The last thing Tas saw before he fainted was Girik’s scowling face. When he opened his eyes again, the room was flooded with light from above and several frowning faces stood over him.
Brother Lijen was the first to crouch down. “Brother, are you all right?” Her worried frown was a stark contrast to the disapproving scowl on Brother Saldus’s face, so Tas focused his attention on her.
“The dagger beetle,” Tas rasped.
Brother Lijen waved at Elderman Servil. “Bring him some water.”
After a drink, Tas was able to sit a little more upright. “I’m sorry. The beetle got away from me and bit me instead of the Offering.”
“Where is it now?” Brother Saldus asked harshly as the elder and other brother scanned the chamber nervously.
“The Offering was able to get it back in the box with my instruction, before I lost consciousness. You’re safe,” Tas panted. His arm felt like it should have swollen to ten times its size, but a quick glance showed only a small red mark where he’d been bitten. The beauty of the beetle—pain with little to no actual damage done. “I fear the ritual will need to be cut short.”
Girik sat against a far wall, looking miserable. Tas had no way of knowing how much of that was an act, but Girik’s eyes were angry the one time Tas met his gaze.
Turning away from the man, Tas steeled himself to meet Brother Saldus’s scowl instead. Forcing the pain to recede to the background, Tas lifted his chin and said, “I believe, despite the interruption, that I have gleaned enough to charge Tasnerek sufficiently. We can end the ritual and release the Offering. He has more than fulfilled his duty.”
Sweat trickled down Tas’s back and sides. His face was covered in it as well, but he held his chin up and shoulders back as Brother Saldus’s eyes narrowed. Fortunately, Brother Saldus was not a member of the Thirty-Six. He had no way of knowing if Tas was lying.
Ostensibly, Tas was the ranking brother, but both Brother Lijen and the elder turned to Brother Saldus. The man’s scowl deepened, but he could not publicly dispute Tas’s words—not and be able to save face.
“We will call for the end of the ritual,” Brother Saldus begrudgingly agreed. “Elderman Servil, send for some stout men to help Brother Tasnerek and the Offering somewhere they may rest and recover, while Brother Lijen and I perform the closing hymn.”
It was just as well Tas barely had the energy to remain conscious. Hiding a smile with so many people watching would have been difficult.
THE NEXT time Tas woke, he was in his bed in Elderman Servil’s house. The elder’s wife had given him a sleeping draft so he would be unconscious through most of the pain. The dagger beetle’s venom cleared the body in a scant few hours, another feature that made it ideal for the ritual. His arm throbbed slightly as he pushed himself up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He rubbed it a little before he sighed and dropped his head back to look up at the ceiling.
Brother Saldus would be in soon to express his displeasure, and Tas had to prepare himself for the onslaught. He had to remain calm and confident. Nothing of what transpired that afternoon could show on his face. His brother’s suspicions would only be exacerbated by this newest failure, but Tas could still recover from it. Brother Saldus had no proof of any wrongdoing yet. He had nothing concrete he could bring before High Brother Vienas and the Inner Circle. Tas could still fix this and return to Blagos Keep.
But did he want to?
That was a stupid thought. What choice did he have? He either toed the line or he died. Heresy would not be countenanced. The abrupt end to the previous Brother Tasnerek’s journal entries gave witness to that. Even if Tas spread the word, released the secret, he wouldn’t survive the chaos he created. The Brotherhood would make sure of that. He couldn’t run. They would hunt him to the ends of the world to get Tasnerek back, and they’d have to kill him so the stone could bond with someone else.
Of course, all of this worrying might be moot after tomorrow. Tas hadn’t fully charged Tasnerek with what they’d done in the chamber, not even close. In time, he might have been able to figure it out, but he didn’t have that time. He had to go and face the Spawn at less than half his usual power.
Why bother worrying about what happens after, when there might very well not be an after?
There was a light tap on the door before it opened a crack. The timid young woman who’d shown them their rooms yesterday peeked through the gap. When she saw him sitting up, her eyes widened.
“Oh, your pardon, sir—I mean Brother. I were told to check on you.”
He gave the girl a gentle smile and nodded. “You can tell them I’m awake.”
She bobbed her head before bustling into the room and placing a fresh pitcher of water on the dresser opposite the bed. “Thank you, Brother. I’ll tell ’em.”
She bobbed a curtsy and hurried out of the room, closing the door behind her.
With a sigh, Tas got to his feet and prepared to wash himself. Brother Saldus would be there as soon as his spindly legs could carry him. Tas had to be as prepared to face the man’s ire as he could manage, and that meant getting dressed in his robes despite the exhaustion dragging at his heels.
Chapter Eight
GIRIK’S FIRST thought on leaving the ritual chamber was of his mama and how worried she must be. But despite every fiber of his being urging him to go to her, he let the villagers half carry him to Elderwoman Brail’s house. She served as a sort of village wise woman with her knowledge of herbs and poultices and had always been a great help to his mama during her sickness. The elderwoman treated the cuts on his arms and then tried to get him to remove his ritual robe, but he refused.
“I’m all right, Elderwoman. The ritual was cut short. And besides, this brother knew what he was doing. He did very little real damage. I’ll be sore for a while, but no cuts beyond these, and he didn’t break anything.”
She twisted her lips into a moue of distaste. She’d been there to help put him back together after the last time he’d been an Offering. “I’m glad this one were gentler on you.” She lowered her voice to a whisper and glanced nervously about her. “I always said what that other’n did weren’t right.”
He gave her a tired smile. “Thank you. This one was much better. I just need a little while to rest, and then I can make it home on my own for a proper lie-in.”
When she nodded, he feigned an exhausted sigh and stretched out on the cot they’d brought him to. “Will you send someone to tell my mama I’m fine? Who knows what village gossip will have told her, and I don’t want her to worry.”
“O’ course, lad. I’ll see t’ it.”
“Thank you.”
Girik wasn’t tired at all. If anything, he felt like he could run a mile. He wanted to pace the room to work off some of his anxiety and excess energy, but he forced himself to remain in the cot in case anyone decided to check on him. The next couple of hours would be hard, but he had to keep up appearances. If Tas was to be believed, the well-being of the entire village depended on the Brotherhood not suspecting anything was amiss.
Tas was a high-strung one for sure. He might be exaggerating the danger. But Girik had heard the evil rumors about the Brotherhood his whole life, like everyone else. People whispered of children taken who were never seen again. They whispered of dissenters vanishing from their beds at night. It was said even the king himself was afraid to speak openly against the Brotherhood. Still, Girik had never heard of an entire village disappearing.
Better to be safe than sorry, though.
So he stayed in the cot, staring up at the ceiling, counting the seconds as they ticked past.
He pretended to be asleep the first time Elderwoman Brail checked on him, but by the second time, he couldn’t take it anymore and called to her as soon as she opened the door.
“Oh good. Feeling better?”
“I think so,” he replied with a hint of feigned weakness. “Did someone speak to my mama?”
“Aye. She was glad to know you�
�re all right.”
Girik itched to go to her, but decided against it. Too many people would see him, and he wasn’t confident enough in his acting skills to take the chance. “I think I’m strong enough to go home now. Bayor will be missing me. Hopefully, after a bit more rest, I’ll go to see her and ease any fears she might have.”
“Are you sure? Should I get someone to go with you?” she asked, her brows knit with concern.
“I’ll be fine. I’ll go slow. It’s not that far a walk. And, like I said, he kept the damage to a minimum, just a few bruises and scrapes, nothing a little more rest won’t cure.”
“If you say so. Come back if anything starts hurting you, though.”
“Aye. I will. And thank you.” He gave the elderwoman a nod and slowly made his way out the door, feigning stiffness and a bit of a limp.
When he reached the edge of the village, he wanted very badly to break into a run, but he kept to his ponderous pace, feeling eyes on him from every direction. Like last time, he’d be big news in the village for a while. He’d been in bed with a fever, so his mother had told him he’d missed most of it, though what he had experienced had been bad enough. He wouldn’t have that luxury this time. How long would he have to feign injuries he didn’t have? How long was long enough?
Finally, back at his cabin, he accepted Bayor’s jubilant welcome with joy and relief of his own. Inside, with the curtains drawn, he couldn’t feel the eyes on him anymore, and he could finally relax. He tore off the hated ritual robe and tossed it in a corner.
“I’m all right, boy. Calm down.” He scratched behind Bayor’s ears and took his first free breath in hours.
A quick glance around the cabin showed surprisingly little damage for the hound being cooped up all day. He let Bayor out to do his business and the dog bounded away. After a few minutes, when Girik didn’t join him, Bayor trotted back to the door looking confused.
“Sorry, boy. Much as I would like to, I can’t take you out for a run or a hunt today.”
Girik didn’t like being trapped inside any more than his dog did, but he’d have to sacrifice this once. And with the Spawn still on the loose, he couldn’t let his best friend go roaming too far on his own.
“We’re both stuck for now.”
Inside, he made stew for them. Afterward, he gave Bayor an antler to gnaw on, and then he settled into a chair by the fire to think. Too much had happened in one day for him to make sense of it all, and his head was swirling with disconnected thoughts.
Before the ritual, he hadn’t thought much beyond it. He wasn’t sure he would have much beyond it. The last one had almost killed him, and the brothers never made any guarantees. Now, not only was he alive, but still in perfect health. He didn’t have to account for weeks or even days of recovery. He could add the supplies he’d set aside for this occasion to his winter stores so he’d have that much less to worry about.
“What am I going to do with myself?”
Bayor raised his head, but when Girik didn’t do anything interesting, he went back to decimating the antler he’d been given.
An image of Tas, his cheeks flushed, his eyes wide and hot but uncertain, popped into Girik’s head and he shifted in his seat. The man was beautiful, and if the erection Girik had felt poking his backside at the end there was to be believed, he also wasn’t completely disinterested. Of course, that knowledge was utterly useless. After tomorrow, Girik probably would never see him again. He now had fantasy material to last him for a while on cold winter nights, but not much else.
Staring into the fire, with Bayor making happy crunching sounds at his feet, another image of Tas’s face popped into Girik’s head, and this one was much less pleasant. In it, Tas’s face was no longer flushed with embarrassment and passion, but pinched with worry and resignation.
Had what they’d done really been enough? Since it was something new, would Tas even know? He’d said he did, but was he telling the truth?
Girik had been angry with Tas for not warning him about his plan with the beetle. The man had deliberately withheld that information until it was too late for Girik to stop him. Girik had never been bitten by one, but even as far north as Comun, he’d heard of the infamous dagger beetle. Now Girik wondered what else the brother hadn’t shared.
As the sun slipped lower and lower in the sky, Girik sat in his chair and pondered. He went through each bit of information he’d learned, piece by piece, and tried to put some order to it. He poked and prodded at his feelings like a sore tooth, trying to make sense of them too. Bayor grumbled at the inactivity from time to time but eventually started snoring, and still Girik sat and thought, tossing a log into the fire whenever it threatened to die out.
When the only light in the room came from the hearth, he finally sighed, stretched stiff muscles, and rose to light the lamp. Bayor popped right up and wagged his tail hopefully, and Girik smiled. He let the dog outside and went back to the hearth to get dressed. Now that it was finally dark and he’d had time to make up his mind, he had things to do.
After a quick wipe down in the icy water from the bucket he kept by the hearth, Girik pulled his freshly cleaned clothes off the line and put them on. His boots came next, and after a quick comb of his hair, he was as ready as he’d ever be.
He whistled, and Bayor came bounding out of the woods. “Come on. Let’s go.”
He thought about jogging the distance back to the village, now that it was too dark to be seen, but decided against it. He didn’t want to get sweaty. Bayor did the running for both of them, trotting ahead, then circling back, happy to be free of the confines of the cabin.
Elderwoman Shaum’s eyes went wide when she opened the door. “Girik, I thought you’d be resting.”
“Elderwoman Brail took good care of me, and I slept all afternoon. But I couldn’t go to bed for the night without making sure Mama didn’t worry.”
“Of course. Such a good lad you are. My Ralf told me they had to cut the ritual short.”
Girik’s lips twitched. He wouldn’t be surprised if everyone from three villages over knew by now. “Yes. The brother’s dagger beetle got away from him and bit him instead.”
She worried her lower lip. “That’s what I heard. But nobody’s said a thing ’bout cancelin’ the Hunt tomorrow. My Ralf and Thane been told t’ stand ready. Makes me a bit nervous, though, sending my precious boys out when everythin’ hasn’t gone to plan, especially with so young a brother… no matter what the stories I’ve heard of this one’s deeds.”
Girik moved slowly and stiffly up the stairs while she chatted behind him. At the top, he turned and gave her a reassuring smile. “The brother has done this many times. He knows what he’s doing.”
I hope.
She seemed to remember herself as she shrank back a little. “Oh, o’ course. I should never dare say any o’ the Thirty-Six weren’t up to the job. I worry for my boys, as any mother would, is all.”
She glanced behind her and back up at him nervously, and Girik had to fight off a frown. Even in their own homes, talking to people they’d known all their lives, Rassans were terrified to say a single word against the Brotherhood. It just wasn’t right that they should have so much power.
“Of course, Elderwoman. No one could blame you for wanting your family safe and happy.”
Her expression was relieved as she nodded and bustled away, leaving him to enter his mama’s room alone. She seemed even smaller than the last time he’d seen her. The narrow bed and generous blankets engulfed her frail body, leaving only her head and shoulders visible.
The Shaums were taking good care of her. The coal brazier in the corner was full and the air uncomfortably warm. An iron kettle steamed on top of it, filling the air with the scent of medicinal herbs and adding to the uncomfortable closeness of the room. A pitcher of water sat on a small table next to the bed, along with bread and cheese in case his mama wanted it before the next time someone came to check on her, and a brass bell sat next to it if she needed to summon
someone. All of the little thoughtful touches made Girik smile even as his heart squeezed at how frail she looked. This was more than he could have ever managed on his own—not and still be able to feed the both of them.
“Mama?” he murmured, reluctant to disturb her rest.
“Giri,” she sighed, opening her eyes.
“I’m here. How are you feeling?”
She smiled and reached for him. “The day you’ve had and you still worry about me. What did I ever do to deserve so good a son?”
He knelt by the bed, took her hand, and pressed the cool little fingers to his cheek. At her unspoken request, he slid an arm under her shoulders and helped her sit up in bed.
“I’m more worried about you,” she continued when he’d gotten her settled on a pile of pillows.
“I’m all right, Mama. I told Elderwoman Brail to send word.”
“She did, but I wanted to see it for myself. After last time, I—” Her face clouded and her lower lip trembled. Girik took her hands.
“Last time wasn’t your fault and neither was this. I can be very stubborn when I want to be.”
“I would have loved you just the same, with or without the mark,” she murmured, tracing the design on his wrist with a delicate, bony finger. “You’re my everything, the best and greatest thing I’ve ever done.”
They’d had this conversation too many times to count over the years. Girik’s first experience as an Offering had traumatized them both, and he’d have to carry that guilt with him probably even into the Beyond when his time came. He hadn’t wanted to put her through it again, but just looking around him at the small, warm little room told him he’d made the right choice. She was doing so much better. She was still obviously weak, but she hadn’t started coughing once since he’d woken her.
“Don’t fret, Mama. I’m sorry for making you worry like that again, but as you can see, I’m fine.”
The Priest Page 7