Chapter 1

1

Lustina

Centuries ago

Monastery of the Holy Quintinity, Praecepsia

“Come with me, child.”

Lustina took the hand of the robed man, noting the cold wrinkled skin against her palm. Her mother had told her never to trust them, the ones with crosses and stern faces, but when they’d taken her mother, as well, the girl had had little choice.

For years, she and her mother had lived on the outskirts of their village, away from those who’d cast them off as a scourge on their good community. Being left to fend for themselves in the woods during the harshest of winters had turned them into staunch survivalists, hardier than the peasants who worked in fields all summer long. On the cusp of womanhood, between childhood and adolescence, Lustina could’ve doubtlessly taken care of herself, but it was her mother’s fate that concerned her most. So, when the robed men promised to take her to see her mother, she didn’t hesitate to follow.

They were known throughout all of Praecepsia as the Pentacrux, a staunch religious group that’d swept through villages in search of sinners. Far more intolerant than the occasional Christian missionaries she’d known to pass through. They believed in the holy Pentasanctori, the divine five, which consisted of The Father, The Virgin Mother, The Messiah, and the two warriors at either side. Unlike most Christians, they shunned the existence of angels, believing that they were the chosen warriors of their Holy Father, and anything supernatural in their world was malevolent in nature. Their word rivaled the power of the king himself, and no one dared question their faith, lest they’d be sought out to be strung up and crucified, in what the clergy would’ve deemed a holy cleansing. Pentacrux was their militant sect, said to both hunt and destroy the evils of the world.

And it happened to be Lustina’s mother they’d deemed as such.

The one named Bishop Venable, who seemed to be the most prominent of the robed men, his mannerisms and dress much more formal than the others, led her down an exceptionally drafty hallway lit by torches. His long, golden staff clicked against the cobblestones, marking each unfamiliar step. Cold air prickled her skin, but it was the unknown that cast the chill down her spine, as she let the older man guide her toward the light at the end of the crepuscular tunnel.?Sounds of angry shouts and screams stirred her fears, and her throat turned as dry and scratchy as the hemp cloth dress that brushed at her ankles with every nervous step.

The light.?She focused on that. Bad things never happened in the light. It was always darkness, mother had always said. The dark was when evil tended to be most active. Therefore, she had nothing to fear.

As she breached the archway, the sun hit her with a blinding light, and she shielded her eyes against it.

Men, women, and children had gathered around a platform set in the middle of a clearing in the monastery’s courtyard. The scorching sun beat down across the back of her neck, as Lustina pushed to her tiptoes to see over all the congregated bodies. They parted for the bishop, while he made his way toward the platform with her in tow.

Some in the crowd wore silks, while others looked no different than she, clad in worn rags that hardly clung to their skeletal frames. Mothers clutched their children when she passed. One spat on her. Another spoke in a hostile tone, in a language she didn’t understand. No matter whether they were poor, or rich, they all seemed to share a common hatred for young Lustina.

Bishop Venable came to a stop before the platform and released the girl’s hand. “Bring the accused forward!”

At that, Lustina turned toward where men clad in robes, with cowls that concealed their faces, led her mother to the platform in shackles so thick her tendons showed beneath her skin. The girl gasped at the pronged device that extended from her mother’s chin to her neck, keeping her head tipped back.

The crowd grew louder, more hostile than before. The air stank of ale, the sweet-perfumed skin of the wealthy, and the heady odor of violence.

Some whispered, “Witch!” Others chanted, “Heretic!”

Chains clinked against the iron platform, as Lustina’s mother was guided toward a post, the foot of which held kindling and firewood. The very firewood she and her mother had chopped before winter, stolen by the bishop and his guardsmen when they’d stormed through their home.

At the raise of the bishop’s hand, the crowd settled. Every nerve in Lustina’s body trembled in fear. She sought her mother’s gaze, leaning to the side in hopes she’d take notice, but the contraption at her throat prevented her from doing so.

“This unwed woman has been brought forth on charges of heresy and witchcraft!” The bishop spoke with a foreboding exuberance, lifting his staff into the air, which seemed to command more angry shouts from the crowd. “She speaks with the devil’s tongue and, therefore, will be sent back to her true, infernal home, where she belongs. The river of everlasting flames will welcome her with open arms, and we will feel the light of The Holy Father shine brighter upon us for having rid such filth from our sacred communal. The penalty for heresy and witchcraft is death!”

Tears filled Lustina’s eyes as, all at once, she understood their intent. Why she’d been brought forth. It wasn’t for the opportunity to see her mother, so much as witness her execution. She lurched toward the platform, held back by one of the robed men beside her. His nails dug into her flesh, and no matter how much she twisted and squirmed to free herself, the effort was futile.

One of the robed men on the platform yanked her mother toward the post, the jerking motion sending those forked prongs up into the underside of her chin. She let out a scream that was met by louder, more hostile screams from the crowd.

Someone lit the kindling, and the sounds of crackling skated down Lustina’s spine in harrowing reality.

“On the eve of the fifth blood moon, darkness will cover the land, and all of you will burn in the flames!” Her mother let out a gut-wrenching scream, and Lustina reached out toward her, as if she had the power to save her. “You so much as harm my daughter, and you will feel ...” Another scream interrupted her words. “You will feel … hellfire!”

“Mother!” Body trembling, the girl watched in horror as the flames caught on her mother’s skirts and climbed the length of her body to the auburn locks that Lustina had always loved to braid.

“Lustina! Lustina!” Unable to lower her head, her mother cried out toward the sky. “I will see you again, my sweet child! In the next life, I will see you.”

“Mother!” Tears spilled down her cheeks, as the only woman who’d ever truly loved and cared for her succumbed to the fire.

Bishop Venable came to a stand beside the girl. “She lies,” he said in a calm voice. “There is no such thing as reincarnation. Your mother is bound for eternal punishment, but you … that He could overlook her sins and offer you the mercy of the church is an act of true righteousness.” He grabbed the back of her neck in his cold palm, running his thumb over her throat. “Remember this day, child. Remember it well.”

The flames engulfed her mother like ravenous wolves on prey, and soon her screams died to only the crackle of burning flesh.

A woman clad in a different sort of religious robe handed Bishop Venable a long metal rod. On its end was the same unusual symbol as that embroidered into Bishop Venable’s robe. A cross with its base split in two. He stepped forward, setting the metal into the thickest part of the flame that still burned around her mother’s charred body.

Minutes later, the metal glowed an ominous orange.

The old man nabbed a rag from one of the robed men standing nearest to him, which he wrapped around the unheated end, and he lifted the scorching metal from the flame, carrying it back toward Lustina.

Every muscle in her body quaked with fear, the grip of the robed man tight around her, ensuring no escape. One hard yank tore away the sleeve of her dress, taking part of the bodice with it. An unyielding hand stretched out her arm, while another held tight to her throat, choking her breath.

“Lustina …” The bishop regarded her like a plague across his tongue. “Although it is true, you may be doomed to the same fate as your mother, may The Holy Father show you mercy.”

White-hot pain sank into her flesh with the bite of a thousand needles. Her arm shook with the shock of unbearable agony, while the metal sizzled and burned against her arm. She let out a scream that echoed all around her, drowning out the cheers of the crowd.

And their God was merciful.

For all fell silent as she slipped into the black abyss.