night proved almost artificially quiet.

  12

  In the small hours of the night, when Mattea had given in to an exhausted sleep and Cesare was curled up beside the hearth with a blanket draped over him, Ossian was joined in the kitchen by a tired Elio. The man looked absolutely haggard for the day's events, and the circles beneath his eyes had darkened. Sitting beside the priest, he loosed a sigh and massaged his temples with his palms. Upon first meeting, Elio had seemed like a mirthful creature; a generally happy and talkative man. All of the joy had been sapped from his towering frame, and his features now seemed carved from gray stone.

  "Father McGregor," he began, "I don't want to seem confrontational, but it occurs to me that you know more about this situation than you're letting on. You're on your way to Avignon, and you're talking about how the world is full of these evil... spirits. You carry a sword on you and have been attacked by dark forces in the past. OK. Fine. If I choose to accept all of that, then where does my boy fit into the puzzle?"

  Ossian rubbed at his cheek, letting his fingertips graze the light stubble that'd taken root there. "Unfortunately, your boy was just a casualty in a worldwide war for the human soul, Elio. I wish I could offer something more comforting, but the fact of the matter is that he was lionized for the demon's enjoyment."

  Elio cracked his knuckles. "And you're sure it was a... demon that did this?"

  The priest bobbed his head. "I've seen it before, and Cesare's account checks out in my experience."

  "Well," continued Elio, "where can we find it, then?"

  Against his better judgement, Ossian shared his suspicions. "I don't have anything concrete yet, but I believe the assailant may be affiliated with the Basilica of San Petronio. The bishop I mentioned earlier, a figure by the name of Carnivale, may be behind this. I know precious little about him, wasn't able to meet with him before I was thrown out. Anyhow, the answer lies with the men in charge of the local church. I'd bet on it."

  "All right," said Elio. "So, let's go. Let's head in there and kill it." Despite the late hour and the fatigue that very clearly gripped him, Elio was prepared to march all the way to the basilica in order to avenge his son.

  Though Ossian appreciated the man's spirit, he couldn't in good conscience invite him along on such an errand. If there was in fact a demon to dispatch, it would be his job alone to see to it. Bringing anyone else along would be too great a risk. "I understand your position, however I work alone, Elio. The creatures who operate in this sphere are not so easy to kill as human beings. It's a different game completely."

  Elio frowned. "Excuse me if I don't totally buy this. The world has gone to shit, so I guess it's possible that there are demons walking the Earth, sure. But why? Where'd they come from, and why are they here? Is the church in Avignon just pumping out demons, or what? That's what you're making it sound like, with your talk of 'missions'. I don't imagine your masters would have given you that mean-looking sword if they didn't intend for you to use it, either."

  Ossian explained the schism in the church in brief, highlighting the savagery that the Vatican emissaries had faced on their visit to Avignon the month before. "We haven't got anything solid yet. The priest who returned claimed that Avignon was a deplorable place, 'Hell on Earth.' So the Vatican has sent me. They figure that if anyone knows Hell on Earth, it's a trained exorcist. As to why the forces of evil have chosen to become so active at this junction, I can't rightly say. I can't speak for the darkness, I can only guess. I suppose that this catastrophe has afforded them a valuable opportunity to gain dominance. They're opportunists, demons, and are marshaling their forces to take advantage of the situation right now that mankind is still in a disarray."

  "And that evil has spread this far, all the way to Bologna?"

  "It seems that way. I attended a Mass last night at the Basilica of San Petronio and not only did the monsignor allude to a feast day that doesn't exist on any established liturgical calendar, but the rites had been augmented so as to heap worship upon this enigmatic figure, Bishop Carnivale. Judging by the cold reception I received this past morning, they are enemies of God, of the true church, and they aren't even trying to hide it. And then there are those other remains in the field we found." Ossian looked up at his host. "Who did they belong to?"

  Elio shrugged. "It's impossible to say, father. The losses in Bologna have been so steep, those bodies could be anyone's. Friends, neighbors... I don't know. There's no telling how long that area's been used as a mass grave."

  "Well, perhaps our friend the black bishop will be able to shine some light on that matter as well."

  Elio nodded. "Let me come with you. I know you like to work alone, but I can help. This foot of mine won't slow me down as much as you think, and by God I have to avenge my son. Even if I die in the process it's something I need to do, father. Please understand. Don't make me sit this out."

  Still, Ossian shook his head. "The answer is still no. I'm sorry."


  Snarling, Elio stood up. "Goddammit, what is it with you holy types, huh? Always trying to be such martyrs, such heroes. What, are you hoping to go down in history as some great legend? Give me a fucking break. You could use my help, father, and you know it."

  Ossian leaned back in his chair, glaring. “If the human lineage should be so blessed as to survive this years-long trial, then historians will write one day about what we've done, about the lengths we went to to preserve purity and righteousness in a world spoiled utterly by sin. But it is not for a place in those books that I fight. I care nothing for fame, for recognition. I was born a soldier of the great and powerful God, and the only reason I draw breath is to do His will. That His will and my affinity for cutting out the hearts of heretics should have aligned in this dark age is but a happy coincidence. And so I carry this sword with me and work with a song in my breast.”

  At this, Elio sulked.

  "Anyway," added Ossian, "there are other players we need to worry about." He motioned to the boy asleep by the hearth. "Cesare has no family. I promised to take care of him until I could deliver him into the care of a good family. I understand that this is an incredibly difficult time and that such an arrangement may be out of the question, but if I can get to the bottom of what's happening here in Bologna, I'd like possibly to leave him with you and Mattea. You're good people, and could take care of him." The priest licked his lips. "Not that he could ever serve as a replacement for your son, of course. But he's a good kid in need of a home. I hope you'll at least consider."

  Elio nodded. "It's not a good time, but I'd be willing to talk to the wife about it sometime." Looking out the window into the darkness, Elio gave a faint yawn. "I'm going to go lay down," he said. "I doubt I'll actually manage to sleep. The sun will be up pretty soon. What about you, father?"