Page 138 of Eldritch
Zevander let out one last roaring plea before the oats struck the back of his throat again and blackness closed in.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
ZEVANDER
Whispered voices reached Zevander’s ear, and he turned to see the surrounding white mist part, revealing two figures huddled in the corner of the nave he’d visited once before.
“She’s to be burned at noon. I’m afraid there’s nothing more I can do.”
“Please.” The man who’d spoken was older, showing white hair when he removed the flat-brimmed cap on his head and clutched it to his chest. “She is my granddaughter. I assure you, she is a good girl.”
“Not by blood.” Wearing a long, red robe, the man leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Had it been Aleysia, perhaps. But the other bears the mark of a witch. It appeared out of nowhere. Sacton Crain has decided to move forward with her punishment.” He placed a hand on the older man’s shoulder. “Better to be burned than banished.”
“Allow me to speak to Sacton Crain. I’m certain I can sway his thoughts.”
“He’s retired for the eve. Perhaps return in the morning. But I’ll caution—resistance on the matter has not been well-received.”
“She is young. Too young to suffer this punishment!”
“I agree, but it is The Red God’s will. Trust in him.”
The old man’s lips twisted in disgust. “I will never trust in a god that burns young and innocent girls at the stake.”
The robed man’s eyes narrowed. “For the sake of our longstanding friendship, I will ignore your remarks, as I know you are frustrated and in pain. But do not speak them again, lest you long to burn alongside her.” He waved toward the door. “Now, go. Should anyone find you here, they may question yourloyalties.”
“Let them question.” With that, the old man strode off toward the door and exited the temple.
Zevander followed after the robed man, who headed in the opposite direction, down a corridor, passing the sacristy, to a staircase that he hastily climbed, his robes following behind him like a serpent’s tail. They arrived at the top of the stairs, which opened on a long, dark corridor. The robed man paused at a door there, listening for a moment, then shook his head and kept on, disappearing into the shadowy passage.
Zevander remained by the door that’d caught the other’s interest, and he opened it to an exquisitely furnished room, fit for a king with its lush tapestries and fine fabrics. It brought to mind the girl’s cold, damp cell, and the single tattered blanket she’d been given to protect her from the floor.
Zevander crossed the room toward the bed, where he found Sacton Crain lying next to a young girl, her naked back marred with red streaks from a recent whipping. The sight of him roused a blinding rage that tore through Zevander’s muscles, his wrath a living, writhing beast that clawed inside of his chest.
He held out his palm forexitiusz, one of the earlier glyphs he’d learned, and like a hand cuffed to the man’s fleshy neck, he squeezed, withering the air from his lungs. Harder. Harder.
The older man gasped, eyes opening wide and fingers digging at what, to him, would’ve been an invisible force throttling his neck.
Zevander’s arms shook, his eyes burning with a haze of fury. How badly he wanted to destroy something. To watch it die at his hands. He bent forward, placed his lips to the old man’s ears, and whispered, “Burning her will be your gravest mistake. Tomorrow morning, you will release her out of mercy. Or I shall come for you when you are most content, and take satisfaction in watching your joy fade to terror, as I tear your flesh from its bones. Do you understand what I am telling you?”
Sacton Crain nodded frantically, his face slowly turning purple.
“I will commit your face to memory. And should we cross paths again, you will know death awaits.Mor samanet,” he whispered.
It took far more strength than Zevander could have imagined to release the old man, but he did. He backed away, watching him tremble and gasp and search through the dark for the creature that’d nearly ended his life.
Zevander would not forget that face, not so long as he lived. He would burn him alive and revel in the man’s screams, should they meet again.
He shuttered his eyes, turning his focus away from the violence that shook his bones. As much as he wanted to go to her in that moment, to comfort and assure her, urgency begged him for the truth. He needed to know before something yanked him out of Caligorya. “Show her to me. Show me a vision. I long to see that she lives.”
The dark bedroom around him shifted in a nauseating blur, and Zevander closed his eyes again, swaying on his feet. The strange vertigo faded, and he opened his eyes on a much simpler bedroom that smelled of delicious citrus, dried herbs and flowers. A light tap at his temple had him turning to see a sachet of some sort hanging from the ceiling. Many sachets hung about the room.
Two narrow beds flanked opposite ends of the room. The lumpen shapes atop of them, buried in mounds of blankets, hinted at sleeping bodies beneath. As he paused to inhale the scent of spicy herbs and flowers, a cold rush of air slipped past him. A dark figure strode into the room, and Zevander turned to see its cloaked form stalk toward the bed.
Frowning, he inched closer, watching as the figure reached for something below the bed. He lifted it to reveal a black, scaled egg.
Closer, Zevander edged.
The stranger set his palm against the egg, and a radiant violet light illuminated whatever creature inside squirmed and writhed with life. He quickly set the egg back on the floor and turned his attention to the mound of blankets on the bed.
