Sacrifice: The First Book of the Fey (19 page)

“No, Roca gave it to us that we might live,” Matthias said. “And we did not understand its secret until now. When it touches a holy man, it purifies him, and when it touches an evil man, it kills him.”

The Rocaan shuddered. “You are not thinking. If holy water killed evil men, then murderers, thieves, anyone with sin in the heart would die at Midnight Sacrament. This goes beyond that. It is almost as if the Fey’s presence has caused a new magick to blossom. A magick I cannot condone.”

Another scream rose from below, long and loud and male. At the same time, someone pounded on the door. “Holy Sir!” the voice cried. “We are running out of holy water!”

Matthias licked his lips. His eyes glittered with a panic the Rocaan had not seen before. Matthias swallowed as if he were nervous about speaking and then bowed his head. He did not look at the Rocaan as he spoke. “If you do not bless more water, Holy Sir, then you shall be breaking the highest law in the Words Written and Unwritten. For you are right, they say that a man may not murder, but there are wars written in the Words and in our history. The King’s defense against the Peasant Uprising was called a jihad by that Rocaan. Are you saying that defense is not viable?”

Matthias had the mind of a scholar. The Rocaan had used it in the past but could not follow it now. He wouldn’t defend himself until he understood the argument. “What law am I breaking?”

Matthias looked up, his pale skin flushed. “You would be committing murder, Holy Sir. Mass murder. You would be—you are—condemning us all to death.”

The Rocaan took a step backward. This he had not considered. The pounding on the door made his head throb.

Matthias followed, using his tall body as a weapon, a weapon that intimidated. “We cannot survive against magickal touch. If we do not defend ourselves against these creatures, we will be slaughtered like the lambs kept outside the city. Even as we argue, the King could be dying. The King, the direct descendant of Roca on earth. It is our duty under the Law of the Sword to protect all believers. The Fey are not believers. They are Something Other. A test, perhaps, sent to slaughter us all. Perhaps we of this generation were meant to discover new properties in the holy water. Perhaps all of this is a sign that the prayers the Holy One has taken to God’s Ear were heard. And you would have us forsake all that. You would try to be as great a martyr as Roca. He died to save us, Holy Sir. Your action would not save us. It would slaughter us all.”

The pounding on the door continued. Neither man acknowledged it.

The Rocaan sank back in his chair. He was not used to making quick decisions. Never in his years as Rocaan had he had to make a decision without lots of prayer, lots of consideration. Yet he, in a matter of moments, had to make a decision that would change the faithful’s relationship with God and Roca forever.

“Holy Sir! Please!” the man outside called.

“Please,” Matthias whispered.

“Forgive me,” the Rocaan murmured under his breath. He spoke to the Holy One, asking for forgiveness for not one, but two sins. He would break two laws this day. He sighed. “Tell them that their water will come.”

Matthias nodded and went to the door. The Rocaan stared at the fire, at the red embers glowing at the base of the flame. He waited for the still, small voice to speak from within. But no voice spoke. No voice indicated which path was right and which path was wrong. A
man is cursed who must make decisions based only upon his own knowledge.

When Matthias finished speaking to the man outside, he closed the door. “And where will we get this water?” Matthias asked.

The Rocaan stood slowly, feeling every one of his years. “We shall make it,” he said.

Matthias gasped. “Are you dying, Holy Sir?”

The Rocaan shook his head. “No. But I refuse to let the blood of the invaders stain my hands alone.”

SEVENTEEN

Solanda paced the warehouse. Its rectangular shape, which had seemed large that morning, now felt tiny. She had sat in each chair, rubbed her hands on the scarred tabletop. The smell of fish made her stomach growl. The uneven boards rocked under her bare feet. She avoided the bags of blood and skin; they disgusted her. The creatures that used them were not true Fey. There were only a handful of true Fey, and she was lucky enough to be one. And unfortunate enough to be the one traveling with Rugar.

She owed him, but not this much.

No windows. She hated the darkness. She stopped for a moment by a Fey Lamp and crouched in front of it. The little soul inside batted against the glass like a butterfly caught in a jar. Solanda reached out with her long finger and traced the cool surface. The creature batted harder. If she opened the glass, the soul would get away. As a child, she used to open Fey Lamps and try to catch the fleeing souls. She had succeeded only once, and the soul had burned her mouth.

She stood and paced again. They had no right to leave her alone. Caseo swore he was going for Rugar, that the crisis across the river would have ramifications for them all. She had never felt so useless. Rugar had forbidden her to look outside or to get involved at all. He had no job for her yet—might not have a job for her at all.

If the invasion didn’t go as planned, she would become key to the takeover of Blue Isle. As things stood, she was a reserve weapon. They hadn’t needed her in the Nye campaign, and now she had traveled across an ocean—water, damn them all—to hide in this filthy warehouse guarding packets of blood used by her inferiors.

She would take this no longer.

The next time she circled around to the main hallway, she left the room and its wonderful lights. She rounded the corner and crossed the boards. The wood felt slimy beneath her bare feet, and the fish smell had grown. Her stomach growled again. Rugar left her with orders to stay in that awful warehouse with no windows and no food and did not tell her when anyone would get back. If someone returned before she did, let them worry. She wasn’t the type to stay in one place.

The restlessness came from her cat self. She had learned, over the years, not to fight some of the feline impulses. They served her well. Others merely annoyed her. The only problem with being a Shape-Shifter was choosing the permanent altered form. She had done so as a child of three when her constantly shifting form threatened her health. Every Shifter reached that point. Solanda’s had come earlier than most, and she resented it. To this day Solanda had told no one that she had made her choice to Shift into the form of a cat because her baby self thought cats were the prettiest creatures she had ever seen.

She walked down the long hall. The wood got drier, and the smell receded. When she reached the outside doors, she placed both hands on them and pushed. Sunlight cascaded in, blinding her for a moment, bringing sound. Screaming cries, thuds, and running feet. She stood in the open doorway blinking against the light, hoping that no one saw her.

Gradually the glare faded. The ramp leading from the warehouse was empty. She stepped onto it. The wood was warm from the sun. She turned her face toward the light, letting a chill she hadn’t even realized she felt slip from her body. The Cardidas River slapped against the docks in the harbor. She paused. People had been screaming a moment before. There. If she listened hard enough, she could barely hear them. The sounds of battle had been closer a moment before.

The hair prickled on the back of her neck. She was no longer alone. She turned her gaze toward the road. A man stood behind her. He was barefoot, as she was, but he wore a black robe that hung on his body like a bag. He was holding a bottle in his hands and looked confused, as if searching for something. She slipped into the shadow of the building but did not go inside. He was one of the humans. He had to be looking for Fey.

A great smell was rising off the river. Fetid and thick, it hung in the air like a fog. She glanced across the water. There, at the large building, she could see Fey, and more Black Robes. Only the Fey were screaming. That was what was missing: the victory cry.

No wonder Caseo was frightened. Fey never lost battles.

She had to get back inside. She slid along the side of the building when the man in black saw her. He let out a small squeal of surprise, then ran toward her, shaking the open bottle like a weapon.

Like a weapon.

He seemed to think he could kill Fey.

Across the river Fey were screaming, dying, surrounded by Black Robes.

Fear coursed through her, quick and sudden. If she ran back inside, he would find her. He would find the blood. He would find the lamps. He would hurt their stash, and Caseo would never forgive her. Her panic made her freeze.

The Black Robe had such a silly face, chubby and pink, his eyes a pale blue that she had never seen before, his lips chapped where he bit them, his head balding. His eyebrows were straight and pale on his light skin. His fat hid his cheekbones, and his eyes were round. Even the Nyeians had more color to their skin. She couldn’t die at the hands of a man as ugly this one. And she wouldn’t.

She felt her body slide into itself, felt her mass compact into the smaller form. The man had stopped running, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes, and then he started again, making little frightened eeps as he ran. Finally her change completed. She glanced down at her hands, pleased to see the familiar golden paws, the soft fur, the whiskers sticking out of the side of her nose. She twitched her tail and jumped off the ramp, running away from the stupid Islander as fast as she could.

Under the side of the warehouse, past the fish stink, her movements lightning quick and silent. His feet squished on the marshy ground, the sound a heavy counterpoint to her fear. She kept to the side of the warehouse until she saw a hidden place behind the stairs in the back. She crawled beneath the stairs, deep in the shadows, remembering to keep her eyes covered. A real cat would never have thought of that, but she had learned young that the eyes reflected, giving everything away.

She was panting, her heart pounding. Those bottles. They held death in those bottles. And he had seen her change. Silly fool. She would have to remember his face now and kill him when she had the chance.

The squishing sounds grew closer. She peered over her paws, careful to keep her eyes half-covered. He stopped beside the stairs. His toenails were long and yellow, curling upward, dirt spattering them. Hair grew on the top of his feet, blond and curly. She was glad she was too far away to smell them. The heightened sense of smell was both an advantage and a disadvantage.

The fish stink made the emptiness in her stomach grow. She wanted him gone so she could eat. Then she would find someone who could help her. She would find this annoying Islander and kill him.

He squished past and she remained motionless until she could no longer hear him. His footprints were wide and filling with water from the saturated ground. Her paws were cold, and she hated the dampness on her fur.

The screams and cries were growing again. Then she heard voices, speaking a language she didn’t understand. She peered through the slats in the stairs, saw more Black Robes standing together, holding bottles as if they were swords. Her Black Robe wasn’t with them. They talked for a moment, then sneaked off in different directions.

She leaned back on her haunches, a feeling she had learned to trust rising in her gut. Caseo had thought the problem was across the river: the stink, the dying. He made the decision to find Rugar and warn him not to cross the river. Perhaps Caseo would warn Rugar away from the Black Robes.

But the problem was here now. Here. On the warehouse side. Caseo would not be able to come back. And the Black Robes were hiding, ready to launch a secret attack.

Solanda licked her right leg nervously, her sandpaper tongue catching on the soft fur. The grooming soothed her, a soothing she missed in her human form.

She would wait there until the Black Robes went away. Then she would hurry into the city and see if she could find someone—Caseo, Rugar—anyone to warn, anyone to send the message that the Black Robes were coming, the Black Robes were hiding, all ready to kill.