The Cost VIII

The creature’s green fingers closed around the blade.

“I shall make you…”

The blade was falling, it fell again and again.

“…make you …”

Jonas let go of the blade and it fell.

“…make you…”

Green fingers closed around the blade, and Fairchild looked up. His eyes were nothing.

“I shall make you of power and gold.”

The squire let go of the blade, and it fell.

“I shall make you of…”

A squire stumbled through the dark and rain.

“…power and gold.”

Green fingers closed.

“…and gold.”

A boy said good bye to his friend. He left in the rain.

He let go of the sword. His eyes were nothing.

“I shall make you of power and gold.”

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The Cost II

Jonas closed the door behind him, the sound of rain hushed.

The grand entryway was covered with mushrooms. Sickly, purple and pulsing slightly – as if each bulb was taking a slow breath.

The green light bloomed from a pair of corpses sprawled on the marble stair. A pair of guards. The squire moved towards them, but then stopped. He didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to find the faces of old friends rotting on the steps. The light seemed to pour out of the vicious wounds on their neck and back, like an echo of blood, burning green and merry.

Jonas kicked the mushrooms aside in disgust and made his way up the steps.

At the top of the stair, a hand print had been charred into the wooden door. The squire placed his own hand next to it, to compare. The other hand  was thinner, long fingers splayed.

Is this the devil? Luthen’s devil?

The squire wiped the water out of his face, and entered the hall.