Page 27 of Bought By the Revenant
More shadows emerge from the trees, and more hands grab my flailing arms, forcing them down to my sides.
“We have you now, witch.” I recognize Thorne’s voice. “Did you think you could hide forever?”
I struggle harder, my body twisting and fighting to no avail.
“Hold her still,” Thorne says.
Something rough forces its way between my lips as someone pries my jaw open. A cloth that tastes like mold pushes deep into my mouth. I gag around it, and tears spring to my eyes from the effort to not vomit.
“Make sure it’s tight,” says Thorne. “We don’t need the whole village hearing her.”
A bag comes down over my head, coarse fabric scratching against my face and plunging me into complete darkness. The smell of old grain and dust fills my nostrils, making breathing even harder.
“You won’t escape again,” Brone’s voice rumbles close to my ear, his breath hot and sour. “Draug will have his sacrifice.”
I refuse to give up after surviving this long on my own. With my last reserves of strength, I twist and writhe in their grasp. Mynails find flesh and dig in deep, scraping down what might be an arm. I hear a curse in Elgar’s familiar nasal voice and feel savage satisfaction as blood coats my fingertips.
“Enough of this,” Thorne says sharply. “We don’t have all night.”
Something hard strikes the back of my head. Pain explodes behind my eyes and spreads through my skull, as white light flashes across my vision. My legs go weak. The world spins, and the men’s voices become distant, muffled sounds that I can’t quite understand anymore.
Then there’s nothing but darkness.
***
Voices drift in and out of my awareness. The jolting rhythm of being carried, the scratch of rope against my wrists, the sway and bounce of riding on horseback, the throbbing pain in my skull.
“How much for the portal?” Thorne’s voice comes from somewhere to my left.
“Too much, but the village will understand the cost.” That’s Elgar.
“What if he doesn’t let us use it even if we pay?”
“We’ll find a way if we have to.”
I can’t make sense of their words, and I faint again.
***
When I open my eyes, dawn light filters through the trees above me. For a confused moment, I think I’m back in Katherine’s garden, somehow having fallen asleep in the grass. Then I try to move. My arms and legs are stretched out wide, bound with thick ropes to something solid. Another rope cuts across my middle, pressing me against cold, hard stone. Therag is still in my mouth, dry now and foul-tasting, making each breath a struggle through my nose.
I know this place. The sacred grove outside Witherglen. The sacrificial altar.
I’ve been here many times, watched from the crowd as animals had their throats cut in Draug’s name. Their blood drained into the stone channels carved into the altar’s surface, flowing down to soak into the ground below.
People surround me in a wide circle, dozens of faces I recognize. Familiar faces from my childhood, from years of delivering their babies and treating their ailments. Some meet my gaze, while others look away in what might be shame. But not one person steps forward to help me. Not one voice speaks against what’s about to happen.
A face appears above me, blocking out the brightening sky. The Elder, Thorne’s father, looks down at me with those cold, hard eyes I remember too well. His gray beard hangs over me as he leans close, and he wears his red ceremonial robes. Draug’s symbol is embroidered in black thread across the chest.
“The drought continues,” he says, his voice carrying to the gathered crowd, “because she defied Draug’s will. She stole those meant for his court in the sky.” His fingers touch my face, making me flinch away. “Only her blood will restore balance and bring back the rain.”
He pulls the rag from my mouth. I gulp air desperately, coughing and choking, then immediately begin to scream as loud as my raw throat allows.
“Let me go! Have you all lost your minds? This won’t bring rain!”
My voice echoes through the grove, bouncing off the trees. I search the crowd frantically, looking for any sympathetic face among them.
“This is murder! How can you believe this will help? I’ve delivered half your children!”
