Miserere: An Autumn Tale

by Teresa Frohock

  “Or we can just ride out and give ourselves up.”

  He winced.

  She didn’t give him time for a rebuttal. “They’ve dug in well and good. They’re not going anywhere. We’ve barely got enough supplies to make it through the week, and it could take several weeks before John sends anyone after us.” She brushed her fingers against the back of his hand. “Lucian, I can’t do this without you.”

  Lost in her gaze, he touched her chin and she didn’t withdraw from him. “Can you trust me?” he whispered.

  She said nothing, but he saw the doubt in her eye. Eventually, she said, “I have to.”

  He took her wrist and leaned forward. Her pulse throbbed beneath his fingers. He bowed his head and whispered against her ear, “I still love you.”

  “You love a memory,” she said, her breath warm against the hollow of his throat. “You don’t know me anymore.”

  His heart sank into his stomach, but he chided himself. What had he expected? That she would throw herself in his arms in gratitude when he’d been the cause of her suffering? He was no better than his sister, who had imprisoned him and expected his gratitude when she’d released him. His shame warmed his cheeks.

  Rachael withdrew her hand from his grip and stepped back. “We shouldn’t leave Lindsay alone for too long.”

  Lucian lowered his head. “Of course.” Regardless of the love he’d seen in her soul when he’d healed her, he knew he should expect no sentimentality from her. If her heart lay behind a wall of stone, well, it was he who had provided the mortar.

  †

  Lucian sat with his back against the wall and watched Rachael show Lindsay how to tie the horses to the wagon. The girl only gave him an occasional glance as Rachael explained what would happen when they left the relative safety of Ierusal tonight. Lindsay didn’t seem alarmed, but Lucian knew it was because she didn’t understand the ramifications of Rachael’s plan.

  It was just as well her ignorance protected her. He wasn’t sure how much comfort he would be able to give her tonight. She hugged her gym bag throughout Rachael’s talk, and when Rachael finished, Lindsay drifted to sit beside him. She rested against him as she had when they were on the road and dozed fitfully.

  Rachael brought the flask and sat on the opposite side of Lindsay. She passed the water to him and he drank. Silence drifted between them as they waited for Woerld to slip deeper into night. They had never needed words to fill the empty spaces between them. Often they’d sat reading or watching the fire, silent as a couple who’d spent their lives together.

  When he had lived with Catarina, he would conjure those quiet times he and Rachael once shared, replaying them in his mind to soothe his anxiety. A slow ache of regret spread across his chest. Before he could stop himself, he said, “I missed you. Everyday.”

  She said nothing, but he knew she wasn’t asleep by her sharp intake of breath.

  “When I was in prison, and I didn’t think I would last another hour without going mad, I thought of you. Of us.” He tasted the salt of his tears but made no move to wipe his face.

  “Stop,” she whispered.

  He looked up where a few stars blinked against the silken sky. A falling star arced through the air before the scattered clouds swallowed it.

  “Make a wish,” she said.

  “Anything?”

  “Make a wish.”

  Lucian closed his eyes and wished for another opportunity. Lord, give me the time to win her back.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “I did.”

  “I did too.” Her words were as soft as a kiss.

  Lucian relaxed against the wall. He could mend a broken body with his God-given talents, but it took patience to heal a broken heart. Five years ago, he wouldn’t have had the empathy to understand her pain, but he was different now. He just needed time.

  His thoughts drifted and with Lindsay’s warmth against him, he dozed. The moon had risen behind tattered clouds when he felt Rachael’s hand on his shoulder.

  “Now,” she whispered.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  defend us in battle

  Rachael mounted the mare and watched Lucian seat Lindsay on Ignatius. “Stay alert, Lindsay,” Rachael said. “When I give the signal, we’ll stop fast. I don’t want you thrown.”

  The girl nodded and took Lucian’s cane so he could pull himself into the saddle behind her. He whispered, “Remember to shield your mind. Stay calm so you can think. And don’t step into our soul-lights or we might accidentally draw from your power. St. Peter’s Cross is not for an inexperienced Katharos.”

  “Just the desperate,” Rachael muttered and ignored Lucian’s dark look.

  Lindsay nodded and twisted the cane in her hands. “I can do this.”

  “I know you can.” Rachael met Lindsay’s gaze.

  The child sat straighter in the saddle and placed one hand on the pommel. “I’m ready.”

  No she wasn’t. No amount of talk could prime Lindsay’s mind for what was about to happen. Rachael bit down on her misgivings. Lindsay wasn’t as frail as she first appeared. She’d survived the exorcism and Caleb’s death; perhaps she’d weather this last storm too.

  Rachael’s horse pranced sideways; unlike Ignatius, the mare was high-strung and prone to bolt. She kept the horse on a tight rein and took the gelding’s lead-rope. When she glanced back, Lucian had settled into the saddle behind Lindsay. The shadows rendered his features haggard and grim. He nodded and Rachael guided the mare onto the street. The entrance emerged ahead, a great, black void yielding to the moon’s pale sheen on the other side.

  Rachael examined the details of her plan and tried to quash her doubts. Too much lay outside her realm of control, and she chafed at the uncertainties before them. Then the wall was before her.

  The darkness slid over them as they rode into the entrance tunnel. The cobblestones magnified the echo of their mounts’ hooves. To Rachael’s over-sensitive ears, they sounded like an army marching through the gate. Surely Speight’s men would be waiting for them just on the other side.

  Moonlight pearled on the meadow ahead. At the corner of the wall, a white rose wavered into view only to withdraw serendipitously. Rachael leaned over to release the lead-rope from the gelding’s halter.

  Her finger touched the metal clasp. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Lucian’s face, marred by shadows. Last night, he’d promised not to leave her. Tonight she would know if he meant to keep his oath. If he chose to take Lindsay and ride away, Rachael was a dead woman.

  And if he chose to stay by her side? Then what? Did she give him another chance and hope his loyalties wouldn’t be divided between her and Catarina again? The mare shuffled beneath her. Rachael brought herself to the task at hand and snapped the rope off the gelding’s halter. She could only handle one catastrophe at a time. First they had to survive tonight.

  She drew her blade and slapped the gelding’s hindquarters with the flat of her sword. The animal shot out of the gate and kept to the road, running for the tree line ahead. A distant shout told her Speight’s men saw the horse. From the volume of the yell, she knew they hadn’t moved from their position.

  Rachael gave the nervous mare some slack and the horse pranced out of the gate, straining against the bit. She forced the animal to hold a walk and aimed her toward the hillock. They’d only have one chance at this.

  Beyond the hill, a man shouted, directing the soldiers to their mounts. She guessed it was Speight. She sensed movement on her right and turned to find Lucian riding beside her. His sword was in his left hand, and Lindsay clutched his cane with one hand, the pommel with the other.

  The mare tossed her head. Speight’s men were mounted and moving to meet them. Rachael veered her horse to the left, and Lucian smoothly followed suit with Ignatius. I will not leave you.

  She swallowed past the heat in her throat and concentrated on the enemy. Speight’s men fell into formation and rode at a gallop to meet them.

  Th
e wind dried her lips as she began her prayer. “Saint Michael Archangel, defend us in battle.”

  Lucian echoed her words.

  Rachael eased the mare into a gallop to match the soldiers’ pace. “Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the Fallen.”

  Lucian’s voice rumbled beside her. “May God rebuke them, we humbly pray.”

  The hillock rose about thirty yards away and Speight’s men were fast closing the distance.

  Rachael raised her sword. “On my word.”

  Lucian gave no indication he’d heard, but she knew he was ready. She allowed them to close the distance by ten yards then shouted, “Now!” She yanked hard on the reins, and the mare reared. Rachael threw her weight forward and the mare’s front hooves splashed in a puddle. Rachael leapt to the ground and turned the horse back toward Ierusal.

  Free of his riders, Ignatius followed the mare. Lucian was with her. Rachael whirled in time to see Lindsay pass Lucian his cane. The girl stood back as Rachael dropped to her knees.

  Killing magic, Rachael thought. John had taught her killing magic, and she never flinched from using it. One shot, no second chances. She raised her sword high over head, pointing the tip of the blade toward the sky. She was barely conscious of water from the wet ground soaking into the knees of her pants.

  Lucian slipped, and Rachael held her breath until he righted himself. She hated making him a part of this slaughter. He abhorred bloodshed, but when she looked into his eyes, she saw his determination to see the plan through.

  Lucian’s blade touched hers and a shower of sparks passed before her face. She closed her eye and sought the quiet in her soul where the Spirit dwelled. The first words of her prayer passed through her lips, and Lucian’s power flowed into her body.

  Pure light surrounded her, filled her. Rachael focused on the area before the hillock, willing it to part. She channeled Lucian’s energy into her spell. He opened his heart to her and gave her his soul. He shielded nothing of himself from her. If she wanted, he would give her his life.

  She prayed their sacrifice wouldn’t be that great. Rachael concentrated on her enchantment. With the skill of a master weaver, she intertwined their energy. Rachael conjured the image of the gully in her mind and visualized the earth moving. “O God, let my enemies feel your power.”

  †

  Conscious of Lucian’s earlier warning, Lindsay stood as close to them as she dared without stepping inside their light. Lucian’s head was thrown back, his eyes shut. Rachael bowed her head, her hair obscuring her features.

  The energy emanating from Rachael and Lucian drowned the painful buzzing Lindsay felt from the nearby Barren. She pressed her knuckles to her lips. “Hurry, you guys,” she whispered.

  Speight’s men whipped their mounts. Not knowing how she could help, she began the first verse of the prayer Rachael had started earlier. She whispered through numb lips, “Saint Michael Archangel, defend us in battle.”

  As the first of Speight’s men crested the small hill, the ground shuddered beneath Lindsay’s feet. She kept her balance by stepping backward. “Be our protection… our protection…”

  Just in front of the hillock, the sodden ground pulled apart with a sucking noise. Chunks of mud fell into the chasm that split toward the hill. The first four soldiers rode over the mound and fell into the hole. They didn’t have time to scream before another pair of men came thundering over the hill to fall on top of them. The last soldier hesitated at the rise, and Lindsay recognized Speight.

  A wail of terror tore through the night. The horses screamed. Another man cried out a name. Lindsay closed her eyes. Someone moaned, a long, low sound that rolled beneath the groans of the earth.

  The back of Lindsay’s neck prickled. She pressed her hands over her ears, but the men’s cries seeped past her fingers and into her brain. These men are not nice. They wanted to kill Lucian at the bridge. They’re with the Fallen and the Fallen killed Pete—remember Pete. Lindsay’s grief opened like a wound. “They want to kill us. They want to kill us. Be our protection because they want to kill us.” In the cacophony of noise, Lindsay didn’t hear her own sob.

  Someone cursed Lucian and the bitch with him. The man’s hate escalated with his helplessness, and his oaths became more vehement. Another man’s sobs rose over the other voices. He spoke no words, made no curses. He just cried.

  Tears burned behind her eyelids, and Lindsay opened her eyes to release her sorrow. Speight wheeled his mount toward the Hell Gate. Neither Lucian nor Rachael looked, but Lindsay noticed a shift in the pattern of their prayers. Rachael’s voice rose over Lucian’s and the light surrounding them pulsed brighter. The earth opened and the crevice widened, chasing Speight toward the Hell Gate.

  Lindsay felt Rachael’s spell surge before it started to recede. The light surrounding her and Lucian dimmed.

  The pitch of Rachael’s prayer changed again, and the earth moved. This time clods of mud fell into the gap as it closed. The voices of the soldiers and horses rose in wild pandemonium as the moving ground crushed their bones. Their eldritch cries echoed through the night, reverberating through Lindsay’s head.

  The fissure closed, and Speight shouted, a bestial sound full of rage. He wheeled his mount and rode toward them. Lucian’s blade broke contact with Rachael’s and the light disappeared. Lucian’s arms trembled, and Rachael pitched forward on her hands and knees.

  “Speight’s coming!” Lindsay pointed. “Lucian!”

  “Run!” he shouted at her before he turned to face Speight’s charge.

  Lindsay froze, but not from fear this time. She’d been forced to leave Peter and he died; she wouldn’t leave Lucian. She felt for the knife at her hip and pulled it free from its sheath. The sound of her pulse pounded in time to the hoof beats.

  The captain’s horse closed the distance between them, and Lindsay saw Speight draw his sword. Lucian was moving too slow. Rachael pushed herself to her feet and took three staggering steps before she picked up speed on the wet ground to run toward Speight.

  Speight leaned forward in his saddle. Rachael shrieked like a demon and just before Speight’s horse could run her down, she dropped to her knees. She slid on the wet ground and brought her sword level with the horse’s legs.

  Rachael’s blade bit deep, and the animal screamed. The forward motion of the horse dragged Rachael for several feet, then Speight’s mount went down. Rachael disappeared in the tall weeds.

  Speight threw himself from his falling mount and hit the earth with a grunt. The horse nickered pitifully when it crashed to the ground. Lucian moved toward Speight, but Lindsay could tell he was having trouble keeping his balance.

  The captain gained his feet and rose just before Lucian reached him. Lindsay looked for Rachael, but the woman had disappeared. Where was she? Lucian couldn’t do this alone.

  Speight charged Lucian with a howl of rage, and Lucian raised his sword. He didn’t step away from Speight’s maneuver. Instead he parried the blow with his blade and allowed Speight’s forward motion to carry them both to the muddy weeds. Speight landed on top of Lucian and drove his fist into Lucian’s face.

  Lucian’s fist shot upward and clipped Speight’s chin. Lindsay wasn’t sure if the crunch came from Speight’s jaw or Lucian’s knuckles, but the captain’s head rocked backward. Speight was stunned but not for long.

  Lindsay’s heart felt like it would explode. Her magic was useless here, so she tried to remember everything Lucian and Pete had taught her about fighting. Pete taught her how to hurt somebody bigger than her, and his advice had worked with Caleb, but this wasn’t like hitting Caleb with the cane. Caleb had been standing still and taking aim had been easy; she didn’t know if she could hit a moving target.

  “Rachael?” Lindsay edged toward the men and glanced over the field. If Rachael was out there, she was unconscious or couldn’t hear Lindsay over the cries of the wounded horse. Maybe the horse kicked her. Maybe she’s dead, an insidious part of her mind offered.
>
  Lindsay couldn’t wait for Rachael. She had to do something. Her palm sweated on the hilt of her knife. Her arm shook and she gripped her right hand with her left.

  Lucian cried out in pain. Speight’s hand was on Lucian’s leg; his forearm was across Lucian’s throat. Lucian managed to get his hands around the captain’s neck; Lindsay could tell by Speight’s smug glare that the captain was winning.

  Focus. Lucian was always on her to focus. She remembered his instructions. Look for a break in the armor: knees, shoulders, elbows, neck. Lindsay tried not to think about pushing the knife into Speight as she circled the men. The tip of her blade wavered unsteadily.

  She took a deep breath then ran at Speight’s back. She brought her blade up to strike and suddenly found herself face-to-face with the captain’s grin.

  †

  Speight’s weight left Lucian’s chest, and he glimpsed Lindsay’s slight form. Oh, God, no. Lucian grabbed Speight’s hauberk, but the captain easily pulled away. Speight caught Lindsay’s wrists and twisted the knife out of her hands. He wound his thick fingers in her hair and Lucian almost cried out with the girl.

  Tears came to her eyes when Speight jerked her head up. He put the blade to her throat and leaned over. “Be still!”

  “Lindsay, stop!” Lucian held his hand out to her and she stopped struggling.

  “First smart thing you’ve said.” Speight yanked Lindsay close and wrapped his arm around her chest. “On your knees and get both your hands where I can see them, Lucian.”

  Lucian knelt and raised his hands. He still had Caleb’s knife in his belt. Speight’s position during the fight had prevented him from reaching for the blade, but he didn’t dare draw it now. Speight would cut Lindsay’s throat before he could get his hand on it. He clenched his jaw and waited.

  “Hands on top of your head!” Speight barked.

  Lucian glanced back toward the horse. Where was Rachael? Was she hurt?