Sacrifice: The First Book of the Fey
Page 69
The Danites and the Aud walked down the path, holding their hands at their sides, and keeping their heads down as if they were in an Absorption Day processional. Andre and the Rocaan followed, with Timothy and Reece behind. The distance down the path was short, but it felt long, with all those Fey lined up along the sides. The Fey watched silently, and it seemed to the Rocaan that they felt as much fear as the Rocaanists did. He sent up a silent prayer through the Holy One:
I hope this is what you meant.
The Danites crossed the threshold into the tiny kirk and then lined up in front of the blade, as they had been told to do. The Aud stood behind the altar. As the Rocaan stepped inside, he noted that Andre flinched. The Rocaan glanced to his right. Nothing out of the ordinary, except that the cobwebs one normally found in a rarely used kirk were gone.
The Rocaan took his place in front of the altar. Timothy and Reece stood half a step behind him. He could no longer see Andre. Timothy held out the sword. The Rocaan took it and extended it in front of him, as the Words instructed.
Then he waited for the Fey to join them.
EIGHTY-FIVE
Quest stepped inside the kirk, and all the fear he had felt in his short days as a Danite nearly overwhelmed him again. Rugar, the coward, remained outside. The Rocaan already held his sword, which was odd, since the Rocaanists never used a real sword for a Blessing. Something was going on here, on their side as well. Somehow that made him feel better.
Despite all the people in such a small space, the kirk still had an empty feel. The dampness was so thick, it seemed as if water dripped off the ceiling. But Quest already knew that the ceiling was safe. He had checked the building himself for any hidden religious tricks. There appeared to be none, but he hadn’t really known what he was looking for. Until the Rocaan pulled that sword, Quest had thought that the Islander religion was fairly straightforward.
The four other Fey who came in with Quest were Infantry leaders, minor Visionaries whose death would be of little importance. Even that thought made the hair on the back of Quest’s neck rise. Rugar was willing to sacrifice them all to learn the secret of the poison. He was even willing to put himself at risk.
The Rocaan was watching closely, waiting until they were all inside. Quest sidled up next to Elder Reece, who took one small step away. Then Quest put his left hand behind his back and rested the other on the hilt of his knife. Only the Fey could see the position of his right hand.
Rugar stood just outside the door, along with some of the other Fey. A few Auds also stood close, but not mingling, just close enough to see. The Auds were young and unthinking. The older Rocaanists came nowhere near the Fey.
“We’re ready, then,” the Rocaan said in Nye. “Part of this service requires holy water. I will keep it away from you all and place it only on my sword. You will be safe. You have my word on that.”
It sounded as if the Rocaan was performing Midnight Sacrament, not a Blessing. Quest frowned at Rugar. Rugar shrugged one shoulder, then glanced from the Rocaan to Quest. Act now, he appeared to be saying. But if the Rocaanwas performing Midnight Sacrament, he had poison on his person. Quest wanted to wait until the poison was visible before acting. It would do them no good for him to take over the Rocaan and die instantly.
“There will be sword movement,” the Rocaan said. “None of it is meant to be threatening.”
The Fey glanced at each other, and two moved closer to the door than they had been.
“Nye does not have some of the words for this ceremony,” the Rocaan said. “So I will perform it in Islander. Andre will translate for you.”
Elder Andre started and shot a frightened glance at the Rocaan. Quest tilted his head. How odd the small subtleties in the Islander group. No one but the Rocaan seemed to know what was going on. Quest moved another step closer. He would take advantage of any opening he found.
The Rocaan looked meaningfully at Andre and said in Islander, “Quote the Blessing to them.”
Andre nodded. His jaw worked, and he glanced at the Fey as if looking for help. Quest did not like this development, but he would let it run as long as he could. If it threatened any of the Fey in any manner, he would take immediate action.
The Rocaan swung the sword over his head and caught its tip with his left hand. “There are enemies without,” he said in Islander.
“Th-the Blessing begins,” Andre said in Nye.
Quest shot a quick glance at Rugar and shook his head slightly. The Rocaanists were performing the wrong ceremony. Quest clamped his jaw hard so that he wouldn’t have to say anything. If he moved quickly, the type of service they performed didn’t matter. But he would have to move quickly.
“‘And within,’” the Danites, Aud, and Elders responded.
“‘We are surrounded by hatred—‘” the Rocaan said.
“‘—greed,’” the Danites, Aud, and Elders said—
“‘—lust,’”
“‘—cruelty,’”
“‘—and loss.’”
“Th-this is a quote from the Words Written and Unwritten that is a metaphor,” Andre said in Nye. “It has no meaning in literal translation.”
Quest had gone cold. He inched around Elder Reece, who was watching the Rocaan and not paying attention. Maybe Quest could see the poison. If he could see it, he could act now.
The Rocaan brought the sword down with both hands so that the flat of the blade faced the Fey. “‘We choose to fight, not with weapons—‘”
“‘—or cunning,’” the Danites, Aud, and Elders said—
“‘—but with faith.’” Slowly he brought the sword down and laid it flat on the altar.
Quest expected him to say the part of the ceremony mentioning taking the troubles to the Ear of God, but the Rocaan didn’t. He was quoting only the Words. They were up to something.
The poison would come out next.
Andre glanced at the Fey. “Loosely translated,” he said in Nye, “what went before means, ‘Blessed be these strangers before us.’ “
Quest tightened his grip on the hilt of his knife. With all the poison in the kirk, he would not have time to slit Elder Reece’s throat, then go for the Rocaan. He would have to use the more difficult trick of using the host as victim.
The Rocaan raised his hands again, this time without the sword. The sleeves of his robe fell away, revealing his bare arms. “‘When the Roca asked for God’s Ear,’” he said, “‘he begged for safety for his people. Yet they were besieged by enemies, and it appeared that God did not listen. . . .’”
Quest shot a panicked glance to Rugar. They were trying to get rid of the Fey using the old ceremony, the thing the Roca had done generations before. A chill ran down Quest’s back. He understood this ceremony, and their gamble. The chance might work. No one understood Islander magic. Not even the Islanders.
Quest’s palms were damp. He would have to act quickly. He couldn’t wait for the safety of knowing where the poison was.
“‘. . . the Roca thought to strike them down himself, but he thought, ‘Would that mean that I believe I am better than God? For if God is not willing to do this thing, He in his wisdom must have a reason. . . .’”
With a quick, practiced movement, Quest grabbed the Rocaan’s head with one hand and slashed his throat with the other. The Fey moved beside him, pinning the hands of the Elders as the blood spurted on Quest. Other Fey came in and grabbed a Danite just as he pulled the stopper off his poison vial.
Don’t watch, don’t watch, Quest admonished himself. Instead he stared at the Rocaan, whose mouth was still moving, trying to speak the words of the ceremony as his blood gushed all over Quest. He leaped on the Rocaan, wrapping his legs around the old man’s torso to hold his position, his elbows in the old man’s neck to brace his arms. The blood hit him full in the chest, and the skin was growing pale. He was almost too late.
Quest stuck his fingers into the Rocaan’s eyes, and his thumbs into his mouth. Around him people were screaming. Elder Andre ha
d taken a step back, shock on his face, his hand to his mouth. The Danites were screaming in Islander, something about enemies.
Quest pried the old man’s teeth open, and pushed hard against the back of the throat. Then Quest pulled and pulled. Something seemed to pull back. For a moment he felt himself loosen from his own being, but the old man was dying. He couldn’t fight. Quest was glad he hadn’t tried this with someone else’s blood. He yanked with all his strength. The old man’s essence broke free and fluttered between them for a moment.
“Absorption!” Elder Timothy screamed and grabbed Quest’s back. He felt a momentary struggle; then someone must have pulled him away.
Quest bit into the mist that was the old man and sucked it inside. Then Quest’s body molded and twisted and expanded until it was squat and old and terrified. He combed the Rocaan’s mind. The secret was there, but tantalizingly out of reach. Meld, meld, meld. He willed it to happen.
Rugar was gesturing to him to come outside. Then Quest looked around himself and saw the chaos. Several of the Rocaanists held poison. The Rocaan’s bottle was on the ground by his feet. Terror filled him, deep and abiding, and in it, he knew the secret of the water. It had a recipe, like wine, filled with herbs and potions that came only from the Isle.
Quest pushed his way toward the door. He had to get out. He couldn’t shout the recipe at Rugar; verbally, the spell made no sense. Quest had to explain it carefully, and then write it down for the Spell Warders to see.
The Fey would win now. Blue Isle was theirs.
EIGHTY-SIX
The thing that looked like the Rocaan lurched toward the door. It wore no clothes, its ancient body pale and wrinkled. Titus grabbed his bottle of holy water and clutched it in his left hand as he struggled to get the stopper off with his right. The other Auds had run, but he wouldn’t. The Fey had made a mockery of the whole ceremony. The Rocaan had vowed not to hurt them, and the Fey had killed him, mimicking the Absorption as they did so.
His hands were shaking, and some of the water spilled onto the Fey next to him, who immediately started screaming. The old man Fey, the one whom Titus had spoken to, saw that and ran to the side. He was screaming at the Rocaan-thing in that guttural language, but the Rocaan-thing did not respond. It just kept hurrying forward as if it could escape the kirk.
Another Fey grabbed for Titus’s hand. Titus splashed him, then waited until he had a clear shot. He tossed the bottle toward the Rocaan-thing as Matthias had done the day of the invasion. Water splashed on all sides. The Rocaan-thing screamed and raised its arms to its face to ward the water off.
A stench like burning flesh rose around Titus, bringing with it a mist. He could barely see. He stepped forward, toward the kirk, as the living Fey around him ran.
Water splashed on the Rocaan-thing. For a moment nothing happened. The thing looked up at Titus with both relief and anger. Then the water started to work, for the thing grabbed its arms and screamed. Another Fey came close, talking to it, begging it in their language, but the Rocaan-thing didn’t seem to hear. Its face was twisting as it had done moments before. As the face changed, Titus recognized the Danite he had seen in the Fey place, then a man he had seen around the palace. Then he saw a Nye face, and another, and another, followed by a series of Fey faces before all the features washed away and the Rocaan-thing fell to the ground in a large heap of cloth and twitching limbs.
Some of the Fey from inside the kirk pushed past Titus. Others were twisting as the Rocaan-thing had done. There was blood on the altar and foul-smelling mist in the air. Fey screams trailed away along the stream.
Titus stood in the door, clutching his second vial. Elder Reece was pouring water onto a lump that had been the Fey holding him. Elder Timothy was crouched on the floor, hands in the blood, praying, as if that would bring the Rocaan back to life. One of the Danites was shaking an empty bottle in the air as the other Danite struggled with his Fey captor. The Aud hid behind the altar, pulling the bloodstained wood over him like a cover.
Elder Andre was pressed against the wall, his hand over his mouth in horror. He was staring at Titus as if he had never seen him before. Tears were running down Andre’s face. As Titus moved closer, Elder Andre seemed to be trying to disappear into the wall itself.
But Titus stopped when he reached the Rocaan-thing. It was dead now. Its body had stopped twitching. It no longer looked like the Rocaan. It no longer looked like any living thing Titus had seen, just a lump of flesh and bone on the wet floor.
Titus bent over it. During the Sacrament, as the Rocaan had been quoting the Words, Titus had finally understood what the Rocaan was doing. He was trying to get the Ear of God. Maybe if God was paying attention, he would free them all from the Fey invasion. Maybe, maybe from the beginning the Roca had meant this Sacrament to help fight beings like the Fey.
But the Rocaan had done it wrong. The Fey were too close and too cunning. Maybe the Words had caused that Fey to go crazy and try to become the Rocaan. Whatever happened, the Rocaan was dead. And so was his attacker.
Titus looked up. Only Andre watched him, with great terror. There were no Fey behind him, and the Fey in the kirk were dead. The Auds who had run to the carriage had fought their own Fey and were standing over them like victors at a palace ceremony. A lot of the Fey had got away.
Titus touched the face of the Rocaan-thing. It felt soft and mushy. A few feet away from him, on the floor, was the sword the Rocaan had been using, and an unused vial of holy water. Titus got up, picked up the sword, and laid it flat over the Rocaan-thing. Then he took the stopper off the holy water.
He took his Sacrament cloth from the pocket of his robe and held it over the mouth of the bottle. Then he poured the holy water onto the cloth and picked up the sword. “‘Without water,’” he quoted, “ ‘a man dies.’” He cleaned the sword methodically, as he had been taught, only this time his movements took the blood off the sword’s blade. “‘A man’s body makes water. His blood is water. A child is born in a rush of water. Water keeps us clean. It keeps us healthy. It keeps us alive. It is when we are in water that we are closest to God.’”
The Danites stood and bowed their heads. The Aud picked up the altar and moved it so that he could stand. Timothy remained bowed, but Reece stood behind Titus. Only Andre didn’t move.
“‘A man dies only when he is not pure enough to sit at the feet of God,’” Titus said. He finished cleaning the sword and handed it to Reece, wishing in his deepest heart that the Sacrament would have brought the Rocaan back. But it did not. It was an object lesson to the dead and dying Fey.
Titus looked down at them, huddled lumps around his feet, some of them still moving. “ ‘When you touch water,’ “ he said to them all, “ ‘you touch the Essence of God.’”
THE MEETING
(Three Weeks Later)
EIGHTY-SEVEN
Her father left her no choice. During the three weeks it took to set up the negotiation sessions, Jewel barely spoke to him. Instead, she worked through her own people, sending Burden and others from her decimated Infantry unit into Jahn to speak to the King’s representatives. Her father spent most of his time in front of the fireplace, staring at the flames. Twice he tried to talk with her—once to apologize—and she didn’t even let him finish. What had he been thinking, to allow their people inside a holy place? She had thought he would have had enough sense to have the meeting outside. Or to act quickly. From all reports, he waited and let the old man lead the proceedings. Things were too far gone when Quest made his move.
Five Infantry leaders dead. Two Beast Riders missing. Their only remaining Doppelgänger dead. All for nothing. Quest, even though he took over the religious leader, never gave Rugar the secret of the poison. And that didn’t even count the loss of Caseo, who, if the Warders were to be believed, was the only Fey who knew the entire formula for the breakthrough experiment on the poison.
If she allowed her father to continue command, they would have no one left. No one left at all.
The Stone Guardians ringed the mouth of the channel like sentries blocking a palace. Through them lay freedom, and her grandfather, whom she would probably never see again. The black water around the Guardians churned, covered with a thin layer of foam. Waves broke against the stone, sending spray across the rocks. The mist was in the air, fresh and bracing after the stale, smoky smell of Shadowlands. If she weren’t so terrified, she would have been happy to be outside.