Chapter VI. Fourth Dawn #2
“‘I did as he bid, cutting down a fresh-faced boy in Durand red and snatching up the chest of our holy texts.
Slinging it onto my shoulder, I hacked my way through the crowd, Percival beside me, desperate and afeared.
Commonfolk scattered, soldiers charged, Wulfric holding off the flood of brave men now rushing at our backs.
“‘I heard screams, bodies falling, prayers to God.
Turning, I saw my master surrounded, the cobbles drenched red.
He stood like a black angel, silhouetted in torchlight, all his terrible wrath unveiled.
But among the soldiers now, I saw a young parish priest dressed only in his nightshirt, holding aloft a weapon more fearsome than any flame.
“‘A wheel of burning silver.
“‘My master was as faithful a servant of the Lord as I had known.
An elder of the Esana, drenched in centuries, survivor of the greatest calamity our faith ever suffered.
But in the face of that symbol of the God who had damned us, he was as helpless as a fledgling, staggering back with one arm over his eyes.
“‘Back to the pit, devil! the priest cried. The Lord is my shield, unbreakable!
“‘Fire fell then; a rain of burning arrows from a cadre of archers, new arrived in the chaos. And though my master was a creature who danced between the sands of the hourglass, he was blinded by that wheel in the priest’s hands.
Three arrows struck; two into Wulfric, one into Aleks, clutched still in his arms. And as those arrows hit home, that fire took hold, like a spark to kindling starved by long-lost days of summer.
“‘Wulfric roared, his coat catching fire, his hair with it. He might’ve fled then, bursting into his flight of moths and winging his way to safety.
Yet he refused to abandon Aleks to that mob.
Instead he lashed out, blinded yet trying to carve a path away from all that silver and fire, Aleks screaming in his arms.
“I skidded to a halt, roaring, Percy, we must save them!
“‘Master told us to run!
“‘We can’t abandon them!
“Percival looked back, Wulfric’s promise of punishment hanging in the air.
“‘I’ll not burn for anyone!
“‘With a curse, Percival ran on, hurling aside his burdens so his little legs might carry him the swifter. But despite my fear of those earthly flames, the fires of hell awaiting, I started hacking my way back toward my master’s side.
“‘His cloak and hair were ablaze now, but still he refused to abandon Aleks. I threw myself into those men, fighting as Wulfric had taught, awash in soldiers and silver and hurling my chest of scriptures like a spear. It struck the priest, knocking him back, that burning wheel flying from his hand. And at Wulfric’s side, we cut a bloody swath across the cobbles, away from the priory and down the Rue des Saints.
I heard Percival screaming for help, cornered by more soldiers with torches, his little body now ablaze.
He spun as he burned, arms flailing, voice cracking, but my thoughts were only for Aleks and my master.
“‘I could smell Wulfric burning as we ran, sizzling meat and charring hair, finally reaching the fountain of San Antoine. And into those waters Wulfric plunged himself and Aleks both, steam hissing and smoke rising as those awful fires were finally extinguished.
“‘He surfaced with a gasp; no more the dark beauty, but a scorched ruin. Yet the one he’d carried in his arms, the one he’d fought so hard to save—poor, sweet Aleks—was little more than a charred skeleton, crumbling in Wulfric’s grip even as he held her tighter.
In desperation, he bit down upon the wreckage of her throat, seeking a vein; some way he might drink down the last drop of her and carry her soul until the day of judging.
But I could see the futility in it, my cheeks wet with tears as I whispered.
“‘She’s gone, Master.
“‘No, he hissed, ruined lips peeling back from his teeth. No, she—
“‘Cries rang down the way, soldiers yet in pursuit, that priest in his bloody nightshirt at the fore. I grabbed Wulfric’s arm as burning arrows started to fall.
“‘We must be gone too, lest we join her in damnation!
“‘He was wounded. Terribly, awfully burned, and well I knew the agony he suffered—both for himself and the one we’d lost. But still he shook his head.
“‘Ye did not abandon me, Celene. I shall not—
“‘I can make my own way! Now get gone before you and all those you carry are lost to the pit with Aleks!
“‘His face twisted, eyes falling on those oncoming soldiers, that damned priest.
“‘… There be a ruin in the Orhomme. One night west of here.
“‘I will find you.
“‘Thy loyalty will be r-remembered. Rewarded. He touched my cheek then, dark eyes shining. Thou art ready, Celene. For the final m-mystery of our faith.
“‘Go, I whispered, weeping. For the love of God.
“‘The soldiers were close, arrows falling, priest roaring.
And with the sound of tearing cloth, the scent of burned blood, Wulfric burst apart, a hundred moths now fluttering up into black night skies.
The soldiers cried out in horror and wonder, the priest bellowed the name of God.
But I was running then, off through frozen streets, away from those hungry flames, those righteous men who sought to burn the monsters from their midst. Down Rue des Saints, through the Quartier des Théatres and the red-light district, and finally to the western walls.
“‘But I didn’t throw myself over.
“‘Instead, I looked back toward Rue de la Montagne, to the estate of Baron Durand.
“‘I could still hear Laurent’s declaration of love in my mind.
“‘My own promise to return.
“‘And I turned my back on escape.
“‘Instead, I stole through the night, a shadow within shadows darker. The streets were flooded with soldiers, torches lighting the night near bright as day. And so I made my way back to the sight of my first murder in the name of God—the house of good Père Beaufoy. The estate had been taken over by his replacement, perhaps the very same priest who’d near destroyed my master that night.
But that little cemetery behind the house was still there, yet forgotten and overgrown.
“‘Silent as smoke, I stole into the crypt, lying among the bones and dust. And there in the dark I waited.
“‘Listened.
“‘Prayed.
“‘Three nights and days.
“‘I grieved in that darkness. For poor Aleks. Even little Percival. Both had been famille, Faithful, and now they were lost to hellfire forever. I wondered why God had punished them. If in turn he’d punish me. If in the end, I deserved it.
“‘All on earth, the work of his hand …
“‘And finally, in the dark hours before the fourth dawn, I arose from my grave.
“‘I was hungry now. Aching. Knowing I must soon be gone from the City of Spears forever. But though patrols had doubled, San Yves had quieted just a little now. I was still clad in the gown I’d worn to the ball, snatching a cloak from a hanging line to hide the gravedust and dirt. My mask still covered my face, but I’d be marked by any who saw me, and so I stole down Rue de la Montagne in the predawn black, careful as cats.
“‘Back to Chateau Durand.
“‘Gens d’armes stood vigil at the gates, and I waited near an hour before I took my chance, leaping over the walls, scaling the balcony outside his room. I crouched in the black, still as stone, listening for signs I’d been marked.
A silver wheel hung above the door now, a braid of maiden’s hair wrapped about the handles, pages of the Testaments plastered upon the glass.
But I heard soft footsteps, softer breath, a whisper from beyond the glass.
“‘… Celene?
“‘It’s me, Laurent.
“‘Oh, merci, mon dieu.
“‘The door was unlocked, the braid broken open, the wheel pulled down after a few groping, blind attempts. And then I was in Laurent’s arms, his body still warm from his bed, the scent of life, the song of his pulse so loud it near unmade me.
He breathed thanks into my hair, squeezing me tight.
And drawing me within, he pressed his lips to mine.
“‘At least, the lips he thought were mine. Cold porcelain between us, and only blind eyes to see. But still, I pressed what passed for my own mouth against the other side of my mask, as if I might taste some hint of the love he promised.
“‘I knew you’d come, he whispered. Papa said they burned you, but I knew you’d survive. I’ve been waiting for you, love. Waiting every night.
“‘I realized Laurent was dressed; gone to sleep in leather britches and a fine frockcoat, golden buttons and velvet, the red of his house. Slipping from my arms, he fetched a coinpurse from his bedside drawer, bulging near to bursting.
“‘We can go anywhere. We can do anything.
“‘Laurent …
“‘I don’t care what you are. I don’t care what they say. You’re no monster, I know it in my heart. I love you, Celene Castia. And God willing, I’ll love you forever.
“I looked at him in that dark; beautiful, vibrant, such wild hope in those sightless eyes, it broke my heart to pieces. I thought about all we might have together. What we might be to each other. But it had been three nights since I’d fed, and the hunger roiled within me then, as if to remind me what I was.
“‘What this was.
“‘I knew our time in San Yves was done. And though we’d suffered an awful blow, my faith was undimmed—burning brighter in fact, with Victorine’s blood now inside me.
I was grieved poor Aleks and Percy had been lost to damnation, but I knew I’d saved another soul from hell.
I understood now, what God intended for me.
And Wulfric’s promise hung in the air; the knowledge of this greatest mystery of the Esana, earned at last.
“‘I couldn’t turn my back on my Faith now.