The dust refused to settle as it drifted loftily in the haze of light that split the small space in two. The dark tent had been set up purely for this meeting, it stood as a small hub of canvas jutting from the ground in the centre of Marcel’s campsite. It seemed cruelly ironic to Marcel that the shelter he had called home in the preceding weeks on the road now served as his prison. The inquisition had been quick to make it their own, and now the thin fabric walls, draped in the thick velvet throws of the inquisitor to rob the space of light, served as a reminder that he could never be free – if he lived that was.

The inquisitor who had called himself Querin sat at the opposite end of a table to his prisoner. The tent, not much larger than the table itself, seemed impossibly dark and Querin’s features were all but obscured as he delicately arranged a few items before him. A small incense burner, which gave the scent of lavender to the room, an intricately designed flintlock pistol and a small crucifix, the figure of the immortal Christ missing from the simple wooden cross.

The Inquisitor leant forward, allowing his face to be illuminated by the beam of light, his features sharp and skin dark, each line of his face imposing from the top of his bald head to his long chin, but none more so than the small scar on his forehead like an eye waiting to open. There were two metal stubs pierced into his collar which he stroked absent-mindedly with his thumb, the small metal discs seemed to have particular meaning to him, but Marcel could only wonder what importance the inquisition held for these; wards perhaps, he mused.

Marcel’s vision was blurred and his head was thrumming rhythmically, though it was to be suspected given the wounds he’d received. His hazy eyes could still make out the cynical look that Querin gave him. He had heard tell that inquisitors could read minds, from the stare he was getting he wondered if it might be true.

A fresh jolt of pain distracted Marcel from his interrogator’s gaze. His body was numb, save for a sharp pain in his side. He pressed hard there, trying to put as much pressure on the wound as he could, but as more blood seeped through his clenched fingers he lost both the strength and the will to do so. The seconds ticked by with nothing happening, the inquisitor had entwined his fingers before his face and rested his elbows on the table, regarding Marcel in an eerily still silence, the only indication that time had not frozen being the drifting particles that glittered in the light, forever twirling, trapped in the dance of the sunbeam.

The inquisitor leaned forward.

“Shall we discuss what happened?”

Marcel felt a soft breeze upon his cheek as he stared down the inquisitor. Glaring into his eyes he felt weak and the scent of lavender made him drowsy.

“You know what happened,” he mustered. Using all his strength to meet those penetrating brown eyes, the words came as a whisper.

The inquisitor said nothing. Querin continued only to stare.

“I refuse to believe you hold me here,” - Marcel’s cough interrupted his speech as a sharp pain gripped his side from his wound - “Simply so I can tell you what you already know.”

Querin drew in a long breath, never breaking his gaze, the sound like a long drawn out sigh. “Oh, but there is so much that I didn’t see, now, isn’t there. I think you know exactly where to begin.”

It was Marcel’s turn to remain silent as he traipsed back through his memory, thinking of recent events. He lingered on thoughts of his friends before he noted in a moment of dull realisation that he would never see them again. Marcel knew he had no choice, nothing to do but to talk.

“It was a short while after we fled the army,” He began, remembering the day he and his two comrades refused to return to the ranks of Napoleon’s forces, instead fleeing south into Spain hoping their new life as renegades would not be burdened by too many troubles. “We needed money, food, clothes that wouldn’t trace us back to Napoleon. Anyone who knew we were hiding from our service viewed us with hostility, several times we had to flee a town because farmers wanted to sell us out for a reward. We took odd jobs, mostly protecting merchants and people journeying between cities, but that was all we could get. So that’s how they found us. Seemed like any other job, protect three travellers as they journeyed to the coast. Nothing too odd.” Marcel coughed again with another jolt of pain. Talking was difficult and he hated how Querin remained perfectly still throughout. “The woman, she seemed normal for a traveller. Dirty, dark haired, something mystical about her. She would dance sometimes as she walked, without music, though she did play her viola when the mood took her. As for the other two, they claimed to be her brothers but they were… Unusual. Clean, neat, strikingly blonde, they had unusual accents and let the girl do most of the talking. When they did talk you could tell they didn’t know the language well.” Marcel paused briefly, looking for some form of confirmation from Querin that this is what he wanted to hear, but the inquisitor remained completely still.

“The destination was by the coast, we assumed they were trying to get a boat or knew someone that could hide them. They clearly had their own faith, no surprise really that you were after them.

Luc - my friend - wanted little to do with them, much like myself, but money is money and they had plenty. Anyway, he kept to the head of the pack, scouting out the roads and leading us along the route; he was good at finding the way. The twins, those two blonde men, took an interest in Henri. He was young, not much for talking either so I have no idea what they spoke about, but they used to walk alongside him on the path. I spent most of the journey talking to the woman. She had a caravan pulled by two horses and while she drove them I would walk by her, so I could keep an eye on the road behind and protect the caravan if necessary.

“We spoke a lot, she was…” Marcel struggled to admit the next part, something was compelling him to talk but he was aware of the Inquisition’s stance on these matters. “She was enchanting; kind, interesting, and beautiful. She always had something to talk about, filled every silent moment, either with song or music or questions. She asked me a lot about my home, my life. Plenty of questions about the military and why I left. I found her entrancing, when we stopped for the nights and made camp she would make up a fire and dance around it, enticing me, swaying her long dress with one hand. Some nights she would creep over to me, wake me to tell me stories of the stars or her ancestors. Folk lore and myths, that sort of thing. I would fall asleep listening to them and in the morning, find her arms around me.” The Frenchman looked up at Querin, expecting to see a disapproving frown but met only by the impassive stare of his captor. He decided to continue. “It took a while but we got near to their destination which they had said was a house by the coast. We passed the last town on the route sometime at mid-day which is when they told us to stop as we were supposed to get there in the morning. It was very important to them. We just thought it was to do with their rendezvous. Besides, they were willing to pay for the extra day’s wait.

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The rest of the afternoon went by quickly enough, the twins said they needed some provisions and Luc took them back into the nearby town. They didn’t return until after sundown. The rest of us shared some tea in the caravan, after which Henri went and found a comfortable patch in the wildflowers and slept for a while. As for me, the lady invited me back into her caravan, she undressed and I was powerless to resist that body. We enjoyed each other twice before the night time, and again after dark. When Luc and the twins rounded the corner back to our campsite Henri followed quick on their coattails to reveal a rabbit he had caught for dinner after his nap. That night she danced around the fire again, only wilder this time, with a fiery passion in every step. Almost straight after she was done she pulled me into the caravan and that time she was on me like an animal, like something feral and hungry.

In the morning Luc woke me early, he had been up in the night and found the travellers were gone. They must have returned at some point in the small hours, however, for they were the first ready and awake, standing eagerly at the head of the trail waiting for us.

We went on. They lead the way now with me, Luc and Henri travelling at the back wary of the path ahead.

Then we came to the place, as they had said, to find it was not a house; rather a church, or at least what had once been one. The building was marred by what looked like an old fire. It seemed a husk of what it must once have been.

The twins ushered us inside, the lady having giddily run up to the archway door ahead of us - with a radiant, unchecked smile she had bounded in before the caravan horses had even stopped. Luc told me and Henri to wait outside in a hushed breath that the twins must not have heard. We did and Luc entered behind them, slowly.

It was quiet for a short moment. The church was on a cliff edge and the ocean waves were crashing against the rocks. Had the wind been going the other way, perhaps I would have heard your horses approaching.

We heard Luc cry out, the sudden noise swiftly followed by a gunshot. Henri charged in, I was close behind. The rifle Luc had been carrying was unused and tight in his grip, instead the shot had come from a pistol one of the twins held outstretched. Luc was dead. That was what we saw first. Then we saw the beast.

In the centre of the church within some chalk-drawn archaic symbol that great demonic creature stood nearly to the roof. A black cloud of smoke billowed from its feet and made the air acrid, choking, and I was filled with a sickening mixture of awe and horror at its presence. I know Henri fired his rifle and recall the blonde hair of the twin that shot Luc slick with blood in the corner of my vision. But my eyes were locked on the winged beast. I heard a word. “Run” it said, resounding in my head, Henri trying to save me, pushing me to the door. Eventually my feet registered and I fled. Henri never followed behind. I don’t know why. But outside, you stood.

Your guard and horses lined up outside waiting for us. You began to speak, but the fire billowed out from the church halting your soldiers. I can’t remember much in the chaos, the black smoke cloud was too thick, but I remember arms grabbing me and dragging me away. I didn’t realise until afterwards that they were the arms of the traveller lady. We ran until I collapsed and when I awoke she was gone, and you were there. Ready to shoot me so I could not escape again.”

At last Querin reacted, drawing in a long breath that made it seem he only now took disbelief in the story when his own involvement supported the claims. Over the course of his recounting the incense had burnt low and Querin took the time to slowly and deliberately relight a thickly scented pastille.

Marcel couldn’t be sure whether the pain in his side was abating or perhaps his whole self ached too much now to care. He felt cold.

Scrutinising Marcel, Querin rubbed again at the silver discs in his collar.

“You base fool,” he stated. “Falling prey to the whims of a succubus and not even knowing her name.”

Marcel thought back and realised this to be true. He wondered why he had disclosed so much, looking again at the freshly lit incense and the hazy smoke drifting loftily into the air. He wondered if the scent was intoxicating him, but decided it was simply a case that he no longer cared. His sensibilities had been betrayed, he had witnessed a great atrocity being brought into the world and lost his only two friends and companions. He had shared everything, because he had already lost it all.

“I knew of these travellers, and their desire to invoke a demon for some time.” Querin continued with his explanation, “Capturing them was to show the church why the powers of the inquisition cannot continue to be stripped away. It’s bad enough we face such opposition from the likes of your French lords who threaten to abolish us. The church must be absolute!” He slammed his fist on the table, his voice escalating into a shout emboldened with religious conviction.

“If not,” he said, returning to his frosty calm, “imbeciles like you are allowed to rise up and ruin everything. The girl escaped, this creature you speak of was nowhere to be found once the smoke cleared. The church, reduced to rubble.” He shook his head slowly.

Suddenly a muffled thud came from outside the tent drawing both their attentions. Querin was inscrutable, passive at his desk as always, though he picked up his pistol and glared at the entrance. For a moment everything was silent. Then one of Querin’s guards began to scream. A volley of gunfire followed shortly after and continued to accentuate the harried shouts of the inquisitor’s soldiers as they barked their orders.

Querin looked sceptically at Marcel “Do not even try to run,” he said and rose smoothly, exiting the tent with a near serene presence. Marcel almost admired the man’s surety.

As the tent billowed close behind him the Frenchman caught what he felt was his last glimpse of the outside world. The bright sun illuminating nearby trees as they swayed in a gentle breeze. It looked a pleasant day, before he was shrouded again in the dark void of his interrogation chamber. The sounds continued, though the muffled shouts were becoming less hurried, or perhaps there were simply fewer of them. The gunshots still rang out, though distantly, and they began to match the thrumming beat of his heart, each beat a new wave of pain at his temples as a headache developed. The incense still burned and next to it on the table lay the simple worn cross. Marcel reached over and took it in his hand. He gripped it with all his strength, until the knuckles of his fist were white. He held it to his head with a great effort and began to pray. Regardless of whomsoever should come back in, he thought, he was going to want the Lord to help him.