Page 28 of Bought By the Revenant
I spot Marla Weaver standing near the edge of the circle, the woman whose difficult birth led to my condemnation. She holds her baby in her arms, with her husband by her side. Her eyes meet mine briefly before she looks down at the ground.
“Please,” I beg. “This is madness.”
The Elder smiles down at me, but the smile never reaches his eyes.
“Your screams please Draug. He will hear your terror and accept our offering.”
My mind flashes back to the times when I stood in this grove. I was fifteen years old and trying to understand why everyone believed these things. Disease had swept through the goat herds that spring, killing nearly half of them despite my mother’s attempts to isolate the sick animals. My family and I knew it was some sort of contagion, but the village elders declared that Draug demanded blood to stop the deaths. I watched as they brought forward a black goat, the finest remaining in the village. The animal bleated in terror as they forced it onto this same altar, and its screams cut off abruptly when the knife sliced across its throat. The disease eventually ran its course, as diseases do without any mystical intervention, but the villagers credited the sacrifice for saving the remaining herds.
Then there was Mella three years later. Sweet, simple Mella, who believed everything the Elder told her. When fire raged through the forest that summer, destroying half the trees that supplied the village with lumber and threatening the village itself, the Elder said Draug demanded a greater sacrifice than animal blood. Mella volunteered herself, truly believing she would save everyone. I couldn’t bear to watch what they did to her. I left the village that day and hid in the hills until it was over, but I heard her screams carried on the wind.
Maybe that was my first mistake, showing my disgust with their rituals. By refusing to participate in their madness, I marked myself as different and suspicious in their eyes. When I saved Marla and her baby years later using knowledge and skill rather than prayers, the villagers were already primed to see witchcraft instead of midwifery.
Now, my cries and pleas have no effect on the crowd. I can see it in their faces: the determination born of desperation and blind faith. No one will save me.
My thoughts turn to Riven. Our time together was so brief, but just the same, I found something I never expected to find. Understanding from someone who knew what it meant to be different. Perhaps even the beginning of love, though I never said the words out loud to him. Now I’ll never get the chance. He’ll never know what happened to me or why I disappeared.
I realize I wanted to be his wife more than anything. Even if things happened so fast, even if initially I only saw him as an escape, I wanted to tend to our garden together through the seasons, to sleep in his arms, to learn more about him and his world, to cook for him and share my short mortal life with him.
The Elder raises his knife high above his head for everyone to see. The blade is ornate with a curved edge and a handle carved from yellowed bone. Ancient symbols run along the metal, meaningless to me but clearly significant to the believers.
“Great Draug,” he says, “accept this offering. Restore balance to our land. Send the rains to quench our thirsty fields.”
The crowd begins to chant in response, a low, rhythmic sound that grows louder with each repetition. Words in the old tongue that no one really understands anymore, passed down through generations as sounds without meaning, yet somehow these sounds justify murder in their minds.
I clamp my mouth shut. I won’t scream for them anymore. I won’t give them what they want. I close my eyes and pictureRiven’s face as clearly as I can. His glowing white eyes, the stitches that map his features, the careful way he touched me, as if I might break.
I feel the air shift, and I open my eyes to see the Elder stand beside me with the knife ready. He presses the blade against the inside of my left arm, just below the elbow. The knife bites deep into my flesh, slicing through skin and muscle, from elbow to wrist, in one smooth motion. The pain is immediate and overwhelming, spreading through my arm in waves. A scream tears from my throat despite my resolve to keep silent. Blood wells up instantly, bright red and flowing freely down my arm. It runs along the sides into the channels carved in the stone.
The Elder moves around to my right side, taking his time. My vision blurs around the edges and darkens. I feel disconnected from my body, floating somewhere above the pain. Is this what dying feels like? So quick to come, and so cold as the blood leaves me? The Elder presses the blade against my right arm now, finding the same spot below the elbow. The chanting grows louder around us, voices raised in religious fervor. I close my eyes as the knife begins to cut.
Chapter Fourteen
Riven
The wheels of the carriage crunch through the gravel as we enter Crosshold, the town still shrouded in pre-dawn darkness. Olaf slows the horses to navigate the narrow streets. Half the town still sleeps while the other half starts to wake up.
“Where to, Master?” Olaf calls from his perch.
“The market square.”
We’ve been searching all night. We checked every road leading from Aura Glade, and every path Amity might’ve taken, alone or restrained by those men who want her for reasons that are a mystery to me. We found no footprints, no torn fabric, no signs that anyone fought or struggled. My hands ball into fists and the stitches across my knuckles pull tight at my skin. I can’t lose her. After all this time alone, I finally found someone who looks at me and sees more than a monster, and I just can’t lose her.
The market square already bustles with people getting ready for the day’s business. I spot the auctioneer from the bride market setting up his stage. I jump down from the carriage before Olaf brings it to a stop and walk straight toward him. People move out of my way when they see me coming, their eyes going wide with fear. My hood has fallen back, and I leave it that way. If they’re frightened of me, maybe I’ll get results faster.
The auctioneer glances up when my shadow falls across the papers spread on his makeshift desk. His face shifts from confusion to recognition, and then he forces an uncomfortable smile.
“Well, if it isn’t the most generous bidder I’ve had the pleasure to do business with. How is your new bride? Settling in well, I hope?” He straightens his purple vest and fidgets with thebrass buttons. “I should mention there are no refunds if you’re unhappy with your purchase.”
“My wife is missing,” I say.
His smile vanishes. “Missing? How unfortunate.”
“The three men who pursued her that day… Do you know them?”
He looks down at his ledger and starts shuffling papers around. “I make it a policy not to get involved in personal matters.”
I press my palm flat against his paperwork to stop his nervous fidgeting. “Please. Any information could help.”
