Page 76 of Eldritch (The Eating Woods #2)

CHAPTER FIFTY

MAEVYTH

W hatever room we’d been taken to beneath the church boasted high, arched, stone walls, tall enough to fit Raivox, if he were inclined to find his way into the temple.

Like some sort of underground shelter I’d never known about as long as I’d lived in Foxglove, but the ancient masonry and impressively carved pillars told me it’d stood for centuries.

At one end of the massive space stood an altar with crosses and candles. Carved into the other three walls were hundreds of alcoves, stone shelters, stuffed with straw and blankets and flickering candles. Sleeping quarters, from the looks of it.

A peaceful backdrop to the mob of villagers that surrounded us, all of them carrying some sort of weapon.

“What is this place?” I whispered, caught in the center of the congregation numbering at least a hundred, or more, none of whom looked at me directly for more than a second.

“A tomb,” my father answered. “It’s where ancient clergy were buried. They must’ve cleared the bodies out.”

“Sleeping where bodies rotted away?” Aleysia crinkled her nose. “Revolting.”

“No more revolting than watching you devour a jar of raw liver,” I said, trailing my gaze over the blockade for a gap, or breach.

The crowd parted, and Sacton Crain stepped into the halo where we stood, the clack of his crosier skating down my nerves.

“Contained in this circle is the rotting, festering seed of our good parish!” His lips twisted with derision as he spoke, but the tremble in his voice betrayed him.

“We have the witch, the heretic, the incestuous harlot, and the plague-spreading sea serpent!”

“Sea serpent?” Corwin spoke low from behind. “I don’t even like the sea. Makes me nauseous.”

“Harlot.” Aleysia let out a bitter laugh. “And what shall we call you, Sacton Crain? A man who enjoys the pleasures of harlots?”

“Blasphemous demon! Every word that spills from her mouth is the devil’s poison.”

“And you’re a hypocrite,” Aleysia kept on. “Spilling poison into the minds of an entire parish. Tell me, where are your proper trousers, hmmm?” She gestured toward his long, red robe. “I’ll bet you’re not even wearing anything beneath.”

A unison of gasps rippled through the crowd of villagers.

Sacton Crain’s lips peeled back for a snarl.

“I should’ve burned you instead of banishing you to the woods.

Both of you!” He rushed toward me, his robes chasing behind him.

“And remember this one! The bones that tumbled out of her hands. The way she willed the carriage to crush poor Lilleven. And now, whatever monstrosity decorates her hand turned one of our soldiers to dust!”

Corwin sighed. “I must’ve missed that after I fainted.”

“One touch, and poof!” Sacton Crain dramatized every word with the flailing of his hands.

“We are all cursed by The Red God because of her! From the day she was birthed, he has sought to punish us. Look at her eyes! Silver, like the devil’s eyes.

And, I say, it is time to banish the evil in our god’s flock, once and for all! ”

The crowd murmured, zealous and fearful, and pressed forward, forcing us back toward the altar behind us.

“The Red God spoke of The Decimation, punishment for our unrepented sins! My good people, let us purge ourselves. Offer our four most ungodly transgressors in one single sacrifice.”

The crowd bellowed in assent, the sound of their judgment echoing all around us.

“I suppose it’s a really horrible time to admit that I’ve always fancied you,” Corwin whispered in my ear. “The black attire was somewhat repetitive, but you are beautiful, in spite of looking like you’re in constant mourning.”

“Not now, Corwin,” I said, keeping my attention on the crowd, whose bloodthirsty eyes told me there was no chance of appealing to their empathy.

“Of course. I just thought I should tell you, since we’re all going to die. And what a romantic gesture, really, burning together this way. Not many men could actually say they’d burn for you.”

“Enough, Corwin!” Aleysia snapped.

“Apologies. I get nervous when I’m chatty…er, chatty when I’m nervous. Flatulent, too. Oh, god…is methane flammable?”

Aleysia groaned, raking her hands through her hair. “For God’s sake, someone set me aflame already.”

Further, the crowd pushed toward us, their weapons jutting forward like a wall of barbs and spines, gradually sending us back. I turned, seeking an escape, but the only way out stood on the opposite side of the tomb, beyond the crowd.

The ground crackled beneath my boots, and I looked down to see twigs, straw, and oiled cloth placed with malicious care. Kindling. They’d been gathered in a tight ring over an iron surface, where footprints had been seared into the metal.

A man dressed in the telling robes of the clergy handed Sacton Crain a bundle of kindling fashioned into a torch.

Sacton Crain crossed the circle toward a blazing brazier at the corner of the altar, and my nerves jittered when he dipped the torch and the pitch smeared across the bundled wood caught quickly.

The wood hissed and crackled as he turned around.

I’d grown accustomed to Zevander’s black flame—more pet than element—but this variety of fire was different.

I’d watched that infernal glow swallow innocent women and men, not quickly like sablefyre.

No, the fire I’d come to know was slow and agonizing.

It devoured at its own pace, savoring the flesh.

“They shall burn alive. Their sounds of suffering will mark an end to our own!” Sacton Crain’s voice guttered with his shrill words.

More assent.

“The Red God will lift this scourge! He will spare us!”

The exuberance of their cheering shook my nerves.

That an entire village could be so elated to watch four innocent people burn—not a single one willing to challenge him—spoke of the power Sacton Crain wielded over their minds.

Parishioners who might’ve been the kind to smile at me in the market square under different circumstances.

I could only imagine them rotted to the core beneath those gleaming expressions.

Corwin whimpered behind me. “I’ve always feared burning alive. I can’t think of anything more painful.”

“Let them go!” The familiar voice rose above the din, and Governor Grimsby hobbled forward with a crutch tucked under his armpit.

Face gaunt and sallow, he glanced around at his fellow parishioners, and I hated that the sight of him was a relief.

“For God’s sake, have we not suffered and sacrificed enough?

I’m tired. Weary of The Red God’s constant demands.

” He threw out his hand toward us. “They’re no more terrifying than the creatures we cower from outside of these walls.

Let them go! We can live in peace. No more killings.

No more burnings. Not when we’ve lost so many already.

We’ve starved children for godssake and for what?

Nothing has changed! We’re no better off. ”

“Traitorous fool,” Sacton Crain spat. “I never liked, nor trusted, you.”

“You never welcomed a challenging perspective. You have ruled this parish with an iron fist, and I will not be silenced any longer.”

He’d barely spoken the words, when the side of his neck split with the piercing of a blade.

My breath hitched, as I stared at the burly man who’d skewered him with a look of pure malevolence plastered to his face.

The black snake tattoo on his neck identified him as one of Governor Grimsby’s Sawbones—bottom feeders who collected debts and doled out punishment for those that went unpaid.

As the governor dropped to his knees, gasping and coughing blood, icy fingers of shock curled around the nape of my neck, even more so when the crowd lurched toward him, stabbing their spears into his body.

“Stop!” I screamed, but they kept on, pounding their weapons into him over an expanding pool of blood.

Panicked breaths stuttered out of me as I turned my gaze to Sacton Crain and studied the cold, detached amusement that colored his expression. The man raised his chin, his eyes gleaming with authority. Untouchable. A dare to move against him.

I was reminded of the days when he’d stood before the congregation, prodding the women he’d branded as witches. Silencing the voices that may have been bold enough to speak against him. I watched in horror as his disciples attacked an already wounded man, snickering through the task.

“Godless heretics have no place among our flock,” he said with a sickening calm.

“This is an abomination of God’s will,” Father challenged from behind, his voice trembling. “May The Red God strike you down where you stand!”

“Spoken like a true heretic.” Sacton Crain sailed a smug grin toward Father. “Perhaps they should stab their spears into you next.”

Aleysia’s laughter pierced through the growing hush of the crowd’s dwindling excitement.

“You didn’t kill my father when he returned from Lyveria.

Why? Why did you keep him alive? Was it because you foolishly didn’t believe those visions he saw?

Or because you feared he might be right? Perhaps you had the same vision?”

Sacton Crain’s face ashened.

“Yes, someone showed you, as well,” she continued to taunt. “Who was it? Who told you of The Decimation?”

Confused, I glanced to Aleysia and back, curious if she’d seen, or heard, something I hadn’t.

A raw and unmistakable fear bloomed in Sacton Crain’s eyes, as he seemed to stare into a void of thoughts. He threw the torch onto the kindling, and my heart lodged in my throat when it caught quickly, corralling us in a diminishing circle of flame.

I frantically spun around, searching for an escape. Heat warmed my skin as the fire consumed the kindling, and outside of the flaming barrier, the villagers gathered around, forming a wall of spears pointed at us.

“Please help!” Corwin screamed from behind, darting toward a section that hadn’t yet lit. It caught quickly before he could pass through, and at the vicious jabbing of the villagers on the other side of it, he backed way.

Arms wrapped around me, and I turned to see Father huddling close. “Don’t let your dresses catch on the flame!”

An eerie song filled the tomb as the parishioners sang The Sinner’s Dirge, a song I knew well from past burnings and banishings.

The heat of the growing pyre stole my breath as it rose higher, a menacing flicker fueled by the oil.

“The floor is getting warmer.” Panic quivered in Corwin’s voice, as he shifted on his bare feet.

Aleysia and Father also stood without shoes.

“Oh, god, it’s getting hotter! I can hardly stand still!” Corwin’s shifting turned to hopping, feet dancing over the metal.

A cold hand slipped into mine, and I turned to see Aleysia staring back at me, but instead of the terror I recalled the night of her banishment, her eyes lit with a knowing smirk. “They call you a witch, Maevyth. Give breath to their worst fears.”

A surge of adrenaline chilled my blood as I stared out over the pious flock, reminded that I was no longer a cowering child and had no reason to fear my power. I lifted my arm, holding my palm outstretched toward Sacton Crain. “I will give you one opportunity to let us pass through in peace.”

As the pyre around us grew, the fear I’d seen cross his face lifted for cruel amusement. “We do not yield to powers of evil, girl. We burn it.”

I sent a blast of Aeryz that threw him backward into the parishioners behind him, the violent gust disturbing the kindling and opening a gap in the flaming circle.

A collective gasp reverberated through the cavernous tomb, as the four of us scampered out of the ring of flames, off the hot metal, and the crowd filled in to block our escape, holding us just outside of it. Perilously close.

“We have to…destroy the witch!” Sacton Crain pressed a hand to his chest as he lay on the ground, fighting for breath. “She will…kill us all!”

The villagers closed in, their weapons pointed and ready, eyes dulled and hollow. Whatever speck of humanity remained was shadowed in those merciless glares.

“Witch, witch, witch!” they chanted in unison.

I closed my eyes and, in spite of my rattled nerves, summoned the bone whip to my palm. It tumbled out to the floor, clacking as it unrolled from my palm, unbothered by the flame it passed through.

The chanting broke into terrified screams as a few jumped out of the way.

“Please don’t make me do this. I do not want to hurt anyone!” One snap of the whip would explode their bodies, just as it had the Primsleys’ monstrous forms.

“Hand me that whip, Maevyth, I’m quite happy to hurt someone!” Aleysia reached down to lift it, struggling when it didn’t raise up easily. “Devil’s teeth, this thing must weigh a ton! How do you lift it yourself!”

Frowning, I drew it back with ease, and in the back snap, it cracked against one of the parishioners. Bellows of terror erupted as Mr. Morvenne’s limb flew separate from his body, landing with a hard thud on the ground.

Aleysia let out a gasp that turned to a chuckle, and frowning back at her, I noticed the way her swelling pupils had turned her eyes to an inky dark.

The crowd retreated a few steps, keeping their distance, but holding their guard.

“Do not let them escape again!” Sacton Crain urged, as he stamped his crosier against the concrete. “They are the key to ending this plague and getting out of this damned tomb!”

A terrifying boom bounced off the walls, and the crowd stilled.

Hushed.

Another boom followed, like a crack of thunder, and all eyes turned toward the enormous iron doors at the opposite end of the room.

“The infected!” Sacton Crain pointed his crosier at me. “She has brought them to us!”

The iron door flew off its hinges, landing with an ear-splitting clank that rattled the tomb.

Screams rose above the clamor of bodies running amok.

In the doorway, stood Zevander and his massive scorpion. It shrank just enough to fit through the entryway, then expanded to its usual colossal form.

“Who in God’s name is that?” Corwin asked, his voice shaky.

“The reason she’s not interested in you,” Aleysia answered.