Chapter Twenty-Seven – Beelzebub’s daughter

Prince Hristockt had a difficult time recovering from his overdose of Andean salt and the treatment he had received at the hands of the incompetent foreign doctor. The loss of blood worsened the brain damage from the salt. The cuts became infected and resulted in a nasty fever that kept the youth in bed for days. Danka coldly watched that idiot foreigner as he performed one counter-productive procedure on the prince after another. She knew that she could have cured Hristockt in a couple of days, but no one in the palace would have believed her. Also, had she argued with the foreigner and attempted to take over the prince’s treatment, she would have unveiled herself as a Follower of the Ancients. She didn’t like the teenager anyway and was pleased to see him suffer. So, she simply sat in the corner as a spectator, working on various letters she had been given to transcribe.

After Prince Hristockt had recovered sufficiently to sit outside, Danka spent much of her daily routine during the final part of June and the first part of July in the garden watching over him. If he wanted something, she had to fetch it for him. She wandered about the palace, naked as always, going after books from the library, snacks from the kitchen, or wine from the Vice-Duke’s stash. She moved about freely, with a message penned on her back stating she was authorized to be in various rooms and that she was not to be questioned or interfered with as she ran her errands. The only item she was not authorized to fetch was Andean salt. However much his son wanted it, the Vice-Duke displayed enough common sense to keep it away from him.

Scribe # 8 was able to glance at a lot of documents as she ran about the Palace. As best she could, she memorized the information and worked on her notes, even while sitting next to the prince. She also wrote her observations of his condition, the procedures performed on him and their effect on his health, and his very slow convalescence. As she entered the Vice-Duke’s chamber to retrieve wine, she paid attention to the desk where the encryption device was located and copied information from new coding sheets and secret messages.

———-

The guard finally gave Scribe # 8 an explanation of what Ernockt’s group was doing with all of the information she was collecting. Their main concern was finding out who the True Believers had marked as suspicious or heretical individuals and thwart plans to arrest them. Another important goal was to frustrate the efforts of tax collectors and prevent farmers from being arrested and executed as tax evaders. Ernockt passed a lot of information to the Prophets of the Grand Temple so they could position sympathizers to seize control of True Believer parishes and to make sure that any attempt to seize a parish did not end in failure. All of the Vice-Duke’s messages to foreign leaders ended up in the hands of the Grand Duke. The Sovereign employed a couple of scribes to forge letters, so the Vice-Duke’s messages to his foreign co-conspirators were being re-written, as were the responses from abroad. Already a shipment of expensive imported items had been seized by “bandits” before they had the chance to enter the Duchy, along with two shipments of gold exiting the Duchy. The Grand Duke left the corrupt Royal Guards helping his rival in their positions, but provided them with falsified information. Ultimately the Grand Duke would frustrate the Vice-Duke by giving him the impression the guards had betrayed him and were the ones guilty of stealing the gold and imports.

Danka thought about the Grand Duke’s excellent group of informers who had allowed him to thwart the Lord of the Red Moon a few years before. Now he had set up a similar spying network against the Vice-Duke. She was part of that network and probably its most valuable member. Ironic, she had escaped from serving the Sovereign in 1755, only to unwittingly return to serving him four years later. The Grand Duke always seemed to win, always seemed to outsmart everyone else.

Scribe # 8 was not surprised to find out from the guard that her most significant contribution to her group was the encryption information. Ernockt had created an exact replica and was busy collecting and translating coded messages from the True Believers’ Bishop. The conspirator had discovered the Bishop and the Vice-Duke were planning a terror purge of tax evaders and suspicious individuals in the late summer: a mass arrest and execution of several thousand people around the Vice-Duchy in an effort to scare everyone else into conforming to the wishes of the two leaders. There was too much dissention and free-thinking in the Vice-Duchy, and the executions should resolve the problem and consolidate the Vice-Duke’s control over his subjects.

The guard concluded by speculating the conspirators might attempt to assassinate the Bishop before he had the chance to distribute arrest lists to the parishes and issue the final orders. If that were true, they would have to conduct the assassination within the next few weeks.

———-

Prince Hristockt slowly recovered throughout the first half of July. Scribe # 8 knew he’d recover a lot faster if that idiot doctor from western Europe would just leave him alone, but she was not in a position to say anything about the treatments. Even had she been able to help, she would have kept her mouth shut because she enjoyed watching the degenerate weakling suffer. However, in spite of everything, he did slowly recover and spent increasing amounts of time outside.

By July 15 the prince felt well enough to make a pilgrimage to the cathedral in a town called Sihidikti Ris, which was located at the far eastern edge of the Duchy. Danka had heard about Sihidikti Ris: it was supposed to be have the most spectacular setting of any Danubian town, surrounded by sheer cliffs on the east, northeast, and southeast sides. Perched high on one of those cliffs was a True Believers’ house of worship containing the largest Virgin Mother statue in the entire Duchy.

The most important summer mass of the Old Believers was traditionally held on August 2. The mass was the opening event of the annual meeting between the Bishop and other important dignitaries, during which the Church hierarchy planned their activities for the rest of the year. Prince Hristockt announced that he wanted to go to the mass in Sihidikti Ris to receive a blessing from the Bishop. It seemed like a good idea to everyone in the inner palace, so much that the Vice-Duke decided his heir would represent the Vice-Duchy’s royal family at the mass. The prince would make the pilgrimage, receive a blessing from the Virgin Mother, and be exposed to fresh air and sunshine along the route.

Scribe # 8 wondered how he could possibly make such a trip on a horse without getting sick and falling off. Well, it turned out he would not be riding a horse. He would be carried in a litter, or a “sedan chair”, which was a silk-covered chair with a large parasol covering the top and poles sticking out of the ends that allowed four men to carry it. Danka looked at the contraption in disbelief. Prince Hristockt would actually be carried all the way from Rika Chorna to Sihidikti Ris, and no one seemed to think there was anything wrong with that.

There was another surprise for the servant. Not only would the prince be carried across the Vice Duchy in a covered chair, but she would accompany him on the trip. He announced that he wanted her to walk alongside the litter, stark naked. Scribe # 8 would be the only naked person in a procession of dozens of top officials and Church leaders. Even the Bishop had misgivings about forcing a servant to walk across the entire Vice-Duchy in the nude, but the prince insisted it was necessary so she could be properly humbled and know her place around him. The scribe knelt and pretended to be very frightened at the prospect of making such a journey completely uncovered. The truth was that she was fine with the arrangement: she had walked in the nude all over the western valley the year before. Walking around naked in the Vice Duchy didn’t bother her in the least, even though it was supposed to be an unbearable humiliation. The only thing she’d need would be shoes to protect her feet. With some massages and flattery she managed to convince the prince to give her a pair of shoes, as though he were granting her a huge and unreasonable favor. Before leaving, she fixed herself a dose of tea from the final batch of blue powder she had kept in her nun’s habit and packed her medicines and the items she needed to clean her teeth in a small cloth she entrusted to one of the litter-carriers. She wanted to make sure that if she did not return to the palace, nothing of her would remain there.

The Vice-Duke decided not to go to Sihidikti Ris that year, figuring that sending his son would be sufficient representation for the region’s royal family. The Bishop was miffed at the Vice-Duke’s slight, but didn’t say anything. The procession gathered in the city’s main plaza as church bells rang and choirs sang. Scribe # 8’s former companions from the nuns’ residence were present, looking at her with curious and mocking expressions as she walked naked alongside the prince’s litter. The men carrying the prince were strong but wretched-looking guards who had been released from punitive confinement. They weren’t complaining about having to carry the prince: the hardship they would endure on the trip was nothing in comparison with what they had to face in confinement.

The procession was one of the most ridiculous spectacles Danka had ever seen. A group of priests walked in front, carrying a large statue of the crucified Son of Man. The Bishop and his associates rode fine horses immediately behind the crucifix-carriers. Prince Hristockt’s litter followed, along with the porters and the naked scribe. More priests followed on foot, with mounted guards and supply mules in the rear. The point of the procession was to take the crucifix of the Son of Man to visit the statue of his mother in Sihidikti Ris. The priests chanted, passed out blessings, and waved burners full of incense as the group left the eastern capitol and traveled towards the mountains, on a pilgrimage that would last two weeks going in each direction. The kneeling residents of Rika Chorna lined the streets and waited for benedictions and whiffs of incense as the group headed out. When they saw naked woman walking in the procession, they stared at her in disbelief.

In spite of the stares and supposed humiliation, Danka enjoyed the following two weeks. For the first time since the previous year she was able to move about outdoors and see some new countryside. The pace was slow and relaxing, more of a stroll than a walk. She had to run back and forth with water, wine, and treats for the prince, but those duties were not very taxing. He was still too weak to fondle her or want sex. She managed to ignore her odious marching companions and just enjoy the feeling of the sun and wind on her bare skin, something she had not experienced for a long time.

At night she undressed the prince, bathed him, and slept with him in a comfortable tent. She ate well and encouraged him to eat fresh fruit. During the journey his condition improved dramatically. The Bishop claimed his recovery was a blessing from the Virgin Mother, but Danka knew the improvement was because he was away from that quack doctor and breathing fresh air and eating decent food.

The eastern valley was flat until it reached a range of steep mountains that formed the eastern border of the Duchy. On the other side of the mountains was territory belonging to the Muscovite Empire. Danka knew the Muscovites were as dangerous to other nations as the Ottomans, but the mountains were impassible and thus protected the Duchy’s eastern flank. The land between Rika Chorna and Sihidikti Ris was covered with small farms, but the soil was full of rocks and not really suitable for agriculture. The residents were poor, but that didn’t stop tax collectors from grabbing what little they had. The procession passed through a village where executions of accused tax evaders had just taken place: three destitute farmers slumped lifeless on three posts, with five arrows sticking out of each body. The sullen townspeople knelt and stared listlessly at the procession as it passed through. The marching clerics were not concerned about the executed men and showed no sympathy towards their widows.

The land closer to Sihidikti Ris had better soil, so most of it had been taken over by wealthy landlords. The poorer residents lived in wooded settlements along ponds and streams, in conditions very similar to the conditions Danka had endured growing up. The town itself was clean and had nice stone buildings, but its residents focused on making luxury goods and providing services for the local elite. There were several churches in Sihidikti Ris, including a gothic chapel modeled after one Danka had seen in ruins in the former Lower Danubia.

The procession had arrived on July 29, three days early in anticipation of the mass. After spending a night in a compound owned by the Church, the prince became bored and decided he wanted to go up to the cathedral ahead of the main procession. He told the Bishop he wanted to pray alone to the Virgin Mother, but actually he wanted to try out a new telescope and stargaze. The Bishop was pleased to send him up the mountain ahead of the others, so his litter would not distract from the dignity of the procession. The road up the cliff-side was paved with cobblestones, but it was so narrow that the litter-carriers had a hard time lugging the prince without falling off.

As Danka walked up the winding road behind the prince’s litter, she noticed a detail that should have been worrisome to the True Believers. The Lord-Creator had formed the cliff from solid granite, but a large crack had opened up and the stone of the lower portion of the cliff had started to separate. The crack extended up to the ledge and ended a few fathoms underneath the plaza and the outside altar. It seemed the church itself was not in immediate danger, but from her understanding of geology and the looks of the crack, Danka knew it was likely the outer part of the plaza would sheer off and fall away in an avalanche or landslide sometime over the next few years.

The cathedral overlooking Sihidikti Ris was the most impressive structure Danka had ever seen apart from the Great Temple in Danubikt Moskt. It had been built halfway up a sheer cliff, rising nearly 140 fathoms above the ground below. The site was located on a natural ledge that was large enough to fit a full-sized house of worship and a small plaza, which allowed for both indoor and outdoor ceremonies. The view from the plaza was truly amazing: on a clear day it was possible to see all the way across the eastern valley to the mountains separating the two main regions of the Duchy. The view and the dizzying height gave one the feeling of Divine inspiration.

The cathedral itself had been started in the 1560s and was not finished until 1609. It was a fine example of Danubian Baroque architecture, but also boasted several unique features. The back of the cathedral was carved into the cliff’s bedrock. The bell tower contained the largest bells she had ever seen, bells which were designed to echo against the cliffs and be heard throughout the valley far beyond Sihidikti Ris.

The men carrying the prince were completely worn out by the time they had hoisted their royal cargo up the steep road. They collapsed from exhaustion as they set down the litter and Prince Hristockt stood up. He ordered his servant to take out the telescope and set it up near the outer edge of the plaza. Curious to see the famous outdoor altar where the Bishop would be giving his benediction, Danka walked over to it and noted gaps, some of them as wide as two fingers, had opened up between the rows of stone blocks behind the spot where the Bishop would be speaking. She peered down and realized she could see a thin line of daylight. This ledge is going to collapse any day, she thought to herself. Another disconcerting detail that caught her attention was the smell of cannon powder. When she put her nose into the gap, the smell of explosives was quite strong.

The prince called her away from the altar and ordered her to accompany him inside the main chapel. The church was deserted because its priests were in the town meeting with the Bishop, so there was no one to object to her presence. Danka marveled at the building’s interior and its carvings, statues, and mosaics. The builders had cut a large grotto into the granite and installed the Virgin Mother statue, made from solid marble and overlaid with gold and fine paint. The statue stood more than three fathoms high and was the largest statue of its type in the Duchy. The grotto was surrounded by finely carved stone, mosaics, and gold leaf covering the granite.

The prince took advantage of the deserted chapel to do something truly shocking to both the scribe and to his deity. He ordered his servant to stand in front of the huge statue, face towards the back of the church, and bend over. He fondled her in one of the holiest places in the entire Duchy, right under the eyes of the venerated Virgin-Mother. Scribe # 8 was supposed to be a nun, so the prince was trying to disgrace her as much as possible, to strip away any shred of self-respect she might still have. She forced herself to cry and pretended to act traumatized. She actually was appalled that any man could show such contempt to his own deity. She knew the prince was a degenerate, just like everyone else in the Vice-Duke’s family, but even she had not realized how disrespectful and depraved he really was. And to think, this was the heir, the man who someday would be ruling the Vice-Duchy.

The prince led his servant outside. The sun was setting, so he decided to indulge in some wine, cheese, and Turkish delight while waiting for the stars to come out. After she served him, the prince ignored his servant. He emptied his bottle and grabbed another. What he really wanted was his father’s Andean salt, but he’d have to settle for wine. By the time the stars finally appeared in the sky, the prince was too drunk to look at them. Scribe # 8 returned to the church to see if there was a priest’s quarters where the prince could be laid out to sleep. When she found a bed, she told the workers to bring in their master. They also took away the sedan chair and the telescope. The scribe told them to rest, but the guards complained they had not had anything to eat or drink all day.

“I don’t know what to tell you. I guess you can go back down and get something to eat in town. I’ll watch the prince. I don’t think anything will happen to him up here, and if it does, I’ll be the one who’s responsible. Just come back as soon as you can.”

So, the men left, leaving her alone with the unconscious prince. She looked outside to see several workmen rolling a barrel towards the outside altar. They seemed to be pouring its contents into the ground. Danka snuck around the wall of the church to see what was going on. The men had posted watchmen at the entrances, but they must have assumed the cathedral was empty because no one was guarding the back of the plaza.

“… this is what I keep telling you. It keeps falling down below. You’ve dumped in four barrels so far. I’m telling you the hole is too deep. It won’t stay, no matter how much you put in.”

“Then come up with something! You’re a Follower! We’ve got to kill him here! We have to do it this week! You know that!”

“A Follower, as though that means anything to you. Don’t talk to me about being a Follower, unless you figure out how to save the girl from the palace. She’s a Follower too. She’s one of us. She’s done a lot for you, and she’s worth more than the rest of us put together!

“And I’ve told you we can’t risk it! The Ancients will just have to take care of her in the Afterlife. What’s worth more, her soul or all the others? Now what are we to do about that gap?”

The other men thought silently for a few moments. A third one answered:

“Wooden wedges. That’s what we’ll put in. We’ll make some wedges, shove them down in between, and put the vials on top of them. That way they won’t fall through. We’ll surround the vials with cannon powder, just to be sure, and put sand over the top. That’s how we’ll handle it.”

“And we can still set the fuse and time it?”

“Yes. Same plan on that. When he lights the incense, we light him.”

“And I want to make something very clear to you. We light him, no matter what. It doesn’t matter who else is out here, even me. You will light that fuse.”

“… and you won’t warn the palace girl, what difference would it make?”

“No! We’re not warning the girl! She’d draw attention trying to get away, and too many people know about this already!”

The men carried away the now-empty barrel and departed down the path. Danka didn’t know any of the others, but she recognized their leader, the man who was perfectly willing to separate her soul from her body and not feel any remorse. He was Enockt, her commander. It seemed Danka’s debt to him included giving up her own life.

The men returned the following night, shortly before dawn. The prince was up with the telescope well past midnight, so the conspirators had to wait until he had gone to sleep before showing up with the wedges. Like everything else made by people trained by the Followers, the wedges were ingenious devices, designed to expand and firmly hold their place between the stones.

From her hiding place Danka watched Enockt, dressed as a worker, install two sets of fuses going in two different directions before pouring gunpowder over both the wedges and the fuses. He very carefully inserted ceramic tubes a hand-width apart along the entire area behind the outside altar. Finally, he covered his handiwork with dark sand. The conspirators were completely quiet and departed after just a few minutes. After everyone else left, one of Enockt’s assistants remained behind to sweep the stones and keep watch over the trap.

———-

The bells rang in the town below to announce the commencement of the Bishop’s ascent up the mountain, leading the carriers of the large crucifix statue which would symbolize the executed Son of God coming up the mountain to greet the giant Virgin-Mother. Danka frantically woke up the prince and to help him get dressed in his fine silk clothing. However, a couple of priests entered the room and yelled at her to “remove her whoring naked body” from their presence. They would help the prince get dressed, not her.

Danka realized how important the mass would be when she saw that many of the top and mid-level clergy members of the True Believers hierarchy, including men from other parts of the Vice-Duchy, were emerging onto the plaza from the road. There would be over a hundred top officials present, plus dozens of assistants and aides. Even the abbess from the convent in Novo Sokukt Tok was present, along with a couple of older nuns. Danka worried about the wisdom of assassinating the Bishop in such a public setting, that maybe Enockt’s plan wasn’t so smart after-all. Wouldn’t seeing their leader murdered make the True Believers even more determined to kill off their rivals and wage war against heresy?

Also, she was extremely concerned about the lost barrels of cannon-powder. That powder had not just disappeared: it had gone down into the cracks between separated layers of rock. Enockt seemed not be worried about that risk, as though the extra powder had ceased to exist the moment it fell out of sight. If Danka’s observations concerning the cracks in the cliff were correct and the explosives forced the rocks to separate, it was likely Enockt was about to trigger a much larger disaster than he could possibly imagine.

The mass began inside the cathedral with the presentation of the crucifix before the oversized Virgin-Mother sheltered in the grotto. Prince Hristockt was escorted to the front as the guest of honor and the representative of the region’s secular authority. Danka had to remain outside along with the lower-ranking guards and servants. All those men were staring at her, given that she was one of the few women present, and the only one who was naked.

Danka realized part of Enockt’s plan was to use her as a distraction. That was why he refused to let anyone warn her about the plot to kill the Bishop. Her suspicions were confirmed when she saw him skulking around the plaza in his worker’s outfit. No one else would notice his suspicious behavior because the men were all too busy watching her. With so many eyes on her, Enockt assumed Danka would be too nervous to notice him or think about anything apart from the embarrassment she was enduring.

From what she had overheard, Danka knew that she’d have to be as far from the Bishop as possible the moment he lit the commemorative incense, because that was the signal Enockt planned to use to detonate the explosives. She also realized she had no hope of sneaking away from the plaza unnoticed. That simply wasn’t going to happen. If she wanted to get away, she’d have to jump up and run. She’d have to choose the exact moment to do it, an instant during the ceremony when everyone would be focused on protocol and reluctant to pursue her.

The sun was setting, which meant the outdoor portion of the mass was about to commence. The deafening bells rang and echoed against the cliffs as the procession came out the main doors. A group of priests, ringing hand-bells and swinging incense burners, came out, leading a group of companions carrying the large crucifix. They were followed by the Bishop, a group of more senior priests, and secular leaders, including the prince. Enockt had vanished.

Time was running out for Danka to prevent her soul from separating from her body. She had a hard time working up the courage to move, with all those men staring at her. Also, she wasn’t sure she wanted to escape. Part of her tried to hold her back, the part of her soul that told her all existence was vanity and that to continue in the Realm of the Living was pointless. After all, wasn’t everyone she ever cared about already in the Realm of the Afterlife? Wasn’t it time to hold up her mirror and join them? However, the lonely and defeated part of her character was no match for the simple instinct to prolong her life, no matter what. She was a peasant before she was anything else, and if peasants were good at anything, they were good at surviving. Her instincts took over and cleared away the sad reflections her lost loves and the desire to join them. Her thoughts focused on the singular goal of living to see the next sunrise.

She eased off her knees, ducked behind a group of startled officials, and ran to the edge of the plaza. Spectators turned around as she passed through the southern gate and disappeared into a wooded side trail. It was a disgraceful breech of respect and protocol. Maybe she had gone mad or was possessed, but the Church officials would have to deal with her later. They couldn’t break away to pursue a disgraced servant precisely at the most important and dignified moment of the mass.

She avoided running down the main road, because as it descended it turned and crossed in front of the plaza. Danka knew she did not want to be below the site of the blast when it took place. Instead, she pushed sideways along a narrow path on a mountain slope. She ran past a startled man in a worker’s tunic who was holding a piece of flint and several fuses. She ignored him and kept running, pushing through bushes and trees towards an outcropping. She followed the trail around the rocks and moved onto a steep slope covered by large trees. She no longer could see the church, so she figured she was safe.

She was expecting a loud blast and had covered her ears. She was not expecting an earsplitting crack that sounded like a lightning bolt hitting the ground right next to her. The bang, magnified by the echoes of the cliff walls, took her breath away. The lighting crack was followed by a muffled explosion. The second blast was more sinister. It was not as loud as the first explosion, but it was much larger, causing both the air and the ground to tremble. The second blast didn’t end quickly like the first one. Instead, it changed from a roar to a rumble, punctuated with loud cracks and the sound of large objects breaking. At first Danka thought she could hear some screams, but the screaming stopped long before the rumbling stopped. Several large objects crashed through the nearby treetops and something hard slammed into the outcrop, dislodging a boulder and sending it tumbling down the slope. Within a few seconds clouds of choking dust billowed past the outcrop and obscured Danka’s vision. The rumbling stopped and for a long time all she could hear were the chattering of panicked birds.

It was dark by the time the dust settled and Danka felt it was safe to investigate what happened. Fortunately, the moon was overhead, so she had some light to make her way along the rocks. As soon as she passed the outcrop, the light-colored dust covering the trees augmented the moonlight and made it possible to see the ground. However, as she moved towards the church, she couldn’t see it. That was strange. Certainly she’d see at least a bell-tower or part of the dome, but there was nothing there. As she moved forward and stared at the spot where she knew the church should be, she felt the ground slide underneath her feet. She frantically pulled back and grabbed at a small tree trunk, only to dislodge it and send it tumbling downwards. She crawled up loosened dirt and gravel and gasped as she finally found solid ground. More trees and debris slide past her and tumbled into the void.

She was shaking when she stared at the spot where the trail should have continued. There was nothing there. She looked in the direction of the church. She saw nothing, except for a perpendicular cliff-face. The church and the ledge it sat on were completely gone. Was she imagining things? She looked again. There was nothing but a sheer wall of rock, but it was not completely bare. The back wall of the church, complete with the Virgin Mother statue, remained embedded in the cliff-side. The rest of the structure and the ground it sat on had completely fallen away. The statue serenely prayed over a drop of nearly 100 fathoms.

Danka’s heart raced and she struggled to breathe as she tried to suppress the raw panic that had taken control of her soul. The event and the physical change were so overwhelming that it took her mind several minutes to comprehend what had just happened. Her body shook uncontrollably as she backed away from the void, as the new precipice continued to consume trees and soil along its edge. She could see nothing below, except billows of settling dust faintly lit by the moon. The colors and lighting around her were all wrong: everything looked like the world had been covered with a shroud of death.

Danka realized she needed to retreat to the “safer’ side of the outcropping, see about finding an alternate route so she could descend, find a safe place to hide, and figure out what to do next. She worked her way past the loosened outcrop. Just seconds after she moved beyond it, boulders dislodged into a rockslide and went tumbling down the mountainside. Danka was left breathless by the narrow miss. Had she passed under that spot only a few seconds later, she would have been crushed. She knew that before doing anything else, she needed to settle her nerves. She knelt and desperately prayed to the Ancients, begging them to either rescue her or grant her a quick separation of her soul from her body. A few minutes later she calmed down enough to continue moving.

The moon settled towards the west as she studied the steep slope for paths leading downwards. In some places there was enough light to navigate through rocks and outcroppings, and in other areas she needed to grope her way through darkness under the trees. Fortunately, the steepest and most dangerous areas were also the ones with the fewest trees and most visibility. She focused on what she needed to do at each moment, not on how high above the ground she was or how far she still had to go. As she moved closer to the base of the mountain, she could hear human voices and see an enormous pile of tumbled rocks. Everything was covered with dust, which became much thicker as she emerged onto flatter ground. Guards and civilian on-lookers carrying torches lined the edge of the rockslide. The same instinct that forced her to move away from the explosion and guided her down the cliff told her to stay hidden and avoid being seen by the crowd. She slipped around them and made her way towards the pen where the expedition’s horses were being kept. Danka decided that she needed to get away from Sihidikti Ris as quickly as possible. She’d return to Rika Chorna, tell Zanktia what happened and that Enockt was likely dead, reclaim her bucket, and leave the Vice Duchy. She didn’t know where she’d go, but she knew she definitely needed to leave the eastern valley.

By that time her mind had cleared enough to allow her to realize what had happened. The entire ledge on which the cathedral sat had fallen in a single landslide, due to the cracks in the rock and Enockt’s over-zealous use of gunpowder. The first explosion she heard must have been the blast at the surface that killed the Bishop and undoubtedly anyone else standing next to him. The second rumbling explosion would have been from the barrels of gunpowder poured into the gaps. That blast blew apart the inside of the ledge and caused it to disintegrate and collapse, taking with it the plaza and everything else except the back wall of the cathedral. There was no way anyone participating in the mass could have survived. Not only was the Bishop dead, but entire upper echelon of the True Believers’ Church would be dead as well, along with Prince Hristockt and the town councilmen of Sihidikti Ris.

She did not want anyone to see her. She felt that, as the only survivor from the pilgrimage, she would immediately be suspect, especially given the superstitious world-view of the True Believers. They’d have to blame someone for the disaster and she’d be an easy target. Her head would be wanted by, let’s see, the True Believers’ Clergy, the Vice-Duke’s family, the town of Sihidikti Ris, the towns of other dignitaries attending the mass: in other words, the entire Vice-Duchy. Whether or not she was being paranoid didn’t matter. There were times in her life she had been paranoid, but “irrational” fear was the only thing that had kept her alive.

She spent the next hour walking along a dust-covered path towards the corral where she remembered the procession’s horses were being kept. Her plan was to hope the guards were distracted enough to allow her to steal a horse. She’d ride west, hide until she could steal some clothing, and sneak back to the safe-house in Rika Chorna. She was relieved to hear the whinnying of horses. So, no one had moved them. Good. The corral seemed deserted. That was even better.

She quietly hopped a fence and looked for an animal that seemed relatively calm. She was only a mediocre rider and would have to find a horse that would be tolerant and not try to throw her. As the more nervous horses sidled around her, she identified a couple of calmer animals near a feeding trough. Just as she approached them, she realized none of the horses in the corral had a saddle. She had wasted her time, because without a saddle she couldn’t ride. She didn’t want to give up on the plan to steal a horse, because it was the only means of escaping she could think of. So, she left the corral to look for a saddle and reigns. Fortunately, the tent where the supplies were being kept was not guarded. In fact, it seemed nothing in the corral was being guarded. Maybe all of the guards had abandoned their posts because of the landslide. A lit lantern had been left outside. She’d have to take it in with her to see what she was doing. She selected a saddle and reigns. She put out the lamp and went back out.

She was careless upon leaving the tent and had not bothered to check outside before emerging. Right outside the door were six local guards she had never seen before. The guards looked totally shocked as soon as the young woman came into their sight. Danka’s determination to escape vanished. She had been caught and that was the end of it. She dropped the saddle and stood listlessly, waiting for the men to grab her.

The guards had their muskets ready, but they did not move towards her. Instead, they were backing away. Danka stepped forward and held out her hands. One of the guards, in a trembling voice asked:

“Who, who, who are you? What do you want from us, Mistress?”

“Who am I? Who do you think I am, Protector? Who could I possibly be?”

“Please Mistress. Have pity on us.”

“Pity on you? Why should I have pity on you?”

The six men sank to their knees and began praying to the Virgin-Mother. Suddenly Danka understood the guards were mortally afraid of her, but why? Was there something strange about her appearance? She glanced at her arm and noticed it was covered with light-colored dust. So were her legs. She was covered from head to toe with dust. Maybe in the dark camp the dust made her look like a ghost.

“Mistress, please. We are simple men. We have our families. We’ll give you whatever you want.”

Danka realized that if the men thought she was a ghost, that misunderstanding might be her salvation. She also realized they were obscenely drunk. She had to think of a good response that would keep up the ruse long enough for her to saddle a horse and get out of the camp. If she chose the right words, the guards might even help her.

“And what could you possibly give me, sinners? Look at yourselves, drunk on your master’s wine. Your commander leaves, entrusting you, and this is how you repay him? Why shouldn’t I take you with me? I have taken far worthier men than you. Answer, drunkards.”

“We are sinners, Mistress, and drunkards. We confess. We’ll give you anything. Even the Bishop’s horse. Just please show us mercy.”

Danka’s heart raced. The Bishop’s horse. They were offering her the Bishop’s horse. Trying to maintain a controlling monotone in her voice she responded:

“Very well, drunken sinners. Put the Bishop’s saddle and saddlebag on the Bishop’s horse. Tie him to the fence so your patron can make his last ride. But that won’t spare you. The only thing that can spare you is prayer. When you have the horse ready, you are to face east and kneel, the six of you, close your eyes, and pray to the Virgin Mother. You will pray until sunrise. If the sun touches your faces, you will know that I chose to spare you.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

“And another thing. You will keep your heads bowed in my presence. I forbid you to look up. You drunken sinners are not worthy of looking at me.”

Danka spent several of the longest minutes of her life waiting for the men to bring the Bishop’s horse and saddle him. She tried to stand impassively, terrified that at any moment the men would sober up and realized they were being tricked. However, as soon as they had the horse ready, they lined up facing east and knelt.

“Pray, drunkards, pray! Pray loud, so the Realm of Sin can hear your repentance! If I choose to spare you, I grant you permission to stop praying when the eastern sun touches your faces.”

The men began reciting a common prayer to the Virgin-Mother.

“Louder, drunken sinners! How can the Virgin-Mother hear such soft mumbling? Louder!”

The men prayed loud enough to hide most other sounds within their earshot. Danka led the Bishop’s horse to the edge of the camp. Remembering she was still naked, she decided to steal a guard’s uniform. She peaked into a tent and saw bedrolls laid out, covered with various articles of clothing. She gathered up the pieces necessary to assemble a complete guard’s uniform, including a helmet and boots. She worried getting dressed would take too long, that at any moment one of those guards would sober up, realize he was being tricked, and come after her. She needed to leave immediately. She could worry about getting dressed later, after she had put some distance between herself and Sihidikti Ris. She found a black cloth bag and stuffed in the clothing. Then she saw something else, a crossbow. She couldn’t believe her good fortune. A crossbow, with a satchel full of bolts. She grabbed an extra saddlebag to cover the church logo of the one belonging to the Bishop, slung her weapon over her shoulder, and mounted the horse. He was a fine stallion, totally black to match the cleric’s dark clothing.

She galloped out the west exit of the corral in the pre-dawn light, desperate to get as much distance as possible between herself and the disaster before the sun rose. Ride. escape.

As she emerged onto the road and galloped around a corner hidden by a large stone building, she stumbled into a large group of panicky residents running around on foot carrying torches. She didn’t have time to change the direction of the horse: her only option was to charge right down the middle of the group. The crowd screamed and ran away in panic. Danka flinched, expecting to feel an arrow or a musket-ball hitting her body at any instant. She emerged on the other side of the mob unscathed; shocked no one had taken a shot at her. She glanced back at the crowd. Most had dropped their torches and were still running away from the road. No one was trying to go after her.

Danka did not realize until later that she was still covered in light-colored dust and in the darkness looked more like a ghost than anything else. She was riding a black horse with a black saddle, saddle-bag, and cloth bag which were invisible to anyone on the ground at night. The townsfolk, already in a panic because of the landslide’s noise and dust, thought she was a ghost floating through the air.

Desperate to avoid any more encounters with local residents, Danka veered off the main road and galloped along a deserted country lane passing through some orchards. There was just enough light in the pre-dawn sky to allow the horse to see where he was going. Just as the sun was about to rise, she came up to a stream. She figured she should let the horse have a drink. She remembered she was still naked and covered in dust, so she quickly bathed and got dressed. She couldn’t do anything about her filthy hair without another woman to help her wash and re-braid it, but at least the rest of her was clean enough to put on the guard outfit. She pulled the helmet over her braids and slung the crossbow over her shoulder.

The horse finished his drink and was ready to continue. She re-mounted and continued her flight west. She knew, as long as she didn’t get too close to anyone, a guard uniform was the best disguise and the best hope she had of making it back to the safe-house in Rika Chorna.

———-

The six guards remained on their knees, sobering up over the next two hours as they prayed to the Virgin-Mother. They cried with relief and joy when they felt the sun shining on their faces. Even after the sun was up, they remained kneeling and praying for a few extra minutes, just to be sure they truly were forgiven. When they opened their eyes and stood up, a horrifying sight greeted them. The cathedral and the cliff it sat on were gone! In their place nothing remained except a sheer stone rock-face! They looked at each other, and then back at the cliff. In the middle of newly exposed granite was a large gold rectangle, and in the middle of that gold rectangle the famous statue of the Virgin Mother prayed serenely over a sheer wall of rock and a jumble of massive broken boulders at its base. They couldn’t believe what they were seeing. They didn’t want to believe. How was it possible the cathedral was, gone? And why? What did it mean?

As Danka had suspected, the men were local guards from Sihidikti Ris who were assigned to help watch the horses while the Bishop’s escort accompanied the entourage to the cathedral. They had been startled by the landslide and saw the huge cloud of dust in the twilight, but didn’t react coherently because they already had spent several hours indulging themselves from an unwatched cask of fine wine left in one of the tents in the camp. When none of the Church guards returned, they decided to continue drinking and played several rounds of cards through the rest of the short summer night. Finally, they realized they had consumed so much of the cask it would be better if they departed before passing out and being discovered unconscious by their counterparts from the Church. As they were leaving, the ghost-woman came out of her tent and confronted them with their sin.

The guards tried to figure out who was the mysterious spirit who admonished them. Was she the Virgin-Mother? But if she was, why would she be naked? As far as anyone knew, the Virgin-Mother had never appeared naked in front of anyone. And why would the Virgin-Mother want the Bishop’s horse? If the ghost-woman wasn’t the Virgin-Mother, who else could she be? Had Beelzebub the Destroyer wrecked the cathedral and sent a naked spirit to mock the Bishop by taking his horse?

As they discussed the terrible mystery, one of the guards remembered a story he heard a few years before from a visiting cousin. He related the tale of the cursed town of Rika Heckt-nemat and the beautiful but infinitely evil girl who condemned the city when she called out to the Profane One to save her from drowning. The guard shook from fear and apprehension.

“I’m sure that’s who visited us. The cursed girl from Rika Heckt-nemat. That wasn’t the Virgin Mother at all. Nor was she any saint or ordinary ghost. That spirit-girl was Beelzebub’s daughter!”

The men chatted and frightened each other with speculation for a couple of minutes, remembering the details of the ghost-woman’s visit confirming their suspicion she was the evil beauty Beelzebub had saved at the expense of cursing the city of Rika Heckt-nemat. Another man added a theory that connected her to the Bishop:

“Don’t you remember what she said about the Bishop’s horse, that she wanted him so she could give his master a final ride? Now I know what she meant by that! She took the Bishop with her to the Realm of Beelzebub! And she had to take away the entire cathedral to do it!”

———-

The frightened crowd gathered around the rubble tried to make sense of what had just happened. Their beautiful church and all of its occupants were buried under fathoms of rocks and massive boulders. The only evidence the cathedral ever existed at all was the Virgin-Mother statue, safely protected in its grotto, standing in the middle of the newly-formed cliff nearly 100 fathoms above the jumble of debris. Why would the Virgin-Mother do such a thing to her faithful followers, and to her own cathedral, and to the heir to the Vice-Duchy’s crown?

A large group of panicky residents arrived, bringing with them a terrifying story of being attacked by a woman’s naked ghost. The ghost charged at them with a thunderous noise. At first some in the group thought it was the sound of a horse galloping, but later they realized the roaring must have been the echo of rocks falling from the landslide. There was no disputing the ghost story: dozens of people saw her. The crowd’s fear worsened when a town councilman arrived at noon, bringing with him six terrified guards and their awful story about the ghostly visit by condemned girl from Rika Heckt-nemat.

The crowd remembered another detail, that a mysterious young woman had accompanied the procession as they entered the town and ascended the mountain. She was naked and beautiful beyond belief, but no one among that procession seemed to notice her. So, the strange nude girl walking next to Prince Hristockt’s litter indeed must have been Beelzebub’s daughter, the curse-bringer from Rika Heckt-nemat. That made sense, and would explain who was the ghost that attacked the townsfolk.

The story of the destruction of the cathedral by Beelzebub’s daughter fueled wild speculation and spawned legends throughout the eastern part of the Vice Duchy. The witnesses spent the rest of their lives telling and re-telling the story of their scary encounter with the ghost girl. As the years passed, the details became more terrifying and exaggerated, along with the beauty and allure of the evil seductress.

Meanwhile, the Virgin-Mother statue stood serenely on the inaccessible cliff, looking down and silently mocking the people who had placed their faith and hopes in her. How could such a thing have happened? How could a daughter of Beelzebub obliterate the most holy men of the Vice-Duchy right in front of the Virgin-Mother? What message was the Lord-Creator sending?

The True Believers of the Vice-Duchy never recovered from the disaster. Their hierarchy was decimated by the deaths of the faction’s most senior officials, but eventually the men could have been replaced. However, the faith of the people in the blessings of the Virgin-Mother and power of the Roman God’s executed son had been irrevocably shaken.