The Demons We See Read online

  The Demons We See

  Book 1 of the Dark Abyss of Our Sins series

  Krista D. Ball

  THE DEMONS WE SEE

  Society was rocked when the Cathedral appointed Allegra, Contessa of Marsina, to negotiate the delicate peace talks between the rebelling mage slaves and the various states. Not only was she a highborn mage, she was a nonbeliever and a vocal objector against the supposed demonic origins of witchcraft. Demons weren’t real, she’d argued, and therefore the subjection of mages was unlawful.

  That was all before the first assassination attempt. That was before Allegra heard the demonic shrieks. All before everything changed. Now Allegra and her personal guards race to stabilize the peace before the entire known world explodes into war with not just itself, but with the abyss from beyond.

  So much for demons not being real.

  Copyright 2016 by Krista D. Ball

  Cover art by Tommy Arnold

  Cover typography by http://www.aroundthepages.com/

  Editing by M.L.D. Curelas

  Print Layout by http://indigochickdesigns.com/

  THE DARK ABYSS OF OUR SINS

  The Demons We See

  The Nightmares We Know (forthcoming 2018)

  The Sins We Seek (forthcoming 2019)

  Dedication

  This book would not have been possible without the unwavering faith and support of fellow author and dinobot A. Merc Rustad.

  I highly recommend you read Merc’s essay, Exponentially Hoping, (http://www.jimchines.com/2015/02/exponentially-hoping-rustad/) and check out their website and SFF works at https://amercrustad.com/

  Warning: Merc is obsessed with dinosaurs and robots. You have been warned.

  Status Quo

  Lady Acardi’s Summer Residence

  Southern Cartossa

  He listened helplessly as the royal guards stormed into the great foyer of the estate. Crammed into a hidden corridor with six other mages, he couldn’t help their protector if any of them were found. So they all waited, listened, and hoped.

  Lady Acardi spoke first. “General, why have you barged into my home uninvited?”

  General Bonacieux’s voice was loud and unyielding. “By the authority of Queen Portia and the Holy Cathedral, you are accused of being an elemental witch.”

  One of the mages behind him gasped. Walter kicked her in the shin. The mage made another muffled sound of protest before she settled down. If the Butcher of Fort Bonnet even thought he heard voices in the walls, he’d burn the ancient estate to the ground before risking a mage run free.

  Lady Acardi laughed, a mocking sound. “Starve in the abyss, you upstart pissant. How dare you come in here and accuse me, a woman of the blood, to be an elemental! You have no proof.”

  “I have the authority of the Queen and I require no proof, witch bitch.” He paused to regain his composure. “Property to be forfeit and all assets seized, pending investigation.”

  “You swine! I’ll never see a trial and we both know it. You’ll have all of my money spent before I’m crushed to death in a mine explosion.”

  “You can choose to kill yourself now and save us the expense of a trial.”

  Even through the walls, it was clear Lady Acardi had spat in the General’s face. He couldn’t help but grin silently at her brass courage. His smile quickly faded, however, as he knew what would come next. It was the same thing over and over.

  The General’s voice turned enraged. “Guards! Arrest everyone in the house. If she won’t show herself the witch we know she is, then we’ll send the entire household to the prison mines.”

  “You bastard,” Lady Acardi snarled, even as she grunted and gasped. They must have attacked her. “There are children in this house!”

  “Then tell the truth, bitch, or they will all meet the same fate!”

  Don’t do it. Don’t do it. He didn’t dare speak the words aloud, but he prayed them as hard as he could, as if the Almighty would condescend, just this once, to intercede on a mage’s behalf. As ever, Almighty took the side of oppressors and murderers.

  Lady Acardi had spent a lifetime successfully hiding her talent from the world, so it didn’t surprise him what came next.

  The floor beneath their feet shook as Lady Acardi screamed, “Demons take you!”

  He was thrown against the wall as the house shook. Once he found his feet, he pushed his compatriots. “Go!” he whispered. “We have minutes before they discover the panel.”

  Lady Acardi’s screams died abruptly. He closed his eyes and asked the Almighty to accept her into His arms, for she had been good to mages. She had given her life in the fight for freedom.

  Almighty, if you care at all, protect us now.

  “The only good witch is a dead witch,” the General shouted. “Arrest everyone in the house for harboring an elemental mage.”

  “Run,” he said, as they rushed through the underground tunnels of the ancient stone house.

  “Where are we going to go, Walter?”

  He kept running, heart pounding, knowing that every step might be his last if the soldiers found the loose panel in the foyer. They’d be looking for it, too. They always looked for the secret doors and passageways.

  Finally, he said, “Just keep running.”

  Chapter 1

  Orsini Cathedral

  Papal Residence

  His Radiance Francois III, Holy Father of the Beloved

  My dearest friend,

  May the Grace of the Lord God Almighty find you in good health. News of the failed assembly reached me this morning. I am once again saddened to discover our lands continue toward conflict.

  I turn my gaze upon your leadership in this matter and realize, with much regret, that I have no understanding about your choices. Have the pressures of your station given you dementia? Another opportunity for peace lost because you refuse to appoint someone who understands the plight of the mage slaves. Appointing a slave owner, of all people, as Arbiter in this growing rebellion is like asking a demon over for tea and biscuits. Surely, you cannot be surprised when the demon destroys the party and kills all of your guests.

  Indeed, I hear that you have expressed astonishment that the former appointment of Lord Castigara as Arbiter made things worse. Castigara owns over a thousand slaves, nearly all of them mages, who he brutally forces to make endless magical trinkets for his personal army. Did you forget that this personal army has been accused by Viscount Perry as having been responsible for no fewer than eight acts of violence against his territories? Tell me, does political news reach the Cathedral or have you forgotten the people who pledge themselves to the faith under your leadership?

  The people need a strong Arbiter, trusted and respected by all sides. The mages—I refuse to use that vulgar word “witch” to describe my own kind—are rebelling against their masters, as is their right under the Holy Word of our Lady Tasmin, who wrote Tomas 11:45 that, “All men’s lives are their own, to worship the Almighty and to praise his name.”

  Yet, by appointing notorious brutes to mediate this crisis, you are saying that the Cathedral does not follow the word of Tasmin. And, wasn’t that the direct cause of the last full-scale war that sent our entire civilization backwards by five hundred years? Is this your brilliant plan?

  I offer my services as both one of the blood, as well as a mage. While I live in retirement, I am very eager to assist you in any way you see fit. Perhaps you could forward your list of potential candidates for the job and I shall curate them appropriately.

  I eagerly await your response.

  Allegra Vittoria Beatrice, Contessa of Marsina

  Borro Abbey

  Captain Stanton Rainier smirked at the Contessa’s
letter to the Holy Father. High rank had its privileges and he couldn’t fault her for using hers to say what was on the minds of many people, including his own. “Her wit is sharper than my sword.”

  “Don’t mistake sarcasm for wit,” the Holy Father said sourly.

  The two men sat in the priest’s personal chambers. Personally, Stanton liked the sitting room, though His Holiness found it stuffy and overblown. Stanton disagreed: it was the seat of power for the most powerful man in all of Serna. Stuffy and overblown was a requirement in Stanton’s opinion. “When did you receive the letter?”

  “Earlier in the week,” the Holy Father said as he sipped at his glass of wine. “I need your help, Rainier.”

  Stanton chuckled. “Surely you’re not going to make me write the lady?”

  Francois threw his head back and laughed. “Gracious blessings, no. I have a better task for you. Travel to Borro Abbey and retrieve her.” Francois’s smile turned vulpine. “Allegra thinks she can deal with this mess better than I, so I shall let her try.”

  “Your Holiness?” Stanton blinked at the older man. “What did the cardinals say?”

  Francois sighed heavily. The priest had aged a lot in the last two years. New lines seemed to daily etch themselves into Francois’s dark, blue-hued features. “Nothing. The inner council is…weary. They are willing to try anything once.”

  “You think this sarcastic noblewoman is the answer?”

  “Allegra is the highest woman of rank that is also a witch.” Francois rolled his eyes. “Mage. Whatever they call themselves these days. She is a notorious unbeliever, too, and lives permanently at Borro Abbey. She doesn’t own any slaves and her family are all supporters for witch slave rights. Mage slave…Blessings, why can’t people stick with the same word everyone else uses?” Francois sipped his wine. “Perhaps she can do better than the rest of us suffering the early symptoms of dementia.”

  Stanton smiled again at the Holy Father’s bitter words. “How is she going to make things better between the rebelling slaves and the nobles?”

  “The Contessa is well respected, even if she doesn’t appear at anyone’s Court anymore.” Francois swirled his red wine around in his crystal goblet. “She’s intelligent, resourceful, and is not afraid to speak her mind. She was properly educated, too, in not just the fine arts. She speaks and writes four languages, she is skilled in diplomacy, rhetoric, philosophy, and economics.”

  “She sounds more qualified than most kings,” Stanton said dryly.

  His Holiness laughed. “Yes, she is.”

  “Can she stop the rebellion?”

  Francois put his goblet down on the table. He considered his words carefully before speaking. “That’s the heart of it all, isn’t it? Is there anyone who can stop this damnable rebellion before it escalates into full-scale warfare and slaughter? I do not want to live to see the great nations of Serna crumble under that.”

  Stanton didn’t have a reply, for the question was far greater than any one man could answer: could they be turned from the path they were now on? For two years now, enslaved and indentured witches rebelled against the yoke their masters wrapped around their necks. Whenever the masters tightened the leash, the slaves yanked harder at their own end. Runaway witches risked their lives to free their compatriots. Sympathizers risked their property and titles to hide the runaway slaves. And as nations and city-states cracked down on any pockets of resistance, word spread and ten more pockets cropped up in defiance.

  The ecclesiastic edicts for calm and peace were unheeded, but Stanton knew the lily-watered sermons carried no weight with the three most powerful nations in Serna. Queen Portia of Cartossa, for example, was a mere sixteen-year-old girl in charge of the largest and most technologically advanced army. She followed her late father’s advisors and dedicated her policies to the complete enslavement of all magical practitioners.

  Queen Portia’s advisors would never tell her to heed anything but papal law. Directives, opinions, and desires were for everyone else. The Council of Cardinals would never excommunicate Queen Portia specially nor Cartossa generally. The cold fact was Cartossa brought in too many golden sovereigns in taxes, tithes, and papal donations for the Cathedral to ever turn its back on them and their heavy purse.

  “You don’t approve of my plan?”

  Stanton smiled at the Holy Father. Even with the pressures of his position, Pope Francois remained a vibrant, energetic man. Still well in his prime of life, Francois was decades younger than any of his nearest cardinal rivals. His election to the papal chair still remained a shock to the establishment, and Stanton did enjoy how Francois held his power like a shard of obsidian. Francois could be a glossy, mesmerizing stone that, when stuck, morphed into a deceptively sharp edge that could—and did—slice through his enemies.

  Stanton had known Francois a long time, since before he was the Holy Father. So he knew better than to disagree with the Almighty’s messenger. “Actually, I was thinking you have more gray in your beard than last I saw you.”

  Francois laughed in his rich, basso voice. He stroked his graying chin whiskers. “Yes, well, age catches up to all of us. It will soon find you, my friend.”

  “I’m more worried about baldness than the gray,” Stanton said.

  That made the priest laugh. “Not all of us were blessed with hair that stayed past our fortieth birthday. Now, be honest, tell me what you think of my plan, knowing that I’m not going to change my mind regardless of your reply.”

  Stanton grinned. “Well, you haven’t tried appointing a witch. There are worse plans. The Contessa of Marsina. That’s quite a title. Is it hers or by marriage?”

  “Oh, it’s hers,” Francois said. “She’s unmarried, and likely to remain so. Her brother, the Viscount of Rence, maintains the day-to-day management of her seat of power, but she is an active enough landlord, even if she lives in retirement. She is the richest woman in Amadore and among the richest in all of Serna outside of royal families. Well, actually, including several royal families. She basically owns most of northern Amadore.”

  Stanton considered the point. “So she is a wealthy, privileged, titled woman of the blood. She’s also a witch. She lives in an abbey, but isn’t overly religious.”

  Francois snorted. “She’s practically blasphemous.”

  “I hate to say, Father, but she might be perfect. All of the viscounts and princes from the city-states will love her. The witches might actually send representatives this time from the various factions because one of their own will be leading the discussion.”

  “When can you leave to retrieve her?”

  “I’ll leave with a few Consorts in the morning. The roads aren’t safe for unaccompanied carriages and I’m sure she won’t want to ride horseback all the way here.”

  Francois scoffed. “She might surprise you.”

  The double doors opened and both men turned to see the new arrival. In strolled a lean man with smile lines around his narrow, hooded eyes. His straight, silver-streaked black hair was, as ever, pulled back and tied at the nape of his neck before breaking off into two braids. When he saw Stanton, his expression brightened.

  “Captain! I didn’t know you were in here. Am I interrupting?”

  Stanton waved to Francois’s husband. “Come on in, Pero. I was preparing to leave, in any case.” Turning to Francois, he asked, “Does Pero know her?”

  Pero strolled into the parlor and took a seat at their table. “Ah, Rupert has told you his master plan of making the Contessa of Marsina the Arbiter of Justice? I still remember the first time I met her. It was…bracing.”

  Stanton smiled at the Holy Father’s husband, one of the very few people who ever called him by his given name in front of others. The privilege of spouses, he supposed. Perhaps one day, he would have his own spouse to breach etiquette rules, too.

  “I know nothing about her. What’s she like?”

  “In a word, opinionated,” Pero said, grinning. “
In two words, very opinionated. In three words, stunningly very opinionated.”

  Stanton laughed at that and sipped at his own glass of wine. He only sipped, not liking wine first thing in the morning. However, he didn’t wish to be rude and not take at least some of the drink. “What did the cardinals say when you told them your plan?”

  “Their responses were typical,” Francois said.

  Pero rolled his eyes. “Here we go.”

  “Don’t be like that,” Francois said, his voice laced with annoyance. “We’re all frustrated, and quite worried. If violence escalates, this rebellion could destabilize the entire area. We could have civil war! We could even devolve into full-scale warfare, with states attacking each other and themselves. Over what? Witch rights? That’s hardly worth dying over.”

  “That’s the only good reason for a war, Rupert!” Pero exclaimed, throwing his hands up in disgust. “What else says faithful than the willingness to get your hands dirty?”

  “We are not talking about a little mud. We are talking blood.”

  “Blood that our Guardians shed to seal the demon gates! Yes, we should shed that blood now!”

  Stanton knew better than to get in the middle of the Holy Father’s domestic dispute, so he let the two argue it out without his input. As he listened to the long-time married couple, Stanton was filled with the opposing feelings of loneliness that he had no one to share such arguments…and the relief that there was no such person in his life.

  “Pero, we’ve been over this. There is no freedom in starvation.”

  “Yes, yes, yes! I’ve heard the saying before and it is meaningless. The desire for freedom, however fleeting, is a potent one. Denying that basic existence to people who are slightly different than ourselves is an offense against the Lord Almighty.” Pero glanced at Stanton and offered a bashful grin. “But, I shall save the remainder of the abolition lecture for suppertime.”