Chapter Four Kian #2
A man with more bravery than sense gets right up in the dragon’s face, his stick pointed at one slitted silver eye.
He pulls it back and takes aim until an older woman in furs and coarse fabrics the color of paprika runs out of the trees right beside me and Svena.
She’s breathing hard, but manages to bark, “John! Do not stab that dragon!”
She is petite, with fiery red hair that’s gone gray at the temples and deep lines beside her eyes that reveal she is more used to laughing than fighting. But right now, her lips are pressed tight together and her expression is fierce.
The man scowls but does as she says, swinging his stick around so the sharp end is pointed away from the dragon.
I shift on the frozen ground, trying to ease the stabbing pains of the wounds on my back. It’s a mistake. I barely stifle a groan. I don’t want to make any noise or draw any attention.
The dragon bends his head and opens his jaw. The keeper, John, lifts the long pole and waps the dragon over the head before quickly flipping it around again.
The dragon doesn’t attack John. Instead, it dodges forward, snatching half of Brother Thad in a quick, vicious chomp that reminds me of one of the starving street dogs in Insborough snatching a stick of satay from a heedless tourist. It shakes its head like a wet dog, the entire top half of Brother Thad in its maw, and launches itself into the air.
Nearby, Markus sobs and Svena vomits, whether from her burns or the sight of Brother Thad’s body torn in half by a giant flying beast, I’m not certain. Probably both.
I laugh. I manage to keep it silent, barely, but my shoulders shake and my eyes water with the effort.
A dragon has just eaten my only hope of destroying the skulls and the order’s sinuous hold on society.
I should not be laughing. It’s shock, surely.
Not an indication of how inherently twisted I am.
Not trusting my legs to hold me, I crawl around my fellow novitiates and over to Brother Thad’s remaining hand. I bend low as if praying or crying and pry open his clenched fingers.
In the middle of his palm is a red glass stone.
Ulric puts a warm but shaking hand on my shoulder, carefully avoiding my ruined back. I flinch even as I palm the stone slowly, so his eye won’t be drawn to any suspicious movement. In a soft voice I haven’t heard from him in months, he says, “Need help up?”
I allow him to pull me to my feet, and then we both go over to Svena.
Two of the keepers are there, fussing over her, while the other two watch the skies.
From farther in the forest, Illia and Marsi slowly trudge back.
It’s obviously the last thing they want to do, and yet, they don’t know another way out of the trees.
Plus together seems better than alone tonight.
The keeper who seems to be in charge turns to Sarai. “High Priestess,” she says, her voice warm and comforting in its surety. “This way.”
She steps off the wider path and onto a much narrower opening between the undergrowth. I take it for a rabbit or deer trail, maybe.
“We will continue on.” When no one moves, Sarai’s voice becomes as sharp and cold as her eyes. “Retie the novitiates’ blindfolds. We will remain on the traditional path.”
We all turn to her as one, goggling at the instruction. We’ve all just watched a man be eaten.
Even Sister Roberta presses back against Sarai’s declaration. “We’re past the wards, High Holiness,” she says softly. “Let’s take a more direct route.”
She is not swayed. “I will not repeat myself.”
Sister Roberta gives a slight bow and takes a step toward Markus.
He looks like he’s about to cry, but he obeys, replacing his blindfold himself.
Ulric and Jasmyn follow suit, Ulric flinching as he raises his arms. When he turns, I can see his wounds have reopened and the blood has seeped through the heavy fabric of his robes. No doubt mine look the same.
Illia and Marsi help each other with their blindfolds, weeping softly as they tie the knots. Only Svena and I remain unblindfolded, though Svena’s disobedience is not willful. She appears to have passed out.
The lead keeper woman tries once again, her voice is steady and sure, comforting.
“Let’s get your novitiates back to the valley and to their lodging.
Our healers can care for the injured.” She glances at Ulric and the telltale stripes of crimson on his robe, and then Svena, still unconscious beside me.
“And we can send food to their rooms. You can all eat, clean up, and rest. Tomorrow we can figure out our path forward toward the matching. In the meantime, you’ve had a terrible shock. You all need rest, and to recover.”
Sarai pulls herself up to her full height and turns her masked face to the keeper. Standing there, tall and unreadable in diaphanous black robes, with half of a man’s body at her feet and a bejeweled unicorn skull covering her face, she is terrifying in her silence.
But her visage is not nearly as terrible as her voice.
“We will not diverge. We will continue on to the meeting. Your new matcher and their assistant will welcome us. And when that is complete, your community will fete us. Tomorrow, we will match our novitiates to the awaiting skulls. All. As. Planned.”
The keeper woman stares at Sarai in undisguised horror just long enough that I think she might argue more. Then she simply bows her head. “As you wish, Your Holiness.”
Sarai turns.
“But at least let us take this one.” The woman gestures to Svena. “The skulls prioritize strength and wholeness. The sooner we can get her attention, the better her chances in the matching hut will be tomorrow.”
The air grows somehow colder in Sarai’s silence, as she observes the disaster surrounding her.
Svena is unconscious, Illia and Marsi are terrified, Ulric and I are bleeding from the wounds she inflicted.
None of us are as strong or whole as we should be.
Especially Thad. But if she’s wondering at her decision to beat us and trudge us through the forest, she does not show it.
“Do what you will with that one,” she says to the keeper. To the rest of us, she just says, “Come.”
She turns and steps over the leftover half of Brother Thad’s body.
We do as she commands.