Chapter 40

Stepping into the square, Carrack kept his gaze low, reluctant to confront the statue’s oppressive form or the lights’ eerie presence above. The ground was a mosaic of footwear impressions—shoes, boots, even the curves of bare soles—until they reached an inexplicable halt. Beyond this line, the earth was undisturbed, smooth, and untouched.

As he surveyed the square, a clear boundary became apparent, a ring where the footprints dared not tread. Carrack’s breath caught as he finally allowed his gaze to rise to the statue dominating the square. A dark addition marred its familiar silhouette, drawing him in with a terrifying fascination, like a moth compelled toward a devastating blaze.

He approached, seemingly crossing the boundary where the footprints ended without a moment’s hesitation, his steps silent on the undisturbed ground. As Carrack drew closer, the grisly scene before him sharpened into gruesome clarity, though comprehension remained just beyond his grasp. Draped across the statue’s base was a figure, its form mutilated, unnaturally fused to the stone as if it had sprouted from the very material.

The body was contorted in an eerie semblance of grace, a ghastly marriage of flesh and sculpture. The head of the victim was bowed, resigned, as if in defeat, accepting the grim bond with its inanimate captor. Carrack instinctively raised his hand to shield his nose as he leaned in, trying to decipher who the victim of this atrocity was. Recognition dawned as he peered closer; the disfigured face, even marred by gruesome injuries, was unmistakably that of the Inquisitor.

“God … all of them, any of them,” Carrack gasped out, the words barely a whisper. He stared, horrified, at the Inquisitor’s remains. “What happened to you, you poor fucker?” Carrack murmured.

Carrack’s gaze was suddenly drawn to a faint glow emanating from within the corpse. Nestled amidst the grotesque display was an object enshrouded in blood vessels that wrapped around it like clinging vines, the surface emitting a dim purple light that reminded him of the mysterious energy shared between himself and Lady Matilda. It was the Inquisitor’s journal, the same one discovered on the ship.

His hand paused momentarily, hovering over the gruesome cavity that once housed the Inquisitor’s heart. Despite his revulsion and the knowledge that the journal was filled with cryptic text, a compelling urge to retrieve it overtook him. With a grimace, he steeled himself and reached in, flinching as his fingers met the macabre mix of moist and hardened matter. The blood vessels crunched ominously under his touch, yet the journal remained stubbornly in place.

“Stubborn son of a bitch,” Carrack grunted, abandoning his attempts. Disgust etched on his face, he wiped his hands along his clothes, attempting to rid himself of the ghastly residue. He paused, a shudder coursing through him as he muttered, “Apologies for disturbing the dead, Inquisitor. Of course, it’s probably more than you deserve, knowing your kind.” His voice trailed off before hardening again. “Shit, I can think of all the ways folks have probably wished death upon you … but this … this fate seems too abominable, even for you.”

Carrack examined the Inquisitor’s corpse, an unexpected surge of pity welling in his heart for the man who was no more. His gaze lingered on the bowed head, surprisingly intact amidst the ruin of the body. As Carrack recalled the necklace he’d discovered upon awakening, his hand instinctively clutched it in his pocket, feeling its cool, knotted chain. Perhaps it was a sense of honor or an unspoken connection to his past that moved him, but he felt compelled to return it to its rightful place.

Carefully, he approached the body, disentangling the necklace with gentle, almost reverent motions. He leaned over the corpse, placing it around the Inquisitor’s neck, ensuring it lay flat against what was left of the Inquisitor’s garb. Stepping back, he bowed his head in a moment of respect.

“Hope you find your way to solace,” he whispered, the words more for himself than the departed.

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Carrack turned, his steps leading him back toward the road that would return him to the fort. He mulled over various scenarios of what awaited him there, his mind a whirl of plans and contingencies. Yet, as he began to move away, a chilling, wet crunch halted him mid-stride. He scanned the ground, finding no apparent source for the disturbing noise. Then, a series of more crunches, gushes, and snaps echoed, each one causing his skin to crawl and his muscles to tense. With a sense of dread mounting, he slowly turned back.

The statue, once inert, was now the epicenter of an abomination. A ghastly mixture of flesh and tissue seeped from the earth, slithering up like malignant sludge. It enveloped the Inquisitor’s corpse, filling cavities and reconfiguring limbs in a grotesque parody of healing. The once-dead flesh began to twist and contort as if it were a puppet controlled by some unseen force, each movement a blasphemy against nature itself. Carrack’s breath caught in his throat as he witnessed the profane spectacle, the sight searing itself into his memory.

As the foul sorcery continued its work, the Inquisitor’s eyes snapped open, drawing a sharp, gasping breath that echoed ominously. Carrack recoiled in shock, his heart hammering as he witnessed the impossible. The Inquisitor convulsed in a violent coughing fit, each spasm seeming to reconnect him with the living world, though his body remained grotesquely fused to the statue.

Gradually, the coughing subsided, and the Inquisitor’s head lifted, his gaze sweeping the surroundings in bewildered horror. It lingered on the sky, the town, and finally the ground, before settling on the necklace he once wore. A semblance of peace washed over his features as he touched the familiar object, his breathing steadying.

Turning his gaze to Carrack, the Inquisitor’s eyes—one green, one blue—bore into him with an intensity that was nearly palpable. He murmured incoherently, his voice a hoarse whisper. Amidst the ramblings, Carrack caught a few chilling words: “The seal … broken.”

“What’s that now?” Carrack urged, attempting to break through the Inquisitor’s frenzied mutterings.

“I’m thinking!” the Inquisitor roared back, agony and frustration warping his voice. “Who needs to think? I do! Not you, me! Please.” His words cascaded in a torrent of madness, each sentence battling the next. “Stop! Stop! Cut it, clean it! Tie the knots well, not too tight, don’t burn the meat on that!” His voice peaked in a symphony of pain and anger, echoing around the silent, desolate landscape until it ceased.

His head drooped, an eerie silence enveloping him. Then, a slow, deep sigh escaped his lips, and he lifted his head once more, a semblance of composure etching his features. “There … Now it’s just us.”

“I see,” Carrack murmured, trying to hide the nervous edge in his voice. “We … We were not alone?”

“Right now, that’s not the question you need to concern yourself with. You and I have far more pressing matters to discuss and unravel, Lord Carrack,” the Inquisitor said, his voice carrying an undeniable authority despite his condition.

“You know my name,” Carrack observed, his tone steady.

“Oh, there are many things I know, willing and unwillingly these days,” the Inquisitor replied, his voice a low murmur laden with a mix of regret and a haunting sense of burden. “You have my thanks, by the way. The necklace … It means more to me than you might imagine. I wasn’t certain if you’d harbor enough sympathy for a wretch like me to extend such kindness. I tried to tell her that we’re not the most likable of people, but she insisted that—” He abruptly silenced himself, his eyes narrowing as if suddenly aware he’d revealed too much.

“Her?” Carrack’s voice cut through the tension, his curiosity piqued by the mention of a mysterious woman.

“Dismiss any thoughts of her!” the Inquisitor interjected. “All will be revealed in due time.”

“I’m not so certain ‘time’ holds the same meaning for me anymore,” Carrack countered, earning a puzzled tilt of the Inquisitor’s head. “I’ve just come from a place where time seemed … more fluid.”

“Ah!” the Inquisitor’s eyes lit up with a flicker of understanding. “You refer to the Elsewhere. That does clarify matters.”

“Elsewhere?” Carrack echoed, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“Yes, the liminal space between consciousness and oblivion. It’s a complex and elusive concept,” the Inquisitor sighed.

“And can you shed more light on it?”

“No.”

“No?” Carrack repeated, his curiosity turning to bewilderment.

“Exactly, no. Even if I wished to, I am not allowed to divulge such secrets.”

“Allowed to?” Carrack latched on to the word, his interest sharpening.

“Precisely, allowed to. My presence here is tied to a distinct purpose—one that involves you more than you realize,” the Inquisitor revealed, his tone grave.

“And what purpose could be so important to bring you back from the dead?”

A pause hung in the air as Carrack awaited the response. Then, a sly smirk twisted the Inquisitor’s features, a chilling prelude to his ominous words:

“To execute my final inquisition.”