Faith
I don't own Koudelka. If you have the chance to play this game, I highly recommend it.
How many times have I heard prayers in my life, I wonder? Prayers for sinners, prayers for the living and prayers for the dead. It was all meaningless. I never gave a damn about prayers, not even the ones my teacher taught me. I had no intention of believing in some venial god, some demented thing that gave men the excuse to abuse other men. Life was too short, and too hard, to believe in anything.
Yet faith, or the belief in some higher form, seems to do some men good. I remember James O'Flaherty and his dogmatic faith, and think back on all his hopeless beliefs and dreams and wonder, was it his faith that saved us? I wouldn't have thought so, seeing him on his knees that day in the blue gallery. We had just fought some horrendous monster at the font, one of many that night, and then stopped at a portrait near the entrance.
I smile now, thinking back on what a pretty lady she was, all frips and frills and delicate language. I was so coarse, rough, and ignorant by comparison, but it was I, and not some court lady, I who heard her voice from afar. It was I who came at her call, not James.
We had finally broken into Patrick's mansion, the finding of his house key had not been without its perils and, for a time, I had been on my own within the monastery. But once we were together again, James, Edward and I climbed through narrow corridors and dungeons to the hidden entrance and entered ... well, James would have called it paradise. It was lavish, rich, emblazoned with gold, and hideous in its Rococo décor. The main floor was richly tiled, a large staircase rising up to the second floor, and along side, another passage leading to a golden room. A machine was encased in one wall, and it held the odd disk we had found earlier, and with a little of James's fiddling, it began to play. Edward called it a type of Gramophone, but it played clear music that was not unpleasant. While James had investigated the machine, I poked at the wall and found a hidden drawer and Patrick Heyworth's diary. I knelt on the richly decorated floor and read from it.
"...But to my horror, the image of my resurrected wife displayed in a flower petal, looked just as she did before, yet it lacked a human soul."
"What rubbish!" James exclaimed.
"Shut up, James," I admonished him from my knees and continued with the last words. "Indeed, it was a monster. Dear God, is this the punishment you have chosen for me? What have I accomplished by victimizing nearly two hundred innocent people? My only hope in life lay in believing that resurrection was possible and dreaming of the day when my wife Elaine would join me here on earth once again. Now I have nothing but a cauldron full of blood and hexed spirits, and a soulless monster. Is this the end that has been awaiting me? Dear Lord, have you no mercy? I only have one path left to follow. I have lost too much. I cannot even find words to apologize to Ogden who has lent me his strength along the way. Now I only long to sleep in peace with my wife..."
"It ends here," I finished and closed the book, securing with the golden clasp. Such an elegant book to contain such horrors.
"Could it be true?" Edward asked. He had stood the whole time, hands on hips, listening, and I looked up to see horror and confusion in his eyes.
"Yes, I believe so." I looked around and spotted a door leading to another room and, rising, pushed my way through. The next room was a gallery, portraits lined the walls and in the far corner, another fountain. But before I approached it, I could feel the evil presence there and indicated it to Edward. Then we moved ahead.
The battle against the misshapen monstrosity of the font was fraught with peril, as James fired his shotgun, Edward used his fists, and I summoned fire magicks. But we managed to defeat it and, with James's prayers, cleansed and blessed the holy font. It quickly bubbled and frothed with fresh water from some unknown pool and we washed and refreshed ourselves before returning to the front room. It was while I was walking back that I spotted the portrait by the far windows. It showed an elegant, delicate lady, dressed in a fine gown and her face, her eyes seemed so sad. It was Elaine.
James grew sad when he saw the pretty lady, his past with her warring with everything that was happening and, when I told him it was her voice that had summoned me here, he grew angry.
"So," Edward commented, breaking the silence. "This is Elaine."
I nodded. "Yes. She's the one I had the psychic vision of." I looked at James, his arms at his sides, his fists clenched – he was as tight as a bowstring. "Do you doubt it?" I asked.
"No," he muttered.
"Good," I said with a sigh. He wasn't fighting me any more. "Let's begin." I stood in front of the portrait, reaching out with one hand toward the delicate beauty so rendered, and closed my eyes, opening my mind, my soul, to the woman who had called me – whose voice I had heard all those miles away in Scotland. Slowly I could feel her coming, and then I felt suddenly weak and dizzy as the ghost of Elaine tore my power from me to manifest as a less-than transparent woman, floating in front of the painting. I felt my legs wobble beneath me and I sank to the floor, utterly exhausted, barely able to look up to the ghostly apparition. She hovered just above me, her gauzy dress floating on an ethereal wind, her feet disappearing into misty nothing, and she looked at James with eyes of joy.
"It has been a long time indeed, Mr. O'Flaherty," she said and her voice, although echoing from the world of the dead, was yet refined and gentle.
James caught his breath in his throat. "Oh... Elaine, is that really you?"
The apparition nodded her head. "Yes, it is. It is such a pity that we meet again, and I can only present myself to you in this form," she said, as if asking her guest to tea. Then she looked down at me and I climbed slowly to my feet.
"This is the one that responded to my call, is it not?" I nodded. "Thank you for doing his for someone like myself."
James interrupted her, trying to grasp her non-existent hand. "Elaine, I – I haven't yet come to terms with this. Please, tell me how this happened to you?"
The apparition smiled sweetly down at him. "Of course I will explain, James. Eighteen years ago, I was murdered by some thieves that broke into my home. I was helpless against them; Patrick and Ogden were out on business, so there was nothing that anyone could do."
James shook his head. "No, I will not accept this. This should not have happened!" He moved away slightly, his fists clenched, his shoulders shaking with deep emotions. But Elaine continued, watching him with her ethereal eyes.
"Patrick responded the same exact way. He could not accept my death. He spent years and years perfecting his craft in wizardry. He tried everything in his power to bring me back to life."
Behind me Edward stirred and I could hear his boots stamping in the dust. He was uncomfortable with this conversation, uncomfortable with the nature of this night. Odd, since he dealt so much in pain and death…
"Resurrecting the dead?" he said, his tone filled with hard pragmatism. "Is this for real? I mean, we're not talking about Frankenstein here…"
"Frankenstein?" I asked.
Edward spun me around, grinning apishly. He made gestures around his face and pretended he was a zombie.
"You know, that novel written about a hundred years ago?" Before I could respond Elaine spoke again and I shushed Edward's mockery.
"He was taking it very seriously. And he had found the key to actually make it happen."
"The Émigré Document," James supplied. Again, with that book he'd mentioned before. A frisson traveled up my spine, tingling behind my hair and I wondered what feeling of presage was begging for attention.
"Yes. With Ogden's assistance and the power of the ancient druids, he held a resurrection ceremony in this monastery. However..."
"However, something went wrong, didn't it?" I said and the ghostly woman nodded.
"He only resurrected my physical body. As you can see, my soul is still doomed to roam the universe – forever separated from my body. And the terrifying thing is, that my body was resurrected as a heartless monster."
"Oh God," James said and crossed himself, but I could hear the anguish in his prayer and despair leaked from him like water.
"Although the monster may look like me, it is not me. Mr. O'Flaherty," she said and looked at him, her hands reaching out toward him, "please, turn my body into ashes with your power."
James started, a look of anguished horror on his face and I knew the war raging within him. "Ashes? If I do that, we won't be able to bring you back to life!"
A frisson ran up my spine again, the voices of the past echoing in my head at his words. The screams of torture, and cries of despair I had heard that rainy afternoon, the visions of maimings and tortures I had witnessed both then and this very night, came rushing back to me in overwhelming emotion. How could he suggest such a thing? I turned toward James but was stopped by the spirit of Elaine.
"Mr. O'Flaherty," her voice raised in strident tones, a touch of righteous anger in her voice, "I was robbed of my life by those thieves, and I could hate them as mortal enemies. But I choose to think that my death was pre-ordained by the Lord." She paused to shake her ghostly head. "Please, do not mourn my death. It was wrong for Patrick to try and resurrect me; to undo the work of God. Do not be sad; death is at the heart of God's vision. I want you to destroy my body," she pleaded again and I could swear there was a touch of near desperation in her voice. What had she seen? What had Patrick created that would cause this woman, this spirit, to beg for destruction? I shuddered. "...defies the wise providence of Heaven," she continued. "It must not exist in this world."
With those final words Elaine moved back, as if stepping into the portrait, and vanished. James fell to the floor, his cries of pain and grief echoing loudly in the gallery.
"Elaine!" he cried, "What a cruel world. I gave everything for your happiness and now... what am I left with? I have no meaning in my life! Damn it! What have I been doing with my life? Elaine! Elaine!"
I waited in silence for long minutes, and then left the gallery, Edward following me as I went back through the gilded music room. Looking back, I do not think that anything I could have said would have altered the outcome. And certainly Edward's silence was a blessing, for my head was hurting and my mind was dizzy with all that we had discovered this night.
"I wonder where Roger is?" I said and Edward stopped at the foot of the stairs.
"Who?"
"Oh, just an old monk ... I wondered if he would know anything about this," and I hefted the research notes. Edward shrugged, turning to look up to the second floor and the heavily gilded doors.
"Maybe he's around here?"
I sighed. "Maybe."
Roger did indeed know much of what was written in those pages. He, a monk, an educated man, had been the one to transcribe the original documents that Patrick had used. He puzzled over how such a thing had gotten into Patrick's hands, knowing that the original had stayed with the Pontiff in Rome. However, he did send us on our way - to find Elaine's body and destroy it. His last words were addressed to James as Edward and I left the old man in the library of the mansion. The priest has remained silent since leaving the gallery and it wasn't until we were nearly out of ear-shot that he spoke.
"You were a man of God," he said slowly. "And yet you transcribed that heinous document, used it on yourself. How do you rectify yourself to God when you do such terrible things?"
"It is a matter of faith, James. Faith, Hope and Love."
Faith. Hope. Love. These things I had never known in my life. But James had known them well and now, his faith was being tested. He had loved Elaine as only a young man can love a young woman, with all the fire and passion of his soul. And he had hope that, in giving her up to Patrick, she would live a long, happy and fruitful life. But now, well he knew, as did I, that he must – we must find and destroy the monster that wore the face of the woman he loved. Yet would he be able to? Would he be able to set aside his hope and love for this beautiful young woman and kill her resurrected body? Not knowing what would happen to her soul afterwards – would she be free to go on to the next world? Or would she be condemned to wander for eternity? Later that night I found out.
We had run into an obstacle with the sanctuary doors being locked and barred against us. James had proven handy with his schooling and, while Edward and I both got sadly drunk, he used his knowledge of chemistry to make nitroglycerin. We blew aside the sanctuary doors, huge things of hardened wood and metal, and faced the madness that was wrought of that Émigré Document: the entire church proper was filled with writhing churning masses of thorn-bearing vines. Each vine was bigger than a man, and the thorns were like swords: one swipe…
By accident we found the hidden chamber, beneath a moving crypt of Saint Daniel Scotius. Below, we found a heavily barred bronze door and – the cauldron. Actually, we should call it The Cauldron, as this thing was old when men were yet children in these Isles. Where such a monstrous thing was wrought, none of us could guess and, looking at the putrid contents as they bubbled and simmered, I could only guess it to be the hands of some Elder God or madman. A great gnarled root had overtaken the pot, sending shoots and stems the size of a man crashing through the chamber's roof - these were the vines we had seen above, while here the roots had cascaded down over the side and, trapped within, was a mummy.
James knelt at the mummy's feet and crossed himself. Yes, it was Patrick, his eyeglasses still resting on the bridge of his nose, frozen in death, the life sucked out of him. We then looked within the pot and James produced the relic he'd held safely this night, the desiccated arm of St. Daniel. With this, he hoped to raise holy power to destroy the devilish plant. Edward and I agreed to help.
That night we raised a holy power in the cauldron and set fire to the sanctuary. Little did we know there was no way out. Trapped, the sanctuary burning around us, we fled through a broken window and climbed the construction struts Patrick had left in place. Up we went to the floor above and the choir loft. There we met Elaine again.
A thick stem had risen from the cauldron far below and culminated in a giant flower. Shaped like a tulip, the flower quivered and shivered when we approached it and I felt a coldness in the room, my knees suddenly shaking. Suddenly the flower blossomed, delicate pink petals opening to reveal the nightmare that had been Patrick's wife. This woman, this thing emerged from the blossom, her female form tattooed in arcane symbols, and leapt to the ceiling, punching its way across the plaster as Edward shot at it with his gun. I admit, I was screaming in panic, and when the thing flopped to the debris-scattered floor, I thought, 'This is too easy' – and it was. She rose again, broken bones cracking and splintering as she manipulated herself onto all fours and leapt at us. And we ran. We ran all the way to the top of the bell tower, the monster right behind us. More than once, she caught up and forced us into a confrontation that we barely escaped. The whole time my heart was beating in terror, unsure if any powers of mine could exorcise or destroy this thing. Edward kept up a running monologue of curses and encouragements, while James was entirely silent. This worried me, for he had shown a dark sense of humor earlier that night, and now his silence was like an admission of guilt.
We finally reached the top of the tower and now we were well and truly trapped. Crenellations along the roof looked down on the burning church, while above us rose the long spire of the bell tower, its huge bells moving slowly in the wind. A sudden scream from one side alerted us and we watched in horror as Elaine climbed over the side of the tower, her body mutating before our eyes. Gone was the female form - its dark and arcane markings bubbled and warped, becoming chitinous armor, her limbs elongated into insect legs, and her entire body twisted into some nightmarish insect. She screamed, her voice shrieking above us and echoing off the bells, and a bolt of lightening came from the black and roiling clouds overhead and struck the tower. The stones broke loose and fell around us, huge blocks crashing and tumbling onto the roof and down over the side of the church. Bells rang cacophonously as they too tumbled and fell, and over it all, her eyes glowing with malice, was Elaine.
In the next moment we were battling for our lives. Elaine's monstrous legs whipped out at us, stabbing us, pushing us back until we were pinned against the stone crenellations, where she then sprayed us with a black, poisonous fluid that has us all gagging and falling to our knees. As yet we had done nothing in our own defense. Gasping for breath, my insides burned like fire as I staggered to my feet and began to summon magic. I heard James muttering as he dug in his pouch, and the quiet 'thank you' from Edward. If I could hold on for a few seconds, gather the pain into energy and give it back to the monster, it would give the others time to recover. I silently offered a prayer, the first one in my life, to whatever angel or devil would lend me strength.
I need not have bothered, for the flare came from me bursting forth with all the pain and fear and loathing that had crawled up from my gut. I fell to my knees again, my vision fading to black and I felt James's rough touch as he pushed an antidote between my lips. I could only nod and catch my breath. I closed my useless eyes, listening as Edward attacked the monster; he had found that strange blade from the chapel and was swinging, slashing and hacking at the monster's body. With every hit, I heard it scream and felt a pulse of life energy leave her body, and I suddenly knew the blade was responsible.
Finally, I opened my eyes, the effects of the poison receding with the medicine and began to summon fire again. My mind was calling forth flame and my lips speaking the spell, yet my ears heard the crunch of bone and scream of pain from Elaine, followed by James's impassioned calling on God's Power – his own take on flare magicks, and in the next instant my own fire blazed forth.
This went on for long minutes, the monster attacking, and us defending; James and me calling on magic while Edward, dear, crazy Edward, plunged in with the sword, his own health never slacking because of the magical blade, until finally Elaine breathed on us once more, a black miasma of poison and death that surrounded us and permeated our skin, our very souls. Gasping and crying out in pain, all three of us collapsed to the stones and Elaine scuttled in closer for the kill. I lay curled on my side, my guts twisting and churning in pain, Edward collapsed beside me and I wondered, briefly, if I had the strength to get an antidote from my pouch. James, lying just in front of me, was holding his pectoral cross and staring up at the monster of his old love; his breathing was erratic and he was sweating, but there was a light in his eyes that frightened me more than the monster. I turned my concentration to getting the antidote.
"Dear God, is this my fault?" he said quietly behind me. "Do you blame me? Are you punishing us – punishing me now because the path of my faith was tainted?" I heard the scratching on the stones as he rose and I turned toward him.
He had climbed to his feet, his legs shaking with pain and fatigue, yet he did not falter. He looked up at Elaine-the-monster, her wings twittering and fluttering as she again called on dark magic to finish them off, and he clutched the cross, pulling it from its cord. A look of determination filled his eyes and I knew I was running out of time. I struggled in my pack for the antidote, pulling leaves free and stuffing them in my mouth even as I rolled over and did the same for Edward.
"I accept my fate, O God," I heard James say clearly behind me. "If it is Your wish then I accept my fate. He who has an ear let him hear: if anyone is to go into captivity, then into captivity he will go," he said and I heard that familiar tone of fanaticism rising with his voice.
"James!" I called out, but he either didn't hear me or ignored my entreaty, moving closer to the monster.
"If anyone is to be killed with a sword, then with a sword he will be killed. I am what I am, I am content with my lot," he shouted now, his voice a paean of praise and faith raised toward the heavens and I felt an answering frisson of fear. He had raised up his cross, and the dark, storm tossed clouds overhead suddenly parted, a shaft of brilliant white light striking down toward us.
"I - I always loved you, Elaine." His last words. The last words of a man of God, a man of faith, a man. And, whispering on the winds, as the light lifted him up and swirled around them both, shattering the malice and evil that had been the monster and revealing at last the sainted woman inside, was Elaine's voice.
"Let's go home James, let's go home. I have such fond memories of those days."
In the next moment the light swirled around them both, and lifted them into the heavens. I never saw James again. Edward and I barely escaped the raging flames burning their way through the church. And when the sun rose the next morning amidst the smoke and ruins, Edward and I went out separate ways. But with me, with him too, went a little bit of James. For James taught me about faith and love. How a man, or a woman, can love someone so much that they would sacrifice their own hopes and dreams for the future for the sake of their loved one. And, when faced with the reality of death, they will gladly offer up their own lives, nay, their very souls, for the ones they love.
It was a lesson I would remember and repeat myself.