His mother said, "No, you don't understand, please—!"
"Ayen get sil tar'r," the bishop answered, the words slithering like vipers. "Vor kel rushtar'r."
His mother crumpled to the dirt, her protest ended.
"What are you doing?" Helix demanded. The Preservers' arms were like steel bars. "Mom! What are you doing to her?"
Then one of them struck him in the back of the head, and there was nothing else.
Chapter 4
Before the Storm
i. Helix
Helix Smith, eight years old, dove behind a tree and prayed for his life.
C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, he wished, blood thundering in his ears. Nothing here, I musta got away, just go on past, just go—
"Behind the tree!" came a roar. He scrambled to his feet and pounded across the field. His three hunters—taller, stronger, twice his age or older—leapt to the chase like lions closing on a kill.
The prairie grass flapped against his waist and dragged at his heels. He glimpsed a flicker of wood beneath the greenery ahead, and jumped the camouflaged log at the last possible instant. A queasy image of what had almost been—tumbling to the ground, breaking my ankle, screaming for help as they fall on me like a pack of dogs—flickered through his head like lightning at midnight. Then he ducked his head and bore down, exorcising his thoughts of everything except tearing toward the growing line of houses ahead.
A startled cry, a muffled thud, and he chanced a look back to see the blond one smashing face-first into the grass, a titan toppled by an invisible log. Dumb sehk! he exulted. Then he was around the corner, the bullies out of sight.
He darted from house to house, stealing glances behind him. Just as he reached his house, his pursuers burst onto the road four houses back, their faces glowing with rage beneath the hair matted to their scalps. The blond pointed at him and shouted something irrelevant; the other two had already exploded into a renewed chase.
Helix ducked around the corner, wheezing, his momentary victory forgotten. He couldn't outrun them. He couldn't fight. He couldn't even go in his house—they would chase him in.
So hide.
His house had a porch, one of the few in the village that did, and where it met the ground at the back corner stood an old, loose board. Helix bounded to it, worked it loose, and slipped through the narrow passage it left behind. Cool darkness washed over him. He leaned the board back into place, hands trembling, then retreated to the middle of the quiet space and peered upward as the porch slats striped his face with sunlight.
It was a huge risk, going beneath the porch. No one knew about it, not Mom and Dad, not his sister Beth, not even Syntal. He didn't want anyone learning it was here.
But he didn't want to get the piss beaten out of him either.
Here they come. He heard them pounding up the road before he saw them, panting but not winded, shouting to each other as if trying to corner a rabbit.
"I saw him over here!" That was Esiah, the blond one, the idiot that had tripped on the log. "He's probably behind the houses again, I'll run back and check!"
"He ain't runnin', you stupid sehk-eater." Rake's voice, eloquent as always. Helix could imagine his face, even if he couldn't see it: strings of greasy, red hair plastered around a sneer of disdain, a hooked, broken nose that had never set right. Helix himself had red hair, with a shock of freckles to match, and he hated Rake for making everyone believe that all redheads were as devilish as he was. "He ain't runnin'. He's hidin'."
"Yeah." The third voice was deeper, monstrous, like some lumbering beast set loose from the depths. Baler's heavy baritone made Helix's dad's voice sound like a chorus of fairies. His single syllable snapped the others into silence.
The porch stairs creaked. Baler's throaty rumble came again. "He went inside, I bet. Probably hopin' Beth's here to save him."
Snickers from the other two. "Why you let that bitch tell you what to do anyway?" Rake accused.
"She don't tell me what to do," Baler snarled, so fiercely that Helix hoped he might start beating on the other kid. But Rake muttered something—an apology, maybe—and the moment passed.
"C'mon," Baler ordered. "Nobody's home right now, except maybe him. Just don't cock up the house. If you find him, bring him out back."
Then his shadow fell across the porch, a leviathan devouring the sun. Through the porch, Helix caught a glimpse of shaggy midnight curls before all three of them disappeared into the house.
Run back to the church, part of his mind demanded, now, while they're inside. This is your chance. Get out and run.
But he stayed where he was. The cramped space beneath the porch was damp and dark; as he caught his breath, he listened to the secret whispers of spiders and pillbugs. Inside the house, doors banged and walls rattled as the boys tried to flush him out. Not for the first time, he wondered how in the name of God his sister could possibly have any interest in a stupid brute like Ellic Baler.
"Gone," Esiah said finally when the three of them emerged back on the porch. "I told you he ran. He's probably halfway to the church by now."
"That's fine," Baler rumbled. "I got other sehk to do today."
"'Fine'?" Rake challenged. "You ain't the one he spit on!"
"I got other sehk to do today," Baler repeated. "It's your own God damned fault you got spit on. Any idiot could've seen him up in that tree. Me and Esiah both did."
"Yeah," Esiah concurred.
"Pf." Rake hawked a gob of spit onto the porch. As it leaked between the slats, Helix stepped carefully sideways to avoid it. "We meetin' by the lake later, then?"
"Piss on the lake," Esiah said, milking the chance to put Rake down. "I want to go back to the tree fort."
"Akir, you're an idiot!" Rake seethed. "What in Hel do you think I was talking about?"
"You said 'by the lake'. The tree fort ain't by the lake, it's in the woods."
"Akir," Rake swore again. "Yes, it's in the woods by the lake. How sehking stupid are you?"
"Shut up," Baler said flatly. "And quit calling it a tree fort. You sound like a couple of babies. I told you, it's a garrison.
"But not until tonight. After dinnertime, like. And remember what I said: you go out there without me, and I'll sehking kill you."
They stomped down the stairs, Rake and Esiah still arguing. Helix waited, not daring to believe his fortune, as their voices faded; then he waited some more, just to be safe.
But finally, in the murk beneath the porch, he broke into a giddy grin. Oh, man, he reveled, oh man, oh man.
He had spat on Rake... and gotten away with it.
I gotta tell Syntal and Seth, he thought as he lifted the loose board out and slipped, blinking, back into the sunlight. His friends had been near the church when he'd gone home for a quick drink from the well; hopefully, they were still there. Angbar will piss himself laughing. He replaced the old slat of wood, then, on a lark, kissed it. It had saved his life again.
High with glee, he flew around the front corner and collided with someone coming the other way—someone who grabbed his shoulders and heaved him backwards, cracking his head against the porch.
"Back already?" Baler marveled. "You're even dumber than I thought."
ii. Angbar
You know, I just remembered something my mom said I had to do today. If I don't get it done, I'm really gonna be in big trouble. Maybe accompanied by wide, innocent eyes, a serious nod?
Eh.
Sorry Lys, I'm not feeling well. I better go back home and lie down. More plausible, at least, but would she even fall for it? Maybe she was only seven, but she was sharper than most of the adults in Southlight.
Lys, I changed my mind. I'm gonna head home. The truth is, I'm scared to death of that church, and it always feels like everyone there hates me—The Abbot most of all.
Ah, yes. The direct approach.
Angbar frowned. He wasn't a big believer in the direct approach.
Rev'naas take all! She was two years younger than he was! How h
ad he let her talk him into this?
It had started innocently enough, with her asking why he and his family never came to church. He'd even told the truth, more or less: because they were Bahiri. Northlanders. Infidels, the back of his mind offered, and while he didn't know exactly what the word meant, he'd heard it whispered behind his back often enough to guess.
Lyseira said that was fishguts. Having darker skin was no reason to skip church. Akir was God—why would He care if His people were brown, purple, or polka dot?
The thought of polka-dotted people had made Angbar laugh, so when Lyseira had suggested that he come to church with her, just to meet The Abbot and look around, he'd agreed.
He hadn't realized she was talking about this afternoon.
The road drew shorter, the church looming on the hill drew closer, and Angbar sighed. It was Blessday, for the love of winter, and a gorgeous one: not blistering with heat like last weekend, nor raining like the one before. Church? he thought incredulously. We should be going to the lake.
He considered this, kicked it around, stared at the back of Lyseira's bushy, brown-haired head and weighed its chances. The lake.
Definitely.
"Hey, Lys!" Angbar exclaimed, as if he'd just learned why the sky was blue. "You know where we should go today? The lake!"
She whirled toward him, grinning, those striking grey eyes of hers glittering, and he felt a spark of hope.
"You mean after we leave church?"
The spark flickered and died.
"Yeah, that sounds like fun! Maybe Helix and Syntal can even come with!" Her smile faltered. "But... we probably won't have time today. We'll be at the church for at least a few hours. By then it'll be getting a little late to head out to Pinewood."
She resumed their grim march toward the church on the hill. Angbar sighed. Maybe he could feign sickness after all. He'd never had redwarts. He could say he was coming down with those. That should scare her off, at least.
"Oooooh!" Lyseira suddenly squealed, her Dawnday dress fluttering as she bounced in the road. "I can't wait! You promise you've never been to church, Angbar?" She had turned back again, beaming at him.
Her excitement was contagious. He realized he was returning her smile, and fought to smother it. "Nope."
Lyseira giggled and bounced again—even clapped.
"Um... is that a good thing?" Angbar asked.
"No! Of course not!"
"Then why are you so happy?"
"Because I get to bring you! If I want to be a priestess, I need to convert a heathen." She screwed up her face, ticked off the other requirements on her fingers. "And learn First Tongue, and do a miracle. And do some other stuff, but they're easy." She waved them off. "I learned my alphabet already, and I know Akir will let me work a miracle when the time is right."
"Oh." Angbar tried again. "I'm just... you know, it's so nice... maybe today's not a good day for it."
"No, Angbar, you need to go today! Do you know what happens if you die without going to church?"
Angbar nodded, wearily. "Yeah. You told me—"
"You wind up in Hel! The Seven Sacred Principles say you have to go to church to live a holy life, or your rev'naas will take over your soul."
Angbar sighed, shifting from foot to foot. "I don't know, I've never been to church, but I feel fine." Wait! "I mean, actually…" He coughed experimentally. "I don't feel so good. I think I should go home and lie down. I think I have redwarts."
Lyseira's eyes lit with excitement as she grabbed his hand. "Then you have to come to church! I've seen the Abbot work miracles before — I bet he can ask Akir to make you feel better!" Thrilled by this prospect, Lyseira pulled Angbar along with renewed vigor. "Come on, come on, we're almost there!"
Crap.
Angbar's mind churned through new excuses as they covered the last few steps to the church, climbed its cracked, stone steps, and made the porch. He came up with nothing. Lyseira stepped reverently to the door, glancing back to be certain Angbar was still there. He sighed, resigning himself to his fate, as she reached for the door handle.
"Ha! Killed ya!" a boy cried from behind the porch rail.
"You did not, I didn't even feel anything!" This from an indignant but giggling girl.
"I did too, I stabbed you right..." A pause, punctuated by more yelping laughter. "There."
"Did not!"
Angbar ran to the side of the porch. Lyseira glared at him, her hand nearly over her head, grasping the church's doorknob. "Hey! Are you still coming?"
Angbar ignored her. He knew those giggles. "Syntal! I thought you were at Helix's place!" The word Helix's was a mouthful of mushy sibilants, but he was always pleased with himself when he managed them.
Syntal was on the ground, wriggling as she tried to get up, but Seth—ruddy and barefoot—had a long stick jabbed into her breastbone. "Angbar!" he said, grinning, then indicated his fallen prey with a tilt of his head. "Ain't she dead? Look, I stabbed her!"
With a squeal and a fresh round of laughter, Syntal rolled over, jerking the stick out of the boy's hand and scrambling to her feet. She pointed an accusation, green eyes dancing against the frame of her raven hair. "Nope! You're gonna be the worst pazerver ever, Seth!" She launched past him in a wild zigzag.
"You take it back!" Seth demanded as he gave chase.
"Run, Syn!" Angbar shouted, tearing down the stairs toward Seth.
Lyseira was outraged. "Hey! Angbar!"
"You'll never get away!" Seth cried, bare feet pounding through the grass. "Every step you take only means I'll kill you more!"
"Everybody stop!" Lyseira shrieked.
Everybody did.
"Kiir, Lyseira," Seth muttered. "I wasn't really gonna kill her."
"Don't use God's name in vain!" she retorted from the top of the stairs.
"I didn't, I said 'kiir'."
"And that comes from A-kir and it's just as bad as saying His name. And I don't care if you play with Syntal, but I was playing with Angbar!"
Seth shrugged. "M'sai. So play. What's the big deal?"
I'd rather play with you lot, Angbar wanted to say, but Syntal saved him the trouble. "Oh!" she said, panting. "What were you gonna play?"
"Well..." Lyseira furrowed her brows, and Angbar chuckled. Even she can't say visiting church is playing. "We were gonna visit The Abbot. Angbar was gonna get censure and stop being a heathen."
Whoa. Censure? Angbar's friend Helix hated censure. He'd told Angbar about it before. You had to sit, and tell The Abbot everything you'd done wrong, and then he gave you punishments. The punishments were worse if you left anything out on purpose, or if you hadn't seen him for censure in a long time.
Since Angbar had never been in for censure at all, he'd probably have to cut off a foot or something.
"Uh... you never said anything about that, Lys," he said.
"How else could you start living a holy life, Angbar?" She might have been explaining that the sun set in the west. "Oh!" She brightened. "You lot could come too!"
Seth recoiled. "To church?" He blew a raspberry.
Syntal stared at the grass.
"You don't want to?"
Angbar marveled. She looks honestly confused. "Lys, come on," he wheedled, sensing an opportunity. "Syntal's a guest. She's only visiting Southlight for the summer. Shouldn't we do what she wants to do?"
Lyseira glanced back at the church, her eyes earnest. "But—"
"The church isn't going anywhere," Angbar pressed. "I promise!"
"We were just about to go back and look for Helix," Syntal said. "He was here before, but he went home for a drink and hasn't come back yet."
Seth dropped to the ground and started picking at a scab on his knee. "Think he ran into Baler? I saw him around there this morning, lookin' for Beth."
"He's not supposed to come by there," Lyseira said. "I heard his mom say it."
"Think he cares about that?" Seth spat on a caterpillar making its way across the grass. As if this had triggered
a thought, he peered back at Angbar. "He'd beat you especial, I bet. Baler’d love beatin’ up a nog.”
Lyseira scowled. "Seth! It's not nice to call Angbar a nog!"
"But he is a nog," Seth replied, perplexed.
Angbar shrugged. He'd been called worse. "C'mon, Baler wouldn't do nothin' to Helix. He likes his sister and all."
Lyseira's frown evaporated, replaced by a silly grin. "Ooooooooo," she sing-songed. "Baaaaaaler and Beeeeethany, foreeeeeeeever."
Syntal looked worried. "I don't think so—don't you remember last summer when Baler almost beat him up right in front of her?"
Seth shot Syntal a withering glare. "You don't know nothin'. Angbar's right. He won't do nothin' to Helix. ‘Sides, I'm gonna bring my stick." Seth hefted the shaft of wood he'd pinned Syntal with earlier.
Syntal snorted. "Ooh, Seth has a stick. You're so stupid, Seth." Seth stuck out his tongue.
At some point during this exchange, they had started walking down the road. The threat of the church fell away behind them. Angbar drew a deep, happy breath as he listened to Seth and Syntal bicker.
Now it felt like a Blessday. No school, no chores, and heading away from that god-awful church.
"You think Baler's gonna be afraid of some stick?" Syntal needled.
"No, he's gonna be afraid of me!" Seth mustered a grimace. "If he tries sumthin'—POW! —I beat him in the head!" He flailed the stick, repelling a wave of invisible attackers. "And if he's still comin'—CRACK! —I rip out his guts!" Seth leapt and cracked his weapon against a nearby tree. With a splintering crunch, the stick split in half.
Angbar chortled. "You can't hit anyone with it now! It's too short!" Syntal giggled with him.
Seth regarded the broken stick with dismay, then thrust it aloft. "Now I have a spear! I'll stab him!"
"You better not," Lyseira chimed in. "I'll tell your mom."
~ ~
Helix's place was on the far side of the village from the temple. As the hike dragged on, Angbar's mind wandered, as it often did. We should go to the lake though. I feel like a swim. We could play pirates. Seth is hysterical at pirates, and we could make Lyseira walk the plank. In the distance, the little house with the attached smithy finally came into view. I wonder how we could make a plank though. Maybe there would be a stick big enough in Pinewood.
Children of a Broken Sky (Redemption Chronicle Book 1) Page 7