The Child Thief

Some simple act to prove you’re not Satan’s pawn. Perhaps one of you could tell us the whereabouts of the Lady? Of the magical tree? This simple act would prove that you were indeed the master of your own soul and there’d be no need to go through the painful rigors of an exorcism.”

The Captain waited, and when none of the boys spoke, he added, “Oh, you should be aware that once this exorcism starts, there’s little chance it will stop. For the Reverends know well that demons are full of tricks and cunning. That a clever demon will pretend to talk as the child, will say anything to try and stop the tortures. So think hard, boys, once you leave my cabin, you’re in God’s hands. Now take a moment and consider. For this will be your last chance.”

The Captain strolled over to the window and pulled aside the curtain. The sound of hammering came into the room. “Are they readying the drowning cage already?” the Captain asked, addressing the Reverends.

The Reverend Senior nodded. “The Lord’s work should never wait.”

The Captain sighed. “No. No indeed.” He studied the boys. The wild-haired one, the boy with the scar on his face, he’d be lucky if he made it through the day, but there’d been no hope for that one anyway. The two in the middle looked scared, but stubborn. If only they could truly appreciate what was at stake. But the round-faced boy didn’t look stubborn. His eyes danced back and forth from the Reverend to the cup to the other boys. That one seemed to understand.

The Captain walked over, picked up one of the cups, and stood before the boys. “So who will drink with me?” He spoke to all of them, but his eyes were only on the round-faced boy.

The boy’s lips trembled as though he were trying to make himself speak. The Captain sat the cup down in front of him and untied his hands. The round-faced boy held his wrist to his chest and rubbed the rope burns as he stared at the water.

“Go on,” the Captain said. “There’s no harm in it.”

The boy bit his lip, his face tight as though in pain, then, slowly, he extended a dirty, trembling hand.

“Danny, no!” the boy next to him hissed.

Danny jerked his hand back as though bitten.

But the Captain smiled. He had his boy and knew it. The Captain picked the cup up, pulled Danny to his feet, and led the boy to the table, pulling out a chair and seating him. He put a hand on his shoulder and handed him the cup. “It’s all right,” he said, his voice soft, comforting, like when he used to talk to his own children. “It’s all over. The nightmare. The horrible things they made you do. All over.”

Danny clasped the cup in both hands and put it to his lips. He took a big gulp, then another, and another until he gasped and choked and finally broke down and began to sob. The Captain refilled the cup.

“YOU LITTLE FUCK!” screamed the boy with the red bone in his hair.

The Captain nodded and one of the guards took a quick step over and kicked the wild-haired boy hard in the stomach. The boy doubled over, groaning, but still managed to glower at Danny.

The other two boys looked on with a mixture of confusion and despair.

It’s done, the Captain thought, and sighed. “I have my soldier.” He bowed to the Reverend Senior. “I thank you, your Grace. I leave the rest of them in your fair and compassionate hands.” As the two Reverends led the other three boys from the room, the Captain thought, And may God be merciful, because these twisted men will not.

Chapter Twenty-One Drowning Cage

Move along,” the Reverend Senior spoke in his cold, detached tone as the guards herded the boys back toward the town square. The second Reverend, a short man with a pinched nose and a protrusive overbite of jagged teeth—which made him look like a mole to Nick—trailed along beside them, his hands clasped together as though in prayer, staring at them with wide, pitying eyes.

Nick heard the commotion of the crowd. He tried to swallow and winced from the sharp pain in his parched throat. He found himself wishing he’d taken the water. All this talk of torture, it was a bluff, surely? A ploy? Then why was he so scared? Was it too late to change his mind? To fall to his knees and beg a cup of water? He wanted to hate Danny, but he’d almost given in himself. Would have, if he’d thought for a minute he could actually trust the Captain or any of these men. Because this whole situation was beyond hopeless, it was ridiculous. If not so tragic, it would be laughable. Both sides so blinded by their fear and hate of each other that they couldn’t see they were all fighting for the same thing—for the men to leave this island. Insanity!

Nick couldn’t fathom how many had died on both sides because they couldn’t do as simple a thing as talk to each other. And if they had, would it have helped? Nick didn’t believe so. The Lady would never have lifted the Mist, because she would’ve never trusted the men to leave, would only have feared the coming of more men. Both sides had been doomed the moment the men had set foot on Avalon, and that was the simple, tragic truth of this whole nightmare.

Nick heard a cry ahead, followed by a cheer. Oh, no. What now?

The guards pushed them into the square. Nick was confronted by sullen-faced men and women gathered in front of the church, but none of them paid him any heed, all their attention fixed on the large cross set atop a platform. “Oh, God,” Nick gasped. Strapped to the cross was Peter.

They’d crucified him, binding his hands, feet, and neck tightly to the post with rope. They’d stripped him down to his waist, and Nick saw several angry welts across Peter’s arms and chest and a fresh gash across his brow. Blood ran down Peter’s cheek and dripped onto his chest. The giant bald man stood beside him, a short lash in his hand. Peter’s eyes were closed, his face tight, lips pursed.

Nick, Leroy, and Redbone were left with the guards as the Reverend Senior went forward and gained the stage. Low murmurs ran through the crowd. The Reverend Senior stepped up and raised his staff. The crowd quieted. There was an atmosphere of excitement in the air like before the main event at a carnival.

“We’ve been plagued for far longer than an age by this child of Lucifer.” The Reverend swept a hand toward Peter. “But now we have him. Proof that God has not abandoned us. Proof that our sacrifices are not in vain. Proof that we are God’s chosen warriors. Lucifer has sent his own son to harry us, to test our faith. Today we send his son back. Back into the fetid pits of Hell from whence he came!” The Reverend smacked his staff on the platform and the crowd erupted in a jovial cheer, with several shouts of “Praise God” and “Amen.”

The Reverend looked over to the giant bald man. “Ox, we are ready?”

The giant man pulled on a thick leather glove, stepped over to a black pot, and plucked an iron brand from a bed of red coals. He held the end up, for the crowd to admire a glowing cross. The crowd murmured its approval. The Reverend Senior nodded, then left the platform. Ox moved toward Peter.

The mole-faced Reverend leaned over. “Pay close attention, children. Let the demons amongst you see this very well. Let them see what awaits and maybe they will run off and your souls will be saved.”

The painful knot in Nick’s stomach told him what was going to happen and begged him to turn away. But Nick couldn’t, and when the giant pushed the brand into Peter’s chest, Nick saw Peter’s eyes flash open, saw him clench his teeth and struggle not to scream as his flesh sizzled beneath the brand.

The mole-faced Reverend grinned, and what Nick saw was not the face of the devout, but the simple lewdness of a sadist.

Peter writhed against his bounds, his breath racing in and out of his chest as fast as a bird beats its wings. And somehow, through it all, Peter didn’t scream. When Ox finally pulled the brand away, Peter’s eyes rolled up into his head.

It was then, as the smell of burned flesh took Nick back to Marko, to the kitchen, that Nick knew it was all real. Knew that before this day was over, he’d wish he was with Marko, wish he was anywhere but in this nightmare.

“No,” Nick moaned and began to tremble all over. “No.” His small voice was lost among the cheers and