The Staff and the Blade

by Elizabeth Hunter

  Tala halted on the stairs. “The hallway.”

  Damien nodded toward a young brother who took one of the lit tapers to make his way down the hall. Slowly, a long wood-paneled passage was revealed. Leaving two of his men to guard the entry, he took Tala’s arm.

  “Are you getting anything?”

  “Yes. And no. There is a feeling at the back of my mind, but nothing has become clear yet. There are so many echoes… I’m blocking everything but my vision pathways, but your voices are shouting at me.” She gave him a wry smile. “Someone is losing patience.”

  “I am at your service, Seer. Take your time.”

  “Liar. You’re dying to fight.”

  Damien knew he was not an ideal companion for mystical pursuits. He liked hard targets and clear plans. If Tala weren’t his sister, he probably would have refused to work with her despite her rank in the Irina hierarchy. It made strategic sense to take her into this situation—confronting the subject of her vision could trigger some insight into it—but at the moment, he just wanted her curiosity satisfied so he could leave and hunt Grigori.

  “There!”

  Tala lurched forward, but Damien held her back. “What is it?”

  “There. On the ground.”

  Damien nodded at the young scribe, but Tala said, “Don’t touch it!”

  There was a room at the end of the hall, glowing as if lit from within. As Damien entered, he saw that glass had been built into the ceiling, allowing the full moon to shine through.

  When he first glanced down, he thought it was a body. It wasn’t. Someone had laid out an intricate feminine dress—stockings, jacket, and all. Even the shoes and bonnet were placed in neat order.

  “I don’t understand,” he said. “Women’s clothes?”

  Tala reached out and touched a ribbon on the bonnet. Her face was blank. “My clothes.”

  Damien and his man exchanged a look. The young scribe drew his dagger and walked down the hall.

  “Tala, explain.”

  She knelt down. “These are mine. It was a present from Gabriel. He had the dress made for me when I became pregnant. I teased him because it was so beautiful, but I wouldn’t be able to wear it when I grew heavy with child.”

  “I’ve never seen it.”

  “No, of course not,” she murmured, rubbing the ribbon between her fingers. “It’s a town dress, but I didn’t want to leave it here. I keep it at the retreat.”

  Icy fear clawed his heart. “You keep it at the village?”

  “They’ve been in the village.” Tala looked up. “They’ve been in my house.” Her gaze drifted past him, down the hall where Damien’s soldier had taken position. Her eyes lost focus. “How clever. Of course I would come.”

  “Tala?”

  “Someone would have fetched me, but I came myself.”

  A low warning churned in his gut. “Tala, we need to leave. Now!”

  “We can’t.” Tala’s eyes widened. “They’re here.”

  Damien turned, realization mixing with horror as he heard scuffling in the walls. Something far bigger than rats.

  Every night. I hear his voice crying out every night.

  Panels slid away or were kicked through as Grigori burst from hidden passages. They flooded the room, surrounding Tala before she could lift her voice. Before Damien could reach her.

  He reached for his blade a second before a Grigori bent over and sliced Tala’s throat. Blood splashed over the flower-strewn silk lying on the floor. Her mouth fell open, but no sound would ever come again.

  “NO!”

  ※

  Sari woke in a pool of vomit and blood. Her eyes were crusted shut. Her body was in agony. But she was alive. She felt every bruise. Every cut. Felt the wetness of blood leaking between her thighs.

  Do not think of it.

  She tried to open her eyes, but a trembling hand reached out and held a wet cloth to her face.

  She rolled over, swinging out her arms to defend herself.

  “Sister, wait.” It was a young voice. Whispering. Male. “P-please.”

  “Who…?”

  “I killed them when they were beating you.” A hiccuping sob. “I aimed for their necks and they dissolved. One was almost dead from your magic.”

  “Are they gone? Who are you?”

  Another cry. “I’m so sorry I hid. I didn’t know what to do.”

  She reached out and felt for his hand. Felt for anything. Her body screamed, but the urge to comfort the child was innate. “You killed them and saved my life. What is your name?”

  “Bassel.” One of the Syrian boys.

  “You did well, Bassel.” Her bruised hand closed around the wet cloth, and she brought it to her eyes to soak the crust of blood that covered them. “They are gone?”

  “I think so.”

  Silence lay over Sari like a leaden blanket. There were no cries of pain or wails from scared children. When she finally cleared her eyes, she could see that Bassel had dragged her over to a corner of the meeting hall and turned tables and benches to surround them in a feeble barrier. Damien’s blood-crusted blade lay at the boy’s side. Her dress was soaked in scarlet, and Sari knew the tiny life inside her had been extinguished. A keening sorrow threatened to overwhelm her, but she forced it back and focused on the child who lived.

  “Have you heard anything?” she asked him. “Anyone else?”

  Bassel shook his head.

  “I want you to find a lamp and light it.” Sari struggled to her feet and reached for the heavy sword. “We must check the houses.”

  He nodded, his own face covered with blood and his lower lip red and weeping where he had bitten it.

  They cautiously made their way out the side door and crept around the back of the meeting house. The first cottage they checked held nothing.

  “Maybe they all ran into the woods,” Bassel said hopefully.

  “Maybe.” She didn’t tell him of the dust she’d seen rising in the setting sun. Didn’t tell him of the bodies that had dissolved before she could rescue them. Sari limped to the next house where an empty set of clothing lay bloody on the ground. She flashed back to another set of clothing.

  Terese’s clothing.

  Abra—

  Do not think of it.

  The pain was a blade in her chest, but she kept moving forward.

  The minute she let herself bleed, the wound would be unceasing.

  More houses. More empty clothes. Small pants and dresses pointing toward the woods where the children had tried to run.

  There was nothing but empty dresses at Bassel’s house where his sisters and mother had fled. She left the boy sobbing in the ruins of his home and started for the bathhouse at the center of the village. Bloody linen robes lay kicked in the dust in front of it. The door was cracked open and steam escaped into the moonlit night.

  Someone had stoked the fire.

  Sari held the lantern up and walked forward. The screaming had already started in her mind, but she wouldn’t let it escape. If she let it out, she would scream forever.

  She limped up the stairs and pushed the door all the way open. It swung smoothly, lovingly maintained by the old scribes who tended the library and fed the ritual fire. More steam escaped, clearing the room, and Sari raised the lantern in the red-gold mist.

  Tiny piles of clothes lined the walls where the children had sought refuge behind the benches. Dripping blood sprayed the room. Scarlet-stained dresses and caps lay in front of the benches. Other robes, crumpled and piled near the door.

  At the end of the room, slumped next to the ritual fire, was the old scribe who had stood in the meeting hall. His guts spilled out of his robes and his hands were drenched in blood as he tried to hold his innards in his own body.

  His eyes were glazed over, but he turned toward the sound of her gasp. “Sister?”

  The feral moan rose from her throat when Sari knelt in front of him, placing the lantern on an empty bench. She felt her body rocking back and forth.
>
  Do not think of it. Do not think of it. Do not—

  “The fire still burns,” the old scribe muttered. “It still burns…”

  Hoarse sobs worked their way up Sari’s throat and took hold of her body. Wretched cries crawled up her throat and escaped before she could shove them back.

  “Sister…?” For a moment the scribe blinked and his eyes cleared. He met Sari’s agonized gaze before his eyes fell on a small red-stained cap lying near his hand. His wrinkled fingers reached out and rested on the bloody fabric.

  “Release me,” he whispered. “Let me join them.” He let go with the hand at his belly, and his intestines spilled onto his linen robes. He took the ritual knife at his waist and handed it to Sari, his eyes pleading. “Release me.”

  He let his neck fall forward. Sari took the blade and placed the point at the base of his spine. She hesitated.

  “Thank you, sister,” he whispered.

  She pushed the dagger in, and his dust rose like the steam filling the room.

  Sari fell to the ground and screamed until the blackness took her.

  ※

  “TALA!” Damien roared and lunged toward his sister, but it was too late.

  A Grigori grabbed Tala’s golden hair and pulled her to her feet, a river of blood coursing down her breast. He plunged a silver dagger into the back of her neck before Damien could reach her. Tala’s blue eyes went wide with sorrow and confusion as her face shimmered gold. Damien reached out, but all he felt was dust. She rose before his eyes, swirling in the moonlit room as her clothes fell empty to the floor. He felt the punch of pain in his own chest.

  No.

  He reached out, grabbed the Grigori who had killed his sister, and dug his fingers into its throat.

  No!

  Rage took him. He gripped the monster’s neck and twisted, snapping the creature’s neck before it fell to the ground. Damien spun and drew the black blade from his waist, throwing himself into the mass of Grigori as he called on the ancient magic that flowed in his veins.

  Ours is the blood.

  Ours is the bone.

  Ours is the vengeance of heaven.

  Old rage rose up, an armor as familiar as the talesm that covered him. The Grigori continued to attack, unaware of the beast they had roused. Damien moved as one with his sword, grabbing and embracing his enemies, not waiting for them to attack. A single cut from his black blade was enough to fell them, poisoning their blood and causing them to fall to the ground in writhing agony.

  The warrior held the blade of heaven close, grabbing each Grigori and sliding the knife into their guts. Their necks. The sweet, soft ease of flesh under their ribs. A few were wiser than their brethren. They lurked in the corners of the room, waiting for Damien to tire.

  He did not tire.

  Damien sliced through them, his talesm a glowing shield as his body moved on instinct. He would cut down every monster in the room.

  Kill them all.

  Never stop.

  If he stopped, the pain would start.

  Damien felt their blades pierce his skin, but he did not halt. A slice on his shoulder. A near miss at his neck. Both his legs were bloodied by the mass of attackers. His world narrowed to the glint of eyes and the flashing sneer of his enemies. They blinked out, one by one. He heard a rush of feathers over his head.

  Kill another.

  And another.

  Until all he heard was silence.

  “Damien!”

  A voice rose outside the house.

  “Watcher!”

  He shook his head, trying to clear the bloodlust, and realized there was nothing left to kill. He was standing in a pile of dust; the air was thick with it. The walls were ashen grey and spattered red. Two of his soldiers stood at his side, arms hanging loosely, blood and tears in their eyes. Their brothers’ dust rose with the Grigori they’d slain.

  Damien fell to his knees, digging for his sister’s clothes. Tears pouring down his face, he lifted them and pressed them to his chest as the truth of Tala’s vision finally became clear.

  “Every night.”

  Gabriel’s voice at the entry hall.

  “Watcher?” he shouted.

  “I hear his voice crying out every night.”

  Damien’s eyes rose to see his brother stumbling down the hall, pale and trembling, held by two other scribes.

  “Where is she, Watcher?”

  “Tala.” Damien breathed out her name like a prayer. “I didn’t see.”

  I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

  Gabriel roared. “Damien, where is my mate?”

  He spotted Tala’s bloody clothes clutched to Damien’s chest.

  Agonized screams rent the air.

  “TALA, NO!”

  CHAPTER NINE

  SHE didn’t speak because there was nothing to say.

  Sari woke in her bed at the scribe house. As soon as she opened her eyes, the brothers tending her called for Damien.

  When he came, she closed her eyes and turned away.

  If she looked at him, her heart would force itself to beat again.

  If her heart beat again, the pain would return.

  ※

  “Sari? Sister?”

  Kind hands tended her, but she refused to acknowledge them. From listening, she knew that not everyone was dead. Some of the young singers had fled to the forest and escaped, taking as many of the children as they could and leaving the old ones behind. They had hidden in caves until the scribes from the Paris house had come to find them.

  A few had survived.

  Most had not.

  Of the fifty families that had lived in the village, ten women, five young men, and three children were all that survived. Everyone else had been slaughtered by the Grigori who had snuck out of Paris after laying a careful trap for the hunters there.

  Abra was dead.

  Farrin was dead. He’d died in his sleep, his body giving up soon after his mate had been killed.

  Tala was dead.

  Her baby was dead.

  Her child was gone.

  Sari closed her eyes and let sleep take her.

  In her dreams, he was there. He held her silently while she wept until the mist fell over them and the day came again.

  ※

  Gabriel returned a month later to collect his and Tala’s possessions. He found Sari in the library. His eyes were dead with repressed pain that matched her own.

  “He won’t come,” Sari said when Gabriel glanced at the door. “I told him to leave the house while you’re here.”

  “You think I would try to hurt him.”

  “I know you would.”

  Gabriel sat next to her, silent for long minutes.

  “Reports are coming in from all over the world. It happened everywhere, Sari. Everywhere.”

  “How?”

  “Just like it did here, I think. Draw the attention of the scribes in the city. Attack the retreats while attention was diverted. We thought the attack in Belgium was a fluke. It wasn’t. They’ve planned this for years. Almost all the seers…”

  Sari closed her eyes. “Did they find the retreat outside London?”

  “Yes.”

  Do not think of it.

  “Oslo?”

  “Yes.”

  “Vienna?”

  “Even Vienna.”

  “My grandmother?”

  “I don’t know. Everything is confusion right now. People are disappearing all over the world, and no one knows if they are alive and hiding or dead.”

  Sari stared into the fire. Sitting near it was the only time she felt warm.

  The fire still burns. Still burns…

  The old scribe’s dust still coated her skin no matter how many hours she scalded her body in the bath.

  “How many?” she asked.

  Gabriel’s voice was barely a whisper. “How are we to know?”

  Sari didn’t look at him. If she did, she might start feeling again. “Where will you go?”

&
nbsp; “Vienna. I want answers.”

  Sari’s heart clutched in her chest. “Gabriel, I need you to take me away from here.”

  He looked at her long and hard. “I hate him, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “He should never have taken her there. Never. We were in battle, and she was untrained.”

  “I know.”

  “She never stood a chance against so many.”

  “Gabriel, I know.”

  “I hate him for lying to me.”

  Some days Sari thought she might hate him as well.

  Gabriel continued. “But you should not leave him.”

  “I cannot be here anymore.” Sari shook her head. “I cannot even look at him.”

  “If Tala were alive, I would hate her too. For putting herself in harm’s way. For lying to me.”

  “You have a right to be angry.”

  “But I would never…” His voice choked. “Never leave her. Especially not right now.”

  “If I stay, I will do something unforgivable.” She closed her eyes so the tears wouldn’t escape. “I don’t know who or what to trust anymore. I need you to take me away from here. Hide me. Hide the girls who are left. I know you can.”

  “He will find you. You know he will find you, Sari.”

  “I know he can. I am hoping he will not.”

  Gabriel waited for a long time, staring into the fire as he sat next to her.

  Finally he reached out and took her hand. “Where do you want to go?”

  EPILOGUE

  PARIS, 1811

  I cannot stay here. I cannot see you. I have lost everything—

  “You haven’t lost me!” Damien stood and threw another book against the wall of their room, but he didn’t throw the letter. He’d read it so many times it was creased with dust and tears. He folded it carefully and put it back in Sari’s copy of Adelina’s Songs. The same place he had found it months ago after she had disappeared with Gabriel, a few warriors, and the surviving women and children from the village.