Chapter Sixteen
To be needed so fully by someone, to cry and be heard, to be caught and held firmly.
The track had been climbing for an hour. Briar rode ahead on Rose, and Rune followed on Nettle. It was dark, so they were going slow. Bare beech and oak lined the path in between firs burdened by snow. They hadn’t passed a house since the river crossing.
Rune kept low over the horse’s neck, his hood pulled forward.
Briar was exhausted. They’d ridden all day, with few and too short breaks, and she’d pushed Rose more than she should’ve, but she hadn’t wanted to spend another night away from home.
She was too close to think rationally anymore.
All she wanted was a hot meal and to burrow under the covers of her own bed, in her cramped but familiar and beloved room.
She was cold, miserable, and pretty sure the Hearthband was broken.
Maybe she’d gotten it wet and hadn’t noticed.
Since the lake, it hadn’t been reliable.
The road got worse toward the end, but it finally brought them up to the wall of the convent, high and built from gray stone.
Behind it, a steep roof rose up, and above the roof stood two towers.
Her eyes trailed higher up the slope, where the firs thinned toward the top of the hill, but it was too dark to see the squat building that stood there. She guided Rose toward the gate.
Briar swung down. Her legs had gone stiff from the cold and the long ride.
She pulled at the cord to ring the bell, but it came loose in her hand.
No sound emerged. With a sigh, she put her fist to the wood and slammed hard, hoping someone would hear her.
Rune joined her, clumsily finding his way with his walking stick.
A few minutes passed without the sound of crunching footsteps approaching. Briar banged again.
“Do you want me to do it?” Rune asked.
She chuckled. “You’ll break the gate.”
She kept at it until her hand was sore and her patience gone, and then at last they heard shuffling feet and the jangle of keys.
“Who is there? We don’t receive visitors after nightfall.”
Briar recognized the nun’s voice.
“Sister Magdalena, it’s me. Briar.”
The panel slid back, and a middle-aged face appeared behind the grille, illuminated by a lamp.
The woman’s dark eyes went wide, and she fumbled with the keys.
The gate creaked open, but when Sister Magdalena saw the tall, massive, dark shadow standing behind Briar, she hesitated and didn’t open all the way.
She angled her body so that no one could enter without having to trample her first.
“That is not Seraphina,” she said.
“No. It’s someone better,” said Briar. Her voice wavered as she suddenly realized this might not be as easy as she’d imagined. “Sister Magdalena, this man’s name is Rune. He is… a master weaver.”
The woman touched her chest and shook her head.
“You know the rules. We don’t let men in after nightfall.” She made to close the gate.
Briar stepped forward and placed a hand on the latch.
“I know the rules, and I know what I’m doing. He is safe. Please.”
“I cannot.”
“Then I need to speak to Mother Superior. Can you wake her up? This is urgent.”
Sister Magdalena hesitated, lips pursed. The Mother Superior was in her late seventies, and the nuns loved her dearly and protected her, though in Briar’s humble opinion, she was far from fragile, and not that lovable of a woman once you got to know her.
“Sister, Mother Superior tasked me with finding Seraphina and bringing our relic back. I will be candid. Seraphina isn’t here, though I did find her; I just had to leave her behind. I don’t have the atlas vertebra, but I do have him.”
She pointed at Rune, who kept his head so low that he didn’t seem that imposing anymore. Briar mentally thanked him for behaving just right.
The nun’s eyes moved to him curiously but quickly snapped back to Briar.
“He’s more valuable than any relic,” she continued. “Mother Superior will want to see him, ask him questions. She will understand. In fact, if you don’t wake her up now, she might be upset when she finds out in the morning.”
Sister Magdalena pursed her lips, but Briar saw she’d gotten through to her.
No one wanted to upset the Mother Superior.
The woman had a way with words. She didn’t say much, just the right jabs, and next thing you knew, the priest gave you a single Pater Noster and told you to think no more of it, and still, you’d go back the next morning to confess the same small thing, and the morning after that.
By the end of the week, you’d worn your knees raw on the chapel floor over nothing at all, and the Mother Superior had never once raised her voice.
“I will go, but you cannot enter,” she said, slipping back inside and locking the gate.
Briar chewed on the inside of her cheek.
“This is not what you expected,” Rune said.
“It is, in fact. I just didn’t stop to think about it and strategize properly, what with being busy plunging into frozen lakes, shoveling snow, caring for two horses – one lame, bless her – and feeding someone who was intent on starving himself.”
There was a hint of amusement in her voice.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“It’s all forgiven,” she sing-songed. “But it’s your turn to help me. Whatever Mother Superior asks you, answer truthfully. I swear she has a way of knowing when you lie or tell half-truths.”
“I will try.”
“However, keep…” She knocked on the hard cover of the ledger he carried in the right inner pocket of his cloak. “Keep that hidden. As a precaution.”
“Doesn’t that go against what you just said?”
“No. I said to answer Mother Superior’s questions, not volunteer information she doesn’t think to ask.”
“Understood.”
Had it not been for the anxious energy coursing through her, Briar would’ve been frozen solid by the time Sister Magdalena reappeared with the Mother Superior in tow.
Briar took Rune’s arm and pulled him a few steps back, so the women didn’t feel crowded when they stepped through the gate. The Mother Superior shot him one intrigued look before walking up to Briar and placing her warm, calloused hands on her cheeks.
“God be praised, you’re back.”
Briar inclined her head. “It’s good to be home.”
The old woman searched Briar’s face for a minute, then took her hands in hers and drew her to the side.
“What is the meaning of this,” she whispered. “Who is this man, and why have you brought him here? This is so unlike you, Briar.”
“No, it’s not what it looks like,” Briar whispered back quickly. “He’s a master weaver–”
“Sister Magdalena said. Now you tell me something I don’t know. Why is he more valuable than Seraphina, who is your dearest friend and our lost daughter? More precious than our patron saint’s sacred remains?” She crossed herself.
Briar dragged a breath in.
“He is a creation of the High Harvester. A revenant.”
The old woman nodded, signaling that Briar should go on.
“Seraphina found him, they traveled together, but then she discovered he’d been given her very eyes that were gauged out of her head two years ago, and… well, she took her eyes back and abandoned him.”
The Mother Superior pulled her further along the convent wall, where Sister Magdalena couldn’t hear them.
“This information is worrisome,” she said. “Quite frankly, it is blasphemous. You’re saying the Harvester has the power of God now? That he creates people?”
“Not people. Revenants. No, he doesn’t have God’s power, more like the devil’s.
He makes them from dead bodies, chopped parts, bones, and organs that he stitches together and infuses with life.
Or something that resembles it. I must confess, I don’t understand it myself.
All I know is that these creatures are invulnerable to pain, sickness, wounds of any kind.
If hurt, they heal in the blink of an eye.
And they are impossibly strong. The things I’ve witnessed Rune do… ”
The Mother Superior stopped abruptly and turned to Briar. Her light blue eyes turned hard.
“You brought this abomination to our door?”
“No, I…” Briar joined her hands over the crucifix resting underneath her clothes.
“I would never put you and the sisters in danger. The convent is my home. The only true home I’ve ever had.
You must believe me, I know Rune, and I know that he is safe.
Besides, he doesn’t have eyes anymore. He’s completely dependent on me.
He’s invaluable, Mother Superior. The Harvester himself made him, built him to be indestructible, the ultimate weapon for his army, but we have him.
He’s on our side. And he has the skills of a master weaver.
We could use him. We could win the war…”
The old woman waved her off and started walking again, hands behind her back. She was silent for a long while. Briar knew to let her think and only speak when prompted.
“So, the rumors are true,” she murmured. “Revenants.”
Briar’s eyes went wide.
“You knew?”
“The sisters heard stories on their last raid and brought them to me.” She turned to look at Rune, from a distance. “He is one of them, you say.”
“He is.”
“The accounts I heard were of death and blood. Stitched-up demons that tore men in half. Have I been misled?”
“N-No. He’s just not like the others. I’ve learned there are two kinds: Constructs and Sentinels. The ones used on the battlefield are Sentinels. Rune is a Construct, not built for fighting.”
“Used,” the Mother Superior repeated. “That is what they are. Slaves to be used.”
Briar shuffled on her feet. She didn’t like the way the old woman put it, but wasn’t that the truth? She’d said it herself earlier – “We could use him. We could win the war.” She made a mental note to stop using that verb.