AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Oh, Heaven forbid. Not the prophesies. And is thegood and virtuousBishop Venable not equally prophetic for speaking of war. Did you not hear his sermon? The Parable of the Weeds.” He held out his hand, the way the bishop had while delivering his homily. “Let both grow together until the harvest: and in the time of harvest I will say to the reapers, ‘Gather ye together first the tares, and bind them in bundles to burn them: but gather the wheat into my barn.’”The baron bit down into the bread, glowering at his cousin while he chewed. “I suppose you, dear Cousin, shall be invited into the barn, while I burn with all the other injurious weeds of the field.”
“I do not believe you to be a sinner. Misguided perhaps, but not a sinner.”
The baron let out a dark chuckle. “You are quite qualified to make such an assessment, I am certain.”
Brows pinched, he lowered his head in that pathetic gesture that always reminded the baron of a scorned child. “I do not intend to come off as arrogant. I simply mean, I believe it is wrong what happens to you in the undercroft.”
“Oh,Iam sure of that.” He turned away from the boy and spread the jellied fruit onto his bread.
“If it is not the monastery, where are you going, if I may ask?”
“You may not.”
“I just thought I might accompany you, is all.”
The baron let out an ungracious snort and took another bite. “And miss the burning of a witch?” he asked around a mouthful. “Perish the thought.”
“I have tried, desperately, to regain your friendship, My Lord, and you consistently reject my kindness.”
“And I will continue to do so. For I will never look upon you as a friend for as long as I live. Now leave.”
Lips pressed to a hard line, Drystan gave a sharp nod. “As you wish.” He spun around on his heel and tromped toward the door.
“Give my regards to the good bishop,” the baron said, as the boy exited his room.
* * *
After finishing his breakfast, the baron headed down the familiar path toward his dogs. The plan was to feed them more meat scraps, then head to Solomon’s for an afternoon session, seeing as his father wasn’t expected to return until the following day. As he entered the forest, his mind clung to the conversation with Drystan. Not specifically what had transpired between them, but the witch.
Another accused.
He’d not attended a public execution since the soul stripping of Syrisa, nearly three months prior, an experience which would be forever seared into his mind. He could not banish the small bit of curiosity over who the bishop might have deemed heretic that time. Seemed any woman who demonstrated even the smallest manifestation of independence was struck down by the church as being wild and lacking proper discipline. Possessed by demons.
‘A woman’s heart bears the fire of warmth or scorn,’ his mother had always said to him, and as a result, the baron had grown to appreciate and respect the feisty ones. He admired their strength and tenacity and had never felt intimidated by them.
As he approached the dilapidated cabin carrying a satchel of heavy meat, he smiled on hearing the dogs barking. They’d grown significantly in the last few months, alarmingly fast. All three of them stood at the level of his chest, and he was certain they could swallow his head whole, if they were so inclined.
Cerberus came bounding toward him, tongue lobbed off to the side, with Fenrir and Nero at his rear. The dogs managed to tackle him to the ground, and the baron let out a hearty laugh as they mauled him with their tongues.
“All right! All right!” He batted them away, catching just a scratch of Fenrir’s teeth across his arm. “Sit, or I will not feed you so much as a crumb!” All at once, the dogs sat back in a perfect line, just as the baron had taught them in prior visits.
A detestable rotted scent carried on the air, and he followed after it, crossing the yard toward a large, brown mass that lay at the edge of the adjacent woods. A bear, he guessed, though it was difficult to discern, given its state. The dogs had clearly consumed it, leaving nothing but bones and fur.
He couldn’t blame the dogs, really. Their appetite had grown in recent months, and the baron simply couldn’t haul that much meat without someone noticing. His only worry was that someone would happen upon the carcass, and who knew how many more littered the forest. The venators would begin to take notice eventually and stir up stories of monsters in the woods, and it would only be a matter of time before they’d come hunting the dogs. He’d need to find a new hiding place for them soon.
As he lifted his gaze, he noticed the patch of weeds off in the distance, where he’d often found the girl, Lustina, playing with the dogs. He hadn’t seen her in quite some time. Not at the cabin, nor in the clearing deeper in the woods where he’d first stumbled upon her. As if she had suddenly disappeared. An emptiness filled him, seeing as he often looked forward to laying eyes on her, quietly watching her as she went about her day. Sometimes, she would play with the dogs. Other times, she would sit quietly, weaving crowns of flowers and sticks. He never approached her, though, perfectly content to watch. At night, he would think of her as he brought himself to climax, and sometimes, the urge would hit him in the day, as well. On a few occasions, he would have to find a place absent of prying eyes and relieve the ache in his groin. Not seeing her anymore troubled him, and had he not been due to arrive at Solomon’s that afternoon, he’d have wandered the forest in search of her.
Instead, he returned to the dogs, who still waited on their haunches for his next command. He quickly fed them the gift of meat, then started on the path toward Solomon’s.
The bright blue sky overhead darkened with an abruptness that slowed the baron’s steps. He glanced upward, watching a black overcast swallow the blue. The sound of crinkling drew his attention to the trees, where summer’s green foliage withered before his eyes, and the crumpled black leaves fell from the trees, producing barren limbs that seemed to desiccate, turning white.
A faint mist drifted from the sky, and the baron held out his palm, capturing what looked to be bits of ash raining down on him. He felt a strange twisting in his gut and he stared down at his hands to find a black discoloration crawling up his arm. Just like the time in the undercroft.
Eradye was what Solomon had called it.
The barren world.
“Well, look what we have here.” The voice that spoke to him felt like ice-cold fingers down the back of his neck, and he turned to find his father standing off a few yards away. Dressed in a long, black, hooded tabard, he somehow blended into the scenery that surrounded them. “On your way somewhere?”
