Vengeance is Mine

Vengeance is Mine

by Ian Johnstone

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2015 Ian Johnstone

Published by Strict Publishing International

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

CHAPTER ONE

The priest walked into the small office, and bowed towards the man sitting behind the desk. Then, in a quiet but clear voice, he started to speak. Your Eminence, the poor soul is now in the cell awaiting your instructions. He has been fed with just the bare essentials, one crust of bread and a small cup of water.

It was the winter of 1963. The snow was on the ground and the fires in the big house were burning bright. The workers had been fetching logs in all morning, and there was real warmth all over the house. In a room at the top of the stairs a woman was sitting looking at a child in bed. He was just a few years old, but he was ready to be shown the ways of the Mistress, Sentinel of The Doorway to Hell. She had already taught him how to unlock the doors, look for the secret passages and pull back the curtains. He was only four year old, but the Mistress knew that his life was to be one of pain, although it would not be coming from her hands. There were no secrets of life and death that the Mistress did not know, because she had read the Pages Of Time. The boy’s fate was sealed, as was the fate of every Mistress and Sentinel. She knew that once those Pages have been written they can never be changed.

A middle-aged man came in and placed more chopped wood by the fire, and as he was about to leave the Mistress stopped him. Benjamin, there will be another charge in the basement tomorrow morning. See to it that he is stripped and ready for the ritual.

Yes, Mistress Chrystal. Will that be all?

No. You are to come to my chambers tonight and sleep with me. I am in need of comfort. As the Mistress spoke, she gazed at him. Her smile was genuine, in her eyes as well as on her lips.

Yes, Mistress Chrystal. He left to go about his daily chores.

Some hours later, the Mistress headed towards the basement, stopping just inside the door from the hallway to listen to the tumblers of the door lock clicking into place, ensuring that there was no risk of being disturbed or of anyone passing through that door in either direction without her permission. Satisfied, she headed downwards, her heels clicking on the stone slabs of the stairs.

She had no idea who he was. Now, just before midnight, was her favourite time of day for this. Some had described it as a battle, but if it were, then it was a very one-sided battle. He had been brought to her Domain for cleansing, and therefore he would be cleansed. There was no doubt in her mind about what would take place. There never was.

She could sense that he was on his way, and close. She pointed to the far wall and watched the dark hole appear. She could hear footsteps from inside the hole where the tunnel opened out into her battleground. The boundary lines were drawn with her new charge almost in her care. She shivered, as she always did, in anticipation of another battle royal with one of the devil’s disciples.

The priest was the first to show as he stepped out of the darkness, closely followed by two others. Between the following priests was the object of her attention. He was so young! He could not have been more than twenty-five at the most, she thought, as she watched the priest cuffing his wrists to the St Andrew’s cross.

He was looking at her, his eyes half closed, but his face was expressionless. The priest faced him, made the sign of The Cross, and then turned to walk back the way he had arrived. He paused only once before disappearing, to drop two coins into a brass bowl on a small table by the wall. The clink of the coins was all that broke the silence before the two other priests followed him into the darkness of the tunnel.

The Mistress watched them go, her eyes straining to follow them into the darkness until with a satisfied toss of her head she closed the entrance to the tunnel and then turned her full attention to the young man on the cross.

She walked closer to him, but not so close that there was any risk he might be able to lash out at her. His legs were not yet bound and only the bonds on his wrists held him securely. His eyes were bright now, wide open and shining, alert, and ready for whatever she would do to him, but the Mistress was looking much deeper. She wanted… no, she needed to find the person beneath the skin, the one with whom she would do battle. Her own face was still expressionless, without hate or anger, and neither did she have any emotion of like or dislike for this person. It was not his fault that he was now her charge. He was a victim, just as others before him had been. The Mistress looked deep into his eyes, further than any normal person could see, and it did not take her long to find what she was looking for. Almost as soon as she saw the beast deep inside him, he closed his eyes as if he knew she had found what she sought.

She spoke with a knowing certainty in her voice, You cannot hide from me by closing your eyes. Your fate has been sealed and your end is now in sight. I have had far stronger than you, and they screamed as they were sent away. You will be no different.

The eyes came to life, the lids opening as fast as if they were on a tight spring. You dare mess with me, bitch, the man shouted. It will be me that has you screaming in defeat. You’re just a whore. I won’t bow to your will. You think I’m here to test you? I’m here to break your hold on reality.

The Mistress gazed at the young man and could see that the fire was still in his eyes. This one was a screamer; he would scream with every stroke of the whip, trying to gain sympathy, but there would be none forthcoming from this Mistress. Without another word, she turned and walked to the stairs. The clicking of her heels on the stone floor would be the last sound he heard before she left him to the deafening silence of the empty basement.

* * * * *

In the lounge upstairs, the Mistress touched a panel in the wall by the old oak dresser. She stood back as the wall opened in front of her. Briefly, she glanced behind her as if wanting to be certain that she was alone before climbing the few steps to the door above. The room was small, with a dim light shining onto a desk near a wall. She sat down at it and opened the journal that lay in front of her.

The writing in the journal was elaborate and ornate, much as ancient manuscripts might have been centuries before. It was like the painstaking work of monks or scribes who had a love of the writing for its own sake. The first page bore the words: Testimony to the work of Chrystal Marie Donna, for the St David’s Charter House.

She opened it to the page where she had left the marker ribbon, a blank page ready for a new chapter to be written. She picked up the pen, as ancient as the style of the writing, and dipped it into the well of ink set into the corner of the desk.

The agents of the Charter House brought Peter to me tonight. He is a screamer, and I will make him scream like he has never screamed. When I looked into his eyes, I could see the eyes in the eyes looking back at me, but I know that this one will not take long. The screamers never do. It is late, as it is always whenever my new charges arrive. I have told my assistant to strip him ready for the whip in the morning. I shall not start the battle with the being while I am in need of sleep. His ritual will begin after breakfast in the morning, but before then, I must see to the running of the house.

She put down the pen, dried the ink, and read what she had written. Satisfied, she closed the book. It was then that she saw the envelope near the top of the journal and reached over to pick it up. There was a red wax seal on the back, and she recognised it as the seal of His Eminence. She already knew what would be inside. She had been expecting it since Timothy’s fourth birthday. Breaking the seal, she removed the single sheet of parchment and started to read:

Chrystal Marie Donna,

The time has come for Timothy to learn the way of the Mistress of Chrystal House. The powers in Rome have decreed that, although the child is young, you must teach him the ways of the Key Master. At all times he has permission to watch you while you carry out your task. He must also be shown that there is nothing to fear from your charges. He has all the knowledge and magic, and it can only be enhanced by his presence in your place of work. You and he have the blessings of Rome to carry out your task and for you to pass on further knowledge to your siblings while you head towards your ultimate destiny.

Your God be with you.

The Mistress put the letter back in the envelope and left it at the side of the journal, and then she went down to the lounge once more. Timothy was wide awake, gazing up at her, and the Mistress’ assistant waited expectantly for her instructions. She knew that what she would say next would shock him.

Tomorrow, Timothy, while I am at work in the lower room you must come and visit me.

The boy gave her a knowing smile, as though it were no surprise to him.

The Mistress turned to her startled assistant. We must go to bed. I must be fresh for the battle ahead.

* * * * *

At nine-thirty in the morning the Mistress came into the lounge, dressed in riding boots and breeches, with a white blouse. She looked out of the window at her assistant who was near the shed sawing logs for the many fires in the house. Sitting on the pile of sawn logs was Timothy, and as she looked at him, he looked up as if sensing her gaze. He smiled. There was a bond between them that could never be broken. He was part of her destiny, and it was he who would ensure the survival of the Mistress of Chrystal House. Her assistant looked up also, and he too smiled at her. He turned and stepped to the pile of wood before he carried on with his task, his muscles rippling as he worked. It was good to see the effort he made for her, although no less than she expected. Even at this time of the year, he was working hard enough for the teardrops of sweat to be visible even from this distance. She could see it running down his naked back and covering his chest and arms. A knock at the door broke her thoughts.

Yes? What is it? she asked.

Mistress Chrystal, your charge is stripped and waiting for you downstairs. It was her other assistant speaking, but he made no move to enter. This room was forbidden to him, and he knew his limits.

Thank you, Benjamin. Have your breakfast, and then go to the village and collect the groceries. My charge will not be moved until tomorrow morning, and then you will need help.

Yes, Mistress Chrystal.

She waited at the window until she saw the car being driven down the drive to the big gates. It was time. The ritual was to start, and her charge was waiting. She did not bother to lock the door as she descended to the basement.

He was naked, as she had instructed. It should have made him feel more vulnerable, but it seemed not to have made any impression on him… yet. She stood a few feet from him and stared at his body appraisingly. He had a good body, and yet there was nothing sexual in her evaluation of him. Her gaze was no more than she would have given a piece of meat at the market.

Come on, whore, he shouted. Show me what you can do. Don’t just stand there lusting after my body. You think you will defeat me, but I will show you that I am made of stronger stuff than you think. You will be begging me to let you live after your pathetic efforts are wasted.

Silence. She raised her voice, just a little. She had no need to shout, and his defiance had not even roused her anger. She walked to the wall and took down a coiled whip.

She returned. On the floor was a mark, almost invisible, no more than a slight indentation in the stone slabs, and this was the mark she would now use. Without taking her eyes off him, she threw the coils of the whip out onto the floor in front of her, and the young man laughed aloud at her.

She pulled the whip back, fast, and in a split second it was travelling on its way back towards the young man. Snap! The noise in the silence of the basement was horrendous, and the sound of his scream was even worse. His face contorted in pain, but the Mistress had seen all this before. Yet, he was still defiant. Before she had time to pull the whip back once more, the young man was laughing hysterically. Fuck, you’re pathetic, you fucking whore. A child could wield a whip better than you. I told you that there was no way that you could defeat me.

Snap! The second stroke touched just above the first on his the belly, and the two telltale red marks were side by side like rail tracks, but the skin was not broken. The young man’s head was thrown back as he gasped for air, but as his head came down and his eyes focused on her once more, he still had that defiant smile on his face. Snap! Snap! Two strokes in quick succession, one on each of his nipples, and this time the shrill scream would have chilled the warmest of hearts. She smiled, but not at his pain. It was the skill and precision of the strokes that pleased her.

Snap! The next stroke sliced his shoulder blade, but still the skin was not broken. The smile remained on his face, now curling into a sly grin. He was trying to goad her into putting more power into the lashes, but that was not the way of the Mistress. He had to be whipped in exactly the right way for the magic to take its course.

Snap! The whip struck his other shoulder blade, and again there was a wicked scream. Once again, the Mistress took no notice. His screams were all part of the devils game, and he was determined to play it his way. The Mistress was playing his game her way to bring it to an end, and at her speed.

At that moment she heard the basement door open and close, and then slow footsteps could be heard coming down towards where she stood. She rapidly turned on the spot, ready to chastise whoever had disturbed her in her inner Domain. The sight that greeted her was of a small boy with a toy bear in his hand, and he was smiling happily. Once he was at the bottom of the stairs, the Mistress put out her hand and Timothy ran towards her. The young man on the cross, seeing this take place, looked at the boy and made out to be trying to escape, and then he let out a bloodcurdling, shrill scream. The Mistress looked at Timothy, but far from being frightened he was looking at the Mistress and smiling.

You cannot frighten the boy, she said. He is made of stronger fibre than you, and he has this minute shown me that it is you who is weak. The Mistress took a firm hold of the boy’s hand and walked him over to the wall where she seated him on one of the chairs. For a moment, she held his face in her hands before kissing him tenderly on the forehead.

The Mistress took hold of the whip and walked in front of the young man, and once more she threw forward the whip. The smile was still on his face as he spat at her, but she easily moved to one side to avoid it.

Snap! The whip struck again, curling around the man’s arms at the biceps. Again he screamed, and again he laughed loudly as soon as he had control of his voice.

You are no fucking good, bitch. I am feeling no pain. There are no cuts to my flesh. All you are doing is showing me that I am stronger than you.

Snap! The other arm was wrapped in leather for a fleeting moment, and this time there was no scream, just a hysterical laugh.

"You are tickling