The Inner Circle: The Knowing

By Cael McIntosh

What if demons aren't evil as we've been lead to believe from infancy? What if they're just like you and me: capable of making mistakes and having regrets? Maybe they're sorry for the wrong they've done and maybe we should forgive them. After all, isn't that what Maker is all about, forgiveness of sins?

They found the demon child crying on their doorstep. He was cold, precariously balanced on the edge of death. They were kind people. Unable to ignore his suffering, they took him into their home and cared for him as if he were their own. But he was not their own, and the day came when he committed an unforgivable sin, in raising his mother from the dead.

Have you ever imagined what it must be like for someone to love you . . . the real you? Can you imagine what such an embrace might feel like? No . . . of course not. I'm being silly. You're just a little bird. No one would ever love you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cael McIntosh
• Release date: Oct 7, 2015
• ISBN: 9780646937359

Cael McIntosh

Cael McIntosh is the author of The Inner Circle trilogy and is currently working on several other projects. Having been born and raised as a Jehovah’s Witness, only to leave the faith in his early twenties, he has developed a unique perspective on religion and its implications, both to bring great joy, and cause immense destruction. From that, along with other life experiences, he finds inspiration for his tales. It is his greatest hope that his works will inspire people to analyse and question their beliefs from a unique perspective.​

Book preview

PROLOGUE

UNFORTUNATELY

Bright streaks of lightning revealed a sky filled with dark clouds that rumbled malevolently. Baen Geld turned away from the fearsome sight and determinedly pulled down the latch on the barn doors. The horses would be safe enough in there. The cattle would have to fend for themselves in the fields.

‘Urelie,’ Baen called as he hurried toward the small farmhouse he shared with his wife and son. He didn’t want to leave them alone too long. Baen was well aware of Ilgrin’s fear of storms and knew just how great a handful his son could be when frightened. The boy was not truly theirs . . . not by birth. And at the tender age of six, he harboured the strength of a fully grown man.

‘Daddy!’ Ilgrin cried shrilly from the doorway.

After that everything passed by in a blur. Lightning struck a tree just strides from the door and a deafeningly loud crack tore through the night. With his eyes locked on Baen, Ilgrin shrieked in terror and fled toward the closest safe haven he knew: his father.

‘Ilgrin, no!’ Urelie cried as the boy thrust himself into the night. She leapt after him to snatch at his wrist, but Urelie’s strength was futile against his. The tree that’d been struck just moments earlier moaned, its tortured trunk beginning to fold. Urelie threw her weight into the middle of Ilgrin’s back and sent him stumbling out of the way as the great tree completed its journey to the sodden earth.

‘Ilgrin!’ Baen called into the darkness, the once steady stream of lightning having momentarily ceased. ‘Ilgrin,’ he beckoned again, moving unsteadily with outstretched arms.

‘Daddy?’ the boy whimpered, wrapping his arms around Baen’s legs from his place in the mud.

‘Get into the house,’ Baen ordered weakly.

‘I’m scared,’ Ilgrin moaned, the sound bearing a more similar likeness to an animal than that of a human.

‘Get back inside!’ Baen projected firmly and doubled his efforts in escaping the boy’s iron grip. At last, Ilgrin did as he was told.

‘Urelie?’ Baen asked tentatively. He didn’t need to wait long for an answer, but it did not come from his wife. A bright flash of lightning revealed Urelie’s form crushed beneath the fallen tree. ‘No!’ Baen’s breath caught as he hurried to her side, the image of her mangled corpse ingrained on his memory forever. He pleaded the Ways that he’d been mistaken. Surely he hadn’t seen what he’d thought.

‘Urelie?’ Baen dropped to his knees and cupped her face in his hands. But there was no mistake. The tree had pinned Urelie’s torso to the earth. Her eyes were open, glassy in death.

A deep moan rumbled free of Baen’s chest as the realisation struck that his wife was beyond help. He howled, both enraged and destroyed. Baen leapt to his feet, wrapped his arms around the tree and used all his strength to free her body.

‘Daddy,’ Ilgrin’s voice echoed fearfully, as Baen huddled over his wife. He ignored the boy, instead closing his eyes and caressing her face.

‘Don’t be gone,’ he wept regretfully. ‘Don’t leave me alone with him.’

‘Daddy?’ Ilgrin squeaked. ‘What’s Mummy doing?’

‘This is your fault!’ Baen shouted. Overcome by pain, he lost all restraint. ‘You killed her!’ He glared at the boy, hating him. And why shouldn’t he? Baen gritted his teeth. The boy was not theirs. They’d pitied the creature. That was all. He glared at Ilgrin, remembering not for the first time what he really was.

The demon child stood silhouetted in the doorway, the light behind him blacking out his features and exacerbating his outline. Although his stature was small, his leathery wings arched wide from his shoulders and even the darkness of night failed to diminish the obscenity of his pasty white flesh. Ilgrin clamped his hands over his cheeks, bent his knees and screamed piercingly. It was a sound no human child could produce, a sound that chilled Baen to his core.

‘Mummy?’ The boy leapt through the doorway, his wings quivering, occasionally causing his toes to lift away from the earth. ‘No, no!’ he howled, gripping his mother’s hand. ‘Not my mummy!’

‘I’m sorry.’ Baen swallowed heavily, his heart softening. ‘I’m so sorry.’ He wrapped the boy in his arms, only to be hurled backward into the mud.

‘There’s no time,’ Ilgrin whimpered. ‘She’ll be gone soon.’

‘What’re you doing?’ Baen’s eyes were wide with alarm as he squirmed through the sludge to reach his son.

‘There’s no time,’ Ilgrin wailed, evading Baen’s grip. ‘I won’t let her go. I won’t! She’s not really dead,’ the boy mumbled, resting one pallid hand on his mother’s cheek before placing the other atop her stomach.

A flash of lightning brought Baen’s surroundings to the brightness of day. He gasped and recoiled at the sight before him as the world plunged back into darkness, a fearsome rumble vibrating the air. Had her hand twitched? Just for a moment? Did he dare hope?

‘Get away,’ Baen called, but the voice he heard was weak and noncommittal. ‘Please,’ he hissed, but the sound was barely audible.

‘Don’t go,’ Ilgrin whispered as he rocked back and forth over his mother. ‘You can’t go.’

‘Don’t do this,’ Baen croaked. ‘Oh, Maker, forgive him,’ he pleaded as he listened to Urelie’s bones snapping back into place and rearranging themselves into order.

Another flash of lightning revealed Urelie’s chest as it began to swell, the gash on her face likewise melting away. Baen’s throat felt as though it were filled with sand. He needed to stop the boy, but wasn’t it too late? Urelie was on the brink of being returned to life. Surely he’d waited too long. Shouldn’t he just let the demon finish his work?

‘Stop,’ Baen rasped, a waste of breath amongst ferocious wind. He was simultaneously paralysed by fear, hope, and repulsion. Baen was weak and for that he loathed himself. But, Maker forsake him, this was his wife.

How could Ilgrin have known? Baen and Urelie had done everything in their power to prevent him learning of such repulsive evils. They’d long ago destroyed every bit of literature on silts they could find, refusing to risk the chance of Ilgrin discovering his powers of resurrection. But clearly . . . somehow . . . they’d failed.

Urelie’s body jerked violently and she moaned loudly. Her arm twisted sideways and snapped into place. Her shoulder crunched forward and her head snapped back. She cried out and sat up glancing about herself in confusion. Baen knew what was coming. The cost of resurrection would not take long to reveal itself.

Ilgrin pulled his hands away and fell back, head hanging with exhaustion.

‘What--?’ Urelie began to ask, but her eyes widened in a display of discomfort and she began scratching her arms feverishly. The dim glow from the lanterns inside the house revealed panic rippling across her features. ‘In Maker’s name, what have you done?’ she choked out before the sound was cut off by a fit of coughing and wheezing.

Urelie stumbled to her feet, spluttering and gasping, gagging and choking. Why wasn’t it coming? Baen felt the panic rising in his chest. Surely it felt the call to freedom. Baen had never himself seen one before, but he’d heard that they were supposed to start exiting the body before the resurrection was even completed.

‘Get it out,’ Urelie shrieked. Her eyes were wide with panic. ‘Get out!’ She clawed at her neck and yanked at her clothes. She bent over and vomited, at last finding relief. But the substance pouring forth was not the liquid one might ordinarily expect from a person fallen ill.

Thick darkness poured from Urelie’s lips as she cradled her stomach and heaved gutturally in the grass. The darkness, blacker than night, poured toward the earth, but immediately wafted back into the air, a mist thicker than smoke. Baen stumbled away as the whisp moved past. It horrified him, its formlessness as hideous as the destruction it would no doubt cause.

The whisp squeezed from Urelie’s eyes and drained out through her nostrils. It spiralled away from her flesh, seeking escape by any means possible. It continued coming, seemingly endless. On and on, the dark cloud erupted--until, quite suddenly, it stopped. Urelie fell to the wet earth, sobbing as the black mist oozed silently into the night.

*

Having come from such a very small boy for such a very beautiful reason, the whisp radiated especially thick darkness from its frozen core. It danced joyously--almost playfully--in the late southern breeze, its destination a secret to all but itself.

Towns and villages filled with the vulnerable forms of sleeping humans passed by below. Any one of them would’ve been suitable recompense for the life returned just moments earlier, but the whisp ignored them all. The misty darkness resisted temptation, pursuing a more meaningful reward rather than instant gratification.

Many hours later, the whisp was faced with internal conflict. Some of the darkness pulled forcefully toward the sleeping world below. The Ways demanded recompense for a gift so crudely granted, but the greater portion of the whisp refused, intent on a loftier sacrifice. The strain became too much and the cloud split apart, the smaller portion churning violently toward the earth.

Through the stillness of night, the whisp crept silently along a road in the budding town of Elmsville. It whispered around street lanterns and slithered past shopfronts. It tickled the flowers on street corners and took pleasure in their wilting. The whisp came to a shuddering stop.

A small house stood before the dark mist, the building somehow having drawn it close. It surged toward the cottage and drifted over the rooftop, captivated. She was inside. She understood the Ways. What better reward could there be?

The whisp sunk through the ceiling and into a modest bedroom where a middle-aged couple lay blissfully ignorant, reading together in bed.

‘Good night, love,’ the man whispered and kissed his wife on the cheek. ‘I’d best get some sleep. We have a big day in the shop tomorrow.’

‘All right.’ The woman smiled. ‘I’m going to--’ She stopped abruptly and her features became still.

‘What is it?’

‘Nothing,’ she replied, glancing nervously about the room. ‘You go to sleep. I’ll just check on Seteal.’ She chuckled softly upon realising her husband had already fallen asleep.

The whisp sank into the shadows, excitement building. She’d felt it . . . just for a moment. She understood the Ways.

After abandoning the illusion of safety provided by her bed, the woman padded along a quiet hallway guided by no more than lantern light. The whisp remained silent as it slithered insidiously along the ceiling behind her. Having reached the corner at the end of the hall, the woman stopped and gazed adoringly at her daughter bundled up in bed.

‘I love you, Seteal,’ she whispered softly.

Stifling a yawn, the woman turned to go back to her room. Her foot landed heavily on the floorboards. The world twisted ever so slightly. The flooring moaned regret. And the black mist enveloped her. It touched her soul, leaving no time to gasp as the chill whispered its suffocating song.

The woman winced as bitter sorrow filled her heart. She knew what this was and yet she’d failed to sense it. Had she truly been so long away from her people? She wanted to scream, but could not. She knew this was her end. The clammy vapour sliced deep into her flesh and immediately her soul was cut out. The woman was dead before her body reached the floor.

The child in the next room sat bolt upright, her high-pitched scream tearing through the night. Whether she’d heard her mother collapse, or whether she’d simply known of its happening will forever be unclear, but the girl cried continuously and mournfully. The sound was deep and tormented. It was a sound that represented a kind of pain that should never be felt by a child so young.

The circle had begun to turn.

*

Its sister having taken human life created a sense of ease in the remaining portion of the whisp and its darkly clad journey all but simmered to a stop. Life was granted to the dead only if another was made to pay the debt. After all, life and death always had to remain in balance. The Ways demanded such justice. The dark haze meandered about the skies for some thirteen years before finally billowing through the treetops into the place marked out by man as Narvon Wood.

A small bird known by many in the region as an elf owl lifted into the air, beating her wings in anticipation for the night’s hunt. After having been created through such meaningful salvation, why the whisp chose such an insignificant target would forever remain a mystery. Perhaps it chose the owl because it had tired over the years. Perhaps it sought out the small animal through fear of its own inevitable demise. Either way, it was within the little bird’s soul that the darkness took its hold.

With its limited capacity, the owl could not understand from where the chill had come, nor why the cold spread so relentlessly throughout her body. Mind and instincts all but destroyed, the bird lost track of where she was and that she had a family awaiting her return. All the same, her body continued to function and, as such, the egg that’d been forming within her awaited being lain.

After a clumsy landing, the elf owl shuffled through the leaf-litter carpeting the forest floor and produced a perfectly black egg among the protective roots of an old tree. The bird opened her wings, the cold night beckoning her return, but the whisp within her died and, with it, so did she.

In the weeks that followed, the animals of Narvon Wood strayed increasingly far to avoid the base of that old tree. The surrounding foliage died and soon after rotted away, leaving a clearing in which nothing was able to live. Perhaps the dark and pervasive omen had been intended as a curse. Perhaps it was divine intervention for that which was yet to come. Or perhaps, as was so often the case, its creation was simply a grand coincidence of neither intention nor design. The clearing was a place where sunlight seemed dull, the egg becoming indefinable among the shadows that lulled across its surface.

Despite the lack of maternal warmth, when the time was due, the egg began to hatch, a tiny beak pipping its way tirelessly through the surface. The shell emitted a foul odour as it splintered to reveal the pathetic bit of flesh that came from within. The owlet’s appearance was deceptively similar to that of any other newborn of its kind. The bird opened its beak and called for a mother who’d long since become little more than dust and bones. It gaped for many hours but was graced by neither nourishment nor attention. Just as the young bird grew too weak to hold its head aloft, an unlikely guest appeared at the other side of the clearing.

The plump rat bristled fearfully as it approached the weakened owlet. Within its crooked teeth, it carried the still warm corpse of its own young. It laid down the body cautiously in the dirt and proceeded to tear off pieces of flesh and place them within the awaiting gullet of the hatchling. Having fed the bird to contentment, the rat curled up beside it, offering warmth throughout the night. Upon awakening, it scampered away without a backward glance.

The next visitor slithered equally as hesitantly into the clearing. Ordinarily, one would assume that the arrival of a serpent could only indicate ill intent, but again the visitor merely offered the owlet pieces of flesh torn from its kin.

In the days that followed, a variety of animals approached the bird, each providing food and warmth until the day came when the owlet was due to leave his place between the roots of the old tree. He’d gained much knowledge as he’d grown. He’d noticed that the tree was entirely black at the base where he’d spent so much time and that the wind seldom touched a single leaf.

Although he hadn’t realised it yet, the young owl was quite unlike other woodland animals. The bird ruffled his feathers and practiced beating his wings. He spotted a cricket on a nearby tree, leapt forward, and snatched it up within his clumsy talons. The elf owl no longer required the services of the animals of Narvon Wood, and oddly enough, they stopped coming.

Genesis 1

1. In the beginning Maker created Hae'Evun and the earth.

20. And Maker said, Let the waters bring forth abundantly the moving creature that hath life, and fowl that may fly above the earth in the open firmament of the sky.

21. And Maker created great whales, and every living creature that moveth, which the waters brought forth abundantly, after their kind, and every winged fowl after their kind: and Maker saw that it was good.

24. And Maker said, Let the earth bring forth the living creatures after their kind, cattle, and creeping things, and beasts of the earth after their kind: and it was so.

26. And Maker said, Let us make man in our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth.

27. And Maker blessed them, and Maker said unto them, Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it. And Maker let silts have dominion over all that He had created as guardians of man.

Scriptures of the Holy Tome

CHAPTER ONE

ACTIONS AND REACTIONS

Today. Seteal’s eyes burst open. She leapt out of bed, stumbled across the room, slammed face-first into her wardrobe, hit the floor, and threw up. Lifting her chin, she paused for a moment to examine the strange carvings on the wooden door. Her father had constructed the wardrobe many years earlier, but she’d always found the images confusing. There was an ocean, frozen in time with people standing fearlessly beneath huge waves as if they too knew that the waters were incapable of crashing down.

‘For Maker’s sake,’ Seteal muttered before hurrying out of the room to find a cloth. After collecting one from the next room, she cleaned up the mess and got dressed.

‘Is that you thumping about up there, Seteal?’ Gifn called from downstairs.

‘No!’ Seteal shouted back to her father. Who did he expect it was? No one else lived there.

‘I’ve made breakfast,’ he announced.

‘I’m not hungry,’ Seteal replied. The last thing she wanted to do was have breakfast with that man. Not after last night.

After straightening out her bright yellow dress, Seteal made her way to the bedroom window and gazed out over the town. The house in front of theirs was all on one level, which allowed her to see the town centre beyond. It was early . . . too early for Seteal to be up, really, but she’d been unable to sleep lately on account of some rather disturbing dreams.

Seteal was able to see the future. Well . . . sometimes. Maybe. She was confused. Perhaps she was simply losing her mind. Throughout life she’d suddenly just know something was about to happen--sometimes only moments in advance, sometimes days. She didn’t always know what the event was, just that it would happen. Even to Seteal that sounded crazy. But it wasn’t.

She’d only ever known such things occasionally and it’d never impacted on her life too negatively. But lately things had been different. And today was the day. That was why she had been sick. She didn’t know what it was, but she’d known it was coming for well over a year. Every now and then, she’d freeze with the abrupt and somewhat forceful realisation that it’d gotten closer. Or maybe she was just a bored, small town girl making up childish fantasies to take her mind off what her father was up to.

With a tired sigh, Seteal headed downstairs to join Gifn in the kitchen. ‘Morning,’ she grumbled.

‘Morning,’ Gifn replied with an equal lack of enthusiasm. ‘You didn’t have to be so rude last night, you know?’

‘Really?’ Seteal rolled her eyes. ‘You want to start this early in the morning?’

‘What’s wrong with the boy?’ Gifn said indignantly. ‘He comes from a wealthy family and he’s actually quite a nice young man. You could do a lot worse.’

‘All right.’ Seteal exhaled softly. ‘We’re actually doing this. Fine. I--don’t--want--to--get--married. Do you understand me?’

‘Come now, Seteal. You finished school three years ago,’ Gifn insisted. ‘You can’t help out in the shop forever . . . and I won’t be here forever. You need someone who can take care of you.’

‘I can take care of myself,’ Seteal snapped. ‘I’ll run the business alone if I have to.

‘You’re a woman.’ Gifn chuckled before his face crumbled at the realisation that he should’ve kept such a comment to himself. ‘I mean to say: carpentry is heavy work.’

‘It’s work that you know I’m far more capable of handling than any of the men you’ve hired in the past.’ Seteal put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes accusingly.

‘I just don’t see why you’re so hostile to the idea of at least meeting some of these young men,’ Gifn intercepted, guiding the conversation back on course. ‘Most girls would be giddy with excitement at your age.’

Seteal stared at her father stonily. He couldn’t possibly be so dim. Surely he was trying to fool himself by denying what he must already know on some level, at least. She felt like shouting it at him, but couldn’t be so cruel. It would crush him. It wasn’t fair, but that was the world they lived in.

‘I’ve just met so many lately,’ Seteal stated, taking pity on her father’s desperation. ‘I’m tired of not finding the right person.’

‘Well.’ Gifn clapped his hands enthusiastically, relief and elation dancing across his features. ‘I’ve got just the man for you! He’s not the wealthiest in town, but he’s intelligent and handsome. I’ve arranged a meeting for tonight.’

‘No--enough!’ Seteal’s long-suppressed anger boiled to the surface. ‘For Maker’s sake, I’m trying to make this easy on you, but you keep throwing it back in my face. I don’t want to meet a man, any man, ever. Get it? I’m not interested in men.’

‘What’re you saying?’ Gifn’s face fell, making it obvious that he didn’t truly want the answer to his question.

‘I . . .’ Seteal slumped, once again softened by her father’s distress. He was old fashioned and alone. She was all he had. ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about tonight, that’s all.’

‘What kind of feeling?’ Gifn asked warily, clamping his hands over Seteal’s shoulders.

‘I don’t know.’ Seteal looked up at him awkwardly. ‘A feeling.’

‘What kind of feeling?’ Gifn repeated more firmly. ‘What does the feeling feel like?’

‘What does the feeling feel like?’ Seteal’s face creased in consternation. ‘What kind of a question is that? It feels like a feeling. The feeling feels like a feeling!’

‘Are you sure that it doesn’t feel like it’s not your feeling, but you’re feeling it anyway?’

‘What the torrid?’ Seteal got up from the table and stepped away to stare at anything other than Gifn’s eyes, all the while doing her best to remain calm. Her father had described exactly what it felt like when she felt the future. It was as though she knew something, but the knowledge was not her own. Rather, the thoughts seemed to have been inserted into her head from somewhere else. ‘I’m just not feeling very sociable.’ Seteal forced a laugh.

Why was he behaving this way? Had he figured it out? But how could he have possibly done so?

‘Well, all right, then.’ Gifn squeezed her shoulder and headed toward the sink, where he resumed drying the dishes. ‘You’d tell me if anything was the matter, wouldn’t you?’

‘At the moment . . .’ Seteal half-smiled. ‘I can guarantee that you’re the only thing bothering me.’

‘There it is.’ Gifn’s face split into a broad smile in recognition of Seteal’s. ‘I haven’t seen one of those in a while.’

‘Didn’t you say you had some breakfast for me?’ Seteal asked. She often found herself feeling awkward when her father behaved affectionately. She didn’t know how to respond. It was just a smile. Why did parents get so excited over such expressions? Everyone smiled. It was nothing special.

‘Oh dear,’ Gifn teased, ‘did I embarrass you?’

‘Just give me my breakfast.’ Seteal grinned wryly. Having spotted it on the counter, she pushed past her father, snatched up the plate, and took it to the table. ‘Thanks,’ she said through a mouthful of bread, sending crumbs spraying everywhere.

‘You’re going to clean that up.’ Gifn nodded at the breadcrumb explosion.

‘Yesh,’ Seteal tried to say, but only succeeded in sending more crumbs spraying across the table.

‘You just focus on eating.’ Gifn gestured patiently. ‘We chew, swallow, and then talk. Maker, it’s moments like these that I really miss your mother. She would’ve taught you some manners.’

Silence filled the room and Seteal lost her appetite. She put down the bread and dusted off her hands. Gifn occasionally reminisced over Jillian, but aside from a few dusty memories, Seteal had nothing to add to the conversation. And for that she was bitterly resentful.

‘I’m sorry, darling,’ Gifn began to apologise, only to be interrupted by a knock at the door. ‘I wonder who that could be?’ He marched over and pulled it open. ‘You,’ he gasped.

‘Mister Eltari,’ a deep, commanding voice intoned.

Gifn slammed the door and put his weight against it. ‘Get out of here,’ he hissed at Seteal.

‘What’s going on?’ She moved around the table, curiosity driving her forward.

‘Listen very carefully.’ Gifn’s tone was one of disbelief and his eyes showed greater fear than Seteal had ever seen in them. ‘Go through the back. Don’t let anyone see you and run as fast as you can. I’ll try to keep them occupied.’

‘Come now, Gifn,’ the strong, elderly voice called through the door. ‘Must it really be this way?’

‘What do you want?’

‘I simply wish to speak to Miss Eltari,’ the voice replied.

‘No,’ Gifn responded without hesitation. ‘You can’t have her. You should leave.’

‘Father,’ Seteal gasped. ‘You’re being rude.’

‘Must you be so difficult?’ the voice enquired regretfully. ‘You well know that I needn’t be so courteous in getting my way. And you are beginning to test my patience.’

‘No . . . no,’ Gifn’s breaths became ragged. ‘Seteal . . . please, if you’re going to listen to me just once in your life, you need to get out of here now!’

‘I’m going.’ Seteal snapped out of her shock and swept toward