Read Online Samurai and Other Stories by William Meikle - Free Book Online
Authors: William Meikle
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inspection. And something deep in those ruins knew we were there.
We dreamed, of vast empty spaces, of giant clouds of gas that engulfed the stars, of blackness where there was nothing but endless dark, endless quiet. And while our slumbering god dreamed, we danced for him, there in the twilight, danced to the rhythm.
We were at peace.
A flaring pain jolted me back to sanity. I smelled burning skin, but took several seconds to note that it was my own hand that had seared. The coxswain, stout man that he is, had broken the hold on me by touching his firebrand to my skin.
I had no time to thank him, for the beast had encroached closer to me while I dreamed, and even now threatened to engulf me.
Once again I held the firebrand ahead of me, and with the aid of the coxswain I held the beast at bay, struggling to keep its grip from settling on my mind. Indeed, if the barrel of pitch had not been brought, I might have succumbed.
Burning the pitch enabled the recapture of the beast to proceed more rapidly. The heat from the flames threatened to set fire to the deck of the hold itself, but I refused to allow the men to put it out until we had driven the beast back into the casket.
I have ensured that the box is sealed completely, and it is now stored at the furthermost end of the hold. All I can do is keep the crew as far away from it as is possible on this small vessel.
That, and hope that in our dreams we do not fall again under its spell.
But it is hard. For every time I close my eyes I dream, of vast empty spaces, of giant clouds of gas that engulf the stars, of blackness where there is nothing but endless dark, endless quiet. And while my slumbering god dreams, I dance for him, there in the twilight, dance to the rhythm.
In dreams I am at peace.
From the journal of Father Fernando. 17th August 1535
Captain Santoro’s journal has at least given me a place to start. I already knew that s trapado would not be an option for this particular miscreant. Nor would I be able to utilise the rack or the maiden. But fire would be more than sufficient for my purposes. It took little work to prepare the cell for Inquisition , as matters are already set up amply for the ordeal. I ensured that the lead casket was placed inside concentric circles of oil such that they could be lit immediately in the event of an attempt to escape. I also had a brazier full of coals at hand to my right side and three needle-pokers burning white hot in a small oven to my left.
Even before I opened the casket I felt the tickle in my mind but I pushed it away. My God is stronger than any heathen devil. I mouthed the Pater-Noster as I lifted the lid.
Once again the black ooze surged, and the tickle in my mind turned to an insistent probing. Memories rose unbidden in my thoughts; of summer days in warm meadows, of lessons learned in cold monastery halls, of penance paid for sins.
I was under questioning.
That I could not allow. I am master of this inquisition. Several wet mouths opened in the black ooze. Using a pair of pliers I plucked a hot coal from the brazier and as another mouth formed I let the coal drop inside.
The grip in my mind released immediately, replaced by a formless scream which quickly became a chant that echoed around the cell. I knew the words. I had read them in the captain’s journal.
Tekeli-Li. Tekeli-Li.
A long tendril reached from the lead box, coming towards me. I took a poker from the oven and with one smooth strike thrust it through the black material. The ooze retreated, shrinking back as far into the corner of the lead casket as it could get.
I leaned forward, a fresh poker in my hand.
“Are you guilty?” I asked, and stabbed down hard.
The Inquisition proper had begun.
From the journal of Juan Santoro, Captain of the Santa Angelo, 17th July 1535
Will this nightmare never end?
The beast, despite its incarceration, has steadily increased its hold on us since we forced it back into the casket.
We dreamed, of vast empty spaces, of giant clouds of gas that engulfed the stars, of blackness where there was nothing but endless dark, endless quiet. And while our slumbering god dreamed, we danced for him, there in the twilight, danced to the rhythm.
We were at peace.
A flaring pain jolted me back to sanity. I smelled burning skin, but took several seconds to note that it was my own hand that had seared. The coxswain, stout man that he is, had broken the hold on me by touching his firebrand to my skin.
I had no time to thank him, for the beast had encroached closer to me while I dreamed, and even now threatened to engulf me.
Once again I held the firebrand ahead of me, and with the aid of the coxswain I held the beast at bay, struggling to keep its grip from settling on my mind. Indeed, if the barrel of pitch had not been brought, I might have succumbed.
Burning the pitch enabled the recapture of the beast to proceed more rapidly. The heat from the flames threatened to set fire to the deck of the hold itself, but I refused to allow the men to put it out until we had driven the beast back into the casket.
I have ensured that the box is sealed completely, and it is now stored at the furthermost end of the hold. All I can do is keep the crew as far away from it as is possible on this small vessel.
That, and hope that in our dreams we do not fall again under its spell.
But it is hard. For every time I close my eyes I dream, of vast empty spaces, of giant clouds of gas that engulf the stars, of blackness where there is nothing but endless dark, endless quiet. And while my slumbering god dreams, I dance for him, there in the twilight, dance to the rhythm.
In dreams I am at peace.
From the journal of Father Fernando. 17th August 1535
Captain Santoro’s journal has at least given me a place to start. I already knew that s trapado would not be an option for this particular miscreant. Nor would I be able to utilise the rack or the maiden. But fire would be more than sufficient for my purposes. It took little work to prepare the cell for Inquisition , as matters are already set up amply for the ordeal. I ensured that the lead casket was placed inside concentric circles of oil such that they could be lit immediately in the event of an attempt to escape. I also had a brazier full of coals at hand to my right side and three needle-pokers burning white hot in a small oven to my left.
Even before I opened the casket I felt the tickle in my mind but I pushed it away. My God is stronger than any heathen devil. I mouthed the Pater-Noster as I lifted the lid.
Once again the black ooze surged, and the tickle in my mind turned to an insistent probing. Memories rose unbidden in my thoughts; of summer days in warm meadows, of lessons learned in cold monastery halls, of penance paid for sins.
I was under questioning.
That I could not allow. I am master of this inquisition. Several wet mouths opened in the black ooze. Using a pair of pliers I plucked a hot coal from the brazier and as another mouth formed I let the coal drop inside.
The grip in my mind released immediately, replaced by a formless scream which quickly became a chant that echoed around the cell. I knew the words. I had read them in the captain’s journal.
Tekeli-Li. Tekeli-Li.
A long tendril reached from the lead box, coming towards me. I took a poker from the oven and with one smooth strike thrust it through the black material. The ooze retreated, shrinking back as far into the corner of the lead casket as it could get.
I leaned forward, a fresh poker in my hand.
“Are you guilty?” I asked, and stabbed down hard.
The Inquisition proper had begun.
From the journal of Juan Santoro, Captain of the Santa Angelo, 17th July 1535
Will this nightmare never end?
The beast, despite its incarceration, has steadily increased its hold on us since we forced it back into the casket.
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