Chapter 45: Chapter 45

“Ah, welcome Indenuel,” Dalius said as he walked into the Cathedral. “I am anxious to get started!”

Indenuel tried to smile as Dalius lead him to his and Cristoval’s personal study at the Cathedral. All the High Elders had their own private rooms in the Cathedral itself. Indenuel sat down, eyeing Cristoval who mumbled something as he stared out the window.

“Now, your powers of speaking to the dead are strong,” Dalius said as Tolomon closed the door and stayed beside it.

“Really? I feel like this power is the weakest of the four,” Indenuel said.

“Oh? How so?” Dalius asked.

“It’s more sporadic and every time I specifically try to use it, I find I can’t.” Indenuel wanted to talk to Dalius about the Day of the Devil, but there had to be a way to ease that into the conversation.

“Well, I’d say that’s a pretty good description of this power,” Dalius said with a calming enough smile. “You see, speaking to the dead is difficult to pinpoint. It is seeing those who have passed on, and more often than not, it is up to God to decide when messages need to be delivered. One does not order God about.”

“So, for example, if I have a dream where… where I see someone, about how long before I probably will see him again?” Indenuel asked.

“Depends on a number of factors. If one is a speaker, and the other is not, it is far harder to predict when it will happen.”

“And if both are?” Indenuel asked.

“Regularly, but not every day. More like once a week, if God is willing. If you had something of this individual’s, it is far easier to pull them into the dream state,” Dalius said. Indenuel had nothing of Garen’s. His mother made sure of that. “Any particular reason?”

Indenuel shook his head. He didn’t want to imagine what Dalius’ face would be like if he admitted he saw his Oraminian father in a dream. “This power has always been difficult. Not a lot of spirits talk to me.”

“Well, I would hate to sound judgmental, but hearing about your religious upbringing, I believe I know why. This, more than any of the other four gifts, is closely tied to religion itself. The more we study God and His doctrine, the more we are able to give off the peace needed to bring those good spirits closer to us. And to drive demons away.”

“Yes, um… about that,” Indenuel said.

Dalius smiled. “Yes? Do you have a question?”

“You said before that demons on the Day of the Devil, they only ever tease?” Indenuel asked.

“Yes, yes they do,” Dalius said. “With a good, firm push of peace the demons usually leave you alone.”

“Even on the Day of the Devil?” Indenuel asked.

Dalius smile faltered. “Of course. That’s what I meant. God’s protection keeps the demons away.”

Indenuel’s heart began to beat even more. This is what he craved. He needed to talk to someone else about this. He needed to understand why the demons never listened to him. “What if they don’t listen to you on the Day of the Devil?”

Dalius was now frowning. He studied Indenuel more before slowly leaning back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “How about you describe to me what a normal Day of the Devil looks like for you?”

Indenuel paused, then gave a nod. “Alright. So, when I was about eight or nine, demons appeared in and out of houses, laughing and mocking. I can hear them, their black whispers make sense to me. They tell me all sorts of things, mocking and belittling me. When I tell them to leave, they just laugh.”

Dalius stared at Indenuel. “And… and have they ever tried to break the shield around you?”

“Yes!” Finally someone understood! “Granted, that hasn’t happened until the past year or two, but it’s terrifying! They’ve been pounding on me, screaming at me, trying to break my shield like they’re going to possess me! I don’t understand why they won’t leave me alone!”

Dalius continued to stare at Indenuel, the frown clear on his face. Slowly, ever so slowly, he sat up again, rearranging things on his desk before giving Indenuel a hard look. “That kind of reaction from demons only happen after someone has done a vile sin they haven’t confessed to. Like murder.”

Indenuel’s face fell. His heart stopped, and the room seemed to grow smaller. He adjusted in his own seat, hoping that it didn’t look like he was squirming as he forced himself back into an innocent roll he had been playing for a very long time. “Sorry, what?”

Dalius was not convinced. “Murder. Or attempted murder.”

The silence stretched between them, and Indenuel forced himself to not twitch. To not give anything away. “I always thought it was because I had all four gifts and was therefore more powerful. Could that be it?”

Dalius didn’t blink. “What you described, the demons on the Day of the Devil not listening and terrifying you, it only happens around people who have a lot of hate. The kind of hate strong enough to kill. Demons love that kind of energy and feed off it as much as they can. They start trying to break the shield once you’ve done it. I need to ask. Did you murder someone?”

“No,” Indenuel said, no emotion in his voice. And it was true. He never murdered anyone.

“Attempted it?” Dalius asked.

“No,” Indenuel said again, trying desperately not to let Dalius read anything on his face. 

“That story with your mother and that murdered man from your village?” Dalius asked.

Indenuel’s chest tightened, his breathing coming in far more frequently even as he tried to keep it normal and steady. “What about it?”

“Is there anything more you want to add to it? Now with this new knowledge we both have?” Dalius asked.

The energy of the room was changing. Indenuel forced himself to breath easily, to blink normally, to keep his shoulders straight and his face unreadable. “There is nothing more, sir.”

Dalius narrowed his eyes, watching Indenuel carefully. He did what he could to not break out in a sweat. He remembered the story he told Martin between Mountain Pass and Tavi, remembered every detail, and more importantly, remembered the things he left out. Withholding information was easier than making up stories.

“Be that as it may, I would very much like to pay you a visit this upcoming Day of the Devil. I’d like to see for myself how they react around you,” Dalius said.

Indenuel swallowed before smiling. “I see no reason why not.”

Dalius stared at him again. “Eight or nine? That’s how long the demons acted? You could hear them? They never left when you asked them too?”

Hiding the four gifts had also taught him how to hide other aspects of himself too. He remembered again why he didn’t like opening up to other people. “Yes. Since I was eight or nine,” he forced himself to reiterate.

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Dalius frowned. “You have been full of dangerous hate for a very, very long time.” Indenuel said nothing. There was no point in trying to persuade Dalius that he wasn’t. Dalius gathered some papers, setting them to one side. “I had a plan for our first day, but I think we better work on this instead.”

“Work on what?”

“You need to let go of this anger toward your village. You need to forgive them.”

“I have.” Dalius gave him a look that caused anger to build. “There is nothing to forgive. I am not angry at them.”

“Not angry that they considered your mother a witch? Not angry that you were forced to hide who you were for reasons you don’t understand? It’s fine to feel angry and hurt, Indenuel. It’s not right to bottle them up and let them fester. That’s what causes people to murder.”

“I’m not a murderer,” Indenuel said.

“I never said you were,” he said in a way that he somehow knew exactly what Indenuel was hiding.

He clenched his fists, fingernails biting into his palms. Dalius was a High Elder, someone who heard the confessions of thousands of people. He probably knew exactly what to look for. Sweat broke out onto Indenuel’s hairline.

“So difficult,” Cristoval mumbled. Indenuel almost leapt out of his seat. He turned to look at the elderly man in the wheelchair.

“Pardon?” Indenuel asked.

Cristoval wasn’t looking at him. He was pointed toward the window, looking out over Santollia City. “Oppression, hardship, hate, murder. So much pain. So much suffering.” Cristoval’s eyes looked as though they were a flickering golden color. The hairs on the back of Indenuel’s neck stood straight up. The old man stared out the window yet stared at nothing at the same time. “I did this. I caused this. I will meet my end.”

Indenuel closed his eyes, trying hard not to shiver. “What is he talking about?”

Dalius shrugged. “As I said. His powers are growing as he gets closer to giving up his mortal body and passing on to the next life. When his eyes flicker like that, he’s probably seeing into the past or the future. Most of what he says is gibberish, though. We can’t make it out.”

“It sounds like he… he just saw how he was going to die,” Indenuel said.

“Die,” Cristoval mumbled at the same time Indenuel said the word. “So much death everywhere.”

This was not what Indenuel needed right now.

“We can of course suppose what he says, but there’s little else we can do. Cristoval hasn’t been here, if you know what I mean, for about seven or so years,” Dalius said.

Cristoval went silent, watching the spirits only he could see flit about the room. Indenuel was uneasy.

“There is little I can do unless you too are willing to put forth the effort,” Dalius said.

Indenuel didn’t look at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Confession. I cannot help you unless you confess,” Dalius said.

“Confess to what? I didn’t do anything.”

Dalius gave a sigh, then he pulled out a book and opened it. It looked like a calendar. He turned a couple pages before grabbing a quill and dipping it in ink. He wrote Indenuel’s name on it. “The matter is closed, then. Should you wish to open it again, I am here for you. I will still request I be there with you on the Day of the Devil.” He underlined Indenuel’s name twice. “Something tells me you are going to need my help on that day, anyway.” He blew the ink dry before shutting the book again. “Let’s move on.”

The smile was barely there on Indenuel’s face. “Perfect.”

The training couldn’t be done soon enough. When Dalius finally dismissed him, Indenuel gave a quick bow before leaving.

“Indenuel?” Tolomon asked. He winced. Once again, he forgot there was an audience to his conversation with Dalius. He tried to ignore Tolomon, but he was impossible to ignore if he didn’t want to be. Tolomon grabbed his shoulder. “Wait.”

“What is it?”

“What happened back there?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tolomon gave him a dry smile. “Do you honestly think you are talking to someone who’s never murdered before? As your bodyguard, it’s important I know what to expect.”

“Expect for what?”

“Confession is vital. If the demons give you grief, you need to take the necessary actions to get them to stop before things get worse.” Tolomon held up his two hands. “I can’t punch demons.”

Indenuel was reminded of Tolomon’s threat yesterday. This wasn’t about Inessa, but he needed to stop this before Tolomon got any ideas. “There is little I can do. I didn’t murder anyone. I’ve never even plotted anyone’s murder. I don’t know why the demons are acting like they do.” Only one of those sentences were true, and Indenuel could only hope Tolomon bought it.

“Don’t be a stubborn ass.”

“Clearly Dalius doesn’t understand the reason why they act like they are and jumped to conclusions. I’ve lasted this long on the Day of the Devil, I can last a little longer until we figured the real reason out.”

Tolomon shook his head. “I’ll give you points for believability, but you cannot keep this up. I’ve known Graduates who don’t confess, and it eats them alive. You’ve got to take High Elder Dalius up on his offer before the Day of the Devil. Please.”

Indenuel tried not to glare at Tolomon. He remembered telling Martin the story of the accidental murder. Told him everything he had told the three councilmen of Mountain Pass. Told the story so much he started to believe it was real. But he couldn’t confess the truth. He didn’t exactly like the High Elders. They were turning out to be hypocrites, and he hated hypocrites.

Not only that, he had received a letter from the children that morning, proclaiming they were on the main road, that much closer to Santollia City, which also meant Andres and Lola were that much closer, too. They would arrive a week or two before the Day of the Devil. If Indenuel confessed the truth, said what happened, he knew what Andres’ reaction would be. He'd rather go years suffering the terror of the Day of the Devil rather than admitting Andres was right.

“I’m hungry,” Indenuel said, heading straight for the carriage. “Let’s go home and get some lunch.”

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