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"Strip him," Elder Corron ordered, while Parton struggled in the grip of two farm hands who had known him since childhood. He begged and pleaded, tears streaming down his face, still unable to comprehend how this was happening. He knew Corron hated him because of what had happened with Lucion, but he didn't understand how everyone else was able to go along with this. They knew him. They knew he didn't deserve to be devoured by some monster.
"Please," he sobbed, "you can't do this. You can't leave me out here like this."
"It is necessary, Parton," Corron said. "One life for the safety of the village. It's the only way to keep everyone in Shrind safe, and the choice was fair."
Parton shook his head. He didn't believe for one instant that Corron had truly picked fairly. Corron was the one who had suggested a lottery to select a sacrifice to the monsters in the forest; Corron had prepared the names; and Corron had drawn Parton's name out of the selection and read it aloud to the whole village. Parton had known it was coming, but any hope he'd had of his neighbours, people he'd once considered friends, coming to his aid or speaking up in his defence had been snatched away as he'd been dragged from the village square into this clearing in the woods.
The farmhands shoved his naked back against the trunk of a tree, pulled his arms behind him, and tied them tightly on the other side. More loops of rope went around his waist to hold him in place, removing any hope of escape. When the monsters came out of the forest, Parton would have no way to defend himself.
"Return to the village," Corron told the men. "I will stay and say a prayer with Parton, to help his soul be at peace before the journey into the next life."
"Please," Parton said one last time, turning pleading eyes on men who turned aside and walked away. Parton hoped his words would haunt them for the rest of their lives. He hoped they would spend every day looking back on this moment and regretting. He hoped it hurt them.
"This is necessary," Corron said, just as he'd said back in Shrind when he'd talked about the need for a sacrifice.
"You don't believe that," Parton said. "You just want to get rid of me."
"I do believe it, but it does serve as a useful way to cut out a corruption in our village's heart before you can taint any other young men. Before you can lure any more pure souls away from the path of righteousness."
Helpless laughter bubbled up through Parton's tears. He thought of other tears, of Lucion sobbing as he'd admitted that he tried to pray his feelings away. He thought of the salt on their lips as they'd kissed for the first time. Parton had never lured Lucion into anything. Each reluctant step Lucion had taken, he had taken on his own.
"You are a blight on our village," Corron continued. "Your death with spare us from the beasts of the forest, and it will spare the young and vulnerable souls from the danger you pose."
"I never hurt Lucion," Parton said. "You did."
But Corron would never listen. He believed so strongly in his own moral superiority that it would never occur to him that the beatings he dealt in the name of Lucion's immortal soul were anything but righteous. He wouldn't listen now. He wouldn't care to hear the truth, that Parton had never done anything to justify his death at the claws and teeth of some monster.
"Goodbye, Parton," Corron said. "May the spirits cleanse your wicked soul in the afterlife."
He drew a knife. Parton stared at that blade, barely able to process this development. Did Corron intend to kill him himself, just in case the monster didn't do his dirty work for him?
Corron brought his knife across Parton's stomach in a shallow cut. For about a second, he didn't really feel it, then the stinging pain began, and blood trickled down his bare skin. Corron dealt two more cuts, one on each arm, slicing down from shoulder to elbow and letting the blood drip free.
"The monster will smell your blood and come to your sacrifice. By your blood, the lives of all in Shrind will be safe."
He drew out a cloth to wipe the blade clean, appearing almost indifferent to the mark of his crime. Corron dropped that bloody cloth at Parton's feet before he turned and walked away, leaving Parton to bleed alone in the forest, crying with the despair that filled him.
The blood dripped in a steady flow as night fell over the wood, and soon the only light came from the silvery moon peeking through the branches. A chill wind rustled the trees, making him jump at every noise, and he shook from a mixture of fear and cold.
With nothing to do but think about his impending death, his thoughts drifted back to Lucion. What would Corron tell his son? Would he tell Lucion that a monster had carried Parton off and eaten him, further proof that the spirits had condemned his wickedness? Or would he admit that he had strung him out here and let him bleed? That steady flow of blood kept running from the knife wounds. Whether the monster came or not, Parton doubted he would live until morning.
A howl rose through the trees, almost musical in quality, sending more shivers through Parton's spine and silencing the forest creatures. Parton tried to tell himself that it was just a wolf, but even that was little comfort. A roving wolf pack would kill him as easily as some monster.
There were no more tears left to cry. His head and wounds ached, and his arms ached from being tied behind him. He tried to comfort himself that at least the pain would be over soon. He closed his eyes and offered a prayer to the spirits for a quick death, and for more kindness in the afterlife than he'd been offered in life. His grandmother had always told him that the spirits were gentle and loving. Parton hoped she was right, that the spirits would welcome him home with embraces instead of the harsh punishments Corron foretold when he spoke of corrupted souls.
When he opened his eyes, the creature was in front of him. It had approached far too silently for something so large, and now Parton's heart pounded in his chest at the sight of it. It was no wolf, though there was something wolf-like in its face. It was huge, dark as shadows, and its yellow eyes seemed to glow against the black of its fur.
Parton strained against the ropes even though he knew it was pointless, some fear-driven instinct making him fight one last time. He struggled until the ropes bit into his flesh and the tree's bark scratched up his back. New blood flowed from the knife wounds, but the creature just stood there, studying him with those bright eyes.
Perhaps it was fear, perhaps it was blood loss, perhaps it was some magic in those golden eyes, but Parton went still in his bounds. He slipped into unconsciousness and welcomed the darkness that swallowed him.
