Feast of the Fool
Yaden had been part of Landon Coven for five years. When the old master passed on, Yaden took his place. Leadership brought many things, including an endless supply of young girls, all rebelling against their father-figure God.
But Elgar Astaroth changed all that. Yaden knew Elgar from when they both were learning incants and tracing the seven points of light. While Yaden recruited new girls and shacked his wick, Elgar continued to study.
It wasn’t long before a deep-seated schism was brewing. Elgar even tried to interrupt one of the ceremonies. When he upended several candles around the pentagram, which broke the sacred form and unsettled the newer acolytes, Yaden knew they needed to talk. Yaden found him in the cramped back room that passed for the coven’s library.
“What’s the hell’s wrong with you?”
Anger colored Elgar’s face. “You defile our master. You don’t worship him during Sabbat.”
“That’s a load of crap,” Yaden said. “I think you’re just jealous.”
“Of you? About what?” Elgar thought for a second, then said, “Oh, you think I want to be like you and spread every pair of legs I can find?”
The truth felt good. Leaning in close, Yaden softly whispered, “Why else do you think I’m here? It sure isn’t for the make-up and the clothes.”
Elgar’s eyes widened at the confession. A shadow passed over his face and he glanced away. When he looked back, he gave Yaden a little lop-sided smile, just like he used to. “Fine,” he said, and that was the end of the argument.
Yaden woke to pleasure. A warm wetness moved up and down on him, and he raised his head to see a young girl’s black hair bobbing in his lap. Feeling him move, she pulled her mouth off him with a loud pop.
Yaden realized he was naked, bound to the altar and gagged. Still disoriented from the drug, his head lolled to one side. There were more people here now, and the group of onlookers formed a larger circle around him and the altar.
Elgar appeared behind him, and by tilting his head back, Yaden could see part of his face. The Sabbat mask couldn’t conceal his feral grin. Leaning in close, Elgar whispered, “So glad you could join us.”
Unable to move, Yaden glared at him.
Raising his voice to the observers, Elgar said, “This man has been accused and tried of heresy. You have found him guilty. Now let the master pass his judgment.”
Stretching out his arms, Elgar softly mumbled incantations. Clouds seemed to form on the ceiling, and settled like mist around the onlookers. From the blackness, a deep, rasping growl said, “Der Verrat des Narren.”
Yaden had heard those words before, but he couldn’t remember what they meant. As the darkness lifted, Elgar let out a grim chuckle. “The master has spoken.” Yaden saw him nod towards the end of the altar, and long hair began to tickle in his lap again. To his embarrassment, and despite his fear, the girl’s efforts were successful.
Yaden knew something was very wrong, but he couldn’t concentrate. His hips started to rise to meet her bobbing head, and he was almost there when Elgar cleared his throat. Just as the girl stopped, Yaden remembered what the words meant.
The fool’s betrayal.
From the corner of his eye, he saw something glitter in Elgar’s hand and began to struggle. Then the girl’s teeth ground down on him. Agony ripped through him. He was pulling in a ragged breath when the razor bit deep into his throat.
Over the gurgling and frothing of blood, Yaden heard, “Das Bankett der Kinder.”
The Feast of the Children.