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Chapter 4: Ritual

Tuco knew he should be getting sleep, but he lay awake, feeling like a lute string that had been wound too tightly. Now and then his fingers would trace the creases in his neck where on his first day he'd almost become some kind of water creature. And he was acutely aware that he was in a room filled with men, and he was gay now, somehow. It didn't feel false; it felt as though it had always been a part of him and had just been waiting for someone to wake it up. He thought of Elf--a paragon of male beauty hidden away alone in that room, for the protection of himself and everyone, and his loins surged with renewed arousal. Sex was much, much better than he had expected, much better than self-pleasure, and he could have it nearly any time he wanted.

He listened for Pike breathing in the bunk below his, and heard a low, soft moan. Moving slowly, he slid out of bed. The stone floor was cold beneath his bare feet. There was barely any light in the room--just a still-burning candle several beds away, but in its glow Tuco could make out the shifting form of Pike. The rabbit-man lay on his back in the bunk, mouth open, his expression one of plaintive need. There was a little hill beneath his blankets and it moved up and down, up and down. A little mewl escaped his short muzzle.

Tuco put a hand on his shoulder.

Pike's large eyes blinked open. “Wh--wha…?"

“Do you need anything?" Tuco asked. “You… were kind of… whimpering."

“Oh? Oh, uh…" Pike looked down his body at the tent in his blankets. “Oh, no, I told you, this happens twice a night. I'm used to it."

Tuco felt a little thrum of excitement that stirred his courage enough to ask, “Do you want anything?"

Pike gave him a searching look and then pushed his blankets down slowly, pausing when he reached that hill. Tuco nodded, and Pike lifted the blankets up over his erection, letting a cloud of warm musk escape the trap of his bedclothes. “You could… you could lick it if you wanted to," Pike whispered. “Any time you want, really."

Tuco wasn't really sure if he wanted to; some echoing part of the boy he was yesterday protested in the back of his mind that it was kind of gross, you didn't put your mouth there, and anyway, what for? It wouldn't feel good the way proper sex had. But another part of him wanted to see if just a few movements of his tongue could make his new friend writhe and moan. He leaned down, inches away from the pink, slightly pointed tip, and breathed in the scent of male. Then he slid his tongue across the surface. It was hot, hard and soft at once, the taste not unpleasant, but more enthralling was the ripple that traveled up Pike's bare stomach, tensing his white-furred, muscled chest and ending in a gasp.

Tuco decided he liked that very much. He knelt by the bunk, sliding his fingers into the fur of Pike's stomach, and licked again, all the way up his friend's erection. Pike groaned quietly in the darkness, his fingers clenching the bedsheets, and in the candlelight, a bead of fluid glimmered at his tip. Tuco licked that away and found the flavor to his liking. He wanted to please Pike properly, to slide that cock all the way into his throat, but it was more than a hand in length, and he wasn't sure how to do so without his tongue and teeth getting in the way. So instead he clambered up into the bunk, realizing only as his own tip hit the edge of the mattress that he was achingly aroused.

Distantly, he wondered what the priests at home would say about this, but it was only forbidden to lie with women unwed; there had never been any such rules about other men except in certain circumstances. Certainly nothing in the scriptures or homilies about kissing another like this. He gripped Pike's hips in both hands, and thought of how incredible it had felt to be buried in that rump, but for now he only licked and licked again, watching shivers of pleasure move up Pike's body. When he dared to slide the tip of the cock between his lips and suckle at the end, Pike made a mewling sound and grabbed at Tuco's hands with both paws, soft-furred fingers grasping needily at his own.

Tuco sucked at it again, fumbling to pull down the sheets and find Pike's sac, but as he did so, a loud creak echoed through the dormitory, and a breeze made the candle flicker. Someone had opened the door. Tuco drew back in alarm, releasing Pike's cock to bounce against his stomach, but it was too late. Wild-eyed, stomach clenching into a tight pattern of pleasing muscle, Pike erupted, two thin arcs of seed spattering the underside of Tuco's bunk. They dripped back down as Pike, panting, pooled the rest of his climax into his stomach fur.

Whoever had opened the door walked further into the room, carrying his own candle. He was wideset and wore the black robes and white belt of a senior Brother. Tuco didn't suppose he could get into trouble for what he'd been doing--it was encouraged after all, wasn't it? But all the same he didn't like the idea of being caught. Embarrassment and a hint of shame flooded through him. He whispered, “Sorry!" to PIke and scrambled back up into his bunk, his erection annoyingly still hard and aching.

Sandals rasped on stone toward his bunk; the candlelight sent angular shadows careening around the room as the intruder came toward him. The person was headed right toward his bed. He felt a twinge of panic. Had he broken some unspoken rule? Was he going to be expelled from the abbey? He pulled the blankets over his head.

“I know you're awake. I saw you," whispered a voice presently. It was round and mellow, with a northern accent, but also weary. Tuco didn't move. “Well?"

Reluctantly, Tuco pulled the blankets over his head and looked into the round face of an older monk, perhaps in his sixies. He had long white moustaches that had clearly once been waxed and teased but now were unkempt, and in the shadows, his eyes looked small and sunken. “You are the new boy, aren't you?"

“Y--yes sir," Tuco whispered. “I'm sorry if I wasn't supposed to--"

“I have need of an apprentice. You'll do."

Now? In the middle of the night? “I… but sir, I--"

“Time is of the essence, boy. Are you here to be an apprentice or aren't you?"

“Hey, now." The voice was Pike's, hushed but defiant. “He's not been trained. And he hasn't had time to prepare. Tell him no, Tuco. It's too dangerous right now. You have the right of refusal."

Anger creased the monk's broad face. “You stay out of this, beast boy. I have a ritual that must be completed now, and I don't have time for upstart apprentices. Listen to me. You. New boy. You may have the right to refuse, but if you do, I'll see you turned out on your ear by the crack of dawn. I need assistance now. Time is of the essence. Do you understand?"

A rustle of bedclothes. Pike stood up beside the bunk, his long ears towering above the monk's bald head. He peered. “Brother Melvin. I thought it was you. Look, he's not ready. Take me instead. I'll help you. I've been trained. And I'm… prepared. More prepared than he is, anyway."

The monk sniffed the air and his lips curled downward. “Yes, I can smell your… satisfaction. You apprentices and your needs. Repugnant. But no. My ritual requires an Unchanged. Clearly you are not satisfactory."

“I've never heard of any ritual that needs an Unchanged."

Brother Melvin sighed. “And yet you are still just an apprentice and not a Brother, despite knowing every ritual in our libraries." He turned to Tuco. “The coming Apocalypse could pivot on this ritual. Denying me now brings us closer to doom. Quickly. It is nearly complete, and I haven't enough time."

Pike shook his head. “Don't do it, Tuco. It's too dangerous."

Tuco looked back and forth between the two of them. “It's… it's why I'm here, Pike. My family needs the money. And… maybe the world needs this ritual, right?" He nodded to Brother Melvin. “I'll go with you."

“Tuco, no!"

Tuco slid out of bed and found his robe, pulling it on. As he turned to follow Brother Melvin out of the room, Pike caught his arm. “Don't think about anything but the ritual. Follow all the instructions he gives you exactly. Don't pronounce one syllable wrong. Don't step over any lines. Make sure windows are closed so they don't blow out candles. And whatever you do, keep desire out of your mind. You may hear whispers. You may see things that you think you want. Don't pay attention. Make the gestures. Say the words. Don't let anything else come into your head. Okay?"

Tuco nodded. “I will. I won't let you down."

Then Pike put both his arms around him and clasped him in a tight hug. “I'll see you on the other side," he whispered.

Tuco tried to walk confidently as he headed toward the door, but a deep fear was knotting up his insides. He told himself he was only shivering because of the cold.

---

Brother Melvin led Tuco down the hallways of the abbey. Many of the candles were out now, those still lit providing little pools of radiance barely enough to show the pathways through the dark corridor. It was easy to imagine things crouching in the darkness, watching them--and no sooner had the thought occurred to Tuco than fear gripped him, because of course the possibility was quite real. Not only did demons crawl through the walls of this place, but there might be creatures hiding out there. Creatures that had once been apprentices like him, now turned monstrous, their minds maddened by the changes. Surely most had been caught and imprisoned, but perhaps not all. And what about the worst of the Changed, those who had been sent down into the Throat? Could they escape?

Tuco recognized the fear and tried to push it away, because surely that was a hook for any demon: the Temptation of Safety. He'd wish not to fear anymore… and then he would become one of those things lurking in the darkness. All the same, his dread was not so easily dispelled, and he scurried closer to Brother Melvin's candle, finding relief in its light.

The monk peered at him out of the corner of one eye. “I don't suppose you can read."

“No, Brother Melvin. But I've a good memory."

“I will give you the incantation until you can recite it perfectly. You must make no errors. You may see and hear things that will upset you. That will be the demons trying to get you to err and send the conjuring awry. It will be not only my soul at stake, but yours as well."

“And--and if they get my soul, Brother?"

“Then you will belong to the Abyss forever, and none can save you."

They headed down another hallway, and then Brother Melvin turned at a stairwell and proceeded down the steps. Tuco froze in place.

“Have you forgotten how to walk, boy? Hurry along."

“No, sir. Only… only Rigby said we weren't to use those stairs, sir."

“Alone. Accompanied by a Brother it is acceptable. Now, no more dawdling. I told you this ritual does not leave us much time."

Tuco hesitated a moment longer, but Brother Melvin continued down the steps without another word, and not wanting to be left standing alone, unable to find his way back to his room in the dark, Tuco had no choice but to scurry down after him.

The steps led them down, down, in what seemed to be a wide spiral, with many passageways leading off to either side, and the further they descended, the rougher-hewn the walls, the ruder and more irregular the stairs. From the darkness, still very far away, came strange noises: roaring, hissing, chittering, low moans, the clank of metal, the sound of heavy stone dragging on stone.

“Is--is that sound the Throat, sir?"

The monk regarded him mid-step. “It is."

Tuco thought of Rigby's warning. You don't want to see the Throat. Not if you want to keep sleeping at night. “But we're not going there are we, sir?"

“Not if we are lucky." Brother Melvin stopped at a side passage--really just a tunnel eaten into the stone, as though a giant worm had passed this way. Which, Tuco supposed, was possible. He shuddered at the thought. The passage proved not to be very long, and led to a large, stone door, which had been painted with some kind of complex, arcane rune. It glimmered in the candlelight like gold leaf. “Here we are," the monk said, and, with some struggling, his sandals skidding on the stones, pulled open the door.

Inside, it was so bright that at first Tuco had to shield his eyes. As they adjusted, he stared around in amazement. At first he thought he had stepped into an endless expanse of hellish light. The room was about fifty feet across, with a high, domed ceiling, and every inch of the walls, ceiling, and even parts of the floor had been fitted with dazzling mirrors, as perfect and clear as the ones in the washroom, cut into five-sided shapes and arranged in interlocking patterns. Mounted in brackets, sconces, or even affixed in place all around them were long, black candles that looked newly lit, with no wax running down their stalks. The flame that burned from them was a deep, crimson red.

“How…?" he said aloud staring. His nose caught a mineral sting in the air, but it was overlaid with the heavy, nauseating stinks of blood and sulphur.

Brother Melvin followed his gaze with a weary expression. “Petalite salts," he said. “Very difficult to discover, that." In the red light, his wide face looked sallow and drawn, the bags under his eyes sagging, as though his flesh had grown too heavy for his face. He pointed one stubby finger. “For the ritual, I will remain in a niche behind the mirror. You will stand there, in the center, and recite the words. All the other preparation has been performed. You will need no gestures nor to perform any sacrifices."

Tuco followed his gesture to the center of the room. There, about six feet in diameter, a sigil had been carved: twelve pentagrams overlaid, like a complex windrose, a sixty-pointed star. The etching into the floor had been very precise, with no chisel marks, and the lines were filled with dark red blood, congealed almost to black, and between them, sulphur powder, light red in the strange candlelight, had been carefully sifted. He tried to remember from his lessons what domains those were associated with, but could not recall. He leaned closer. There was something odd about the sigil--a gap between two of the points, as though a thirteenth pentagram had been intended but omitted.

“Take caution not to touch the sigil," Brother Melvin warned. “Come back with me and learn the incantation."

Carefully, stepping between the arranged mirrors, Tuco made his way back to Brother Melvin. “Are all rituals here this complex?"

A little laugh burst from the monk's mouth like an escaping bird. “No! No, haha, no, few rituals are this complex. This is why it is so important, my boy. It has taken lifetimes of research to get this far. And of course it requires someone with no trace of demonic change in him, someone… unspoiled. Which is rare in the abbey these days. Even I have been altered, despite my care." And he pulled back one sleeve to reveal a forearm covered with green and yellow thorns, with small rose blossoms sprouting between them. “You see? So I cannot perform the chant myself. In all the abbey, only you can do this, boy. And had I waited, we might have lost that chance."

“But it doesn't matter if I've…" Tuco flushed. “You know, been with someone…?"

“I should hardly think so. What on earth would a demon care about that for?" His tone grew a little sharper. “Don't think I didn't catch the smell of what you were doing when I found you. Did one change you in any way while you were… engaged?"

“No, sir!"

“Good. Now listen. Here is the incantation. You must memorize it and repeat it exactly. You may hear and see strange or frightening things while you recite it, but you must not stop, and you must not falter until you have reached the end. Do you understand?"

“Yes, sir."

“And do not cross the lines of the sigil. Those are meant to protect you. One star for each of the twelve temptations, you see? A demon cannot cross the star aligned with its temptation, but if you set even one hair across the lines, they may take you. This is very important."

“I understand."

“Good. Now here is the summoning." The monk withdrew a brown and crumbling scroll from behind one of the mirrors and unrolled it. He read the words out loud, seemingly unconcerned about accidentally initiating the ritual early. Tuco recognized the familiar phonemes of Raw Latin, the language that preceded the formal Church Litana, still used in some of the older sacred books. The passage was long, perhaps two minutes to read aloud. He understood only a few of the words, like venite and dei and abyssus, but he was able to memorize them in order after hearing the whole thing only a few times, and was able to repeat it back to Brother Melvin to his satisfaction in short order. Reading, it was said, dulled the recollection; why bother to commit something to memory when you could have paper perform the task? The clergy and scholars, of course, needed to read, because they required access to more knowledge than any person could fit in their head. But for everyday life, reading fell under the temptation of ease; allowing the material world to take over the work you should have done yourself.

One final recitation, and the monk pronounced him ready. He moved to the center of the room and, having to stretch not to disturb the lines of blood and sulphur, stepped into the center of the sigil. Here he felt dizzy, seeing himself reflected from every angle, swimming through a careening ocean of space filled with a million crimson stars.

Brother Melvin pulled on a rope that snaked up behind the many mirrors layering the room and there was the sound of grinding stone and scraping metal as the mirrors moved inward all around, their edges sealing to leave barely any gaps. Only the doorway provided an interruption of solidity and realness and that was sealed off as the monk swung another large mirror on hinges, sealing Tuco in.

Somehow, with all the mirrors in place, the red light grew brighter, as though it had no place to escape, and so just bounced back and forth endlessly between the mirrors as the candles blazed red and added more and more light, until it seemed that every mirror glowed. Tuco fought off a reeling wave of new terror. Now he was alone and he would have to read this spell that would do--what? Something to prevent the apocalypse. He wished he weren't here. But if he had refused, he'd have had to go back home, a failure. This was what he was here for. No point thinking about what the ritual might do, what horrifying thing it might summon. Did demons ever kill people? Take them over? Or might they turn him into something dreadful, something that had to be put down in the deep dark of the Throat with the other unspeakable monsters?

No. No point thinking about any of that. Pike had been so worried about him. He hoped he would get to see him again. He hoped the words wouldn't fall out of his head when he spoke them.

“All right," came the muffled voice of Brother Melvin. There was a tremor in it, though whether from excitement or fear, Tuco couldn't tell. “I am ready. Finally, finally ready. Speak the incantation, boy, and do not err!"

The tremor was infectious; Tuco struggled to keep it from his own voice as he stood still, staring into the sea of brilliant red stars, and spoke the words he had memorized. He was afraid that in the moment, fear would drive the syllables from his memory, but as he spoke the first line and then the second, it was as though they had been branded into his brain. The words cascaded from his tongue with a kind of fell inevitability; he thought he could not misspeak them even if he had wished to, as if they were part of an old song he'd known his whole life that he could sing without thinking.

The light in the mirror room continued to brighten, until all he could see was the crimson glare of infinite stars, but the intensity caused no pain. He had no need to close his eyes. The sigil must have been protecting him, he supposed. His voice echoed off of a hundred mirrors and came back to him with a hard, glassy edge. Beneath his sandals, the floor shook, at first just a little vibration, and then a shudder. He set his feet wider to keep his balance, but the words still poured off of his tongue -- in me potentiae abyssarum adfluite -- and the room shook even harder. With a creak, one of the mirrors fell away from the ceiling and smashed onto the floor, leaving a shaft of darkness cutting through the crimson light, but he dared not stop, could not stop -- de mea mana praecono perditiones terrarum -- and then he heard Brother Melvin screaming.

It was a raw, hoarse scream of terror, cutting through the thundering sound of the tremors shaking the room, and then another hole cut into the red glare as the door-mirror was pushed aside by the flailing frame of Brother Melvin half stumbling, half falling into the room. His face was twisted in fear, his eyes bulging. He scrambled to his feet and charged toward Tuco and the safety of the ritual circle.

No! Tuco thought at him desperately as his mouth continued to recite the incantation. You'll ruin the circle and doom us both! But he dared not leave off his chanting even as Brother Melvin thundered toward him like a drunken bull. The monk barreled up to the circle and then seemed to hit an invisible wall--Tuco actually saw his face flatten as though up against a pane of clearest glass. He staggered backward, staring in bewilderment. The sigil was keeping him out.

And then, behind him, a massive figure stepped into the room, knocking mirrors aside, freeing more of the red light. Black candles dropped to the floor, going out or flickering feebly. Tuco felt the blood drain from his face. The only demon he had ever seen was the one that had sprouted from his bathwater, but still he was certain: this was no ordinary demon, not even an archdemon. It was a monstrous, bipedal red dragon, three times the height of a man, and built more powerfully than any man who had ever lived. Black horns crowned its head, and its eyes blazed with hellfire. It had four enormous arms and massive wings which seemed impossible to fit in the chamber. It took another step, a girthy, spiked tail swaying behind it, powerful legs bulging with its weight, and the stone floor cracked and splintered between its thickly taloned toes. Its long black horns caught mirrors on the ceiling and wrenched them free with awful metallic screeches.

Tuco knew this dragon; he had seen it in enough illustrations. This was Sathanus, Prince of the Abyss, the Bringer of the Apocalypse. And he was here, in the mortal world. He, Tuco, had been part of the ritual that summoned him. And yet he could not stop his chant, for he did not know what the ritual was supposed to accomplish. Perhaps this was part of it--summoning Sathanus into the mortal world so that he could be destroyed. To leave off now could doom everyone. And the words on his tongue wanted to be spoken; they almost said themselves.

Four blazing eyes fixed on Brother Melvin, who shrieked in panic and pounded on the invisible wall, the sides of his hands flattening as if against stone. “Please! Please let me in! Break the circle and let me in!"

Tuco widened his eyes and shook his head.

“You--you're just an apprentice! I'll have you exiled! I'll have your head!"

But the titan behind him thundered closer, every footstep shaking the room. It spoke with a voice half tiger, half earthquake. “FOOL." And then it reached down and picked up the terrified monk in one enormous hand. Brother Melvin made a mewling sound, his feet kicking in the air, one sandal flying off and sailing across the room. The dragon lifted the monk toward its enormous maw, uncountable scythelike teeth parting.

“Please!" the monk screamed. “I'll do anything! I will do anything you want! I will--I will worship you! I will bring you others, other sacrifices!"

“YOU SOUGHT TO CAPTURE ME WITH THIS FEEBLE RITUAL. YOU FAILED. AND WHAT DID YOU BARGAIN WITH? THIS BOY'S LIFE… AND YOUR SOUL. NOW I WILL HAVE BOTH."

The dragon held the squirming monk in two hands, his inferno eyes fixed on him, flickering, the flames in them rising and dying. Then he inhaled slowly, steadily. Something pale and shimmering stretched out into the air and entered the dragon's jaws, like a plume of smoke. The monk stared, entranced, for a moment, and then wriggled with renewed terror. “Please, no! Please! Oh… oh God. What are you doing to me?"

It took Tuco a moment to see what was happening as the monk writhed in the devil's grip: at first it looked as though his clothes had just gone baggier, but Brother Melvin's head didn't poke so far out of his robes anymore; his hands slid up the sleeves. Then the dragon turned the man upside down and stripped the robes away, leaving him swinging naked in the air, gripped by one leg. His penis was erect and purple, and even as his soul was stripped away from him, he twisted and bucked at the air, his expression one of intense arousal and terror. Still the dragon inhaled, and as he did, Brother Melvin dwindled. He couldn't have been more than four feet tall now, his whole leg encased by the dragon's scaled fist. His voice went higher and higher as he moaned and begged the dragon to stop.

Tuco could only watch as the man who had tried to sacrifice him shrank to the size of a child, smaller and smaller, no bigger than a cat, a songbird, until finally a tiny man no bigger than a mouse swung from the dragon's grip, one foot pinched between two talons, squeaking helplessly in a voice too high-pitched to comprehend, a tiny pale bug. The dragon lifted him high above his head, opened his jaws, and dropped him in. A long, black, forked tongue slid over his reptilian lips. Tuco shuddered and looked away, still murmuring the words of the incantation.

“AND NOW YOU, BOY." Sathanus, Prince of the Abyss, fixed his four blazing eyes on Tuco and reached for him with a lower hand easily big enough to encircle Tuco's entire body. And was stopped by the sigil. He roared so loudly that Tuco's ears garbled the sound and then whined with an eerily silent ringing.

With a leer, the dragon raised one massive, taloned foot and slammed it down onto the floor of the room. A deep crack opened in the stone, zigzagging toward the stone circle. His foot thundered down again, and the crack just reached the edge. Congealed blood began to ooze out of the etchings, outside the sigil. With a wicked, hungry leer, the dragon crouched, raised all four massive fists, and drove them toward the floor, and just as he did so, Tuco spoke the last words of the incantation. Sathanus froze in place, his eyes going wide. His jaws gaped, forked tongue curling between them. He tugged at his fists, but they seemed locked in place in the air. Then the fire in his upper left eye flickered, turned blue, and went out. Behind it was only void, dark and empty. His scaled lips pulled back from his fangs in an expression of shock and horror. Another eye went out, and then another, and then he was blinded. Now free to move and act, Tuco backed as far as he dared to the other side of the sigil. Flames of all colors--yellow, red, blue, green, white--were pouring out of the dragon's body, streaming out of his fingers and toes, drooling from his gaping maw, and spreading across the floor. Hellfire pooled in the room, running between cracks in the stone, pouring around the ritual circle. And as it drained from the dragon's body, he began to seem hollow. Empty. His skin folded inward, as though cast off by a serpent.

And as before him the Prince of the Abyss began to crumple inward and collapse, Tuco's mind finally had enough, and the world tipped sideways.

---

His vision was blurry when he awoke. It didn't feel like much time had passed, but clearly he had been moved. The room around him was all dark wood paneling, much of it stained black with the accumulated residue of many fires. The air smelled pungent and herbal, and he could hear a fire crackling in the corner.

“He is awake." The voice was Lord Krastor's.

“Oh my." That one was friendly and elderly. A creature moved into view--perhaps once it had been a human monk, but now it resembled nothing so much as an enormous caterpillar, its body brilliant green striped with yellow, many soft arms sprouting all down its sides. The head looked somewhat human, but soft and hairless, the eyes solid red and too large. Fanged mandibles framed its mouth. “How are you feeling, boy?" it asked kindly. It wrung several pairs of hands.

Tuco pushed himself into a sitting position. “All right, I think." He felt up and down his body, anxiously checking for any changes, but everything seemed to be the same. “My shoulder hurts."

“Ah, yes. I am afraid I had to bite you." The creature's mandibles twitched.

“Bite me? Why?"

Lord Krastor slid into view, his arachnid legs carrying him silently across the floor, his many eyes blinking in sequence. “Brother Hofstaed's venom has healing properties."

The caterpillar creature nodded, almost shyly. “I wished to be a better doctor. Hard not to want that, in a place like this. A demon answered me."

“Was I hurt?"

“Your head was bleeding," Lord Krastor said.

“I must have hit it when I… when I fell." Tuco's fingers explored through his hair, but he found no bump or scab there. Brother Hofstaed's venom must have worked very well.

“What happened there?" the master of the abbey asked with some urgency. “Why were you down there at all?"

“I was asleep when Brother… when Brother…" Tuco faltered, remembering the horrific fate of poor Brother Melvin. It all seemed impossible now, an event his mind rejected. Just a nightmare, slipping away from his memory.

Lord Krastor's inner eyes flashed. “I saw what happened to Brother Melvin, though I could not see the entity that did it. My past and future sight will not show me demons. A terrible fate indeed. But to have conducted such a ritual at all… it is like none in any of my books. Where could he have learned it?"

“He said it could stop the Apocalypse. He came to me in the middle of the night and asked for help. I didn't want to, but he said he would have me thrown out of the Abbey."

Lord Krastor exchanged a glance with Brother Hofstaed. “Melvin said that? But why would he--"

“He was always drawn to darker rituals," Brother Hofstaed said sadly. “It was always a risk. You never wanted to see what was in him. He was here for his own purposes."

“And you've no idea what the ritual was intended to accomplish?" Lord Krastor asked.

“No, sir. But I could tell you the incantation, if that would…" Tuco frowned, puzzled. He had remembered the words so perfectly before, but now they were peeling away from his mind, leaving only vague outlines, bits of shapes and sounds of Raw Latin he could not recall.

“It is not surprising that you cannot remember it. The more powerful demonic rituals can be performed only once in all time, and then they vanish."

“Oh." Tuco brightened. “But it was written down on a scroll in the room, surely you could--"

“Everything in the room was destroyed by fire. There was nothing left when we found you. Only slag of metal and glass and you, lying in the warding circle. With my inner eyes I saw the room. Mirrors everywhere. Black candles with red flame. Petalite?"

Tuco nodded.

“And the entity you saw, the one that took Brother Melvin's soul. A demon?"

“Not a demon." Tuco shuddered at the memory. “Sathanus. Just like in the pictures."

Lord Krastor and Brother Hofstaed stared at him a moment, and then both chuckled. “I assure you, it was not Sathanus," Lord Krastor said.

“But it was! It looked just like him in all the pictures and everything."

“Seven heads and taller than a mountain?"

“Well, no…" Tuco hesitated. “Just the one. And he fit in the room. But besides that, it was him, I know it! Everything else looked the same!"

Lord Krastor smiled patiently. Two of his back legs rubbed together, one cleaning the other. “Demons can adopt many forms. It is unsurprising that one chose that visage. But I assure you, if it had been Sathanus, we would all be Changed or dead and the Apocalypse would be on us. The scriptures and writings are very clear on this. When Sathanus sets foot in our world once more, the end days are upon us."

Tuco frowned. “Then… then perhaps the ritual worked! Brother Melvin said it was supposed to stop the Apocalypse. And when I finished it, Sathan--the… the demon, it… died. It just crumpled up like a paper in a fire and all the flames poured out of it. It looked shocked."

“It died? Demons are very difficult to destroy, though it can be done. But no power could have destroyed Sathanus. He is one of the immortal angels; our Lord God Himself could not destroy Sathanus, only curse him to an infernal form and banish him. No, boy. I understand what it looked like, but what you are saying is quite impossible. Something else is going on here. Something Brother Melvin didn't want anyone else to know about. Well. The information you have given us will be helpful, I am certain. We may have more questions for you in the coming days. But I urge you not to speak about any of this with the other apprentices. Do you feel well enough to return to the dormitory?"

Tuco considered. The halls of the Abbey didn't seem half as frightening as what he had just faced. “I think so. But… but aren't you worried that I might be possessed or something?"

Lord Krastor gave him a thin smile. “Do you honestly think we have not checked for that already? Just the fact that you would ask us is a good sign. But no, our fiend-finders showed no signs of corruption in you, and the Gasen let you pass beneath without warning. You are still pure, Tuco Witchywine, or we would not be speaking so pleasantly now. Go on back to your bed. And Tuco?"

“Yes, sir?"

“The next time a Brother tries to coerce you into a ritual, you may of course demand to see me. Understand?"

“Yes, sir."

“Then you may go. The candles will light the way back to the main hall. And for now, I would advise not speaking of this to the other apprentices. Please allow us time to consider how best to convey the news of Brother Melvin's… mishap…"

“Yes, sir. I understand." Tuco slid out of the bed and bowed to the caterpillar monk. “Thank you for healing me, Brother Hofstaed."

The creature dipped his bald green head, his long, black antennae bobbing. “Of course."

Halfway out the door, Tuco turned. “Lord Krastor?"

“Yes, lad?"

“How did you know to come and find me?"

“Well, there were the tremors, of course. But it was another apprentice. A rabbit-man by appearances. He came to us and told us you were in trouble. It would seem you have a friend here."

“Thank you, sir," Tuco said, and closed the door.

---

When he stepped through the dormitory door, the silhouettes of Pike's long ears perked up in the candlelight across the room. Tuco crept back toward his bunk, observed only by those apprentices who were nocturnal or no longer slept--he caught the flash of eyeshine in several dark corners of the room. Pike sprang up and clasped him tight, then held him at arm's length.

“Are you all right? Did anything happen?"

Tuco shook his head. “I'm--I'm fine, but it was horrible. There was a big ritual, and a… really dreadful demon. I wish I could tell you about it, but Lord Krastor bade me not to."

“But you, you're… the same? You're not Changed at all?"

“I wasn't even tempted," Tuco whispered. “It was this big ritual, but I was inside a protective sigil. I didn't see any demons other than Sath--other than the one."

Pike hugged him to his soft-furred chest again. “I'm so relieved. I've… never heard of any Brother risking himself to protect the apprentice though."

“I don't think he meant to. Something went wrong."

The rabbit gave him another long, searching look. “It's incredible that you are still all right. You must have some kind of luck, Tuco Witchywine. Now you get some sleep. Dawn will be here before you know it."

Tuco climbed up into the top bunk and closed his eyes, but he could not get to sleep. He kept seeing, over and over, that terrible red dragon holding the squeaking monk above his fanged maw and dropping him in. He wondered what had happened to Brother Melvin--whether he was truly dead, or maybe foundering in some dark reach of the Abyss. Almost, almost he wished to go home again, but he caught himself in time. Who knew how demons would answer that wish if they sensed it? Besides, if he went back now, he'd always wonder about the mystery: what had Brother Melvin intended with his ritual? Had he truly meant for Tuco to be sacrificed to Sathanus?

Home was comforting only because it was familiar, but that familiarity was tedious as well. Even with as frightening as things here could be, at least it was interesting. At least it was an adventure. And he had the chance to do something meaningful, not just wear himself out into old age in some menial drudgery like his parents and older siblings. No. He would not give up this adventure for the world. And he comforted himself with that thought, and with fanciful imaginings of what gifts the demons might instill in him one day.

He woke from half-sleep, choking. His tongue felt too large for his mouth and had pushed into the back of his throat, making him gag. He tried to move it out of the way, but his whole mouth seemed full of it, as though it had swollen. It pressed up against his teeth and then pushed them apart. He gasped for breath as his tongue slipped out of his mouth. He could actually see it in his lower vision, longer than it should have been and still extending, pink in the early morning light.

He clutched at his sheets as he realized he was becoming Changed. But why? How? He'd had no temptation, and could see no demons. Had they tempted him in his sleep? Could they do that? Would it even count? His heart pounded as he felt the stretch in his tongue, the increased weight of it as it continued to lengthen. It waved in the air, a pink ribbon already longer than his hand and still extending. How long was it going to grow? At more than a foot long, it writhed and twisted in the air above him, partly of its own volition, but partly under his control; he found he could curl and loop it easily. He huffed panicked breaths, having sudden visions of filling up the room with long coils of his own pink tongue, and then even as the thought occurred to him, he saw a dark color creeping down the length of it, changing it from pink to a slick, shiny black.

At over two feet long now, it bobbed above him, dripping obscenely onto his blankets. Then, as he watched, the end of it twitched, stretched from side to side, and began to separate. The edges pulled apart into two separate tips joined several inches upward. His tongue tips waved in the air individually. From his mouth grew the long, ebony tongue of a serpent. He stared at it in amazement and panic.

This was it, then. He'd be ejected from the Abbey today. A tongue like that would prevent him from speaking properly, from reciting the rituals. He'd be sent home with a long, obscene appendage hanging from his mouth, because there was no way he would ever be able to fit that between his jaws--and just as he had the thought, his tongue retracted back between his lips and settled between his teeth.

Puzzled, he probed at the inside of his mouth. He could still feel the fork, the separation at the end of his tongue, but the tips sealed together so that it felt almost like normal. Where had the rest of it gone? He rubbed at his throat, trying to feel if there was a new bulge going down his neck, but couldn't tell. That was a relief, at least. He would not have wanted to go through life with an extended tongue wagging at his chest all the time.

Experimentally, he slipped it from his mouth again and felt it extend into the abbey air, and this time he could taste the room, the scents wet on his tongue: stone, wood, and cloth; the faint burning of the candle; dozens of males everywhere, smelling of musk and scale and fur and feather. Beneath him he could taste the presence of Pike and the remnants of his nocturnal releases. He could taste the traces of the elements of ritual on his own robes: the petalite salts and the sulphur and the blood and the stink of fear.

But above all that, almost drowning out every other scent in the room, he could taste desire. It flooded from everyone--desire for approval or admiration, for home, for sex, for food, for a few more hours of sleep. He didn't know how he knew the scents, but he did, intrinsically, as familiar to him as the smell of warm bread or the streets after a rain. He slipped his tongue between his teeth and the scents faded; he poked out the tips again, and once more his senses flooded with the desires of every man in that room.

He gasped in amazement.

“Wh-what?" Pike's voice was sleepy. “Is everything all right, Tuco? I thought I heard--"

“Fine," Tuco answered him. He didn't want to explain right now; he didn't even know what had happened. “Everything isss fine."