Chapter Twenty-Four
She wasn’t here anymore, on this plane of existence; maybe she’d never been.
They were surrounded before they reached the gate. Someone in the back screamed, and Seraphina turned to see what had happened. She and Rune had been made to walk at the front. Michael’s grip was rough on her arm, and her hands were tied at the wrist.
Rune jerked when a figure jumped from the trees ahead but never reached the ground.
A frightened gasp rippled through the rebels as their eyes turned toward the sky, where a nun floated, skirts billowing around her.
She aimed a musket at the people below. Around her waist, over her cincture, she wore a belt that held a heavy cartridge box on her right hip.
The crack reverberated through the woods, the echo carried further down the slope, and the rebels ducked and spread out.
A woman cried out. The ball had found a mark, and the nun reloaded.
Seraphina tried to run, but Michael held her close. Rune bent over to cover her with his body.
“Take her down,” Michael shouted at Rune. “Take her down now!”
Rune gave Seraphina an apologetic look before sprinting toward an old, mighty oak tree.
He climbed it fast, like an animal in its natural habitat, and when he was roughly at the same level with the nun, he jumped.
She saw him coming, floated away, and shot the musket again.
She didn’t try to get him; she knew it would be a waste of ammunition.
“She’s flying,” someone said, terror and awe evident in their voice.
“How is she doing that?” another asked.
Seraphina grinned. So, the Mother Superior had given the order to arm themselves with the relics in the vault. She’d never thought she’d see the day. That one was an apex relic, for sure.
Rune crashed to the ground, his body creating a crater around it.
People who were too close stumbled back; one fell and started crawling backward.
Rune paid them no mind, his eyes to the sky.
He climbed another tree, and another, but no matter how many times he tried the trick, the nun was clever and avoided him with spectacular grace.
Seraphina wondered whether she might’ve been a ballerina before marrying Jesus.
The truth of the matter was that she kept Rune busy and even turned him against the rebels.
With each landing, men and women spread out further into the woods, terrorized and disorganized.
“Stop it,” Michael yelled. “Leave her!”
Rebels were throwing knives and spears at her; one had a musket he kept firing. She floated away, hid behind the trees, reappeared when she’d managed to reload. The woman was a menace.
“It burns!” someone cried out. “It burns!”
Seraphina saw Sister Blandina on top of a man, her hands on his face.
She dragged her fingers over his throat and chest, leaving red marks and melting flesh.
That was when the wolves appeared, as if summoned through thought.
One jumped on Blandina’s back. She screamed and rolled off her victim, her hand shot back over her shoulder, and when it came into contact with the wolf’s face, the beast let out a high-pitched yelp and bolted away.
The sister’s shoulder was shattered. She got up on swaying feet, a woman swung a knife at her, and she caught the blade in her hand.
The iron melted, but Seraphina could see blood drops in the snow.
The woods echoed with the sounds of a battle fought dirty.
Screaming, crying, the gurgling of blood, the tearing of flesh.
The air smelled of copper, scorched skin, and musket smoke.
In the dark, nuns with crosses around their necks and sacred bones in hidden pockets cut into live flesh, spilled blood without a second thought.
Some of the rebels had relics, but they weren’t as powerful as the nuns’, who’d collected and studied theirs for years.
The sisters of Saint Vivia knew how to use every bone in their possession, though they did it rarely, when their hand was forced.
The bodies were piling up, in habit and peasant clothes alike. Seraphina watched with growing terror. The wolves attacked relentlessly. Not all the nuns wielded bones that worked against them.
She looked at Michael, who was staring at Rune, considering what order to give.
He could tell him to kill them all, and Rune would have no choice but to do it.
That was what scared Seraphina the most. If only she had her tongue.
The thrall relic pulsated between her ribs, filling her with overwhelming energy. It was begging to be used.
However, the rebel leader had said he didn’t want to cause harm.
Was it na?ve of her to hope? She searched for Briar.
She could be anywhere. She saw Peter fight with a short sword while he held Hans back.
The boy was armed with a knife he knew how to use well enough, except the sisters were staying out of his way so as to not hurt him.
Seraphina stumbled when Michael unexpectedly pushed her toward Rune.
“Your hand,” he said. “Around her neck.”
Rune and Seraphina stared at each other. His golden eyes moved from her blue ones down to where her pulse thudded at her throat. His hand shot out, she felt his warm, clammy fingers on her skin, but he didn’t squeeze. Not yet. Her hands were tied around her back; she couldn’t even claw at his grip.
“Wait for my command,” Michael said, then shouted at the top of his chest: “Stop, or she dies. Stop!” He had to do it a few times before the two fighting parties broke apart.
His voice was hoarse. “The revenant will strangle her. Right here, before your eyes, he will separate her head from her body. Do you want to see it roll?”
There were gasps and murmurs, but no one spoke up.
Seraphina looked left and right, as far as her vision could reach.
A few people stepped closer. She finally saw Briar, hair out of her usual ponytail, and deep scratches on her arms and face.
She saw Willa behind her, mouth covered with both hands.
Peter had finally spotted and recognized her. He lowered his short sword.
“I will ask again,” the leader bellowed, letting every word fall heavy. “Do you want to see her head roll?”
At the same time that Briar shouted “No!”, the Mother Superior stepped forward.
“Do with her what you will. She’s not one of ours.”
Briar yelled again, and more voices joined her.
“She stole from us,” the Mother Superior said. “We gave her everything. Our time, our prayers, a home. We shared our food with her, our medicine, we saved her from herself more than once, and all she did was take, take, take.”
“Give back her tongue,” Briar said. “All this happened because you cut off her tongue.”
The Mother Superior waved a dismissive hand in everyone’s direction and turned on her heel, confident she’d said her piece and no one would go against her word.
Michael took a deep breath, held it at the top, released it slowly and loudly. He had the face of a man who didn’t like what he was about to do but believed it was necessary.
“Do it,” he told Rune. “Off with her head.”
Seraphina felt his fingers tighten impossibly around her neck.
Her eyes bulged out of her head as he lifted her off the ground.
She rose on her toes, lengthening her body as much as she could, until only the tips of her boots grazed the mud underneath.
He kept lifting her. She was hanging by the throat now, her feet in the air.
She tried to move as little as possible; if she kicked, she would only hurt herself.
His grip faltered for a moment. She could feel his hand shaking, see the tears that poured out of his eyes.
They held each other’s gaze, and Seraphina prayed he could see that she wasn’t blaming him. She felt nothing but love for him.
He was going to kill her, but she’d promised herself. She’d promised him, even though she hadn’t had a chance to tell him. Nothing would change what they had. Not even her death by his own hands.
“No!” Briar screamed, running toward them. “No, stop!”
A wolf positioned itself between Briar and Seraphina.
“What are you waiting for?” Michael gritted his teeth. “I gave you an order. Try as you might, you cannot fight it. It’s not called the Obedience Lattice for nothing.”
Rune squeezed harder. Seraphina started choking. He was crushing her windpipe.
“No, don’t!” Briar was crying. “Please! Rune!” The wolf growled at her. “Take me instead! Take me!”
What? Seraphina must’ve heard wrong. Her vision went blurry at the edges, her thoughts collapsed into each other. She was dreaming. She wasn’t here anymore, on this plane of existence; maybe she’d never been. A cruel nightmare, conceived by the sickest mind, but a nightmare nonetheless. Not real.
“You can’t… please. Spare her and take me. I am offering myself willingly.”
A woman screamed somewhere, high, shrill, and desperate. There was a shift in the air, and Seraphina felt bodies closing in. The wolves formed a circle around her, Rune, and the leader of the rebels.
“Is that true?” Michael said. “You would die in her stead?”
“Yes!”
What had gotten into Briar? Or was it a strategy? It must’ve been. Her friend was planning something. Maybe the sisters were on her side. Not all of them, but she hadn’t been as awful as the Mother Superior had said. She’d been friends with the younger ones.
“Release her,” Michael told Rune. “Kill the other one.”
Rune dropped Seraphina. She crumpled, coughing and spitting, her throat a raw, throbbing bruise. She saw the wolves part for him as he marched toward Briar and wrapped his hand around her neck, lifting her off the ground. Briar clawed at his wrist and kicked her feet.
All hell broke loose. The sisters moved forward, the wolves attacked, and Michael took out his saber. Seraphina was forgotten as he yelled at Rune to strangle Briar. With each repeated command, it was harder for Rune to fight the compulsion.
The woman from before screamed again, this time Briar’s name.
Seraphina tried to rise, but she was trampled.
She crawled through the slush, disoriented.
Someone grabbed her ankle and pulled her away from the chaos.
She kicked, rolled onto her back, and dug her fingers into the soft ground.
There was nothing to hold on to, and she could achieve no purchase with her wrists bound.
She didn’t want to be dragged in the opposite direction.
Rune and Briar were right there. If only she could get to them.
What was Briar’s plan? Who was failing to execute it? This couldn’t be happening. Her offer to sacrifice herself couldn’t have been without a hidden purpose.
Strong arms wrapped around her waist, and she was lifted and set on her feet. She turned around, ready to head-butt the bastard… It was Idris.
He used his knife to cut the rope, but before she could sprint back into the madness, he caught her by the hand and forced her into a bush.
“I have your tongue,” he whispered. “Stay still.” He started rummaging through his satchel. “I’m going to perform the quickest and dirtiest surgery of my life, and I’m hoping the apex relic will do the rest.”
She calmed down. Maybe it wasn’t too late. If he moved fast enough.
They both froze at the sound of approaching footsteps. Idris had her tongue in one hand – a useless, bloodless appendage – and a curved needle in the other. Seraphina grabbed the knife he wore on his belt. From the woods, keeping low, appeared Willa. Seraphina let out a breath of relief.
“What are you doing to her?” the woman asked. “Leave her alone.”
“No, I’m helping!” Idris showed her his hands. A needle and a severed tongue did not make the comforting sight he thought. “This is hers. I’m reattaching it.”
Willa took out a dagger.
Seraphina waved at her, shaking her head and making noises that, also, weren’t as comforting as she’d wished.
Willa looked between Seraphina and Idris. Seraphina put her eyes to good work, widening them, blinking rapidly, doing everything at once. Eventually, Willa’s determination turned to confusion, then she tentatively lowered her blade.
“You’re going to…”
“Yes, please,” Idris said as he turned his attention to Seraphina and motioned for her to open her mouth. “It will only take a few seconds. I just need to…”
The needle pierced the stub of her tongue, and she cried out. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes.
Behind them, everyone started screaming at once.