Page 121 of Eldritch
“Of course not.” Rolling my eyes, I stepped ahead of her, and a rush of cold intensified the chill dancing across my bones, as I trailed my gaze over the dark, empty space that once held an entire village. “We need to do a sweep, and then light a fire.”
“I can’t see a thing. How are we expected to search for anything?”
I knew there were a few oil lamps tucked in the cupboard of the altar, ones Sacton Crain had often used in his services. “Stay here,” I whispered and tiptoed my way down the aisle, past the dark pews—perfect little hiding places for anything that wished to attack. Every muscle in my body had gone rigid, my breaths shallow as I navigated through the dark, silently praying that those locked doors had kept out everything—including mice. I hadn’t realized how utterly terrifying The Red God appeared, with his glowing red gaze, until right then, as he stared down at me, and I glanced away at the first thought that those menacing eyes were watching me.
Once past the pews, I shuffled quickly around the stone altar to the cupboards on the other side of it. With only the moon’s light, I patted around for the red oil lamps, and grabbed two of them by their long, skinny chains, along with the oil that Sacton Crain had always claimed was made from the sacred vespervineberry that The Red God had survived on during the ancient blight.
All those silly anecdotes, now meaningless and nearly forgotten. Nothing more than vaporous words of the past.
After filling the red vessels with oil, and lighting the wicks with a flint striker that’d been left on the altar, I carried both lamps back toward Aleysia, pausing only a moment to observe where someone had paintedThe Decimation is upon uson the walls.
Aleysia and I searched through all of the pews, the altar, the sacristy. There was no sign of the creatures anywhere. We made our way up the winding staircase to the dormitories on the upper level. Far from simple, each of the first few rooms were decorated in the finest furniture and tapestries, but one room, in particular, stood out for its excessive and grotesquely rich decor that I imagined would’ve been fit for a king.
A fireplace stood off to one side of the room, with a cast-iron pot that reminded me of a cauldron. Likely used to warm the water for the black iron tub sitting in front of it, perhaps the largest tub I’d ever seen. Undoubtedly, I’d found Sacton Crain’s sleeping quarters.
And I wouldn’t have been half as troubled, had he not bellyached so often about how little the village paid in tithes.
“So much for caring for the poor,” I grumbled, kneeling to look under the four-post bed. Nothing there. I searched the armoire, the dresser, the small, enclosed toilet that reminded me of a fancy indoor outhouse. No sign of humans, or spiders.
A door on the other side of the armoire caught my attention. I slowly turned the gold knob, which opened on a narrow closet, where manacles hung from the ceiling and two braided whips decorated the wall. Horror curled through my blood, as I imagined their purpose, and I quickly closed the door, squeezing my eyes shut to banish those visuals from my thoughts.
Hair on the back of my neck stood on end as I sensed a presence in the room. I turned, raising the lamp, only to find Zevander standing in the doorway, completely soaked. His damp hair shielded his eyes and face, as he stood leaning against the doorframe.
“Zevander?”
The moment I said his name, he stumbled forward, catching himself on a nearby chair.
I dashed across the room toward him, helping him settle into the seat. Having placed the lamp on the floor, I removed his sopping wet cloak and noticed blood trickling out of wounds on both his arm and his abdomen. “What happened?”
He didn’t answer me, his silence prompting me to look up, and when I brushed the wet strands back from his face, I gasped. The tiny black veins branching out from his scar had widened their stretch upward, toward his eye and across his temple, disappearing into his hairline.
He angled his face toward the shadows, hiding it from me.
“All bedrooms have been properly swept with no sign of excessive spiders,” Aleysia interrupted, her voice an annoyance to the worry stirring in my gut.
“Good. Choose a room for yourself,” I answered, dismissively.
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes. It’s fine.”
“Right. I’m going to see if I can scrounge some food from the kitchen. I’m starving.”
“Wonderful.” Once she’d shuffled off, I turned my attention back to Zevander, who continued to shield his face. “You’re bleeding. What happened?”
As if snapped from his trance, he sighed and sat back in the chair. “Theron.”
“He’s following us?”
“Wasfollowing us. He’s no longer present tense. However, I am a little frustrated about that.”
I was relieved to hear him speaking in his normal tone. “Why?”
“Because, at the very least, he might’ve been an option for Aleysia.”
“You’re talking about a blood bond to cross?”
“Yes.”
