Page 76 of Infernium

The last being when Fenwick had walked straight through the old man’s hovel. Perhaps the baron would have been inclined to answer, but the pain of the scars on his back told him to bite his tongue. “An illusion.”

Brow winged up, Solomon jerked his head and nabbed a walking stick from against the fence alongside the shovel. “Come with me.”

On a groan, the baron followed after the hobbling older man who led him beyond the stretch of his yard and into the woods. “Where’s Soreth?”

“Tending to his studies.”

“As in arithmetic, philosophy, that sort?”

“A bit more involved, but yes. That sort. He longs to be an academic.”

The baron sneered. “Better that than a soldier.”

“It is true, he prefers books over swords.” Solomon stopped before a tree whose branches, laden with bright red apples, hovered well above their heads. “And perhaps that will serve him well someday.”

Still distracted by the tree, the baron tipped back his head, studying its height. “Why is this tree so unusually tall?”

“It is an unusual tree. Now, help me gather up some apples for my horse.”

Frowning, Jericho stared down at the mostly rotten apples which had long fallen. “Nolessontoday?”

“Every moment of your life is a lesson, young Lord. A test.” Solomon bent down, sniffing the air, and by some miracle, he reached for one of the lesser bruised and battered fruits on the ground.

Jericho followed suit, bending to his knee, and he lifted an apple so decayed, his finger pushed through mush. Revolted, he tossed the fruit away from him and caught sight of a perfect apple. “A test of what?” he asked.

“Your virtue, of course,” Solomon said, picking through a small pile and depositing another into his coat pocket.

With a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure the older man was still occupied, the baron pushed to his feet and strode across the patchy grass, the mushy fruit squishing under his boots. He knelt alongside the shiny apple, noticing the perfect gleam of its bright red skin. With no intentions of offering up such a magnificent specimen, he polished the fruit on his coat and lifted it to his mouth for a bite.

A hard smack to his cheek knocked the boy to the side, and the apple fell out of his hands onto the ground. Hand covering the harsh sting of Solomon’s palm, the baron looked back at the old man, who stood over him with milky eyes that stared off. “Devil’s teeth! Are you mad? What was that for?”

Instead of answering, Solomon drew one of the swords from its scabbard on his back. In one whoosh of a slice, the apple split in two, revealing a rotted black core that pulsed with movement.

Disgusted, the baron swallowed a harsh gulp, and when a black serpentine creature slid from the apple’s flesh, tendrils of horror washed over him. The creature bore eyes and fangs and slithered toward him with a kind of determination that sent a shiver down his spine. The sound of metal sliced through the air, and seconds later, the creature lay split in two.

As the baron leaned forward to examine it closer, the cleaved remains shriveled into nothing more than black curls of smoke.“What in God’s name was that?” he asked through chattering teeth.

“God had nothing to do with that creature.” Solomon sheathed his sword and reached down, offering the baron a hand. As the boy reached back for him, the older man asked, “Now, do we wish to speak freely? No silly games or mind tricks?”

“To speak of what I just witnessed would be my execution.”

“Not likely. Inquisition and torment, however? Perhaps.”

“It exists. The creature that Lord Fletcher saw. The one Drystan saw but refused to say.” The black pile of ash where the creature had fizzled to dust scattered in a passing breeze, and it wasn’t long before it dispersed entirely, as if it’d never existed at all.

“Yes. They exist. In every corner and crevice of this world, you will find demons and spirits longing to claim your soul by any fiendish means.”

The baron imagined himself biting into that apple, only to discover its mushy center and the creature which surely would have slipped down his throat. He swallowed a harsh gulp at the thought. “Had I eaten the apple, what would have happened?”

“Eating the apple itself is something of an agreement.”

“An agreement? What kind of agreement?”

“Passage of evil.” Solomon reached down for another slightly imperfect apple, stuffing it into his coat pocket. “By biting the apple, you invite it into your body. You offer permission to do its bidding.”

“You’re telling me that, by eating the fruit, I’d have been offering my soul?”

“Not entirely. You’d have allowed the creature the ability to possess you. You would have committed atrocities at its command, and ultimately damned yourself.”

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