Turning, I take in Harper, that haughtily lifted chin. Her long ebony braid snakes free of her raised hood.
When I do not immediately respond, she takes it upon herself to point out my misstep. “You showed every person how to draw their dagger but me. Why is that?”
I lift an eyebrow. “I thought you already knew what to do.” At her blank expression, I elaborate, “You stick the pointed side into flesh?”
Harper blinks in surprise, then snorts. “Not my brightest moment, admittedly.”
Indeed. It’s comical that she once thought to best a god with nothing but a paltry blade. “Give me your hand.”
As I did with the others, I lead her step-by-step through the motions of drawing the dagger from its sheath. In the background, the women stir nervously, a few choosing to walk the cloister while we wait.
“If you need to draw it,” I say, angling closer so my voice doesn’t carry, “hold the dagger like this.” I rearrange her fingers so they curl around the hilt, her thumb brushing the top of her index finger. Harper’s eyes meet mine, wide with uncertainty. “Just in case.”
“Brielle.” Mother Mabel glides toward me, hands linked at her front. Meirlach’s ruby pommel emanates a pristine scarlet hue. “I take it you spoke with the Father?”
Harper retreats to give us privacy, and I force myself to meet the abbess’ depthless gaze. “He helped set me on the right path.” With some effort, the tension eases from my face. My mouth curves slightly. “My place is here.”
She smiles in return. In all my years, I’ve never seen one reach her eyes. Tonight is no different. “As it should be.”
Moving off, Mother Mabel directs everyone into position. We stand in two columns, our white albs peeking beneath the hems of our heavy wool cloaks, my pack sitting discreetly against my lower back. The novitiates wear white, the acolytes, red. We wear our trinity necklaces, our gloves. Harper and I stand shoulder to shoulder near the back.
A cold wind drags across the spiked blades of grass, and the mountain’s chill settles. I’ve done all I could to protect what’s mine. I placed milk and barley on my windowsill, at the threshold of my bedroom door. I’ve armored myself in iron.
“You all know why you’re here.” Mother Mabel lifts a hand to address the group. Not even the bone-white pallor of her skin penetrates the deep cowl of her hood.
“Tonight, the barrier between realms is at its thinnest, and another seven-year cycle draws to a close. Our journey will take us to Miles Cross.Please understand the importance of your commitment. Participation in the tithe will allow us to retain ownership of Thornbrook and its surrounding lands for another seven years. The price is blood.
“For those of you who have never participated, please listen carefully. Do not speak. Touch nothing but your daggers. If someone offers you food or drink, you decline.” Down the line she goes, looking each woman in the eye. “Do not step off the grassy path. When the time comes, you offer one drop of blood, nothing more.” At the back of the line, she stops, voice ringing against the old stone pillars. “Lastly, do not take off your necklaces. Keep them safe.”
Mother Mabel then strides back to the head of the columns. “Remember. Although we have protections in place, we venture into unfamiliar territory. The rules of Under are not ours to control.” She scans the group. “Any questions?”
Our names,I think. Why would she not mention our names?
“I already warned the others about speaking their names aloud,” Harper murmurs with a sidelong glance in my direction, though she, too, appears confused by Mother Mabel’s oversight.
I’m so surprised by Harper’s consideration I can only nod mutely.
With a wave of her hand, we fall into step behind the Abbess on High and depart Thornbrook beneath the gatehouse archway, its black points cutting as cleanly as knives through the dark.
As we make our way toward the entrance, Under thrums beneath our boots, hungry for mortal flesh. A dull roar announces the River Twee. Clumped together on the sloping bank, we stare at the lashing current galloping downstream. Harper leans into my side, shaking. I’m not certain she’s aware of it.
“Deep breath,” I whisper.
She snaps her head toward me, pupils blown. “Are you afraid?”
“Yes,” I whisper, but not for the reason she thinks. The West Wind draws me to this realm’s edge. I must know of his welfare. I must accept that I have changed. “It will be all right,” I tell Harper.
Not far from where we congregate, the water splits. Floating a foot above the rapids, slender wisps of water spiral upward, merginginto the pinnacle of an ornate archway, beneath which rests a set of translucent doors fashioned from sheets of falling water. Like panes of wavering glass, they cast reflections in the low light.
Those nearest to the river clump even tighter together. “By the Father,” someone whispers. None of us have ever witnessed an enchantment such as this.
Two gilded handles materialize, and my heart begins to pound with increasing urgency. As the rushing current tapers off, the river recedes to reveal a handful of flat stones leading to the strange doorway.
“We will enter in pairs,” Mother Mabel informs us.
Something brushes my hand. I glance down to see Harper’s gloved fingers twined lightly around mine.
Lifting my head, I meet her wide-eyed gaze. As the doors crack open, the sweet reek of decay rolls forth. How could I have forgotten this scent? Growing things trapped beneath the earth.
