firmly on his back, seemingly holding him down with little effort as her other hand twisted inside the black, bloody wound. The first time the goddess removed her hand from Cynyr’s back and drew out a clump of what looked to be slugs and dropped them into Moira’s bucket, the old woman thought she would barf.
“Swallow it down, Moira,” Morrigunia said without looking at the old lady. Moira did as she was told and when the second clump of unmoving forms were thrown into the bucket, she had to hold her breath for the odor was horrific.
“Only two more fledglings,” Morrigunia commented, and dropped the dead nestlings into the bucket. “Now, the queen.”
His attention on the goddess, Bevyn’s breathing was ragged. He’d seen fledglings but never a queen. He had never wanted to. When Morrigunia drew the nearly dead revenant from Cynyr’s body, he stared at the hellion with wide eyes. The wet, sucking sound it made as it was pulled free made him gag and turn away, feeling the hot bile rising up his throat.
Arawn also was watching what the goddess was doing but what he was seeing had no effect on him, for Morrigunia had placed him deeply beneath her calming spell. Completely detached, he took in the eel-like abomination with its green flesh covered in hard scales. About a foot in length—the tip of its tail forked and covered with sharp spines—the queen’s elliptical red eyes were turning cloudy as death rapidly approached. Its maw of a mouth in the triangular plains of its warty head was open, revealing rows of sharp glistening fangs as it gasped for breath. A forked tongue lay at the corner of its maw and dripped a slimy white fluid that—when it dribbled on the wool blanket covering the cot upon which Cynyr lay—ate through the material and plopped on the floor, sizzling.
“By all that is holy,” Moira said as Morrigunia dropped the dying creature into the bucket she held. The old woman stared down at the feebly moving thing until it lay still.
“I need that queen, Bevyn Coure!” Morrigunia snapped.
Arawn did not move as his back was cut open and his fellow Reaper’s shaking hand drove down into his back. His eyes barely flickered when Bevyn cried out—the queen sending a burning shock up his arm when he gripped her spiny body—and jerked the thing out of him.
“Poor baby,” Moira whispered.
“He won’t feel the pain when I release him,” Morrigunia told Moira. 57
Charlotte Boyett-Compo
With the thrashing revenant clasped in his hand, his forearm and shoulder throbbing with pain, Bevyn passed the wriggling hellion through the bars between the two cells, relieved when Morrigunia took it out of his hand. He slumped against the bars, sweat glistening on his ashen face.
“Be still!” the goddess hissed at the whipping creature, and it became immobile in her tight grasp.
Moira looked up from the ebon-stained mass of revenants lying in the bottom of the bucket and drew in a harsh breath as Morrigunia dropped a live version of the hideous queen onto Cynyr’s back. Before the old woman could blink her horrified eyes, the thing dove down through the wound on the Reaper’s back and disappeared, bunching up under his skin. The flesh along the small of his back rose up as the creature coiled and uncoiled around his spinal column. Everyone in the jail—including Morrigunia—
jumped when Cynyr Cree let out a piercing scream of agony that reverberated off the stone walls.
“It has attached itself to his kidney,” the goddess said with a breath of obvious relief. “It has accepted its new host and will begin to repair the damage to Cynyr’s organs and nervous system.”
Cynyr was whimpering, his fingers plucking at the leather restraints holding his wrists. Tears were streaming down his eyes but he laid still save for the constant movement of his fingers.
“Sleep now, Reaper,” Morrigunia said, placing her hand on her patient’s cheek.
“Sleep and let the parasite heal
“Swallow it down, Moira,” Morrigunia said without looking at the old lady. Moira did as she was told and when the second clump of unmoving forms were thrown into the bucket, she had to hold her breath for the odor was horrific.
“Only two more fledglings,” Morrigunia commented, and dropped the dead nestlings into the bucket. “Now, the queen.”
His attention on the goddess, Bevyn’s breathing was ragged. He’d seen fledglings but never a queen. He had never wanted to. When Morrigunia drew the nearly dead revenant from Cynyr’s body, he stared at the hellion with wide eyes. The wet, sucking sound it made as it was pulled free made him gag and turn away, feeling the hot bile rising up his throat.
Arawn also was watching what the goddess was doing but what he was seeing had no effect on him, for Morrigunia had placed him deeply beneath her calming spell. Completely detached, he took in the eel-like abomination with its green flesh covered in hard scales. About a foot in length—the tip of its tail forked and covered with sharp spines—the queen’s elliptical red eyes were turning cloudy as death rapidly approached. Its maw of a mouth in the triangular plains of its warty head was open, revealing rows of sharp glistening fangs as it gasped for breath. A forked tongue lay at the corner of its maw and dripped a slimy white fluid that—when it dribbled on the wool blanket covering the cot upon which Cynyr lay—ate through the material and plopped on the floor, sizzling.
“By all that is holy,” Moira said as Morrigunia dropped the dying creature into the bucket she held. The old woman stared down at the feebly moving thing until it lay still.
“I need that queen, Bevyn Coure!” Morrigunia snapped.
Arawn did not move as his back was cut open and his fellow Reaper’s shaking hand drove down into his back. His eyes barely flickered when Bevyn cried out—the queen sending a burning shock up his arm when he gripped her spiny body—and jerked the thing out of him.
“Poor baby,” Moira whispered.
“He won’t feel the pain when I release him,” Morrigunia told Moira. 57
Charlotte Boyett-Compo
With the thrashing revenant clasped in his hand, his forearm and shoulder throbbing with pain, Bevyn passed the wriggling hellion through the bars between the two cells, relieved when Morrigunia took it out of his hand. He slumped against the bars, sweat glistening on his ashen face.
“Be still!” the goddess hissed at the whipping creature, and it became immobile in her tight grasp.
Moira looked up from the ebon-stained mass of revenants lying in the bottom of the bucket and drew in a harsh breath as Morrigunia dropped a live version of the hideous queen onto Cynyr’s back. Before the old woman could blink her horrified eyes, the thing dove down through the wound on the Reaper’s back and disappeared, bunching up under his skin. The flesh along the small of his back rose up as the creature coiled and uncoiled around his spinal column. Everyone in the jail—including Morrigunia—
jumped when Cynyr Cree let out a piercing scream of agony that reverberated off the stone walls.
“It has attached itself to his kidney,” the goddess said with a breath of obvious relief. “It has accepted its new host and will begin to repair the damage to Cynyr’s organs and nervous system.”
Cynyr was whimpering, his fingers plucking at the leather restraints holding his wrists. Tears were streaming down his eyes but he laid still save for the constant movement of his fingers.
“Sleep now, Reaper,” Morrigunia said, placing her hand on her patient’s cheek.
“Sleep and let the parasite heal
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