Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

MAEVYTH

A cold wind blew through the hood of my cloak, as I stood beside my sister, rubbing my hands together to stave off the frigid bite. On the other side of me stood Lolla, and next to her, Agatha and Uncle Felix. All of the parish, perhaps two hundred people in total, had gathered around Governor Grimsby and Sacton Crain, whose long white hair danced about his face as he stood upon the Prudence Rock.

“Under the eye of our merciful Red God, Caedes, we offer the soul of this sinner.” Hands raised to the air, he looked skyward, and I glanced around at other parishioners, whose heads were tipped back, eyes closed as if they felt some divine presence amongst us. If The Red God was watching, then he surely had a morbid side to him. “May his sacrifice please our Lord–his bones to reinforce our good faith, his blood to rejuvenate our hearts, and his soul to cleanse our transgressions. For we are an imperfect reflection of our sacred father, and it is our duty to repent and redeem ourselves, or forfeit The Red God’s protection when The Decimation is upon us.”

The Sacred Men believed the end of mankind would arrive in the form of total destruction and complete blackness, and that The Red God would deliver them to the Eternal Light. They also believed the more sinners they thinned from our community, the purer their devotion.

I felt like a liar standing amongst them. A traitor for the skeptical thoughts in my head that I didn’t dare speak aloud. Not even to Aleysia. At that point, I’d already suffered plenty of scars for transgressions against their god. All carved into my back and legs by Sacton Crain, or the Vonkovyan guards who sometimes doled out the punishments. So, I played along, pretending to worship as all others, because nonbelievers were also sent to The Eating Woods.

Peering over my shoulder showed the parishioners standing behind us, keeping a wide berth with their eyes turned away from mine. Years ago, I’d caught wind of a rumor, that looking me in the eye could bring bad luck. No doubt, they’d have gladly traded me for the prisoner who faced banishment, their suspicions being that I embodied the evil they feared most.

In spite of myself, I turned back around, sparing them the discomfort.

An arc of red hid the accused from my view, the high hoods of The Red Veils, effectively blocking out his naked form. All banished were stripped down, divested of all possessions, so I was grateful for the obstruction, even if their presence gave me hives. It was rare to see the clergy women, who wore long red vestments with red veils meant to signify their love and devotion to the faith. They rarely left the temple, as socializing was undoubtedly a bit more challenging without the means to speak.

I ran my tongue across my teeth, trying to imagine its absence.

At a stirring beside me, I caught a glimpse of Aleysia holding Uncle Riftyn’s hand, her fingers curled in his, in a way that seemed more intimate than comforting. As disturbing as it was to see their hands entwined, I couldn’t ignore the distraction of my heart stampeding in my chest, the tickle of nausea stirring in my belly. The ceremonies always made me anxious, but for some reason, the symptoms seemed far more exaggerated this time.

Or perhaps it was just the cold seeping its way into my bones.

Between the row of parishioners and the Red Veils which separated me from the prisoner, all I could make out was the top of his head, his hair dirty and disheveled. How unbearable the chill must’ve been on his exposed flesh obscured by all the heads in front of me.

As I understood, he’d defected against The Red God and country. A family man who’d gone on a raving tirade, claiming the Governor and Sacton Crain were frauds and murderers, and that the Sacred Men were nothing but a cult. He’d also threatened to burn Governor Grimsby alive.

Unfortunately for him, threats weren’t tolerated in Foxglove Parish. Particularly those against the governor.

A glance to the left showed the prisoner’s wife and young son, standing off at a distance. The woman sobbed into a kerchief, while her son, perhaps no more than seven years old, looked on, undoubtedly confused by the scene. She’d have been forced to attend The Banishing, because refusing would’ve placed her alongside her husband. Hard to say what would’ve happened to their son in that instance–most wives simply kept quiet and obeyed the laws.

Of course, they’d be homeless afterward, lucky to survive the winter, because the wives of the banished weren’t permitted to own property. A cruel fate.

Unbeknownst to Agatha, I sometimes snuck bread and warm broth to Mrs. Chalmsley, whose husband had also been banished to Witch Knell. After having lost their home, she’d found refuge in the old granary that’d gotten damaged in a storm a few years back. I’d have to find a way to scrounge extra for the distraught looking mother and her child.

“Stripped of all possessions,” Sacton Crain kept on, “this man shall be judged as all on the day of reckoning.”

From a small brazier whose orange flickering I could see between bodies, he lifted a branding rod into the air, and the first twinge of panic gurgled in my throat. Breathing through my nose, I screwed my eyes shut to the sound of sizzling flesh, but could not block out the roar of agony, tempered only by the bit that’d been placed in the prisoner’s mouth.

“Daddy!” The boy cried out, and I dared to glance his way. Tiny hands reached out as his mother held him close, burying her face in the small child’s chest. Teeth clenched, she let out an angered cry, drowned by the dying sounds of suffering. There was nothing she could do, though. To interfere would’ve placed her in the same fate, leaving her child completely alone and defenseless.

“And now, we offer this sacrifice to the angel of judgment,” Governor Grimsby said. “Should your blessings favor us with a mild winter and bountiful spr–”

The woman in front of me let out a wild scream, and at the hard clutch of my wounded arm, I looked up to see the prisoner standing before me, his naked and dirty body trembling, eyes wild. The branding of a B that’d been seared into his cheek glistened with raw and swollen flesh.

Muscles stiff, I couldn’t move, my breathing hard and erratic as I stared back at him. On his hand, just below the metal shackle, I spied a five stars and moon, the symbol of the old gods, inked onto his skin.

His eyes rolled back to terrifying white orbs, which emphasized the dark circles where he must’ve been punched. “God is Death,” the man rasped, and in the next breath, he was ripped away by the Vonkovyan guards.

The phantom mark of his icy grip lingered, as I stared down where he’d grabbed me.

Voices around me grew distant. I turned to see Aleysia speaking, her lips moving, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying.

A path remained clear ahead of me, offering a view of the robed men dragging the prisoner to the archway where I’d stood earlier, when I’d read those very words on my father’s death announcement. Words I hadn’t written.

One hard shove knocked the prisoner onto the ground at the other side. As he scrambled to his feet, the guards blocked the archway, preventing his escape, their sharp rods pointed at him. One of them sneered, jabbing at the man with his bayonet.

Everything moved slowly and fluidly, as if I were under water.

A nudge from my left drew my focus to Lolla, who asked if I was alright. Beside her, Agatha wore a repulsed expression.

With my muscles seized in shock, I couldn’t form a single word.

The silence shattered beneath a gurgling outcry.

The Vonkovyan guards broke away, opening the view of the prisoner on his knees, blood oozing around the guard’s rod impaling his chest.

An invisible force yanked the banished man backward, into the depths of the woods.

A guttural cry of terror echoed from the forest, and an object flew through the archway, landing at my feet.

As I stared down at the five stars and moon on the man’s degloved hand, my breathing hastened, the view shifting around me.

Blackness filtered in.