Page 56 of The Coven of Ruin
Had he told his brothers that he was dying then? Her eyes flicked to Grae, but he was intently focused on what lay below.
Another voice hissed, “Don’t answer that just to hear your name, fool.” And suddenly, other whispers pick up, giving their own recommendations and reprimands.
“I only need the truth for a couple of questions, and then I will say your name.” More impassioned uttering. “And also,” he hesitated, and they quieted. “I have meat for you.”
There was movement in the darkness that bordered the light. “I was honored, chosen by Khaos herself.” Braxton’s voice rasped.
He coughed, then continued. “We never stole anything from the gods. There was no reason to. We were freely given the weapons. Three, but we made many. Ancient tools from ancient tombs.” His voice gave out, his rasp barely audible. “Forged by ancient gods from ancient wombs.”
There was more shuffling in the darkness. A sickly pale man, his features tinged with yellow and gray, and his face sunken, stepped into the light just enough that they could see him. He looked up at the grate, bones crunching beneath his dirty feet.
“Who gave you those weapons?” Ares asked.
“A god,” he croaked, a bony hand rising to shield his eyes.
“My name,” he demanded.
“Which god,” Ares pressed through clenched teeth.
“They do not share their identity with us. They scheme and use us to do what they cannot. A witch killing gods, that serves them.” More coughing. He moved back into the shadows. Trista could just make out his pale form on the edge of the light. “They use, but we use them too, and it is all for the sake of She.” Braxton paused, his breathing scratchy as someone in the darkness cursed at him. “May Khaos swallow them.” He bobbed his head and scratched his chest mindlessly.
“They?”
“Meet us at the Fold. Did they come? They were going to bring the one….” he muttered and trailed off.
“Bring who,” Ares persisted.
Braxton stepped back into the light, bone crunching beneath his feet, eyes squinting. “The First. The one Khaos is owed!” he hissed.
“Who betrayed you?” Ares redirected.
Braxton muttered to himself, looking into the recesses of the pit catatonically. Suddenly jerking, he turned his gaze back toward them. “It wasn’t until I was here that I saw what they needed.” He reached toward the grate, eyes bulging as he strained to keep them open against the light. “The bones told me, you see?”
“What did they say?”
“And they told me you’d come,” Braxton continued as if he hadn’t heard him. His gnarled fingers bent until it was just one pointing at Ares. “Yes, yes, I know you. I’veseenyou. A cursed god, made in blood, bathed in blood…“ he trailed off, dropping his arm. “And a brother, true.” He coughed. “A broken god, but of blood too.”
A gurgling noise bubbled in Braxton’s throat. Even though she knew he couldn’t see them, he looked right at her. “And the witch with no home.”
She leaned forward, despite the twisting ache in her gut. What did he know?
“Marked and still her mother—“ Something thrown from the shadows hit him in the side of the head. He reeled and screeched, the noise echoing as the light began to flicker and fade.
Trista knelt beside Ares and grabbed one of the bars to peer closer into the pit. “My mother, what?” she asked desperately.
Turning back toward them, Braxton’s face was now contorted in a hungry fervor. “Now say my name and give me my meat.” Spittle flew from his mouth.
Trista pulled her hand back as if it had been burned. He was going to say something about her mother. “What,” she tried again, but Ares shook his head at her once before looking back at the prisoner.
His voice was devoid of any emotion when he spoke. “Braxton. Your name is Braxton Bena.” The light faltered and dimmed again.
“Yes, yes, that is my name,” he mumbled softly, his eyes closed, and a smile spread across his lips as if he had just been blessed.
Shuffling and snapping sounded from all directions below, too pale bodies appearing on all edges of the light. A symphony of hungry moaning grew and grew. Ares pushed the slab of meat through the grate and into the failing light. The prisoners rushed for it, snarling and grappling like wild animals.
None of them spoke until they were in the carriage again.
“He knew the prophecy,” Grae said, rolling a wood pick between his teeth. “You think any of them have come to try and get it out of him?”
