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The Purity of Sin
Nine
"The Council of Elders is fully assembled, High Priest, as all are of our brethren who are not on patrol or search. We are ready to begin."
The High Priest rose at the announcement. "Then we shall begin. Lead on, Brother Milnew."
The two Mackans walked silently through the twisting halls towards the sacrificial chamber. Moonlight filtered in the passing windows, casting an ethereal glow on the scene. The High Priest hoped that was a sign of good fortune.
They entered the cavernous room where not even half of the chamber was filled with fellow Mackans. The High Priest strode up the aisle, nodding in reverence to each well wish as he passed. Milnew followed, holding the sacrificial dagger aloft on a mirror-like tray.
Striding up to the table the High Priest gazed down at the Blue and Red Paladin of Voltron's odd shaped piece of headwear. It had been painted tediously with the sacrifice's blood by the Council of Elders in the runes inscribed in their holy book and was to act as a substitute for the sacrifice's actual body.
Should the ritual work they would then need to prep another such piece of the sacrifice's armor for the third part of the Purity of Sin to be carried out the next evening. The Lady Leorea called for the light of the second moon to bathe the sacrificial table, which meant they only had a slim window to enact the ritual.
But it would be done. And then when the moon came tomorrow evening they would do the third Sin and their sacrifice would be ripe. In that time the retrieval teams should have been able to make contact and collect the sacrifice.
The High Priest had been so relieved when the two Paladins of Voltron had landed. They were an answer to their prayers as it was soon time to conduct the lottery to determine the newest sacrifice and now they no longer had to lose any of their own.
But they were a curse. They had killed five of his brethren now and the High Priest feared that number would grow due to the savagery of the Red and Black Paladin of Voltron. But he could feel the power in both of these aliens and he knew that they would be more than worthy sacrifices. Why, Lady Leorea may even take the single sacrifice as several.
He wished they could keep the Red and Black Paladin, but he had shown he was too dangerous. If the retrieval team was somehow able to bring him back alive and subdued he would be overjoyed, but he would never wish to put his fellow Mackans in the path of harm. No, the best course of action was to eliminate the sacrifice's companion.
He was atop the dais now and the High Priest turned, black fur highlighted in silver from the moon. "Brothers and sisters," he called, raising his paws. "It is time for the Purity of Sin to continue!"
Cheering greeted his proclamation although it cut off as he raised his arms once more.
"For the first time in our generation we shall conduct the Purity of Sin with our sacrifice away. But do not fear, my brothers and sisters, for he will soon be returned to us and his sacrifice shall save us all."
The moon was nearly in position now and the High Priest accepted the dagger from Brother Milnew, who bowed low and went to stand amongst his fellows then.
"Speaketh, seeth, heareth," the High Priest chanted, stalking about the helmet and carving the dagger into the air.
"Speaketh, seeth, heareth," intoned the crowd.
"Ladrás, maras, sentas!"
"Ladrás, maras, sentas!"
The chant continued, picking up intensity with every iteration. The blade began to glow blue in the High Priest's hand and he sucked in a harsh breath. This was it. Either this method worked and brought them closer to retrieving their sacrifice or it did not and the two Paladins of Voltron remained dangerous adversaries.
"Maras novia mesto scolars," he growled, raising the glowing blade above the helmet.
Please, he prayed silently. Let this work.
And he stabbed the dagger down.
"Maras!"
xxx
Keith had been counting out the dobashes, approaching their second hour of darkness and about an hour and half since Lance had fallen into a rather deep slumber all things considered, when Lance gave a near violent twitch in his arms.
"Lance?" he whispered, as the sharpshooter shifted again.
And then Keith was seeing stars as Lance swung his head back and collided solidly with Keith's lowered face.
He was squirming then like something possessed, hands scrabbling at his face and a silent scream echoing in the stillness.
"Lance, what's wrong?" Keith couldn't see from his current position and Lance had his head tucked down. All he got were more violent trembles.
Keith wormed his way out from behind Lance, crouching down in front of him and bracing his hands on Lance's shoulders.
"Lance, look at me," he pleaded as Lance hunched over more. In the dim lighting though he could see something drip down Lance's face. Was he crying? What had happened?
"Lance, hey." He grabbed Lance's left wrist and pulled, expecting to see tears.
Instead he saw blood.
At first glance it looked like Lance was crying blood, but then no, he realized the blood was smeared on Lance's cheek and the tears pouring from his squeezed shut eyes were mingling with it. All the while Lance was still silently screaming and crying. Keith moved his hand from Lance's shoulder to the back of his head as Lance tried to smash it against the rock wall. They did not want to add concussion onto the injury list.
"Lance," he gasped. "Where are you hurt? What's bleeding?"
Lance's right hand was digging into his cheek, but Keith did not see any blood. He turned his attention to the left hand he still had firmly grasped and his stomach bottomed out.
In the center of Lance's palm was a gaping, bleeding wound.
"No," he whispered. "No."
And suddenly everything made terrible, terrible sense.
"Lance, open your eyes." Please no. Please don't let them have taken that too.
"Lance, please," he begged as Lance's violent tremors began to wind down. "Come on, look at me."
And as a pair of eyes blinked open Keith realized what a selfish request that had been.
Because where there were normally pools of dark ocean blue there was now a distorted cloudy version, like a wave of foam had washed over but had not gone back to the sea.
"No," Keith whispered, bringing a hand up to cup Lance's face, removing it immediately as Lance flinched back, unseeing eyes widening in terror. "It's just me. It's Keith," he babbled, hoping to fill the dark silence. "Can… can you hear me?"
And the relief he felt as Lance gave a tiny nod was nearly overwhelming. At least they hadn't taken that. Not yet, at least.
Lance reached blindly out with his right hand and Keith caught it, holding onto just the tips of the fingers because beneath the wrappings was still a grisly, painful wound. "I'm right here."
Lance's lips moved, mouthing 'Keith' and Keith blinked back his own sudden tears. Not now. "I'm not going anywhere," he reassured. "I'm right here."
Purple eyes moved to Lance's left hand where blood was already starting to drip down over Lance's wrist and plop onto both Lance's legs and the ground. He was out of bandages; only the few shirt sleeve tubes remained but they wouldn't hold the blood in. He could use them tomorrow if – when, he amended with despair – he cauterized that injury too, but they would be useless right now.
But he still had the food pouch. It was sitting just against the wall where he'd untied it, a bug still ensconced inside.
"I'm going to retrieve the food bag to use as a bandage," he told Lance. "I'm just stepping a few feet away, okay?"
Lance's grip on his fingers tightened.
"How… how about a pinky swear?" Keith choked out. "I promise I'll be right back."
Lance offered a hesitant nod. Keith gently wrapped his own little finger about Lance's right one and bobbed it up and down. "Be right back."
He literally was back in under ten seconds, dumping the bugs unceremoniously to the ground, and ripping the cloth into strips. "Can I have your left hand?" he asked, as Lance had clutched it closed and had it held to his chest, still shaking although Keith was betting at this point it was also due to the cold and possible shock rather than just pain.
Lance tentatively held it out, flinching back though as Keith took it by the wrist.
"I'm just wrapping a bandage," Keith explained quietly. "When I finish I need you to clench your hand though. I know it'll hurt, but you can't lose any more blood."
This cut fortunately did not look as deep as the previous one. It was by no means a scratch, but it didn't seem to have almost dissected Lance's hand and it only took up the center of his palm rather than his hand corner to corner.
Once he was done and released Lance's hand, the boy cradled both to him again, shoulders hunched and looking in that instant as young as Pidge.
"What can I do?" Keith whispered.
Lance lifted his head, cloudy eyes near shining in glowing plant light. He bit his lip, looking mostly in Keith's direction but seeming uncertain as to where exactly Keith had gone to.
"Right in front of you," Keith murmured.
Lance adjusted his angle slightly and Keith forced himself to meet those sightless blue eyes brimming with tears. Lance said something and it didn't take a genius to figure out his request. And after the one Lance had bestowed upon him hours earlier Keith knew how comforting one could be.
"Okay," Keith said. "One hug coming up. Ready?"
A nod.
Keith leaned forward and carefully wrapped both arms about Lance and pulled him close. Lance slumped bonelessly in the embrace, head dropping to rest on Keith's chest.
"It's going to be okay," Keith murmured, rubbing one hand up and down Lance's back as he'd seen Lance do for Pidge and Hunk. "We'll figure this out. We'll get your sight back. And your voice." His own hardened. "They'll pay for what they've done."
Lance shivered in his hold.
They remained like that, quiet, for a few minutes. Lance did not fall back asleep; Keith wondered if despite how exhausted he was he even could. He was certainly awake again though.
Awake and aware. His ear twitched as he heard the telltale scuff of movement that was most definitely not coming from him or Lance. He cocked his head, and it came again. They had company.
Lance must have felt him stiffen because he picked his head up, tear tracks staining mocha skin and shining in the moonlight.
"Mackans," Keith whispered. And although Lance made no sound he could still hear the sharp intake of breath.
What did he do? They couldn't flee; not only was Lance now blind but they were both exhausted. They wouldn't make it far. Not when they – he, Keith amended – could barely see the terrain in the dark. Fight? Him against at least two Mackans in close-quarter combat? This wasn't like the previous terrain. There was no wall for him to hide behind and spring out. The cliff face was as straight as it could be and there was no other cover in range.
Keith cast his gaze up to the moons, seeking some inspiration as his heart raced. And while the moons didn't provide answers, they illuminated the top of the cliff face. Fifteen feet, give or take. The walls were rough enough that Keith was certain he could scale it.
But Lance… there was no way Lance could. Not blinded and with his hands in the state they were, to say nothing of his dizziness. If he missed even a step he would fall. Also, the Mackans had to smell the blood by now. Lance had it smeared still on his face and chest, not to mention the streaks all over his hand and arm and the still bleeding wound. They would know they were here. They'd sniff Lance out in a heartbeat. They were probably smelling him now.
Keith had no doubt this timing of Lance losing his sight and the subsequent blood trail was not a coincidence. The Mackans had hunted them to the area and they had given themselves even more of an advantage than they already had. Keith cursed under his breath. How cowardly.
There was only one thing Keith could think of, and it was stupid and reckless and beyond dangerous, but it was the only thing he could think of as the scuffing got closer and was picking up speed as they tracked their prey. It would mean leaving Lance alone though and if something happened to him in that time… Keith would never forgive himself. But if he didn't do this, didn't at least try, then they were both dead.
"Lance," Keith said urgently, pulling out of the embrace. "I… I need to go."
Lance shook his head, lunging forward and fisting his hands into Keith's shirt despite the pain that action had to cause him. He looked beyond frightened, but there was nothing to be done for it now.
"You trust me, right?"
And the fear was replaced by a look of deep offense. Like Lance couldn't even believe Keith would ask that.
"I'll be back," Keith said, prying Lance's hands from him, and the affront turned back to a shadow of the original fear. "I promise. Stay here. It's going to be okay."
They were getting closer. There was no more time to waste.
"I promise," he whispered, squeezing Lance's shoulder as he clambered to his feet. "It's going to be okay."
Keith launched himself at the cliff, scrambling up the rough surface as the scuffs became even louder and he knew he had but seconds. Rocks bit into his palms and he ignored the sting, pulling himself up and then over the rim. Just in time, as from this new vantage he could see the Mackans – four of them, his stomach clenched – just a hundred yards away.
Patience, he told himself. He needed to wait for the opportune moment. Wait. Listen.
Still, a chill that had nothing to do with the night air swept through him as he could see when the Mackans caught sight of Lance, saw their ears prick up and heard the intakes of breath and the growls of excitement.
And Lance… Lance sat there, arms wrapped about himself now in some measure of self-comfort and staring sightlessly forward at the approaching danger. Keith could see him shuddering, could almost feel the terror rising. And still, he sat. He made no move to get up, to run away because Keith had told him to stay. And despite his own fear, Keith felt a warmth fill him that Lance trusted him that much.
Keith's gaze narrowed. That trust would not be misplaced.
xxx
Down below Lance could hear the Mackans now. They were speaking but from this distance he could hear only purrs and growls. He strained his eyes forward, even though only pitch blackness filled his vision and it made him shudder again.
They were almost there now. He backed up slightly, pressing against the cliff face even though he knew having it behind him would do nothing. He couldn't do anything. He couldn't even see what was going to happen. And although losing his voice had been terrifying it didn't even compare to going blind.
He had awoken feeling like someone was stabbing burning embers into his eyes and no matter how many tears he cried to flush them out, or how hard he dug his fingers into the crevasses nothing helped. The pain had slowly started to fade to be replaced with a new pulsing in his left hand.
He hadn't even needed to open his eyes to confirm what had happened. He knew. But hearing Keith gasp when he'd found the newest wound on his left hand this time had been the final nail in the coffin.
And now he'd had but minutes to come to grips with what had been taken from him this time before Keith was whispering about Mackans and stealing away and leaving Lance alone. He knew Keith had some sort of plan. He hadn't just been abandoned here.
But it sure felt like that. It was a horror movie come to life but he couldn't even see the monsters. He could only hear them, their growls and claws scratching the rock, and it made everything worse.
They were close now. So close.
And then something touched his shoulder.
Lance flinched back, head slamming against the cliff and new pain exploded behind his eyes.
"Careful," growled a voice. "He could be dangerous."
A scoff from Lance's right. "Does he look dangerous, Sister Kladrel?"
"He looks to be in pain," murmured a third voice. "The poor thing."
Lance felt his heart stutter in surprise. Was this… was this third Mackan an ally?
The soft voice continued. "This is why the ritual should have been finished immediately. How cruel to let the sacrifice suffer their physical body any longer." And that would be a no.
A paw brushed against his face then and Lance took a swing at it, desperation as well as fear fueling the punch. He didn't know what Keith's plan was, but he was not going to go quietly. Blind and injured he may be, but he was a Paladin of Voltron.
But his attempt was caught, painfully, and a clawed paw squeezed his burnt hand. He screamed silently, trying to wrench it free as a different kind of blackness filled his vision.
"Where is his companion?" asked a new voice over the pounding in his head. "He is the truly dangerous one."
"Did he abandon the sacrifice? The High Priest seemed so certain he would remain."
"Perhaps he saw us coming and fled?" A series of chuckles and growls sounded then. Lance attempted to use their apparent distraction and pull his hand free, but he was instead wrenched forward and dragged to his knees, feeling the material of his pants shred at the handling.
He tried his left hand then, scrabbling at the paw that wrapped about his right, but a sharp cuff across his face snapped his head back, followed by the rest of him. He hit the ground with a silent groan.
"How weak," muttered one of the Mackans. "Clearly it was the other Paladin of Voltron who is the true threat. We should have sacrificed that one first."
Lance's body was screaming at him to stay down, but he couldn't. He had to fight. He wasn't weak. He wasn't. He placed his left hand flush on the ground, biting back the cry, but he needn't have bothered.
A paw stomped on his back and he crashed down again, feeling his cape get wrenched off in the process and the frigid air land on newly exposed skin. Then there were several paws on him, one pressing against his back, another on his head and more grabbed his arms. He kicked out, rewarded with a sharp gasp, but then his legs too were seized and Lance could do nothing but flounder as he felt what could only be rope tied about his ankles and more around his wrenched back arms.
"More fight left in him than I thought. And yet it amounts to nothing," chuckled the voice of Kladrel, as Lance twisted in his trussed up state, body aching at the contortion. He needed to do something. Anything. Tears burned his eyes as all his struggling did was draw more guttural laughter.
Where was Keith? Why wasn't he stopping this? Keith had promised it would be okay. He would never have left him. But then where was he? Lance's stomach dropped. Had something happened to him? Or… was he still waiting for something else?
His musings were cut short as a set of claws descended into his hair and he stiffened in surprise as they raked from his bangs and back. Was the Mackan… petting him? When it happened again he had his answer and the tears were replaced with narrowed eyes. Oh hell no. He tried jerking his head away, but the Mackan held him firm.
"I don't think he likes your attentions, Sister Munice."
The paw came around, brushing back Lance's bangs and then stroking the side of his face. "I have no idea what you mean, Brother Tyrol. His fur is so soft. Look at— Ouch!"
Lance grinned in minor victory around the paw clamped in his teeth that had wandered too low. But the appendage was pulled free and he received a firm clout to the back of his head that smashed his face into the ground.
"Enough lollygagging," Tyrol said. "Let us go."
"No," snarled the still unnamed voice. "Not until we kill his companion."
Lance's heart stopped. What? No. He struggled uselessly to sit up, but a furred foot settled on his back between his bound hands and held him immobile.
"That is not what was asked of us, Brother Wicyk."
"He killed five of our kin. You wish to let him roam free? He is a danger to us all!"
"I wish to have the sacrifice finish the Purity of Sin, Brother. That is our most important objective."
"We have been fortunate he seems to have fled," Munice said quietly. "Let us not waste this gift."
"No!" came an enraged growl. "I will have his head!"
Lance felt himself being picked up by his hair then, and fought down the whimper the action caused. Hot breath hit his face then and he tried his best not to flinch back.
"Sacrifice," growled Wicyk, shaking him by his hair and Lance felt reflexive tears pooling. "Where is your companion?"
"His Speech has been purified, Brother," sighed Kladrel. "He cannot speak."
"He knows." Lance was shaken again, his head wrenched back now and body bending uncomfortably. "Where is he? Where is that murderer?"
Lance mustered up his best glare around the tears he could feel trekking down his cheeks. Even if he knew he would never betray Keith. Keith had said it was going to be all right. He trusted Keith. Keith would come.
A clawed paw slapped across his face and he could feel thin trickles of blood where claws had scratched. Breathe. It was okay. Keith was coming.
"Tell me!"
Lance bared his teeth with a bravery he didn't feel. It was going to be okay. It was going to be okay.
"Fine. If you will not tell me then I will make him come to you." Lance was released from the tight grip and he fell awkwardly back to his knees, managing to somehow catch himself and remain upright even as he felt his heart threatening to break free of his chest. Deep breaths. In and out. It was okay. Keith promised. This was all part of the plan.
"Brother, what are you doing?" Tyrol asked and there was a mark of hesitation in his voice.
"Summoning the Red and Black Paladin of Voltron." A pause. "Netale."
And then pain. Lance collapsed to the ground as it felt like lightning was racing across his skin, mouth opened in a silent scream as his body shuddered under the attack. He slammed against the cliff wall, crying out.
"Stop me, Paladin of Voltron," challenged Tyrol. "Do you wish to see your companion suffer?"
Lance tasted blood as he bit on his tongue as another arc sizzled through him. Still. It was okay. He was okay. He tried to choke back his pain, determined to not give them the satisfaction or spur Keith into any immediate action. Because this was now a trap. And Keith couldn't come. Keith would die.
And that thought was more painful than any spell.
"Come out!" bellowed Tyrol.
Don't come out, Lance pleaded, agony pulsing through him. He was okay. This was nothing. Keith couldn't die because of him.
"That is enough," cut in Munice and the agony stopped as sudden as it had started. Lance whimpered soundlessly, pressing himself against the cliff face as if he tried hard enough he could disappear into it. "There is no need to torture him so, Brother," Munice continued. "The other Paladin of Voltron is gone. Let us be gone too."
Lance shuddered out a sigh at her words. It was over. Keith hadn't come. He couldn't come. Relief warred in equal measure with despair.
A growl. "Fine. But should we find him his head is mine."
"You will have to share with me," Kladrel said and there was a darkness to her tone. "He killed my blood sister. I will see him bleed."
And no, Lance thought. No. Keith wasn't going to get hurt. He wouldn't let them. He couldn't let them. If… if it meant that Keith would be safe he would go with them. He would stop resisting. That way they'd be so occupied with him that Keith could take the opportunity to get away. He could survive until the others came to rescue them. Lance knew he could. This was Keith's best chance.
He forced himself to go limp, for the tension and fight to drain from him. This was for Keith. For their family. He already knew his odds of surviving until the rescue were slim with his injuries and he acted only as a beacon to the Mackans to find them more easily. With him gone Keith had more than a chance. Keith would live.
"We all wish for him to pay for what he has done, Brother Wicyk," Munice murmured. "He will face our wrath, do not doubt. His death will be slow and long and we will revel in it. But now is not that time. Let us go."
"Sister Kladrel, if you will assist me?" Tyrol called. "This Paladin of Voltron is long in limb."
The foot pressing him to the ground lifted, but before Lance could so much as blink he felt his body being hefted up with a grunt. Someone else grabbed his feet. He trembled in both resignation and from the aftershocks of pain.
Over the blood rushing in his head he could hear claws on stone as the Mackans gathered themselves. They were leaving. They were leaving. And although he had come to terms with what had to happen to ensure Keith remained safe, especially now that he knew how badly they wanted him dead, he felt panic welling up. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to be a sacrifice.
He wanted to live too.
"Let's go," said Wicyk. "Move out."
But he couldn't. He offered no resistance as they secured him and began to step away from the cliff. He tried to reassure himself that this was all right. It was okay. Keith would be safe. Keith would escape. He'd live. That… that would have to be enough.
There came then a sudden, odd whistling noise from up above that gave pause to the entire group.
And then all hell broke loose.
Author's Notes:
Guys, guys GUYS! It's a literal cliffhanger! Cuz Keith was up a cliff! Hahahahahaha! *shot*
You'll have to survive a week on this one as Monday is Christmas and there will not be an update. But hey, you could be in Lance's... feet (since he's barefoot xD) and that's definitely worse. Poor thing is blind now too, hurt again and being carried away to be sacrificed. I'm so mean. *hums you're a mean one, Ms. Icy*
You reviewers are the best of the bunch! This chapter I award you... Hmm, what was good this chapter? Um... how about, in honor of the holidays, you get cookies. All the cookies. Yum! Cookies to: Justanangryfangirl, Subtle Shenanigans, Guest, Oliviadbell, hobbes101, Violinworld, wingedflower, Supergurkan, WhiteTails, MandyRaccoon, imagine forevermore, dragoscilvio, Pfeh, Gio, Jennyfish26, Alexa, Adrianna Agray, yazbk2988, momoluvr11, PaintedWings45 and The Striking Storms!
Reviews make awesome presents guys. Please consider leaving one! Thank you! And Merry Christmas!