I have fantastic news!
After coming to terms with the career path I want to do with my life, I was accepted to a graduate program yesterday evening! My classes begin in early October, and I am so psyched to be doing this! I want to assure you all that I will continue to work hard on my fanfiction while I'm attending classes, so there will be plenty of No.6 content coming out, but this is an excellent step toward my future!
In the meantime, I'm working on posting new chapters of Knight of Rot & Ruin, as well as the remaining chapters of And The Forest Whispers. I hope you all enjoy these fics as they continue to update, and I look forward to seeing you all in the next ones!
CHAPTER NINE
The trip into Kronos the following morning was cold and lonely. Shion huddled down into his cloak, reveling in the warmth it offered. The dry runes he'd traced into the fabric kept his body heat trapped within, even when the winds ruffled the cloak and threatened to tear it from his shoulders.
Outside the barrier of warmth Shion had crafted for himself, the morning world was cold. Shion's boots punched through the snow, his legs submerging up to his knees. The snow clung to his trousers, clumping in the backs of his knees and accompanying him the mile and a half distance to the center of the village.
Shion had no affinity for winter magic―he'd never attempted it, as the winds were too wild to contain with his paltry skills―but he managed to slice his way through the harsh gusts of wind and trudge his way toward the church.
He'd set out just before sunrise, plunging into the darkness and locking the door to his cabin behind him. Some part of his soul considered leaving the door unlocked on the off-chance Nezumi happened by when he was out, but Shion immediately thought better of it. He locked the door and dropped his key into his pocket. If Nezumi did happen to stop by, Shion doubted he would let himself into a witch's house.
Shion hadn't bothered with breakfast that morning. His stomach felt oddly empty, but the thought of putting food inside it made him nauseous. The church services would provide him with plenty of food to get to dinner time. The priest would give each of them a cup of wine―to signify the blood spilled in the name of the sacred ones―and cheese would be paired with it.
The streets of Kronos were empty. Shion suspected they would be. In the snowy months, women stayed indoors unless the church compelled them outside. The hunters didn't go outside on a sacred day, and the villagers were either already arriving at the church or preparing to head over from the security and warmth of their cabins.
The wind whipped through the quiet village, stoppered by the buildings lancing their way into its path. Shion kept his hood drawn up, the tip of his nose stinging from where the frost brushed it. If not for the warmth radiating from the dry wards in his clothing, Shion knew that snowflakes would pepper on his eyelashes, turning them from a deep brown to a gentle white. Sometimes Shion wondered what he would look like with white hair. He thought it might make him look older―but it would definitely prove to the villagers that he was a witch.
They already suspected him even though his hair and eyes were the same dark brown as many of the other villagers'. How would they view him if his hair were to turn white?
Shion saw the church rising in the center of the town. Unlike the rest of the village, the church was crafted entirely of stone. It was stronger than the cabins compiling Kronos, meant to withstand even the most devastating of storms. The heavy wooden door, etched with figures from the sacred scriptures, greeted him as he finally reached his destination.
He pushed the door open―chuckling to himself as the 'wards' meant to keep away witches refused to shove him outside―and ducked inside.
A steady rumble of noise penetrated the room. It rattled through Shion's bones, and he realized quickly that it was coming from the conglomerate of villagers gathered inside, perched in the wooden pews. A few of them glared at Shion as he walked inside, but thankfully he didn't seem to be a major source of attention this morning.
The voices of the crowd rumbled as Shion picked out a spot to sit. He settled down on the edge of a pew close to the back. If he sat too close to the door, the villagers might think it suspicious. But if he sat too close to them, he'd spend the entire service being glared at and whispered about. Shion knew it would happen regardless of where he sat, but it was one thing to subject himself to it directly. He settled down, pulling his hood down and letting it settle around his shoulders.
The inside of the church wasn't warm, but it was far more comfortable than the wind swirling through the streets outside. Shion gave a few shivers to keep up appearances. He knocked the snow from the soles of his boots, as he'd seen several of the men do plenty of times before. The runes traced on the soles of his boots had kept him from slipping on the ice, but it would seem strange if Shion didn't make a show of trying to get it off himself. He pressed his lips in a disgruntled line, for added measure.
Shion couldn't close his eyes, or else he'd slip into sleep. Falling asleep during church services was deeply frowned upon. It'd happened to the miller's wife one day―it happened that she was pregnant, and as such, easily exhausted―but she'd been shunned around the village for at least a few months.
Shion felt the prickling of someone watching him. He turned to look to the right. Sitting in the pew opposite him was Yoming. As soon as he caught Shion's eye, his dark eyes narrowed with disgust. He looked ahead at the podium, where the priest would stand and deliver this morning's service, and gave Shion no more thought.
Shion exhaled and tried not to worry about it.
As the rest of the village began to filter into the church―strategically avoiding Shion's pew until it became impossible to do so―he allowed his thoughts to wander back to the warmth he'd experienced a few nights prior. Since waking alone, Shion hadn't been able to get comfortable in his bed. It felt stupid and strange, as he and Nezumi had only shared a bed for a couple of hours at best, but Shion found that his cot was far too large now, too cold on one side.
He shook his head and tried not to think about it. If he spent too long remembering the warmth of another body against his, he'd drift off in the middle of today's services. He only had to keep up appearances with these folks once a week. For an hour, Shion would pretend to be a pious man who believed in a single god, desperate for salvation at any cost. He'd read the scriptures and chant the songs and pretend to believe the things he was told without question.
At last, the final villagers trickled inside, and Shion heard a door thump closed at the front of the church. The buzz of voices died down suddenly, and it was so painfully quiet that even the shift of fabric seemed inappropriately loud. Shion felt as if the world were bleeding away from him as he lifted his head, squared his shoulders, and prepared to listen intently for the next hour.
A chiming bell came from the front of the church, where the podium sat, and the villagers rose as one. Shion, well-aware of this process, rose with them and sank down to his knees in the aisle between his pew and the one before him. He lowered his head and closed his eyes, his bare hands folding together in front of his chest. He interlocked his fingers and clenched them tight, feeling the warmth of his skin radiating through each digit.
The creaking of wood from the podium echoed through the high ceiling of the church. The priest shuffled up to it, his parchment-white robes fanning out behind him. He stared down at the congression―Shion could feel those beady blue eyes pinning him down, surveying his posture and looking for even the slightest slip. Not finding it, the priest exhaled, and the clanging of bells informed the church-goers that they would be permitted to rise in a moment.
The air was chill and damp. Shion inhaled, tasting the must of the church pews, the crisp stench of the melted down intermingled with mud.
The bells clanged a third time, and the priest announced, "All rise."
Shion stood with the rest of the congression. His knees ached from where they'd pressed on the ground, the fabric damp from the pools of liquid that'd formed from the melted snow. He grimaced, though he knew the fabric would dry quickly thanks to the runes he'd traced onto his clothing. He heard Yoming groan somewhere off to his side.
The priest raised his hands and said, "Brothers and sisters, you may be seated." The congression returned to their seats in a clammer of thumping boots and rustling fabric, and then painful silence gripped them once more. "We have gathered today," the priest recited, "as we do every seventh day, to honor our great maker and cherish the gifts presented to us."
Shion felt the priest's voice vibrate through his chest. He remembered these sermons, as they rarely changed throughout the months. The priest rambled on about the scriptures and its teachings, and Shion knew how the process worked.
The priest would recite lines from the scriptures, and the congression would repeat phrases back to him. Shion understood the process. It felt like second nature to him. He said the phrases, accustomed to them from his countless times being dragged to the church and forced to prove that he wasn't a witch―at least not the kind that the village of Kronos seemed to fear.
Today's sermon bled through Shion's mind. He sang when he was meant to, rose when instructed, and chanted the appropriate phrases. His body was present in the church, but his thoughts traveled to the silver-eyed boy that burrowed next to him in his bed.
Nezumi had been guided to him by the Lady of the Forest―one of the old gods that Shion pulled his magic from. Shion had never seen her, but he understood that she protected the forests from destruction. Stories claimed she was a beautiful creature, not human in the slightest, that took a variety of forms. Bees were her messengers, as Nezumi had informed him, and Shion had unknowingly worshiped her for years.
Perhaps the opportunity to meet with Nezumi had been the Lady of the Forest's reward for Shion's kindness. She'd brought Nezumi to him to receive help with his injury, but the feelings thoughts of Nezumi stirred in his chest made Shion's world brighter. The silver glint of his irises sliced through Shion's heart like a blade. Shion could feel the phantom brush of Nezumi's body against him, the sensation of his broad shoulders beneath the palm of his hands.
Shion exhaled and allowed the sermon to twist around him. Where had Nezumi gone? Had he hurried back into the forests because he'd get in trouble for accepting help from an outsider? As long as his wound didn't harm him further, Shion was content knowing that Nezumi was out there somewhere, in the forests, thriving and happy.
I miss you, Shion thought as the congression rose to their feet and belted out songs of praise to the great maker. He closed his eyes and sang louder than the others, hoping to drown out the crushing waves of loneliness that bloomed inside his chest like a thorned rose.
⁂
As the sermon drew to a close, Shion stood in line to collect the goblet of wine designated for him. Rather than drinking from the same chalice, as the church had done overseas, Kronos' church decided to separate the sacred wine into separate goblets and instruct the villagers to drink at the same time. This prevented favoritism within the church and furthered the idea that all men were created equal―even if the church had an obvious hierarchy.
The priest's pale blue eyes flickered down to Shion as he approached the podium with his head lowered. He gave the priest a demure smile, as was customary. At his side stood a tall woman with a crisp braid of frighteningly orange hair. She glared at Shion, but she thrust out a goblet to him all the same. She'd grasped the one closest to the table, precariously perched as if it would tumble to the floor and spill with the slightest movement applied to the table.
Shion took the goblet graciously, and then he took the small chunks of cheese provided to him on a wooden plate. The chunks smelled sticky and unnatural. Shion's nose wrinkled. The cheese provided by the church never tasted right. The focus wasn't on flavor, but on tying the villagers together as one for even just a moment.
Shion returned to his pew and nestled down on the seat. He peered into the goblet of wine, swirling it around in the glass. The dark black liquid peered back at him, the sickeningly sweet smell of fermented berries tickling his nose.
When at last the rest of the congression had collected their wine and cheese, the priest held his goblet aloft and announced, "Drink and revel, my brothers and sisters. For this wine is the blood spilled by the great maker to create us all, and this cheese represents the bodies of those who gave their lives to preserve our maker's teachings."
From the corner of his eye, Shion watched Yoming tip his head back and pour the contents of his goblet down his throat. Shion raised his own goblet with the rest and swallowed it all in a single gulp.
The taste danced on his tongue; Shion grimaced. The wine bolted through him, and Shion forced back a gag. He'd never been interested in wine, and it tasted foul on his tongue. The church provided a new flavor each week, depending on the berries and bottles available. Whatever this flavor was tasted over sweet and strangely foul, like rotten berries prickling on the edge of his tongue.
Desperate to rid himself of the taste, Shion bit into a cheese rind and chewed it quickly. The salty chunk sat uncomfortably in his mouth. Shion winced at the taste, but hunger compelled him to swallow it. He managed a few more bites to avoid suspicion, and then he nudged the remainder of it aside. If he received strange looks, he could blame it on a heavy breakfast.
Shion closed his eyes. In a few moments, he would be able to return to his cabin and forget the rest of the village until the next Sunday. He would hunker down into the warmth and comfort of his cabin and try to erase the misery swirling inside his head. He couldn't worry about these things right here. With so many eyes watching him to ensure that he did as he was expected to, Shion couldn't risk letting his mind wander.
"May the light of our great maker guide you through your days, my brothers and sisters," the priest announced. His voice was thick from the wine, the sound booming against the high ceiling and thrumming in Shion's ears.
He murmured it back, as the rest of the church did, and then he rose to his feet. The rest of the villagers were following, chattering amongst themselves. A handful of women went to the priest to compliment him on another excellent sermon. Shion had tried once, but the priest had merely spat at his praise and told him to repent his sinful ways before he came to offer compliments. Shion had never tried again.
Shion hurried to the door, pulling his hood up over his head. He lived a mile and a half away from the village. With the weather raging hard around him, it would make sense that he would leave immediately to make it back to his cabin before frostbite claimed his fingers and toes. He didn't worry about suspicion as he made a beeline for the heavy wooden doors.
He nudged the door open, a burst of cold attempting to whip his hood from his head. Shion ducked down into the warmth, his stomach clenching. The cheese sat uncomfortably in his gut, the foul taste of the wine prickling along his tongue.
He clamped his lips shut as a wave of nausea bolted through him. He should have eaten something this morning. With nothing in his stomach aside from a few chunks of warm cheese and wine, Shion felt the pricklings of illness twist through him.
He took a deep breath and tried to relax. He couldn't vomit so close to the church. The villagers would see him and assume his illness was 'proof' that he was an evil witch rather than what it truly was: a physical reaction to bad cheese and warm wine. He would have to wait until he was close to his cabin before allowing himself to expel the foul concoction, where the snowstorm beginning to rage around him would bury it before the hunters had a chance to happen upon him.
Beneath his cloak, Shion pressed his arm against his stomach and urged himself forward.
He was halfway through the village when a voice called out, "Witch!"
Shion's blood chilled. He turned, his heart hammering as he saw Yoming slowly stalking through the streets toward him. He had a strange look on his face, but Shion chalked it up to the wind whipping snowflakes and icicles against their skin. He squinted, the heavy snow slicing through his vision and causing Yoming to blur at the edges.
"Well met, Yoming," Shion called over the howling wind. He reached up with his other hand and grasped his hood to keep it from flying back. Yoming's heavy boots crunched through the snow as he stomped through it toward Shion.
They stood in the dead center of Kronos. None of the other folks had ventured away from the church. The town felt like a cemetery, spiking through the snowbanks and rising high into the sky.
"Well met," Yoming said, his voice low and cruel. His dark eyes bore down on Shion as he approached. In his dark brown cloak, he looked like the trunk of a dead tree as he came to stand in front of Shion. He had none of the effortless grace Nezumi had when moving through the snow. Shion forced the thought aside, knowing he was traveling into dangerous territory.
"What―" Shion swayed on his feet as a wave of nausea bolted through him. His hand slipped from his hood and pressed against his forehead. The wine and cheese really weren't agreeing with him, twisting up inside his stomach. "What―can I help you with?"
Yoming glared down at him. "You're feeling unwell?"
Shion forced out a laugh. "A bit."
"Good."
Shion lifted his head.
Yoming's dark eyes were sinister and cold. "I saw him, you know," he snarled. "That Mao boy."
Shion's heart clenched.
"Did you think I wouldn't notice him sneaking out of your cabin? How long has that been going on?" Yoming's hands clenched at his sides. He'd kept enough distance from Shion to be menacing, rising in front of him like a wicked statue. "How long have you been communicating with the Mao?"
"I―I don't know what you're―" Shion's stomach clenched, and he doubled over with a groan.
"There's no point in lying to me, witch. It was only a matter of time before your secrets came out in the open." His lips quirked up at the corners in a crooked grin. "I was out searching for traces of a rabbit den, and what should I see but a Mao boy sneaking out of your cabin. I hid in the bushes and watched him disappear into the forests. Is he your lover?"
Shion's hands rose to his chest. His heart hammered beneath his ribs, like a bird trapped in a cage. His vision shifted, the edges bleeding with grays and whites. He swayed on his feet.
"What's wrong, witch? Did the poison kick in already?" Yoming's arms folded across his chest. "After I reported what I saw to the priest, he agreed that you needed to be eliminated. But with the weather the way it's been, there was no point in us coming to you and risk entering your snares. So what better way to wait for you to come to us?" He cocked his head. "I'm surprised you didn't recognize the taste of belladonna berries in your wine glass."
Belladonna. Shion should have recognized it. He used the poisonous berries to make small potions for sleep, but with the taste blended into the flavor of the wine, it'd gone beneath his radar. In small doses, belladonna was harmless to an adult. But a handful of berries could be deadly.
Yoming leaned forward and snarled, "This is the end for you, witch. You'll plague our village no more."
Shion's heart gave a painful flip-flop. He shoved his hand out, forcing all his energy into the tips of his fingers. He'd never utilized offensive magic in the past, but he called on the minuscule knowledge he did possess and the desperation to survive, and he sent a wave of heat rocketing toward Yoming.
Yoming threw his arms up at the wafting of heat that shot toward him; Shion turned and sprinted toward the forests.
If he went to his cabin now, Yoming would know where to find him. The rest of the village knew where Shion lived. The heat twisted around him, and Shion used it to slice through the piles of snow surrounding the buildings. His chest ached, his heart pounding as if it would shatter. His breath burst out of him, swallowed by the heavy snowstorm that raged around him.
"There's no use running, witch!" Yoming's voice bellowed after him. "We'll find you!"
Shion's hands clamped against his chest as he ran. His blood churned beneath his skin as he pushed through the ring of tree trunks surrounding Kronos. Between one step and the next, Shion was in the forest, leaving Kronos behind.
He hurried through the forest, desperation urging him forward. The runes on the heels of his boots kept him from slipping on the ice. The heavy snowfall blinded him, the fog stretching across his irises blocking out his vision. His hands flew out to shove aside the dead branches reaching out for his face; he winced as they scratched across his cheeks and tore at his hands.
The forest swallowed him as he raced through it. He didn't know where he was going to end up―he couldn't go back to Kronos, and he couldn't find solace in his own cabin anymore―but he allowed his instincts to carry him away from the nightmare looming behind him.
He tripped over a root jutting from the ground. Shion stumbled forward, his breath tearing out of his throat. He crashed into the snow, the cold wrapping around him like the arms of a dead lover.
As soon as he hit the ground, all the energy in Shion's body bled outward. His arms were weak beneath him, the warmth in his runes trickling out onto the snow. Shion's cheek rested on the packed snow, the sharpened edges of the icy snowflakes digging into his flesh. His stomach tightened and twisted, the foul taste on his tongue dripping down the back of his throat.
Nezumi. Shion tried to lift his head, the darkness of the thick tree trunks surrounding him. He turned his head toward the shadows, trying to peer through the trunks, seeking a flash of movement. Nezumi―please―
Exhaustion settled over him like a heavy stone. Shion's eyelids fluttered closed. In the distance, one of the tree trunks broke away from the rest and began to move toward him. Shion could see Yoming's vicious smile in his mind's eye, eagerly awaiting his demise. The darkness reached up, snagged him around the throat, and pulled him into the cold.
To Be Continued...
