“Yes.” He nodded. “He is up at the altar, treating several people.”
Lusana said nothing more, striding to the altar.
Silas looked to Ezra, then to Inari. “What do you need to treat him?”
“Herbal supplies for a poultice. Cloth to staunch the bleeding. Needle and thread to sew the wound shut.”
Silas called for another priest, who led the shaman from the nave down a corridor to the right.
Silas turned his gaze to Aloisia. “That arrow appeared to be one of your own, huntress. Do I want to know what happened?”
“Probably not,” Aloisia retorted. She peered around the room, fear gnawing at her.
“She’s in her usual seat,” Silas said, pointing to the statue of the Huntress and the pew beneath it.
Relief washed over her. She guided Fynn through the throng of people to Ma’s usual pew beside the Huntress. Aloisia glimpsed fiery hair at the end of one aisle. Valda. The huntress set a blanket around Emilya’s shoulders. The child’s family did not seem to be nearby. Aloisia placed a hand on Valda’s arm as she passed, her sister turning to give a small smile. Her sisters, following close behind, joined Valda, relief clear on their faces.
Aloisia reached the front where the Huntress stood sentry, a bow in one hand, a dove in another. The balance of life and death.
In the pew, as Silas had promised, Ma sat beside Brighde’s parents. Fynn hesitated beside Aloisia, his eyes flitting to the shackles circling his wrists. Ma rose upon seeing them, ushering them into the row.
“How are you out here, son?” Ma asked.
Aloisia perched on the pew in front. “The Modäiti brought him out of the prison, deluded that he could stop the creatures devastating the town.”
Ma placed a hand on his cheek. “I am glad those things didn’t get to you.” She clasped Aloisia’s wrist. “Either of you.”
“Likewise, Ma,” Fynn said. He looked at Brighde’s parents. “The others?”
“We are fortunate this day,” Brighde’s mother, Lydi, said, “the Divines have spared our other five children. They’re all here, within the Temple.”
“Good.”
“And, if the Divines are just,” Lydi continued, “you will also be spared come the next trial.”
“Whether or not the Divines are just,” Aloisia interjected, “I will see that he is.” She glanced over her shoulder, scowling at Lusana, who now commanded the physician’s attention near the altar.
“Speak against the Divines again, in Their Temple no less, and I will slap you, girl,” Ma said.
Aloisia whipped around. “Ma!”
Fynn chuckled, lowering his head onto Ma’s shoulder. She patted him on the cheek, like she would when he was a boy.
Mavka passed by, heading to the altar, and held out a hand to Aloisia. “Come. The high priest and the magistrate asked for us to speak of what we saw. To tell the townsfolk of what has transpired beyond the Temple.”
Aloisia inclined her head. Giving Ma’s hand one last squeeze, and leaving Fynn beside her, she joined her sisters as they strode towards the pulpit. Magistrate Vester and High Priest Silas shadowed their steps. Asmund wrung his hands, the only sign of his nerves.
The huntresses approached the pulpit, and a silence fell upon the nave. Mavka led their account, telling of how they had been called on to protect Littlewatch and they had ridden for the town at once. She handed over to Aloisia who told of how they had walked the abandoned streets, saving those they could and mourning those they could not.
Aloisia spoke of the events in Execution Square. Lusana shot her a glare, but still she persisted in telling of how the Modäiti had brought Fynn to the platform, how his words had not affected the creatures, how they captured one of them and the others had fled at the scholar’s magic.
The townsfolk listened; no voices whispered. Even when Aloisia had finished her tale, they did not speak. Silence stretched out around them, no one brave enough to break it. Horror settled within Aloisia, staring out at the townsfolk gathered and realising how few there were, and the fate of those who had not made it to the Temple. A similar terror was reflected in the faces of many.
Finally, after an impossibly long moment, High Priest Silas approached the pulpit and Aloisia retreated with her sisters.
“It is clear,” Silas said, “we were, and still are, woefully unprepared for this enemy. Even if the Warriors of Ravencross had made it here in time, I fear it would have made little difference. In fact, it would have been kindling to the flame which has ravaged our town.” He turned to Lusana. “I look, therefore, to the guidance of the Crown.”
Lusana glanced up from where she perched on a velvet stool, the physician winding bandages around her wrist. Her eyes widened a fraction, her calm demeanour quickly smoothing out the worry on her face. She lifted her chin, holding herself a little taller. “Queen Odalis may be my sister, High Priest Silas, but I do not speak for her. Of course, I will take this pressing matter to her. Once I have done what I came here for. The trial of Fynn Smith is yet to be concluded. And, when it is so closely embroiled with this present crisis, it is a matter of great import to bring it to a close and find what truth we can. That truth can then be presented to Queen Odalis, to aid your town going forward.”
