Death of an Adept

Quivering with cold and shock, he fixed his gaze on the icy stars overhead, squinting against a light snowfall, and tried to offer up his prayers anew - for that was the only recourse that now remained. He tried not to hear as the black priest launched into a twisted parody of the Latin Preface to the Mass, turning his face away as Angela spread a square black cloth over the symbols she had painted on his chest in his blood, shuddering as she set chalice and paten there in readiness. He could feel a brooding Darkness building up around him, threatening to smother him, as the black priest spoke the words of Consecration and lifted the Elements in turn.

Against his will, unable to retreat into trance, Adam was then forced to witness the savage desecration of a Host, followed by the pollution of the Cup with a mixture of urine and his own blood - surely no valid profanation, a still defiant part of him reminded the part that cringed from this calculated sacrilege, for his higher self knew full well that only the Holy Spirit could will the transformation that made Sacrament of bread and wine - not any human agency. Nor could any man compel the descent of Spirit - not even a priest. Especially not this priest.

Trembling nonetheless - for Evil surely had been called down - Adam did his best to show no emotion as the black priest crumbled the desecrated Host above the chalice; but when the priest then turned to lift the cup toward Raeburn, an inadvertent gasp did escape his lips as the Lynx-Master produced two gold wedding bands and Adam's confiscated Adept ring, displaying them triumphantly before he dropped them one by one into the polluted cup.

That simple act underscored Adam's helplessness far more insidiously than the more lofty desecration he had already been forced to witness. As his stunned gaze dimly tracked the cup to Raeburn's lips, marking the other's elation as he drank, dull despair eroded at Adam's will to keep resisting - so that he was almost taken by surprise when Raeburn lowered the cup, dragging the back of a hand across his mouth, then gave a minute signal to his acolytes.

Hard hands upon Adam's ankles and shoulders gave but scant warning of their intent. Physical resistance was useless; nevertheless he fought them feebly, at the same time groping in sluggish memory for words of spiritual defense.

"Accipe calicem voluptatis carnis, in nomine Domini In-fen," the black priest murmured, even as one of Raeburn's men seized Adam's head and held it while another forced his jaws apart and Raeburn moved in with the cup.

I believe in God the Father of Our Lord Jesus Christ, Adam prayed, trying to shield himself in words from the baptismal rite in the Book of Common Prayer. I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord and Giver of Life. I reject Satan and all his lies, and all his works and all his empty promises -

He started choking as Raeburn poured a goodly measure of the polluted wine down his throat. Gagging, he felt some of it start to explode through his nose, but Raeburn seized the cloth from his chest and clamped it over his mouth and nose, holding it there relentlessly until anatomatic reflex forced his victim to swallow or pass out.

Adam swallowed and was released, a shudder of profound revulsion racking him from head to toe as he came up for air, gasping and coughing. Raeburn's spiteful laughter rang in his ears as a hand wiped a cloth across his mouth and nose. His heart was hammering against his ribs as he fell back, sick and faint.

I reject Satan and all his lies, and all his works and all his empty promises, he told himself again, eyes closed against his torturers. The essence of what is sacred cannot be sullied by any human agency, nor can the spirit be touched by anything that the will categorically refuses.

"Enough of fun and games, Master of the Hunt. Time now for a more potent sacrifice."

The words jolted Adam from his attempt to retreat, bringing his focus back to Raeburn with a start. Raeburn's chill smile seemed to float above him as he moved the Lynx medallion back onto Adam's chest, centering it almost gently amid the symbols painted there in Adam's blood, that spelled out his doom. As strong hands again locked on Adam's ankles, Raeburn's gaze briefly locked upon his, mocking, then shifted to the Pictish dagger now glittering in his right hand. With almost caressing slowness, as if to draw the moment out, Raeburn slid his other hand under Adam's neck and tilted his head back to present the helpless throat.