Ciro’s left hand spasmed. The flesh of his palm bubbled and bulged. A pale, wormlike creature slithered upward as though tethered to an invisible thread. Hesaya coaxed it out, excruciatingly slowly. Blood trickled down Ciro’s hand, streams twining around his wrist as he whimpered in pain. Demons usually entered through a facial orifice while the host slept, andcould emerge from anywhere the exorcist found convenient. The hand was not what Jacen would have chosen, either—perhaps the shoulder, or the thigh, somewhere with a large muscle and fewer moving parts, so as to minimize internal damage. He made a mental note to explain this to Nines later.
From inside his robes Taoro produced a special container: a tube of strange, pale material, provided by the gods themselves to contain a demon until it could be delivered to them and destroyed. He positioned it over Ciro’s hand.
The rope around the boy’s left ankle snapped. He flailed, confusion and pain roiling around him. His foot connected with Taoro’s face. Taoro dropped the container, swearing in a most un-priestlike manner, and the demon fell from the boy’s hand to the floor. It twitched there, dazed, then wriggled under the cot.
It took Jacen, Hesaya, and Taoro half an instant to realize none of them would fit down there. Nines glanced between them, seized the container, and dove. There was aclangof metal against clay. She emerged seconds later, twisting on the lid with trembling hands. The extra presence in the room faded.
“I got it,” Nines exclaimed.
Hesaya gave her an approving nod and beckoned the parents forward. Gently, Jacen urged Ciro’s sister to follow.
Hesaya held up Ciro’s bloody hand, showing the family the ridged, coiled pattern not unlike the scars of a rootworm infection. “This is the final stage: reemergence. Treat this as you would any wound, be gentle with him, and give him water and rest. Lord of Sickness willing, he’ll be past this in a few days.”
Ciro’s mother knelt beside the cot, embracing her son and murmuring to him in Zal. Natok faced Hesaya, tears lining his eyes. “Thank you, Sister.” He clasped his hands together and bowed low. “Brothers. Thank you for saving him.”
Hesaya pointed heavenward. “All glory belongs to the gods.”
But it was not during their prayers that Jacen felt the presence of the divine—it washere.Not the physical sensation of extradimensional communion but a subtler, more elusive thing he’d craved all his life. The fulfillment other priests claimed came to them naturally, constantly. It was why Jacen had loved this. He’d been honored to be ordained, honored to do this work. He glimpsed it in Nines, too—still breathless, brimming with pride over having reunited a family and saved a life.
Jacen clung to the moment like a crumbling handhold on a cliffside.
Hesaya smiled at Natok, grasped his shoulder, and excused herself. She gave Jacen a meaningful look. Numbly, he accompanied her away from the others, toward the door.
“Brother Lev wants you to do this last part,” she said, very quiet.
Jacen followed her gaze to the little girl, Ciro’s sister. She was asking Taoro if he was all right as he rubbed his face and grumbled good-naturedly.
Jacen’s heart sank. “Hes, no.” It came out a plea.
“I’m passing on orders,” she said. “The girl will be marked, and it must be by you.”
“Fucking Lev,” Jacen spat. Between his headache and the sheer injustice of it all, he couldn’t muster anything more eloquent than “He can fall ass-first on a cactus and eat my?—”
“Keep your voice down. You know it’s not Lev who chooses. You know the rules.”
He did. The girl was probably a telepath. Children selected so young usually were. Not strong enough to be trained as priests, Third Tier at the most, but of interest to the gods nonetheless.
“We have no choice,” Hesaya said, and now her tone held a trace of the friend she’d once been to Jacen. What happened to Elyas had never sat well with her, and Jacen felt a fresh pang of loss over them both.
He gave a single, jerky nod. Quick and subtle, Hesaya passed him the marker: a piece of metal the size of a slivered fingernail, easy to overlook. She gave him another meaningful glance, though not without sympathy, letting him know she would be watching.
He had the strangest urge to pray for forgiveness—but to what? He pushed it aside.
And so, as they took their leave, Jacen did his duty. Just a hand on Ciro’s sister’s arm, in blessing as the family thanked them again. He pinched the metal chip between his thumb and forefinger to awaken it. It latched on to the girl, the tip breaking off and burrowing beneath her skin, no more painful than a fly bite. She scratched her neck and winced. She would not think about it again, but sometime after tomorrow’s offering ceremony, she would disappear with the Harvest.
Jacen pocketed the chip. Until it came time to return it to the Church, he refused to think about it. But as he left the house, his ears rang. Even the dimming sunlight hurt his eyes.
As Hesaya and Taoro debriefed with Nines, Jacen muttered something about relieving himself and stepped away. He rounded a corner, glanced down the alley to make sure he was alone, and slammed his boot against the adobe wall. A strangled noise, half-yell, half-sob, escaped him as he sagged against the clay and sank to the dirt, fingers knotted in his hair.
Jacen sat there for a time before Nines found him. He tried not to wonder how much of his outburst she’d witnessed, as she sat beside him and hugged her knees to her chest.
“Do you ever feel guilty about it?” She knew exactly what he’d done.
Jacen struggled and failed to embody the capable mentor he was supposed to be. Instead of answering, he shook his head.
“She’s so young.” Nines’ voice was very small.
“To be chosen for the Harvest is a great honor,” Jacen recited. “Do you know what happens to them?”
