Page 34 of Sanctuary

“Good.” The raven turned to Roman. “Life comes full circle, son. If only I was here to see it. Unfortunately, your own sister just walked through the door, so I must go. Deal with your mess and come down to see your family. Bring your guests, too.”

The awareness died in the raven’s eyes. It sat there for another moment confused, shook its feathers, and flew out the back door.

Full circle. Now why did that ring a bell…?

Something stirred in his head. Some weak fragment of a memory.

“What’s otsebyachenna?” Finn asked.

“Made-up nonsense. Something you came up with yourself without any foundation or research.”

Full circle…

The flock of kolovershi rushed into the room, followed by the iron hound.

“What is it?”

Something sparked on the edge of his awareness, a jagged, nasty kind of magic like lightning woven of razor blades. They had run out of time.

Roman rose. “The client is here.”

7

Two people stood at the boundary of the property. Both wore garments of gray and bright egg-yolk-yellow. Finn’s nightmare had come to life.

Roman reached for his binoculars.

The one on the left sported a layered robe with the familiar hood and yellow over-robe. The hood was up. The face within it was solid gray, painted with some sort of pigment. A narrow vertical stripe of bright yellow bisected it, running down the forehead, over the bridge of the nose, and over the lips and the chin. Impossible to say if it was a man or a woman, young or old.

A dead ringer for the asshole in the dream, although the yellow fabric was much less luxurious, and the hems of their robes and hood had just begun to fray. Probably the younger model of the other priest, still doing fieldwork.

The priest carried two weapons: the same curved knife Finn saw in his vision and a weird-looking axe that hung on their left hip, with a shaft made from a twisted tree limb. The axe handle was wrapped in a braided cord and terminated in a narrow, brutal axe-head, less a blade and more a wide spike.

The person next to the priest was taller, with broad shoulders, their garment layered, but fitted tighter and cut simpler, more a knight’s tabard than a priest’s robe, caught just above the hips by a plain black belt. An ornate black scabbard hung from the belt, holding a sword with a black handle. Their cloak was plain and gray, and a long, yellow sash dripped from underneath, its edges tattered. A gray half-mask guarded the face within the hood. The eyes above the mask were dark and cold under thick, brown eyebrows.

A priest and a knight. Magic and melee, both covered.

Behind the odd pair, Wayne and Fulton waited, looking unsure. Fulton leaned on a makeshift cane made from a freshly cut sapling. The flight through the woods must’ve ended in a rough landing. Heh. Wayne had developed some weird-looking bumps on his face. They seemed to be oozing pus. What do you know, the little bird still packed a punch even with one head.

“The priest has the same knife as in my dream,” Finn said.

“And what does that tell you?”

“The knife is ceremonial. It’s used in sacrifices. They have the kind of religion that makes their priests carry sacrificial knifes all the time.”

Smart kid. Morena had chosen well.

Wayne opened his mouth.

Roman focused, pulling the sound to himself.

“So, like I was saying,” Wayne explained, “The boy is inside, and the priest took out half of my team.”

The gray and yellow duo showed no indication of having heard or cared.

“He is packing serious power,” Fulton said. “I wouldn’t recommend going in there balls to the wall.”

The knight unsheathed their sword. A straight double-edged affair, about three feet overall with a thirty-inch blade. Good for cutting and thrusting.

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