Beneath the Blood Moon

Chapter Four: Little Troublemakers

They found her, as she knew they would.

And it happened just as she expected. Halfway through her rummaging through the desk, the alarm stopped. All that remained was a slight ringing in her ears. All the searching in that old hunk of wood and varnish turned up nothing but dust and disappointment.

Sunset marked the stained glass windows and the entire space was filled with dimming, fiery reds, oranges, and gold. Nnandi slammed the bottom drawers closed and the door to the library opened with a loud bang. Across the distance, three towering figures. Sentinel guard. Their eyes glowed, even in the failing light. If she didn't join them before the last of the sunlight slipped from the top of the windows, it wouldn't end well.

She sighed, trying to muffle any trace of frustration from the act, self preservation at its finest. Sliding from behind the desk, Nnandi straightened her top and tried to knock the dust from her clothes. They didn't need to know she was in there searching. As far as they were concerned, she was paying her final respects to a place of comfort before the end.

Right. That's why I'm here.

She repeated the lie in her head, letting it build into a pseudo confidence that straightened her posture as she crossed the rows of study tables, stopping before the Sentinel. The solemn-faced, lumbering jackals.

Mira, Carthage, and Lugo.

Saphine's personal pets. Her war dogs. Her prized elite. Disgusting. Or maybe disgusted. Each of their dark faces were twisted with disdain as they looked down on her. Another thing they shared with their beloved leader.

Is it some kind of prerequisite to be accepted as a Sentinel? Must be a ridiculous giant to apply?

Nnandi was careful not to wear her own distaste for them show in any aspect of herself. She had to be. She was less than, weak, nothing but cannon fodder at this stage. She was good as dead, and they wouldn't spare any feelings or fire. There was no room to step out of line, so she bowed instead. It was perfect, crisp.

She bent deeply at the waist and didn't stop until she couldn't even see their feet through her long, black tresses.

"What a perfect little bow," Mira's low voice rumbled, "I wouldn't expect less from our perfect little lamb."

The rebuttal she had died in her throat. And it burned there, with all the venom Nnandi wanted to spew at the lumbering blonde. All types of insults and snide remarks usually resided right at the base of her tongue, lingering like the taste of stale coffee. This time, it was harder to swallow. She did it. But it was hard.

"You have been requested to commune with the rest of the coven," Lugo stated, his deep voice vibrated at the base of her skull. Overpowering as always, despite his reasonable volume.

Carthage remained silently domineering, as a leer darkened Mira's features.

"What an honor."

Nnandi didn't have to ask for who. Her pretend 'elevated-status' was really more of a quarantine, disguised as an attempt to keep the sacrifice untainted by such burdensome concepts as love, friendship, attachment, morale. They were deemed pure, so having them gather among the rest of the Ariete was a... unique experience. Something 'treasured' by the common folk, and taunted by those who saw the Ram for what they really were.

Worthless, expendable, weak chaff.

If she still had the strength, she'd have set the bottoms of their flowing black robes aflame. Instead, Nnandi bowed deeply, once again hiding her face behind her hair. She sneered a moment before reverting to calm indifference and righting herself. Her obedience must have satisfied their not-so-subtle classist sadism, the trio turned in perfect sync and strolled towards the door. The expectation that she follow hung in the air and she met it with no enthusiasm.