Page 160 of Decimation

I know the story.

My father told it to me when I was twelve years old, sitting in his study with the fire crackling behind us. He told me about the night the Founders spilled the blood of a king and drank it like wine. He told me about the covenant they made, the power they seized, the darkness they invited in.

“Ezekiel.” My voice is steadier than I feel. “Whatever you think this will accomplish, whatever prophecy you think you’re fulfilling, it won’t work. The Brethren will never follow you. The Guardians will never accept you. You are nothing but a splinter faction playing at relevance.”

“Am I?” He turns away from me, his attention shifting back to Leandra. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

He drags the blade across her face. There is no need for it, no significance beyond sheer cruelty.

The scream that tears from Leandra’s throat is not human. It is raw and primal, and it rips through the incense-heavy air like a physical thing. Blood wells up from the wound, a diagonal cut that runs from her temple to her jaw, just missing her eye, just deep enough to scar.

She jerks against her bindings. Her body convulses. The leather cords cut deeper into her wrists, and fresh blood joins the old.

“NO!”

I throw myself against the men holding me. One of them loses his grip. I pivot, driving my elbow into his throat, feeling cartilage give way beneath the impact. He crumples. The other one tries to adjust his hold but I am already moving, already swinging, my fist connecting with his jaw hard enough to send him staggering back.

I am free.

But Ezekiel isn’t watching me.

He is watching Leandra, watching the blood run down her face and drip onto her exposed breasts. Watching the way her chest heaves with terrified, agonized breaths. The other women have dropped to their knees now, their singing growing louder, their bodies swaying in unison.

“Beautiful,” Ezekiel murmurs. “Do you see now, Leandra? Do you see what you were always meant to be? You were meant to be a vessel. A conduit. Your blood will open the door. Your death will seal the covenant.”

“She’s not dying tonight.” I snarl.

I am moving again, closing the distance between us. Ezekiel sees me coming, and for the first time something flickers in his eyes. Not fear, not yet, but awareness.

I hit him at full speed.

We go down together, crashing against the stone floor. The impact jars through my shoulder, my ribs, but I barely feel it. My hands find his robes, his throat, anything I can grab. The knife clatters from his grip, skittering across stone.

Ezekiel is stronger than he looks. He gets an arm between us, shoves, and creates enough space to land a blow against my ribs. The air leaves my lungs in a rush, but I don’t let go. I can’t let go.

“Lazarus!”

It’s Leandra’s voice. It cuts through the red haze of violence, and I turn my head just enough to see…

She has the knife.

The curved blade of Saladin is clutched in her bound hands, and even as I watch she saws frantically at the leather cords around her wrists. Back and forth, back and forth, the ancient steel cutting through centuries-old leather like paper.

One wrist comes free.

She doesn’t hesitate, she doesn’t pause to free her other hand. She just swings the knife in a wide arc as one of the veiled women lunges toward her.

The blade catches the woman across the throat. Blood sprays. The singing falters. The woman crumples.

And Leandra is already working on her other wrist, her ankles, her movements desperate and clumsy but relentless.

Ezekiel uses my moment of distraction. His knee drives up into my stomach. His hands find my shoulders and he rolls us, reversing our positions, pinning me beneath him. There is blood on his face now, mine or Leandra’s I can’t tell, and his eyes are wild with something that looks almost like ecstasy.

“You think you can stop this?” He is breathing hard, his voice ragged. “You think any of this is about you? Tonight, I will win everything. Tonight, I will kill you and I will kill her, and in doing so I will fulfil the prophecy. I will become what I was always meant to be.”

“The prophecy is bullshit.”

Ezekiel’s lips peel back from his teeth. “Then you’ll die a heretic.”