Wolves Among Us(32)



“She tells interesting tales,” Stefan replied, willing his legs to stay planted and firm.

“Aye, as do all women,” Bastion laughed. “You must excuse me now, Father. There is a punishment for talking to others, and she knows it well.”

Stefan didn’t move.

“I cannot allow it,” he said. “Not on church grounds.” That last part sounded like a concession.

“I am too lazy to move her,” Bastion said, replacing the whip after a moment’s thought. “I will show you mercy,” he said to her, “though you deserve none. Pray to God that He will make you worthy of it.”

Bastion put his arm around Stefan and began walking toward the dormitory. “Come, brother,” Bastion said. “We both had long nights. We must sleep while we can, for tonight God will do an amazing work among these people.”

“You speak as if you know God’s mind.”

Bastion laughed. “My friend, when you have served God as long as I have, you can anticipate His movements.”

Stefan chewed the inside of his lip, ignoring the growing sore. He didn’t follow. Bastion was not like the Inquisitor he had envisioned. Bastion kept walking. Stefan watched him disappear inside, then looked back. No one paid attention. Stefan jogged to catch up to him.

“Who is the witch you caught?” Stefan asked. Inside the dormitory, they faced each other alone.

Bastion grabbed him by his robes and jerked Stefan’s face closer to his.

“Do not ever challenge me again in front of others or I will have you sent to a parish so poor the people will skip communion and want to eat you.”

Stefan swatted at Bastion’s hands. Bastion released him and yawned. “You interfered with my work, but I have forgiven you.”

“I thought you did God’s work.”

“Is there a difference?” Bastion sighed, kicking off his boots. “Do not question my authority, Father. It is not good for your mind.”

“What’s in the bag?”

Bastion glanced at the bag, shrugging. “If you’re curious, open it.”

“I’m not curious.”

Bastion laughed. “You’re really moody this morning. I’d say your faith is wavering. Get some sleep and you’ll feel better.” He stood and walked to the bag, untying it. The mouth of the bag flopped open, revealing a tangle of metal contraptions.

Bastion pulled back the cover on his bed and stretched out, crossing his legs at the ankle, tucking his hands behind his head.

Stefan gave in. He went over to the bag and reached in a hand, grabbing a hard, cold object, shaking it loose from the pile. He pulled it out and held it up. It appeared to be a vise, made of two metal planks no bigger than a man’s hand, with thick, rusted screws driven down between the planks.

“What is it?” Stefan ran a finger along the rust. He held his finger up to wipe it clean across his pant leg.

“It’s a thumb screw.” Bastion sounded sleepy.

The stain on Stefan’s hand, and now his pants, was blood. Dried blood covered the device. Stefan dropped it, stumbling back.

“Show some respect!” Bastion grumbled, snatching it off the floor, thrusting it back in the bag.

“What else is in there?” Stefan threw the bag open again and began pulling out every device his hand fell to.

Bastion turned on his side this time on the bed, his eyelids getting heavier. He named the objects as Stefan held them up, like Adam naming the animals.

A helmet of metal with screws to tighten the band.

“Skull crusher.”

A mask that clamped round the jaws, with an iron pig’s nose.

“Scold’s bridle.”

A metal stake no bigger than a small dagger, with a blunted end.

“Fire poker. If Satan gives a woman a mole or freckle as a sign of their pact, I burn it off.”

Tongs.

“Good for holding a tongue when you need to cleanse it with fire.”

Bastion fell asleep before Stefan got through the bag.

One of the village boys rang the church bells, calling him, and the village, to morning Mass. Stefan walked to the window in a stupor, his hands shaking, seeing his people leaving their homes and the market stalls, more people than he had ever seen awake, ready to worship at this hour. Their faces looked anxious for Stefan’s words. Stefan had once thought crowds were a sure sign God blessed him. When the people came in great numbers, God was blessing the work. God should be credited.

God and no one else, Stefan thought. Unless, perhaps, God could not be found in this at all.





Chapter Sixteen


In the late afternoon, waiting for Bjorn to return from an errand in the village, Mia watched Alma napping with the kitten tucked into her side. Mia sat, hands folded in her lap, watching the steady rise and fall of both chests, the serene curves of their closed eyes. Behind her, Margarite sat in a chair near the fireplace, her chin almost touching her chest. She snored softly, her injured arm held close. Outside, a woodpecker tapped against a tree.

Mia stood, keeping her movements slow and quiet. She walked to the door, picking up her garden trowel from the basket near the door. The ground would still be hard and too cold for planting the seeds she harvested last fall. Swinging the door on its hinges only a breath at a time, she eased it open and stepped outside. After pacing in every direction, surveying the path that led to her home, and the woods around her, she chose a spot. Using one hand, she swept away leaf litter and pulled up dead vines, getting to the bare earth. Using her trowel, she began digging. She didn’t need a big hole, just a deep one, a well to swallow up her sin.

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