Chapter 48

48

Lustina

Ablack bird fluttered to the sill of Lustina’s window, as she shoved the small bit of bread she’d taken from the kitchen into the satchel, along with a pair of woolen mittens, some extra stockings, and her only other dress. “Patience. I am going as fast as I can,” she whispered to the bird, who had flown by her window twice in the time she’d taken to pack the few items. “You are going to stir attention, if you keep flying about like that.”

A clanging sound she’d heard earlier, but had paid little attention to, seized her focus, and she paused her packing to listen carefully.

Clang. Clang. Clang.

Clang.

Clang.

Clang. Clang. Clang.

The same pattern, repeated.

She looked toward the closed door of her bedroom, frowning. At the caw of the bird, she snapped her attention back and pushed the satchel beneath her bed. “One moment. I have to make sure no one is awake. You do not want me to be followed, do you? We shall never escape unnoticed.”

The bird tipped its head, eyeing her up and down.

“It may just be the wind.” On tiptoes, she padded toward the door and opened it only a crack, to peer out into the empty corridor. Her room, being the closest to the bell tower, often captured the sounds of wind that rushed through the tower’s peak. At the sight of no one in the hallway, she climbed the stone staircase, toward the enormous bell.

Clang. Clang. Clang.

Clang.

Clang.

Clang. Clang. Clang.

The sound, louder that time, told her the noise definitely came from somewhere within the tower. She did not dare whisper, for fear that someone might catch her out of bed, while she scampered up the stone stairwell. It was at the peak that Lustina noticed a flash of light off in the distance.

An oncoming storm.

A voice inside of her chided her to leave.?Ignoring it, she stepped carefully across the platform, rounding the bell, which remained still, until she reached the other side.

With a sharp inhale, she just managed to slap a hand to her mouth before a scream could escape her. Limbs as heavy as the bell’s iron, she couldn’t focus. Every muscle trembled with fear and disbelief.

From ropes that hung beneath the bell yoke, Pentash Maria and Aurelia dangled by their necks. Skin blue and eyes vacant with death.

Tears filled Lustina’s eyes. A thick dread weighed heavy in her chest, crushing the air out of her. The crucifix that hung from Maria’s waist tapped against the bell.

Clang. Clang. Clang.

Clang.

Clang.

Clang. Clang. Clang.

Lustina couldn’t move.

Go, Lustina! the voice from before urged, and she turned to see the raven sat on the bannister of the tower. Go now!

She backed herself to the stairwell and gathered the skirt of her dress so that she would not trip.

Abandoning the satchel beneath her bed, she ran out of the bell tower and through the courtyard. A half-dozen ravens flew overhead, and she followed after them into the woods. There, more ravens gathered to join the flock, the sound of their unified wings flapping like thunder. Over the fallen brush, she ran beyond the exhaustion of labored breaths and the ache of muscles.

Something stirs ahead,a voice said to her, and the birds changed direction, leading her away from the path she followed.

Deeper into the woods, the trees grew thicker, the sky darker than before. She could no longer see the birds overhead, but listened for their voices.

Above their ruckus came another sound, and Lustina looked ahead toward a cave, where dozens of bats emerged, taking to the sky.

The voices she’d heard before were drowned by cawing, the squeal of the bats, and the clashing of wings as a fight ensued in the sky. Beyond the canopy of trees, Lustina could hardly discern the birds from the bats, and she remained still as they battled overhead.

At a grip on her arm, she screamed and turned to find the Pentash Mother standing alongside her.

“Whatever are you doing out this late, child?”

Wriggling to get loose, Lustina lurched away, but something gripped her other arm. One of the pentroshes she recognized from the monastery. Heart pounding in her chest, she let out a scream that was quickly captured in the palm of the Pentash Mother’s hand. Lustina dug her heels into the cold dirt, as she was dragged across the forest. Others joined in, faces she recognized from the village, who carried her through the forest.

“Help me!” she screamed, but to no avail, as the palm covering her face tightened, nails digging into her cheeks.

She arched and bucked and screamed, until she flew through the air, her stomach light, and the ground crashed into her spine. Pain climbed up her back into her sinuses, and she turned to her side on a cough, where she found what must have been the entire village gathered at the bank of the river.

Eyes scanning over them, Lustina pushed to her knees and slowly backed away. Something hit her back, and she turned to see Pentash Mother, the priests, and the elder Van Croix standing behind her.

“You asked to be baptized, did you not?” Pentash Mother asked.

Fear gripped Lustina’s stomach, and she climbed to her feet. The crowd of villagers parted, and at the edge of the river stood Bishop Venable.

She closed her eyes, listening for the voices in the sky, but there was only the quiet crackling of torches and the trickling sounds of the river over the incessant thump of her heart.

“Come, girl. Let our Holy Father embrace you in the arms of the eternal.” The bishop held out his hand toward her, and although Lustina wanted nothing more than to run, she knew there was no escape. The baron had been tricked, and she could only pray that he would live.

Tears spilled down her cheeks as the defeat stretched before her in the torch-lit path leading to the river. Not a single face that stared back at her offered anything more than an expressionless stare.

A voice rose above the quiet, and she turned toward a woman, singing a chant in a language she did not understand. At the prod of her back, she stumbled forward, toward the bishop.

“Your dress is soiled, child,” the bishop said, waiting for her. “Come bathe in the river and cleanse yourself. For our Holy Father only welcomes the purest of souls.”

Glancing around showed no chance of escape. Even if she ran, they’d find her. Capture her.

She thought of her mother in that moment. How utterly defenseless, hopeless, she must have felt, when they came to their cottage in the woods and seized both of them. Another nudge from behind pushed her forward. And another. Another still, until Lustina found herself halfway down the path toward the bishop.

But it was as she remembered her mother, burning on that platform, that a cold rush coursed through her. A defiant breath in her lungs. She spun around, fist swinging, and knocked the Pentash Mother in the face. On a scream, the old woman fell to the ground, and the surrounding onlookers gasped.

Lustina dashed in the opposite direction, away from the bishop. A sharp sting streaked across her scalp. Hands reached for her dress. The tearing sound was the only warning before her sleeve tore away, exposing her skin to the winter cold. A whack of pain struck her legs, and she cried out as she tumbled face-first into the mud. Still, she clawed to get away, her fingers burning with bent nails that tore as they scraped across the dirt.

Screams echoed around her. Angry screams, demanding blood and retribution.

A harsh blow to her ribs left her curling into herself. A hand wrenched her onto her back, and she looked up to find the mother of the young girl, Agnes, who Lustina had pulled from the cold, deep river, tearing at her with vengeance.

More kicks and punches turned her flesh numb and cold, while breath sawed in and out of her battered ribs. Someone gripped her ankle and dragged her over the gritty forest bed, where broken branches and sharp rocks tore at her back.

“Whore!” someone screamed, spitting at her.

Others slung rocks and manure, which hit her body in punishing blows of agony.

When she finally reached the bishop, the fight within her flared with a vengeance. She thought of Lady Praecepsia and her own mother. Maria and Aurelia, who she was convinced had been murdered for their knowledge of the room she’d shown them. How the man had destroyed the strongest women in her life.

A scream ripped from her chest, as she hobbled toward him on battered, aching legs. She only just managed to scratch her nails across his face, before a hard whack to her spine knocked the air from her lungs. On a gasp, she fell to her knees before him, choking for one sip of breath.

“Evil has no place here, child,” he said over her. “For we are in the presence of His mercy and light. Now stand. Stand and give yourself to the light in a way your mother never could.”

If she could’ve talked right then, she’d have told him that her mother never had a choice, but the air still failed to fill her lungs.

She looked around at the crowd, who didn’t cheer the way they had when her mother had been led to the platform to burn. Instead, they remained silent. Watching. Waiting.

And still, something told Lustina it was all a lie.

She would die like her mother. Like Lady Praecepsia, and all the other outspoken women of the village who dared to challenge the bishop. If she closed her eyes, she could feel their presence around her, their hands on her shoulders, lifting her from the mud, guiding her forward with grace and dignity.

She glanced down to see the wrinkled hands of Pentash Mother and those of two other women from the village. Their fingers gripped her with so much force, her skin burned.

As she stood before the bishop, listened to the words he spoke in a language that was not her own, she wondered if death would be painful, or peaceful.

The bishop clutched the back of her neck and laid her back into the water. A frigid cold numbed her body, a welcomed sensation against the crippling agony of her wounds. She stared up at the sky, eyes searching for Jericho. Surely, he’d come.

Instead, she found only the blood red moon, so beautiful the way it hung in the sky like a fiery orb.

Lustina closed her eyes over tears and whispered, “Until we meet again, my love.”

A sob shook her body, as she took in all that would never be: his gentle hands and soft kisses. Words he’d spoken only for her. Love he’d given, only to her.

“Mercy!” she cried out, and as the bishop covered her face with his palm and dipped her beneath the surface of the water, all around her stilled.

The world turned calm again.

Silent.