The Making of Michael Bishop Read online



  The Making of Michael Bishop:

  A Realm Walker short story

  By Kathleen Collins

  Copyright 2014 Kathleen Collins

 

  Cold, oppressive darkness engulfed Michael D’Augustino, pressing against him as he maneuvered his way down the curved staircase to the chambers below. The craggy stone beneath his palm bit into his flesh as he leaned against the wall, used it to guide his way ever lower. He had brought a lantern with him but, at the last moment, left it at the top of the stairs, preferring to move by memory. Those ever present cries for help and pleas for mercy reached a crescendo when they saw light approaching. As if anyone would be coming to save them. Or perhaps it was sheer terror that fueled their screams. The fear that they would be the next one questioned.

  As Michael neared the last step, the odors that had been teasing his senses, hit him full force. He gagged and covered his nose with the sleeve of his robe as his eyes watered. The package beneath his other arm squirmed as it caught the scent as well. Michael pulled it more tightly against his body, squeezing it to keep it from escaping. He swallowed a throat full of bile and sucked a lungful of air through his mouth in an attempt to avoid the worst of the smell of death, blood and desperation. As he stepped into the dungeon proper, his eyes swept over the carnage before him. Numerous devices of cruelty filled the space, many of them still holding their latest victims as if they were a meal to which their tormentors planned to return.

  How he hated this place, this chamber where others of his order did their utmost to illicit confessions from the innocent to line their own purses. The nobility in a panic over the evil in their midst gave generously but Michael had no interest in any of it. He cared not for the money or the power they’d found with their hunt for evil. He was here for his mother, and by extension his father. Michael had been born a bastard, the result of an indiscretion between a chambermaid and a priest. A priest that had risen in rank to become a bishop. He sent money to Michael’s mother but only if Michael did as he was told, only if he followed the man’s every whim.

  Michael had already marked himself a failure in his father’s eyes by refusing to participate in the investigations. He glanced around at the people in their cells or frozen in mid-torment. Heretics, witches, devil worshipers, all these labels and more had been given to them. Most of them were no more guilty of these deeds than he. But they would confess in the end; they all did. If they didn’t, the questioning killed them. The end result was the same—death at the hands of a church that no longer knew the meaning of compassion. He shuddered at the evil they had become and all in the name of God. Michael crossed himself and kept his head down as he hurried through the room.

  He shouldn’t be here alone and not this late, but he had a task to complete. One his father had set him on. He shifted the bundle under his arm again as it wriggled against his side. According to his father, this was the only way for Michael to make amends for his weakness. While he couldn’t care less what his father thought of him, he did care that his father had threatened to quit sending his mother her stipend if Michael didn’t fall in line.

  On the far side of the room, in the darkest corner was Michael’s destination. Of course it was, he thought. It wouldn’t do to have the clandestine goings on of the clergy taking place anywhere else. His instructions were clear. Keep his distance, feed the creature and leave. It was a simple enough task. Every night he unlocked the door, threw in the evening meal and locked the door again. He had never laid eyes on the abomination within, nor did he have any desire to do so.

  As he approached the heavy door, he tugged at the strip of leather tied about his neck. The key hidden beneath his robes slid along his skin as he pulled it out. He unlocked the door, took a deep breath and pushed it open to toss the bundle he’d been carrying inside. Ignoring its squeal of protest, he pulled the door shut and relocked it. He listened for a long moment but the panicked sounds of an animal in distress did not come. Nor did the other sounds of feeding he’d grown accustomed to hearing

  “You in there,” he called out softly, “what’s the trouble?”

  No response.

  He glanced around. “Hello?” he said louder than before but it was still little more than a harsh whisper. Again there was no response and he dare not get any louder lest he alert the whole dungeon of his presence. He couldn’t bear the screams or the cries for mercy.

  Michael debated what to do. It was his task to ensure the creature ate. If he failed, his father assured him his punishment would be severe. There was no alternative, he would have to go inside and see for himself what ailed their prisoner.

  An unlit torch hung on the wall beside the cell and Michael took the flint from the table beneath it. His hands shook as he tried in vain to light the torch. Finally, it sparked and flared to life. With trembling fingers, he pulled it from the wall and reopened the door. Stepping quickly inside, he shut the door behind him and pressed his back to it. He could not risk anything escaping, animal or otherwise.

  Darkness recoiled from the flickering flame and receded before him. There along the back wall a huddled form. Michael’s pulse raced and his palms grew slick with moisture. He adjusted his grip on the torch. He both anticipated and feared the moment the creature revealed itself.

  “I can smell you, priest,” it said, without lifting its head. When Michael didn’t respond, it looked up, squinting its eyes against the light. Michael was careful not to meet its gaze directly. His father told him the creature could ensnare with a look.

  He was struck by how normal the man—the vampyr, he corrected himself—looked. Emaciated from his captivity perhaps, but otherwise his blond hair and dark eyes could have belonged to anyone. Any human. This was not the beast Michael had been led to believe was imprisoned here. Was this another innocent falsely accused? No, Michael had heard it kill and eat the animals he brought to it. Whatever it was, it was not purely human. He needed to remember that.

  “You’re the timid one. If they sent you, they must intend for me to live another day yet,” its abused voice croaked.

  The creature’s words had an echo of the bishop in them. Pointing out Michael’s flaws, his inability to hurt another as if it was something to be ashamed of. “Why do you say that?”

  “You feed me, heal me. You have never injured me.” The voice sounded so pained, Michael cringed in sympathy. The creature detected it, though it misinterpreted the cause. “You have no reason to fear me. You have done me no wrong.”

  “I am uncertain of that,” Michael said. “If I were a merciful man, I would not continue to bring you food.”

  The vampyr’s dark eyes studied him, the flickering flame of the torch reflected in their depths. “Why do you say that?”

  “They only heal you so they can torture you afresh on the morrow. If I did not feed you, you would not heal and perhaps they would leave you be. For a day at least.”

  “Do you honestly believe that?”

  Michael shook his head. If it didn’t heal, the bishop would only torture it further to find out why. “Abomination you may be, but no one deserves an existence of endless torture.”

  The vampyr chuckled, a low sound, halting as if he’d forgotten how to laugh. “Don’t be so sure of that, timid one. I can think of many who deserve the punishment I have been given, even if I am not one of them.”

  Michael shifted his weight on his feet, anxious to be gone, but he was not permitted to leave until the vampyr fed. Those were the bishop’s orders, and no one disobeyed the bishop. Least of all his own son. “Why are you not eating?” Michael asked when it just continued to stare at him instead of moving. The piglet he’d brought with him oinked softly in the corner. r />
  The creature held tattered, bent and broken hands in front of him. Michael’s stomach rolled in disgust. The fingernails had been pulled from their beds and all the fingers were visibly broken, some in more than one location. The hands themselves appeared to be crushed as well. The thought of the agony that must accompany such brutal injuries took Michael’s breath. No matter how many times he bore witness to the atrocities committed by his peers, their savagery never ceased to surprise him. This wasn’t right. Just kill the creature and be done with it. But his father was obsessed with the vampyr, with figuring out its origins and the secret to its longevity. By the vampyr’s own admission it was two hundred years old. Whether it spoke the truth was anyone’s guess, but the bishop believed, and that was all that mattered.

  “I will require your assistance to feed, priest.”

  Michael stared for a moment, unsure. He had been warned to keep his distance, to never approach the prisoner. But he’d also been informed in vivid detail what would happen should he fail to see the vampyr fed every evening. Unbelievably he realized that he feared his father more than the abomination before him. Then again, he had seen the bishop in action and knew exactly what he was capable of. He’d seen none of the ferocity his father spoke of from this injured creature before him.

  “Remain there,” Michael said, holding a hand out in front of him as if that would keep the creature at bay. He placed the torch in the holder on this side of the door. He wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead and wondered again if he was doing the right thing. This entire scenario was so beyond his mediocre capabilities. He shuffled across the floor, doing his best to keep as much distance between himself and the prisoner as possible.

  The piglet backed into the corner as he approached. As long as it didn’t run he’d be fine. He’d already had to catch it once this evening and he didn’t relish the thought he might have to do so again. Scooping up the animal just as it prepared to bolt, he held it in both hands and carried it to the vampyr.

  “I cannot hold it to bite, priest. You must cut it for me.”

  “Cut it?”

  “If you do not have a blade, I am certain there are more than enough to choose from in the outer room.”

  Michael kept a small, rarely used knife tucked in his belt, but he had never killed anything before and was uncertain he could now. He tucked the piglet against his body and braced it with one arm. With the other hand, he drew the knife, his hands trembling. The abomination must be fed. With a shudder, Michael ran the blade across the animal’s throat. The squeal of pain made him cringe. Blood flowed freely from the pig as Michael dropped the blade and grasped the animal in both hands.

  He held it out in front of him like an offering, hoping to get no more blood on himself than he already had, and approached the creature. Battered, broken hands reached up, grasped Michael’s arms as best they could and pulled him forward. The vampyr’s mouth closed greedily around the piglet’s wound. Michael turned his head to the side, unable to watch. If he had use of his hands, he would have covered his ears to shut out the sucking sounds as the creature fed.

  It was shortly after he had this thought that Michael realized the vampyr now held him in a strong grip, the hands no longer crushed, the fingers straight and strong. Michael tried to pull away, to regain his distance, but he was trapped. The lifeless body of the pig fell to the floor between them and still the vampyr did not release him. “Do not fear me, timid one. I will not hurt you. No, I believe I will give you a gift.”

  “I…I don’t understand.”

  “Of course you don’t. For what I offer is far beyond anything you could possibly imagine.” It lowered its lips to Michael’s wrist, tugging him closer in the process. Michael grunted his disagreement but was petrified with fear. The creature’s teeth sinking into his tender flesh released him from the spell. He pulled and tugged, his feet scrambling beneath him, but none of it did any good.

  The abomination looked up from his meal, Michael’s blood coating his lips in thick crimson. The sight made Michael’s head swim. The vampyr increased the pressure on Michael’s arm. “I do not wish to hurt you, priest but I will if necessary.”

  This could not be happening. It was some flawed, horrible dream. “Release me.”

  Its eyes narrowed, flashed in defiance. “No. You are mine now. Your kind owes me. They killed all of my children. There is no one but me and I don’t like to be alone, priest.”

  Michael tried again to struggle, to break away, and the grip tightened further. The pressure increased until Michael howled in pain and the sound of breaking bone echoed in the cell. As the creature continued to drink, it squeezed on the now shattered arm. Pain tore through Michael and spots filled his vision. A moment longer and he fell into the blessed relief of darkness.