“Aye, your honor,” Edward said. “Just as the last rays of the sun were disappearing on the horizon, the final grave was incinerated. There will be no rising for those creatures.”
“They were all infected?”
“Every one,” Edward replied.
The elder sighed heavily. “I must speak with High Elder Chamberlain. Have the women prepare trays and rooms for our guests.
“Rachel!”
Both Elder Barrow and Edward looked around to see the Reapers struggling with Owen, holding him down to the mattress.
“He’ll be all right,” Glyn told them. “Who is this Rachel he keeps mumbling about?”
“No one of importance, just his nurse, nothing more,” Elder Barrow said. “I have business to attend with our high elder so I will leave you gentlemen. Brother Edward will see to your comfort.”
“Thank you for all you’ve done for Owen,” Iden said.
Elder Barrow smiled. “It was our pleasure,” he said then motioned Edward ahead of him from the room.
* * * * *
His face hard and his eyes snapping with fury, Elder Barrow ignored the greetings of his people as he strode purposefully toward the cottage where High Elder Chamberlain Lawrence dwelled. It was not often he dared intrude on the high elder’s personal time and not once in all the years since his elevation to the exalted position as leader of the Colony had Elder Barrow visited High Elder Chamberlain at his residence. It was with some trepidation that he climbed the short flight of steps to the entrance door and knocked.
The door was opened almost instantly by Sister Daphne, the maid. She bowed and stepped back to allow Elder Barrow to enter the spacious receiving room.
“Tell his high honor I deeply regret intruding but it is a matter of some importance,” he told Daphne.
The young woman inclined her head and swept a hand toward one of the overstuffed chairs flanking the fireplace.
Elder Barrow declined taking a seat and instead went to stand before the hearth. He stared into the blackened niche, a muscle working in his jaw. He did not have long to wait before the high elder joined him.
“If you have come to report to me of the goings-on in the graveyard, there is no need, Elder Barrow,” the high elder stated. “My son informed me of what was done there. I have no problem with the matter.”
Turning around, Elder Barrow bowed before the man who ran the Colony. “Nay, it is not about that, your high honor.”
High Elder Chamberlain’s eyes narrowed. “Then sit and we will discuss whatever has brought you here.”
The two men had known one another since childhood and both had vied for the primary job as high elder. Their relationship was not the best but both strove to put aside personal dislikes of the other for the good of their people.
Elder Barrow waited until the high elder was seated before he took the other chair. He cleared his throat. “I will come straight to the matter,” he said. “I fear your daughter has acted impiously.”
High Elder Chamberlain arched a thick, brown brow. “Which of my daughters? I have five.”
“Rachel,” Elder Barrow said in a tone that suggested his high honor should have known which one.
The high elder exhaled a long, annoyed breath. “What has she done?”
“She touched the Reaper in an inappropriate way.”
“I know she bathed him.”
“This was later,” Elder Barrow stated. “When they were alone.”
“Touched him where?”
“Upon his vitals.”
Shock widened the gaze of the high elder. “You know this for truth?”
“The Reaper himself said as much though it seems he places the blame for the wickedness at his own door.”
For a long moment, the high elder said nothing then his face turned as hard as flint. “Daphne!” he bellowed, his hands gripping the arms of the chair in which he sat.
The maid hurried in. Her hands were clasped together, the fingers twisting around and around one another. It was obvious from the fear stamped on her face she thought she was about to be charged with some misdeed.
“Fetch Rachel,” the high elder snapped, not bothering to look at the maid.
Elder Barrow could not stop the smile that pulled at his thin lips as the girl practically ran from the receiving chamber. He looked to the high elder. “I thought you should know.”
“You did as was expected,” High Elder Chamberlain growled.
It was only a matter of minutes before Rachel appeared, her lower lip tucked between her teeth. As soon as she saw Elder Barrow, her face paled and she began to tremble.
“Come here, girl!” her father ordered.
Rachel came forward like the condemned walking to an execution. Her teeth were chattering and her breathing short and shallow.
High Elder Chamberlain barely glanced at her before turning his attention to the leaping flames. “I am told you touched the Reaper in an ungodly way. Is this true?”
Rachel whimpered. Tears flooded her eyes. “Aye, your high honor,” she answered.
The high elder stiffened. “Did he bid you put your hand upon his vitals or did you do so of your own wickedness?”
Rachel was shivering so violently, she could barely get the words out. “I…I do not know what c-came over me,” she managed to stutter.
“A handsome face and well-formed body!” her father hissed. He slowly swiveled his head toward her, casting her a look of disgust. “Did he pierce your maidenhead?”
“No,” Rachel cried.
“Did he touch you there?”
She could not form the word and merely nodded, her face a deep infusion of red, tears streaking down her cheeks.
High Elder Chamberlain switched his attention from his daughter’s shameful countenance to Elder Barrow. “Thank you, Elder Barrow, for informing me of the wicked conduct of this woman. I will handle it from here.”
Elder Barrow got to his feet, knowing he was being dismissed. He cast a revolted look at Rachel, bowed to the high elder then took his leave.
For ten minutes the high elder said nothing more to his daughter. When he slowly got to his feet, she moved back, cringing before the look of revulsion on his face. He said nothing to her. He lifted one hand and pointed a rigid finger toward a door beside the stairs.
Rachel whimpered, unable to keep from doing so, and began walking toward the door.
* * * * *
Glyn injected the second vac-syringe of pairilis into Owen’s neck. “That should do it,” he told Owen. “How’s the head?”
The pain had begun to diminish with the first injection. With the second one, the last of the debilitating pounding slowly faded. The nausea had already left him and thanks to an additional injection of pledax—a very strong antibiotic—the fever, itching and burning were gone. Owen was on his way to recovery.
“I feel pretty good,” Owen replied. “I’m hungry as hell though.”
“For solid food or Sustenance?” Iden asked.
“Both.”
“That’s a good sign,” Glyn declared. He unbuttoned his left sleeve, rolled it up and then held out his wrist. “Here, take whatcha need.”
Owen grinned. “You sure?”
“Reaper blood will go a long way in helping you get over the tenerse poisoning,” Glyn said. “Just don’t make it a habit.”
Owen understood the warning. He had overstepped his boundaries by abusing the drug, no matter the reason he had for doing so. He also knew nothing else would ever be said by the two men there in the room with him nor would they like it if he gave them his thanks. They saw it as their duty. He bent his head over Glyn’s extended arm and sank his fangs into the other Reaper’s flesh.
Glyn waited patiently for Owen to take what he needed then stepped aside as Iden offered his own arm to Owen. Rolling his sleeve back down and re-buttoning the cuff, Glyn took a seat in a ladder-back chair and leaned back, the front legs of the chair off the uncarpeted floor. “Everything’s all right now b
etween Bev and Lea,” he commented. “Took some doing but things are back to normal.”
“Aye, Bev’s as stupid as he ever was,” Iden agreed, and laughed when Owen chuckled as he drank Iden’s offering.
When Owen was finished, he glanced over at Glyn. “Did they find out who killed Lea?”
“I think you know the answer to that,” Glyn replied. “The same one who’s always interfering in our lives.”
A light flickered quickly through Owen’s golden eyes. “Morrigunia,” he breathed.
“Who else?” Iden snorted.
“I should have known,” Owen mumbled, “I wasn’t losing my mind after all.”
“That’s debatable,” Iden said with a smirk.
“Care to tell us who this Rachel is?” Glyn inquired. His fingers were threaded together over his rock-hard abdomen as he lounged in the tipped-back chair.
“Where did you hear that?” Owen asked, surprised.
“You kept babbling while the first dose of pairilis was taking effect,” Glyn replied.
“What did I say?”
“Who the hell knows?” Glyn asked with a shrug. “I asked the older man about it and he said she wasn’t important. He stated she was your nurse.”
Owen thought about it for a moment. “I don’t want to talk about it right now. We need to start looking for the Drochtáirs.”
“Suit yourself,” Glyn said, though his look suggested he knew there was more between Owen and the unknown Rachel than his fellow Reaper was telling. “We brought along all the information the Shadowlords have on these things. It wasn’t much. We don’t have any idea what the Drochtáirs look like but the victims are another matter.”
“Basically, the victims of the Drochtáirs become rabid blood fiends,” Iden told Owen. “The victims in turn infect other victims, who infect other victims. It’s a gods-be-damned plague.”
“According to Lord Naois, they are green in coloring with…”
“Long white hair and wicked talons and sharply curved fangs,” Owen injected.
“Aye,” Glyn acknowledged. “They can only move from dusk to dawn and the only sure way to finish them off is with fire.”
“Then it was good the Communalists opted for my second choice in eliminating them rather than my first.” He gave Glyn a jaundiced look. “I guess lopping the heads off and driving a stake through their tickers wouldn’t have accomplished much.”
“It more than likely would have pissed them off but it wouldn’t have put them down,” Glyn agreed. “Burning is the only way.”
“Lord Kheelan doesn’t know how many Drochtáirs are up here and when he and the other Shadowlords tried to ferret them out, they got nothing. They’re here but finding them might not be as easy as finding a rogue.”
“I have the taste of one in my memory bank,” Owen said. “It was a vile taste, let me tell you.”
“That should make it a bit easier,” Glyn replied. “We’ll start looking first thing in the morning. I think you need a good night’s sleep without pain.”
“What did Lord Kheelan find out about the Communalists?” Owen asked.
Glyn set the front chair legs down on the floor and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Now that is an interesting subject,” he said. “Apparently they’ve been around since before the Burning War but kept mostly to themselves in communes high up in the North Country mountains. They are a patriarchal society with some pretty bizarre beliefs. They’re primarily into agriculture and dairy farming with the men folk doing all the work in those areas. Their women are thought of as nothing more than chattel. Arranged marriages are the norm with young girls of thirteen to fifteen being the prime candidate for what is called fraternal polyandry.”
“What the hell is that?” Owen asked.
“Wait ’til you hear this,” Iden prophesied.
“It’s one of the tenets of their religion,” Glyn explained. “Fraternal polyandry is where several brothers have the same wife at the same time, sharing her amongst themselves. The reason for this is so a family will retain title to land indefinitely within kin groups. With such an arrangement, any child born could be the heir of any of the brothers so there is no scrabbling over inheritances.”
“That’s sick,” Owen said.
“To us maybe, but the Communalists believe in sharing everything between them. One family grows corn, another wheat, still another beans. They share the bounty between them and everything—except the land itself—is distributed equally from within the Colony. To them a family’s land is sacrosanct.”
“They remind me of the Plain Folk over in Glyn’s Michinoh Territory,” Iden said. “They all wear shapeless, baggy clothing—the men dark blue, the women black. The men wear beards and the women aren’t allowed to cut their hair.”
“The difference between the Plain Folk and these guys are that women aren’t allowed to do much of anything except cater to the men. Whereas the Plain Folk respect their womenfolk, the Communalists regard them as possessions,” Glyn said. “The women can’t even speak to a man unless given direct permission to do so. They can’t do anything outside the home unless they are accompanied by a Sciath, a close male relative such as a father, brother or husband. They can’t be treated by healers.” He held up his hand when Owen would have interrupted. “They have what are called Mátrins to see to their medical needs. She is the matron of the village and is always a widow in good standing.”
“Tell him about the punishments,” Iden said.
“Although the Communalists are against violence and killing, if a woman is promiscuous, if she lays with a man not her legal husband, she will be taken before the entire Colony and put to death for her transgressions.”
“Put to death?” Owen repeated.
“They call it claghit gy baase,” Iden said.
“That’s a term from the old language,” Owen said, stunned. “It means…” His face paled.
“Stoned to death,” Glyn explained.
“And that isn’t the worst of it,” Iden stated. “They have something they call whaaley and it is just plain sick.”
Glyn shuddered. “Aye, that turned my stomach when I heard of it. I couldn’t imagine anyone would do such an atrocious thing but Lord Kheelan said it had been common in the Old Countries where the Darkmen lived for centuries before the Burning War.”
“What does it mean?” Owen asked, feeling a shiver go down his spine.
“It is a brutal punishment meted out to any woman who allows a man not her husband to take liberties with her person. It is a threefold penalty that begins with a flogging then a branding applied to her forehead that marks her with the letter W. You can guess what that stands for. The ordeal lasts over a period of three days beginning with the flogging and then the branding. The third day…”
“Merciful Alel, no!” Owen hissed. His heart was suddenly pounding in his chest. He tried to remember if he had said anything to Elder Barrow about what had happened between Rachel and him. His palms grew slick with sweat and he flung away the covers Iden had pulled over him.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Glyn snapped.
“I have to find Rachel!” Owen said, looking for his clothes.
Glyn exchanged a glance with Iden. “Why?”
“Where the fuck are my clothes?” Owen shouted. “I can’t fashion them yet.”
“Calm down before you have a stroke,” Iden said, bringing the black silk shirt and leather pants to Owen. “Why can’t you fashion them yet?”
“Too much tenerse in his system,” Glyn replied. “It fucks up the abilities.”
“They’d better not have touched her,” Owen growled, ripping the offending underwear from his hips.
“What did you do, Tohre?” Glyn asked, eyes narrowed.
“She was here,” Owen said as he dragged on his pants, irritated that they were loose on his flanks as he buttoned them. He had lost weight.
“They said Rachel was your nurse.”
“No, damn
it, Morrigunia!” Owen spat as he jerked on his shirt. “The gods be damn it, I know She was here and She was the one who made me do it.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and began pulling on his boot. “How could I have been so fucking stupid not to realize it?”
“Tell me you didn’t mate with the woman Rachel,” Glyn said.
“Hell no, I didn’t!” Owen said then paused in the act of tugging on his other boot. He bit down on his lower lip for a moment—drawing a bead of blood to the surface—then looked up at Glyn with complete misery in his amber eyes. “At least I don’t think I did. Wouldn’t I have known if I had?”
“Were you aware enough to have known?” Iden countered. He held Owen’s black hat with its silver conchos out to him.
“I didn’t,” Owen stated firmly. “I know I didn’t but I touched her and…” He winced. “By the gods, she touched me!” He sprang up from the bed, feeling a bit lightheaded for a moment. “If they have hurt her, I’ll slaughter every last one of them!” He pushed Iden aside and jerked open the door, slamming on his hat as he strode.
Iden’s eyes widened and he snapped his head toward Glyn. “Kullen?” he asked.
“I think he’s found his mate,” Glyn said, “and we’d better help him make sure she’s all right.”
Chapter Six
The men of the Colony were walking toward him as Owen and his fellow Reapers came out of the barracks. Night had fallen and the November air had turned frigid with a hint of snow hovering in the air. Since the Burning War, the weather would shift from uncomfortable heat during the day to freezing with the lowering of the sun. Wind skirled in the eaves and whipped the torches in the hands of the men.
It was High Elder Chamberlain who stepped away from the rest of the men. “There were three of them,” he said. “They attacked the Rutgers family and ravaged all eight of the clan, Elder Rutgers and his son Brother Thaddeus and their six females. Only one, their hired hand,” he turned to indicate a young man off to one side, “managed to escape.”
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