The Ritual (29 page)

After a while the door opened again and a man stepped through, and I recognised him as the one in the elaborate robe who I had negotiated with. He was human, like all the monks I had seen so far, and I estimated him at late middle-age. Objectively speaking he was quite handsome, with an aquiline face and dark hair, but his eyes were a pale icy blue and held such a cold, cruel expression that my fear rose up again, unbidden.

“There is no need for this,” I began, wishing my voice wouldn’t tremble so. “I came of my own free will, there’s–”

He crossed the room and backhanded me across the face. The gesture was quite casual, but the blow was hard enough that my ears were ringing, and he must have been wearing at least one sharp ring, for I felt blood starting to trickle down my cheek.

“I do no
t require you to talk,” he said. “I also do not require you to be willing. I merely require you to be available.” He gave me a calculating look, as if to see whether I would defy him again, but the gleam in his eyes told me that he was the kind of man who enjoyed pain in other people, so I held my tongue and waited, still trying to calm myself down, and still to no avail.

“You learn fast,” he remarked, sounding disappointed, and I could not help but think of the many times Zash had said the same thing. Thinking of him bolstered me, however, and I tried to picture his face in my mind as I made another attempt at calming myself down.

Then, as the abbot opened the top drawer of the sideboard, a memory surfaced. A memory of Shani, rushing into this very room and trying to cut down my predecessor. I glanced at the abbot, and when I saw that he was still facing away from me I turned my head as far as I could and checked the shackle around my right wrist. Sure enough, it was still half cut through – either they had not noticed the damage, or had not thought it necessary to replace it.

I carefully pulled at it, but it didn’t seem to budge. Despite the cut it was still sturdy leather, and it would take more than a weak tug to break.

The abbot turned back to me and I noticed the triumph in his eyes when he saw me struggle.
Pain excites him
, I reminded myself, knowing he would enjoy it if I struggled. He would not stop me from doing so, which was an advantage, but the thought was far from reassuring.

The sideboard stood on wheels, and he pushed it over to me so I could see it, then started taking out objects from the drawer he had opened. The first was a dagger, long and slim, and he smiled when he saw my eyes widen in fear and I struggled harder.

“Oh, I won’t kill you,” he assured me. “I’ll just hurt you. A lot. You brought it on yourself by your actions, and besides, the pain and the wounds are only temporary.”

He studied me, and his smile widened when he saw that I understood him. “
This
is what you use the healing water for?” I asked before I could stop myself, and he laughed as he backhanded me again on the same cheek, with the same force as before. His skin was flushed now, and he opened his robe, exposing his arousal.

When he did I also understood the remainder of the items – thick rings of bone and metal and stone, all with vicious looking spikes, hooks or thorns around the circumference. I had wondered at their size, too big for even a thumb, but with his engorged cock hovering above the wooden surface I grasped that they were meant to fit around it, and that he intended to rape me while wearing one of those monstrosities. It increased my fear to the point that it washed everything else out of my mind, and I began to whimper and yank at the shackles while he still let his hand hover back and forth, hesitating to make his choice.

Finally he picked one, the most vicious-looking one in his collection, and he held it out to me. “I’ll use this one today,” he said, his voice curiously gentle. “For the men you killed.” Then he bent closer to me and inhaled deeply, and added, “And for having used the wrong scent. You thought to be defiant, did you? You’ll learn soon enough. They all do, in the end.”

He slid the ring over his cock lovingly, working it down until it came to rest at the base, then picked up the dagger and pushed the sideboard out of the way, pressing himself against me and placing the flat of the blade against my undamaged
cheek. I could feel spikes dig into my flesh at the top of my thighs, though he wasn’t yet pushing hard enough for them to break skin, and whimpered again.

“I’ll fuck you raw, you red-haired whore,” he breathed, his voice now harsh, then bent down and clamped his teeth around one of my nipples through the fabric, hard enough to make me cry out in pain. “I’ll cut this shit off you and fuck you ‘till you’re hoarse from screaming,” he panted, drawing the dagger down and placing the tip against the nipple he’d just bitten, and I struggled harder still, blind panic now overtaking me.

Then the broken shackle suddenly gave way and I froze, too astonished to know what to do with it.

The abbot too had stilled, and for a breathless moment we stared at each other, the bafflement on his face almost comical.
Then I came to my senses, and rammed my wrist as hard as I could into the apple of his throat.

He staggered back and dropped the dagger, clutching at his throat and gasping for air, and I wasted n
o more time. For now he was unable to speak, but it wouldn’t last long, so I fumbled with the shackle around my other wrist, cursing when it wouldn’t release fast enough.

It came free just as the abbot bent down and picked up the dagger again. As he dre
w back upright I slammed my hands together and gave him the double head-blow that Zash had demonstrated to me, watching in grim satisfaction when he now clutched at his ears, still screaming soundlessly.

With both my hands free the shackles around my ankles were a minor inconvenience, and as soon as I was loose I launched myself at the abbot and brought him to the floor, banging his head hard enough on the stone that he seemed dazed. I mentally thanked Zash for his fighting lessons – the abbot was an amateur compared to me, and it took mere moments to wrest the dagger away from him and pin him to the ground. I smashed my wrist against his throat again, before he could find his voice, then placed the blade against the apple in it, which was bobbing up and down with his effort to swallow and scream.

“I ought to stuff every single one of those cock rings down your throat, you sick, perverted bastard,” I hissed at him, my body humming with the force of my fury. “I hope you burn in Eternity for what you’re doing in this place. If I had the time I’d do it, and make you choke to death slowly and in agony on your own Godsfucking toys. But you’re in luck, because I haven’t
got
the time.”

For a moment I saw hope flash in his eyes, a stupid, futile hope that I would let him go. Then I turned the dagger and rammed it into his throat.

I stood up, still shaking with rage as he gargled, then stilled. For a heartbeat I took stock, thinking of what to do next, then I pulled the dagger out and tore the door open, pelting outside.

I surprised the first guard beside the door, slamming my still shackled wrist into his face hard enough that he staggered and fell against the wall. While he recovered I drew the blade of the dagger across the throat of the stunned second guard, and he collapsed without uttering a sound.
I turned back and thrust the dagger point first into the first guard’s eye. It forced me to abandon it, for it had stuck in his skull and I could not draw it out. I retched as I stood up again, and had to force down my nausea before I could start running, back the way we had come on the night of the burglary. It seemed an eternity ago.

For three corridors I ran in silence, meeting no one, and I took the opportunity to remove the broken shackle from my wrist. Then I rounded a corner and ran headfirst into another monk, and we went down together. His surprise at seeing a woman where there was not supposed to be one gave me the momentary advantage I needed, and I rammed my knee into his groin, scrambling back up when he went cross-eyed and opened his mouth in silent agony. He found his voice before I reached the end of that corridor, however, and hoarsely raised an alarm.

My fear gave me wings. I passed three more monks, and was several yards away before they lumbered into action and started to follow. Another corner, and I stopped just long enough to grab the heavy decorative vase from the table next to it and shatter it into the face of the first man to reach the corner after me.

Onwards I ran, and now I could see the outside corridor, and the first window to freedom. The sky behind it was light and I thanked the Gods in silence that it was daytime after all, but as more cries sounded I knew I had very little time left.

I ran past the windows, knowing that I was on the wrong side of the bridge from the hiding spot where the others would be. A monk appeared from a doorway in front of me, and with a fury-fuelled jump of sheer recklessness I kicked him in the face. We both went down, but I rolled and was back on my feet again in moments and ran on until I reached the little hallway to the outside. The portcullis was closed, ruling it out as an exit, so instead I pulled myself up to the first window beyond it, leaned out and bellowed, “Mior!” before dropping down again and running on.

At the next window I drew myself up again, and caught a glimpse of two black dots across the canyon, joined by one red one. “Mior!” I shouted again, but the delays meant that my pursuers had now nearly reached me. The next time would have to be the last.

I dropped down and ran on, grabbing for the ledge of the third window when I reached it. I felt a hand grab at my ankle as I pulled myself up, and kicked down in frenzied desperation until it disappeared. “Mior!” I screamed for the third time, and knew I could no longer postpone the inevitable. I closed my eyes, pulled myself through and jumped.

For several terrifying heartbeats I fell, the wind whistling past my ears. Had my bladder contained anything I would have pissed myself, but it was as empty as my stomach and I was spared the indignity. Then I slowed, stopped, and began floating forward.

I dared to open my eyes but stared fixedly ahead, doing my best to ignore the bottomless depth underneath me. I could see Mior now, trembling with exertion and propped up by Shani. One of his eyes was bruised and swollen shut, but fear blazed in the other one as he stared back at me. Zash was next to them, beckoning me as if he could make me go faster like that. His arms were both straight and whole, I noticed with mind-washing relief, and more than anything in Eternity I wanted to reach him, but I knew that my pursuers were not sitting idle.

“Get the bridge!” I shouted. Zash straightened up, frowning at me in confusion, and I gestured feverishly. “Kill the fucking bridge!” I called again, and with a last agonised look at me he ran off, drawing his dagger.

I only had a few more yards to go now, and I heard Shani’s muttered encouragements to Mior as he screamed with the effort and started to sag against her.
Come on, just a few more heartbeats
, I pleaded silently, keeping my mouth clamped shut so as to not disturb his concentration.

“Oh, thank the Gods, thank you,” Shani breathed as I reached them, and I fell against them and pushed them over backwards, away from the edge of the cliff. Mior was asleep again before he hit the ground, but Shani hugged me tightly while I waited for my legs to stop shaking. I hugged her back just as hard, but as soon as I felt able to I stood back up and turned towards the bridge.

Zash had managed to cut through one of the handrails and was now sawing at the rope of the bridge itself, but they were thick and it took time, and as I watched the monastery the door opened and people started spilling out.

“Fireball them,” I snapped at Shani.

She hesitated, staring at me. “What?”

“Fireball them, Shani!” I shouted, pointing. “Fireball the fuck out of them! If they reach him, if they so much as
touch
him I’ll throttle you!”

She took a step back from the hysterical fury in my eyes, but raised her arms. I whirled around again just in time to see her fireball explode in the middle of the bridge, enveloping the first three monks and stopping the rest of them in their tracks. The shrieks of the men on fire echoed through the canyon, but I barely even noticed them.

“Again!” I screamed, though I already saw the second fireball wash over the bridge, and I ran over to Zash to help him. I snatched a dagger from his boot as I tore past him and began to saw at one of the other ropes, and felt the heat wash past me when Shani conjured a third fireball.

Zash’s rope finally gave, and I dimly registered more screams as the bridge sagged sideways and spilled people into the ravine, just as Shani’s fourth fireball scorched them. Then I realised that some of the screams were coming from overhead, and when I looked up I saw several vultures circling around, closing in to feed. It confirmed my earlier suspicion as to their main source of food, and added to my nausea, my hysteria, my terror and my overwhelming loathing of this place.

My hands were beginning to shake, but I stubbornly hacked on, focusing on nothing but the rope. Zash joined me and began to chop at the other handrail, and between us we finally managed to cut them through. The bridge fell away, but still I didn’t feel safe.

Zash reached out his arms to me again, but I ran back toward Shani. “Come,” I barked at him, tossing him his dagger, and with a muttered curse he caught it and followed me.

I found Shani swaying on her feet, pale with exertion, and draped her arm around my shoulder. “Zash, you’ll have to carry Mior,” I said, dragging my sister with me, away from the ravine and towards our hidden canyon. I didn’t even check whether Zash followed, I just kept going until I reached it, and only once there did I dare to stop.