The Short Life of Sparrows (20 page)

He pushes the crown of my head behind an overgrown thicket. Isaiah darts beside me, crouching on the balls of his feet. The rustling of footsteps thickens. Voices fade in and out as the Nightbloods walk into their camp. Rowe jabs a finger into Isaiah’s chest. “Do not move. Neither of you come out. I knew we took too long up here. I’ll take you back down the mountain when they’re distracted. Until then, you have to be quiet.”

Isaiah scoots to me, both of us leaning into each other as we try not to breathe too loudly. The gaps in the bushes allow me to see the Nightbloods’ circle of benches. Murdoch paces—impatient as he waits for his men to filter through the gate. “Where are the rest of them? We’re missing at least twenty men.  And several Elders.”

I can’t tell any of the Elders apart, since their cloaks conceal their faces. One of the robed men speaks. “We shouldn’t have insisted that everyone split up to search. The more time we let pass by, the greater chance another Seer could go missing. We shouldn’t delay this summoning.”

Murdoch places an outstretched hand over the choked fire pit. Blue flame erupts, the peaks of the fire as high as the roofs of the huts. He rubs his temples, closing his eyes as if his head is being hammered. “This isn’t going to be a regular summoning. I doubt that any of us can be impartial. We have to have clear minds to do this—and since one of our own is involved—we can’t get an answer without calling upon stronger forces.”

The same unidentified Elder nods. “We should have been able to find the trail of those two young women. Someone covered their tracks. This isn’t good Murdoch. One of our own is involved. Why else would it be so secret, the way these girls left? Someone coaxed them and delivered them into Ordinary hands. We need to do more than a summoning, Murdoch. Call a gathering. It’s the only way we can be sure of who did this.”

Murdoch sighs. He wags a finger in the air as he bellows. “Getting a name won’t bring them back. Hopefully they just ran away, of their own accord. And summoning is tricky enough. But calling an assembly of the Heavens and the Underworld is treacherous. I prefer not to cause complete chaos in the same place that we eat and sleep. If any of you know something, say it now. I’m not in any kind of mood to be trifled with.”

Rowe steps further into the circle, his face lit in the blue firelight. “You can summon through me. I’ll ask them.”

Two other Nightbloods step forward beside him. One of them unbuttons his shirt, throwing it into the fire. “We’re both willing, as well. The pain will be worth it. We need to know who is hiding these Seers. Let’s name the traitor already. Let’s see him squirm for his lowliness.”

The men cheer, slapping Rowe and the other two men on the shoulder for volunteering. A mist coats the ground, churning from the fire and spreading through the camp. It settles on the lap of my dress, the fog billowing around Isaiah and me, until we look as if we’re wedged in a storm cloud. I push my fingers through Isaiah’s, gripping his hand.
It was a terrible idea to have ever come up here
. He squeezes my hand in return as the men chant in unison. “Gather. Gather. Gather.”

Murdoch shouts over them. “Silence!” His eyes become harsh and angry. “You’re all so eager. But only the Elders are old enough to know what this really means. To have seen the likes of what will come tonight. You young ones cannot fathom what a gathering is. Guard yourselves. Do not let your thoughts wander. This is darkness even foreign to you.”

The Elders undo their robed cloaks from their backs, folding them neatly. As the old men pull their shirts from off of their torsos, the blue light dances over the markings on their skin. Amid their twisted black veins are inked drawings—the old language marks them all. Murdoch stands in the center, his sagging middle still showing hints of a man who had well-defined muscle in his youth. “You will all keep your sight to the ground,” Murdoch says. He rolls his neck and shoulders, stretching his arms. He massages his wrists, as if he’s about to fistfight with someone. The gold beads in his colorless beard gleam as he lowers his head. “I am the only one who shall speak to them. That’s an order. Do not shiver. Do not fidget. They can smell your fear before you know for yourself that you’re afraid.”

With quiet obedience, the crowd of Nightbloods bows their heads. Murdoch draws his arms outward from his body, his fists clenched. “The blood of a fallen angel is said to flow within us. We are not the arisen. Neither are we the damned. But we are seeking an answer from both. We respectfully request a gathering.”

A bright flash ripples like a wave of water through the trees. I bury my face into Isaiah’s arm, blinded by the white of it. I squint, blinking until my vision returns. The clip-clop of a horse’s hooves comes along the stony path, drawing nearer into the walls. What I see through the open patch in the bush leaves me frozen. A woman in sparkling linens holds the horse’s golden mane lightly with one hand. Her equally golden hair tumbles over her shoulders and back, swaying as she and her stallion gradually advance through the kneeling men. A purple ring of light, the color of lavender surrounds her tall, willowy figure. She wears a silken robe, as soft as a spider’s web over her dress, only revealing her bare feet and hands as Murdoch helps her down from her horse. He tries to hold his line of sight anywhere but her face, as if it would be impolite to gaze at her.

Just beyond the reach of the blue fire’s glow, the spotless fabric she’s wrapped in is dyed with the appearance of moonlight. “I was called.” Her voice is gentle, but her shoulders have a confidence unlike any mortal being. “Hmm. It seems none of your men can look directly at me. Can you look upon me?”

Murdoch nods, lifting his eyes cautiously as he kisses her arched hand. “Yes,” he whispers. “Most of them are not worthy of seeing you, your grace.”

She narrows her gaze at him. “And yet, you can look at my face without shrinking. Your heart has not been corrupted. Not yet. How curious, considering the friends you keep.”

Her gown waves as if the wind yearns to feel the softness of it. Murdoch nods, staying bent on his knees. “I’ve tried to direct the path of our young. To save them from the allure of the dark. But they’re all born of harsh blood. It’s not easily done.”

She glances over the bowed heads before turning to Murdoch. “Why is it you’ve called us?” she asks. “You dare to call us both in the same night. This is not done lightly.”

“Yes,” he stutters. “We need a name. One among us is endangering our Seers. They’ve spelled their own doings, which keeps us from knowing where these girls have gone—or with who—or why.”

She folds her hands together. “I see. Because you ask in reverence, I will whisper the name of your traitor. But I tremble for you Murdoch. Why would you call the Underworld when I can speak the truth to you?”

He shakes as his head stays at her feet. “I have to stop this conspirator from doing it again. And before he’s sentenced for his crimes, I must have his name twice. It must be sure.”

Her rosy complexion tenses. “I’m a seraph—an angel unsullied. Do not mock me with that explanation. You know I cannot tell you a lie. Your guilt at having to punish this man is driving you to look for another answer—to hope for a name other than one of your most trusted. But if you’re so set on hearing an answer beyond mine, that’s to your own detriment.” She lowers herself to the ground, taking Murdoch’s face in her ivory hands. She kisses his forehead, another ripple of blinding light tearing through the air.

“There. You have your answer.”

Murdoch puts a hand at his throat, as if a wild beast might tear him open. “No. Not him.”

The angel seems unsurprised by it, and she places her palm under his bearded chin. “It is rare that you call us. Don’t you want to ask another question while I can help? You’ve waited so long to hear it.”

His lips flatten and twist into a shameful frown. “How is she?”

The woman smiles, and as she turns her head in our direction, Isaiah and I get closer to the ground. “She’s the same as she always was. And still very much in love with you.”

I lean up from the bushes, enough to take account of the glistening in Murdoch’s eyes. “Thank you.” He pulls himself up, slowly following the angel to her horse as if he’s escorting her to a dance floor. She allows him to brace her foot as she climbs onto the stallion’s bare back.

She laces her fingers into the horse’s mane. “I can hear it out there. Are you sure this is what you want, Murdoch?”

“Yes. It has to be done.”

“Very well. I’ll take my leave. I hope you’re strong enough.”

The light blinds us again, and with my eyelids sealed shut, I can only hear the hooves racing away down the stone path. Isaiah and I hide under our arms, blinking until our eyes stop stinging. The woman is missing when I peek out. Murdoch wipes the dust off his pants. He curls his fingers, circling his own face and chest with his palms as he chants. “Protect this circle. May none of us be harmed or swayed. Let the messenger from the Underworld come hither.”

A skittering sound accelerates in the dirt. I don’t lift my eyes, nor do I turn toward it. The shadow pants. It heaves and clucks its mouth next to me. Something drips on my collarbone as it hisses behind my neck. Isaiah holds my hand tighter as we stare at the ground—trying to mind the warning Murdoch gave to not look upon those called. Neither of us moves. It matters little. High perverted moans come from the crooked hole in its face as it cocks its head to look at me. I feel as if the creature finds me fascinating, the way it’s glued to my side.

Talons on puckered fingers as long as my arm comb at my hair. They draw back and forth along my elbow, as if the creature is admiring me—as if I’m some sort of toy. It smacks its lips by my cheek. My eyes shut when it titters, putting its clammy body up against my back. It giggles as it drags its sharp nails down my dress, shredding my skirt.

Murdoch turns to the bush, hearing the increasing, sickening laughter of the thing that is petting my head. He barges toward the sound. “Come forward, creature. Enough of your games.”

The tall figure slinks around into the opening. Looming several feet above Murdoch, its hunched back oozes with raw, festering sores. Its arms hang like sagging rope—the hands ending near its ankles. “I smelled innocence,” the thing clacks its tongue, tucking its shriveled face in my direction. “Two little babes that smelled so fresh—so clean. Delicious.”

Murdoch stands, rigid as the thing skips around him. It tilts its head side to side, twitching. “Large man, you are. But your terrors dwarf you. You’re never going to save this lot with your useless talk of what’s right and good. The one you hope to save the most doesn’t even think of you. None of them really do. They’ll sigh when you’re dead, and the worms and I will chew on your forgotten bones.”

Murdoch inhales deeply, as if he fights for a full breath. “Do you think I care what words you spew, you wretched animal?” Our coven Elder puts a hand to the creature’s sticky ribs, and I can hear Isaiah gasp as I cringe at it. “You are only here for one reason, demon” Murdoch says, a gruff edge to his reply. “A gathering is to gain a truth. Even
you
are bound by that. Name the name I’ve asked, and then please return from whence you came.”

The figure taps its fingers in Murdoch’s beard, pinching at the gold beads. As the demon rips a bead loose, some of Murdoch’s hair comes with it. The monster tosses the bead and ripped knot of fuzz in its mouth, swallowing it whole like a sweet. “Kneel down like you did for your other messenger, and I’ll surely give you a name.”

Murdoch’s expression toughens, his eyes coming alive with steely rebellion. “You know I won’t. Say the name. And be gone.”

It licks its blistered lips. “As you wish,” the creature giggles. “But it won’t come as gently as your first answer.” It head butts him in the stomach, knocking Murdoch to his back. Crawling around him, it then straddles his chest. The messenger pushes its knuckles down into the soft spots of Murdoch’s torso. Murdoch calls out, but the thing kneads along Murdoch’s flesh as if he were dough being readied for cooking. It hooks a talon in his side, twisting it until the blood trickles from his wrinkled skin.

“Name him,” Murdoch pleads in broken breaths. The long fingers wiggle against Murdoch’s ear, leaving Murdoch’s blood on his bearded face as the monster says something inaudible to Murdoch. As soon as the demon has whispered a name to Murdoch, it leaps from him. Hunching, it creeps back toward where we hide. “Tell them to come out,” it says, “tell your guests to come and play. I’ll pluck each of her pretty red hairs from her head. I’ll make her crown my pillow. And I’ll take the virgin boy and snuggle into his untouched skin. I’d like to walk around in him and do as humans do.”

Rowe barges out of the crowd, running for the demon. But Murdoch flings Rowe to the dirt with the flick of his arm. “Stay back,” Murdoch yells at Rowe. “Whoever is hiding in the leaves, show yourself, now.”

Isaiah shields me as we come out of the hedge. There’s no discounting why we’re where we shouldn’t be, because Rowe has tried to run for us. Also, I’m still wearing Rowe’s coat. Murdoch’s eyes widen. I’m not sure if he’s unprepared to see me—or if it’s Isaiah that disturbs him more. The coven leader chants. Murdoch lifts his arms upward as he does it. The creature ducks at the words that Murdoch repeats—folding its thin arms around its pockmarked neck. The demon yelps and licks its hands, as if it has been lashed with a whip. “Let me have just one,” it snaps, “give me a present for my answer. Just one.”

The demon barks and gnashes at the air, biting at its own spindly arms when it can’t seem to move any direction on its hooked feet. Murdoch yanks Rowe up by his arm. “Get these two out of here,” he yells. “Get her home now.” Holding his arm out toward the creature, sweat drips into his beard as he keeps the monster immobilized. Rowe nearly knocks me off of my feet as he puts a hand to the small of my back, pushing us out of the stone walls. We rush down through the trees. Rowe stomps his way through the empty woods, zigzagging through the tree line. Isaiah walks behind me, but the insistence of his boots tells me he would walk faster down the slope if I could.