Reapers - Master of Souls (Reapers Chronicles Book III)

17 - Allies and Enemies (1 of 2)

NP: Broken Strings by James Morrison

It tears me up

I try to hold on but it hurts so much

I tried to forgive but it's not enough to make it all okay

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A band of Hellions waited for us at Fiend's Maw—the same cave where Vincent, Byron Flynn and I turned up when we first came to Halja using the Door from Sinclair Mansion.

Sathariel stood facing the ocean, watching the sunset. He glanced at us from over his shoulder. Sunlight bounced off the ends of his neatly cut dark blond hair. From the lotus-shaped enigmatic eyes, to the narrow proud nose, prominent cheek bones and angular face, Vincent was definitely a chip of the old block.

Vincent was caught in utter surprise when Sathariel put him in a tight embrace. That alone was a sight to look at. The closest thing to family portrait they could have for now.

Suddenly, I missed Dad.

"You okay, Vince?" Sathariel tilted Vincent's head from side to side to check for injuries. Giving his son a head-to-toe sweep, his eyes narrowed upon finding the burns Vincent got from the twins and the ethereal pyre.

Vincent looked flustered. "I... I'm fine."

Sathariel tapped Vincent's cheek, seemingly unconvinced.

"Grigori!" he barked. The bearded guy forced all seven feet of him in between the rocks as if his life depended on it. "Take them straight to town. Be there before sundown. Put the injured in the new infirmary," he ordered.

"Understood, Chief!" Grigori spun on his heels and lumbered to the others. "Right this way, people!"

With Belial and Levi, Sathariel stayed at the ridge overlooking the ocean. Their argument was drowned by the sound of waves sloshing against the cliff, though, it looked like Vincent very much wanted to join them by the way he craned his neck.

Luci was leading the others through the stalagmite-strewn path to the other end of the cave. I think she wanted to approach Vincent but the men carrying Max's makeshift stretcher blocked her way.

Vincent pulled me aside when Levi's men nudged Hector forward. His wrists and ankles were in shackles. His left eye was swollen-shut, his nose broken. Blood seeped from the bandages over his shoulder and his arm dangled limply by his side. It was a surprise how he could still walk.

Just the sight of him seemed to have sucked all the air from the cave. My knees shook as though the ground under my feet was crumbling.

As if reading my mind, Vincent caught my sleeve. "Don't."

"Please." It surprised me how casual I sounded.

"We can't, Aramis. At least, not until we find out everything he knows. Besides, you can't kill here."

He was right of course. Whatever magic runs Halja, it prevents all kinds of violence. Trying would only get me bound.

"Ouch," Hector exclaimed. It looked like he hurt himself trying to grimace. "I'll pretend I did not just hear that."

"Mr. S!" Grigori called over his shoulder as he drew a small branding stake no bigger than my hand. "Can I have a light?"

Sathariel paused from his seemingly heated argument. His eyes glowed red. So did the tip of the iron stake in Grigori's hand.

"Thanks, Mr. S!" Grigori said.

"How in hell—" Vincent started to say.

"You'd learn to do that eventually," Sathariel told him. "If you let me teach you."

"Don't worry," he muttered icily, the awe on his face disappearing in an instant. "I intend on squeezing everything worth knowing out of you."

Sathariel nodded suppressing a smile.

Grigori ripped Hector's sleeve and pressed the hot end of the stake on his arm. Hector grunted in pain, falling to his knees. It left a triangular patch of burnt skin on which tiny inscriptions were etched.

"Halja's symbol of non-maleficence," Grigori explained. "We're not taking any chances."

"R-ravishing tattoo," Hector moaned through his forced grin. "What does it do besides making me look like one of you bogans?"

"It Binds you, Halfling. You can't hurt a fly even if you try. On second thought, try. You'll see what it does," Grigori smirked, pulling Hector to his feet. "If you think being punished by your Bind is hell, I don't know what this is."

"I'll see you around, Doll," Hector said before Grigori prodded him to hobble after the others.

I retreated against the wall, clutching my chest. It felt as if my heart was being pulled apart. My head was pounding and I couldn't breathe. I couldn't stop shaking. I couldn't stop being terrified. It was all I could think about day and night. And I watched wide-eyed as Hector disappeared.

Vincent held my shoulders and pulled me to him, leaning his chin over my head. His arm muscles were rigid, hinting me of the restraint he was putting on himself. I almost pushed him away. More than Hector, I was more afraid of myself and of the things I could do to Vincent with just a touch.

"It's alright, A. It's alright," he whispered into my hair.

I nodded into his chest. It was the answer he wanted. Slowly, my breathing became more even. The pain in my chest remained; a feeling of impending doom I couldn't seem to shake off. But with him, it became bearable.

Our first few days in Halja were like treading on a narrow straight line. The villagers weren't thrilled that more outsiders—and worse, Reapers—were freeloading in their territory. No one was complaining. They were very civil, especially to Vincent since he's kind of the prince of hell. But they weren't welcoming either.

Whenever Vincent wasn't training with Sathariel, I just stayed in our room, going out only for meals or to Bel's infirmary.

"You gettin' enough sleep, hun?" asked Belial one day, checking my eyes.

"Yes," I lied.

Vincent paced the floor. "It's been weeks, Belial."

The woman sighed. "She's gettin' better, boy. Just be happy she ain't havin' those nasty seizures no more."

"Yeah, but she's"—he threw me a calculating look—"not herself."

"What did you expect?" Belial went tend to her poultices. "Girl's got locked up in a fish tank, tortured and drugged for months. Give her little time to heal. Maybe a lot of time."

"Legion's still out there!" he exploded causing the other patients to stir in their beds. "Time's something we don't have a lot of."

Belial didn't even bat an eye. "This is hell, boy. We ain't exactly miracle workers. You can ask for Luci's help, but it's goin' to be more hell for Aramis. And not the good kind, I tell ya," Belial shouted.

"Well I'm not looking for miracles."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I've been giving this part a lot of thought lately. Should Aramis get well? Or at least, is it possible with all that has happened to her? She's been thinking of death a lot since the 1st book, maybe she needs a new perspective on things? I'm starting to feel like she's becoming a second Tris and I definitely don't want that ending. Should there be a fourth book? Or should we just... get it over with and move on? So yeah... Just thinking out loud here. Before you hit the next page, be sure to vote and comment if any.

PS. dedicated to the person above for the wonderful art.