Wind. Daniel Mello

the massive inner courtyard.

      The dying landscape was split with a single gravel path down the center, and the dull Earthstone walls of the inner bailey surrounded the nervous villagers like an inescapable barricade. Opposite the entrance, toward the northern end of the bailey was a grand oakwood stage set before the majestic oaken Main Hall doors. And upon the stage sat the Machine, a grotesque device constructed of blood-stained iron and dead wood, its rotting beams protruding into the air like the festering arms of a decaying troll holding a rusty blade of steel. The stench of moldering death contaminated the wind as a southern sea breeze folded over the castle’s stone towers, smearing the virulent reek into the faces of the terrified villagers.

      However, a brief twinkle of peace was to be found in the form of a humble man as he curved his way through the shivering crowd. Dressed in an ochre broadcloth robe, hood up to deflect the chilling breeze, the man slowly worked his way to the front of the gathering, pausing now and then to acknowledge the villagers that noticed him and reached out to him for comfort.

      “Oh, Father, can you do something to stop this?!”

      “Please, Father, pray with us, pray to God with us to stop this madness?!”

      The warm chocolate eyes of Father Stephanus could barely glance into the trembling faces within the crowd. Everyone was terrified, everyone was helpless. His natural humility provided an advantage in circumstances like these, and he bowed his head in reverence. Soon, all of the villagers within eyesight immediately followed suit, longing to revel in the uniquely passionate style of prayer that defined their priest.

      “Lord God, we pray that you hear us this day, listen to the anguish from our hearts, Lord. If there is anything we can do, Lord God, please allow us to do your bidding, Lord, fill us with the empowering love of your light, Lord God. We pray that you work your divine influence, Lord God, to cease this madness that the king has begun, Lord. We pray that you show yourself upon the king, Lord God, bless him with your love and peace, Lord God, bring him into the light, Lord God! And we all pray for the soul that is trapped, Lord God, whoever it is, Lord, may you accept them into your kingdom, Lord God, and release them from this hell, Dear Lord. In your eternal and benevolent name, Lord God, we pray to you! Amen.”

      Stephanus slowly eased himself from his invocation and glanced up at the sobbing villagers. Some of them were drying their eyes, some of them glancing toward the sky in a final bid of gratitude, and Stephanus reached his hands out to hold their trembling fingers, if just for one moment God would choose to work through him and bring some warmth to ease their cold terror.

      “Thank you, Father, thank you so much,” the villagers repeated as Stephanus slowly excused himself from the crowd. He continued to work his way through the gathering, stopping briefly to say “god bless you” here and there, soon finding himself standing at the eastern edge of the inner bailey, to the right of the horrible Machine, underneath an elaborate balcony decorated with a columned railing and two flanking guards.

      Within minutes, from atop the inner bailey’s parapet walk, a short trumpeted sequence introduced the arrival of the king of Hyrendell onto the balcony directly above Father Stephanus. The entirety of the gathering of villagers inside the courtyard shuffled themselves around to face the king as he walked out onto the terrace, followed by his Steward. Quickly, silence fell among the crowd as they feared what would come next.

      The king glared out among the villagers as if looking for a traitor within the crowd. He noticed how some of them were huddled together, gathering warmth from one another to fight against the bitter drizzle, while others would simply turn away when their eyes met his. This was a good sign; after all, they were cold and wet, tired and afraid, yet they were still here. What a perfect way to secure control.

      A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth.

      “THERE ARE ENEMIES AMONG YOU,” King Nielius shouted, his voice booming off the parapet walls. And he watched how some of the villagers began to look around at the others suspiciously.

      The smile twitched again.

      “Some of them may be your friends. And some of them may even be within your own family. In these dreadful times, we must protect the security of our kingdom at all costs. I have learned that the traitorous McCloud clan wishes to rip that security away from you!”

      He grabbed at the air and tore it away, giving the uneducated villagers a visual they would understand. Immediately, some in the crowd gasped.

      The twitch.

      “I declare to you as your king,” Nielius yelled, eyes beginning to burn, “I will hunt down these wretched McClouds and extinguish their plot against us!”

      The king walked slowly to the edge of the balcony. Rage began to filter his vision as he looked out upon the petrified gathering. It was a perfect sight. Everyone was terrified into silence; it seemed they would give up their own child to the Decree if it would save the kingdom from traitors. Now there was no way the Legendary King could return, especially after what he had in store this day.

      “Today will mark the beginning of the purification of Hyrendell! We have caught one of the McCloud conspirators, and they will pay for their sins against us.”

      King Nielius caught his breath, and eased his panting chest. The thrill of absolute power snaked through his veins, throbbed in his temples. And behind the king, smiling easily at the terrified crowd, Lotharius simply watched the domination roll out.

      “Bring forth the traitor!”

      A drum roll cadence immediately burst from atop the parapet walls, filling the inner bailey with a progressive rhythm. All of the villagers packed inside the courtyard shuffled round to face the rotting stage, with its monstrous statue, as the huge oak doors of the Main Hall began to creak open. Darkness split from between the doors as they swung back to crash against the hall walls with a metallic thud, leaving a black void to silently scream at the gathering like a horrid mouth. It seemed to suck the hope from Hyrendell Castle itself.

      The villagers trembled as they held each other, staring into the abyss, waiting for the prisoner within. Father Stephanus prayed, deep inside his mind, spouting off verses of scripture as fast as they would come to him, as he trained his eyes on the gaping hole. And King Nielius waited patiently up on the balcony as his empty eyes flickered over the deadly machine, groping its beautiful corroding parts.

      The entire courtyard held its breath when it first heard the scrape of tiny metal objects against stone. The piercing shriek from deep inside the abyss echoed around the parapet walls, its slow rhythmic pattern accentuating the cadence perfectly.

      The form of a giant man oozed from the void, pale grey against the darkness. As he approached the entrance to the Hall, more of his bulbous features became illuminated by the overcast light. A big, hairy belly that bounced with the man’s sluggish steps was set between a gruesome mask and skin-tight trousers cut from rugged black leather. In his massive hand was the end of a rusted chain, like a tiny leash streaming into the void behind. As the chain swung, it scraped against the Earthstone floor of the Hall, releasing the chilling metallic screech into the courtyard.

      When the ogre of a man reached the grotesque Machine, he reeled in the chain, giving it a final tug to pull the prisoner into the filtered light.

      “No!” Father Stephanus gasped. “It can’t be —”

      The rusty chain leash curved up past silvery hair, curled around petite wrists, and twisted around a frail neck. Tiny blue eyes streamed sorrowful tears down sad, wrinkled features as the prisoner looked up into the impossibly crowded courtyard.

      The terrified villagers cringed at the sight of the tiny old woman standing near the giant machine. Her diminutive size was easily recognizable against the contrasting height of the rotting contraption.

      “Hildabrand, no!” yelled someone from inside the crowd.

      Father Stephanus waited no longer. He turned toward the balcony at once. “King Nielius, I’m here at the request of our God. Please, your majesty, stop this madness!”

      “Ah, Father, you made it!”