Curse of the Moonfall

The First Page

The devil waited for her on a footpath, and when the young woman strolled by, he introduced himself with a bow, for he was nothing if not a gentleman.

The Dawnsinger’s scripture states that “all devils hide within them an evil so innate, so indestructible, that even the light of Our Sunblessed Father cannot cleanse their blackened hearts.” Thus they are beyond salvation, so the Reveillers — those freshly pledged into Savitur’s service — are taught. Devils are opportune swindlers, charismatic liars, and above all, the prime example of a lost cause.

But the scripture says the same of the undead, and it was through that clause that this young woman learned, when she was very young, that the gods are liars, too.

She does not judge, not like the gods do. She does not make assumptions anymore, not of anyone.

So when the devil bowed and asked for her names, the young woman stopped and gave it to him.

“Cassandra Verelle,” she said, just fifteen years old at the time. “Are you looking for the chapel?”

She asked this, for the devil did not look like a devil then. Devils are creatures of deceit both within and without, and it is with lies that this devil cloaked his appearance, showing himself not with scarlet skin, black wings, and a crown of horns, but as a simple, handsome man. His dark brown hair was coiffed back with a steady hand, his bronze jaw was smooth and sharp, and even without hellfire, his eyes gleamed in the daylight like burnished gold.

“No, my dear.” He smiled widely, delighted, and shook his head. “The gods and I see things quite differently, I’m afraid.”

Many years later, Cassandra will wish she had walked away then. That she hadn’t taken his bait. But there, just a young woman running away from her sequestered church after a childhood within its hallowed halls, she sympathized with the devil. Her friendly gaze turned sullen, belying a heart too heavy for one so young.

“Me too,” she replied.

The devil glanced behind her, as if knowing the cathedral where she’d come from lay just beyond the treeline. “Where, then, are you off to — a lost little lopporin like yourself — if not into the embrace of the divine?” His eyes flickered back down to appraise her. With her round face, flaxen twintail braids, and button nose, she did indeed look as if a lopporin, those winged rabbits of Elysir, had flown free from the heavens, tumbled through the clouds, and landed on the earth as a mortal girl. “Are you looking for someone? Or something?”

She blinked, wide blue eyes studying him — the first unsanctioned stranger she’d ever met. “How did you know?”

“Those who turn to the gods are always searching for something. Those who turn away from them, however…”

He paused, a certain warmth kindling in his gaze like that of a father, and leaned down closer, offering his arm.

“Philosophy is best discussed over a stroll, I find. What do you say? Accompany a kindred spirit back to the main road?”

Devils deal in many offers, most famously the kind that cannot be refused. But lesser known, and more commonly employed, is the greatest tool of all.

An offer too harmless to suspect.

So Cassandra, who was headed toward the main road anyway, took his arm, glad to have a companion to introduce her to this wide new world. “I’d be happy to.”

“Good. It’s not in my nature to leave a lady unattended. This way, Cassandra.”

“Oh, you still haven’t told me your name.”

The footpath led into a thin copse of trees, shading them from the sun in dancing, leafy patterns. In the lesser light, Cassandra appeared diminished, hidden away, while the devil flourished in the uneven shadows, as if the very flames of hell burned beneath his disguise and lit the way forward.

“You, my dear,” said the Hellfire Prince, “may call my Caim.”