Idols Fall by Mike Shel

Author:Mike Shel [Shel, Mike]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-04-21T04:00:00+00:00

25

The Tender Ministrations of Tolwe

Ilanda decided that the term old crone had been coined specifically for the woman before her. She was stooped and ancient, the flesh of her face weathered and impossibly wrinkled, a too-large, hooked nose above thin, dry lips the color of liver. Her eyes were beady and dark, with exaggerated crow’s feet, a pair of wild white eyebrows hovering above. She entered the queen’s personal apartments wordlessly, pushing what looked like a battered peddler’s cart on two great iron wheels, its rough sides covered by faded sigils and abbreviated words in the most archaic of Busker tongues. Brown stains also decorated the wood, no doubt dried blood, given the woman’s trade. She was a priest of Tolwe, wrapped in robes that had presumably once been white, but were now tattered and stained from years of executing her sacraments. She was attended by two timorous young acolytes, their robes the color of fresh-fallen snow. It was hard to credit that the crone’s garments had once been as unsullied as those of her novices.

Ulwen had of course tried to dissuade her from taking this course, first questioning her certainty that a demon did indeed lurk within her, then arguing that some other means should be employed to wrest it from where it was hidden. But Ilanda was adamant.

“The priesthood of Tolwe have been called many things, grand chamberlain,” she had answered him. “Sadists, torturers, paranoiacs. But while we can no longer trust their theology, the task of exorcism is their peculiar province.”

“Your Majesty, allow some of your chamberlains to extract the spirit from you! Artesmia has enough knowledge of necromancy to put to the purpose. Surely it would be wise to avoid engaging any clergy, given what we now know of our gods.”

“No. Exorcism is the trade of priests. Even if the gods are false, the methods of their priests have a history of success.”

Now Ilanda wondered if she shouldn’t have heeded Ulwen’s admonitions. The crone opened the front end of the cart and withdrew a grinding wheel. It was obviously a heavy burden for her, though she voiced no complaint carrying it around to the back of the cart, her acolytes standing nearby, quiet and apparently useless. She set the wheel and its base on top of the cart with a loud bang and secured it with a quartet of screws. She gave it a tug, to make certain it was firmly in place before she waddled back to the front of the cart and pulled out a bar of black iron. The bar slid into an iron protrusion on the side of the cart Ilanda had not noticed before, and the priest gave that handle a turn. The grinding wheel began to spin. Expressionless, she let go of the handle and watched the stone turn round and round atop the cart. All of this she did without so much as acknowledging that the Queen of Hanifax was in the room, wan and feverish on her sickbed.

The

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