‘Bone shattered. Teeth splintered. I struck again, dimly aware of the dull, wet crunch of silver into rancid flesh. My old friend hatred crouched upon my shoulder, my mind alight with the sight of my sister dancing to music only she could hear, the hymn I could now hear also – red, red, red. And when I was done, the monster’s head was a dark splatter upon the wall behind it, a ragged pulp lolling at the end of a broken neck.
‘Heed the hymn, Little Lion.
‘I let the body drop. A red wash flooded my eyes, all the angels singing in time. My right hand was a bleeding mess, knuckles ripped back to bare bone. I was so fucking high I could have stood on tiptoe and kissed the lips of the Mothermaid herself. But Talon called from the gathering in the bleachers, “I fear not. Next!”
‘I heard running feet, claws on cold stone. And turning, I saw that pack of starving mongrels charging across the circle. I gripped the chain in my bloody hand, uncertain what to do with myself. There were a dozen of the bastards bearing down on me like arrows, eyes wild, teeth bared. In a growing panic, I swung the chain about me to fend them off. The dogs slowed, snarling and barking, forming a tight circle around me as I backed up to the wall. I’d no ken why they were attacking me. I’d no wish to hurt them, but I’d no wish to be dinner either, my mind racing with the bloodhymn as that length of bloody chain whooshed around my head.
‘“Tell them to stand down!” Greyhand called. “Command them!”
‘“Sod off!” I bellowed at the beasts. “Away with you, bastards!”
‘“Not with your voice, you cack-brained yak-fiddler!” Talon spat. “With your mind!”
‘I hadn’t the first clue how to do what the seraph wanted, but still, I tried. Swinging my chain to keep the mongrels at bay, I fixed my stare on the biggest – a snaggle-toothed brute with mottled fur and flashing eyes. I bared my teeth and roared at him in my head, feeling an utter fool all the while. And as I focused my attentions on the big fucker, one of the little shits took his chance, darting under my chain and leaping at my chest.
‘With a curse, I battered him aside. But something heavy struck me from the flank, and I felt fangs sinking into my forearm. I screamed as my flesh ripped, punching and flailing at the dog who had me. Another struck my legs and bore me down, I felt teeth rip into my shoulder, hot blood spilling down my back. I lashed out again, bodies flying, but there were so many of them, I didn’t know which way to turn. My arms were up around my face, and I was roaring as they tore me up, wondering what drove them to such madness. They seemed possessed, almost as if their wills were not their own.’
‘Ah,’ Jean-Fran?ois said. ‘I see.’
‘Oui,’ Gabriel replied. ‘And as swift as they’d come on, the jaws around my limbs unlocked. I rolled to my feet, covered in blood, snatching up my chain again. But the mongrels were backing away, licking bloody jowls, their eyes now fixed on Frère Greyhand. My master waved one hand, and the half-wolves returned to their places in the sevenstar, like trained Nordish sheepdogs at their shepherd’s call.
‘As the others looked on, Seraph Talon stepped back into the circle. His boots rang on stone as he walked towards me, Sister Aoife beside him. I could barely stand, hot blood running down my shredded arms and legs. The bloodhymn was a dirge in my ears, the sanctus still rushing in my veins along with my rage at what they’d done.
‘“Well, you’re definitely not Chastain. No affinity for beasts in you, sure and true.” Talon took hold of one of my tattered hands. “Nor a Voss, either, by the look. Your lily flesh ripped easy as paper, didn’t it, boy?”
‘“Get your fucking hands off me!”
‘Talon called to Khalid. “I believe he’s upset, good Abbot!”
‘“They could have killed me!”
‘Talon scoffed. “You’re a paleblood, boy. You don’t die that easily. In a few hours, you’ll have not a mark on you.” The seraph smoothed his impressive moustache, spun his accursed cane between his fingers. “Our gifts manifest in times of duress. This trial is designed to inflict that. So cease your whining, you buck-toothed little gongfarmer.”
‘“You did this on purpose?” I looked to the eyes above. “Are you mad?”
‘“Are you, whoreson?” Talon smiled.
‘I gritted my teeth. Feeling my fingers curling into a fist.
‘“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, my little bumblefuck,” Talon warned. “Striking a Seraph of the Silver Order unprovoked would see you whipped like an inquisitor on the feastday of the Angel of Bliss.” He brushed his long dark moustache, a small smile creeping onto his face. “But perhaps … if I were to strike you first …”
‘“… What?”
‘“If I strike you first, you can strike me back. Blood for blood, eh, Abbot?”
‘Up in the bleachers, Khalid nodded. “Blood for blood.”
‘“So make me do it, you worthless gobblecock,” Talon spat. “Take the anger. Take the fury. Take the indignation that sets that pretty lip all aquiver, and force it onto me. If I hit you first, you can hit me back. So make me angry, boy. Make me furious.”
‘“I …”
‘Swakk!
‘“Do it! Make me feel it!”
‘“I don’t …”
‘Swakk!
‘“Seven Martyrs, fucking stop it!”
‘“Give it to me!” Talon slammed me back into the wall, frightening strong. His face was inches from mine, and I could see his eyes were run through, red with blood as he hissed with bared fangs. “Embrace what is within you! The curse within your blood!”
‘I clenched my jaw, temples pounding. Sister Aoife made no move to help me. The Order’s elders looked on, cold and pitiless. But I knew this was still a testing, and I wanted desperately to carve myself a place here, to learn the truth of the gifts my father had passed down to me. So, I tried to do as Talon bid. I embraced my fury, that Nordling fire within my blood, so real I could feel its heat beneath my skin. And I imagined the seraph burning with it instead, flames flooding out from me and setting him ablaze. Bloody fists clenched, chest heaving as I gathered up all my anger and all my pain and pushed it onto him.
‘Talon’s eyes widened. He drew one short and shallow breath.
‘“No,” he finally sighed. “Nothing at all.”
‘Talon released my tunic. Piss-hole eyes twinkling, the Seraph of the Hunt turned away, stroking his moustache as he glanced to the luminaries above. Seraph Argyle was scowling, his iron hand cupped to Khalid’s ear as he whispered. Greyhand’s face was a mask. Archivist Adamo seemed to have fallen asleep on Charlotte’s shoulder. I hovered, uncertain, the pain of my wounds a dim fire under the sanctus rush. Blood dripped down my fingers, puddled inside my boots. Sister Aoife looked at me with concern, but still, she took no steps to help me. The seraph scuffed his heels as he turned a slow circle, lips pursed.
‘“We haven’t seen one of you in a while. How very depressing.”
‘“… What do you mean?”