A Trip to the Boneyard - Part Four

To learn a new meaning of pain.

Previously On - Laurent, trapped on Earth, turns to a local houngan to find a way to solve his dilemma. The man, who proves to be smart enough to outwit the fae, promises a solution in return for a boon.

He nodded and took a drag on his cigar. "I will. Now you go down this street three blocks and then go south. In six blocks you'll see the cemetery. Look for the crypt of the Saint Germaines. There be the bones I need. Bring all you can."

I saw a dark glimmer in his eyes. He held a secret from me. I wanted to pry it from him. I knew ways to pull secrets from the living as well as the dead. My promise held me fast. Saying nothing, I turned and followed his directions. My people moved faster than most humans could even dream of. Anyone watching me would have seen a blur of motion. They would have felt the wind of my passing. They would have heard my wicked curses as little more than the buzzing of bees.

There was nothing worse than dealing with a clever human wizard. I gave the race of weaklings that. Once in a great while they birthed one that could give my people a run for their money.

The low stone wall of the graveyard rose six feet in front of me. I sprang to the top with ease and dropped to the ground on the other side: the holy, sanctified ground. The memories I stole from the human that shot me included something called napalm. I also knew of Greek fire and phosphorus. These tools of destruction all paled in comparison to the agony that shot up my feet and through my legs. My scream split the air. Dogs howled miles away in response.

Sheer force of will carried me deeper into the blessed plot. My legs dragged as though moving through thick porridge. With each step the pain amplified and moved higher up my body. The agony fogged my vision, but I could see the goal. I could be thankful that I didn't have to walk to the middle of the field of pain.

With a blast of sheer strength amplified by my will, I knocked the door of the crypt in, shattering stone. The bones of my hand gave way. My body was a hundred times tougher than a human’s and I would heal, but I knew it would not happen while on holy ground. The darkness beyond offered respite. When I crossed the threshold the pain ceased like a candle snuffed by breath. I wondered at the phenomenon and when I saw the ring of occult symbols lining the walls, I knew why. The crypt had been defiled, at least in the eyes of Yahweh. The darker beings that this family worshipped would view it as a consecration.

I felt the bones in my hand knit. Energy and health returned to me. Restored, I looked around the spacious monument. The middle of the stone house of death contained three sarcophagi. Given the ornate nature of the stonework outside, I was surprised to see plain stone boxes. Not even a name to indicate who was inside. Then I recalled the traditions of these humans. In most cases a body would only lie in state for a year or two before the sarcophagi or casket was emptied and reused.

I opened each one, flipping off the heavy stone lids with ease. Each one held the bones of at least one adult human. There were other bones as well. They were small enough that they might have belonged to a monkey or some other small primate. If I had been a human I would have been able to fool myself into believing that they weren't children. Unclouded by emotions, I knew they were. I took time to count and saw five adult skulls and a half dozen children’s.

I pulled a burial shroud from one of the stone boxes. It was still in good enough shape to use it as a makeshift bag. With my dusty burden slung over one shoulder, I contemplated the doorway. The sea of pain I crawled through would not be alleviated at the end of my journey as it had been by the crypt. I would be weakened and unable to make it over the wall.

Fear was new to me. Pain was not, but this was beyond pain. I was no longer one of the faerie, at least not entirely. I was tainted.

Shrugging off the fear, I gathered myself and leaped to cross a large chunk of ground in one movement. The air became thick, and I landed eight feet from my starting point, rather than the fifteen or twenty it should have been. Once again I pushed through. The ground sucked at me feet. It wanted to pull me down into its depths and dissolve my body and perhaps my spirit. I would not let it. I stepped high, raising my knees to my stomach. I couldn't run, but I covered ground quickly. My will and energy were sapped by the pain and the graveyard working against me. I used the rage I had, the centuries of being my own creature. I would continue. I would serve myself, both sets of gods be damned.