Everything clicked into place then. This was why the cult had hired mercenaries; if anyone else knew that they had lost part of their god’s soul then all Hell would break loose. The cult’s leaders would be disgraced, hunted, and every cult of the Triangle would be crawling across the Badlands to find what they’d lost. So they’d had to keep it a secret. And That Which Sins would notice if they stopped their normal activities so they’d had to bring in outside assistance…
That was why the attacks only came at night; the eldritch creatures these mercenaries were using would be most malleable then and so even novices could dominate them into returning to the cult without devouring the Word. The mercenaries were probably using some malignant artefact to control the creatures but they wouldn’t be adept enough to make it work during the day. And they weren’t allowed to attack without the creatures in case they took it into their heads to keep the Word for ransom.
“You see why I’ve been protecting it with everything I’ve got,” Father Kilkenny said.
“I do.” Dust stood and put his hand to his forehead. “Do you know what that Word means?”
“What do you mean?”
“What could be done with it…” Dust’s mind raced with the possibilities. A smile stretched across his face. “Almost everything given to this Margaret will be in that Word; with it you could kill That Which Sins. ”
Father Kilkenny shook his head. “I don’t care about that; it is for the Lord to concern Himself with whether those demons are destroyed or not. I just care that it’s not in hands of that cult, that Crucifix is safe…” He took a deep breath. “And for the safety of Penelope Chalmers, even though I’m blackmailing you and your friends. Which I’m not proud of.”
Dust nodded but his mind was racing too quickly to pay attention to the Father. Of course, killing one of the Triangle wouldn’t be a permanent victory; the Dixie Problem would remain, albeit weakened, and the cults dedicated to That Which Sins would inevitably transfer to worshipping Melting Flesh or Omnis. But the creatures of That Which Sins would all die and it would strike a blow, have those who worshipped the Triangle running scared.
It would give people hope again.
“I know I’m not being kind. And I know that you could just take the Word from me now if you wished.” The Father’s eyes shot down for a moment, indicating that the Word was either under his bed or the floorboards. “But please help us. Help us then take the damned thing with you.”
A strange feeling jolted through Dust, a tingling and a thudding in every part of him. It was something he had never experienced before, like having a dead leg throughout his body. He tried to move and shake out his limbs but found he had no control over his body. Whatever the feeling was, it centred on his lips and demanded that he say two words, an acceptance that could not and would not be resisted.
“Of course,” Dust said.
The feeling disappeared immediately. Dust did his best to not show his discomfort.
Father Kilkenny looked relieved. He clasped his hands together and offered a silent prayer to the sky. “Thank the Lord. And thank you Dust.”
What had that feeling been? It… it seemed like it had come from his tattoo. If so, it was the first time that it had compelled him to do something. Resistance must’ve decided to take a direct part in this… so this Word was perhaps more important than he’d thought. Dust couldn’t help but feel chilled at having been controlled though.
“Might I make a suggestion?” the Father asked.
“Sure.”
Father Kilkenny stood and put his hands on Dust’s shoulders. Dust noticed that they were about the same height and build, differing only in how worn their faces were. Outside, the Father had seemed taller but in private he looked smaller, weaker.
“You should consider using this Word for your weapon. I saw what Margaret had to do to pull the Word from herself and it made me question everything I thought I knew about the soul; it was horror incarnate, a magic that should never, ever be performed.”
He paused, collected his thoughts. “Given what this Word is…” The Father pointed to Dust’s other gun and his fingers shook. “Well, the power of it means that you’re missing a significant portion of the man you ought to be. Just… think about that. Sometimes a man has to take care of himself to do what’s best for the world. Consider it for me, as part of our deal, okay?”
Dust glanced down at other his gun then back into the Father’s unwavering green eyes. He had to wonder what the process for withdrawing a Word was. But he didn’t have time to waste coaxing that from the Father.
“I’ll consider it,” he said.
Father Kilkenny examined him for a while longer then dropped his hands to his side. “Good. Good. We’d best get started then. There’s an absolute Hell out there, thinking about us, so we’d best start thinking about them.”
Dust nodded. “We had.”
Father Kilkenny took a deep breath, pulled life back into his face and went to leave. But Dust needed to know something first. “What happened to Margaret?”
“She died,” he said after a pause. Dust couldn’t see his face but it sounded as though he were talking through a grimace.
That made sense; pulling so large a portion of her own soul out would be an enormous strain on her body. “I’m… sorry to hear that,” Dust said.
Father Kilkenny shook his head. “Don’t be. Margaret found the peace she was looking for. That’s what the Lord tells me in my heart anyway.”
With that, he left the room. Dust watched him go, suspicions forming, and then cast a look around the bedroom. There was something worth protecting in here, something so important that he’d felt the hand of Resistance for the first time. The lives of this town were absolutely worthy of his protection but hiding somewhere in that room was the chance to actually kill a twisted god.
Or, he reminded himself, a way of regaining his full soul. Though in Dust’s mind there wasn’t much competition between the two options.
