Page 157 of Eldritch
The two of them frantically looked around, where arms, ears, and fins lay scattered over the surface. The water below them held floating bits of what Kazhimyr was certain were Syrenian body parts. The iceberg lurched toward the flat, icy surface from which it’d detached earlier, and the two of them scrambled onto the clean stretch of ice. Peering into the water showed a shadowy figure rising up toward them.
Hand held out, ready to send a blast of ice toward it, Kazhimyr waited—until, at last, hunter green hair breached the surface.
He lowered his arm. “Dravien?”
“Care to help me out of the water? Sharks will be scavenging any moment.” He raised his hand, and Kazhimyr took hold, yanking him up onto the icy ledge. Long, black spikes protruding out of his spine slinked beneath his clothing and vanished.
“It’s not the meat that’ll draw them, but the sheer force of your massive balls.” Ravezio chuckled, taking hold of his other arm to hoist his lower half onto the iceberg.
“You did this?” Kazhimyr asked, spying the lower half of a Syrenian, a scaled silvery fin, twitching in the water where a shark must’ve bit into it.
“Sometimes, I can be useful. Heroic, even.”
“Godsblood, what did you do?” Ravezio peered into the water.
“The spikes on my back release a toxin. In water, it spreads quickly and gets in their gills. Keeps the water trapped inside their bodies until they burst.”
Snorting, Ravezio stepped away from the edge. “I was certain you’d have skipped off without us.”
“Believe me, I wanted to.”
“Must be some curse, if you’re willing to dive into the icy sea like that. That, or you have the biggest, most generous heart.” Ravezio placed his hand over his chest and cracked a laugh.
Dravien rolled his eyes and looked out toward the ship. “Captain anchored, but he can’t get close to the ice. If you can offer a path, we can walk most of it.”
“Think I can handle that.” Kazhimyr pushed to his feet, and his surroundings shifted. He shook his head and held out his hand, sending a blast of mist outward, extending the surface from where they stood. The ship in the distance swayed and blurred, his vision widening and closing in. Shrinking smaller and smaller.
“Fuck. He was bitten” was the last thing he heard Dravien say, before the blackness swallowed him.
CHAPTER FIFTY
MAEVYTH
Whatever room we’d been taken to beneath the church boasted high, arched, stone walls, tall enough to fit Raivox, if he were inclined to find his way into the temple. Like some sort of underground shelter I’d never known about as long as I’d lived in Foxglove, but the ancient masonry and impressively carved pillars told me it’d stood for centuries.
At one end of the massive space stood an altar with crosses and candles. Carved into the other three walls were hundreds of alcoves, stone shelters, stuffed with straw and blankets and flickering candles. Sleeping quarters, from the looks of it.
A peaceful backdrop to the mob of villagers that surrounded us, all of them carrying some sort of weapon.
“What is this place?” I whispered, caught in the center of the congregation numbering at least a hundred, or more, none of whom looked at me directly for more than a second.
“A tomb,” my father answered. “It’s where ancient clergy were buried. They must’ve cleared the bodies out.”
“Sleeping where bodies rotted away?” Aleysia crinkled her nose. “Revolting.”
“No more revolting than watching you devour a jar of raw liver,” I said, trailing my gaze over the blockade for a gap, or breach.
The crowd parted, and Sacton Crain stepped into the halo where we stood, the clack of his crosier skating down my nerves. “Contained in this circle is the rotting, festering seed of our good parish!” His lips twisted with derision as he spoke, but the tremble in his voice betrayed him. “We have the witch, the heretic, the incestuous harlot, and the plague-spreading sea serpent!”
“Sea serpent?” Corwin spoke low from behind. “I don’t even like the sea. Makes me nauseous.”
“Harlot.” Aleysia let out a bitter laugh. “And what shall we call you, Sacton Crain? A man who enjoys the pleasures of harlots?”
“Blasphemous demon! Every word that spills from her mouth is the devil’s poison.”
“And you’re a hypocrite,” Aleysia kept on. “Spilling poison into the minds of an entire parish. Tell me, where are your proper trousers, hmmm?” She gestured toward his long, red robe. “I’ll bet you’re not even wearing anything beneath.”
A unison of gasps rippled through the crowd of villagers.
