Page 11 of Altar of Flesh

Nothing else appeared on the page. I had no compulsion to read further, and the knowledge settled in me that this Furcas was who I was after. Indeed, whose seal it must have been, spread on the wooden floor before me.

I went to it. I lowered my body before the sigil in supplication. I held the demon’s name and title in my mind and rolled it over and over on my tongue. Furcas, the Knight of Hell. Furcas, I summon thee.

I reached into the circle, picked up the small knife, and dragged it across the palm of my hand, where I had made the same cut for Asmodeus—the scar remaining as the only blemish on my body—and for Malphas, though with much firmer pressure. Warm blood trickled like syrup down my palm, and the instant the first drop hit the waiting grooves, some force of magic seemed to pull it out of me. My blood fell quickly, almost eagerly, like the seal craved it. My vision blurred, and a haze of dizziness descended. Woozy, I lay down, waiting for the summons to be done.

I awoke to the clopping of hooves. Wearily, I blinked my eyes open. I could see nothing but the legs of the horse upon which the demon sat. Sandy-white, pale as the stone that surrounded us, the horse’s colour reminded me of bone. Indeed, it seemed at odd places that osseous growths protruded from the flank, reminding me of sprouting fungi. I scanned for the feet of this newcomer, who undoubtedly was the Knight, if the horse was an indicator of this demon’s rank. But there were no human feet in the stirrups, and, indeed, no stirrups nor saddle at all.

My voice caught in my throat. It was not quite a scream, but not an easy, happy sound either. Delayed in my understanding, the full sight of Furcas terrified me. I sat up in a rush, choking on my quick intake of breath. My palm, stained as it was with blood, slipped back as I scrambled away from the bloody seal. I almost prayed. I almost invoked God.

The muscular legs of the horse gave way to human flesh. Indeed, the flank of a human man seemed to split forth from between the horse’s hair and then rise up into a man’s torso—equally as pale as the horse’s flank.

Furcas, Knight of Hell, took the form of a beautiful but intimidating centaur. Its human half was strong, big-bellied, with a long white beard that covered its navel. Muscle bulged in its arms and around its shoulders, and its unkempt beard and long white hair masked much of its face. Its eyes were a dazzling icy blue, and clutched in its clawed hand—fingers long and nails longer—was a spear.

Words failed me. I stared. I think this was the one that shocked me the most, out of all the forms of demons I had seen thus far. Every other form had been unknowable before the moment of my seeing them. But this? Centaurs were a myth to me, something confirmed as an impossibility—and here I was before one, staring at the sutured flesh between human skin and horse flank. The uncanniness of the human part of Furcas, withits all-seeing eyes and hollow cheekbones, only made its lower half more confronting. Its tail was like that of a human skeleton, without any flesh about it at all. It was forked at the end, and it whipped through the air like a cat’s. I could do nothing except drop into a low bow, and with my forehead pressed to the ground, I hoped that would be enough to avoid any wrath.

I squeezed my eyes shut. With only the sound of its hooves clopping and my heavy breathing, I could vaguely tell it was circling me. Hesitantly, I craned to look at it. Furcas was not looking at me. It glanced around, seemingly confused, its eyes darting down to the seal where my blood stained the grooves. Furcas cocked its head and bore its sharp, shark-like teeth.

“Lord,” I croaked out. Its eyes shot down to me then.

“The summonings I am used to drag me up to Earth,” it said. Its voice was unlike anything I had ever heard. It felt ephemeral, somehow abstract, and not wholly physical. I could describe it like a whisper in the wind, a shadow out of the corner of my eyes. It spoke, and I could not be sure that it had. The end of its sentences felt to me like distant memories. “Rarely do I have requests to teach students already condemned to Hell.”

Near delirious with confusion, feeling somehow like it had finished its sentence hours ago, I dragged myself upright, hoping this more grounded position would help me focus. “I have not been condemned.” Surprisingly, my voice came out harsh. Defiant. “I have entered Hell of my own volition.”

Furcas’ eyes slid towards me, expression dazzled like it was seeing me for the first time. Its horse body moved around me, eyes never straying as it took me in.

“I see a naked, decrepit human man. Plagued by lust, apparently, if you have fallen into Asmodeus’ domain. But, if you have wandered this far into Hell without any of my infernal brethren stopping you, that suggests a mark of wit. A savvy nature. Do you know who I am?”

I recall being frightened to admit how little I knew. From the way it circled me and its talk of summonings, I gathered it assumed I had summoned it for—well, because I wantedFurcasand not as a means to some salacious end. I opened my mouth and regurgitated the titles and honorifics the text had bestowed upon Furcas, the Knight of Hell.

It narrowed its eyes at me, and I knew thatitknew I wasn’t truly here for it. In a desperate scrabble, I looked about, pointing at the rows of books. “Is this your library?”

Though its expression remained cloudy, Furcas nodded. “Rhetoric, logic, astronomy. . .I teach it all. All the knowledge I craved in Heaven that was denied to me was given to me here. Is this what you wish to learn?”

I hesitated. My eyes dragged over its body and lower to the cock between its equine legs. I shuddered, unclear if I was feeling revulsion or attraction, or that strange mix of both, if taboo was lighting a fire in me, if I could imagine that thing sliding into me, gaping me, splitting me apart.

My cheeks were burning up. I bit my tongue and looked away.

“Tell me why you are here, little human,” it said with preternatural calm. “Before you anger me.”

I believed wholeheartedly that Furcas’ rage would be destructive. It frightened me more than Malphas had; this pared-back desert of a building, these empty halls echoing with lost tomes and dust and silence—a demon whose knighthood was exclusive, who chose to live seemingly isolated.

So, I told it everything in lurid detail, sparing nothing. I invoked Asmodeus as if calling upon my great Lord might spare me from any harm.

When I was finished, Furcas leaned forward. Its curiosity wafted off it, and a grin pricked at its lips.

“You,” it said, disbelief clouding its eyes, “summonedAsmodeus?”

I didn’t understand its tone. Was it astonished at my bravery? Was it disbelieving that I had managed it?

I opened my mouth to clarify, and it leaned down, human fingers ghosting over my lips. The claws, which were overgrown yellowed nails sharpened to a point, stung as they pressed into the tender flesh of my face. It peeled my lower lip away from my teeth, then dragged those claws across my cheek firmly enough to leave a mark.

“A priest turned expert summoner,” Furcas murmured. “Asmodeus is not any easy force to pull from the dredges of Hell. Do you understand? Either you are lying to me, or you intrinsically possess the skill plenty of your mortal brethren try to perfect over decades of study, failed summonings, an, on occasion, covenants made. They make deals with lesser demons before they can summon someone stronger. They gain a little knowledge in exchange for their soul. A gift for a gift.” It assessed me, eyes raking down. “But perhaps the well of your lust was so deep even Asmodeus could not deny you.”

I did not want to jump up and exclaim, “Yes, precisely!”when it seemed to me that Furcas was implying my soul to be so dripping with lust and longing it had had enough power to call forth Asmodeus. Thinking back on it, I did not recall that first summoning to be difficult. I had longed for a master of sexual depravity to have me. Asmodeus had answered. Was that because I was powerful? Or because Asmodeus had taken pity on me?

With a bravery I had so rarely possessed, I stood at my full height. My head barely came up to Furcas’ chest. I could have walked forward and had its pinkish nipple between my teeth, its long white beard a pillow upon which I might rest.

Again, like many of the demons I had encountered, its attractiveness was not native to it—unlike Asmodeus, whose human-like body had incited a fever in me, Furcas terrified me more than aroused me. Yet, locked in that complex string of emotions, I saw myself doing things that might have once disgusted me. I could see my mouth encircling the oversized equine cock, engorging myself on it, turning my body and slipping back onto it, ruining my insides, feeling it in my guts—Furcas’ hand slipped beneath my chin.

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