Nightmare Fuel — Day 6: Heresy

Inspired by the Night­mare Fuel Project on G+

Nightmare Fuel — Day 6: Heresy

On the first day he had denied the inquisitor. On the second day he had confessed. On the third day, no hope remained.

Through pain comes clarity. Through clarity comes wisdom. That was what his elders had taught The Amergin. But he did not think this was the sort of pain they had in mind. The sort of pain that made his muscles clench and his thoughts blur. The sort of pain that coaxed only a scream in response.

This wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair! But the charge was heresy. He had no rights. He wondered if they had captured the others already. He had been so sure when they brought him in that he would never tell.

But what does a poet know of real pain? What does a scholar know of torture? He could name ever bone that the inquisitor broke, every muscle and joint stretched. But he could not ever have know the unbearable wrenching pain that would come with it. Pain that left him quivering, sobbing and begging.

They had taken his confession. The Inquisitor showed no pleasure at his victory. The Amergin had never seen the man show any emotion in all the years he had known him. He was ideally suited to his job. Merciless, unfeeling and determined.

He had expected it to end then. The pain at least. He had signed his own death of course. The penalty for heresy was known to all, not just scholars. But he had been dead the moment he was betrayed.

They didn’t stop. They wanted more. When The Inquisitor cut the tip of his finger off he started lying to them. Giving them any name he thought they might want to hear. They didn’t stop until he passed out.

He woke to renewed pain. His whole body ached. Muscles stretched beyond their natural limits. His missing finger throbbed despite it’s absence.

For the first time The Inquisitor was not alone. The others were hooded and cloaked. Anonymous observers. The Amergin felt his stomach clench in dread. He had read all of the laws and rituals. New and old. This was old. This... was heresy.

The Inquisitor turned to face him, a sword held in his hand. As he raised the weapon there was a look of hunger in his eyes. The cloaked men began to murmur. An old, dark language. The Amergin knew only a handful of words, all of them foul. The sword began to glow as The Inquisitor walked slowly forward.

The Amergin began to sweat, feeling the heat of the glowing sword as it moved closer and closer to his face. The murmuring grew louder and the sword glowed brighter as The Inquisitor forced The Amergin’s mouth open with one hand and pressed the sword in.

About Eoghann Irving

Overly opinionated owner and author of You can get updated on his posts directly on the blog here or through the usual social networking suspects. What? You expected me to say something interesting here? That's what the blog posts are for. Eoghann has often wondered if people read these little bio things we have to fill out everywhere on the internet and, assuming they do, why?


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