Faithful & Faithless
Chapter Twenty-Six
Eridessa
We dress in silence.
I feed him. We wash up again. Then I rebind the rope around Orán’s wrists.
Night has fully settled, and I have work to do. Since I can’t leave him wandering my house unattended, I take him by the elbow and guide him outside, around the back of the homestead.
He goes without argument.
Still, he’s leary. His gait is slow, and there’s a great deal of tension in his shoulders. Whatever trust he offered me earlier only stretches so far.
The air is cooler than the day before, damp with earth and pine. Our boots scuff lightly over gravel and packed dirt, the sound steady beneath us. The forest presses close beyond the house, alive with the rustle of leaves and the distant trill of birds greeting the morning.
At the cellar, I retrieve a key and work it into the bolt. The chain loosens with a dull clink as I unfasten the lock, then pry one of the heavy steel doors open. It resists before giving way, opening with a low groan to reveal the steep staircase below, swallowed up before the landing by darkness.
Orán turns his head, glancing down at me.
“You first. I’ll follow right behind you.”
His pale blue eyes hold questions he doesn’t voice. His arms flex subtly, instinctively testing the impossible strength of the bindings. The rope answers with a faint hum, its woven strands glowing softly where they cinch his wrists.
He is killable now.
Weaker than me, if the Grand Minister’s imparted wisdom about the rope holds true.
It would be the perfect opportunity to end his life, yet I can not bring myself to do so. Not yet.
Much of what he has revealed to me has me questioning things I shouldn’t, and before I take that irreversible action, I have much to contemplate.
He steps forward, takes one measured stair, then another.
Halfway down, he pauses and looks back at me, skepticism flickering across his face before he turns and continues.
I follow, letting him wait in the dark at the threshold of my workshop while I fumble for the propane lighter.
The click echoes softly. Within a few minutes, lanterns flare to life one by one across my workbench, bathing the room in amber light.
I let him see it.
Because either we find understanding here, or he does not leave this cellar.
There is a fragile hope that it won’t come to that. But I don’t yet know whether to place much faith in it.
His gaze moves slowly over the space. Glass beakers.
Coiled tubing. Tattooing equipment lay out in careful order.
On the far wall are more glass cases and cages.
White insects. Small animals. Living things I’ve shared the elixir with.
Creatures, I plan to personally make sure endure past the ending Orán and his brothers have planned.
He strides toward that wall, studying them with quiet focus, the same way he’s studied everything else of mine.
I fold my arms across my stomach and watch him in silence. Waiting for his reaction.
“You changed them?”
“I did.”
“They’re like you?” His gaze flicks from the cages back to me. “Like me?”
“Yes.”
His jaw tightens. “You’re playing God.”
Heat climbs up my spine. It settles heavily in my chest before I let it loose. “Someone has to, if He won’t.”
“Eri.” His voice softens, not in disagreement but more as an appeal for me to come to my senses. “You can’t do this.”
“I can,” I say. “And I have.”
His shoulders drop a fraction. “It’s wrong.”
I huff. “Why? Because only you and your brothers—or God—get to decide who lives and who dies?” I gesture toward the cages. “No. These creatures are innocent.”
He studies me in silence for a long moment, something troubled passing through his expression. Then his gaze drifts back to them. Slowly, carefully, he rests his hand against one. Most of the frogs inside remain as they are, except one that drops from the glass and hops away.
His chest deflates. “So you’ve perfected the serum. Or whatever it is you’re using.”
“Yes. I thought so.” I shift my weight, crossing my arms tighter over my stomach.
“But as you pointed out, something is wrong with it. It loses its strength with time. I’m trying to fix that.
Make it last. Or at least last longer. And without it…
” I gesture vaguely. “They need it now, like I do, to survive. And some don’t always act in predictable ways. ”
His gaze sharpens. “What do you mean?”
“The reaction you saw. The change that comes over me.” My fingers curl into my sleeves. “When I look human again.”
“Yes.”
“It’s when it runs its course,” I say quietly. “When I turn back. There are…symptoms that come with it.”
He turns fully toward me now. “Such as.”
I hesitate, then force the words out. “Withdrawal. Dry mouth. Sordid dreams. Body aches. Cravings. Fatigue.” My jaw tightens.
“My bones feel like they’re rattling under my skin.
I get this uncontrollable, unquenchable itch.
I read up on it, and the serum seems to be working like a drug.
” I swallow. “And like any drug taken steadily, there’s a cost.”
His expression hardens. “You’re addicted.” Not a question but a statement.
“Yes.”
Silence stretches between us.
“I need a constant feed of it to stay as I am. Without it, I become even less than human. Mindless for it at times. I age and grow ill.”
He moves from the wall of cages to the workbench, his attention shifting to my equipment and my research. His gaze tracks over the books, the tattoo gun, the jars, the careful layout of tools.
“How long have you been working on this?”
“Nearly all my adult life.”
“And how long is that, exactly?”
“Seventy-eight years.”
His eyes lift to mine, something like surprise flickering through them. “So it’s prolonged your life? Given you strength? Power?”
I step closer and tip my chin toward the tattoo gun. “The additional power I carry, I gave to myself.”
I reach up to the shelf above the bench and pull down one of the books.
Setting it on the workbench, I open it to a random page.
“Like your runes, I learned that symbols hold their own magic. My work was elementary at first. Crude. But over time, I figured out how to harness additional gifts using the elixir—by embedding them into the markings I place on my skin.”
“May I?” he asks quietly, lifting his bound wrists.
I nod and hand it to him.
He flips through the pages, reading in silence.
His eyes move quickly over the printed text, then slow as he studies my handwritten notes in the margins, the underlined passages, the sections I’ve marked as essential.
He turns page after page, methodical, focused.
Then he closes the book and reads the spine.
His gaze travels up the shelf, scanning all the titles.
He selects another volume and flips through it with the same quiet focus.
He pauses at a page crossed out in thick black ink, then studies it for a beat. Turns more pages. He stops again at another marked with a red X.
He looks up at me. “What are the X’s for?”
I swallow hard and step forward, snapping the book shut and sliding it back into place on the shelf. I don’t meet his eyes as I answer. “Either it didn’t work, or it worked, but not in the way it was supposed to.”
I feel his stare on me, steady and searching.
When I meet his gaze again, his expression tells me he already understands more than I want him to.
I grab a lantern and take his elbow again. “Show-and-tell is over. Come.”
I guide him toward the doorway on the far side of the room. The space beyond used to be a large wine cellar. I relocated the barrels and bottles long ago to make room for something else.
I unlock the first door. Then we pass through a short hallway for a second. Soft light spills out as I open it. Orán stops short.
Rows of barred cells stretch away from us, evenly spaced, extending farther than the lantern light reaches.
“Eridessa.” His voice lowers. “This isn’t necessary. I’m not going to try to escape or run. I told you—”
He cuts himself off as a soft rustling carries through the corridor.
Another voice follows, thin but hopeful. “Eri, thank God. It’s been ages since you came to visit me.”
White fingers curl around the bars.
A face appears between them.
She’s young, eighteen, and very beautiful. She peers back at us with eyes now a pale brown color. Her hair has turned ashen, and her skin, though not as pale as mine, has lost most of its true color.
Orán’s face drains as well.
His gaze flicks from the girl to me, and in that single glance, I see everything. The judgment he so readily casts upon humanity is now focused entirely on me.
“Eri,” he says quietly. “What have you done?”
“What none of you would,” I reply. “Saved her.”
My heart burns with the certainty that, with time and effort, I’ll solve the flaw in the elixir. I’ll fix us both. Then I’ll find more innocent people worthy of surviving Judgment Day so that when this ends, there will be those left who can truly rebuild what was destroyed.
Orán tears free of my hold.
He turns on me in a heartbeat and slams me back against the wall hard enough to rattle the lantern, and I nearly drop it.
“You can’t fucking play God,” he snaps. “You don’t get to decide who lives and who dies.”
“Yes,” I fire back, breath burning in my chest. “I damn well do. That is why I’m here.
That’s why I was chosen. Because after you and your brothers finish tearing apart what’s left of this world, someone has to remain to bring it back to life.
Humanity doesn’t end with your judgment. It may fall, but it will rise again.”
He cups my face, his touch urgent, his eyes searching mine like he’s trying to pull me back from an edge. “That isn’t God’s plan. Eri. Please. See reason.”
I knock his hand away. “Not His plan,” I snarl. “No. I don’t suppose it is. But it’s mine.” I shove his chest. He stumbles back a step. I push him again until he’s the one against the wall now, my hands flat against his sternum, my body trembling as anger and righteous conviction settle over me.
“Because even if we believe in Him,” I continue, voice shaky, “He still has His faults. He can’t make us and then discard us. He can’t wipe us from the face of existence and call it just.”
My fingers curl into his shirt.
“It’s wrong,” I whisper fiercely. “And I was spared to set it right—with or without His fucking help.”
Orán’s face falls. His head dips slightly.
“Eliora. See reason. This is wrong.”
“Maybe in time you’ll see that it’s not.” I meet his gaze without flinching. “Because though you may think you hold all the answers. You don’t know humanity as I do. So, Horseman, it appears we both have a lot to learn from each other, and in time we’ll see which one of us bends.”
He studies me for a long moment, his eyes tracing my features as if committing them to memory. Then his shoulders sink, and he shakes his head once.
I take his arm and guide him toward the cells.
We pass Lila’s cell, and I pause long enough to tell her, “Sit tight. I’ll bring you food as soon as I have him settled in, okay?”
She releases the bars and stumbles back when she catches sight of the Orán.
“Is he—” Her voice breaks off.
“Yes.” I don’t soften it. “Meet Orán. The Plague Caster. Otherwise known as Pestilence.”
She retreats until her knees give out, and she collapses onto the edge of the narrow bed inside her cell.
We continue past the next empty cell. And the next.
Orán peers inside each one, relief flickering briefly across his expression when he finds them vacant. He doesn’t comment.
Neither do I.
I stop at the second-to-last cell, far enough from Lila to give her space. I unlock the door and pull the bars wide.
He steps inside slowly. Then he turns to face me.
Our eyes hold as I close the door behind him. The bars slide into place with a dull, final sound. I secure the lock.
Neither of us speaks. Yet everything between us does.
I turn away, store the key back into my pocket, and head back the way I came.
I need time alone to gather my thoughts. For now, Orán is contained, and the world is safe from him and his righteous judgment. Only time will tell which one of us is truly right in our actions.