The Wyrm snarled and charged them. The Rosa flowed around him, but Caleb ducked and avoided the larger branches.
Rachael pushed away from Lucian and drew her blade. He drew his own sword, but he was too tired to do more than hold a defensive position with Lindsay at his side. “Rachael, no!”
She didn’t answer him but met the Wyrm’s assault head on with a battle cry of her own. The Rosa parted for her, slithering away from her feet only to slide back over her path. She saw Caleb’s sly smile reflected in the broken mirrors of her house, his hands on her body, the Wyrm dulling her mind. We are infiltrated.
A branch of the Rosa shot forward, and the Wyrm sliced it from the mother plant before it could touch him. The floor grew slick with the Rosa’s blood. Rachael raised her blade, and the demon rounded on her. Caleb’s black sword swung toward her head, but Rachael ducked and brought her own sword in a sweeping arc to push the Wyrm’s assault aside. Her counter-slash opened a wound on Caleb’s chest. They circled one another.
The Wyrm lunged, and Rachael was too slow to parry the blow. Her left side exploded in white pain. She staggered backward and her hip caught the edge of a pew; she spun in time to avoid another blow. Barely. The whistle of Caleb’s blade sliced the air by her ear. Strands of her hair fell to the boards.
Several more branches of the Rosa plunged toward the Wyrm. A thorn snagged Rachael’s cheek, a branch wound into her hair. The Rosa’s song hummed through her body like an electric current.
Overhead the four massive blooms hovered near the ceiling like generals, monitoring the war below. She intuitively knew those great blooms were the original Katharoi who sacrificed themselves to become the Rosa. The Rosa’s melodious chant suffused the air with a web of magic that bound the Rosa to its duty. Great tears rolled from the ancient roses’ eyes whenever a branch died.
Rachael glimpsed Lucian and Lindsay, but the Rosa flowed around them, sealing them behind protective thorns. Lucian tried to push through the stems, but the Rosa barred his path, and Rachael was glad. He and Lindsay were safe. This was her fight.
The Wyrm pressed its attack. Rachael blocked another blow, her own sword accidentally severing a branch of the Rosa. Rather than turn on her, the plant flowed around her. Three limbs wove together to create a shield for her and deflected the Wyrm’s blade.
Rachael saw her opening, and lunged, driving her blade into Caleb’s chest. The Wyrm shrieked and bucked Caleb’s body. The demon used its horn to slice into the leaves. More petals fell, covering the floor with a carpet of ivory.
One of the ancient roses drifted down from the ceiling toward the demon. The great flower turned, and Rachael saw the bloom’s sad resignation. Two huge tendrils held long vicious thorns extended on either side of the main stem.
The demon howled and thrashed, but the light diminished from Caleb’s eyes. He went to his knees and Rachael stepped backward. Recognition flashed in his gaze, and just before he died, Rachael saw the man she remembered. She couldn’t summon grief for his passing.
The Rosa’s chant shifted in pitch. The Wyrm burst through Caleb’s bloodied nose.
Rachael followed the demon until the Rosa blocked her pursuit. She tried to circumvent the barricade, but more limbs intertwined to create a living fence. She barely made out Lucian’s shadow behind the green barricade the Rosa had formed around him and Lindsay. She called out a warning to him. He didn’t answer, but his blade caught the light from a flash of lightning. He watched. Lindsay was out of sight, probably behind him.
The old rose swooped over the demon. The Wyrm crawled toward Lindsay, and the ancient rose brought a huge thorn down onto the creature’s body. Howling drowned the wind as the Wyrm thrashed on the spike. The rose lifted the struggling demon to its lips and devoured the Wyrm. The petal’s yellow stains deepened.
From a branch below the old rose, a younger flower swayed forward to hover over Caleb. The face within the petals opened its mouth and struck to bite the top of Caleb’s head. The jaws expanded to engulf his face before it encompassed Caleb’s body, wrapping him in a pale shroud.
As it ate, the flower turned red with Caleb’s blood and the leaves grew darker, more vibrant. Soon nothing was left of Caleb but the sword and his ragged clothing. The red rose withdrew back into the leaves. A rosebud appeared on one of the branches. The flower matured and opened to reveal Caleb’s startled features embedded in the bloom. Rachael saw his horrified expression, his eyes darting left and right.
The spit dried in her mouth when another of the ancient blooms drifted down toward her. The petals framed a face that had once been beautiful with almond eyes and full lips but now was so androgynous that Rachael couldn’t determine a sex. The lips parted and Rachael thought it would speak. A branch slithered forward to prick the side of her neck. It happened so quickly; the limb retreated before a small cry escaped her throat, and she felt a trickle of blood on her skin.
The flower smiled and came close. Rachael closed her eye and forced herself to remain still. The smell of the rose was overpowering, filling her senses, bringing tears to her eye. Something dry and cool licked the blood on her neck. The air wafted in front of her and she dared to look. The rose was moving away, and branches that had twined in her hair released her.
The Rosa retreated to flow from the room and recede into the night.
Minutes ticked past before Rachael felt she could move. The sting of minor scratches covered her hands and face, and her left hip was wet. She lifted her torn shirt and tried to examine the wound. She sensed Lucian’s presence and looked up. He sat down on an undamaged pew and pulled her to him. His soul-light hovered over the injury and he pushed her probing fingers out of the way.
Lindsay watched her with red eyes. “Is it gone for good?”
Rachael nodded. “The Wyrm is gone. For good.”
“Are you okay?”
“I am. Are you?”
She craned her neck to see Rachael’s side. “I guess.”
Her haunted eyes said otherwise, but Rachael didn’t push the point. Lucian’s hands came too close to the cut and Rachael almost dropped her sword. “Careful! That hurt.”
“It’s not deep, but it should be bound.”
She gently disentangled herself from him and pulled her shirt down. “Just leave it alone.” She sheathed her sword, using the motion as an excuse to look away from his concern. “It will be fine.”
Rachael summoned her soul-light. Petals and leaves were scattered through the chapel, but the sound of the chant was gone, the spell faded into the night. The floor was slick with blood, and outside, the rain pounded against the roof. She cleared her throat. “Maybe we should sleep in the shed tonight.”
Lindsay went to Lucian and put her head on his shoulder. “I don’t want to sleep in here either.”
Lucian put his arm around the girl. “All right. Outside, it is.”
He sighed, and Rachael looked down at his leg. Without a word, she offered her hand, and he allowed her to help him rise. She slid his arm around her shoulders. “Lean on me.”
“I’m all right,” he said, but he leaned heavily on her.
Lindsay went ahead of them and moved pieces of wood out of the way that might trip him. They kept a slow pace and reached the porch where the storm still drowned Ierusal. Without the combined powers of the Rosa and the Wyrm, the wind had died. Rachael navigated Lucian around the worst of the puddles. Lindsay stayed at his side and tromped through the water as if she could wash herself clean of the Wyrm’s foulness.
In the shed, the horses stamped and shook their manes, agitated but unharmed. Rachael guided Lucian and Lindsay to a dry area at the back of the building. Lucian put his cloak on the ground, and gestured for Lindsay to lie down.
“I’m not sleepy.” In spite of her protest, she sat down on the cloak.
“You will be,” he promised.
“I’ll be right back,” Rachael said; she didn’t wait for their answer.
She went inside the church and retrieved
first Caleb’s coat, then his sword. The blade was no longer black, and she wrapped the weapon in Caleb’s long coat for now. Each sword held something of the owner’s spirit, and though Caleb had been complicit with the Fallen, Rachael had no intention of leaving his sword behind. Let the Citadel bury his sword. The Rosa had his soul; that was enough.
As she left the church, she paused by the back door. Her saddlebags were intact, but Caleb’s pack was shredded as if the Rosa tore through the leather to find the owner. The soft glow of her soul-light hovered over the manacles lying beside her bag, an ugly reminder of her duty.
A niggling doubt creased the back of her mind. Could she depend on Lucian? Rachael bit her lip. She’d seen into his soul, yet a glimpse into someone’s soul only showed the feelings of the present, not the future. Lucian loved her tonight. Tomorrow might be different, especially if she became a threat to him or Lindsay.
Rachael picked up her pack and left the manacles on the porch. Lucian posed no menace to her now, and they still had Speight and his men out there somewhere. She wouldn’t deal with it tonight, not with the cobwebs of fatigue masking her thoughts. The manacles and Lucian’s arrest could wait until morning. Besides, there was no sense in upsetting Lindsay anymore. The child had been through enough.
As she walked back to the shed, the rain washed her blood from her hair. She used the sleeve of her coat to wipe her face but only succeeded in smearing the gore. By the time she returned, Lindsay was asleep beneath Lucian’s mantle. He stood beside the girl, his back to the wall, and Rachael knew from his expression he’d seen her linger beside the manacles.
Guilt wormed into her chest before she could slam the emotion down; she’d done nothing wrong. She wanted to extinguish her light so he couldn’t see her face. Instead, she set Caleb’s sword down beside his saddle. “How did you get her to sleep so fast?”
“I helped her.”
“Like you used to help Catarina?” No sooner had the words left her mouth than she wanted to take them back.
“No.” His voice didn’t belie the hurt in his eyes. “I didn’t take her grief or her fear from her. I eased her into sleep. That’s all.”
She nodded and looked away.
Lucian asked, “What now?”
“I don’t know.” Her body still hummed with adrenaline, and in spite of her pain and exhaustion, she knew sleep was far away for both of them. “Lindsay told me about Speight. He could be waiting anywhere. We’re badly outnumbered.” She paused then said, “Where do your loyalties lie?”
He stiffened, and she noted how his fingers massaged the head of the cane. His voice contained a false calm she’d never heard before. “I told you everything, Rachael. I take responsibility for my part, but I’ve changed.”
“So you say.” She met his gaze. “How do I know you won’t find me expendable again?”
“How can you say that?” He took a step forward before he caught himself, his fury black as the night around them.
It was good to know he could still get angry, and she savored a bitter satisfaction in provoking him.
“Rachael.” He turned his head and released his anger into the storm with a sigh. “I never thought you were expendable.” He limped forward until they were inches apart. Rachael slid her hand into her coat to stroke the hilt of her knife.
Lucian said, “You were never meant to be hurt. Cate told me we could cheat Mastema, that she’d made arrangements for your rescue.”
Rachael shook her head; he still didn’t understand. “Why didn’t you come to me?”
He gaped at her. “What?”
“Why didn’t you tell me about her pact? Why didn’t you let me help?”
“You and Cate hated each other. Why would you have helped her?” He dropped his defenses. His confusion was real.
“I wouldn’t have helped her.” Rachael wanted to slap him. Why couldn’t he see? “I would have helped you. Even if it meant Catarina benefited. All you ever had to do was ask. You never gave me a chance.”
“A chance for what? Your own trial and exile? Is that what you wanted?” Lindsay murmured in her sleep as if she felt his anger thrum through her dreams. Lucian lowered his voice and leaned close. “I was protecting you. The less you knew, the less likely you’d be implicated if something went wrong.”
“So you didn’t trust Catarina either. But you made a decision for me when it was my risk to take, not yours. You,” she said, hating the way her voice broke, “you should have trusted me with my fate.”
Slow comprehension dawned across his features. She watched him wrestle with her words, seeking a way to mitigate his error, and she saw him fail. He paled, but to his credit, he didn’t deny his mistake. “I was such a fool,” he whispered. He sounded so lost. “Rachael.”
No elation suffused her; his admission was an empty victory that did nothing to erase their suffering.
“Can you—” He reached out to her; she tilted her head away from him. He withdrew his hand as if burned. “Of course.” He started to say something else, then slowly retreated to Lindsay’s side.
The weight of the years pressed down on him, and for one ragged moment, Rachael wanted to call him back to her. She had rehearsed this scene, and now that it had passed, she felt no vindication for hurting him. She held her breath as he eased himself down beside the sleeping girl.
An opportunity had passed, a ghost between them, and she didn’t know how to resurrect it, or even if she should. She stroked the leather of her pack and listened to the silence dragging against the night. The mare shuffled, nudging Rachael from her stupor.
She folded the pack into a makeshift pillow as she went to Lucian. The shadows deepened the creases around his eyes; Catarina had shorn years off his life. Rachael knelt beside him and lifted his head to slide the pack beneath him. He opened his eyes, but his dark gaze was far away.
When he reached up this time, she didn’t withdraw. His fingers stroked her cheek lightly as if anything harsher would cause her to fly away. Once, she would have pressed her lips to his palm, once, long ago, when they were young. Now she took his wrist and eased his hand to his chest, then covered him with her coat.
Lindsay muttered in her sleep and rolled closer to Lucian when Rachael slid under the mantle beside her. With a word, Rachael extinguished her soul-light, and in blackness deep as silk, she lay awake, thinking of ghosts and lost opportunities.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
sigils
Rachael struggled out of a sleep devoid of dreams. The smell of horse piss stung her sinuses. God, had she been sleeping in the stable again? She wondered how much time she’d lost to the Wyrm.
Something moved beside her; she jerked upright to see Lindsay roll over, taking Rachael’s small share of Lucian’s mantle with her. Sharp pain in her side knocked the last of her drowsiness away. Rachael put her face in her hands. Her head felt swollen, but even as she automatically sought the Wyrm’s presence, the memory of last night’s events drove the remnants of sleep from her brain. The Wyrm was gone.
Lucian. Rachael dropped her hands, her heart stammering for fear he’d taken one of the horses and fled in the night. She opened her eyes to find him where she’d left him, on the other side of Lindsay. He was obviously spent.
She could use a few more hours herself, but when she staggered to her feet and looked outside, she realized they’d already slept through half the morning. She forced herself to move. Another night behind Ierusal’s walls held no appeal for her.
The rain had given way to a clinging mist that left the church a vague outline in the gloom. Ignatius nickered at her when she loosened his reins from the post. She led the three horses into the yard one at a time and hobbled them where they could graze on the sickly yellow grass.
The more she walked, the less pain she had in her hip; she peeled her waistband back to find a righteous bruise from her hip to her thigh. Blood glued her shirt to the cut on her side, and Rachael winced when she tried to loosen the cloth from the wound.
Beside the shed, she found a trough full of water from last night’s rain. She wet her shirt until she could examine the cut herself. Lucian was right; it wasn’t deep, but it was sore. Rachael cupped her hands and plunged them into the icy water to splash the last of the dried blood from her hands and face. Cuts from the Rosa’s thorns crisscrossed her skin. Her reflection wavered on the surface of the water, and her hair framed a face she’d forgotten she owned.
Neither Lucian nor Lindsay was in sight. She returned her attention to the water and lifted the patch but wasn’t surprised to find the socket still empty. She should have known he couldn’t heal what wasn’t there.
Yet he had healed her, and she tried to reconcile this new image of herself with the mutilated face she recalled. Instead of the ropy scars left by the Wyrm, her skin was smooth, and she touched her cheek in wonder. She would never be accused of being pretty—her aquiline nose rendered her features too strong—but with the scars she’d been gruesome.
The water muddied her hazel eye so she couldn’t see if it was green or brown today. Lucian had once claimed to know her moods by the color of her eyes.
Focusing on the left side of her face, she could almost imagine she was whole again. She saw the woman Lucian had loved, and Rachael smiled at the memory until a slight tilt of her head revealed the patch covering her right eye. The blank eye of a cadaver stared sightlessly back at her, and her recollection turned bittersweet. She touched the water to shatter her reflection.
Rachael straightened to find Lindsay standing at the corner of the shed. The sight of the girl startled her, and her pulse rattled in her ears. She had to get a grip on herself. If that had been Catarina’s soldiers, she would have been dead. When her heartbeat slowed, she asked, “How are you this morning?”
The girl stared at her with haunted eyes and shrugged.
Miserere: An Autumn Tale Page 23
