Exousia - The Patron Saints of the Damned -Book II
Chapter 22 - Past Lives

Billy sat above the rest of the group, alone in the tree. He had thought about climbing down, joining them, and getting some much-needed sleep but couldn’t shake a series of pictures that played over and over inside of his head. He imagined the wolves pressing past the imaginary border that supposedly kept them safe and then tearing into his body while he slept on the ground. Or maybe, he would fall asleep and then wake to find the entire group gone, having abandoned him. And try as he might, Billy could not convince himself that the second scenario would not happen. So, he sat in the tree, willing his eyes to stay open. Fortunately, the waking nightmares were enough to scare him awake for a while.

Megan, the Woodcutter, Sam, and later on Brennan had all walked to the opposite side of the tree, in the overgrown brush. It was odd–everything else in these woods so far had been dead. But the space behind the tree was filled with life so that it was almost like a jungle. Was that a good sign? Or maybe something was lurking inside of that jungle, something even the wolves feared.

Billy imagined Brennan, Megan, and Sam all being eaten by a monster in the brush. If that happened, Marshal, Derrick, and Jodie would be the only ones left. Ted and David had been the ones who kept Jodie from killing him before. But now there was only Brennan and Megan who would be the voices of reason. If something happened to them, would Derrick or Marshal do anything to stop Jodie from hurting him?

As if having heard his thoughts, Jodie stirred in his fitful sleep; his eyes shot open with a look of rage. And even when his eyes gently closed again, likely having never noticed anyone above him, there was no forgetting how terrifying his expression had been.

Billy thought about apologizing for getting him in trouble with the cops, for screaming in the woods, and for just … everything. But even if the apology were accepted, it would only be a matter of time before he rubbed someone the wrong way again. That was just what he always did. His mother reminded him of that fact frequently. According to her, it was why none of her boyfriends stayed around. As terrible as her guys were, Billy did take some solace in that. It was the only satisfaction he found in being … himself.

Otherwise, Billy very much did not like himself. Normally, he hid this fact so deep inside that not even he could see it. But ever since he’d arrived in these woods, they had felt more and more like a punishment. For what? There were two branches of thought that Billy’s mind went to. There were the things that … did seem to hurt people. Maybe they would have describ And there was no changing who he was, especially not in just a few hours.

It didn’t matter, anyways; Billy had a secret. If any of the others discovered that he had been the one to shout that they were clear, Jodie or Derrick would kill him on the spot. None of them would understand that he hadn’t meant to, that some sort of voice had filled his brain and … given him the thought. He had to prevent anything from happening to his cousins if he wanted to live, it was as simple as that.

His body began to tremble, and his palms began to sweat as he climbed down the tree. Reaching the ground, he sneaked around the tree and started pushing slowly through the dense patch of briers, vines, small trees, and smaller saplings. He identified poison ivy as he walked through, resisting the desire to groan and maybe even cry at the indignity of the fact that he would now itch, on top of everything else.

“You can’t let them hurt me, Brennan,” Billy whispered frantically. “I know I fucked up but … please.”

-O-

Exousia followed a subtle trail of twigs broken and plants smothered by human footsteps; these led towards the outskirts of the tree’s protection. With the sun that still shone directly above, this was easy. As she walked, she tried to ignore how … alive and beautiful this small heart of these woods could be. It was what he remembered from childhood, a forest that was dense with life. Bugs flying around, saplings growing, and a breeze that gently blew between the trees. She could hear the trickling of a small stream, not far from where she walked.

The sound made her thirsty for fresher cooler water than what little warm water was left in her canteen. Unfortunately, the fruit had likely tainted it. This was the eye of the storm … and danger was ever-present, even in the relative protection of the tree. As Exousia walked, exhaustion played its tricks on her brain. She found concentration difficult; her mind continued to revisit the memory of when this place had been cursed.

-O-

With the human cultists in pursuit, young Exousia climbed up the old magnolia tree. It was the tree she’d gone to when she ran away from her angelic tutors, and it was where she still frequently went to think. Once she had climbed about fifteen feet up, she stilled her breath so the humans could not hear her. With the thick foliage of the old tree, the only way anybody would see her was if they stood directly beneath her. If their powers were worth anything, that would be exactly their destination.

Exousia pulled out her knife and thought for a moment about whether she would use any of the blades or tools inside. She eventually decided against it, in favor of the blunt metal bar.

“The Forest Child went this way; I sense it,” said one of his pursuers, an adult female human with hair that was bleached to a melodramatic white. She wore the same white robes with intricate embroideries as the others.

“Yes, I sense it, too,” said another, this one male and bald … with the tattoo of a tree on either side oh his head. “Though the spirits of the ether have lost sight of him.”

The entire conversation was filled with such nonsensical pseudo-spiritual jargon. But it did tell Exousia a little bit about her opponents. Their self-indulgent vocabulary and their use of the title “Forest Child” revealed that they were not local spiritualists. They were from somewhere else and were apparently not patient enough to have learned anything from locals. But then … how did they know about her at all? Perhaps a spirit had told them about her. Maybe one of the ghosts had seen him first-hand and transferred their memories to their masters. Or perhaps a malevolent creature of the old world wanted to wipe Exousia out before she could get to it. But the most terrifying possibility was that it could be Ammon, that her former teacher was either testing or genuinely trying to kill her.

Exousia returned her attention to the fight atg hand. The humans carried rifles and ornate daggers, meaning that whatever magical prowess they had were not enough to depend on. It was uncommon but not unheard of for humans to accidentally tap into singular old powers in their times of need, or happened to come across an artifact of power. But this didn’t seem to be the case. These cultists seemed … comfortable, well-fed, wealthy. More likely, these were of the kinds of human who used the suffering of others to tap into magics that they didn’t understand. Maybe they’d happened across old books of actual magic. It was a good thing that they had come. The mortal realm needed to be cleansed of their parasitic filth, and the demon prisoners of Hell needed to quench their eternal thirst.

Hearing their footsteps getting closer, Exousia inched to the very edge of the branch that held her. Slowly, she let herself fall so that she was hanging upside-down like a chameleon, with no branches between herself and the ground. She waited like that until she heard the ghosts and humans approach.

As soon as they were directly underneath, one of the ghosts gave a sudden and violent shirk of the head. Then, ever so slowly, it looked up at her.

Exousia did not wait for it to alert them. She dropped, feet-first, and landed in a crouch in the middle of the unsuspecting humans. Their faces went from smiles of predatory pleasure to drop-jawed looks of confusion. They lifted their guns and froze in indecision between whether to drop them and attack her with knives or open fire while all their weapons were aimed at one another.

Taking advantage of their hesitation, Exousia struck the largest human’s knee with the blunt, folded knife, creating a horrible cracking sound before the human fell. His gun went of; the bullet hit another human and caused her to fall. Blood poured from her mangled ankle, which looked like it was now just barely serving to connect her foot to her leg.

One by one, Exousia felled the rest of the humans, taking out their ankles and knees with the black piece of blunt metal. She kept herself between at least two targets until they were all incapacitated, groaning and crying pathetically around her. Finally, Exousia stood. She would have very much liked to just leave the humans as they were, letting them crawl to safety or not, as they were able. However, at least two of them were now bleeding out. This would have been fine, except for the spirits attached to them.

The ghosts looked at Exousia with blank expressions. They just pointed, still following the last order they had been given, to track her. They were damned to be pointer hounds for eternity. What made it worse was that the cultists knew what they had done to these spirits. With sane minds, they had manipulated weaker humans and then murdered them to attain slaves both in this life and in the afterlife. These cultists would be drawn to the world’s vacuum of lifelessness—Hell.

Tethered to their masters, the ghosts would be brought to the same place. And though the demon guards would try to save these innocent human souls and allow them to live in the demon city, they would still be trapped. They would suffer the same torment, the same eternal thirst and disconnection from life as the demons. And while Exousia might have preferred damnation over the alternative, there was no question of how horrific a fate this would be to these human souls.

Exousia panicked and whispered, “There’s … there’s nothing I can do. I know how to sever a soul and release it to the Creator. Not to … bisect it, unravel it!”

“Do you tell yourself this because you truly cannot or simply because it has not been done yet? You forget, myself and Dufaii only ever carved souls to kill the gods. The gods themselves only tried to take the power of souls … except for one. The one whose power I inherited … and Dufaii … and you.” whispered the familiar voice of Ammon. Of course, of course he had been the one to tell theses cultists that Exousia was in these woods. It was another damn lesson!

Exousia seethed. Not because she had to, not out of hatred, and not to draw power from her anger. No, it was because she didn’t want to remember the last lesson. The faces of her kind, fellow hybrids being cut down one by one. How hurt and betrayed Camila’s face had seemed in her last moments. No, Exousia grit her teeth and snarled at her unseen enemy skulking in the shadows.

However, Ammon continued all the same, “It’s like the story I used to read to you when you were a child. The woodcutter came along and saw the wolf which had just consumed two innocents. So, he took a pair of scissors ...”

“And began to cut open the stomach of the sleeping wolf,” Exousia finished, not having realized how well she knew the story. Trap or not, she knew that the voice was right. If she wanted to save the slaves, she had cut the spiritual link between them by cutting through their still-beating hearts with a weapon capable of working in the spiritual plane. She could only hope that whatever harm she did due to her inexperience would be fixable by the Creator … or at least that it would be less detrimental than eternal damnation. But how could she even hope to accomplish something like this?”

Ammon said, “Perhaps you will fail, but perhaps you can save them from a fate more horrible than death.”

For a moment, Exousia began to tremble and felt very nauseous. But she stopped this quickly. Weakness was just an excuse for one not to do what needed to be done. Crippling fear was just her attempt to shirk her responsibility to these human souls. Exousia grit her teeth and unfolded one of her knife’s blades. Without giving herself the chance to hesitate, she got to work. She ignored the screams and begging from the still-living cultists as she sliced through flesh and bones. Exousia did not allow herself to feel pity, nor nausea, nor hesitance, even for a moment. She needed to take advantage of every second because death would mean the loss of the souls.

One by one, Exousia opened each beating heart, used her fingers to lift the slippery silver souls, clipped the tethers at their base, and allowed the ghosts to float into the sky. Her first several attempts were messy and left the string-like souls in many individual pieces that would need to be fixed in Heaven if such a thing were possible. The ghosts let out pained screams so loud that leaves fell from the tree above. Her ears rang for minutes afterward. What was more, Exousia noticed a tiny yellow fragment in each cultist’s soul, one that was foreign and too tiny to cut out. But she put this out of mind and kept working. And despite her errors, she did not lose any of the slaves to the black portal that opened to swallow the souls of the cultists one by one.

When Exousia had finished, she wiped her bloody hands on her jeans and stood to shaky feet. She looked around for Dufaii. When she could not find him, a chill went down her spine. She didn’t want to be alone any longer, now that she was covered in blood and surrounded by bodies that she’d cut from belly button to throat. Yet, she had to force herself not to show her emotions, to keep her eyes dead and empty.

Sure enough, it was Ammon who stepped forward from the dark. He wore his black armor and carried his short-sword in hand. There was something wrong … his eyes were wild, and he walked with a sort of dizzy stagger. Upon closer inspection, it became apparent that thick black blood was seeping from his torso, visible as it cascaded from the bottom of his chest-plate.

“Who is this girl? I know her,” Ammon said, his words coming out drunken and slurred. Then, his eyes widened as if he’d suddenly remembered. He began to pant and tremble fearfully, his black eyes lined with tears. “She’s the one who killed us … she cut us open while we still breathed and …”

“Ammon?” Exousia whispered, not for more afraid than before.

Ammon did not respond. His own looks of fear slowly became a terrible rage as his face contorted and his muscles bulged. He tightened his grasp on his short double-edged sword and walked drunkenly forward.

Exousia backed up towards the tree.

“Run!” Dufaii shouted, not psychically but audibly from far above. He was flying and being chased by twenty dark forms with armor, wings, and weapons.

Exousia continued to move backwards slowly, until her back touched the magnolia tree. She thought about running but hesitated to show her back.

Ammon wobbled toward her lifting his sword.

On reflex, Exousia fell back onto the last magic she’d practiced. She extended a hand and whispered a series of demon words that made her feel an overwhelming sense of nausea and burning. Rotting painful sores began to form all over her body. This was evil magic, an embodiment of pestilence, filth, and insanity. She wanted to spread disease and kill all life, she wanted everyone to suffer the disgrace she felt.

Horse-flies crawled from the puss-filled sores on her body, and especially on her extended arm. By the time she had to duck and evade the first strike, the flies were a buzzing swarm that moved as quickly and thickly as black smoke. The buzzing insects clouded around Ammon’s face, biting to get to the liquid in his eyes.

Ammon slapped at his face with one hand, while using the other to stab blindly.

Exousia dodged, and the imprecise attack cut the outside of her shoulder. The sword lodged into the magnolia with a heavy thud. She took another step back and readied the screwdriver tool from the center portion of her knife. She positioned it between her middle and ring finger, resting the bar in her palm.

Ammon freed his blade and turned, still partially blinded from the flies.

Exousia punched his right arm—embedding the thick piece of metal into the bone of his elbow.

Ammon dropped his sword and grunted with a clenched jaw. He grasped at the pocket knife and tried to take it.

Exousia released the weapon, crouched, grabbed the short-sword in both hands, and thrust upward into her enemy’s chest. Black blood spurted and coated her face. The warmth of the demon’s sulfurous blood was so pleasantly warm, and the stench of it made her feel drunk with power. She hardly even cared about the pain in her arm from the sword or the burning of her sores. She continued to press the sword until the demon was pinned against the magnolia tree.

Curses passed Ammon’s lips, and he tried to swing his fists with the exact same sorts of clumsy attacks as the cultists.

Exousia merely ducked under them and gave a short laugh at the effort. Then, she licked the black blood from her own lips and smiled.

Ammon began to tremble and struggle against his entrapment. With shaking hands, he tried to grab the handle of the sword.

But Exousia used her elbows to strike any hold that the demon could get on the weapon. Bones brokes, making satisfying sounds. When her opponent finally stopped struggling, Exousia knelt, took her fallen knife with her free hand, readied the blade, and plunged it into the demon’s chest. This was her chance … to end her enemy by releasing his soul out into the cosmos. And as she continued to press the blade, the demon’s blood poured upon and into the tree behind him. With creaking noises, the magnolia tree shifted and twisted and grew.

“Exousia,” Dufaii said, this time from nearby. He was severely wounded, covered in gashes, and had arrows embedded in his back.

For Exousia, it was hard to comprehend what she was hearing. The magic made Dufaii seem ethereal, like a weak little wisp that could have easily been carried away by the wind. She pressed the blade even deeper into her enemy’s chest. Why shouldn’t she kill this weak and pathetic creature before it could cause any more damage? She smiled and looked into her enemy’s eyes.

But Ammon’s crazed look and drunken motions were gone, now. In their place, was something calm and confused. It seemed to need a moment of study before it comprehended the situation. This was Ammon’s real self.

When Exousia realized, she felt a sobering chill. She looked down at the demon’s open chest, at the open wound that exposed his black and beating heart. It was occluded by blood and flesh, but there was a soft glow coming from his soul. This light was yellow and much duller than those of the humans, as if it were struggling to produce energy at all. In fact, it was the same color as the tiny pieces that had been attached to the cultist’s own souls. These had been … yet another exchange.

Exousia pulled the blade away and dropped it. The magic left her with the feelings of such intense nausea that she had to double over for a moment. She wanted to throw up and felt like her body would have felt better for it, but she couldn’t. She began to feel feverish in her face while the rest of her body struggled to keep warm.

“Exousia,” Dufaii said, but his voice sounded strained.

Exousia could hear him now, though his voice was still distant. When she was finally able to breathe, she forced herself to stand. She then looked and saw that her teacher had collapsed to the ground. Exousia rushed to his side, and knelt to try to figure out what had happened.

“Get me away from the tree,” Dufaii whispered and pointed a finger at it. The tree was now as much a magnolia as Exousia was human, which was to say not very. The large white blossoms were replaced by colorful flowers and still-expanding branches that already had little green fruits in the making. The plants within a small radius around it seemed bigger, fuller, and more alive than they had ever been. But the rest of the trees and plants outside that circle were slowly being drained.

Exousia grabbed Dufaii’s wrists and dragged him away from the tree. Then she paused, looked at Ammon and did the same for him. She returned one last time to take her opponent’s sword–part of his already diminished soul–and threw it down outside the circle.

By that time, Dufaii had sat up in the dying grass and was looking at the tree. “You used the old god’s magic … mine and Ammon’s magic. I didn’t think it was possible; you could only have the smallest trace of his power within you. But you saved the bound spirits … and gave the tree a piece of Ammon’s soul.”

“I …. didn’t mean to,” Exousia said, collapsing to her knees on the dying grass.

“I know,” Dufaii said and placed a hand reassuringly on her shoulder.

It took Exousia a few moments of staring at the tree before she could bring herself to ask, “What happened to it?”

“I can’t say for certain,” Dufaii replied, studying the tree closely. “My only guess would be that it used its demon power and the power it leached from the forest to create a shield against my kind. Perhaps it determined that the energy it was being poisoned with was a threat to its continued existence.”

A moment passed as they watched the tree’s growth slowly come to a stop. When it finally did, it was twice its original size.

“Ammon attacked me,” Exousia said. Despite everything that had happened and the position she’d been given, some part of her could not help but feel betrayed. This felt foolish; of course her enemy would attack her. And she even knew that the madness had played a part. But it still stung.

His hand still on her shoulder, Dufaii led her away, into the rapidly dying woods. “Exousia, you are not simply fighting a demon with a singular insane belief. If you are not fighting madness itself, then you are at least fighting a demon so tangled within it that he does not even remember why he wants war. It is painful, I know from experience, but it will also play to your advantage. Every time he strikes, you will learn to cope and survive. You can study him and the madness which controls him.” Dufaii gritted his teeth as he pulled an arrow that had been embedded in his lower back. Black blood trailed behind it.

Exousia listened quietly. For the first time, she felt doubt as to Dufaii’s words. She found it difficult to believe that anything Ammon or the Madness had done was a matter of complete chance. He’d acted like the matter with the cultists was just one more lesson before the Madness had taken over. Before the remains of the slain cultists had taken over.

Exousia shivered despite the warm unmoving air around her. After a few minutes, she said, “I had to cut them open … and the spirits felt it.”

Dufaii kept his voice low. “You handled it more than adequately.”

“I think Ammon wanted me to learn how to do it,” Exousia replied.

Dufaii grimaced. “I believe you. I just … can’t imagine why he would. Even with his desire to make you strong with the challenge, this seems … irrelevant.”

Exousia shook her head and looked back to see that her enemy was now gone. But something small was left in his place. She walked back to the spot and knelt to examine what it was. The object was made of gray cloth that had been rolled up into a tube. She unrolled it and realized that the gray fabric was a checkerboard, the same one that she had used in the tents.

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