Page 5 - The Devil's Arsonist

the first of the many thousands that have followed me across time itself. It was he,, who
revealed to me how these fires of my own making, could be turned on me, so that I might be
free of all pain; the pain that once burned so fierce in my very soul, that constantly reminded
me of the untold hurt and grief I had brought upon the world, these past centuries.

I showed no preference or bias, based on any of the many of the criteria that are used to
describe humankind. It did not matter if they were male or female, young or old; nor did the
colour of their skin; or the religion of their faith; or the language they spoke. I was not
prejudiced against any class, rich or poor; or whether they had goodness or evil in their
hearts. None has escaped my flames, not even the animals which inhabit this world; for a
lowly monkey was amongst my victims. I was the epitome of my ilk. But none have done
what I have done. For I am unique. Fire was my choice of weapon, whether it be from a pyre
of wood, or in a barn full of hay or out of a firestorm of bombs. This was the instrument of
my sins.

I know, I can never be brought to account for my past sins in the life I now lead; for it has
been blameless and beyond the reproach of any juror, judge or court. For these instruments of
justice, can never try, convict or condemn, a person’s soul. A soul which has remained
hidden by many names; a soul that masqueraded itself within the frailty of the human forms it
took and in the incarnations of my nefarious lifetimes. Like my victims, my own diabolical
reincarnations are long since gone and forgotten by all, save myself. But now, I must be
judged for all that I have done! I cannot rest until justice is dispensed. I submit my wicked
soul to be judged by the highest court of all; so that it may at last burn in hell, consumed by
the fiercest conflagrations that the devil may set upon it…the Flames of Redemption.

My name is William Gilderiche and I am the Devil’s Arsonist.

Casting aside this confirmation of his despair he looked down at the ancient metal box, left at
his table by one between worlds. On its lid could still be seen the now faded Coat of Arms of
he who had sealed it, so long ago; the colours of its blazon - a red chevron between three
arrowheads on a silver shield, still lingered amid the rust; below which was written the
family’s motto in old Portuguese: Del Fuego io Avola – I escaped from the fire. His hand
trembled as he broke its wax seals, untouched and unbroken since a time, now centuries past,
when the first Elizabeth sat upon the throne of England. He lifted its lid and took out a
leather-bound book wrapped in a silken cloth; its pattern unblemished as if new. The Tudor
Rose motif of its woven damask glistened brightly in his hand. What words the book
contained were no mystery to him, for he had been privy to nearly all it would tell. He opened
it and saw the first strange words of its tale; a tale of good and evil; of damnation and
redemption; of war and peace, of murder and death; of truth and lies; of loyalty and betrayal;
of trust and deceit; and of love and grief. All of this and more. It was truly a riddle within a
tale, one that told of a brave monkey who cried and died by the very devil’s flames.