The temple in the village we came across was smaller than the one where I’d spent my days on my knees in Mistfell. The building was still crafted from stone, but there was no tower jutting up toward the sky to reach for the afterlife, only a single story that crouched low to the ground. The windows were plain, not the four-paned windows that had let light filter in through glass, which was far too expensive unless it had been gifted.
We skirted around the edge of the village, hugging the tree line as we kept an eye out for any stragglers who hadn’t yet gone to Temple or who risked the wrath of their High Priest for a few moments’ delay.
The village was silent, the presence of everyone required inside the weekly Temple, making it the perfect time for us to gather supplies without detection. I knew from experience that even the Mist Guard was severely limited in terms of who took shifts that brought them away from the sacred weekly worship.
Caelum peeked toward the Temple and through the window, his gaze snagging on the worshipers kneeling before the Priestess where she walked with her switch at her side, ready to discipline any who didn’t bow to her satisfaction.
“Fucking zealots,” Caelum muttered, turning away from the scene in front of us. We made our way further around the village, getting as far away from the temple as we could manage.
“You seem rather interested in the Old Gods,” I said, squinting up at him as he moved through the shadows at the edge of the woods. He carved his body through them with well-practiced ease, claiming them as his own and molding himself into them so well that I suspected I wouldn’t have been able to see him if I’d been a passing villager. “Some would say that makes you the zealot.”
“At least the Old Gods didn’t advocate a life of boredom. They lived for the sake of pleasure, not some potential doom that came after thirteen life cycles. I will never understand why people would choose to spend their life on their knees when they could do anything and be anything they wanted,” he said, grasping my hand in his and dragging me alongside him to keep up when I wasn’t as talented at keeping to the shadows as he was.
“That’s a pretty notion, but is it ever really a choice when the alternative to obedience is death?” I asked, stepping out into the yard of one of the houses on the outskirts of the village with Caelum. He grabbed a heavy wool cloak off the clothesline, tossing it over the top of his where it rested on my shoulders, to hold as he pulled me toward the door to the house itself.
“I would rather die on my feet than live in service to something I don’t believe in,” he said, shrugging his shoulders as he pressed his ear to the door. When there was no sound, he pressed the latch down and pushed it open slowly.
Empty.
He moved inside quickly, tugging me to follow and closing the door behind him. “Boots,” he ordered me, gesturing to the few pairs of shoes at the side of the door. I slipped mine off, wincing at the stains of blood that soaked the heel on my socks and leaked down to cover the soles of my feet.
Caelum froze in place where he’d started to move to one of the bedrooms, his gaze snagging on the blood. “The next time you try to downplay your injuries, I’ll toss you over my shoulder and carry you whether you like it or not. Is that understood, Little One?” he snapped, retreating into the bedroom as I peeled the ruined socks off my feet, as well.
Caelum emerged, clutching a pair of women’s trousers and a pair of socks. “Put these on,” he ordered, and I took the pants from him. The fabric was heavy, warmer than I’d ever felt.
“What are these?” I asked, having never seen a woman in pants in my life.
I hiked up my dress, slipping a leg through each of the holes and sighing contentedly the moment the warm fabric wrapped around my legs. “Wealthy women wear them under their dresses when it’s cold. They’re called leggings,” he said, turning his attention away briefly when my undergarments would have come into view. He’d seen it all, but I still appreciated the moment of privacy as the leggings settled around my waist and covered my ass.
I wiped the excess blood from my feet with a rag I found in the kitchen, doing my best not to ruin the new, thick socks that I pulled on before I stepped into the women’s boots that I’d chosen. They weren’t a perfect fit, but they were far, far better than the ones I’d had before.
“I think you underestimate the power of being raised to believe in something so deeply that you truly fear the consequences of disobedience that will come after death,” I said, thinking of all the times Bernice had tormented me with what would be waiting for me in the arms of The Mother if I continued to prove a disappointment.
The agony. The abuse. The retribution that I could only pay in blood.
“And yet you do not seem compelled now to attend Temple. You lived your life according to their rules, and what did that get you?” Caelum asked, a shadow passing over his face in a furious expression before he shoved it down. “They don’t deserve your loyalty.”
“They don’t have my loyalty. They never did, despite their desperate attempts to mold me into a Lady,” I said, accepting the hand he offered. He guided me out of the house cautiously, taking me to the edge of the woods where he found an axe stuck into the tree stump the owner used to chop wood. He pulled the heavy thing free as we passed, not even pausing in his steps as he wrenched it from the wood.
“Is that why you were so quick to run? You must have been, in order to escape in one piece,” Caelum said, glancing back toward the village as we ducked into the trees once more.
“Let’s just say the only thing waiting for me in Mistfell was death, even before the Veil fell,” I said. His brow furrowed, his jaw tensing for a moment before he grimaced and turned away.
“Stay here,” he ordered, ducking back into the village. I nodded, even though he’d already turned his back on me, watching as he darted around the outskirts and gathered supplies from outside of people’s homes.
I turned my stare to the sky and studied the position of the sun, readying myself for Temple to end. By the time he returned to my side, there was a pack slung across his shoulders, filled with supplies he’d gathered from the fringes of the village while I observed him from the corner of my eye. He’d snuck in and out of barns and houses, shoving in rope and blankets, more flint, and an extra canteen.
The axe he’d found was strapped to the sheath that crossed his back beneath his cloak. Between his two swords, the axe, and the dagger strapped to his thigh, he cut a formidable figure.
I held out a hand for the pack he’d loaded with the supplies, knowing that all the weapons he carried must have been heavy; not to mention, the pack would only hinder his ability to get to them if we needed them.