The Circle, Prologue
Well I tried to post it on ff.net first, but the site is being a complete ass, thus you get it first. Oh joy!
History is always with us. The events that played out in Transylvania in 1642 begin to have meaning in the present.
Rating: hard R / NC-17 / Mature Content
Warnings: Violence, gore, graphic torture, sex and religious themes. This is rated NC-17 for a reason, if that is not your cup of tea then do not read it.
Author’s Notes: This is a sequel to Sweet and Tender Beasts and Edge of Midnight; if you haven’t read them this will make very little sense. This story contains slight racist comments; this was done to preserve historical accuracy and are not the views of the author. I mean no disrespect to anyone.
Disclaimer: ‘Van Helsing’ and all its related articles are the property of Universal Studios and Stephen Sommers. I am not making any money off this. The story is mine.
Feedback is love!
Prologue
The Vatican, September 1881
Father Jargo had been with the Order for ten years. He was not a field man; his work involved mostly books: historical research and translation but he had witnessed some horrors during his time in the Vatican. This however was something different completely. Rivulet of blood ran down the man’s back and down his legs. The skin of his shoulders was torn and flesh protruded from the cuts. Bones and tendon were visible through the mess. His limbs twitched erratically now and then. The cloak he had thrown over the man was already soaked in blood and Jargo feared the stranger could not hold out for much longer. He had told his companion to hurry, but it was a long way to the medical wing from the St Peter’s church. He looked up into the dark dome and could not suppress the shudder that ran through him. In the dead of night the building seemed to gather an air of thereat which was not visible in the light of day.
The man on the floor grunted and tried to move his arms. Jargo moved to stop him, but the man spoke. Not in any language Jargo could understand. The syllables were fluid as in if the stranger was speaking in underwater. Jargo began to doubt if the language was human at all. He drew his hands back. Satan worked in all of us; in strange and terrible ways. He stepped away from the man whose voice had started to rise, even though his face was buried in the stone steps. And then he could hear the rapid footfalls of people from behind him and the voice died away.
The healers surrounded the man, pressing white cotton to his back and arranging a stretcher to be brought out. Jargo stood back, not willing to go near him again. He could hear other footsteps now as well, these however, were measured and slow. He barely recognised Cardinal Jinette’s drawn face in the darkness. The healers stepped out of his way and one of them lifted the cotton away from the man’s wounds. The Cardinal spoke with the healers in hushed voice and Jargo could not hear the words from where he stood.
It was surprisingly fast that the man and the blood pools had been moved and cleaned away. Jargo watched the activity dispassionately, and jerked as he was suddenly face to face with the Head of the Order.
“You were the one to find him and look over him. Did he say anything?”
Jinette’s eyes were piercing. Jargo felt the words in his mind, but somehow he could not speak them.
“No. Nothing, your Grace.”
Part 1 should be with you very shortly. It is experincing some stage fright.
History is always with us. The events that played out in Transylvania in 1642 begin to have meaning in the present.
Rating: hard R / NC-17 / Mature Content
Warnings: Violence, gore, graphic torture, sex and religious themes. This is rated NC-17 for a reason, if that is not your cup of tea then do not read it.
Author’s Notes: This is a sequel to Sweet and Tender Beasts and Edge of Midnight; if you haven’t read them this will make very little sense. This story contains slight racist comments; this was done to preserve historical accuracy and are not the views of the author. I mean no disrespect to anyone.
Disclaimer: ‘Van Helsing’ and all its related articles are the property of Universal Studios and Stephen Sommers. I am not making any money off this. The story is mine.
Feedback is love!
Prologue
The Vatican, September 1881
Father Jargo had been with the Order for ten years. He was not a field man; his work involved mostly books: historical research and translation but he had witnessed some horrors during his time in the Vatican. This however was something different completely. Rivulet of blood ran down the man’s back and down his legs. The skin of his shoulders was torn and flesh protruded from the cuts. Bones and tendon were visible through the mess. His limbs twitched erratically now and then. The cloak he had thrown over the man was already soaked in blood and Jargo feared the stranger could not hold out for much longer. He had told his companion to hurry, but it was a long way to the medical wing from the St Peter’s church. He looked up into the dark dome and could not suppress the shudder that ran through him. In the dead of night the building seemed to gather an air of thereat which was not visible in the light of day.
The man on the floor grunted and tried to move his arms. Jargo moved to stop him, but the man spoke. Not in any language Jargo could understand. The syllables were fluid as in if the stranger was speaking in underwater. Jargo began to doubt if the language was human at all. He drew his hands back. Satan worked in all of us; in strange and terrible ways. He stepped away from the man whose voice had started to rise, even though his face was buried in the stone steps. And then he could hear the rapid footfalls of people from behind him and the voice died away.
The healers surrounded the man, pressing white cotton to his back and arranging a stretcher to be brought out. Jargo stood back, not willing to go near him again. He could hear other footsteps now as well, these however, were measured and slow. He barely recognised Cardinal Jinette’s drawn face in the darkness. The healers stepped out of his way and one of them lifted the cotton away from the man’s wounds. The Cardinal spoke with the healers in hushed voice and Jargo could not hear the words from where he stood.
It was surprisingly fast that the man and the blood pools had been moved and cleaned away. Jargo watched the activity dispassionately, and jerked as he was suddenly face to face with the Head of the Order.
“You were the one to find him and look over him. Did he say anything?”
Jinette’s eyes were piercing. Jargo felt the words in his mind, but somehow he could not speak them.
“No. Nothing, your Grace.”
Part 1 should be with you very shortly. It is experincing some stage fright.