Sardra and the Church

Sardra was a demon.

Demons burned on holy ground.

There was really no getting around that fact.

They looked down at the address scribbled on a blood splattered napkin in their hand, then back up at the church in front of them.

Yes, it was definitely the right place. Of course it was.

Sardra sighed, but they had little other choice. They glanced over their shoulder then took a tentative step forward. By the time they were a few meters from the doors they could already feel the burning under their skin.

They pushed open the doors, wincing as the contact with the wood started to blister their hands. Should have worn gloves, they thought ruefully.

They had never been in a church before, for obvious reasons, but the interior was more or less what they expected. Past the foyer there were rows of seats, stained glass windows, a big dais at the far end with a podium on it. Just like on TV.

The church was empty in the middle of the day on a Wednesday. Sardra walked down the aisle, looking around for any sign of the person they were here to find.

There was a door off to the side of the dais which was standing open, so Sardra ducked through it. It appeared to be a combination of kitchen and storeroom, and was also devoid of people.

There was another door at the far end of this room, but when Sardra tried the handle they found it locked. They shrugged, then knocked politely on the door.

A few moments later it opened to reveal a woman with dark skin and a scar running along her jawbone. She was wearing a leather jacket and had a very large knife very obviously tucked into her boot.

She looked momentarily startled, then reached down and pulled the knife from her boot. It had an ornate cross and some runes Sardra didn’t recognise etched into the blade.

“Are you Genevieve?” they asked, backing up a few steps.

“I am,” she replied, “And you are a Bargainer.”

“You can tell?” Sarda was surprised. Most humans couldn’t see the true face of a Bargainer, instead filling in the blank space in their mind with a pleasant looking human.

“You’re smoking,” she said, gesturing towards their hands.

“Oh.” Sarda looked down. There was indeed smoke wafting off their hands. “Can we talk outside?” they asked, hopeful.

Genevieve crossed her arms. “Not a chance in hell, if you’ll pardon the expression.”

“Well, fair enough, I suppose.”

“What do you want, Bargainer? I assume you know who I am, so in recognition of your stupidity, I’ll give you a chance to speak your piece before I kill you.”

Sardra rubbed their hands together and blew on them in a futile attempt to ease the burning. They were starting to blacken in places. Genevieve was a well known demon hunter, and had killed dozens of their kind. That made the request they were about to make not only incredibly foolish, but also extremely unlikely to be granted.

“I’ve come to request asylum.”

Genevieve stared at them for a moment, and then suddenly burst out laughing, resting one hand on the doorframe to support herself.

“And why would I ever grant such a request?” she asked once the laughter had died down.

“By tradition the church accepts all refugees,” they said, “And I am no longer welcome in my homeland.”

The woman snorted. “What could you possibly have done to be exiled from the city state of Hell?”

Sardra was starting to find it difficult to breathe. They didn’t technically need to breathe, but nevertheless found the sensation exceedingly uncomfortable. Besides, it made it difficult to speak.

“There was a rebellion,” they gasped out. “It failed.”

Genevieve frowned. “I heard about that. I heard there were no survivors.”

“Very few,” Sardra corrected.

The woman was silent for a time, and then she said, “Your hair is on fire.”

#

Sardra sat on a bench at a bus stop outside the church while they waited for parts of their skin to regrow. Genevieve was standing a few feet behind them, within the boundaries of church grounds, holding a gun behind her back, ‘just in case’.

“So, how did the rebellion get started in the first place?” Genevieve asked.

“Have you ever seen what the Infernal Machine does to a human soul?” Sardra asked. They were feeling a little snappish. Repairing fire-damaged skin was painful.

“Of course I haven’t,” Genevieve said. Only Bargainers could enter Hell.

“Well, I have, and it’s horrible.”

“You expect me to believe a bunch of Bargainers threw a rebellion against their creator because they felt bad?”

Sardra shrugged. “That’s a vast oversimplification, but it’s more or less true.”

“Ok then, assuming I believe you, I still have to wonder why you thought it would be a good idea to seek sanctuary in a church. You were in there for five minutes before you literally burst into flames.”

“I don’t need to physically be in the church to be considered under its protection. By Hell’s own law, if I’m granted asylum, it can’t pursue me so long as I stay within the bounds of the city.”

“Really? I didn’t know Hell had laws.”

“It doesn’t have internal laws, aside from ‘do whatever the Infernal Machine says,’ but it has treaties with the Keepers which they negotiated through the Arbiter.”

“So go to the Keepers for protection.”

“Some of the other survivors are headed to Italy to ask the Keepers for help. A couple are going to Silverash to request asylum from the Arbiter. We decided it would be better to split up.”

“And you drew the short straw?”

“I did.”

Genevieve sighed. “I’ll have to ask the Deacon. I’m not an official member of the church.”

“I guess I’ll just wait out here?” Sardra asked.

“Feel free, that side of the fence is public property.”

“More Bargainers may show up looking for me. I’m not sure how much of a head start I had.”

“If they do, I’d be more than happy to invite them in for a chat,” Genevieve said, holding her gun up for them to see before turning and walking back into the church.

#

Sardra was trying not to doze off when Genevieve and a woman in a white robe sat down on either side of them.

“Genevieve tells me you seek refuge,” the woman said.

Sardra shook their head to wake themself up. “Er, yes, that’s right. Are you the Deacon?”

The woman nodded. “Deacon Jackson. And what should I call you?”

“My name’s Sardra. Have you made a decision?”

“Not yet,” the Deacon said, standing back up and brushing her robe off. “Walk with me.”

Sardra nodded and followed the woman.

Instead of going back inside, she carried on down the street and led Sardra and Genevieve into the first coffee shop they came across.

“Do you want anything?” she asked. “They do a very nice blueberry cheesecake.”

“I don’t have any money,” Sardra said, “and besides, I don’t need to eat.”

Genevieve raised an eyebrow at them. “Bargainers trade millions for a single soul but you can't afford afternoon tea?”

Sardra scowled at her. “That money comes from Hell. They didn't exactly leave my expense account open.”

“Huh, so you're a broke demon.”

“Well, don't worry,” the Deacon said, “lunch is on me.”

“I really don't need to eat,” Sardra repeated, “there's no need to get me anything.”

“Nonsense. If you want asylum you'll have to live in these parts, and you'll have to be part of the community, and food is integral to community. We have a potluck lunch every Sunday after services.”

Sardra grimaced. They did not know how to cook, and wouldn’t even know how to start learning.

The Deacon went to the counter to order while Genevieve and Sardra found an empty table by the window. Sardra looked out onto the street nervously. They felt painfully exposed here, and had a bad feeling that the Bargainers hunting them could show up at any minute and suddenly everyone in the little cafe would be caught in the crossfire.

The deacon sat down across from them and folded her hands in front of her. “So,” she said, “tell me why I should grant you asylum.”

Sardra had expected the question, but not put so bluntly. “Er, well, I can give your hunter valuable information about Hell?” they gestured towards Genevieve. “I know a lot of places that Bargainers go.”

“And once you’re given away all your valuable information?” the Deacon asked, “What could you offer our community? You just said yourself that you don’t have any money. Where would you live? What would you do?”

Sardra shrugged a little helplessly. “I figured I’d get a job of some sort.” Not that they had much in the way of transferable skills from their previous job.

Genevieve had a look on her face which told Sardra she didn’t believe they could get a job either.

The Deacon sighed and leaned back in her chair, regarding Sardra with an inscrutable expression. A waiter came by and placed a pot of tea and three plates of blueberry cheesecake on the table. She pushed one towards Sardra, who gave it a dubious look.

Genevieve tucked into her plate immediately, and was almost finished by the time Sardra took a bite.

“Well, what do you think?” the Deacon asked.

Sardra shrugged. “Nice texture. Tastes like ash.”

Deacon Jackson tilted her head to one side curiously.

“Everything tastes like ash. Bargainers are made to sell earthly pleasures, not enjoy them.”

Genevieve scoffed quietly into her teacup. “Are you going to finish that?” she asked, pointing to the cheesecake. Sardra slid the plate towards her, and she quickly demolished it.

“Let’s keep moving,” the Deacon said, “we may as well take a walk around the neighbourhood you want to stay in.”

Sardra agreed, relieved. Keep moving, hopefully stay away from populated areas... Genevieve also appeared to be happy to move on from the crowded cafe.

The Bargainer followed the Deacon out of the cafe and down the street, then off the street and through a green, shady park. Genevieve took up the rear, keeping a suspicious eye out.

“This is Morland Park,” the Deacon told them, pointing out various features, “there’s a communal garden over there which the church maintains. Those are apple trees, and those are plums. A local community group fundraised for years to get that playground put in for the kids...“

Sardra tried to listen and be polite, but the foreboding feeling was getting stronger, and they found themselves looking around anxiously at the deserted park.

#

In the end it happened as they were exiting from the far end of the park onto a deserted, tree-lined street. A van with blacked out windows screeched around the corner, pulled to a halt on the road beside them, and four large Bargainers piled out of the back.

The Deacon shrieked and backed away while Genevieve rushed in, pulling the knife from her boot. Sardra looked around desperately for an escape, but they had surrounded them too quickly. There was a large hedge at their back, cutting off their retreat.

There was a brief scuffle between Genevieve and two of the Bargainers, but before long they managed to subdue her. The two of them forced her hands behind her back and pushed her to her knees so she couldn’t struggle out of their grip.

The other two made a beeline for Sardra.

One of them made a grab for Sardra but suddenly Deacon Jackson was in the way, leaping at the closest demon and managing to knock them backward with her superior bulk.

The other demon spent a crucial moment being surprised, which gave Sardra the opening they needed to make a break for it, dashing up the street and away from the van.

“Betrayer!” one of the demons roared after them, “return and face judgement or we will destroy your friends!”

Sardra ran two more steps before they stopped.

Turned around.

Deacon Jackson was doubled over, clutching her stomach and wheezing. Genevieve was firmly held by two of the demons, glaring at Sardra with murder in her eyes.

Sardra sighed.

They had joined the rebellion because they cared about humans and didn’t want to see them suffer. If they were willing to defy the entire city of Hell for the sake of an abstract ideal of protecting the souls of humans, surely they were willing to give themself up for the sake of two very real humans who were currently in extreme peril.

Slowly, they started walking back towards the four demons and their two hostages. After a few moments one of the demons got impatient and strode out to meet them, grabbing their arm and hauling them towards the van.

“We’ll let them go once we have you secured,” the demon said.

“Give me your word,” Sardra said.

The demon rolled their eyes. “You have our word that we will release your friends once you are secured, as witnessed by the Infernal Machine.”

Sardra lowered their head and let the demon lead them towards the van.

“Wait a moment!” the Deacon shouted after them. The demons ignored her, but she carried on regardless, raising her voice even further. “Sardra of Hell, the Church of St Patroclus grants you asylum!”

The demon holding Sardra’s arm suddenly screamed and stumbled away from them, and the smell of burning skin filled the air.

Sardra turned around, not quite comprehending what had just happened, and watched as Genevieve casually broke out of the grasp of the two demons holding her and spun around, bashing their heads together before picking her knife back up and plunging it into the first one’s neck, leaving it embedded there. Sardra realised distantly that Genevieve and the Deacon had never really been in danger as the demon hunter pulled a gun from somewhere and put it against the second demon’s head.

“I’d rather not pull this trigger,” she said, “because that would be very noisy and draw unwanted attention. But I absolutely will if you don’t all leave immediately.”

The demons looked towards the van, where there was a fifth Bargainer in the driver seat. The driver gave them a sharp nod, and three of them grudgingly put up their hands. Genevieve lowered her gun, and they piled back into the van.

The fourth demon was still lying on the pavement, Genevieve’s knife sticking out of their neck. The hunter bent down and yanked the blade out, but instead of starting to heal, the wound blackened, and ash started to form around it.

Sardra watched with horror as the demon slowly flaked into ash, which blew away in the light breeze.

“You killed them,” they whispered.

Genevieve gave him a contemptuous look as the van pulled a sharp u-turn and vanished back up the street. “It’s what I do, Bargainer.”

She turned to the Deacon, who was leaning on a lamp post to try and regain her breath. “Did they get you?”

“I’m fine, just winded,” she muttered.

“What happened to the one who grabbed Sardra?” Genevieve asked. Sardra was also curious.

Deacon Jackson smiled. “When the Church grants you asylum, you share the protection of the church. They won’t be able to touch you without burning.”

“Oh,” said Sardra, “neat.”

“So now you just need to get a job and an apartment,” Genevieve said. She punched Sardra on the shoulder in what they thought was intended to be a friendly manner. “That’s the hard part.”