It was a cold spring night as the young mother took her last, laboured breath. The three midwives around her in their black garments appeared more like solemn statures, their eyes fixed on the blood and grime covered child. The baby boy cried and wriggled, the umbilical cord still connecting him to his declining mother. The midwives didn’t move. After all, they weren’t allowed to, until their leader had arrived.

Suddenly the door to the dark and dingy room was pushed upon. Cold air pushed in, as if the room was taking a long overdue breath. 

Suddenly, as if born from the intermingling of the shadows beyond the door with those within the room, a man stood on the threshold. His fame was imposing and betrayed little of the dexterity he possessed despite his considerable size.

“It is done”, he said in a low whisper. “The child?”

“A boy”, said the woman closest to him.

“Praised be our Master”, he said without raising his voice and moved towards the child while she cut the umbilical cord.

“Hail!”, the other women intoned and bowed as the man took the boy and raised him above his head.

“Now that the vessel has been born, we just need to wait and keep it save”, the leader said and took the still wailing child into his arms. “As for our sister who birthed this miracle… She alone, who gave her body to our Master, is deserving to have her flesh be returned to him as well as her soul.”

Without looking back the man carried the boy out of the dark room into the night.

It was a cold spring night as the young mother took her last, laboured breath. The three midwives around her in their black garments appeared more like solemn statures, their eyes fixed on the blood and grime covered child. The baby boy cried and wriggled, the umbilical cord still connecting him to his declining mother. The midwives didn’t move. After all, they weren’t allowed to, until their leader had arrived.

Suddenly, the door to the dark and dingy room was pushed upon. Cold air pushed in, as if the room was taking a long-overdue breath. 

Suddenly, as if born from the intermingling of the shadows beyond the door with those within the room, a man stood on the threshold. His fame was imposing and betrayed little of the dexterity he possessed despite his considerable size.

“It is done”, he said in a low whisper. “The child?”

“A boy”, said the woman closest to him.

“Praised be our Master”, he said without raising his voice, and moved towards the child while she cut the umbilical cord.

“Hail!”, the other women intoned and bowed as the man took the boy and raised him above his head.

“Now that the vessel has been born, we just need to wait and keep it save”, the leader said and took the still wailing child into his arms. “As for our sister who birthed this miracle… She alone, who gave her body to our Master, deserve to have her flesh be returned to him as well as her soul.”

Without looking back, the man carried the boy out of the dark room into the night.

—

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The cult was situated deep within a forest. Its few wooden structures flat and rotting from within. During the day, the houses seemed abandoned. The last remains of an unsuccessful mining operation, considering the ominous cave opening its maw to the surface behind those buildings. The poignant smell of death and mushrooms keeping most would-be-visitors away. But some people who lost their way in the woods usually were desperate enough to ignore the warning sings in exchange for, what they assumed, to be better shelter than staying out in the open during the night.

Once the dark settled in, those unfortunate travellers found themselves surrounded by small fires and candles. Those lights, more akin to infested wounds in the serene night than beacons of hope, illuminated haunted pale faces with cold staring eyes. The cult members then bound and gagged their victims to bring them before the leader and founder of their group — a man with an aura of absolute authority.

He judged them by asking questions and, depending on their answers, he would sacrifice them immediately for his master or offer them a place among his corrupted sheep. Their lives sacrificed at a later point in time.

If there weren’t any lost traveler around, the compound became lively once the last sickly light was lit. First, those designated hunters left the cave where the cult members dwelled in during the day. With the hunters gone started the first ritual of the night, where either an animal, a stranger, who had been unfortunate to stumble upon the cult, or someone who disobeyed the rules was sacrificed for the cult’s master. Once the blood was spilled and their master praised, all who remained were separated into small groups, each with their own role to play, and headed for the wooden huts they were to work in.

The boy was kept his first few years inside a narrow room within the cave with a wet-nurse, who was a stern woman with dark hair and bright eyes. While the leader was adamant about only wanting just the boy’s bodily needs being taken care of, the woman showed the boy some motherly love. She smiled at him when feeding him. She brushed his hair beyond untangling it. She told him stories before he fell asleep.

Beyond her, the boy had only contact with the leader.

The man usually visited him once a week. While doing so, he asked the wet-nurse how the boy fared before reciting some strange prayers and painting a strange pattern on his face. While never offering more than calculated gazes, the boy felt like the man was a wolf stalking him. But since the leader never did anything harmful, the child tolerated his presence as well as the neither rough nor gentle touch on his face.

—

As the boy grew older, he started to realise the difference between the wet-nurse’s and the leader’s behaviour. While she treated him with as much kindness as she could afford with all members of the cult constantly watching, the leader looked at him as if the boy were just some valuable object he needed to appraise every so often.

Frequently, the leader looked at him in silence after his prayers, but one day he spoke.

“The vessel has grown significantly”, the leader said, his voice low and gentle.

“Indeed, he has”, the wet-nurse replied with a strange reluctance the boy didn’t know from her.

“How many years have passed since the vessel’s birth?”, he asked and looked at her with half lidded eyes. “Four or five?”

“Almost five”, she answered apprehensive.

“Almost Five”, the leader repeated as if savouring the taste of those words. “Yes, it’s time to consider beginning the preparations for the ritual.”

“Already?”, the wet-nurse asked and stiffened.

“You doubt me?”, the leader asked without raising his voice but coating his words in freezing poison.

“N-no! I would never doubt you!”

Suddenly, the leader was at her, tilting her head up in a gentle motion, which bore more malice than any punch could muster. The wet-nurse let out a thin squeak and closed her eyes. At the same time, the boy jerked forward an inch. A movement the leader noticed instantly, but he only turned his eyes towards the child. The boy immediately shrunk underneath the intensity and looked away.

“A soul…”, he murmured, and stepped back from the woman without looking away from the boy. “You nurtured his soul…”

“N-no!”, the wet-nurse replied tense. “I only did what was asked of me! I just gave him food and cleaned him!”

“Love’s a fickle little thing”, he mused with a soft smile and stepped towards the boy. “So small… So warm… So easily grown… So easily exploited… So painful…”

Gentle, he placed his hand on the boy’s head and ran his fingers through the soft blond hair. The smile on his face was gentle, but his eyes were full of malice.

“There’s a way to redeem yourself”, the leader continued to address the wet-nurse.

A heartbeat later, he flicked his fingers in front of the boy’s eyes. As if a spike were driven into his head, the boy let out a pained groan and heard the fading cry of the wet-nurse. Then everything went dark.