Judgement, Final

Here is the rest of the "Judgement" story Candlemass told me.

The weather was already beginning to lose the last tinge of warmth from autumn, and the first year's snows were being carried on the breeze when Candlemass finally felt well enough to be restless.

Hospital food was beginning to sicken him, despite the fact he still couldn't eat solid foods, but he could now take walks around the hospital, and sit outside when the weather was warm.



But, the longer he stayed, the stronger the sensation that his last case, the one that had put him into the hospital, was more than just mere madness. He was sure there was more than just human agency at work behind this one. There was a darkness that fed and amplified on human darkness, on human madness, and made the world a worse place for it.

This sort of darkness was the more insidious kind. The kind you could almost never put your finger on it.


And Candlemass knew where he could find it.

So Candlemass evicted himself prematurely from the hospital, ignoring the protests from the doctors and other members of the Order, something he would later come to regret, he told me, and set off to go find this darkness, right when the first true snowfall of the winter began.

The wood still clung gamely to dead leaves that year, all which rustled furtively as Candlemass made his way under them, armed with his rope, provisions, and, most of all, conviction. He was feeling pretty good about himself, and life in general, and was steadfastly ignoring the pangs of pain that lanced his stomach when he stepped wrong, and walked more quickly the deeper he got.

He was confident he knew where to find this darkness.

He was right.

In the very heart of the old forest, the the newer woods fed into, there was a very old cottage. It had been built next to an oak that had been old when the cottage had been built, and now was so ancient it had grown around the veyr cottage itself.

Within the cottage, there was a very old darkness, one that had no explanation and had never healed. No one had made it that particular way. There was no reason for it to exist. It simply did, and Candlemass knew that things like this were the most dangerous of all. Things that were dark, that were evil, by their very nature.

Candlemass knew he could not defeat the darkness, but he knew he could (at least try) to trick it.

"Hey!" He shouted at the tiny little house, and stamped his feet, clapped his hands, and generally made a lot of noise until a tiny old woman hobbled forth from the house. She fixed Candlemass with an eye that was keen despite the catarrh that fogged it.

"Good afternoon, young man. Whatever can I help you with?" Candlemass knew already he had to be cautious, from her polite tone of voice. Most people automatically followed the lead of whatever they were interacting with. Sometimes, evil liked to play it safe and be kind until it sucked the marrow from your bones with relish.

"Grandmother, do you know the village that lays beyond?" He asked outright, and the old woman gave him a slightly crooked grin.

"Of course, my child. It once was a very old kingdom, a very long time ago. They say the Prince of the land is still trapped here." Candlemass knew at once she was lying, but played along. Nevertheless, he was a little startled by the lie.

"Really? Tell me about it."

"Oh, the kingdom was a beautiful place, full of life and light. And there was no one more gracious or beautiful than their Prince. He was the savior of the land- he rode forth on a shining white steed and vanquished monsters, struck sickness and loneliness from people's hearts with his kindness. They say that when the country was wrought by civil war, brought on by an old, ancient warlock, that he rode out to save their country, and was imprisoned within this very forest."

Candlemass said he nearly gagged in disgust. How could she lie so blatantly to him? Before his village there had been nothing but wilderness stretching for miles until it met blue waters; no civilizations grander than the dens of iniquity Candlemass's forebearers has escaped existed, and certainly no civilizations which revolved around a monarchy.

But still, Candlemass played along. He intended to set the old woman aflame the moment she transformed into her true self, and wash his hands of the whole, vile matter.

"ANd where can I find the prison the Prince was trapped in?"

"Oh!" Exclaimed the old woman, to his private delight. "You will never find it on your own. I will take you." And so Candlemass set off with the old woman. Deeper and deeper into the forest they went, passing abandoned houses and once what looked like an ancient battlefield. Further and further they went, and the forest got darker and wilder, until he realized the trees were thinning, and they were emerging on what appeared to be the other side of the forest. He was thinking he had been lead into another trick until they at last cleared the last line of trees and came upon a vast chasm.

Candlemass could only distantly see the other side where it ended, and the bottom dissolved into darkness.

However, it was not this which held Candlemass's attention riveted to the chasm; and eletrical storm sparked and swirled in its midst, and in the center of this electrical storm, a boy about ten years younger (perhaps in his mid to early twenties) was suspended.

He looked to be nearly identical to Candlemass. White-blonde hair rose from his head in a halo, and bright blue eyes held their bank of the rift in attention. A sweet face, to the point of divinity, was fixed in an expression of despair and defeat.

"You look so like him, little Hunter." Said the warlock, shedding the mantle of the witch and coming forward to caress the side of Candlemass's face.

"How many?" Asked Candlemass thickly, suddenly understanding. "How many have come before me?"

In this time, Candlemass's mind had begun to calm. He was able to pick out differences between himself and the boy, who wore a sort of white-gold uniform, and clutched a saber in one hand. The expression Candlemass had originally mistook as desperation looked more shocked, as if the betrayal had been an unexpected one.

"Not many." The warlock responded softly. "Only a handful. Maybe a half-dozen. And now it's time for you to join them."

At that point, Candlemass said, he simply upset the warlock into the chasm.

The vision of the falling warlock, and the bereft boy began to fade. Dimly, he realized he was standing, once again in front of the old, grown-in cottage in the heart of the woods, which was as dark and empty as it had been before Candlemass had arrived. The only thing that suggested to him the old witch and the warlock had ever existed was the pain of torn stitched in his abdomen.

Since then, Candlemass has never been able to find that chasm or the boy again. He's not sure if the warlock is even dead, and the case remains open in the village records. The case remains his only "unsolved" case on his record.

Of the boy, Candlemass has never told a soul.