Bone and Feather

Bone and Feather -7- {Pastor Askew}

Pastor Askew was the type of man who took thinks literally with the explosive sort of passion that came with the firing of a musket. His words, curdled by fear wrapped profusely around the uneducated minds of the village folk. He would preach his own interpretations of the spiritual world every coming Sunday morn with a bellowing bass of a voice that warned all of darkness. He was so very talented at conjuring grisly images of Hell that the villagers never dared question his knowledge. Their mindset was quite simple; he was their pastor and so trusted, he could be.

However, one could argue that Askew was nothing more than a fearful man with the power of literacy. In these times, the church was closer to pagan superstition than that of God. But nonetheless, with their corrupt system that was similar in likeness to that of a government, they held the fragile minds of simple folk with a greedy hand. 

When the village men returned from the looming mass of the forest, they brought with them the body of Joseph Kavanaugh. Askew was waiting in silent rage, hia face obscured by the shadow of the cathedral in his wake. The only thought crawling through his mind was that the demon and his accomplice had managed to escape and his men he sent after them had only returned him with a useless body.

But even so, Askew was a sickeningly clever man and ideas sifted towards him as easily as sand falls through callused fingers. He captured a thought that stood out to him and tossed it across his mind for several counts, letting his eyes trail down to the half-mangled corpse. Though Joseph Kavanaugh's features were weathered with time and cloaked in the dark of the hour, they still held a similarity to that of his daughter's. It was a pity about his daughter, thought Pastor Askew, that such a fine creature was overtaken by the misery of wickedness. 

"Behead the corpse," Askew proclaimed after he came upon a conclusion, "and place it over there upon a stake," he waved his gnarled fingers towards the center of the square where the still smoking remains of the burning stake loomed.

When the men had done their job and retired to their wives and many children, Askew hovered near the staked head. Without even a remote expression of discomfort, he twisted it's features from the serene mask of death into a vision of fearful repentance. Stepping back to admire his sculpture that had just begun to emit the perfume of death, Askew emitted a few small words into the passing wind. 

"Let this be a warning to all who aid the devil," and with that, he turned and became part of the darkness himself.

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The only sound in the square was the echoing sorrow of Cora's scream. It drew curious eyes to her in a similar fashion that blazing flames attracts a flurry of moths. But Elijah knew, with a stirring worry deep in his gut, that this attraction would likely string their fates along with the head of Cora's Father. He bounded towards her and descended his hand upon her lips, trapping the scream behind his fingers. But then, what followed was a ghostly stillness that unnaturally through the faces of the villagers. It was an eerie, unsettling stillness.

It was too late, Elijah then realized. With all eyes trained upon the two of them, all hope of slyly escaping disintegrated into the stale summer air. Stagnant whispers began to curl in the cusp of Elijah's ear, rising to a hum with every cautious step the villagers took towards them. Recognition brightened their sallow eyes and several of the men disappeared behind an even sallower building, only to return with able weaponry and a man cloaked in black reverends robes.

The man's black eyes had a sort of macabre depth that even the deepest, most poisonous lakes of Hell couldn't contend with. The were the same eyes that condemned a caged Elijah at the circus only a few short days before. The man, whose poisonous words had caused him to be bound to a wooden stake and set afire with only the mercy of the good Lord to spare him. They were evil eyes that no christian man, no matter how sinful, could ever possess. 

Elijah swallowed dryly. He no longer felt the shadows of the Hunters darkening him, but he didn't bother to see where they had gone. Terrified, he clutched tightly to Cora's sweating palms, unaware he was holding far too close to the jagged gashes drawn upon her wrists. She winced, but only once, for the reverend now stood directly in front of them, blotting out the light of the sun.

"The demon and his accomplice return," he whispered into the fragile stillness of the moment. A group of men had angled themselves behind him, their strong thick hands wrapped around pitchforks and hunting blades. 

All Elijah could see was bloodlust and fear coloring their eyes.

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Authors Note:

Quite grisly, I know and if I offended you with the way religion is presented in this chapter, I'm really sorry. I myself am a proud christian, but in older times ( and sometimes now) religion was more political and superstitious rather than spiritual. Anyways, I hope you understand either way. Tell me your thoughts

-Sunny