Flesh-&-Bone(56)

“A dog?” asked Saint John.

“A very large dog.”

“Ah,” said Saint John, raising his eyebrows. “You think he’s back? The ranger?”

“Yes, Honored One, I do . . . although that confuses me. Am I mistaken, or did not Brother Alexi swear that he killed the ranger? Did he not swear before God that he smashed the life out of him with his great hammer?”

“He did say so,” agreed Saint John.

Brother Peter began to add something to that, but he bit it back. However, Saint John nodded as if the rest had been spoken.

Mother Rose had said she witnessed her pet giant kill this particular heretic. This mercenary who served the evil ones—the doctors and scientists; this killer who preyed on the reapers.

They studied each other for a long moment, each of them calculating the implications of that.

“Someday soon,” murmured the saint, “we will have a discussion with Brother Alexi.”

“Most assuredly,” agreed Brother Peter, and his eyes were hard as metal. “But . . . if Brother Alexi has fallen from grace, what does that say about Mother Rose? They are inseparable. He does not scratch an itch without her say-so.”

Saint John placed his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “We must be vigilant, but we must not leap to judgment. The truth always finds the light, you know this?”

“Yes.”

“Then be patient. God has set many tasks before us. We have to find and end the rest of Carter’s heretics and send them into the darkness. We must find Sister Margaret and make sure that she tells only us how to find Sanctuary . . . and not her mother. This is of paramount importance.”

“Silencing her voice would be easy enough. . . .”

“Don’t underestimate her,” cautioned Saint John. “Remember how talented she was. Had she not fallen from grace, her skill could have rivaled your own.”

Brother Peter gave an elaborate shrug. “I welcome the opportunity to test that.”

“Do not give her the slightest chance. As far as the ranger, Joe . . . we need to find him before he can do more harm. Every time he kills one of ours and is not punished for it, a seed of doubt is planted in the hearts of our reapers. This man must be found.”

“Yes, Honored One.”

Saint John nodded. “There are two other tasks at hand. First, I want you to select your most trusted reapers and have them join you when you go to observe Mother Rose’s meeting at the shrine. Have some follow Her Holiness and Brother Alexi and send runners to me to report everything that is said at this meeting.”

“Of course.” Peter paused. “What is the other matter?”

Saint John looked at the line of footprints in the soft earth. He told Brother Peter about Nyx and her knight.

“Surely they are part of Carter’s party,” insisted Peter, but Saint John shook his head.

“I don’t think so. Their eyes have looked upon the darkness, I’m sure of it.” Saint John absently touched the cut on his forearm. “I will follow them and seek to discover the nature of this holy test.” He took a breath. “Go now. The god of darkness calls us to our purpose.”

“And we answer with joy,” replied Brother Peter with his flat voice and unsmiling face.

He bowed low. Saint John kissed his head and blessed him.

The young man got back on his quad, fired up the engine, and roared off into the woods.

Saint John watched him go, nodding to himself with silent approval. Brother Peter was the best of the reapers. The best by far. A genius of the blade and a killer whose every breath was dedicated to giving the gift of darkness. Saint John had no doubts that Peter would find this man—this troublesome man—and do as he had promised. He would open the doors in the man’s flesh and let the darkness in. It would be the greatest act of faith and devotion possible. Saint John almost envied him that pleasure.

He reached up and touched the silver whistle that hung around his neck. He stroked it contemplatively for a moment and then raised it to his lips. He blew into it, long and hard and with no apparent effect.

Soon, however, he heard the sound of clumsy feet crunching on dead leaves, and the swish of pine branches brushing against bodies that moved without delicacy but with the implacability of the stars themselves.

Then the saint of all the killers left on earth ran after Nix and Benny, and behind him an army of the living dead followed.