Wolves Among Us (13 page)

Mia rocked Alma’s limp body, keening her prayers. Her breathless words drained away into the night, blending into the darkness outside their door.

“Take Alma outside,” Bastion ordered her. “Stefan, bring a bucket of water.”

Mia hesitated as Stefan rushed to obey.

“It’s cold tonight,” she said, looking to Bjorn. Night air couldn’t be good for Alma, especially now.

“Do it,” Bjorn told her.

Mia stood, still cradling Alma, and went outside, not bothering with a cloak for herself. Her mind knew it was cold. Her body felt nothing but fear. Holding Alma like a fragile infant, Mia swayed side to side in the starlight, trying to keep her frightened voice strong enough to coax Alma back. Alma’s eyes remained closed, her lips blue and swollen.

“Do you hear the birds, Alma?” Mia coaxed. “How noisy is spring, even at this hour! How we’ve missed our friends, the birds! Come back, Alma. Come back, and we’ll feed them at our window.”

Mia could hear the men inside and stepped closer to the window to listen. How could they cure Alma if Alma stayed out here? The child’s rabbit-fast breathing had slowed, but Mia could still see every rib between each breath. Alma’s heart slowed, growing tired from the effort. It would not be long now.

Mia rubbed Alma’s chest with one hand, leaving it red. “Do not give up. They’ll know what to do.”

“These signs trouble me,” Bastion said. His voice sounded strong, cutting through the shrill songs around her. She knew his voice apart from Bjorn’s. Bjorn’s voice was deep and rough at the edges. Bastion had the smooth, certain tones of a man who had spent years at a university. “Who among the women would curse you?” Bastion asked.

She heard no reply.

“Bjorn, you must not let a kind heart blind you to the truth. A woman is out there who has caused this. Either name her, right now, or your child will die.”

Mia closed her eyes.

She heard Bjorn mutter.

“I do not care. Name the woman who hates you.”

She heard the tone of Bjorn’s voice but not the words.

Mia waited there, cradling Alma until her arms ached. At last, the door opened, and Bastion motioned for her to come in. He had a hard, accusing look on his face. Fear boiled again in Mia’s stomach.

Bastion rested a hand on Mia’s arm as he spoke. “I took water and put it in your kettle over the fire with some rosemary leaves you had about. Keep Alma near the steam.”

Bastion lifted his hand, and Mia’s arm went cold again. Something left her each time he touched her. She looked away.

He laid his hands on Alma to pray. “Most Holy Father, hear the prayer of your servant. Break every curse upon this child, and release her from Satan’s power. Grant me the power of Elijah, that I may return this child, so near death, to its mother. Amen.”

Alma stirred a little, just a fluttering of her eyelids and movement of her head. Mia hugged her tighter and wept.

“Please, God,” she added. “Hear his prayer. Whatever I have done, forgive me. Please forgive me.”

Bastion stared at her, flames from the fire reflected in his eyes. He looked like a prophet of old, she thought, one capable of great deliverances.

Bjorn did not look at her. “Let’s go.”

Bastion looked about and grabbed a chair from the table, dragging it over to the fire. “Sit down. Your arms must be so weak by now. Would you like a blanket?”

“No, thank you. The fire is warm.”

“Your husband and I have work to do, Mia. When Stefan returns, use the water he brings you to keep that steam constant. And say your rosary. Do not stop saying your rosary until you see Alma open her eyes and return to you. Do you understand?”

Mia nodded.

Bjorn left without looking at her.

Bastion paused at her side as he left.

“Mia, God has heard your prayers. I will save her.”

Chapter Fourteen

All of Stefan’s head throbbed, his ragged ear a relentless pain that tore through his body. He could not even bear to raise his arm as if to touch it. He had tried only once, and nearly fainted from the agony. His fingers had come away with something foul. He suspected the site might be putrefying from the witch’s bite. A witch’s bite could be more dangerous than any animal’s.

He had delivered the water to Mia last night only to find the men had already left on their mission. Mia said Bastion had pressed Bjorn to name a woman. She had not heard the name, but Bjorn would not look at her afterward. She said she felt glad Stefan had returned, hopeful he would have more answers. Alma had slept in Mia’s arms, a little color back in her cheeks. Not much.

He had been sent on a woman’s errand, and now the men, the real men of the town, had gone to do the men’s work. Stefan used all of his self-control to keep from kicking the bucket of water.

Mia had not wanted to speak about anything else. She rocked Alma and went back to her rosary. Stefan left, promising to send Erick back to check on her, and wandered through the town, hoping to catch sight of Bastion and Bjorn. He had no luck. The sun rose as he gave up and returned to the church, walking past the sheep in the back already bleating for breakfast. Erick filled a bucket with grain for them, pushing them back as they nudged his legs. Erick had the patience to feed them despite their constant bleating demands.

Stefan walked past him, saying nothing, attempting to put a hand over his wounded ear.

Stefan spied Bastion and ducked behind the corner to the dormitory entrance to avoid being seen. Bastion stood near the caged witch, pressing his body through the bars as she kissed him on the cheeks. The pink sunrise illuminated her thin frame and the wide bars of the cage. Bastion looked like a pilgrim worshipping at a shrine, kneeling before a saint.

She fell to her knees and took his hands in hers. She kissed them, then pressed them against her cheek. She had a look of ecstasy that made Stefan blush. No woman in his congregation had ever looked at him like that. He would not want them to. Why would Bastion allow it?

Bastion pulled free, bending down and lifting a plate of food to her. She jerked the food off the plate and ate with ferocious speed. Bastion just watched her, his face a mix of pleasure and regret. She finished, letting the bones from the meat she had eaten fall onto the straw around her, the same straw she would relieve herself on, the same straw she would sleep on tonight.

“When will you do it?” she asked. Stefan strained forward to be sure he heard the words right.

“Soon.”

“Please,” she pleaded, thrusting her arm through the bars, trying to catch hold of Bastion. He stepped out of her reach.

“Please,” she called. “Haven’t I done everything you asked?”

Stefan ducked back and walked into the dormitory. Gray clouds hung low in the sky above him.

He needed to tend to his wound. He needed time to think.

Mia’s voice grew hoarse from praying out loud for hours through her tears. Her head kept dropping down, startling her back awake, shamed she could sleep when her daughter’s life depended on her prayers. If Alma died, it would be her fault.

I am a wretch,
she thought.
What Bastion preaches about women’s weakness is so true. Why did they leave me here alone with Alma dying? Didn’t they see I would fail?

“I can’t do it, Lord,” she whispered. “If miracles come by force of prayer, and great persistence, then I cannot have one. I am not strong enough to force You to do anything for me. Either heal or let us both die.”

Mia went back to the first bead on her rosary and took a deep breath. She had to keep trying until Alma awoke whole and healed or they died sitting here. She swallowed hard, trying to ignore the pain in her throat. She pushed the words out, no longer hearing or meaning them. She just wanted God’s attention, and if this worked, she would say her rosary until she dropped dead of exhaustion.

“By morning we will know,” she whispered to Alma. “We will know who this God is that we have prayed to all this time.”

The sun began its rise off to the east. She saw its light peeking in under her door, and dazzling pink rays streaking in through the shutters. Today’s sunrise would be glorious, but Mia and Alma would not see it.

A different light, made of thick gold, pooled under the door, pouring in across the floor. The heavy gold light rose into a shimmering veil all around them, wrapping around Alma and Mia. Lost in this golden mist, Mia’s head fell forward, and she snapped it back up. “I must not sleep.”

“Sleep,” a voice whispered. It could have been a voice in her head. Her whole body ached, so tired she couldn’t tell if she was already dreaming. Or if she was already dying, departing this life with Alma in her arms, this strange peace swaddling them and carrying them together to God.

Hot tears rolled down her face as unseen hands slid under Alma’s body, lifting her. Mia slipped back into the veil as she heard the whisper again.

“She is my child too.”

Mia dreamed of a river. She had been sleeping on its banks under a tree covered in fresh green leaves the size of her palm. The spring sun shone all around. A man stood beyond the tree. She shielded her eyes from the light coming from him. She could see only his outline and the bottom edge of his robes.

“Why can I not see your face?” she asked.

He walked to her, but the light became too strong, forcing Mia to look away. He extended a hand.

“This is what you fear,” he said.

She reached for his hand, but saw it clearly, broken and bleeding, a horrid open wound torn through it, flesh splayed out in all directions. It stank. Mia remembered the stench of her first fall into darkness, that fearsome well, reeking of burning wood and oil, inks and ashes. Looking into His dark, deep wound, she saw all the horrors of her life, driven into this one man.

He laid her hand on top of the wound and turned His hand over to show her. His hand became whole. The well she feared lived in this wound, those dark secrets that destroyed flesh and life. But when she put her hand in His, she no longer saw the wound sin made. She saw healing, the hope of miracles. His wounds could bring healing, but she had to put her hand into His first.

She heard His laugh, and then woke from the dream.

Bjorn’s mouth pressed against Mia’s cheek, whiskers scratching her skin.

“Good news.” He was laughing. “Wake up.”

Mia yawned and tried to lift her eyelids. She didn’t want to return to this life.