Page 71 of Eldritch (The Eating Woods #2)

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

MAEVYTH

An hour before …

A thunderous crack jarred me awake, and I sat up from the floor, holding the blanket at my breasts. Faint beams of light stretched through the slits in the drapes. Daylight? How long had I slept?

The space where Zevander had lain earlier in the night was empty. Cold. His clothes were no longer piled beside the tub. Trailing my gaze over the room showed no sign of him.

I pushed to my feet and looked out the window, to see Raivox flying overhead. The position of the sun beyond him, muted behind thick clouds, told me it was midday.

Beside the fireplace, the bloodstained shift I’d worn had dried some, but not enough to wear through the drafty temple. Quietly cursing to myself, I scurried back across the room, keeping the blanket wrapped around me, and swung the door open.

Aleysia stood midway down the dark corridor. In her white shift, resembling something spectral, the sight of her sent a chill down my spine.

“Aleysia?” I called out to her softly.

She didn’t move, not so much as a twitch at the sound of her name.

“Aleysia!” My voice was stern that time, and she slowly turned to face me. The void behind her gaze sucked the warmth right out of me and clenched my nerves.

“I have to find him.”

“Zevander?” Struggling to hold the blanket around myself, I glanced toward the room across the hall, where our dresses lay slung over the rack by the fireplace there. “Wait for me. I’ll go with you.”

Instead, she turned back toward her path and kept on.

“Aleysia!” Growling in frustration, I hustled into the other room and, fingers fumbling across the fabric, dragged the mostly dry dress over my head, then stuffed my feet into the boots without stockings. As I passed her dress, I gave a second’s pause, before swiping it up on my way after her.

Without light, I tore a stumbling pace through the corridors, fumbling through the darkness as I searched for her ghostly, white shift. It wasn’t until I reached the lower level that I caught her heading toward the ominous door. The one Sacton Crain had always forbidden parishioners to enter.

The one that led to the cells where I’d been kept all those years ago.

“Aleysia!” I yelled after her, but she didn’t bother to acknowledge me as she kept on, through that thick wooden door, the creaking from which echoed through the temple.

Maybe she’d seen Zevander head in that direction.

A glance back at the empty, gaping maw of the temple’s nave, from where The Red God seemed to watch me, sent a cold shudder down my spine. Following her was certainly better than standing there alone.

Cautious steps carried me toward that weathered door with its heavy, iron hinges that bled rust across the metal like wounds. It seemed smaller to me than it once had.

My eyes closed to visions of being dragged by my arm, nails digging into my flesh. The room tilted when I opened them again, and I took deep breaths to steady my racing pulse.

The aged wood groaned, as I widened the opening that Aleysia had slipped through. Stepping into a dark stairwell, I frowned on finding a distant light flickering below, illuminating the passage.

I stretched my arms out for the narrow stone wall at either side of me, Aleysia’s dress draped over my elbow as I blindly made my way down the stairs.

Crisp air brushed over my skin like a whisper of the forgotten, swallowing me, the deeper I ventured.

A phantom pricking of my fingertips brought to mind my nails scratching at the stones, as I’d been carried down to my cell.

An echo of screams that hadn’t faded with time.

At the bottom of the staircase, the soft flicker of a flame danced across the walls, where the sconces along the corridor lit the way up ahead. I scarcely had a moment to ponder who’d lit them, before catching sight of Aleysia, who stood staring into one of the cells.

“Aleysia?” I called out for her, my quick strides bringing her close enough to see the cold expression cross her face, when she turned to look at me. “What is it?”

I closed the distance in slow, cautious steps, until I stood beside her, and the sight on the other side of the cell door stole my breath.

Three dozen, or more, children lay scattered over the floor, their pale, emaciated bodies starved, bones sticking out beneath the tatters of clothing that covered them.

The stench of urine and defecation burned my nose, and the rims of my eyes stung with the threat of tears as I dragged my gaze over their lifeless forms. Crosses had been painted in what looked like blood on the stones of the floor and walls outside of the cell, along with a phrase that confirmed my suspicions for why they’d been imprisoned.

May the souls of the innocent spare us from death.

They’d been sacrificed.

Left to starve.

Aleysia’s dress fell out of my hand, a cold shiver stitching across my skin.

The twitch of an arm seized my attention, and I stared in on a little girl, perhaps no older than five years old, who shifted against the bigger body that lay beside her.

I darted forward for the iron lock and tugged to see if it might click open. “Can you open this one?”

“A door, yes. Not that variety of lock though.”

“A lock is a lock, Aleysia.”

“Clearly, you don’t know your locks. There are fetterlocks, pin tumbler locks. That’s a warded lock. It requires a key.”

“Well, I don’t have time to search for one.” I took two big steps back until I was once again standing beside Aleysia.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Stay out of the way.” I flipped up my palm and called upon the bone whip.

The glyphs scarred across my skin surged to life, glowing a pale blue, and the spine uncoiled onto the floor.

Fingers wrapped tight to bone, I struck the lock, which clanked but didn’t budge.

I drew back and struck again. No more than a dent.

Again. An impressive fissure, but overall intact.

On the fourth strike, it unlatched, hanging cocked from the cell bar.

I recoiled my hand, drawing the whip back to my palm, and lurched for the door, tossing away the lock.

Once inside the cell, I stepped over small, frail bodies, careful not to disturb them, and knelt down beside the little girl.

Pale as the snow, only a feverish blush colored her cheeks.

In her arm, she clutched a ragged teddy bear covered in dirt and grime.

Her dampened, dirty hair was darker than the others, and I wondered if she was a child of Foxglove Parish, or from somewhere else.

Tiny, abrupt movements on the opposite side of her drew my attention to a rat gnawing one of her fingers. The sight of it stirred my anger as I swatted at it. “Shoo! Go away!”

The rat scampered off, leaving behind a bloody gash.

I glanced around at the other children, noticing small gashes on their bodies, too.

The girl let out a weak whimper, and I slid my hand beneath her head, lifting her up just enough to rest her head against my thigh. Blood trickled out of her eyes and nose. “Mama?”

Tears wavered in my eyes as I held her in my lap, stroking her hair.

“Nalapox,” Aleysia said, kneeling beside her. “All of them must’ve suffered from it. She’ll die, too.”

“No, she’ll be fine.”

Aleysia reached for the girl, but I clutched her arm. “Death would be merciful,” she urged.

“Don’t you touch her.”

Her brow flickered as if I’d slapped her with an insult, and she glanced around. “Look at their faces, Maevyth. They died in agony.”

Reluctantly, I swept my gaze over the cell, heartbroken to find every child’s face contorted in pain. Through a blur of tears, I turned back toward the little girl in my arms. “I can take your pain away,” I whispered. “Do you want to dream?”

The little girl nodded, her blue-tinged lips quivering. “Cold ...”

My throat tightened, and I swallowed back the urge to weep. “You’ll feel warmth soon.” Tears spilled onto my cheeks as I stroked her hair, keeping my blackened fingers away from her skin. “Close your eyes and imagine your mother’s arms wrapped around you. Can you feel her warmth?”

The girl gave a weak nod.

“Does she sing to you?”

Again the girl nodded, the movement nearly imperceptible.

My voice faltered with the first note of Vayr mu dahlje.

“Maeve …” Aleysia turned away, but I caught the shine of tears in her eyes, while I sang for the little girl, gently stroking her hair.

“Stay there with your mother. In her arms.” I placed my hand against her chest and closed my eyes, summoning the death glyph to mind.

“Mommy,” the girl whispered, and her body gently disintegrated into dust, leaving behind the teddy bear that lay beside her remains. Before I could so much as whisper goodbye, she was gone.

A tremble ran through my chest, like a growing fissure just before something split open. Quiet tears slid down my cheeks, and I held my face in my palms as the agony tore through me. Somehow, the world felt heavier than before. A little girl, alone and dying, had broken something inside of me.

And I wept.

For her. For all the children who’d been left to starve.

Abandoned by their mothers and fathers, just like I had been.

“ C ome, Maevyth. We shouldn’t stay here.” Aleysia tugged at my arm, and I wiped away tears as I pushed to my feet. “Your hands…they take life.” It was the first time she’d acknowledged any of the powers I’d called upon.

“Yes.” A somber ache lingered in my chest. “I killed The Crone Witch this way.”

She sighed, carefully threading her arm in the crook of my elbow as she guided me over the small bodies. “I’m afraid she deserved it, the wretch.”

Ignoring her comment, I asked, “Did you see Zevander? Is that what brought you down here?”

Aleysia frowned. “No. Come to think of it, I don’t know how I got down here. I think I may have been dreaming of…father. I swear I heard his voice.”

“Do you remember the sound of his voice?” I asked as we stood outside of the cell.