Salome: Episode 11.
Everything that hungers consumes.
Welcome to episode 11 of Salome. This is a Gothic Horror novel set in the 1880s and introduces Sister Salome, a young Italian nun who will appear in the 3rd Muldoon book. I started this serial to help you get to know her before the events of the next novel.
Last week, Father John and Salome read a passage from The Book Of St Scholastica. They read a passage describing the first sons of God. Salome asked what happened to them.
He thought for a moment. “I do not know for certain. There are countless theories, and I do not doubt there will be more as time goes on and more scholars come to read between these lines…” his fingers tapped against the thick book, “but Sister Scholastica believes that their blood still runs through the veins of those who risk their lives to deliver us from evil. Those who are loyal to God, even without having been taught of his ways, or his words. Those who can resist evil better than most people, because they are born to see with preternatural eyes.”
“I thought Christ delivered us from evil?”
“He did. He died for our sins, but there is a theory that he was not the first son of God.”
I made an effort to close my mouth. My heart felt as though it was beating right at the back of my tongue. His eyes assured me that it was all right. I understood then, why I felt so close to this man, this tutor, this guide. Even without the cloth and oaths that brought us together, even without God himself and our service to him, we were kin. I felt it between us: a warmth, a bond of trust that required no proof. My eyes stung with the sudden rush of tears. He could see that I was trembling, and took my hands in his.
“Those of us who see, who feel, who do more than others can do…Look, what can you see now?”
I watched from a balcony, the hot summer sun beating down from a brilliant blue sky. The thunder of hooves so deafening they shook the foundations of the building, and I thought that I might fall. A woman, her scent—orchids—no, vanilla and cinnamon—held me. Mother. The mountains, green in the foreground and blue the further away they became. It was a special occasion. A festival, with flags and bells and ladies’ hair decorated with ribbons. I looked down at the people cheering, watching men in red sashes run. They ran, some screaming, some laughing, some stoically focusing on their breathing and romancing of the crowd. Bulls. Horned bulls stampeding through the narrow cobbled streets. Black bulls, brown bulls, glistening hides and mad eyes. Bells ringing from the towers. The breathlessness of fright in my chest, but I also felt the burst of joy, threatening to spill over. I felt an overwhelming sense of unconditional love for the woman holding my shoulders.
We moved swiftly through time to a First Holy Communion, with candles brightening an old Cathedral, the glass on the windows emitting rainbow hues of light on the pews. Then two people at the altar of a church. A priest in decorative vestments blessing a union. A woman in her best clothing, her face covered with a veil. Feelings of fear, mixed with love and devotion as he held her hand.
I heard masses, I stood in the sick room, the oppressive scent of white lilies filling my nostrils. I choked, the intensity of his broken heart sitting heavy in my chest. I stood with him at the side of her grave, watching them lower it into the cold earth, swifts shrieking above us, casting their angled shadows over the buildings.
Olella.
“You had a wife?”
“Before I became a priest, yes.” He sighed. “God was there for me, and I wanted to do something… help others. God was there for me in my darkest hour.” He swallowed. “It was a long time ago, but I wanted to share it with you.”
“Thank you.”
He nodded, as though he knew everything I was thinking. “Feeling what others feel is—it can be distressing, a heavy burden. I hope that I have not overwhelmed you. It can be too much for someone so young, so new to this, but I wanted you to feel what I feel.”
I did. A weakness in my chest still pervaded, sending its message of grief deep within my veins. A power that I couldn’t explain.
“We can do these things… They are not always as simple as sharing memories. We can see much more than this. This is how we seek out our demonic enemies. They cannot hide from our eyes, because unlike most people, we are born with the blood of angels in our veins.”
“I don’t…”
He turned the page. I followed his gaze and stared at the illustration. Men bearing celestial light, though they appeared human.
“The Nephilim,” he said.
“The Nephilim…” I repeated, bemused.
“The living blood of angels and man, yes.”
I said nothing.
He took a deep breath. “Though there are not many of us left, Sister Scholastica believes that this is where we came from.”
“But they were destroyed in the Flood, were they not?”
He raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Were they, though?”
I thought about it for a moment. Father John watched, and asked, “Do you know when they are mentioned in the Bible?”
I straightened. “Genesis… the Flood.”
“And Numbers,” he corrected. “They are mentioned twice, but you must remember Lilith is not referred to as having ever been a wife of Adam, or a specific demoness, and yet her existence we do not doubt, either.”
My stomach tightened, and I asked, even though I knew the answer. “So… the demons… they want us because we…”
“Are like them, in some way. We would be powerful if we were to fall, and there lies the temptation, as deadly as it is appealing.”
All made by God.
“And what about when they possess people?” I asked, the doubt surging. I wondered what sort of enchantment I was under, asking so many questions to a fellow servant of God who had just shown me the very power I doubted. The power I myself possessed.
“Claiming souls. It’s everyday work for them,” Father John said with a shrug. “We are more of a hunt. A chase with an irresistible prize.”
“So we can become one of them?”
He tilted his head slightly, pensive. “In a way… Think of animals in the wild for a moment, Sister. When the wolf consumes its prey, the prey dies in order to sustain the predator. The prey is gone forever once it is digested and has been used by the body of the predator. With the demon, especially if the prey is someone who has something they want—for example, our powers—it infects, and it multiplies.”
“Like a plague?”
“Yes, in a way. Everything that hungers consumes. Demons only come to this world to ensure that the legion is ever-growing. This battle has been going on since the Lord cast out the first angel.”
My head throbbed. “And if there are none of us left…”
He nodded gravely, “Yes, the battle becomes easier for them.”
“Father, why am I here?”
“What we are hoping, Sister,” he began, learning forward, “is that your cohort can rise up and do what is needed here. Demons plague this place like rot.”
“Mother Hildegard said she was looking for a natural leader.”
“And I have been trying to convince her that it is you.”
“She does not think so.”
He sat back and folded his arms. “Mother Hildegard and I share a great respect for one another, and it is quite often that we do not see eye to eye. However, I believe I am right about you.” He chuckled. “She does not like it when I am right. She doubts your suitability, and though I understand why… I am right. Salome…” He leaned forward, placing his hands on the table again. “I believe you are the one we need.”
I shook my head. “She does not believe that.”
“Your dream has started to convince her otherwise.”
“But I only had it once. It never happened again.”
“It will.”
“Father, how can you be sure?”
“I have faith in you.”
What tiny embers still sparked within my heart burned, ignited by his words. He had more faith in me than I had in myself, but I could not admit that to him. Not now.
That night, I slept. I dreamed again.
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