Willing Sacrifice
Page 73
Torr did as she asked. A second later, he was back in the northern village, inside the hut where he’d first seen Grace after coming here. The ice covering her was mostly gone. Her broken body was facedown. The metal disk that she’d once worn was loose against her back, caught just inside the opening of her tunic.
He picked it up and set it aside.
Her skin was frozen. A thin layer of ice clung to her clothes and hair. Black, charred patches covered her hands. He could see now just how badly the fall had mangled her. Shards of bone had sliced through her skin. Her limbs lay at odd, sickening angles.
Torr’s heart shattered. Shock and denial had gotten him this far, but they were wearing off fast, and once they did, he knew he’d collapse into a useless pile of grief.
“I want to bathe her,” he said.
“As you wish.” Brenya handed him a bowl of water and a cloth, and picked up a set of her own.
He gently rolled Grace onto her back. Her face had been spared the worst of the impact, leaving her as beautiful as ever. It seemed impossible that there was no life left in her—that she was only a shell. He kept staring, hoping to see some flicker of motion, some sign of life.
There was none. Grace was dead.
“Can I take her back to her family?” he asked.
“Perhaps when I return. The threat from the Solarc has passed. The portal destroyed. The Warden unable to report. I will leave tonight to recharge under the light of the Athanasian moon. You will stay here.”
Torr nodded his understanding. Tears clogged his throat. He held them off, knowing that if he let go, he would crack and become useless. His grief would have to wait until this task was done and he could find a private place to lick his wounds.
His sweet Grace. Dead.
It couldn’t be real. No nightmare this horrible was ever real, and yet he didn’t wake up.
He wet the cloth and started at her fingertips and worked his way up. Brenya did the same on the other side. They cut away her bloody, tattered clothes and covered her in a soft woven sheet of pale blue.
He brushed her hair until it was dry and braided it over one shoulder. By the time he was done, she looked perfect. The charred flesh was cleaned away, the blood was gone, her limbs were straight again with no sign of broken bones.
“There,” said Brenya. “It is nearly done. I have given her as much of myself as I dare. Only one more thing and she will be ready.” She held out her hands, and in each one was one of the metal disks.
“You want to bury her with them?” he asked.
“You will each wear them again. This one is yours now.” She offered him the one he knew Grace had always worn. The markings on it were different—sparser than on his own.
“I don’t understand.”
“I know. But you will do this thing as repayment of your vow. Take off your shirt and kneel.”
It didn’t matter if Torr wanted to do it or not. His body was already moving, compelled by his open-ended promise. He felt to his knees, ripping his shirt away as he went.
She didn’t give him time to brace himself; she merely slammed the metal prongs into his skin. He was still on his knees, panting through the pain when he felt something happen.
He looked up. Brenya had rolled Grace onto her side and had cast aside the sheet. Blood trickled from her skin where the disk had been embedded.
Rage detonated inside him, as fierce as it was inappropriate. No one could hurt Grace anymore. She was beyond pain. And still, the sight of her blood made him want to kill.
Brenya held up a hand. It trembled with fatigue, and for the first time, he saw just how frail she’d become—so much worse than even last night. Her skin hung on her bones, and she was stooped over much more than she’d been only a few minutes ago. She looked centuries old. Shriveled and frail. “Settle, young Theronai. I am nearly out of time.”
Torr calmed down, though he couldn’t tell whether it was because she’d ordered him to or because of his shock at seeing just how far and how fast she’d degraded.
And then it hit him.
All the cuts on Grace’s body had healed. The broken bones realigned. The charred skin where radiation had damaged her was renewed. He’d been so overwhelmed with loss, he hadn’t realized that Brenya must have been healing Grace’s flesh all along. That was why she was so weakened.
But why would she heal the flesh of a dead woman?
Brenya caught his chin and held his gaze. The stormy waves in her eyes held far less power than before, but they still churned and swirled in a leaden display. “Do you love her?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Will you vow to give your life for hers?”
Hope surged in his chest, and while he knew how dangerous it could be, he couldn’t help but let it lift his soul.
“My life for hers,” he vowed without hesitation.
“I have been preparing her body for this moment for years, hoping she would be worthy of the gift. Strong enough to receive it and survive. Still, even with all my efforts, she can never be what you have always sought. She will never truly be Theronai. If she lives again, healing will be her domain—only that and nothing else.”
It didn’t matter what she was or what she could do. Not if there was any hope his Grace could live. “She’s all I need. All I’ve ever needed. I could never want more than her, however she comes back to me.”
Brenya jerked his luceria from his throat, clenching it in her wizened fist. Her weight shifted suddenly, and she was leaning on him for support.
“Whoa. Hang on.” Torr held her up and eased her into a nearby chair.
She held out her hand, offering him the luceria. “Take this. Claim her as your own. Will her to life.”
A ripple of shock slipped through him, shaking him to his bones. “How did you take that off me?”
“Who do you think put it on you, young Theronai? You were my design. My creation. I put the luceria on you long before your birth. Now go and be worthy of what this cost me. I can do no more.”
He took it. “Cost you? I don’t understand.”
It didn’t matter. She was gone in a flash of light. Disappeared.
Torr stood there for a second, staring in shock at the band that had always graced his throat.
It was now Grace’s.
He went to her side. His hands trembled as he slid the band around her neck. The blunt ends touched but did not lock in place as they were supposed to do.
He picked it up and set it aside.
Her skin was frozen. A thin layer of ice clung to her clothes and hair. Black, charred patches covered her hands. He could see now just how badly the fall had mangled her. Shards of bone had sliced through her skin. Her limbs lay at odd, sickening angles.
Torr’s heart shattered. Shock and denial had gotten him this far, but they were wearing off fast, and once they did, he knew he’d collapse into a useless pile of grief.
“I want to bathe her,” he said.
“As you wish.” Brenya handed him a bowl of water and a cloth, and picked up a set of her own.
He gently rolled Grace onto her back. Her face had been spared the worst of the impact, leaving her as beautiful as ever. It seemed impossible that there was no life left in her—that she was only a shell. He kept staring, hoping to see some flicker of motion, some sign of life.
There was none. Grace was dead.
“Can I take her back to her family?” he asked.
“Perhaps when I return. The threat from the Solarc has passed. The portal destroyed. The Warden unable to report. I will leave tonight to recharge under the light of the Athanasian moon. You will stay here.”
Torr nodded his understanding. Tears clogged his throat. He held them off, knowing that if he let go, he would crack and become useless. His grief would have to wait until this task was done and he could find a private place to lick his wounds.
His sweet Grace. Dead.
It couldn’t be real. No nightmare this horrible was ever real, and yet he didn’t wake up.
He wet the cloth and started at her fingertips and worked his way up. Brenya did the same on the other side. They cut away her bloody, tattered clothes and covered her in a soft woven sheet of pale blue.
He brushed her hair until it was dry and braided it over one shoulder. By the time he was done, she looked perfect. The charred flesh was cleaned away, the blood was gone, her limbs were straight again with no sign of broken bones.
“There,” said Brenya. “It is nearly done. I have given her as much of myself as I dare. Only one more thing and she will be ready.” She held out her hands, and in each one was one of the metal disks.
“You want to bury her with them?” he asked.
“You will each wear them again. This one is yours now.” She offered him the one he knew Grace had always worn. The markings on it were different—sparser than on his own.
“I don’t understand.”
“I know. But you will do this thing as repayment of your vow. Take off your shirt and kneel.”
It didn’t matter if Torr wanted to do it or not. His body was already moving, compelled by his open-ended promise. He felt to his knees, ripping his shirt away as he went.
She didn’t give him time to brace himself; she merely slammed the metal prongs into his skin. He was still on his knees, panting through the pain when he felt something happen.
He looked up. Brenya had rolled Grace onto her side and had cast aside the sheet. Blood trickled from her skin where the disk had been embedded.
Rage detonated inside him, as fierce as it was inappropriate. No one could hurt Grace anymore. She was beyond pain. And still, the sight of her blood made him want to kill.
Brenya held up a hand. It trembled with fatigue, and for the first time, he saw just how frail she’d become—so much worse than even last night. Her skin hung on her bones, and she was stooped over much more than she’d been only a few minutes ago. She looked centuries old. Shriveled and frail. “Settle, young Theronai. I am nearly out of time.”
Torr calmed down, though he couldn’t tell whether it was because she’d ordered him to or because of his shock at seeing just how far and how fast she’d degraded.
And then it hit him.
All the cuts on Grace’s body had healed. The broken bones realigned. The charred skin where radiation had damaged her was renewed. He’d been so overwhelmed with loss, he hadn’t realized that Brenya must have been healing Grace’s flesh all along. That was why she was so weakened.
But why would she heal the flesh of a dead woman?
Brenya caught his chin and held his gaze. The stormy waves in her eyes held far less power than before, but they still churned and swirled in a leaden display. “Do you love her?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Will you vow to give your life for hers?”
Hope surged in his chest, and while he knew how dangerous it could be, he couldn’t help but let it lift his soul.
“My life for hers,” he vowed without hesitation.
“I have been preparing her body for this moment for years, hoping she would be worthy of the gift. Strong enough to receive it and survive. Still, even with all my efforts, she can never be what you have always sought. She will never truly be Theronai. If she lives again, healing will be her domain—only that and nothing else.”
It didn’t matter what she was or what she could do. Not if there was any hope his Grace could live. “She’s all I need. All I’ve ever needed. I could never want more than her, however she comes back to me.”
Brenya jerked his luceria from his throat, clenching it in her wizened fist. Her weight shifted suddenly, and she was leaning on him for support.
“Whoa. Hang on.” Torr held her up and eased her into a nearby chair.
She held out her hand, offering him the luceria. “Take this. Claim her as your own. Will her to life.”
A ripple of shock slipped through him, shaking him to his bones. “How did you take that off me?”
“Who do you think put it on you, young Theronai? You were my design. My creation. I put the luceria on you long before your birth. Now go and be worthy of what this cost me. I can do no more.”
He took it. “Cost you? I don’t understand.”
It didn’t matter. She was gone in a flash of light. Disappeared.
Torr stood there for a second, staring in shock at the band that had always graced his throat.
It was now Grace’s.
He went to her side. His hands trembled as he slid the band around her neck. The blunt ends touched but did not lock in place as they were supposed to do.
