Bail stood, awkwardly at attention, at the back wall of the lecture hall in the Cloister of Saint Vicius. (Truth be told, Bail didn’t even like the building. He loved most of the campus– he’d grown to manhood in a hamlet of thirty people south of Pike’s Burden; he’d wept the first time he’d seen the glorious cathedral spires. But the Cloister was dark. The windows were narrow, and all the ironwork formed sinister points and barbs, and icons of Saint Vicius glowered disapprovingly from every wall.) As usual while on duty, he sported his freshly pressed tabard proclaiming him to be a recruit of the Gladium Aeo– he beamed and preened a little bit with pride every time he donned it– and in one hand he carried a cudgel, which at the moment he was doing his best not to fidget with. “No blades, those are for the battlefield,” Sergeant Bedivere had told them. “You’ll not need them to subdue a few drunken initiates.
Well, as far as Bail could tell, no one was drunk in the lecture hall. This was an odd assembly. In addition to a small handful of young trainees, there were full-fledged Purifiers, Confessors, Inquisitors… even a few from outside the Inquisitoraea, who from their panoply, were Gladium Aeo, and off in a corner, one Knight of the Reclamation; Bail’s eyes widened at the power, and confidence, and holiness that radiated off the knights in their gleaming mail.
The man droning at the lectern at the front of the hall was not someone Bail recognized. He knew Purifier-General Havikar, at least by sight, anyway; Havikar was businesslike and cool and eternally preoccupied, and bustled about in his tidy and well-kept black hat and brigandine. This man was different. He wore a voluminous robe with a hood so deep that Bail could only see his chin and thin, wrinkled mouth. And his voice grated, scraped like the iron rims on a wagon wheel, dragged the wrong way over cobblestone. Usually when Bail was tasked with keeping watch over a lecture hall, he barely heard the words of the men at the lecterns. When people spoke with large, complicated words, they tended to slip through his ears and escape, anyway, like canny trout leaping over the village weir. But these words stuck, somehow, and made him squirm, ill at ease.
“It is impossible to classify or categorize or predict the demonic, because demons are the spawn of the Maelstrom, and the Maelstrom is pure chaos. It is the work of Aeo, and the duty of his Tytonian children, to vanquish chaos by hewing order from it. Hence all things orderly and harmonious are the work of the divine, and all things chaotic and deviant are tantamount to the demonic. You need only look at the Framework itself to see the truth of this– four Immortal Sentinels, each governing one of the four eternal elements, forming the Cauldron; each presiding over one of the four seasons. There is no purer evidence of order vanquishing chaos. There are many documented accounts of encounters with the demonic, and those of you in the Order of Holy Flame will study these accounts in great detail as you progress in your training. However, as you review them, you will notice how wildly they differ, even from each other.”
Bail’s gaze fell on two figures seated nearest him; he watched their postures shift a little as the cloaked man spoke. One of them steepled his fingers and cocked his head– an odd head it was, his tidily trimmed hair snow-white, even though he was young, no older than Bail. The other– Bail realized with a start that it was a girl. He almost hadn’t noticed, because her head was shrouded in one of the head-cloths that the Ordo Solatium sisters wore. She leaned forward, intently, and he saw that she was writing on parchment, fast, constantly, filling the pages with lines of neat black text. Bail could barely read, despite the best efforts of Father Llendric back home, and he knew that this girl possessed some sorcery he would never master.
Curious, he took a few steps to the left, to better scrutinize this odd pair. The white-haired boy caught the movement in his peripheral vision and glanced over. He was very handsome. Their eyes met, and he smiled, dazzlingly, his lips full and his teeth straight and white. Bail felt blood rush to his face, and he quickly looked away.
The girl did not look up from her writing, but Bail could see, wreathed in the habit, a very pale oval of a face, dark brows furrowed in concentration, and strange eyes, a hazel so light they looked almost yellow. Like a goat’s. He realized, from their matching dark baldrics, that they were Purifier recruits. The incongruity made his head spin. Neither of them had cruel eyes. In fact, the girl looked… Not scared, precisely. His little sister, back home, often got nervous when out in the village square, especially during feastdays when there were strangers around, and would cling to his hand. This girl’s posture was tense in the same way. The realization filled him with an urge to protect this strange Purifier girl, as absurd as the idea of protecting a Purifier seemed.
“...but the important thing is to learn to identify those who traffic with them,” rasped the cloaked man. “Detection, identification, purification, as our colleagues here in the Cloister are wont to say. Now there are many hints, some subtle, some obvious, that a Tytonian is in league with the demonic. We shall go over the most readily identifiable today. They are summarized, of course, by the nine Great Alarums, but I am here to provide you with my extensive experience, observations, and interpretations of the holy texts, that you might benefit from it as well as your studies of the texts themselves.
“As Aeo elevates high from low, all things forming a natural and ordered hierarchy in His kingdom, so too are Tytonians sorted into a hierarchy. The highest are the nobles and clergy, charged with enacting His laws in the mundane sphere, and His will in the Ecclesiastical. The lowest are commoners. They too have a place in Aeo’s kingdom, of course, but they need to be shepherded by noble rulers and lawgivers, and guided by the Ecclesiastes, lest they stray into immorality. Because, you see, the common man is always at greater risk of trucking with the demonic than the noble man.
“Secondly, while we have an accord with the Circle of Thorns, and that accord is official, and respected officially in all manners and means by the Ecclesiastes, and they are sworn to self-police for the faintest trace of devilry among their members… the fundamental truth of the Framework is that magic is chaos; it is the selfsame wellspring that births the demons we seek to destroy. It is wholly different than the divine power that those gifted among the Ecclesiastes wield, as different as blood and wine, though they be the same hue; it is inherently a gateway to corruption, and those who wield it can never fully be trusted, no matter how many centuries the accord holds.
“Thirdly, it is a long-established fact that unnatural sexual perversions and deviance, anything other than the holy union of man and woman united in Aeo’s sacrament of marriage, is one of the first and most telltale signs of demonic corruption. And while it is not officially doctrine, let me tell you from my own experience… women, themselves, seem to be more vulnerable to diabolism, hence the countless tales of supposed harmless village herb-wives who are in fact vile demoniacs preying on the goodfolk of their village.”
He heard a snicker, from the row just behind Bail’s two trainee Purifiers, and a voice– sneering, haughty. “So the two of you are demon possessions waiting to happen. Perhaps we should just Purify you now, save the Cloister the expense of training you.”
“Oh come now, Wayans,” the handsome white-haired boy chuckled, perfectly at ease. “I only fucked your mother in the unnatural fashion because she begged me for it. I would’ve been perfectly content to fuck her in the conventional way.”
Pandemonium exploded as the sneering boy leapt over the table at the white-haired boy. He knocked him off his stool and they both fell to the ground. Bail’s body was already moving long before his mind could catch up. The girl was fast too, and attempted to pull Wayans off her white-haired friend. Wayans’ hands were wrapped around the other boy’s throat, and were squeezing. Bail collared him and wrenched him away, placing his body between Wayans and the two odd Purifiers. He was a full head taller than Wayans; it wasn’t difficult, and he was gratified as he saw the white-haired boy grinning at him–
And then a lance of ice shot between his ribs, and he looked down, and blood was soaking his clean, pressed tabard, and something was glinting in Wayans’ hands, and suddenly everything was very blurry, and the dark Cloister walls were spinning, and then closing in…
“There, lad. You’ll be right as rain. You just lay there a moment, till you feel ready to rise.” A rumbly deep voice. It was the Knight of the Reclamation, his face looming over Bail, who found himself laying flat on his back, gazing up at the ceiling. The Knight was a powerfully built man in his prime, with a shockingly bright rust-coloured beard. His gauntleted hand was pressed to Bail’s side, and though Bail’s blood streaked the steel, a soft light haloed it, and he felt no pain, only warmth. The Knight stood, addressing the chaotic hubbub of the lecture hall. “For shame. You besmirch the name of the Order of Holy Flame when you behave in this way. We are fortunate enough to have an… expert of this caliber in our midst, and you disrespect him thus?”
Bail looked up to see Wayans being dragged off by the senior Gladium Aeo. As he passed, he hissed at the white-haired boy. “You’ll fucking pay for this, Endicott. You and your little whore friend. Maybe that huge dimwit too. My father will make sure I don’t spend a single night in gaol–” He stopped abruptly as one of the Gladium Aeo cuffed him across the face. “That’s about enough out of you, lad. Don’t make things harder on yourself,” the knight growled.
The raspy voice grated from the front of the lecture hall yet again. “Oh, pay no heed, Sir Alaric. It was a most… amusing display. If I’m not mistaken, that’s Havikar’s new pet, isn’t it? The girl?” His chuckle sounded like a graveyard gate swinging. “Impress me, little girl. Show me why the mighty Lyonel Havikar saw fit to ignore centuries of doctrine on your behalf. Tell me what you learned today.”
Bail watched, from his vantage point on the floor, as the girl stood. She was tall for a girl, and as her posture straightened, he watched all resemblance to his timid little sister vanish. It was as though being challenged made her less afraid. She faced the cloaked man squarely, and when she spoke, her voice was deep, level, devoid of emotion. Somewhat intimidating, actually.
“The demonic host defy categorization and even understanding by the mortal mind, for they are creatures born of and steeped in chaos, and as such defy classification and understanding, for those are creations of Aeo, the architect of all natural order, and tools to be wielded by Tytonians, His children, servants, and the executors of his will. All things ordered and harmonious carry within them this divine order, and all things aberrant bear evidence of the Maelstrom’s touch.
“While demons themselves cannot be categorized or predicted, centuries of careful documentation, analysis, and study, by devotees of Saint Vicius, have resulted in the observation of certain broad patterns in the manifestation of demonic activity in the Framework, as demons wield influence in the Framework through the most effective means available to them, repelled as they are by the Cauldron: inroads through manipulation of Tytonians, via influence, in which their behaviour can be seen to be altered, escalating to pacts, in which they have brokered an agreement of some sort with the demonic entity, and finally to full possession, in which the entity is fully in direct control of the mortal host. These broad patterns form the bulk of the ‘detection and identification’ steps of Purifier methodology, yet as they are still echoes of the demonic, there may still be wide deviance and unpredictability within them, and at any of these stages, one demonic incursion may look completely different from another.
“The central text of the Order of Holy Flame, the Maleficarum, was written by the first Purifier– Grand Purifier Sicoris Aldesevrin Bellico, in the 288th year of the Cauldron, and all Purifier and Confessor methodology is derived from its pages. The Maleficarum identifies nine Great Alarums by which we may be alerted to the presence of a demonic incursion.
“The second is Thrall, the ability to exert influence and sway over a group. This is why so many demonic incursions take the form of cults, presided over by a singular cult leader.
“The third is Depredation. Aeo commands His children to protect and defend the weak and vulnerable. The demonic invariably preys upon the vulnerable and seeks out weakness.
“The fourth is Malevolence. Aeo commands His children to act in each other’s defense, to champion each other, to sacrifice themselves for the good of all, if need be; the demonic twists and warps Tytonians to strive to plunder, exploit, take advantage.
“The fifth is Bloodthirst. Almost all confirmed diabolists and demoniacs use blood as currency; it is not fully understood why, but it is omnipresent in rituals and as offerings.
“The sixth is Licentiousness. The minions of the Utterdark seem to find a particularly reliable means of manipulating Tytonians via carnal desires; this is a corruption of Aeo’s holy gift of procreation, and can be seen in many documented cases of cults’ profane rites.
"The seventh is–”
Bail’s eyes widened as he realized she wasn’t reading from her notes, she was reciting all this from memory. The hooded man seemed to realize it too; he cut her off, and from his tone, he did not sound pleased at her flawless recounting. Bail was confused; why wouldn’t he be pleased she had learned so well?
“That’s enough, girl; perhaps you should be sent to the Ordo Solatium and reminded that humility is a virtue, hubris a sin. We’re finished for today. I suggest you all read the scholar Calanwicke’s pioneering Revelations on Saint Vicius; the Holy Flame’s library has a half dozen passable copies for student use, if I recall correctly...”
But Bail barely heard him; as he struggled to his feet, the Knight of the Reclamation, Sir Alaric, and the white-haired boy, and now the pale girl, were all looking at him, and he felt dizzy, but in a good way. The Knight nodded, approvingly. The girl met his gaze, and he could see gratitude in her odd goat eyes. The white-haired boy winked.
Oh, Aeo have mercy. Mayhap he’d have to get skilled enough at writing to pen Mama a letter. She’d never believe half the things that happened in a single day on Campus.