‘“I lost my sevenstar,” Chloe whispered, hands to her throat. “Of all things …”
‘“My sanctus too,” I spat. “My flail. Silverbombs. Shot. Everything.”
‘Bellamy looked about the cave with a hopeful smile. “I saved my lute, at least?”
‘“So fucking help me, Bouchette …”
‘Rafa was stripped down to his sackcloth leggings, shivering with cold. “There is nothing for it now. We must go to San Guillaume.”
‘Chloe dragged another damp log onto the flames, trembling in a thin, dark shift. “Trekking to San Guillaume adds weeks to our journey, Rafa. If we head for the Mère—”
‘“We can’t travel all the way to the Nordlund on foot, Sister.” Bellamy stood at the mouth of the cave, wringing the worst from his doublet. “And San Guillaume is a distillery. I know not about the rest of you, but I for one could use a good stiff drink.”
‘“We can follow the river northwest,” the old priest said. “The monastery rests atop a cliff where the Dílaenn meets the Volta. We’ll be protected by the water, at least.”
‘“That path will take us through Fa’daena,” Saoirse warned. “The Forest of Sorrows.”
‘The slayer had stripped down to her saintsday clothes, utterly unashamed of her nakedness. There were fae spirals carved into her skin, stained with red pigment – one twisting all the way up her swordarm and encircling her right breast, the other down her left hip and leg, all the way to her ankle. She was sharp muscles and scarred bare skin, and I could feel a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth as Rafa furiously looked anywhere but at the naked girl while still trying to address her politely.
‘“What about the forest concerns you, Mlle Saoirse?”
‘The girl looked about the company, face underscored by flames. “My clan hear grim tales of the southern weald. A dark rises in the once-green places o’ the world. Dreaming nights past, but nae longer. We take our lives in our hands entering Fa’daena.”
‘“We give up our lives completely staying here,” I said. “Danton will return.”
‘“He knows our destination.” Chloe shuddered, wrapping arms about herself. “He … took it. From i-inside my head. Blessed Mothermaid, I can still feel him …”
‘“Spare your back the lash, Chlo,” I said, patting her shoulder. “A vampire that old is a power almost beyond measure. It’d take real training and paleblood in your veins to keep him out. But at least we now know the Beast wants the boy alive. And if he believes we’re headed north, San Guillaume may be a wiser road. He’s a fierce tracker, true. But the river and weald may throw Danton off our trail.”
‘Chloe shook her head, quietly furious. “The knowledge we need to end daysdeath is in San Michon, Gabe.”
‘“And we will get there, Sister,” Rafa cooed. “But San Guillaume is holy ground. We can regroup there, strike out from a place of strength. We must tread cautiously now, with this evil at our back. Upon our shoulders rests the fate of all the world of men.”
‘“What about the world o’ women?”
‘Rafa glanced to Saoirse, then quickly away. “It’s the same world, my child.”
‘“Really.” The slayer scoffed. “I’ll just go take a piss standing up, shall I?”
‘“I … suppose anything is possible?”
‘Saoirse stood, glanced about the fire. “There’s another path we can walk. Another destination we might seek. Solid as mountains and safe as the Mother’s arms.”
‘“What do you mean, Saoirse?” Bellamy asked.
‘“We could shelter in the Highlands,” the slayer replied. “Among my kin. We’ve the knowings of magiks that were old before yer God was born.”
‘“God was not born, my child,” Rafa said. “He has always been.”
‘“My folk tell it different. My folk tell it—”
‘“Enough!” Chloe snapped. “We are not going to San Guillaume, and we are certainly not trekking to the bloody Highlands. We avoid the forest, head northeast until we reach the Mére. San Michon is our road. One capitaine. One course.”
‘The sister glowered across the fire, a curtain of sodden curls about her eyes. I wondered at the bloody single-mindedness that seemed to drive her. Even blind her. She’d devoted the best years of her life to this, true. But she wasn’t seeing reason.
‘“Mayhaps we should let the boy decide?” I said.
‘Chloe glowered at me, but all other eyes turned to Dior. The lad crouched beside the flames, skin prickled with cold. Soaked as he was, he’d refused to take off his shirt and britches, shivering like a lamb as he huddled close to the flames.
‘He looked at me, eyes trailing the silver ink on my skin. The lion at my chest and the angels on my arms, the Mothermaid, the saintsrose and doves. But he made no reply.
‘“He is the Grail,” Rafa said. “If God should take the steerage of our path …”
‘“What say you, boy?” I demanded.
‘Dior swallowed hard, looked towards Chloe. He felt he owed the sister a debt; he didn’t want to gainsay her, that much was plain. He was enamoured of Saoirse too, I could see that, sure and true. But beneath it all, there was that street-smartness to him. A gutter edge. He could see the wisdom in old Rafa’s words. We needed food. Horses. Sanctuary. And when he spoke, his voice didn’t shake. I had to spare the little bastard a grudging nod. Whatever else he was – liar, thief, ungrateful little shit – Dior Lachance was still no coward.
‘“We head to San Guillaume,” he said.
‘Chloe pursed her lips and shook her head. But finally, she sighed. “As you like it.”
‘We rested ’til noon, then pressed into the worsening snows. I wanted distance from Danton before night fell, but I’d another reason to get us off the shoreline – one I was fretting on more each moment. For whatever reason, Dior seemed to draw the Dead like a corpse draws crows. And the sooner we got moving, the sooner we’d run into wretched.
‘Twelve hours since my last smoke. I’d one more phial – a holdout of fledgling’s blood in my boot. But once that was gone, I’d be hellbound. And while it was only a faint itch now, I knew the itching would soon become scratching, then clawing, and Redeemer help me if it got beyond that …
‘Chloe and Rafa rode on Jez, clinging to each other for warmth, while Dior led the horse into the deepening wood, chattering to Bellamy all the while. Saoirse and I walked on the flanks, Phoebe ever scouting, and though I still found the slayer a surly cuss, I had to thank all Seven Martyrs for that shelion of hers. The beast was often gone for hours at a stretch, but ever she’d return, sometimes with a scrawny rabbit in her jaws, other times with news, which Saoirse always knew the telling of. I wondered if it were instinct or something deeper between them – some bond scribed in Old World witchery, like the spirals on Saoirse’s skin.
‘Three days later, we crossed a crooked stream, Saoirse whispered a prayer to the Mothermoons, and we entered Fa’daena.