Pressure

The house didn't look sinister. It was a simple suburban rambler, not particularly different from the home to the left of it or the home to the right of it. It had light green paint with dark green trim, and a white door with a brass doorknob. People drove by it without giving it a second glance. It was absolutely and completely normal.

Acacia drew her sword before she turned the doorknob and pushed the door open, careful not to let even a single toe pass over the threshold.

There was a man sitting on the couch wearing a checkered bathrobe, with his feet up on the back of a naked woman who was crouched in supplication before him. Or at least, there was something that looked like a man there. Acacia held her ground, not setting a foot inside, examining him closely. She had seen preserved corpses before, studied illustrations, but this was the first living warlock she had ever seen.

He gave her a little wave. "Hello," he said, in a drawling accent that spoke of the British countryside. "They mentioned someone might be dropping by, so I figured I'd come down and wait for you. I wasn't expecting someone so pretty, though-the leather armor goes well with brown hair, and the grey cloak brings out your eyes. Bit skinny, perhaps, but beggars can't be choosers." He let out a small chuckle.

He didn't look especially threatening. His hair was a sort of sandy brown, kept neatly cropped in a caesar cut. His eyes were a muddy blue, and looked more 'amiably watery' than the piercing stare Acacia had imagined. He had a slight paunch, probably due to a lack of exercise-Acacia knew that the warding spells kept him imprisoned in this house. Which was why she was staying outside until she was ready to deal with him.

"I'm Gareth," he said, his cheeks dimpling in a smile. "And you are...?"

"You don't need to know my name, monster," Acacia snarled. She felt her sword arm tensing with the desire to thrust, and forced herself to keep it limber. A Huntress of the Flame Pursuant could not let herself grow too focused on the attack, not when she may need to be vigilant in her defense. "We will never see each other again after today."

Gareth shrugged with an easy nonchalance. "Oh, you never know. You could wind up becoming one of my wardens. They rotate them in and out every so often, just to make sure I'm not doing anything insidious to their souls." He chuckled lightly, as if the very notion was absurd paranoia, but Acacia knew better. She'd seen first-hand the wreckage a warlock could leave behind him when he chose to use his diabolical powers. It was what brought her to the Flame Pursuant to begin with. Once she learned the true shadow that lay over the world, she couldn't simply let others take up the fight.

"Or you could, well..." He gestured to the nude woman at his feet. "You understand, of course. No point in sending you out into the big bad world with people like me around if all you're going to do is falter in your task the first time you meet a true servant of darkness. The Flame Pursuant is tough, but fair."

Acacia snarled out, "I understand my duty, warlock." She refused to use his name any more than she would allow him to know his. Familiarity bred softness, and a warlock could use that softness to insinuate their way past her defenses and bewitch her mind. If she let him into her thoughts, she would wind up a hollow-eyed slave like the woman on the floor.

"Oh? Good, then, no time like the present." Gareth waved to the mantelpiece, where a small silver sculpture molded in the shape of a rising flame sat on a wooden plinth. "Just come in here, pick that up, and walk out with it. I shan't lift a finger to stop you, and nor will any of the girls."

Acacia wanted to storm in and thrust her blade into his black heart, instead, but she remembered her instructions. The warlock was a prisoner, and a prisoner who was not without his uses at that. She was not to harm him unless he broke the terms of the challenge. "How many do you have...?"

His bland, amiable smile never wavered. "I believe 'enslaved' is the word you're choking on," he said. "Seven at the moment. You've had a good run of late. I've had as many as eleven at times. That's the most I'm allowed, I'm afraid. Something about not wanting to risk thirteen, even for a moment. They haven't taught you much spellcraft yet, but still, a coven would be too risky. At eleven, I have to choose one for the chop." He shrugged again, almost calculatingly unthreatening. "It's a shame, but I do want to be a good little trusty."

"They should have murdered you years ago," Acacia whispered.

"Oh, but I'm so very useful," Gareth replied. "I weed out the weak, the useless. I separate the wheat from the chaff, and I don't make trouble. I may have the blood of a demon running through my veins, but there's a difference between being evil and being stupid. I know what my life would be worth if I tried to escape. No, I'm happy to stay alive and they're happy to use me to get rid of their wash-outs, and I can't help but notice that you're avoiding that first step." He grinned disarmingly. "You wouldn't be afraid, would you?"

The words lit a flame of courage in her heart. "I'll show you fear," Acacia snapped, striding into the living room with a wide, determined stride.

It faltered almost instantly. Acacia felt the force of his will bearing down on her mind like a heavy weight, and she staggered under the load. She almost stepped backwards, caught off-guard by the sudden pressure that hit her the instant she crossed the threshold, but she forced herself to move forward instead. She blinked heavily, determined not to show how much he was affecting her.

"Four out of ten," Gareth said, with a slight shake of the head. "And I'm probably marking generously. I've seen worse-Miriam here couldn't even take the initial blow, and more than a few young girls have turned right back around and run for it. But let's not fool ourselves. If I had any intention of killing you, I would have just walked up and snapped your neck while you were busy keeping your mind from leaking out your ears. Are you really sure you're cut out for this?"

"Try me and see," Acacia said through gritted teeth, forcing a bravado she didn't quite feel. She raised her sword-she only just now realized that she'd let the tip drag against the floor in her distracted state. "If you break the rules, monster, I can as well."

Gareth leaned back against the sofa cushions, digging his feet into Miriam's back just a little. "I'm quite satisfied with my immortality and a harem of devoted husks, thanks all the same," he said. "You know how it is, be content with what you have and all. A soul here, a soul there, a nice pot roast every Tuesday night, a roof over your head, and you really are terribly bad at this, aren't you? You haven't moved an inch while I've been talking and it's not like your resistance is going to last forever."

He was right, Acacia realized. He was a soulless spawn of an incubus, but he was right. She forced herself to ignore the pressure in her mind and put one foot in front of the other. Step by slow, careful step, she made herself walk across the living room.

"That's more like it!" Gareth cried, giving her a mocking clap of his hands. "Still no better than four out of ten, a true Huntress would be all the way across the room by now and holding the talisman, but maybe they can put you in the auxiliary corps or something. I mean, assuming you succeed, that is. It's still quite a way to the fireplace, isn't it?"

Acacia narrowed her eyes, shutting out his voice the same way she shut out his mind. It felt like it got harder as she got closer to him, as though she was striding into fathoms of black water and the weight of it was crushing her from all sides. She imagined her mind as a fortress, a solid arch that took the strain of the warlock's power and kept it from pinning her down. "I am the Flame Pursuant," she whispered, keeping her eyes tightly locked onto the silver fire in front of her, "the light that chases away the shadows. I hold aloft my torch to banish the darkness, and where it leads, I will follow until all is bright once more."

Gareth tutted. "Look, can I give you a bit of free advice? Honestly, all the chants and the mantras and so forth are terrible for a thing like this. They're too easily subverted. A good warlock-well, I say 'good', but I really mean 'talented'-they'll slip inside your head, twist the words around in your mind until suddenly you're telling yourself, 'I am the Slave Compliant, the night that chases away resistance. I bow my head debased to banish my freedom, and where you lead, I will follow until all is night once more.' If you want to be any good at this, you're simply going to have to be more self reliant."

"I am..." Acacia paused. Suddenly his perversion of the oath felt heavy on her tongue, another stone added to the crushing load that threatened to crack her mind under the pressure. She trailed off into silence, refusing to give them voice. "Go to hell," she snapped out instead.

"I doubt I'd be greatly welcomed," Gareth said self-effacingly. "Demons aren't exactly known for their paternal affection. No, I'm afraid you're stuck with me for a while yet, which is unfortunate because you seem to have come to a little halt again-oh, no, I tell a lie, there's that right foot moving. You know, you're not even halfway across the room. You can still turn back. No one will call you weak for it...well, not to your face at least."

He was goading her, she knew, trying to distract her with his babble while he worked away at her resistance. Acacia refused to give in. She took another step, then another, with feet that felt like they were encased in lead boots. She felt like she could barely breathe, like the very air pressed down on her with incalculable force. But Acacia would not let herself falter, not with so much at stake. Her very soul rested on this, in more ways than one.

"It's not even as if I'm a very powerful warlock," he went on, seemingly oblivious to her struggle. "I mean, do you really think I'd be here if I was? Some of the older boys, the ones with a few centuries on them, they'd turn that door to ashes with a dirty look. I'm the baseline, you see. The, erm...oh, there's an American term, I hear it from those yammering sports people on the radio...the Mendoza line, that's it! If you're having trouble against me, you probably shouldn't play in the 'big leagues'." He said the last words in an American accent so dreadful that it gave Acacia new strength to resist. Nobody who impersonated John Wayne that badly should be allowed to succeed at anything in life.

Acacia took another three steps, then teetered in sudden vertigo. She felt as though a thousand cinder blocks were piled on her head, and if she veered off her center of balance for even a moment they would topple her to the floor never to rise again. Her sword dragged through the carpet as she walked, all thoughts of using it forgotten now. The only thing in her mind was a determination to find some way to ward off that ceaseless, insistent pressure on her will.

"It's almost unfair, really," Gareth said sadly. "I mean, they say they train you, but this test? No magic, no protective amulets, no, um...stabby-stabby...you don't get to use any of those skills they drilled into you. It's almost like they're setting you up to fail. Oh, they say that it's a rite of passage, they say you need to prove that you can prevail even when deprived of the tools of your order, but did you ever wonder if they really tried it themselves? Or if this is just something they do to the girls they want to get rid of, the ones who won't do the sensible thing and give up?"

Acacia shook her head. She refused to let herself be undermined, she refused to be tricked into doubting her sistren. She would banish the oppressive gloom he tried to instill in her heart, she would pass her test, and she would take the Flame Pursuant into her very hands. She took one step, then another, until the mantelpiece was mere inches away. She reached out with a trembling, exhausted arm, and took hold of the small sculpted fire.

And despaired.

Somehow, Acacia had imagined that the silver sculpture would be a talisman in fact as well as name. She had pictured its searing flame burning away the shadows in her mind, its magic streaking up her arm to form a shield protecting her from the endless crushing pressure of the warlock's dark magic. But it was nothing more than a hunk of metal, and the door was further away than it had ever been. Acacia turned, and saw what seemed like an endless expanse of room in front of her.

"Oh dear," Gareth said, clearly seeing the exhaustion written on her face. "It doesn't look good, does it...?" He paused, frowning slightly. "Look, I really can't just keep calling you 'girl', can I? Go on, tell me your name."

"Acacia," she whispered, dragging her foot through the thick carpeting. "Means 'thorn'." She could barely lift them anymore, but she knew that nothing could save her now except getting to the door before her resistance collapsed under the pressure of Gareth's will. It didn't matter if he knew her name anymore, it didn't matter if she let herself listen to his honeyed words and false promises. The only thing that mattered now was escape.

"You know," Gareth said conversationally, "I can tell so much about you girls from the names you choose for yourselves. Let me guess-you wanted revenge for something? No, someone. You couldn't let it rest, knowing that things like me were out there going unpunished for our sins, and you needed to scourge it out of us. That's why you came in here, even when something made you hesitate. Even when you knew deep inside that you were bound to fail. You went ahead because something in you would wither and die either way if you didn't succeed."

"No, I...I can still make it, Gareth. I..." Acacia let the sword fall from her hand. It was too heavy to carry now, and she didn't need it. Gareth would follow the rules. She couldn't trust him to let her leave, but she could trust him as far as his own self-interest. The only thing she needed to walk away with was her talisman. "I just need..."

She needed a moment's respite, that was all. Just a minute, a second, an instant of freedom from this intolerable force that bore down on her. If he would only let up for even a tiny while, she knew that she could gather her strength and walk the last fifteen feet to safety. She would even be able to go back for her sword. She just needed to find a way to escape for a moment. That was all.

"You need it to stop," Gareth said sympathetically. "You need that endless, impossible struggle to stop, Acacia, isn't that right? But you've been going about it wrong all along. All this time, all these years, you've been struggling against us, determined to push and fight and kick and scream and you've had nothing left to you beyond that. You've been pushing back against that heavy burden, and now you're all worn out. You've got everything to fight against, but nothing to fight for. No wonder you're so tired."

Acacia almost cried at Gareth's words. She wanted to tell him that she had everything to fight for, that she wanted to protect others from suffering like she suffered...but the words seemed like too much effort. She couldn't talk, she couldn't even walk anymore. She dropped to her hands and knees, trying to crawl the last ten feet, the last five feet, almost free...then she realized that her hands were empty. The talisman lay behind her, dropped without even a memory of it slipping from her hands as she struggled against Gareth's power. She froze in an agony of indecision, unsure whether to go back for it and risk oblivion or keep moving and admit defeat.

Gareth tsked softly. "I'm going to take a little pity on you, Acacia. Because you're such a sweet girl, and we're on a first-name basis now. I'm going to let you in on the secret of stopping the pressure once and for all. Are you ready?" The pause hung in the air, and Acacia turned her gaze away from the talisman to look at him instead. She couldn't make a decision, and she couldn't resist him forever. If there was an escape from all this, she had to know. She had to know how to be free of this burden once and for all. She nodded, and he smiled in response. "Then listen."

Acacia listened. She nodded. It was so simple, she realized. She couldn't understand why she hadn't seen it before. It was the easiest trick in the world. She didn't know why her teachers hadn't explained it to her earlier. The secret to escaping the relentless power of Gareth's will was to stop resisting it.

The moment she understood, she felt the pressure ease off. Acacia sighed in relief, rising to her feet easily and effortlessly. She couldn't even remember what it felt like to be under that endless weight, that grinding and crushing shadow that hung over her soul. Now her legs felt like they were practically floating as she scooped up the talisman and walked across the room to the couch, her limbs once again filled with boundless energy. She practically giggled in excitement.

"See?" Gareth said, laughing right along with her. "Isn't that so much easier, my dear?" He clapped his hands together like an excited child. "Oh, I'm so glad to see the spark come back into your eyes again. Now, if I could just have that talisman back?"

"Of course, Master!" Acacia exclaimed, the words coming easily to her lips. How could she refuse him anything, when she felt so much gratitude overflowing from her very soul at the gift of relief that he'd given her. She held out the talisman, and he took it from her open palm with a smile of pure pride on his face.

"I'll just put that back later," he said. "For now, I think I'd like to see what you look like without all that silly armor on." Acacia felt like his words matched her every thought-as soon as he spoke, she was already feeling foolish and self-conscious wearing the stiff leather. As if Gareth would ever hurt her! She peeled it off as quickly as the belts and buckles would let her, reveling in his stare as he watched her strip.

"You're finally free now," he said, undoing the sash on his robe, and Acacia knew that his words were true. "Free of worry, free of fear, free of exhaustion-you're even free of freedom! Doesn't that sound wonderful?" She nodded as though her head was on a spring, her mind growing more smooth and placid with every passing second. She felt as though she was laying down burdens she'd carried for years now.

"And look at that," Gareth said, letting his robe fall open to reveal his stiff cock. "I even have a little present for you. It gets boring after a while with the older girls, the ones who've been here a while. But you've got just enough soul left to make this exciting. Go on, sit on my lap and tell me all about yourself. We've got nothing but time."

Acacia sank down gratefully, feeling him slide into her dripping pussy with a shudder of pure bliss. She rose up, then sank down again, finding a rhythm that made both of them breathe quicker in pleasant anticipation. And as she fucked him, she found that she knew just exactly what to say.

"I am the Slave Compliant, the night that chases away resistance. I bow my head debased to banish my freedom, and where you lead, I will follow until all is night once more. I am the Slave Compliant..."

THE END