Dragonlands(32)

Tressa put her hand on his arm again, but this time it wasn’t enough. Bastian pushed his way through the masses, elbowing anyone who wouldn’t move. He didn’t even look behind him. He knew Tressa was there, following. She wasn’t the type to hide.

Bastian advanced on the woman in blue. His chest heaved with every breath, pushing the apprehension down and replacing it with grit determination. The crowd parted, now aware someone was breaking tradition. Women cowered in front of him. Hands pawed at his feet. He trudged on until he arrived at the wooden dais.

The twelve men in black surrounded Stacia. Bastian couldn’t see more than the blue boots on her feet. The shiny toes peeked out between the black boots of her guard.

“Fools! Let me be!” The men parted and Stacia stepped toward the edge. She held out a hand to Bastian.

He grasped it in his. With a surprising strength, she pulled him up. Bastian’s knees scrambled over the edge, gaining purchase on the rough wood. He stood up and reached out to help Tressa up, but the guards surrounded him just as they had Stacia a moment ago.

“She is not allowed on the sacred stage. Her,” Stacia wrinkled her nose, “womanhood will sully the ceremony. You interrupted us. Pray for forgiveness. You’ll need it.”

“You’re a woman too,” Tressa called out from below.

“You have no idea what I am.” Stacia’s lips turned up in a snarl. Her head snapped back to Bastian. “Step forward. Come see your friend.”

Bastian followed her to Connor’s side. Connor’s head lay limp, lolling on his shoulder. Eyelids closed. Bastian willed them to open, for his friend to spring to life. Together they might be able to fight their way out.

The men crowded behind Bastian, cutting off his view of Tressa completely.

Bastian looked closer at Connor’s neck. He reached out a hand, but Stacia slapped it before he could search for a pulse.

“He is alive. If he was dead, someone else would be in his place.” Stacia looked Bastian up and down, starting with his head and ending with his feet, as if she were tasting every inch of him. “Perhaps you, though perhaps not. You’re not exactly what we’re looking for.”

“And Connor is?” Bastian asked. “Why?”

Stacia threw her head back. Her braid, studded with metal spikes, scraped the wooden planks, leaving scratch marks in its wake. Her neck rolled to the side, her braid following like a snake. “Because you’re far too scrumptious to sacrifice!”

She pushed him backward. Bastian fell on his ass, his hands smarting from slapping the wood. Stacia’s head wound again, faster this time. Her braid ascended, sparkling in the waning light of evening.

“Sacrifice is ours. We commend his spirit to the cycle!”

The crowd ululated, their voices reaching a fevered pitch. Bastian scrambled to his feet, but he couldn’t match the speed of Stacia’s murderous braid. The sharp tips of metal lashed at Connor’s body. Flesh and blood sprang from his body, showering Bastian with tiny pieces of his best friend.

“No!” Bastian lunged toward Connor, but three of the men held him by his arms and waist.

Stacia chortled as her braid ripped Connor into a blur of maroon streaks. Bastian gagged at the copper scent tickling his nose. He’d smelled it a million times before helping with the slaughter of animals in Hutton’s Bridge. Knowing it came from his best friend forced bile to rise from his stomach. He swallowed it back, refusing to show any weakness in front of the people he wanted to destroy.

Stacia stepped back. Blood ran down her face to her chest.

The tall door behind Connor opened slowly. A puff of smoke preceded a clicking noise. Bastian looked back into the crowd. Tressa stood at the edge, her eyes wide, frozen in place. He swung back to the door. Three claws scraped on the wood planks.

With each tap they moved ever closer to Connor’s body. He was so still. Bastian could only hope he was dead, unable to experience the horror surrounding him.

The claws marched closer and closer, each second more agonizing than the last. Bastian realized he’d stopped struggling against his captors. His arms were slack, defeat pouring out of every vein. Still, the men held onto him with grips tighter than newly forged manacles.

“Let me go,” Bastian growled at them. Their heads were trained on Stacia, refusing to acknowledge Bastian’s command. He stepped to the side, crushing the toes of the man on his right. Faster than lightning, Bastian yanked the injured man to the side, knocking out the guard on his right. With his newly free hand, he slammed his fist into the nose of the man behind him.

“Get Connor,” Tressa yelled from behind him.