The Devil's Mark Ch. 02

"Judge not, lest ye be judged."

Those words as he stepped in, spoken in that familiar voice, very nearly shattered his self-control.

Liar.

"In the same as you treat your brother, so will the Lord look upon you."

Hypocrite.

"Show mercy, and He will be merciful." Father Bertrand smiled and bowed his balding head slightly. "We should all be so blessed."

The creaking from Leon's gloves was back.

The parishioners bowed their heads and prayed and as one lined up and proceeded toward the altar to receive the Father's blessing. Leon, fists still clenched, stepped in near the very back of the line, rehearsing everything he meant to say as he waited. The moment he reached the front, all the words evaporated, and he stood speechless.

Bertrand smiled and spread his hands. "Kneel, brother, and receive God's grace."

Leon didn't move, petrified at the sight of those hands. His whole body was numb.

The priest smiled wider. "Come, my son. It is a gift freely given."

Leon blinked. "My son," he muttered.

Bertrand blinked.

At once, Leon could feel again—and this time, it was nothing but fire. "I am not your son, or your brother," he growled. "And I received nothing for free."

Leon threw his hood back, revealing his marked face. Bertrand's eyes doubled in size at the fiery look in Leon's.

The priest quickly regained his composure and sighed. "So you return at last, full of sound and fury."

"Yes," Leon snarled. "For the first time, I have a voice, the voice you tried so desperately to rob me of, beating me over the head with your fucking dogma."

"Mind your tongue in the house of God," Bertrand scolded.

Leon smiled nastily. "The house of God?" He barked in laughter, throwing his arms outward. "What an incredible lie! What a crock of shit!" He glared. "You spit on the God you claim to serve, dishonor His emissary with every hypocritical word you utter."

"I am His emissary."

"No," Leon growled. "You're a fraud. A superstitious sadist who gets off on beating little boys half to death, who relishes turning parent against child—over nothing, over a mark I was born with, over circumstances in which I had no agency."

Faint murmurs rumbled throughout the building, though he felt their fear and mistrust aimed at him.

"You dare preach of mercy and forbearance," Leon said, "when you saw fit to make my life a living hell. Why don't you tell them the truth of what that book says of a man's birth? Hm?"

Bertrand said nothing, just stared at him curiously.

Leon stretched his mind, his memory, to a passage that had stuck with him from the moment he first learned to read. "'As Jesus passed by, He saw a man who had been blind from birth. And His disciples asked him, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he would he born blind?"'" Leon waited a moment. "Can you finish it, Father? Can you tell them how He replied?"

Slowly, Bertrand opened his mouth. "'Jesus answered, "It was neither that this man sinned, nor his parents; but it was so that the works of God might be displayed in him."'"

The burning in Leon's chest kept getting worse, so he unlaced his jerkin and peeled away the layers of clothing that concealed his scars. "You knew this, and yet you saw fit to give a child this—"

He showed the thick scars of the bullwhip.

"—and this—"

The jagged lines of the flagellant.

"—and this—"

The pale lines around his wrists from countless shackles.

Leon waited a moment for the uneasy shock to ripple through the crowd, then fixed his clothing. "Whatever the circumstances of my birth, a father's sins do not pass to his son. This is a house built upon lies, and you are their smith." He sneered and turned his chin up at the priest. "I hope you choke on that collar, you fucking bastard."

With that, Leon turned for the door, hands shaking beneath his cloak. He couldn't tell if that was from fear or barely-restrained anger.

"Is that all?"

Leon stopped short.

"Just like the Devil to send his emissary to twist the Word of God."

Leon glared at him over his shoulder.

"My faithful brothers and sisters, do not let your hearts be troubled." Bertrand spread his arms wide. "Within these walls, under the watchful eye of our savior, you are protected from all evil."

Leon smiled nastily. "You actually believe that shit, don't you? It's time to face the truth, Father."

Just then, a strong wind blew through the sanctuary, pushing the flames of several sconces askew. Those flames licked across the thick woolen curtains lining each window. A flicker, a spark, and the light in the room quickly multiplied—as did the smoke. Shrieks and screams resounded from the pews as the flames began to spread. The old wool and dust went up quickly, dropping flaming debris all over the sanctuary. The parishioners scattered and scrambled for the exits, trying to escape the blaze.

Leon and Father Bertrand were the only two who didn't panic. In fact, neither even moved for a good ten seconds, until most of the crowd had fled the burning building.

"Why did you really come here?" Bertrand asked calmly.

Leon stared at him for a good while, then finally took a breath. "Why? Why me? Why was this mark so damning?"

A flicker of...something passed through the priest's eyes before he spoke. "You could never understand." He turned around, moved behind the altar despite the spreading blaze.

Leon glared incredulously. "Could never—I read your 'good book' cover to cover, you prick! What don't I understand?!"

"There are some secrets not even the Word address, terrible truths of the world that must be fought with prayer and iron." Bertrand's voice took a note of genuine regret. "It grieves me that it's come to this..."

Leon's eyes narrowed as Bertrand lifted something from behind the altar—a longsword of strange make, with a golden hilt and crossguard encrusted with jewels that sparkled in the firelight. Without hesitation, he drew his own sword and took a defensive stance.

"Well now, isn't that an interesting weapon for a priest? I thought men of the cloth trained with maces."

Bertrand shrugged as he stepped around the altar toward the center aisle. "We do. This weapon is special—only human hands can bear its touch." He took up a stance of his own, holding the longsword high.

"You sure you want to do this? I'm not the frightened child you're used to bullying."

The priest's eyes narrowed, glinting in the firelight. "Show me."

Leon held his rapier out straight, tip pointed slightly down. Bertrand had his longsword in roof stance, held over his head, tip pointed behind him. They were some twenty paces from each other. Given the rapidly progressing fire, neither could afford to take his time. Both knew they could—and probably should—take this outside, but neither wanted to risk the interference of the crowd. Only one of them was walking out alive.

Leon growled and closed the distance, lunging far and low to thrust at Bertrand's gut. The priest's arms dropped fast, the flat of the blade deflecting the rapier. He used that low position to slash at Leon's neck. Leon dashed back and up, feeling the wind whistle off Bertrand's blade. The heat at his sides and back flared for a moment as the outer pews began to burn.

Snarling, Leon swung and stabbed repeatedly, fast and tight. Nothing breached Bertrand's defenses. Despite their significant age difference, Leon's youth afforded no advantage. He was facing a much more experienced duelist, a fact that quickly became apparent when Bertrand counterattacked. His longsword was nearly as fast as Leon's rapier, and in Bertrand's experienced hands, it danced. Leon's narrow blade quickly picked up notch after notch. He tried to maintain a safe distance between them so he could dodge instead of deflect, but Bertrand was relentless.

More than once, Leon strayed dangerously close to the flames. At one point, his cloak caught fire, sending a flash of panic through him that gave Bertrand an opening. The priest stabbed at his heart, lunging in a half-kneel. Amid trying to douse the flames, Leon couldn't deflect or fully dodge it in time. He felt blood run down his side as the longsword grazed the region of his upper ribs. Leon grabbed his burning cloak and flung it at Bertrand, forcing him to withdraw or be consumed.

As Bertrand recovered, Leon examined the injury and frowned. A grazing hit like that shouldn't have even penetrated the leather jerkin, yet this sword had passed through as if piercing paper. Leon ran at him, slashing for his neck while he was still distracted. The edge of Leon's blade came within inches of the priest's neck before he ducked underneath and swept his own sword at Leon's legs. Leon leapt as high as he could, leaving himself vulnerable to a lunging tackle. Leon braced his legs behind him, just managing to stay upright, and bashed the hilt of his sword into Bertrand's back, aiming for his spine.

Bertrand growled and shoved him back, kicking the side of his calf while pressing with the longsword. Leon blocked three more strikes, taking a kneeling stance to take the pressure off his aching leg. Then a powerful cleaving strike impacted the center of Leon's blade—right where a deep notch had formed.

The steel sheared in half.

Bertrand's sword kept going, partially robbed of its momentum, yet slashing through the tendons of Leon's right elbow all the same. He shrieked as his lower arm fell limp, just barely holding onto what was left of his sword. Leon stared up at Bertrand, eyes wide with terror as the flames overtook the church ceiling. The blaze cast the priest in a backdrop like the mouth of hell itself. He just barely saw the glint of the sword coming down to cleave through his neck.

In a flash of pure instinct, Leon's left hand shot up toward the falling weapon, meeting it halfway through its arc. Bertrand stared at him in shock when his strike stopped, blood dripping down his sword as Leon held its blade with white-knuckled fingers. Then Leon grit his teeth and stood up, swinging with his other shoulder. A wide stab came at Bertrand's neck from the side, fast and hard, though imprecise. The priest stopped it with a snap of his arm, his wrist meeting Leon's before the shattered blade could pierce his skin.

Leon smiled and opened his jaw—then let go of his sword.

His teeth caught the hilt as it fell. His head turned as he finished standing up. A faint schlick echoed over the roaring flames.

The pressure against Leon's left hand vanished as Bertrand released his sword to press his hand against the hole Leon had torn in his neck. The priest stumbled back, making no sound and blinking at Leon as if in shock. His eyes flitted from Leon's gaze to his bloodied left hand. Then he collapsed against a pew and smiled, just a little.

"So," he gurgled, "you are human, after all."

Leon stared at him like he was crazy, ready to dismiss it as more superstitious nonsense. But there was something in his fading eyes, something in his quiet voice, that struck of stark lucidity, and he remembered what Bertrand said before they fought.

"Only human hands can bear its touch."

Leon knelt in front of him, holding the sword up to the light. "What else could I be?"

Bertrand wheezed, blood running down his arm in an unobstructed stream. "Find...Brionne."

Leon's eyes widened.

"She...knows..."

Bertrand took a long, ragged breath. His eyes flitted to the side just a little. Then his shoulders stopped moving, and his hand fell from his neck. No more blood came out.

Frowning, Leon reached up with his good hand and closed his eyes. He picked up the sword and make for the exit, coughing violently as he retrieved what was left of his cloak. He held it up over his mouth as a makeshift filter against the smoke, then shoved his way through the doors.

As soon as he was outside, he could breathe again. At least for the first five seconds before he saw the mob waiting for him. Apparently, they'd been waiting for the victor and didn't like who they saw.

"Well," Leon coughed sharply, "shit."

"Where is Father Bertrand?" demanded the village headman.

"Dead," Leon answered firmly. "He fought well, I'll give him that."

The look in the headman's eyes was anything but mollified. "You spit on a man of God, murder him, and have the audacity to make jest of his death?!"

Leon smiled nastily, taking a few steps further from the burning building. "I was showing respect, though I wouldn't expect you to understand even the term, goatfucker." He snarled. "How many years did you turn a blind eye to me? How much did the church pay you to look the other way?"

His splotchy face turned bright red, teeth gnashing like a wild beast. "He was right about you. I didn't believe it 'til today." He raised his voice over the whole assembly. "Let us finish the work the Father began!" He pointed a butcher's cleaver at Leon. "Destroy the Devilspawn!"

The crowd surged forward.

Leon growled and slipped the longsword's hilt into his left hand, weakly raising it to his side. "Fuck you too," he muttered.

"Stop!"

His eyes widened at the shout, turning toward a short woman in coarse brown fabrics.

"Stop!" She threw herself between him and the mob, arms spread wide. Her head turned round, wild eyes meeting his own. "Run, Leon!"

Leon stared agape. "Mother..."

"Brionne!" the headman roared. "Move aside!"

"No," she croaked, her body already shaking with weakness. "Not again. Never again."

Leon's eyes stung.

"Run!"

He grit his teeth. He couldn't run. They'd tear her apart if she got in their way, and he needed to know what she knew. Besides which, only two people had ever stood up for him like this. With this, Brionne was the third.

So Leon stepped forward and raised his sword, pointing it out toward the crowd.

And he growled, "No."

It was then that a great crash sounded from behind, and the upper turrets of the cathedral collapsed inward. A thick, billowing cloud of black smoke erupted from the point of impact. It flowed in the wind, casting a shadow over the crowd and the two who stood before it, enough to blot out the sun.

Then a gentle sigh came from Leon's side, opposite his mother, and he slowly turned toward it.

"Well...damn."

Leon stared at Y'ssaria, who in turn stared at his mother.

"I guess I can't eat you now." The vampire's eyes flickered from Brionne to Leon. "But he's right." Her crimson gaze turned to the mob, focusing in on the headman. "No more running."

"The Devil's Concubine," the headman snarled.

She smiled nastily, fangs bared. "Fuck you too."

Leon grinned. "Took the words straight from my mouth." He glanced at her. "Thought I told you not to interfere."

"You said you needed to confront the priest alone. I never said I wouldn't watch." Izzy put a hand between him and the crowd. "So rest easy, love. You've done enough."

Leon blinked.

Love? he thought.

Izzy smiled at him, warm as the sun. "I'm so proud of you."

"Kill them!" screamed the headman.

The vampire sighed and bared her teeth, hissing threateningly as the crowd surged forward. Then she moved.

And suddenly, Leon realized that throughout all their sparring sessions, he never actually defeated her.

The first two rail-thin peasants came at her with pitchforks. They fell to the ground a moment later, heads torn clean off. Between her speed and strength, Izzy had decapitated them with her bare hands, throwing them into the crowd. It did little to no damage, but their terror made them flinch for a good long while.

Two more met their ends when her claws slashed their throats open. A high kick broke the nose of a man with a torch and ax. She took that axe and hewed off his torch arm, then threw it in an arc that beheaded three others. Y'ssaria released a feral roar that sent a third of those remaining in a quick, screaming flight. The rest rushed her with farm implements and torches. She vanished in a cloud of mist, reappearing in their midst to crush bone and windpipes.

Leon fell to his knees, exhausted and in pain. Yet for all his injuries, he didn't look away, didn't flinch. He watched every second, every snap of the neck, every ruptured vein and artery. Brionne knelt at his side, held his injured arm steady so as not to exacerbate it. And all the while, Leon stared in mute satisfaction, a vindicating fire that spread throughout his chest and built in the core of his being. All these cowards, all who had turned a blind eye—or worse, engaged in the oppression themselves.

They had earned their end.

At long last, only the headman remained besides those who had died or fled.

He cowered against a wheelbarrow, whimpering and shaking as Y'ssaria slowly approached.

"Wait!"

She glanced back at Leon. He'd even surprised himself with that outburst. Even he didn't know what he intended as he approached the headman with Bertrand's sword. Leon raised it for a moment, then placed it against the ground tip-first as he held the pommel.

Then he glared at the headman and said, "Take your time."

Y'ssaria turned to the bastard with feral eyes, grabbed his head, and wrenched it to the side just enough to cause pain, not enough to break his neck. Instead, she sank her fangs into his skin, then tore them loose, ripping chunks of flesh. Three times she missed his artery on purpose before finally tearing it open and letting him bleed out slowly. He bled to death in a pile of straw and cow shit, eyes wide with terror.

"My God..."

They both turned toward Brionne, who stared at the aftermath of the massacre with a trembling hand over her mouth.

Y'ssaria sighed. "I don't suppose we can leave her here, can we?"

Leon's head shook. "They'll kill her."

"Can she make the trip to Dämmerung Keep?"

He frowned. "Probably not, at least not on foot."

"...damn it all. Well, I suppose we can take the headman's horse." She smiled morbidly. "He won't be needing it."

Leon nodded and went to his mother, hesitantly taking her arms. "Follow."

She swallowed and nodded, tense but obedient.

Leon didn't know how to interpret her furtive glances at Y'ssaria, but the way Izzy glanced back was...familiar. He'd get answers later.

* * * * *

Y'ssaria was dressing Leon's wounds by the time the sun set. Her servants had taken Brionne to be bathed and fed, with strict orders to confine her to the lower wing of the castle until Leon was ready to face her. At the moment, they sat in Izzy's chambers at the edge of her bed, in perfect silence.

"You went to see her beforehand," Leon said suddenly.

Izzy glanced at his eyes, then back at the arm she was binding. "You always were sharp."

"Why?"

"Why do you think?"

Leon was silent.

Izzy finished bandaging his arm, putting it in a sling. She sat next to him and stared at the stained-glass windows.

"The priest...said I wasn't human. Not fully."

"...yes."

Leon looked at her. "Did you know?"

Her head shook. "Not before I spoke to Brionne."

"...what did she tell you?"

Izzy sighed. "I promised I wouldn't say until she spoke to you."

Leon turned forward, staring into the distance. "I'm not sure I'm ready for that."

She rubbed his uninjured arm tenderly. "That's okay. She's not going anywhere." Izzy leaned in and kissed his cheek. "And neither are you."

Leon's tired mind swirled with the events of the day, slowly zeroing in on one. A faint smirk rose to his lips. "'Love,' eh?"

Izzy cleared her throat, shifting nervously. "It was uh...kind of a spur of the moment thing."