Samuel leaned in, hanging on his father’s words. They’d never discussed his father’s findings.
“But she may be under the influence of a demon. Possessed. A child inflicted and tormented by darkness.”
The mayor set down his tea.
“What are you trying to say, cleric?”
His father folded his hands, rubbing his thumbs together.
“In the book of Zephereli, the dark ones are described as black winged creatures that have no form. The child has human flesh.”
“Possession,” the mayor repeated.
“Yes,” his father answered. “With prayer, with Azhuel’s guidance, we may be able to bring her out from the darkness. An exorcism, if you will.”
The mayor nodded to himself, and Charles tapped his shoes on the floor.
“Help me, cleric. I am not a man of faith, as I’ve told you before, so I want to be clear. You believe the child is not a demon, but that it is under the influence of one?”
His father nodded.
The mayor took another a sip of tea before rolling his tongue around the end of his pipe. “And you propose deliverance for the creature?”
“If the exorcism works, the child would be free from torment. She could find peace. Is that not what she deserves?”
The mayor puffed hard into his pipe, his tongue rolling against the inside corner of his cheek. “As a noble servant of Haid and the whitelands, I could never in good faith endorse the performance of a religious ceremony other than the rites of the dead. This is clearly outlined by the Laevis Creed. You should know this, cleric.”
Samuel’s father held the scriptures tightly. His jaw clenched behind his thick beard. The mayor rose to his feet, and Charles shifted erratically.
“You talk of that creature as if it were a human. It has the eyes of a wolf and the ability to rip a man to pieces with one little arm.” The mayor glanced at Charles. “You call it a girl, a ‘she,’ yet it has no genitalia. Did you know that?”
Samuel’s father straightened his back. “No.”
“Neither did I! Until recently. Perhaps you should ask your son.” The mayor removed the pipe and waved it at Samuel. “I heard about what you did, boy. How you communicated with the demon child, risking your own life. I could use more men like you.”
“Pardon me, good mayor.”
The mayor chuckled. “Oh, you didn’t hear about our boys and the little adventure they had the other day?”
Samuel looked ahead, doing everything he could to avoid his father’s gaze.
Charles cleared his throat. “It was my fault.”
The mayor scowled. “Thankfully, our lady doctor knows better than to try and keep secrets from me. If things had ended differently, well, be sure this would be another conversation entirely. He may not look like much, but your bastard is quite exceptional.”
Samuel’s throat went dry, and he swallowed spit.
“Samuel,” the mayor said warmly. “That’s your name, isn’t it? My son tells me the demon has taken a liking to you.”
Charles gave a quick nod.
“Yes, sir,” Samuel said. “I suppose.”
The mayor put his hand on Samuel’s shoulder, the pipe between his thick fingers. Samuel could feel the heat. His shoulders shuddered; the mayor’s hand emanated authority and power. “I think I might have an offer for you, boy. The sheriff is down a patrolman. How would you like to work for our great town in a more practical way? Patrolman would be your title, of course. You’ll be placed on my payroll. Basic-level salary, but for you, there will be plenty of opportunities for increase based on performance. But unofficially, you would work as the demon’s caretaker. Every day you’d visit it, feed it, tend to its needs. I can’t put my faith in these other simpletons. These other patrolmen are only good for following basic orders. But you, my boy. There’s something special about you. You’re obedient to your mayor, are you not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well. Will you take the job?”
Samuel could hardly believe the words he was hearing. A patrolman? He would have a state-sanctioned job with a living wage? He wouldn’t have to be a cleric?
He nodded a bit too eagerly.
“Wonderful,” the mayor said. He squeezed Samuel’s shoulder tighter. “You will start on Monday. Listen, lad. I want you to become more acquainted with the demon. Learn its preferences and tendencies. Essentially, I want you to gain its trust. By getting it to trust you, you’re getting it to trust me. Do you understand?”
Samuel didn’t, but he nodded.
“If I may,” his father interjected. He stood up. “The boy is more than a month shy of sixteen, and a full year away from becoming of legal age. By the law of our state, he is unable to begin a profession. He’s my son. As atonement for my sins and the sins of his mother, his destiny must be with the clergy.”
The mayor clicked his tongue. “I will do what I want.”
“Even if what you do is in direct violation with the Laevis Creed?”
The mayor removed his hand from Samuel, frowning.
“Are you implying that I’m breaking the law, cleric?”
His father paused briefly as if calculating the consequence of his next words. He loosened his grip on the scriptures, and they nearly slipped onto the floor.
“Of course not, sir.”
The mayor coughed, and his belly shook. “Excuse me.” He took another drag from the pipe. “I am not leaving the decision to you, cleric. It’s the lad’s choice to make. If he wants to be a cleric, I can find ways to arrange—”
“No,” Samuel interjected.
The mayor grinned. “So. Will you take the job?”
Samuel blinked heavily, ignoring the desperate glare from his father.
There was nothing to say but yes.
Samuel rolled his shoulder as he hurled the knife forward. The blade hit its target. He walked over to the pine and grabbed the wooden handle, yanking the knife out from the bark. The day was nearly over, the sunlight peeping through gaps in the pine needles hanging above his head. Trudging farther back, he adjusted his frames in an effort to see more clearly. He never had trouble applying the correct amount of force behind the knife or getting the blade to stick. Once he’d gotten down the mechanics, it wasn’t that hard. When thrown correctly, the knife would go about three lengths of itself per rotation. He only had difficulty with precision in long-distance aiming. Farther than six meters, the target became hazy, and it was near impossible for Samuel to hit the bull’s-eye.
He drew his arm behind him and threw the knife again. This time the blade landed a few inches below the X he’d carved into the tree bark. This would be his last day living with his father. Samuel would be moving in with the sheriff, who’d returned from his trip to the greenlands the same day the mayor offered Samuel the job of caretaker. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to feel, but he was happy. He could be normal. Be touched. Even have a family of his own if he wanted to. He imagined what it would be like to be held by a lover or to hold his own child. He wouldn’t have to be a cleric. The clergy was a collection of low-standing men, some of them orphaned boys and some petty criminals receiving pardons in return for serving the cloth, that kept ancient traditions alive in an attempt to appeal to the common person’s fears of death and the afterlife. Samuel wasn’t a criminal or an orphan, but being a cleric’s bastard meant he was guaranteed to a life of clerical service. The high council vowed that they would see to it. What better way to represent Azhuel’s grace than to have the living transgression of a cleric taking up the scriptures and being marked with the roots on his forearm? His dreams of being rescued from his destiny were childish. Until now.