And so you were granted.
That we would be delivered from evil.
A prayer you must now answer yourself along with the God.
But there was the rub. The God had not touched me. Not when I begged for his presence here in this unholy place. Not when I’d spent the night in holy vigil. If he was real and not a trick of my imagination and a twist of my hopes, then he did not care for me. I was a false paladin. An empty suit of armor. A changeling.
The Poisoned Saint did not think so. He saw the glory of the God and was warned from interfering with you.
Perhaps. Or perhaps his attraction to me twisted his mind to believe in things not there. Should I gamble our lives on that?
I heard the sounds of conflict behind me but I did not care anymore. Perhaps one of my enemies would slip through and slaughter me. And if he did then at least I wouldn’t have to grasp this thorn.
But I must grasp it. If I did not find a way clear, then we would all be doomed, for if we left this place, and the demons with us, there would be no telling where they would go or what they would do when Sir Branson lost his grip on them.
“What do I do then, Sir Branson?” I asked, defeated.
And his voice was warm in my mind as he answered. As with all things, open hands. If the God wills, then he will grant your request.
It seemed too simple an answer. And if he wills not?
Then your soul will be swept away and with it all hope of redemption.
Oh, that was all? I could not help the ironic twist of my thoughts, even now.
It requires faith.
“I’ve never had faith, Sir Branson,” I whispered. “I’ve never felt its lack more than right now. Is there not something I could do? I am good at doing. I am good at daring. I could fight right now just like Sir Adalbrand and he could come down here and have faith.”
Brindle whined again, piercing my heart. How could I look into his warm doggy eyes while discussing this?
Adalbrand does not serve the Aspect of the Rejected God. This work is not for him. It is for you, my dear girl. And now you must choose. Will you be brave? Will you choose to reach in faith, though you reject it? Though you fear you will be rejected by it?
Brindle shuffled forward, tail wagging, and I petted his wet head with my trembling hand and kissed his nose with tears in my eyes. He had no idea what we were planning, poor innocent thing. His big doggy eyes met mine and for a moment it was just us three — the ghost paladin, the trusting dog, and the girl who didn’t want to lose either of them.
You tried it before without faith. Try again. Try with open hands.
And I knew the moment I spoke it would be over. The moment I agreed, I’d lose them both and possibly myself, too, but I’d been holding Brindle tight this whole time and what had it done but prolong the pain? What had it done but make it even harder to say goodbye?
I sniffled then. Tears were tracking down my cheeks too quickly to wipe away. Brindle’s sandpaper tongue licked my cheek and I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t certain. But then again, I never would be. If I was ever to truly be a knight of the God, then today was the day. And if he showed me favor, he would rid the world of evil. And if he rejected me, or ignored me, or just plain didn’t exist after all — which, frankly, I was always a little worried might be true — then I would be swept away.
This took a different kind of courage. A valiant kind. One I didn’t have.
One I was going to seize by the throat and demand rise to the occasion anyway.
I narrowed my eyes, gritted my teeth, and I said the hardest words I’ve ever said.
“Let’s do this.”
I closed my eyes and I opened my heart.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Poisoned Saint
Suture stumbles dramatically away from my blow, breaking apart as he hits the ground, bounces, hits again, rolls, and then unspools into nothing but bone and rag. The magic is gone. Whatever life he had — if he had one — has vanished.
I spin to go after Cleft next and nearly slip on what is left of Sir Owalan.
