Tears of the Reaper Read online

Owen nodded. “I have no intention of baring my teeth until I’m ready to bite, Kullen,” he replied. He stretched out his long legs, crossed his ankles, tugged his hat down over his eyes and crossed his arms as though he had not a care in the world and all the time there was to be had. Only his friends knew the wheels were turning inside Tohre’s mind and those wheels were rolling over High Elder Chamberlain.

  Glyn sat with his ankle crossed over his knee, his foot jumping up and down in agitation. He rarely sat still and to do so now was a particular irritation. He kept glancing down the street to the church.

  Iden took out his harmonica and began playing an old Otharian lullaby from his childhood. In the silence of the falling snow, his music sounded even more melancholy that it usually did.

  “How did you die, Belial?” Glyn asked, turning to give Iden an angry look.

  Iden stopped playing. “Why?”

  “I’m just curious.”

  Shaking his harmonica on his leather duster, Iden turned his head toward the street. “I was hanged,” he said. “For stealing a horse actually.”

  “I thought it might have been because you annoyed the hell out of some Otharian warlord.”

  “Well, in a way I suppose I did,” Iden said with a grin. “It was Lord Alliant’s destrier I stole.” He cupped his hands around his harmonica and started to bring it to his mouth but Glyn shot out a hand and grabbed his wrist, shaking his head “no”.

  “Doors are opening,” Owen said softly, though his eyes were closed and not a sound could be heard from the church.

  Iden got to his feet and moved to the porch railing. “I wonder where the women are,” Iden asked as they watched only men filing out of the building.

  “They worship on opposite sides of the church like the Plain Folk,” Glyn said, joining him. “They’ll come out last.”

  “True gentlemen all the way,” Iden said with a snort. He cocked a chin toward the group of men who were standing in front of the church, looking their way. “They don’t look surprised to see us.”

  “Like Owen said, they knew we’d be back,” Glyn said.

  Dressed in navy blue suits with their dark blue shirts buttoned all the way to the chin, three of the elders started toward the infirmary. Behind them were the healer and Brother Edward. After giving them a long, haughty look the high elder turned away and headed for his dwelling.

  Owen opened his eyes and stared down at the plank floor of the infirmary’s porch. He was uneasy but couldn’t explain why. His nerves were stretched thin and there was a knot in his belly that he didn’t like. Drawing in his legs, he sat up but stayed where he was, his arms still crossed over his chest, but he turned his head to watch the Communalists coming across the compound.

  “They look nervous to you?” Iden asked softly.

  “Like coyotes caught in a hen house,” Glyn replied.

  Elder Barrow was the first to reach them and he bowed his head briefly in greeting. “You have come for information?” he asked, his eyes snapping to Owen for just a moment before returning to Glyn.

  “Have there been any more deaths?” Glyn asked, and when the elder answered that there hadn’t, the Reaper asked for directions to the farm where the last atrocity occurred.

  “The Rutgers farm is west of here about four and a half miles,” Elder Barrow told him, pointing to the road that led out of New Towne.

  “How many settlements are close by?” Iden asked.

  Owen was watching the elder and saw the man’s eyes flicker.

  “There is New River to the east and New Junction to the southwest,” the older man replied. He licked his lips. “They are not Communalist colonies.”

  “That boy last night said he recognized one of those who attacked the Rutgers as having come from New Junction. It doesn’t matter if that’s a Communalist colony or not,” Glyn declared.

  “My people and I are only worried about our own,” Elder Vaughn spoke up. “The outsiders can fend for themselves.”

  “That’s right brotherly of you,” Iden muttered.

  “But there is another Communalist colony nearby,” Owen said quietly.

  Elder Barrow did not look at Owen. “They have not been bothered by the creatures.”

  “What’s the name of that settlement?” Glyn pressed.

  “It is the seat of our Electorate,” the elder said. “Outsiders are not permitted within the limits of the Colony.”

  “All right,” Glyn said. “That still doesn’t tell us the name.”

  Elder Barrow blinked. He seemed to be having trouble breathing. His mouth opened and closed but no sound came out. It was Elder Vaughn who stepped forward to answer for him.

  “The Electorate is in the Colony of New Allendale. Since you are not of our faith, you will not be allowed to pass through the gates. The gates are made of iron and are ten feet tall. They are kept locked at all times and are only opened to our people.”

  “And you know for a fact none of those within the Electorate have been infected with what killed your folks around here,” Iden said.

  Elder Vaughn shook his head. “No, there have been no murders in the Electorate. A member of the poleen—the Electorate’s lawmen—was here last evening and assured us all was well within the gates.”

  “What about outside the city gates?” Iden pressed.

  “No, there have been no murders in the New Allendale Colony,” Elder Vaughn said. “We would have been told if there had been.”

  Owen stood. “Let’s go,” he said. He walked off the porch, not even glancing at Elder Barrow who stumbled back to keep from being touched by the Reaper. Not a one of the Communalists spoke to him as he untied his horse’s reins from the hitching post.

  Glyn and Iden were untying their mounts as Owen grabbed the pommel of his saddle and vaulted onto his stallion’s back. Without another look at the townsmen, the Reaper drummed his heels against Céierseach’s flanks.

  “We have sent Elder Dayton to the Bastion to inform them of what has been happening here and of Lord Owen’s interference in Communalist business,” Elder Vaughn said as Glyn and Iden mounted their horses.

  Glyn crossed his wrists over the saddle horn and stared down at the older man. “I don’t imagine Tohre gives a rat’s pecker what you or your little suck ups do, mister,” he said. “Knowing him as well as I do, if I were you and your ineffectual Míliste, I’d keep the hell out of his way. You’ve already made an enemy of him and having a Reaper for an enemy is a mighty hard row to hoe.” Clicking to his horse, Kullen sawed on the reins and set the animal into a fast trot, Iden falling in behind him.

  The moment the Reapers were out of earshot, Brother Edward turned to the elders and shook his head. “That man saved my son’s life,” he reminded them.

  “And we saved his,” Elder Barrow stated.

  “We aided him, aye, but we did not save his life,” Healer Benjamin said. “And he and his men are now going after the creatures who have been preying on us. Only they can defeat this evil. The Míliste certainly can’t. We are doing Lord Owen great wrong.”

  “It is not right what is being done,” Edward told him.

  “It is the law,” Elder Vaughn snapped.

  “He’ll not forgive or forget this,” Healer Benjamin told the elders. “A Reaper never forgives or forgets.”

  “In two days it will all be over,” Elder Barrow said. “We will speak no more of it.”

  The two elders walked away, their backs stiff, shoulders straight and the snow soon obscuring them from view as they made for the meeting hall where the womenfolk would soon be serving the noon meal.

  “It isn’t right,” Healer Benjamin said.

  “No, it isn’t,” Edward said, his tone full of misery.

  “But if we interfere, we too will be cast out, Brother Edward,” the healer declared. “If we get involved, we will be forced to leave our homes and will never be allowed to return. Our names will be stricken from the covenant charter and our families will be asked to shun us. It is not somet
hing we should undertake lightly.”

  Edward ran a rough hand over his face. “I must pray on this,” he said, and pivoted on his heel, striding quickly toward the stable.

  “Praying is all we can do,” Healer Benjamin said with a heartfelt sigh.

  * * * * *

  The cell was as icy as death’s hand as Rachel huddled in the corner. Her teeth were chattering together as she sat there on the bare stone floor, feeling the moisture creeping into the cuts on her back. She could not remember ever being so cold or frightened in her life. The plain scarlet red cotton gown she wore was meant to forcibly bring home to all her fallen condition, her whoredom.

  They would be coming for her soon. There had to be the second of her punishments before the final one. She had never seen a loiscneach but she knew what would happen. Sheer terror filled her mind and she was trembling from head to toe.

  Flashes of the violent examination the supreme healer of the Electorate had forced upon her preyed on her mind. She had awakened to a hard, cold surface under her lacerated back, her wrists and ankles lashed down, her legs spread wide, her naked body shivering with the cold. The supreme healer’s fingers had been rough, brutal, and he had pushed them into her without regard to either cleanliness or care. He had twisted them cruelly inside her, all the while smiling hatefully, calling her slut and whore and harlot. When he had withdrawn his fingers, he held them up and spread them in front of the supreme elders who were gathered around to watch her shame.

  “As you can see there is no virginal blood so this signifies her maidenhead has been breached. This woman has thrown away her most prized possession to an outsider!”

  “He is my husband! We were legally Joined!” she cried out, but the savage slap of the supreme healer’s hand across her face did more than split her lip and draw blood. It had effectively silenced her for she knew no explanation would be accepted by these determined men.

  Cringing with every sound that echoed through the cold stone building, Rachel hung her head as tears trickled down her chapped cheeks.

  “Owen, find me,” she whispered. “Please find me before it’s too late.”

  * * * * *

  Glyn urged his mount closer to Owen’s so he could speak with his fellow Reaper. They were riding along a small stream that was frozen over for the temperature seemed to be dropping with every mile they traveled. The snow had stopped but there was still the threat of it in the damp air and the clouds overhead warned that the precipitation wasn’t ended.

  “Are we going to the Rutgers’ place?” Glyn yelled at Owen.

  Owen nodded. His stomach was churning, his nerve endings raw as though they were being abraded by sandpaper. He had a heavy feeling in his chest that seemed to increase with every breath he took. Although he didn’t know what was wrong, he knew something was and the not knowing plagued him like a rotten tooth.

  The Rutgers farm wasn’t much to write home about. Though the cottage looked to have been freshly painted perhaps in the summer, it was already peeling in places. The roof sagged in the middle and was missing shingles. The porch didn’t look safe and the corral to the side of the barn was ramshackle. Even knowing the dwelling had been occupied until the day before, it looked derelict and abandoned.

  A freshly dug plot of land—large enough to contain multiple bodies—lay off to one side along with two individual plots behind which two wooden crosses had been placed. Both burial plots reeked of burned human flesh.

  “Whatcha wanna bet they gave the two men those nice, neat little graves and then dumped the poor women into the communal one?” Iden snarled.

  “The more I’m around those pricks, the less I like them,” Glyn said.

  “They make the Drochtáirs look like choirboys,” Iden replied with a snort.

  “And those things are close by,” Owen said quietly. He was staring off across the pastureland where dark lumps were scattered on the ground. “I’ve got their DNA coded in me but you two need to pick it up.”

  “How are we to do that, Tohre?” Glyn asked.

  Owen lifted a hand and pointed at the dark lumps. “Cows,” he said.

  Glyn and Iden looked to where he was indicating. “What cows?” Glyn asked. “Looks like clumps of snowcapped black mud to me.”

  “Those are hides, Kullen,” Owen said. “There won’t be any blood or meat or marrow, just hides covering bones.”

  “Ugh,” Iden grumbled.

  “Go take a taste, boys, and then let’s start tracking these beasts,” Owen ordered. He nudged a chin westward. “I believe we’ll find their lair out there.”

  * * * * *

  She must have dozed although as cold as she was she couldn’t imagine how that had been possible. It was the sound of shrieking metal that brought her to awareness and then the shuffling of feet coming toward the cell. She could not stop the whimper of fear from escaping her throat as a key was thrust into the lock of the solid iron door.

  Bright light from several lanterns nearly blinded her as the door was thrown open. She put up a hand to shield her eyes and cried out as rough hands grabbed her arms and levered her up from the damp floor. She did not see the faces of her jailers for the brightness of the light hurt her eyes. As she was dragged from the cell, all she could do was whisper Owen’s name over and over again as a talisman to ward off the evil that was surely coming.

  It was to a large round room they took her and ringing the room were wooden benches occupied by dark figures she knew must be the Council of Exalted Elders. There was only silence as she was thrust into a tall back iron chair that sat in the center of the room under a low chandelier ablaze with candles. Her wrists and ankles were lashed to the arms and legs with rawhide and a broad leather belt was passed around her waist to secure her to the chair’s back.

  She was whimpering for she knew what was about to happen. Her second punishment might well be worse than the first, and the third—coming later in the day—would be worse still. As one of her jailers positioned himself behind the chair and took her head into his hands to steady it, she drew in a ragged, terrified breath.

  The reality of the punishment that was then meted out to her far exceeded that which she was expecting. Her scream went on and on and on…

  Chapter Ten

  The pain was so unexpected, so intense, Owen nearly fell from his horse. Luckily the mount was standing still as the Reaper shot out a hand to grab the pommel then swung a leg over Céierseach’s head and hit the ground hard, squatting down with his palm pressed tight to his forehead, his fingers splayed wide.

  “What the hell?” Glyn questioned, reining in his horse and sawing on the reins to turn it around. “What’s the matter?” He and Iden dismounted and went over to Owen.

  “Sweet Merciful Alel that hurt,” Owen said, his breath ragged.

  “Did you take your gods-be-damned tenerse this morning, Tohre?” Glyn snapped.

  Owen lifted his head and gave Glyn a brutal look. “I couldn’t because some asshole went through my saddlebags and took the gods-be-damned tenerse, Kullen,” he threw back at him. Sweat was pouring down his face and he was shaking.

  “Oh,” Glyn said, his cheeks reddening. “I forgot.”

  “I forgot,” Owen mimicked with a sneer.

  “Well, you need it,” Glyn said, going over to his horse.

  “You think?” Owen snarled.

  “Póg ma thoin, Tohre,” Glyn said.

  “Aye, well, you can kiss mine too,” Owen returned.

  “Tóg bog é,” Iden told Owen, bidding him to take it easy.

  “God almighty that hurts,” Owen said, pressing his palm harder against his forehead.

  Owen brought the vac-syringe over and leaned down to inject the payload into Owen’s neck.

  “Go mbeire an diabhal leis thú!” Owen hissed as the burning liquid spread through the veins in his neck.

  “Too late, Tohre. The devil already has my soul,” Glyn replied with a chuckle.

  “She has all of us by the balls, I’m
thinking,” Iden agreed.

  “How’s the head now?” Glyn asked.

  “I’ve never had pain like this,” Owen replied. “It feels like someone shoved a burning poker through my head.”

  “The tenerse should start helping soon,” Glyn said.

  “I’ve got to get out of here. The stench of burning flesh is starting to get to me,” Owen said, pushing to his feet. He stood there wavering for a moment, his unease undulating through him with the pain in his forehead beating at him.

  “Aye, it seems to just be hanging in the air,” Iden commented.

  “You gonna be able to ride?” Glyn asked, worry crinkling his brow.

  “I have to be,” Owen said. He unbuttoned his duster and shrugged out of it.

  “Are you hot?” Iden queried.

  “I’m burning up.” Wadding up the garment, he walked to his horse and lashed the duster to his bedroll. He grabbed the pommel and swung into the saddle, shifting until he was comfortable.

  “Any more pain?” Glyn asked.

  “No,” Owen lied, and drummed his heels into Céierseach’s sides and the horse shot forward.

  * * * * *

  As the noonday sun began trying to push through the heavy gray clouds, the Reapers rode past a farm where three new graves rippled the little ground behind a neatly kept family plot surrounded by a picket fence. Dismounting, they entered the plot to investigate.

  “August eighth,” Glyn said. “All three.”

  “Forever together,” Iden read the inscription burned into the plain wooden cross. “You think they were victims of the Drochtáirs?”

  “I don’t think we can take a chance that they aren’t,” Glyn replied.

  “There’s no grass growing anywhere near the graves,” Owen said, closed his eyes and sent a mental call to the Citadel. “Lord Kheelan?”

  “It is on its way to your location. You may go on.”

  Owen opened his eyes. “The drone is coming.”

  Glyn and Iden automatically glanced to the heavens though there was nothing to see but dark scudding clouds and a sun striving to push them aside.

  “We’ve been instructed to leave,” Owen said, going out the gate of the little cemetery.