The Girl with No Name
Copyright 2013 by Edward -EC-
EC's Erotic Fiction - /~caligula97030/

(warnings: public nudity, sex between adults, corporal punishment, maledom, 
humiliation, war violence, occult, language)

Chapter Thirty – The Ghost-Girl

The guard who served as Scribe # 8’s contact visited her one more time during the 
month of April and three times during May. She passed between 20 and 30 sheets 
of detailed information during each visit. As requested, she concentrated on 
collecting data about the Bishop, other church officials, and the Vice-Duchy’s 
finances. She also paid special attention to copying any correspondence between 
the Vice-Duke or his advisors and people outside the Duchy. She wasn’t able to 
comply with the request to overhear gossip from the palace women because her 
duties mostly kept her with the Vice-Duke’s male advisors. However, she was 
able to provide information about someone far more important than a bunch of 
gossipy over-dressed noblewomen. She had direct and continuous access to one of 
the Vice-Duke’s sons.

During her first weeks in the palace, Scribe # 8 had to endure another indignity 
apart from the washroom shows and constant groping. Her worst tormentor was 
the obnoxious young prince who had spanked her the day she entered the palace. 
Whenever he was in the inner portion of the palace, he looked for her. If he could 
find her, the teenager called her out and made her bend over and grab her ankles. 
He then subjected her to fondling and a light spanking, regardless of the duty he 
had pulled her away from or whoever happened to be milling around at the 
moment. He called her a “very bad girl” for tempting him and made her grovel at 
his feet begging forgiveness.

Danka was infuriated, but she was little more than a slave and couldn’t do 
anything, at least for the moment. However, it was obvious the teenager was 
attracted to her. In the back of her mind she wondered about turning that 
attraction to her advantage, perhaps by seducing him and then seeing about 
blackmailing him. The prince’s name was Hristóckt. She was surprised to find out 
he was 19, considering his effeminate appearance and lacy clothing. She had 
thought he was younger, perhaps 14 or 15. Of course, Scribe # 8 also looked 
much younger than her real age, thanks to the blue powder. She would turn 24 
sometime during 1759, although she wasn’t sure what date because her parents 
never bothered to tell her. However, anyone looking at her would not have 
guessed she was any older than 18.

So, with her young appearance and submissive behavior, she coldly studied 
Prince Hristóckt and learned his daily routine. He seemed to be a total idiot 
besides being an effeminate dandy. It was for sure that he had no experience 
dealing with the real world. He would be no match for someone like Danka. Her 
only challenge would be to get him alone without raising any suspicions. 
Assuming she could figure out how to isolate him, he’d be completely helpless 
against her wiles.

Scribe # 8 figured the best way to seduce the prince would be to encourage him to 
take her into his room. She couldn’t be overt about it, but if he “caught” her near 
his chamber, he’d be likely to take her inside. She started administering birth-
control paste to herself and timed her route so she’d be passing close to his door at 
the same moment he was returning from music practice. Two days later, she 
bumped into him only a few fathoms from his door. He took the bait and ordered 
her to go into the room with him.

As always, he made her grab her ankles and caressed her bottom. He started 
spanking her, with light smacks as always. He spent a very long time “punishing” 
her, to the point she was uncomfortable, not so much from the smacks, but from 
her muscles cramping from having to remain bent over and immobilized for such 
a long time. The prince did something he would not have done outside his room: 
he put his free hand down his pants and started masturbating while he was 
spanking the servant. Danka became bored and tired of holding the same position. 
She took a slight risk and spoke up.

“My lovely Prince. It would be such an honor to have a fine man like yourself use 
your humble serving girl as you please for your manly pleasure.”

The prince became hard at the suggestion, but it was clear he had no clue what to 
do. The scribe kissed him and put her hand over the crotch of his pants. She took 
charge and pushed him onto his bed. She undid rows of buttons and pulled down 
the three layers of clothing covering his hips. She massaged and kissed him and 
flattered him with words about his handsomeness and manliness as she pulled the 
pants completely off. She had a frustrating time with his small, skinny organ. It 
kept going limp before she had a chance to straddle him. Finally she managed to 
keep him hard enough to get him inside her. She felt she had achieved a major 
accomplishment when she finally felt the faint pulsing of a weak orgasm inside. 
She had to pretend she was enjoying herself instead of wondering how a man 
could possibly be so contemptible.

Well… that was quite pathetic. However, the servant had accomplished what she 
wanted. She managed to convince Prince Hristóckt that he was an excellent lover 
and any woman would be ecstatic to have such a virile man at her service. She 
knew he’d have only one thing one his mind the next day: her.

----------

That afternoon was the first out of many Prince Hristóckt spent with Scribe # 8. 
Love-making was always the same. The sessions always started with the prince 
ordering her to bend over and fondling her before administering a spanking. The 
spankings were always the same as well, delivered with his hand and long, but 
never very hard because he didn’t have much strength. Then she had to go to her 
knees and beg him to forgive her for being so misbehaved. After all that was 
taken care of, the Scribe took over. She had to work her way through layers of 
fancy clothing so she could strip him from the waist down. Occasionally she 
managed to strip him completely, but undoing all those buttons and removing all 
those shirts truly tested her patience. She spent a long time massaging his thighs 
and then his penis. Finally, when he was hard enough, she’d straddle him and try 
to get him inside her and get him to climax before he went limp. Then she’d 
massage him and snuggle up to him while he talked.

More than any other time in her life, Danka felt like Lilith every time she spent an 
afternoon with Hristóckt. She was completely in control of him, even when she 
was bent over taking a spanking or kneeling at his feet. Her submissiveness fed 
into his ego and made him see himself as superior, both in intellect and in 
morality. He completely discounted the notion Scribe # 8 could have any ulterior 
motives for interacting with him; in fact, that idea never even occurred to him. So, 
around her he chatted, not really for her benefit, but for an opportunity to think 
out loud. The teenager talked incessantly, as though he had no one else to talk to 
and had a lot to get off his chest. Yes, he finally could talk. After all, what harm 
could a naked dishonored former nun possibly do to him? 

He bragged about his father’s activities and plots, detailed the intrigues of palace 
advisors against each other, and plans to favor one advisor at the expense of 
another. He talked at length about various members of the Vice-Duke’s family, 
how much he hated his brothers, and how much he held his uncles and cousins in 
contempt. He talked about his father’s purchases and bragged about how much 
they cost. He bragged about his father’s foreign contacts and how he managed to 
use clandestine couriers to move his communications through the western valley. 
Apparently he had a contact among the guards in the border post in Sebérnekt Ris 
who helped him smuggle his imported items past the Duchy’s main northern 
entrance. During the first few days with Hristóckt, Danka picked up so much 
information she had a hard time prioritizing what was most important and writing 
it all down. She used up all the scrap pieces of parchment in the palace and had to 
steal several clean sheets. She realized the next time she saw her contact; she’d 
have to tell him to supply her with paper.

After a few days of letting the prince ramble about whatever he wanted to talk 
about, she started directing the conversations towards the Vice-Duke’s relations 
with the various city councils, landlords, and Church officials. She was interested 
in knowing who was favored by the Vice-Duke, who was out of favor or under 
suspicion, and why. The teenager blathered whatever he knew. Danka suspected 
some of his information was not accurate, but he blissfully told her the truth as he 
saw it. On the rare occasions he was reluctant to answer a question, a few strokes 
of her hand and some cuddling and kisses were enough to make him resume 
talking.

Scribe # 8 couldn’t imagine how she could possibly improve her access to the 
Vice-Duke’s secrets. She was wrong about that, because she had underestimated 
the prince’s stupidity. By the beginning of June, she was spending more time with 
him as his personal servant. She dutifully followed him around, carrying his 
documents, books, and whatever else he needed at the moment. On several 
occasions he led her into his father’s private chambers, allowing her to see where 
he kept his papers, maps, and official seals. She also saw a True Believers’ coding 
device and several coded messages laid out on a study table. Her heart jumped 
into her throat when she saw the coder. If only she could get her hands on it…

Adjacent to the private sleeping chamber was the entrance to a small wine cellar. 
Danka found out the palace had two wine cellars; the general underground 
chamber for the main kitchen and dining hall, and a smaller one for the Vice-
Duke’s personal stash of more expensive wine and cognac. Hristóckt grabbed a 
bottle of wine and handed it to the scribe to uncork it. She didn’t do it fast enough, 
so he spanked her. He told her to pick up a wine glass and follow him outside to 
the garden. The prince ordered two house-servants to bring out a fancy chair from 
the reception area and set it under a tree. For the rest of the afternoon he sat 
drinking and eating Turkish delight while Scribe # 8 knelt next to him, holding 
the bottle and refilling his glass. He did not offer her any of the wine or candy. 
She was a servant and undeserving of such delicacies. The scribe was not worried 
about tasting wine or the dismissive treatment. Her mind was on that coding 
device and how to take a better look at it.

Two days later Scribe # 8 returned to the Vice-Duke’s sleeping chamber, alone. 
Prince Hristóckt had given her copies of the keys she needed to access both the 
room and the wine cellar. She was to bring out a bottle of wine, a box of Turkish 
delight, and a small snuff box filled containing white powder. She recognized it as 
a medical ingredient the Followers called Andean salt, which they imported from 
the Spanish colonies and used in some of their surgeries.

She did not have to worry about anyone questioning why she was in the Vice-
Duke’s chambers or why she had a key to the room, because the prince had 
written on her back with a quill that she was carrying the key under his orders and 
was accessing the room because he told her to. The writing on her bare back was 
supposed to be an additional humiliation, but for a person whose job it was to spy 
on the household, it was a pass to access the palace’s most important secrets. As 
she entered the room, sure enough, there it was, the coding device. It was a brass 
cylinder no bigger than Danka’s hand, made from a stack of 20 disks containing 
rows of letters in different orders. If she could copy all those letters and deliver 
coding sheets, Ernockt’s group would be able re-create the device and decipher 
the True Believers’ messages and secret orders. There was a quill and inkwell on 
the desk and a basket of discarded paper underneath. Danka decided to take a 
sheet of discarded paper, copy two rows of letters each time she visited the room, 
and hide the paper underneath the basket. When she finished copying all the disks, 
she’d sneak the paper from the room and turn it over to her contact.

She figured she’d have to visit the room a total of ten times to accurately copy all 
those letters from the cylinder. To copy all those letters in a single sitting would 
take too long and Prince Hristóckt would start wondering why she was delayed 
bringing out his wine and white snuff. She’d have to be patient and not tell her 
contact what she was doing until she had duplicated the complete configuration of 
letters.

After copying two rows and hiding the paper, Danka reported back to the prince. 
She patiently knelt while Hristóckt drank about half the wine and took a sniff of 
Andean salt. He started acting very strange, both happy and agitated. He paced 
around the chair and shook his hands. He took another sniff of powder and 
emptied the entire bottle in a single swallow, a bottle of wine that cost the Vice-
Duke a piece of gold. He sent the servant back to the Vice-Duke’s secret cellar for 
a second bottle.

Danka decided to copy three more disks of letters before returning to the prince 
with the bottle. He continued to pace around, happy and agitated. He did not 
notice she had come back. When she tried to draw his attention, he ignored her. 
He doesn’t know I’m here. He doesn’t know what’s happening at all. I can leave, 
and he wouldn’t even notice… thought Danka to herself. So, she returned to the 
Vice-Duke’s chamber. With her heart pounding, she copied the remaining rows of 
letters from the cylinder. Twenty rows altogether, making sure she had not missed 
or duplicated any letters or made any other mistakes. There were several copies of 
coding sheets lying on the desk. Having taken such a crazy risk so far, she 
checked to make sure they were all the same and stole one. Now she had, in her 
possession, the configuration of a True Believers’ encryption cylinder and a 
coding sheet needed to decipher messages. If she could hide the papers and 
deliver them to the guard, her handlers would have access to the True Believers’ 
entire system of encrypted messaging.

She hid the papers behind a Virgin Mother statue and ran back to the garden with 
her bottle. Undoubtedly the prince would punish her for being so late with the 
wine, but it would be worth it if she could deliver the encryption codes. It turned 
out Hristóckt was in no condition to punish anyone. He was surrounded by guards, 
his father, and his brothers and was completely incoherent, yelling obscenities at 
the top of his voice. Scribe # 8 knelt, holding out the second bottle of wine. The 
Vice-Duke took it from her and slapped her hard across the face. He struck her 
again and ordered her to return to the inner palace and report to Scribe # 1. He did 
not notice she still had, in her hand, the prince’s keys to his private chamber.

----------

The palace entourage was preoccupied with the latest scandal: Prince Hristóckt 
had pilfered his father’s snuff-box of Andean salt and had sniffed so much that it 
made him mad. A foreign surgeon using the latest western-European medicine 
bled the unfortunate youth, weakening him even more and prolonging his 
delirious behavior. 

With the palace guards and nobles so distracted, the conspirators’ guard decided 
to approach Scribe # 8, even though he did not have any letters to give her as 
justification for meeting her. He was speechless when she handed him fifty pages 
of notes, keys to the Vice-Duke’s chamber, and the encryption information. He 
promised to return later in the day with the keys (after the conspirators made 
copies) and the extra parchment the scribe would need to avoid running out of 
paper in the future. 

Danka spent the rest of the afternoon taking dictation from a group of women 
writing poetry. They occasionally paused to giggle and whisper comments about 
Prince Hristóckt and his unfortunate encounter with Andean salt. 

After dinner, Scribe # 8 had to bathe and “do unspeakable things” to Scribe # 1. 
The worst part of the tasking was the audience. Instead of men, the spectators 
were a group of women. The women insisted that Scribe # 8 tie her companion’s 
wrists to the bar above the washtub and for the senior scribe to look directly at 
them while she was forced to have an orgasm. Her eyes filled with tears as Scribe 
# 8 concentrated on pleasuring her with her fingers and tongue. When she finally 
managed to climax, the women in the audience whistled approvingly. Finally, 
Scribe # 8 untied her companion’s hands, but the spectators insisted she kneel in 
front of the newer scribe and to thank her for making her a happy woman. Danka 
tried to remain detached from everything going on around her. These people are 
nothing but dishonored degenerates and there is nothing I can do about that.

When Scribe # 8 finally returned to her room and examined the contents of her 
scribe’s supply folder, she saw it was full of clean paper. Hidden among the 
papers were copies of the keys to the Vice-Duke’s chamber. They were not the 
originals, so Danka could only hope the guard had somehow managed to return 
them to either Prince Hristóckt or to the Vice-Duke to avoid suspicion.

----------

Prince Hristóckt had a difficult time recovering from his overdose of Andean salt 
and the treatment he had received at the hands of the incompetent foreign doctor. 
The loss of blood worsened the brain damage from the salt. The cuts became 
infected and resulted in a nasty fever that kept the youth in bed for days. Danka 
coldly watched that idiot foreigner as he performed one counter-productive 
procedure on the prince after another. She knew that she could have cured 
Hristóckt in a couple of days, but no one in the palace would have believed her. 
Also, had she argued with the foreigner and attempted to take over the prince’s 
treatment, she would have unveiled herself as a Follower of the Ancients. She 
didn’t like the teenager anyway and was pleased to see him suffer. So, she simply 
sat in the corner as a spectator, working on various letters she had been given to 
transcribe. 

After Prince Hristóckt had recovered sufficiently to sit outside, Danka spent much 
of her daily routine during the final part of June and the first part of July in the 
garden watching over him. If he wanted something, she had to fetch it for him. 
She wandered about the palace, naked as always, going after books from the 
library, snacks from the kitchen, or wine from the Vice-Duke’s stash. She moved 
about freely, with a message penned on her back stating she was authorized to be 
in various rooms and that she was not to be questioned or interfered with as she 
ran her errands. The only item she was not authorized to fetch was Andean salt. 
However much his son wanted it, the Vice-Duke displayed enough common sense 
to keep it away from him.

Scribe # 8 was able to glance at a lot of documents as she ran about the Palace. As 
best she could, she memorized the information and worked on her notes, even 
while sitting next to the prince. She also wrote her observations of his condition, 
the procedures performed on him and their effect on his health, and his very slow 
convalescence. As she entered the Vice-Duke’s chamber to retrieve wine, she 
paid attention to the desk where the encryption device was located and copied 
information from new coding sheets and secret messages.

----------

The guard finally gave Scribe # 8 an explanation of what Ernockt’s group was 
doing with all of the information she was collecting. Their main concern was 
finding out who the True Believers had marked as suspicious or heretical 
individuals and thwart plans to arrest them. Another important goal was to 
frustrate the efforts of tax collectors and prevent farmers from being arrested and 
executed as tax evaders. Ernockt passed a lot of information to the Prophets of the 
Grand Temple so they could position sympathizers to seize control of True 
Believer parishes and to make sure that any attempt to seize a parish did not end 
in failure. All of the Vice-Duke’s messages to foreign leaders ended up in the 
hands of the Grand Duke. The Sovereign employed a couple of scribes to forge 
letters, so the Vice-Duke’s messages to his foreign co-conspirators were being re-
written, as were the responses from abroad. Already a shipment of expensive 
imported items had been seized by “bandits” before they had the chance to enter 
the Duchy, along with two shipments of gold exiting the Duchy. The Grand Duke 
left the corrupt Royal Guards helping his rival in their positions, but provided 
them with falsified information. Ultimately the Grand Duke would frustrate the 
Vice-Duke by giving him the impression the guards had betrayed him and were 
the ones guilty of stealing the gold and imports.

Danka thought about the Grand Duke’s excellent group of informers who had 
allowed him to thwart the Lord of the Red Moon a few years before. Now he had 
set up a similar spying network against the Vice-Duke. She was part of that 
network and probably its most valuable member. Ironic… she had escaped from 
serving the Sovereign in 1755, only to unwittingly return to serving him four 
years later. The Grand Duke always seemed to win, always seemed to outsmart 
everyone else.

Scribe # 8 was not surprised to find out from the guard that her most significant 
contribution to her group was the encryption information. Ernockt had created an 
exact replica and was busy collecting and translating coded messages from the 
True Believers’ Bishop. The conspirator had discovered the Bishop and the Vice-
Duke were planning a terror purge of tax evaders and suspicious individuals in the 
late summer: a mass arrest and execution of several thousand people around the 
Vice-Duchy in an effort to scare everyone else into conforming to the wishes of 
the two leaders. There was too much dissention and free-thinking in the Vice-
Duchy, and the executions should resolve the problem and consolidate the Vice-
Duke’s control over his subjects. 

The guard concluded by speculating the conspirators might attempt to assassinate 
the Bishop before he had the chance to distribute arrest lists to the parishes and 
issue the final orders. If that were true, they would have to conduct the 
assassination within the next few weeks.

----------

Prince Hristóckt slowly recovered throughout the first half of July. Scribe # 8 
knew he’d recover a lot faster if that idiot doctor from western Europe would just 
leave him alone, but she was not in a position to say anything about the treatments. 
Even had she been able to help, she would have kept her mouth shut because she 
enjoyed watching the degenerate weakling suffer. However, in spite of everything, 
he did slowly recover and spent increasing amounts of time outside.

By July 15 the prince felt well enough to make a pilgrimage to the cathedral in a 
town called Sihídikti Ris, which was located at the far eastern edge of the Duchy. 
Danka had heard about Sihídikti Ris: it was supposed to be have the most 
spectacular setting of any Danubian town, surrounded by sheer cliffs on the east, 
northeast, and southeast sides. Perched high on one of those cliffs was a True 
Believers’ house of worship containing the largest Virgin Mother statue in the 
entire Duchy.

The most important summer mass of the Old Believers was traditionally held on 
August 2. The mass was the opening event of the annual meeting between the 
Bishop and other important dignitaries, during which the Church hierarchy 
planned their activities for the rest of the year. Prince Hristóckt announced that he 
wanted to go to the mass in Sihídikti Ris to receive a blessing from the Bishop. It 
seemed like a good idea to everyone in the inner palace, so much that the Vice-
Duke decided his heir would represent the Vice-Duchy’s royal family at the mass. 
The prince would make the pilgrimage, receive a blessing from the Virgin Mother, 
and be exposed to fresh air and sunshine along the route. 

Scribe # 8 wondered how he could possibly make such a trip on a horse without 
getting sick and falling off. Well, it turned out he would not be riding a horse. He 
would be carried in a litter, or a "sedan chair", which was a silk-covered chair 
with a large parasol covering the top and poles sticking out of the ends that 
allowed four men to carry it. Danka looked at the contraption in disbelief. Prince 
Hristóckt would actually be carried all the way from Rika Chorna to Sihídikti Ris, 
and no one seemed to think there was anything wrong with that. 

There was another surprise for the servant. Not only would the prince be carried 
across the Vice Duchy in a covered chair, but she would accompany him on the 
trip. He announced that he wanted her to walk alongside the litter, stark naked. 
Scribe # 8 would be the only naked person in a procession of dozens of top 
officials and Church leaders. Even the Bishop had misgivings about forcing a 
servant to walk across the entire Vice-Duchy in the nude, but the prince insisted it 
was necessary so she could be properly humbled and know her place around him. 
The scribe knelt and pretended to be very frightened at the prospect of making 
such a journey completely uncovered. The truth was that she was fine with the 
arrangement: she had walked in the nude all over the western valley the year 
before. Walking around naked in the Vice Duchy didn’t bother her in the least, 
even though it was supposed to be an unbearable humiliation. The only thing 
she’d need would be shoes to protect her feet. With some massages and flattery 
she managed to convince the prince to give her a pair of shoes, as though he were 
granting her a huge and unreasonable favor. Before leaving, she fixed herself a 
dose of tea from the final batch of blue powder she had kept in her nun’s habit 
and packed her medicines and the items she needed to clean her teeth in a small 
cloth she entrusted to one of the litter-carriers. She wanted to make sure that if she 
did not return to the palace, nothing of her would remain there.

The Vice-Duke decided not to go to Sihídikti Ris that year, figuring that sending 
his son would be sufficient representation for the region’s royal family. The 
Bishop was miffed at the Vice-Duke’s slight, but didn’t say anything. The 
procession gathered in the city’s main plaza as church bells rang and choirs sang. 
Scribe # 8’s former companions from the nuns’ residence were present, looking at 
her with curious and mocking expressions as she walked naked alongside the 
prince’s litter. The men carrying the prince were strong but wretched-looking 
guards who had been released from punitive confinement. They weren’t 
complaining about having to carry the prince: the hardship they would endure on 
the trip was nothing in comparison with what they had to face in confinement. 

The procession was one of the most ridiculous spectacles Danka had ever seen. A 
group of priests walked in front, carrying a large statue of the crucified Son of 
Man. The Bishop and his associates rode fine horses immediately behind the 
crucifix-carriers. Prince Hristóckt’s litter followed, along with the porters and the 
naked scribe. More priests followed on foot, with mounted guards and supply 
mules in the rear. The point of the procession was to take the crucifix of the Son 
of Man to visit the statue of his mother in Sihídikti Ris. The priests chanted, 
passed out blessings, and waved burners full of incense as the group left the 
eastern capitol and traveled towards the mountains, on a pilgrimage that would 
last two weeks going in each direction. The kneeling residents of Rika Chorna 
lined the streets and waited for benedictions and whiffs of incense as the group 
headed out. When they saw naked woman walking in the procession, they stared 
at her in disbelief.

In spite of the stares and supposed humiliation, Danka enjoyed the following two 
weeks. For the first time since the previous year she was able to move about 
outdoors and see some new countryside. The pace was slow and relaxing, more of 
a stroll than a walk. She had to run back and forth with water, wine, and treats for 
the prince, but those duties were not very taxing. He was still too weak to fondle 
her or want sex. She managed to ignore her odious marching companions and just 
enjoy the feeling of the sun and wind on her bare skin, something she had not 
experienced for a long time. 

At night she undressed the prince, bathed him, and slept with him in a 
comfortable tent. She ate well and encouraged him to eat fresh fruit. During the 
journey his condition improved dramatically. The Bishop claimed his recovery 
was a blessing from the Virgin Mother, but Danka knew the improvement was 
because he was away from that quack doctor and breathing fresh air and eating 
decent food.

The eastern valley was flat until it reached a range of steep mountains that formed 
the eastern border of the Duchy. On the other side of the mountains was territory 
belonging to the Muscovite Empire. Danka knew the Muscovites were as 
dangerous to other nations as the Ottomans, but the mountains were impassible 
and thus protected the Duchy’s eastern flank. The land between Rika Chorna and 
Sihídikti Ris was covered with small farms, but the soil was full of rocks and not 
really suitable for agriculture. The residents were poor, but that didn’t stop tax 
collectors from grabbing what little they had. The procession passed through a 
village where executions of accused tax evaders had just taken place: three 
destitute farmers slumped lifeless on three posts, with five arrows sticking out of 
each body. The sullen townspeople knelt and stared listlessly at the procession as 
it passed through. The marching clerics were not concerned about the executed 
men and showed no sympathy towards their widows.

The land closer to Sihídikti Ris had better soil, so most of it had been taken over 
by wealthy landlords. The poorer residents lived in wooded settlements along 
ponds and streams, in conditions very similar to the conditions Danka had 
endured growing up. The town itself was clean and had nice stone buildings, but 
its residents focused on making luxury goods and providing services for the local 
elite. There were several churches in Sihídikti Ris, including a gothic chapel 
modeled after one Danka had seen in ruins in the former Lower Danubia.

The procession had arrived on July 29, a few days early in anticipation of the 
mass three days later. After spending a night in a compound owned by the Church, 
the prince became bored and decided he wanted to go up to the cathedral ahead of 
the main procession. He told the Bishop he wanted to pray alone to the Virgin 
Mother, but actually he wanted to try out a new telescope and stargaze. The 
Bishop was pleased to send him up the mountain ahead of the others, so his litter 
would not distract from the dignity of the procession. The road up the cliff-side 
was paved with cobblestones, but it was so narrow that the litter-carriers had a 
hard time lugging the prince without falling off. 

As Danka walked up the winding road behind the prince’s litter, she noticed a 
detail that should have been worrisome to the True Believers. The Lord-Creator 
had formed the cliff from solid granite, but a large crack had opened up and the 
stone of the lower portion of the cliff had started to separate. The crack extended 
up to the ledge and ended a few fathoms underneath the plaza and the outside 
altar. It seemed the church itself was not in immediate danger, but from her 
understanding of geology and the looks of the crack, Danka knew it was likely the 
outer part of the plaza would sheer off and fall away in an avalanche or landslide 
sometime over the next few years. 

The cathedral overlooking Sihídikti Ris was the most impressive structure Danka 
had ever seen apart from the Great Temple in Danúbikt Móskt. It had been built 
halfway up a sheer cliff, rising nearly 140 fathoms above the ground below. The 
site was located on a natural ledge that was large enough to fit a full-sized house 
of worship and a small plaza, which allowed for both indoor and outdoor 
ceremonies. The view from the plaza was truly amazing: on a clear day it was 
possible to see all the way across the eastern valley to the mountains separating 
the two main regions of the Duchy. The view and the dizzying height gave one 
the feeling of Divine inspiration.

The cathedral itself had been started in the 1560s and was not finished until 1609. 
It was a fine example of Danubian Baroque architecture, but also boasted several 
unique features. The back of the cathedral was carved into the cliff’s bedrock. The 
bell tower contained the largest bells she had ever seen, bells which were 
designed to echo against the cliffs and be heard throughout the valley far beyond 
Sihídikti Ris.

The men carrying the prince were completely worn out by the time they had 
hoisted their royal cargo up the steep road. They collapsed from exhaustion as 
they set down the litter and Prince Hristóckt stood up. He ordered his servant to 
take out the telescope and set it up near the outer edge of the plaza. Curious to see 
the famous outdoor altar where the Bishop would be giving his benediction, 
Danka walked over to it and noted gaps, some of them as wide as two fingers, had 
opened up between the rows of stone blocks behind the spot where the Bishop 
would be speaking. She peered down and realized she could see a thin line of 
daylight. This ledge is going to collapse any day, she thought to herself. Another 
disconcerting detail that caught her attention was the smell of cannon powder. 
When she put her nose into the gap, the smell of explosives was quite strong. 

The prince called her away from the altar and ordered her to accompany him 
inside the main chapel. The church was deserted because its priests were in the 
town meeting with the Bishop, so there was no one to object to her presence. 
Danka marveled at the building’s interior and its carvings, statues, and mosaics. 
The builders had cut a large grotto into the granite and installed the Virgin Mother 
statue, made from solid marble and overlaid with gold and fine paint. The statue 
stood more than three fathoms high and was the largest statue of its type in the 
Duchy. The grotto was surrounded by finely carved stone, mosaics, and gold leaf 
covering the granite.

The prince took advantage of the deserted chapel to do something truly shocking 
to both the scribe and to his deity. He ordered his servant to stand in front of the 
huge statue, face towards the back of the church, and bend over. He fondled her in 
one of the holiest places in the entire Duchy, right under the eyes of the venerated 
Virgin-Mother. Scribe # 8 was supposed to be a nun, so the prince was trying to 
disgrace her as much as possible, to strip away any shred of self-respect she might 
still have. She forced herself to cry and pretended to act traumatized. She actually 
was appalled that any man could show such contempt to his own deity. She knew 
the prince was a degenerate, just like everyone else in the Vice-Duke’s family, but 
even she had not realized how disrespectful and depraved he really was. And to 
think, this was the heir, the man who someday would be ruling the Vice-Duchy.

The prince led his servant outside. The sun was setting, so he decided to indulge 
in some wine, cheese, and Turkish delight while waiting for the stars to come out. 
After she served him, the prince ignored his servant. He emptied his bottle and 
grabbed another. What he really wanted was his father’s Andean salt, but he’d 
have to settle for wine. By the time the stars finally appeared in the sky, the prince 
was too drunk to look at them. Scribe # 8 returned to the church to see if there 
was a priest’s quarters where the prince could be laid out to sleep. When she 
found a bed, she told the workers to bring in their master. They also took away the 
sedan chair and the telescope. The scribe told them to rest, but the guards 
complained they had not had anything to eat or drink all day.

“I don’t know what to tell you. I guess you can go back down and get something 
to eat in town. I’ll watch the prince. I don’t think anything will happen to him up 
here, and if it does, I’ll be the one who’s responsible. Just come back as soon as 
you can.”

So… the men left, leaving her alone with the unconscious prince. She looked 
outside to see several workmen rolling a barrel towards the outside altar. They 
seemed to be pouring its contents into the ground. Danka snuck around the wall of 
the church to see what was going on. The men had posted watchmen at the 
entrances, but they must have assumed the cathedral was empty because no one 
was guarding the back of the plaza.

“…this is what I keep telling you. It keeps falling down below. You’ve dumped in 
four barrels so far. I’m telling you the hole is too deep. It won’t stay, no matter 
how much you put in.”

“Then come up with something! You’re a Follower! We’ve got to kill him here! 
We have to do it this week! You know that!”

“A Follower… as though that means anything to you. Don’t talk to me about 
being a Follower, unless you figure out how to save the girl from the palace. 
She’s a Follower too. She’s one of us. She’s done a lot for you, and she’s worth 
more than the rest of us put together!

“And I’ve told you we can’t risk it! The Ancients will just have to take care of her 
in the Afterlife. What’s worth more, her soul or all the others? Now what are we 
to do about that gap?”

The other men thought silently for a few moments. A third one answered:

“Wooden wedges. That’s what we’ll put in. We’ll make some wedges, shove 
them down in between, and put the vials on top of them. That way they won’t fall 
through. We’ll surround the vials with cannon powder, just to be sure, and put 
sand over the top. That’s how we’ll handle it.”

“And we can still set the fuse and time it?”

“Yes. Same plan on that. When he lights the incense, we light him.”

“And I want to make something very clear to you. We light him, no matter what. 
It doesn’t matter who else is out here, even me. You will light that fuse.” 

“…and you won’t warn the palace girl… what difference would it make?”

“No! We’re not warning the girl! She’d draw attention trying to get away, and too 
many people know about this already!”

The men carried away the now-empty barrel and departed down the path. Danka 
didn’t know any of the others, but she recognized their leader, the man who was 
perfectly willing to separate her soul from her body and not feel any remorse. He 
was Enockt, her commander. It seemed Danka’s debt to him included giving up 
her own life.

The men returned the following night, shortly before dawn. The prince was up 
with the telescope well past midnight, so the conspirators had to wait until he had 
gone to sleep before showing up with the wedges. Like everything else made by 
people trained by the Followers, the wedges were ingenious devices, designed to 
expand and firmly hold their place between the stones.

From her hiding place Danka watched Enockt, dressed as a worker, install two 
sets of fuses going in two different directions before pouring gunpowder over 
both the wedges and the fuses. He very carefully inserted ceramic tubes a hand-
width apart along the entire area behind the outside altar. Finally, he covered his 
handiwork with dark sand. The conspirators were completely quiet and departed 
after just a few minutes. After everyone else left, one of Enockt’s assistants 
remained behind to sweep the stones and keep watch over the trap.

----------

The bells rang in the town below to announce the commencement of the Bishop’s 
ascent up the mountain, leading the carriers of the large crucifix statue which 
would symbolize the executed Son of God coming up the mountain to greet the 
giant Virgin-Mother. Danka frantically woke up the prince and to help him get 
dressed in his fine silk clothing. However, a couple of priests entered the room 
and yelled at her to “remove her whoring naked body” from their presence. They 
would help the prince get dressed, not her.

Danka realized how important the mass would be when she saw that many of the 
top and mid-level clergy members of the True Believers hierarchy, including men 
from other parts of the Vice-Duchy, were emerging onto the plaza from the road. 
There would be over a hundred top officials present, plus dozens of assistants and 
aides. Even the abbess from the convent in Novo Sókukt Tók was present, along 
with a couple of older nuns. Danka worried about the wisdom of assassinating the 
Bishop in such a public setting, that maybe Enockt’s plan wasn’t so smart after-all. 
Wouldn’t seeing their leader murdered make the True Believers even more 
determined to kill off their rivals and wage war against heresy? 

Also, she was extremely concerned about the lost barrels of cannon-powder. That 
powder had not just disappeared: it had gone down into the cracks between 
separated layers of rock. Enockt seemed not be worried about that risk, as though 
the extra powder had ceased to exist the moment it fell out of sight. If Danka’s 
observations concerning the cracks in the cliff were correct and the explosives 
forced the rocks to separate, it was likely Enockt was about to trigger a much 
larger disaster than he could possibly imagine.

The mass began inside the cathedral with the presentation of the crucifix before 
the oversized Virgin-Mother sheltered in the grotto. Prince Hristóckt was escorted 
to the front as the guest of honor and the representative of the region’s secular 
authority. Danka had to remain outside along with the lower-ranking guards and 
servants. All those men were staring at her, given that she was one of the few 
women present, and the only one who was naked. 

Danka realized part of Enockt’s plan was to use her as a distraction. That was why 
he refused to let anyone warn her about the plot to kill the Bishop. Her suspicions 
were confirmed when she saw him skulking around the plaza in his worker’s 
outfit. No one else would notice his suspicious behavior because the men were all 
too busy watching her. With so many eyes on her, Enockt assumed Danka would 
be too nervous to notice him or think about anything apart from the 
embarrassment she was enduring.

From what she had overheard, Danka knew that she’d have to be as far from the 
Bishop as possible the moment he lit the commemorative incense, because that 
was the signal Enockt planned to use to detonate the explosives. She also realized 
she had no hope of sneaking away from the plaza unnoticed. That simply wasn’t 
going to happen. If she wanted to get away, she’d have to jump up and run. She’d 
have to choose the exact right moment to do it, an instant during the ceremony 
when everyone would be focused on protocol and reluctant to pursue her.

The sun was setting, which meant the outdoor portion of the mass was about to 
commence. The deafening bells rang and echoed against the cliffs as the 
procession came out the main doors. A group of priests, ringing hand-bells and 
swinging incense burners, came out, leading a group of companions carrying the 
large crucifix. They were followed by the Bishop, a group of more senior priests, 
and secular leaders, including the prince. Enockt had vanished.

Time was running out for Danka to prevent her soul from separating from her 
body. She had a hard time working up the courage to move, with all those men 
staring at her. Also, she wasn’t sure she wanted to escape. Part of her tried to hold 
her back, the part of her soul that told her all existence was vanity and that to 
continue in the Realm of the Living was pointless. After all, wasn’t everyone she 
ever cared about already in the Realm of the Afterlife? Wasn’t it time to hold up 
her mirror and join them? However, the lonely and defeated part of her character 
was no match for the simple instinct to prolong her life, no matter what. She was a 
peasant before she was anything else, and if peasants were good at anything, they 
were good at surviving. Her instincts took over and cleared away the sad 
reflections her lost loves and the desire to join them. Her thoughts focused on the 
singular goal of living to see the next sunrise. 

She eased off her knees, ducked behind a group of startled officials and ran to the 
edge of the plaza. Spectators turned around as she passed through the southern 
gate and disappeared into a wooded side trail. It was a disgraceful breech of 
respect and protocol. Maybe she had gone mad or was possessed, but the Church 
officials would have to deal with her later. They couldn’t break away to pursue a 
disgraced servant precisely at the most important and dignified moment of the 
mass. 

She avoided running down the main road, because as it descended it turned and 
crossed in front of the plaza. Danka knew she did not want to be below the site of 
the blast when it took place. Instead, she pushed sideways along a narrow path on 
a mountain slope. She ran past a startled man in a worker’s tunic who was holding 
a piece of flint and several fuses. She ignored him and kept running, pushing 
through bushes and trees towards an outcropping. She followed the trail around 
the rocks and moved onto a steep slope covered by large trees. She no longer 
could see the church, so she figured she was safe.

She was expecting a loud blast and had covered her ears. She was not expecting 
an earsplitting crack that sounded like a lightning bolt hitting the ground right 
next to her. The bang, magnified by the echoes of the cliff walls, took her breath 
away. The lighting crack was followed by a muffled explosion. The second blast 
was more sinister. It was not as loud as the first explosion, but it was much larger, 
causing both the air and the ground to tremble. The second blast didn’t end 
quickly like the first one. Instead, it changed from a roar to a rumble, punctuated 
with loud cracks and the sound of large objects breaking. At first Danka thought 
she could hear some screams, but the screaming stopped long before the rumbling 
stopped. Several large objects crashed through the nearby treetops and something 
hard slammed into the outcrop, dislodging a boulder and sending it tumbling 
down the slope. Within a few seconds clouds of choking dust billowed past the 
outcrop and obscured Danka’s vision. The rumbling stopped and for a long time 
all she could hear were the chattering of panicked birds. 

It was dark by the time the dust settled and Danka felt it was safe to investigate 
what happened. Fortunately, the moon was overhead, so she had some light to 
make her way along the rocks. As soon as she passed the outcrop, the light-
colored dust covering the trees augmented the moonlight and made it possible to 
see the ground. However, as she moved towards the church, she couldn’t see it. 
That was strange. Certainly she’d see at least a bell-tower or part of the dome, but 
there was nothing there. As she moved forward and stared at the spot where she 
knew the church should be, she felt the ground slide underneath her feet. She 
frantically pulled back and grabbed at a small tree trunk, only to dislodge it and 
send it tumbling downwards. She crawled up loosened dirt and gravel and gasped 
as she finally found solid ground. More trees and debris slide past her and 
tumbled into the void. 

She was shaking when she stared at the spot where the trail should have continued. 
There was nothing there. She looked in the direction of the church. She saw 
nothing, except for a perpendicular cliff-face. The church and the ledge it sat on 
were completely gone. Was she imagining things? She looked again. There was 
nothing but a sheer wall of rock, but it was not completely bare. The back wall of 
the church, complete with the Virgin Mother statue, remained embedded in the 
cliff-side. The rest of the structure and the ground it sat on had completely fallen 
away. The statue serenely prayed over a drop of nearly 100 fathoms.

Danka’s heart raced and she struggled to breathe as she tried to suppress the raw 
panic that had taken control of her soul. The event and the physical change were 
so overwhelming that it took her mind several minutes to comprehend what had 
just happened. Her body shook uncontrollably as she backed away from the void, 
as the new precipice continued to consume trees and soil along its edge. She could 
see nothing below, except billows of settling dust faintly lit by the moon. The 
colors and lighting around her were all wrong: everything looked like the world 
had been covered with a shroud of death.

Danka realized she needed to retreat to the “safer’ side of the outcropping, see 
about finding an alternate route so she could descend, find a safe place to hide, 
and figure out what to do next. She worked her way past the loosened outcrop. 
Just seconds after she moved beyond it, boulders dislodged into a rockslide and 
went tumbling down the mountainside. Danka was left breathless by the narrow 
miss. Had she passed under that spot only a few seconds later, she would have 
been crushed. She knew that before doing anything else, she needed to settle her 
nerves. She knelt and desperately prayed to the Ancients, begging them to either 
rescue her or grant her a quick separation of her soul from her body. A few 
minutes later she calmed down enough to continue moving.

The moon settled towards the west as she studied the steep slope for paths leading 
downwards. In some places there was enough light to navigate through rocks and 
outcroppings, and in other areas she needed to grope her way through darkness 
under the trees. Fortunately, the steepest and most dangerous areas were also the 
ones with the fewest trees and most visibility. She focused on what she needed to 
do at each moment, not on how high above the ground she was or how far she still 
had to go. As she moved closer to the base of the mountain, she could hear human 
voices and see an enormous pile of tumbled rocks. Everything was covered with 
dust, which became much thicker as she emerged onto flatter ground. Guards and 
civilian on-lookers carrying torches lined the edge of the rockslide. The same 
instinct that forced her to move away from the explosion and guided her down the 
cliff told her to stay hidden and avoid being seen by the crowd. She slipped 
around them and made her way towards the pen where the expedition’s horses 
were being kept. Danka decided that she needed to get away from Sihídikti Ris as 
quickly as possible. She’d return to Rika Chorna, tell Zánktia what happened and 
that Enockt was likely dead, reclaim her bucket, and leave the Vice Duchy. She 
didn’t know where she’d go, but she knew she definitely needed to leave the 
eastern valley. 

By that time her mind had cleared enough to allow her to realize what had 
happened. The entire ledge on which the cathedral sat had fallen in a single 
landslide, due to the cracks in the rock and Enockt’s over-zealous use of 
gunpowder. The first explosion she heard must have been the blast at the surface 
that killed the Bishop and undoubtedly anyone else standing next to him. The 
second rumbling explosion would have been from the barrels of gunpowder 
poured into the gaps. That blast blew apart the inside of the ledge and caused it to 
disintegrate and collapse, taking with it the plaza and everything else except the 
back wall of the cathedral. There was no way anyone participating in the mass 
could have survived. Not only was the Bishop dead, but entire upper echelon of 
the True Believers’ Church would be dead as well, along with Prince Hristóckt 
and the town councilmen of Sihídikti Ris.

She did not want anyone to see her. She felt that, as the only survivor from the 
pilgrimage, she would immediately be suspect, especially given the superstitious 
world-view of the True Believers. They’d have to blame someone for the disaster 
and she’d be an easy target. Her head would be wanted by… let’s see… the True 
Believers’ Clergy, the Vice-Duke’s family, the town of Sihídikti Ris, the towns of 
other dignitaries attending the mass: in other words, the entire Vice-Duchy. 
Whether or not she was being paranoid didn’t matter. There were times in her life 
she had been paranoid, but “irrational” fear was the only thing that had kept her 
alive. 

She spent the next hour walking along a dust-covered path towards the corral 
where she remembered the procession’s horses were being kept. Her plan was to 
hope the guards were distracted enough to allow her to steal a horse. She’d ride 
west, hide until she could steal some clothing, and sneak back to the safe-house in 
Rika Chorna. She was relieved to hear the whinnying of horses. So, no one had 
moved them. Good. The corral seemed deserted. That was even better.

She quietly hopped a fence and looked for an animal that seemed relatively calm. 
She was only a mediocre rider and would have to find a horse that would be 
tolerant and not try to throw her. As the more nervous horses sidled around her, 
she identified a couple of calmer animals near a feeding trough. Just as she 
approached them, she realized none of the horses in the corral had a saddle. She 
had wasted her time, because without a saddle she couldn’t ride. She didn’t want 
to give up on the plan to steal a horse, because it was the only means of escaping 
she could think of. So, she left the corral to look for a saddle and reigns. 
Fortunately, the tent where the supplies were being kept was not guarded. In fact, 
it seemed nothing in the corral was being guarded. Maybe all of the guards had 
abandoned their posts because of the landslide. A lit lantern had been left outside. 
She’d have to take it in with her to see what she was doing. She selected a saddle 
and reigns. She put out the lamp and went back out. 

She was careless upon leaving the tent and had not bothered to check outside 
before emerging. Right outside the door were six local guards she had never seen 
before. The guards looked totally shocked as soon as the young woman came into 
their sight. Danka’s determination to escape vanished. She had been caught and 
that was the end of it. She dropped the saddle and stood listlessly, waiting for the 
men to grab her.

The guards had their muskets ready, but they did not move towards her. Instead, 
they were backing away. Danka stepped forward and held out her hands. One of 
the guards, in a trembling voice asked:

“Who… who… who are you? What do you want from us, Mistress?”

“Who am I? Who do you think I am, Protector? Who could I possibly be?”

“Please Mistress. Have pity on us.”

“Pity on you? Why should I have pity on you?”

The six men sank to their knees and began praying to the Virgin-Mother. 
Suddenly Danka understood the guards were mortally afraid of her, but why? Was 
there something strange about her appearance? She glanced at her arm and 
noticed it was covered with light-colored dust. So were her legs. She was covered 
from head to toe with dust. Maybe in the dark camp the dust made her look like a 
ghost.

“Mistress, please. We are simple men. We have our families. We’ll give you 
whatever you want.”

Danka realized that if the men thought she was a ghost, that misunderstanding 
might be her salvation. She also realized they were obscenely drunk. She had to 
think of a good response that would keep up the ruse long enough for her to 
saddle a horse and get out of the camp. If she chose the right words, the guards 
might even help her.

“And what could you possibly give me, sinners? Look at yourselves, drunk on 
your master’s wine. Your commander leaves, entrusting you, and this is how you 
repay him? Why shouldn’t I take you with me? I have taken far worthier men than 
you. Answer, drunkards.” 

“We are sinners, Mistress, and drunkards. We confess. We’ll give you anything. 
Even the Bishop’s horse. Just please show us mercy.”

Danka’s heart raced. The Bishop’s horse. They were offering her the Bishop’s 
horse. Trying to maintain a controlling monotone in her voice she responded:

“Very well, drunken sinners. Put the Bishop’s saddle and saddlebag on the 
Bishop’s horse. Tie him to the fence so your patron can make his last ride. But 
that won’t spare you. The only thing that can spare you is prayer. When you have 
the horse ready, you are to face east and kneel, the six of you, close your eyes, 
and pray to the Virgin Mother. You will pray until sunrise. If the sun touches your 
faces, you will know that I chose to spare you.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

“And another thing. You will keep your heads bowed in my presence. I forbid you 
to look up. You drunken sinners are not worthy of looking at me.”

Danka spent several of the longest minutes of her life waiting for the men to bring 
the Bishop’s horse and saddle him. She tried to stand impassively, terrified that at 
any moment the men would sober up and realized they were being tricked. 
However, as soon as they had the horse ready, they lined up facing east and knelt.

“Pray, drunkards, pray! Pray loud, so the Realm of Sin can hear your repentance! 
If I choose to spare you, I grant you permission to stop praying when the eastern 
sun touches your faces.”

The men began reciting a common prayer to the Virgin-Mother.

“Louder, drunken sinners! How can the Virgin-Mother hear such soft mumbling? 
Louder!”

The men prayed loud enough to hide most other sounds within their earshot. 
Danka led the Bishop’s horse to the edge of the camp. Remembering she was still 
naked, she decided to steal a guard’s uniform. She peaked into a tent and saw 
bedrolls laid out, covered with various articles of clothing. She gathered up the 
pieces necessary to assemble a complete guard’s uniform, including a helmet and 
boots. She worried getting dressed would take too long, that at any moment one of 
those guards would sober up, realize he was being tricked, and come after her. 
She needed to leave immediately. She could worry about getting dressed later, 
after she had put some distance between herself and Sihídikti Ris. She found a 
black cloth bag and stuffed in the clothing. Then she saw something else, a 
crossbow. She couldn’t believe her good fortune. A crossbow… and a satchel 
with bolts. She grabbed an extra saddlebag to cover the church logo of the one 
belonging to the Bishop, slung her weapon over her shoulder, and mounted the 
horse. He was a fine stallion, totally black to match the cleric’s dark clothing.

She galloped out the west exit of the corral in the pre-dawn light, desperate to get 
as much distance as possible between herself and the disaster before the sun rose. 
Ride… escape… 

As she emerged onto the road and galloped around a corner hidden by a large 
stone building, she stumbled into a large group of panicky residents running 
around on foot carrying torches. She didn’t have time to change the direction of 
the horse: her only option was to charge right down the middle of the group. The 
crowd screamed and ran away in panic. Danka flinched, expecting to feel an 
arrow or a musket-ball hitting her body at any instant. She emerged on the other 
side of the mob unscathed; shocked no one had taken a shot at her. She glanced 
back at the crowd. Most had dropped their torches and were still running away 
from the road. No one was trying to go after her.

Danka did not realize until later that she was still covered in light-colored dust 
and in the darkness looked more like a ghost than anything else. She was riding a 
black horse with a black saddle, saddle-bag, and cloth bag which were invisible to 
anyone on the ground at night. The townsfolk, already in a panic because of the 
landslide’s noise and dust, thought she was a ghost floating through the air.

Desperate to avoid any more encounters with local residents, Danka veered off 
the main road and galloped along a deserted country lane passing through some 
orchards. There was just enough light in the pre-dawn sky to allow the horse to 
see where he was going. Just as the sun was about to rise, she came up to a stream. 
She figured she should let the horse have a drink. She remembered she was still 
naked and covered in dust, so she quickly bathed and got dressed. She couldn’t do 
anything about her filthy hair without another woman to help her wash and re-
braid it, but at least the rest of her was clean enough to put on the guard outfit. 
She pulled the helmet over her braids and slung the crossbow over her shoulder.

The horse finished his drink and was ready to continue. She re-mounted and 
continued her flight west. She knew, as long as she didn’t get too close to anyone, 
a guard uniform was the best disguise and the best hope she had of making it back 
to the safe-house in Rika Chorna.

----------

The six guards remained on their knees, sobering up over the next two hours as 
they prayed to the Virgin-Mother. They cried with relief and joy when they felt 
the sun shining on their faces. Even after the sun was up, they remained kneeling 
and praying for a few extra minutes, just to be sure they truly were forgiven. 
When they opened their eyes and stood up, a horrifying sight greeted them. The 
cathedral and the cliff it sat on were gone! In their place nothing remained except 
a sheer stone rock-face! They looked at each other, and then back at the cliff. In 
the middle of newly exposed granite was a large gold rectangle, and in the middle 
of that gold rectangle the famous statue of the Virgin Mother prayed serenely over 
a sheer wall of rock and a jumble of massive broken boulders at its base. They 
couldn’t believe what they were seeing. They didn’t want to believe. How was it 
possible the cathedral was… gone? And why? What did it mean?

As Danka had suspected, the men were local guards from Sihídikti Ris who were 
assigned to help watch the horses while the Bishop’s escort accompanied the 
entourage to the cathedral. They had been startled by the landslide and saw the 
huge cloud of dust in the twilight, but didn’t react coherently because they already 
had spent several hours indulging themselves from an unwatched cask of fine 
wine left in one of the tents in the camp. When none of the Church guards 
returned, they decided to continue drinking and played several rounds of cards 
through the rest of the short summer night. Finally, they realized they had 
consumed so much of the cask it would be better if they departed before passing 
out and being discovered unconscious by their counterparts from the Church. As 
they were leaving, the ghost-woman came out of her tent and confronted them 
with their sin.

The guards tried to figure out who was the mysterious spirit who admonished 
them. Was she the Virgin-Mother? But if she was, why would she be naked? As 
far as anyone knew, the Virgin-Mother had never appeared naked in front of 
anyone. And why would the Virgin-Mother want the Bishop’s horse? If the ghost-
woman wasn’t the Virgin-Mother, who else could she be? Had Beelzebub the 
Destroyer destroyed the cathedral and sent a naked spirit to mock the Bishop by 
taking the horse?

As they discussed the terrible mystery, one of the guards remembered a story he 
heard a few years before from a visiting cousin. He related the tale of the cursed 
town of Rika Héckt-nemát and the beautiful but infinitely evil girl who 
condemned the city when she called out to the Profane One to save her from 
drowning. The guard shook from fear and apprehension.

“I’m sure that’s who visited us. The cursed girl from Rika Héckt-nemát. That 
wasn’t the Virgin Mother at all. Nor was she any saint or ordinary ghost. That 
spirit-girl was Beelzebub’s daughter!”

The men chatted and frightened each other with speculation for a couple of 
minutes, remembering the details of the ghost-woman’s visit confirming their 
suspicion she was the evil beauty Beelzebub had saved at the expense of cursing 
the city of Rika Héckt-nemát. Another man added a theory that connected her to 
the Bishop:

“Don’t you remember what she said about the Bishop’s horse, that she wanted 
him so she could give his master a final ride? Now I know what she meant by that! 
She took the Bishop with her to the Realm of Beelzebub! And she had to take 
away the entire cathedral to do it!”

----------

The frightened crowd gathered around the rubble tried to make sense of what had 
just happened. Their beautiful church and all of its occupants were buried under 
fathoms of rocks and massive boulders. The only evidence the cathedral ever 
existed at all was the Virgin-Mother statue, safely protected in its grotto, standing 
in the middle of the newly-formed cliff nearly 100 fathoms above the jumble of 
debris. Why would the Virgin-Mother do such a thing to her faithful followers… 
and to her own cathedral… and to the heir to the Vice-Duchy’s crown?

A large group of panicky residents arrived, bringing with them a terrifying story 
of being attacked by a woman’s naked ghost. The ghost charged at them with a 
thunderous noise. At first some in the group thought it was the sound of a horse 
galloping, but later they realized the roaring must have been the echo of rocks 
falling from the landslide. There was no disputing the ghost story: dozens of 
people saw her. The crowd’s fear worsened when a town councilman arrived at 
noon, bringing with him six terrified guards and their awful story about the 
ghostly visit by condemned girl from Rika Héckt-nemát. 

The crowd remembered another detail, that a mysterious young woman had 
accompanied the procession as they entered the town and ascended the mountain. 
She was naked and beautiful beyond belief, but no one among that procession 
seemed to notice her. So… the strange nude girl walking next to Prince 
Hristóckt’s litter must have been Beelzebub’s daughter, the curse-bringer from 
Rika Héckt-nemát. That made sense, and would explain who was the ghost that 
attacked the townsfolk.

The story of the destruction of the cathedral by Beelzebub’s daughter fueled wild 
speculation and spawned legends throughout the eastern part of the Vice Duchy. 
The witnesses spent the rest of their lives telling and re-telling the story of their 
scary encounter with the ghost girl. As the years passed, the details became more 
terrifying and exaggerated, along with the beauty and allure of the evil seductress.

Meanwhile, the Virgin-Mother statue stood serenely on the inaccessible cliff, 
looking down and silently mocking the people who had placed their faith and 
hopes in her. How could such a thing have happened? How could a daughter of 
Beelzebub obliterate the most holy men of the Vice-Duchy right in front of the 
Virgin-Mother? What message was the Lord-Creator sending? 

The True Believers of the Vice-Duchy never recovered from the disaster. Their 
hierarchy was decimated by the deaths of the faction’s most senior officials, but 
eventually the men could have been replaced. However, the faith of the people in 
the blessings of the Virgin-Mother and power of the Roman God’s executed son 
had been irrevocably shaken.