Devils on Starfall Isle

20

Verity took a breath. The sharp smell of wood smoke filled her nose; wood smoke, and burning meat. A part of her thought it smelt delicious: but she knew what flesh was blackening in those flames. It sickened her, and hardened her resolve.

I'm not going to die tonight, she thought. I've lived outside their chapel for nearly a week. I can do it some more.

She walked away from Hope; walked towards the place where she'd been grabbed. Her limbs ached, and there were bruises coming up on her wrists. She was sure that she was covered in them, livid testament to the welcome of the people of Hod.

The surviving villagers made no move as she passed them. They were silent, all lost in their own despair. Hope stayed near the fire, face set like stone. The priest looked broken.

Father Hooper was expecting to die a martyr, thought Verity. She'd heard the stories he'd read out in services, of men and women who died for their faith and became saints. This was how he wanted to end, giving his own life for the greater good of the village, saving their lives and souls. He didn't know that the people he was trying to save had already made a pact with the devils, and that one of them tricked him into keeping his life.

There was a bit of light cast from the fire, even this far away; and yes: there was her bag, dropped and forgotten from when she'd been captured. She picked it up, and inspected its contents; they were all surprisingly intact. That was something. She slipped the priest's sharp little knife in there, just in case.

'What are you doing?' asked a woman.

Verity looked up, surprised. The woman had followed her.

'What do you care?' asked Verity. 'You threw stones at me and then tied me up and left me to die.'

'I... I'm sorry,' said the woman. 'I didn't do either of those things. But I didn't stop 'em, either, and I know that's a sin. I'm sorry for that and I want to find a way to make that up to you.'

The other townspeople had followed her, too, looking lost and exhausted. There were ten of them, mostly women. None of these were people who had grabbed her, who had taunted her, who had thrown stones.

She remembered what Gull had said, about sins sweetening the taste of their victims. Maybe these were the ones who had wanted no part in her victimisation and attempted sacrifice. Maybe the things really did feed on the guilty.

But then, Hope was still alive.

The woman was still waiting. She was older than Verity, in her early thirties; her shawl was torn, and she had a gash across her cheek. She looked as tired and miserable as the rest of the people here.

Verity made her mind up. She wasn't going to abandon these people, no matter what they had done to her. That was what Gull wanted; that was how her flesh would sweeten.

'We need to shelter,' she said. 'Find the most intact house. Patch it up as best as you can. Find warm clothes and food. We'll get in, and I'll sing the song of sanctity around it. But I need to make some more charms. My last ones got broken.'

She didn't add, they got broken when your friends hurt me, because she didn't need to; the woman dropped her gaze in shame.

'I understand,' she said. She was about to go, then she turned. 'My name's Patience. Patience Shepherd. Thank you, Verity Fisher.'

Then she bobbed a little curtsy, and headed off to one of the larger huts. The other towns folk walked to her, asked questions in low voices; and then one fetched a chair to stand on, and another grabbed thatch from a neighbouring roof, and they set about mending a hole in its roof as well as they could. Hope and Father Hooper both ignored them, lost in their own thoughts.

It didn't take Verity long to weave her charms. She'd been making them so much over the last week that she was practised and swift. Patience Shepherd joined her, and copied her as best she could. She produced a single passable charm, a little bundle of grass like a sheaf of wheat.

The chapel had nearly burnt down now; the stink of smoke and burnt fat hung everywhere, and with the fire low it was getting dark. They lit torches and thrust them into the ground while they worked. Verity joined them, smearing mud into holes in the walls. Everyone spoke softly, humbled and afraid.

Father Hooper mumbled to himself, praying or speaking nonsense, Verity couldn't tell. Hope was completely silent. When they had finished the repairs, they gently led the priest into the hut, as if he was feeble-minded. Hope simply stood and walked in.

Then Verity walked around the walls, singing the song of sanctity, placing her feet with care; and when she had gone around twice, she ducked in, and hung up her charms, and closed the door. And there, in the little hut, with twelve other people, she curled up and fell asleep, the priest's knife near her hand in case she needed it.