Claws of Daylight

Twenty-Two

"By the time you get this letter, I will be gone. I have consecrated myself to the saints. Do not come looking for me. You will not see me again, unless the saints bless us with their return in exchange for our dedication and righteousness, in which I hope they will deign to show mercy on your souls." — from a letter penned by Nesta to her family before her disappearance

~~~

Briar met Rook for a breakfast of burnt toast and weak coffee downstairs the next morning. She was disturbed by her dreams the night before, how exultant the adoration and glory had made her feel, and it kept her in a contemplative silence.

She found her eyes drifting to Rook more times than she'd like to admit. She noticed the muscle in his stubbled jaw as he chewed. How his long, tangled hair looked tucked behind one ear. The way his calculating eyes swept the room.

They settled on her, piercing and stormy, and her stomach dropped quickly.

She tried to think of some joke to say to him, or at least something halfway intelligent, but instead she inhaled some of her toast and fell into a coughing fit.

"You good?" Rook asked, breaking the long silence.

Briar nodded, eyes watering as she gulped back tepid coffee. "Yes. Sorry." Her face went hot as she cleared her throat. What was wrong with her?

Rook gave a nod, then let his eyes drift from her. He seemed preoccupied with his own thoughts. She wished she knew what he was thinking.

They stopped at the counter on their way out so Rook could pay the tab. Gunter was sporting a fresh black eye and Briar hoped a woman gave it to him.

"One of my cooks went missing," Gunter said as he slipped the copper coins into his pocket.

"That so?" Rook asked in a disinterested tone.

Gunter nodded. "Nice girl. Pretty one, too. Not as pretty as your friend, Master Rook, but the same fair hair. She went looking in the woods for ingredients and never came back." The barkeep lowered his voice. "Everyone thinks it was the zealots. They've been spotted round here the past fortnight or so."

Briar blinked. Zealots in the wastelands? What kind of zealots? She'd never heard of them before.

"Poor girl, then," Rook said somberly.

Gunter nodded. "You be careful out there, Master Rook. Not that you have any cause to be afraid. The sons of bitches should be fearing you."

"They will if they know what's good for them. Bye, Gunter."

Briar walked fast to keep up with Rook's stride as they left the tavern. Her boots sloshed through the mud as they headed to the stable. She kept her eyes on him as the mountain wind whipped his dark hair about his face. "What was Gunter on about?" she asked, nearly shouting over the strong wind.

Rook's eyes flicked down to her. "Never heard of the Consecrated?"

"Never," she said with a shake of her head.

"They're a cult," he said simply. "Really strange. They wander the woods and sacrifice people."

A chill ran through her. "Sacrifice?"

He nodded. "They claim they do it to bring the saints back."

"The saints wouldn't want that." Her lips curved down. "That's abhorrent."

Rook shrugged. "No one said it makes sense. They're crazy."

Briar cast her gaze to the thick forest not far from the village. The birch and rowan grew thick, casting all in a pale darkness even as they bared their limbs with the coming winter. Not only were there monsters lurking in the shadows and caves, but now crazed fanatics who practiced human sacrifice?