Marcus watched Aislinn’s tears spill over, and Brienne went to her to comfort her. Whatever she whispered to Aislinn made the difference, for she nodded to her and then at Marcus.
“How do we accomplish this?” William asked again.
“We must break the ties we have among ourselves and weave another in its place.”
“Another connection? Between . . .?”
Marcus considered it for a moment and then glanced at those around him now. “I think we should try to form a link among us, though I suspect it will not work with Roger. No magic, you know.” He could not help but tweak at the man.
“When can we do this? When can we try?” William asked. Roger remained silent, a suspicious glint in his eyes.
“First I must prepare the others. I think we must do this to protect everyone. If Hugh thinks he can learn our plans in this way, he will continue to take and torture—” He stopped as the huge guard stepped forward. He was the one who’d tortured Corann.
“He will. He is,” he said, confirming Marcus’s fears. “He will.”
“Then we must do this quickly. If he can learn nothing from Devyn, then he may . . .” The man shook his head, extinguishing any hope of rescuing the man he’d raised from a boy.
“I will summon them,” Aislinn said, walking away.
The man trailed not far behind her.
“It will take some time, Will,” Marcus said. “We will call you when it is done.”
“What do we need to do for this? Is there some way to prepare?” Roger asked.
“Nay. Nothing. Just be willing when we try, my friend.” Marcus went to where the priests would gather and explained the situation. Much discussion and disagreement followed, but Marcus wanted everyone to have their chance to speak when coming to a decision among their community. For most of them, it would be the first time without a connection to the others, and it made everyone uneasy.
The ritual took time, and Marcus was exhausted when they completed it. And alone. It was very strange not to feel the others with him. Not to feel Aislinn there. And from her pale face, she was experiencing the same thing.
And Devyn would suddenly be alone in the clutches of the evil one’s sycophant. Offering up prayers for a merciful death for a true follower, Marcus sought his sacrificial knife for the next ritual.
He called William, Brienne, Aislinn, and Roger together, and they sought out a private place in the forest to carry this out. Roger’s face went gray and green when he noticed Marcus’s blade, but he did not explain until they reached a place where he’d discovered several rowan trees growing. The tree, sacred to the gods, would add potent magic to his spell.
He sat on the ground and invited them each to sit in a particular place—priest, fireblood, human, priest, warblood—and then he prayed over the dagger. Then he held his hand out and asked for Roger’s.
“What are you going to do with that?” William’s man asked, not offering his arm.
“You carry no mark. I must make one before we can perform the ritual that will connect us to one another.” Roger glared at him through narrowed eyes and then held out his arm.
Marcus leaned into the circle between them and took hold of Roger’s hand. “Hold on to mine.”
With practiced strokes, he cut into Roger’s forearm, slicing deep into the skin, forming the same shape that he and the other priests, save Aislinn, bore—the stick figure of a man. His blood flowed onto the ground as Marcus chanted the words to sanctify the mark. Then he turned to Brienne.
“Burn it.”
“What?” both Roger and Brienne said at the same time.
“It must be burned. It must be a brand, not cuts of a dagger that can heal. Purify it with your fire.”
He watched as she struggled with the act of burning another human with her powers. He had no doubt she’d seen her father use his powers to hurt and maim, but it was not in her nature and never would be. He did not doubt that she would be called on to use it as a weapon in the days ahead of them.
“Go ahead,” Roger said, grasping Marcus’s arm tightly. “If it must be done, do it now.”
He saw William nod at her, and then she looked to him. At his nod, the sliced flesh began to sizzle and burn. Each cut he’d made searing itself to the others until the skin branded and sealed. Roger hissed and clenched his jaws closed, but otherwise said nothing.
And then it was done and he released Roger’s arm. “I am sorry, Roger,” Brienne said. Tears filled her eyes as she looked over at her husband.
“We all have our duties, Brienne. I’ve had much worse than this in skirmishes and practice,” Roger said. “Now we can do the rest.” Marcus stood up. “We must connect our flesh in order to connect our minds. Like this.” He showed them how to cover and clasp the person’s mark with their opposite hand, creating a circle.
