Brin
Shada reached the underground corridor that held their assigned room. An elderly woman beckoned them in from down the hall.
Children, wounded, and the elderly already filled the candlelit room. It had once held prisoners. Chains hung from the walls, and the floor featured a small well like the one that had nearly drowned the bishop.
“We’re the last room to close up,” the woman told them. “Wish we could lock the doors. These cells all lock from outside.”
“Even closing it may keep the wraiths out,” said Nor with a final chuckle. “They have no locks or doors where they live.”
This was wildly optimistic, but it felt good to say and might ease the others’ minds for the moment. Shada smiled at him, a broad, silly smile as if they had shared a childish joke. He returned the smile, wishing the wraiths’ power did not lie behind it. That smile did more than anything to help him shake off the jolliness of the wraith’s spell and come to his senses.
That and the memory of torture.
No one here had breathed the wraiths’ vapors. People huddled together, whispering, embracing, and weeping. Confusion hung in the air, and Nor reviewed the plan aloud to bring some order. “Whatever happens, we’ll stay unarmed. It’s our only chance if they find us. Captain Emberly says the swarms follow the leaves—”
“It’s true,” said the old woman who had let them in. “The biggest trees know it. That’s why they send the leaves. They want something destroyed.”
Nor nodded his thanks for the contribution. A couple minutes of conversation, even about things they all knew, might keep them calm—him not least—as long as they did not dwell on the grimness of their situation. Soon, they would have to lower their voices to whispers. “Since we don’t know when the swarms will come, let’s fill the cracks around the door now. That’ll keep out the wraiths’ vapors too.”
The woman wasn’t finished. “He stole that leaf. Rayan, that bastard. From an evil tree. Those wiry trees out there are its children. They’re taking over this jungle, hunting for that leaf.”
This, Nor had not heard before. It sounded unlikely, but he would discount nothing here. “Well, we’re putting it to good use.”
“What is she talking about?” said a shaking voice. It was Brin. Nor had not noticed him in the crowd.
“Father Brin,” he said, “I thought you were with the bishop.”
“He left me,” said Brin. He walked out of the crowd toward Nor, his lip trembling with each uncertain step. “He’s gone. And those things are coming…”
Shada had been silent until now. She went to Brin and put her hands on his arms. “It’s all right.” She whispered soothing things.
“No.” Brin shook her off. “Don’t lie. You’re lying.”
The sight of a priest breaking down was too much to handle. “It’s madness,” the elderly woman cried. “Madness. Calling down these swarms. They might kill the wraiths, but they won’t stop with them. They’re coming for all of us.”
Nor tried to sound reassuring. “That’s why we have so many tarps and blankets—”
The woman ignored him. “That tree knows we took it now, and it’ll punish us.” She shouted to the room, “It knows!”
Fear rippled through the others.
Feeling the room’s mood slipping toward panic, Nor whispered to Shada, “Help her,” and nodded toward the old woman.
She obeyed.
Nor spoke to Brin in a sympathetic tone that did not match his feelings. “Father Brin, what’s your favorite prayer?”
Brin stared at him as if he was speaking in tongues. “My…”
Nor glanced toward the elderly woman, who had eagerly accepted Shada’s embrace. “What’s the first one you can think of? Doesn’t have to be your favorite.”
It was clearly not a thing Brin often considered. He moved his lips, searching for a name. “I don’t know what it’s called.”
“Say it for us.”
Others nearby were listening.
Brin launched into the mealtime blessing. It was simple, very brief, and usually said in the presence of food. Nor joined him, reciting enthusiastically. He gestured for those around them to join in, and they did, softly at first, wondering if they were crazy.
By the time Brin finished, he had fallen to his knees out of habit. Nor kneeled also and said, “Again.”
On the second and third recitations, almost everyone joined in. Their voices were low and tense but calmer.
Nor was about to gently interrupt and suggest blocking the cracks around the door when someone knocked.
Shada opened the door, and Belith limped in on her cane.
“I can’t find anyone else,” she said. She nodded to Shada. “Everyone who’s not fighting has hidden.”
Shada returned her nod, clearly glad to see the woman. She straightened and grabbed Nor’s arm. “The Lady! I’ve forgotten her.”
Nor shook his head. “But you don’t know where she is.”
“Her box is out there somewhere. That’s her shelter. She might flee there.”
“It’s in my room,” said Belith. “I can take you there. But Shada, it’s useless.” She looked guilty. “I’ve had it for a while now. I’ve tried to open it, to summon the Lady, but it was no use.”
“Oh,” said Shada.
“I should’ve given it back, I know. Useless as it is, it’s important to you.”
Shada nodded.
The woman looked old and sad. “I just… really thought I could make her talk to me.” After a second’s thought, she perked up. “I’ll take you there now.” The prospect of taking action seemed to give her energy.
“I would appreciate that.” Shada glanced at her cane. “You’ve walked so far already, though. You can’t make it like that.” That was not true, and she clearly knew it. “Yes, take me there. Thank you.”
Nor could not believe this. He kept his voice calm. “The Lady can protect herself.”
“I know.” Shada’s voice revealed he had not moved her a bit. “But she’ll be safer here. My place is with her.”
“Shada…” Nor was momentarily speechless. “She wouldn’t ask you to do this.”
“She might not ask, but she wants me to. I think I’ve gotten to know her better.”
“The wraiths could be anywhere.”
She dismissed the danger with a shake of her head. “This is why I’m here. I have to do it, Nor. I’ve done nothing else for anyone.”
He gave her a small, weak smile. “‘Nothing else.’ That’s the biggest lie I’ve heard you tell. May I come?”
“No. Stay and do your job. You’re a good monk, whether you know it or not.”
She was right, but still, he fought. “The wraiths…”
“They can kill one of us as quickly as the next.” The truth of the words seemed to surprise her, and she shook her head. “We’d better leave before I think too hard about this. I’ll see you soon.”
As they spoke, Belith had taken Brin aside. Putting an arm around his shoulder, she pulled him close and whispered to him. Maybe she sensed his fear and was comforting him. When she left him, he was calmer, but he threw his cloak over himself as if hiding from the world.
Shada nodded in readiness. Belith opened the door, and the two women left without another word.
When the door shut, Nor turned to see many eyes on him. “It’s time to whisper,” he said. “But let’s keep praying.”
They prayed in whispers, and he joined them. The words gained a soft momentum, and they continued without him when he stopped. Brin had touched his shoulder.
The priest’s eyes were red from crying. “I’ll never forgive him,” he whispered. He clutched the front of his shirt in a bunch.
Nor almost asked who, but then he remembered. “You must.”
“Why did he leave?”
“I don’t know. Just remember, whatever it is, forgive him.”
Nor returned to prayer, but Brin tapped him again. Tears ran down the priest’s face. “Tell Shada I’m sorry.”
“For what? You’ll tell her yourself soon.”
“Someone attacked her.”
“I know.” Nor was worried. Brin was barely lucid.
“I was… scared… to tell anyone,” said the priest. “I delayed it. Stupid. But I have to keep it secret.”
Nor leaned in. “Keep what secret?”
Brin shivered and looked away. “Nothing. Don’t listen to me. I don’t know what I’m saying.” Remembering something, he spoke slowly and clearly. “Did you and Shada plan to keep me out of here? Me and Arumin, I mean. Did you keep the room you liked for yourselves?”
Nor glared. “What does that even mean? Of course not. Why would anyone do that?”
Brin appeared relieved. “I know. Don’t listen. Stupid.”
“You’re all right.” Nor patted him on the back, hoping it was true.
Someone screamed in the hallway, a gut-wrenching wail.
Everyone in the shelter shared a gasp.
“Lie down,” said Nor as soon as he recovered his nerves. “As if you’re hurt. Keep praying, silent now.”
The people obeyed, sinking to the floor, holding each other, lips still moving.
Scuffling and grunting followed the scream. The sounds seemed to uncork a bottle, letting the noises of battle filter in from above. The hallway grew quiet.
Nor stayed on his hands and knees, watching the handle of the door but afraid of the noise he would make moving to grab it. Seconds passed like weeks. His heartbeat sounded so loud that whatever was outside must hear it.
The doorknob rattled for a short time but did not turn. Then it turned.
He dove for the handle. The door whipped open and struck him like a club. His feet left the ground, and his back hit the wall.
He stayed conscious, as much as he wished otherwise. Falling, his body settled in a sitting position against the wall. There, he prayed and watched what followed.
The first wraith to enter found Brin. The priest had jumped up to help Nor and come face-to-face with the enemy.
It rushed in on all fours, an afterimage of smooth, strong motion that matched the gray of the walls. It stopped in front of Brin, halting its momentum faster than should have been possible. There it stood, wisp-thin except for a muscular upper body. Yet it was human.
Brin crouched, covering his head, eyes shut. He did not cry. Most others in the room still lay prone except for a few who had panicked and crowded against the back wall. Many sets of lips moved silently.
Nor had no breath after hitting the wall, but his mouth shaped words of advice Brin would never hear. Quiet. Lie down.
Brin started to obey Nor’s wish. He sank to his knees, then his hands, breathing hard, still whispering.
Dark eyes regarded the priest. They lacked malice or benevolence. They lacked anything Nor recognized.
All the way down.
Brin shuffled like an infant, turning on his hands and knees until he faced the wraith. His eyes were wide, no longer blinded by fear. Full of intent. His pupils shook, taking in many things at once, and Nor wondered how many wraiths stood in the hallway.
Brin crossed his arms over his chest and bowed. He sank forward until his forehead touched the floor. His priestly robes bunched around him. He trembled.
Nor slowly realized what Brin had done. Lying prone had not felt safe enough. Faced with power that could destroy him, he wanted to gratify it.
His posture was not one of surrender but of worship. The words on his lips were a prayer but not to Huire.
Brin, no.
The perversity of the scene echoed in Nor’s memory after he shut his eyes. He hoped he would live so this would not be the last thing he saw.
He waited, hearing no sounds of butchery. Finally, he dared to open his eyes. The wraith had gone, leaving the door open. The people in the room were beginning to raise their heads and breathe. But Brin still bent, head down and arms crossed in unholy adoration of raw violence.