drunk to wake, and Karl’s silent prodding was useless.
He left her there.
There were no windows in the bedroom, a safety measure. If there was but one intruder, he need only wail in the dark room and kill them as they entered. Rut he knew instinctively who they were, and was certain they would not be foolish enough to send only one or two.
Karl grabbed the bedspread that was balled up at Una’s feet. He threw it over his head, wrapping it around his face like a cloak. Just in case. He ran into the front hallway. The ax fell again, letting a stream of daylight into the house. Light stabbed across the room and a flaming scar appeared on Karl’s face. He moved quickly from the spot.
What had Octavian told him, half a century ago?
Believe, he had said, and you will burn.
It was difficult to concentrate. In the hall he put a hand and foot on either wall and scuttled up a few feet. He pushed up on the wooden square that served as a door to the attic and moved it to the side. Quietly, he pulled himself in, and slowly replaced the trapdoor as a larger portion of the heavy front door splintered away, allowing a hand to reach in and work the locks.
Poor Una.
As he heard the invaders make their way into the house, he turned to the attic window. Bars inside the glass, shutters outside. He crept toward it, completely silent as he had taught all of them to he over the years. He thought again of Octavian. Believe and you will burn, he insisted. Karl tried to convince himself he did not believe in Christian legend, in myth. It was so hard to know what was true when you were a part of that myth.
Somehow, some way, Octavian claimed, the church had fabricated the legendary physical constraints of the immortals and had somehow convinced these poor creatures, his ancestors, that those constraints were real. Hence, though they were capable of wonderful and terrible things, they were also capable of their own destruction. Self-immolation, a sort of suicide.
Believe and you will burn.
The screaming began below. It seemed Una was awake, and unfortunately she believed in the legends. He moved over the bedroom. The light fixture in the bedroom, an old thing with a slowly rotating fan, had been installed by someone with very little skill, and there was space around the fixture through which Karl could see the goings-on in the room.
He wished he hadn’t. Una’s flesh was singed and scarred — the scars the shape of the silver cross wielded by a black-haired man. As others held her back with their own crosses, the man held the Christian symbol against her eyes, each in turn bursting in her skull. Her breasts were next, the nipples with their delicate pink areolae charred black by the crucifix, and if Octavian were to he believed, her own faith in its power.
Believe and you will burn.
Karl wanted to go back down and destroy them, make them suffer as she now suffered. But there were too many of them and who knew how many more might wait outside ?
“ We know you are here, thief and killer. Why not come out and we will free the girl? Come out before we do something irreversible to her.”
Karl held back the urge to answer, exercising more control over his rage than he had. ever been able, ever been called to before. Then the cross continued its assault on her legs and belly. Two of the men grabbed Una’s ankles and forced her legs apart, and the silver cross was thrust unceremoniously between them. The black-haired man, the speaker of the group, held the cross with both hands and stirred hard, as if churning butter. There must have been six inches of silver inside her, burning and tearing, destroying everything it touched.
Una’s screaming stopped and she began to vomit blood.
Karl smelled kerosene and realized they were about to torch Una and the bed and the house around her. The only way to end her suffering was right behind him.
He went quickly to the window and. as soundlessly as possible tore the bars from their place. The
He left her there.
There were no windows in the bedroom, a safety measure. If there was but one intruder, he need only wail in the dark room and kill them as they entered. Rut he knew instinctively who they were, and was certain they would not be foolish enough to send only one or two.
Karl grabbed the bedspread that was balled up at Una’s feet. He threw it over his head, wrapping it around his face like a cloak. Just in case. He ran into the front hallway. The ax fell again, letting a stream of daylight into the house. Light stabbed across the room and a flaming scar appeared on Karl’s face. He moved quickly from the spot.
What had Octavian told him, half a century ago?
Believe, he had said, and you will burn.
It was difficult to concentrate. In the hall he put a hand and foot on either wall and scuttled up a few feet. He pushed up on the wooden square that served as a door to the attic and moved it to the side. Quietly, he pulled himself in, and slowly replaced the trapdoor as a larger portion of the heavy front door splintered away, allowing a hand to reach in and work the locks.
Poor Una.
As he heard the invaders make their way into the house, he turned to the attic window. Bars inside the glass, shutters outside. He crept toward it, completely silent as he had taught all of them to he over the years. He thought again of Octavian. Believe and you will burn, he insisted. Karl tried to convince himself he did not believe in Christian legend, in myth. It was so hard to know what was true when you were a part of that myth.
Somehow, some way, Octavian claimed, the church had fabricated the legendary physical constraints of the immortals and had somehow convinced these poor creatures, his ancestors, that those constraints were real. Hence, though they were capable of wonderful and terrible things, they were also capable of their own destruction. Self-immolation, a sort of suicide.
Believe and you will burn.
The screaming began below. It seemed Una was awake, and unfortunately she believed in the legends. He moved over the bedroom. The light fixture in the bedroom, an old thing with a slowly rotating fan, had been installed by someone with very little skill, and there was space around the fixture through which Karl could see the goings-on in the room.
He wished he hadn’t. Una’s flesh was singed and scarred — the scars the shape of the silver cross wielded by a black-haired man. As others held her back with their own crosses, the man held the Christian symbol against her eyes, each in turn bursting in her skull. Her breasts were next, the nipples with their delicate pink areolae charred black by the crucifix, and if Octavian were to he believed, her own faith in its power.
Believe and you will burn.
Karl wanted to go back down and destroy them, make them suffer as she now suffered. But there were too many of them and who knew how many more might wait outside ?
“ We know you are here, thief and killer. Why not come out and we will free the girl? Come out before we do something irreversible to her.”
Karl held back the urge to answer, exercising more control over his rage than he had. ever been able, ever been called to before. Then the cross continued its assault on her legs and belly. Two of the men grabbed Una’s ankles and forced her legs apart, and the silver cross was thrust unceremoniously between them. The black-haired man, the speaker of the group, held the cross with both hands and stirred hard, as if churning butter. There must have been six inches of silver inside her, burning and tearing, destroying everything it touched.
Una’s screaming stopped and she began to vomit blood.
Karl smelled kerosene and realized they were about to torch Una and the bed and the house around her. The only way to end her suffering was right behind him.
He went quickly to the window and. as soundlessly as possible tore the bars from their place. The
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