‘“Recruit?” the alderman blustered. “This monstrosity? Into what?”
‘The man drew his longblade from its sheath, and I caught my breath. Bleeding and battered as I was, I was still a blacksmith’s boy, and that sword was enough to dream wet about. The steel was run through with threads of silver, like bright whorls in darker wood. The pommel was a star – seven-pointed for the Seven Martyrs, surrounded by the circle of the Redeemer’s wheel. In the dim lanternlight, it seemed almost to glow.
‘“We are the Ordo Argent,” Greyhand replied. “The Silver Order of San Michon. And monstrosities are exactly the recruits we need, monsieur. For the enemies we fight are more monstrous still, and if we fail, so too shall God’s mighty church, and his kingdom on earth, and all the world of men.”
‘“Who is this enemy?” Père Louis demanded.
‘Greyhand looked at the priest, lanternlight shining in blood-red eyes. The falcon on his shoulder took wing as the frère turned to the sack on the back of his steed, loosed the chains about it, and slung it into the mud. It grunted as it struck the earth, and as I thought, the shape inside was that of a man. But the thing that dragged its way free of the burlap was nothing close.
‘It was clad in rags, deathly gaunt. Flesh stretched over its bones like a skeleton dipped in skin. It had death-white eyes, wasted lips drawn back from its teeth, but those teeth were long and sharp as a wolf’s. It reared up out of the mud, and a sound like boiling fat bubbled from its throat. All the villagers about me cried out in terror.
‘Suddenly, I was thirteen years old again, standing in the muddy street the day Amélie and Julieta came home. And I was terrified, to be sure. But along with that fear came the memory of my sister. I felt that old, familiar hate, scorching in my chest and tightening my jaw. There’s strength to be found in hatred. There’s a courage forged only in rage. And instead of crying out or stumbling back as the men about me did, I stood with feet apart. And I drew a breath. And I raised my fucking fists.’
‘Impressive,’ Jean-François murmured.
‘I didn’t do it to impress,’ Gabriel growled. ‘Knowing what I know now, I wish to God I had run. I wish I’d pissed my pants and wailed for my mama.’
Gabriel dragged a hand back through his hair and sighed.
‘Call it what you will. Instinct. Stupidity. It’s just the way we’re birthed. There’s no changing it, any more than you can change the will of the wind or the colour of God’s eyes. Of course, that thing lurching towards me gave no shits about my raised fists. But a silver chain binding it to Greyhand’s saddle drew it up short, its hands flailing at my face. The frère slipped from his mount, and at the sound of his boots striking mud, that gaunt and starving monster turned, and I swear by all Seven Martyrs, I heard it whimper. Greyhand raised his arm, sword gleaming in the dark. And he struck, God above, so quick I could barely see it.
‘The silvered pommel crashed into the monster’s jaw. I saw a spray of dark blood and teeth. Greyhand was terrifying with that blade, and I flinched as he struck the monster again, again, until it collapsed in a moaning, battered heap. As Greyhand pushed the thing’s face into the mud with his boot and looked to Père Louis, I saw the same hatred in him that boiled in my own heart. “Who is our enemy, good Father?”
‘He gazed about the terrified villagers, red eyes finally settling on me.
‘“The Dead.”’
There in his chill cell, Gabriel de León paused, running a hand across his stubbled chin. He could hear those words so clearly, Greyhand might well have been imprisoned with him. He was almost tempted to check for the old bastard over his shoulder.
‘Such melodrama,’ Jean-François of the Blood Chastain yawned.
Gabriel shrugged. ‘Greyhand had a flair for it. But as he looked me over with those bright and bloody eyes, I could feel him taking my measure. He reached up with one gloved hand, unlaced his collar so I might see him. Death-pale skin. A face carved from cruelty. He looked as if he’d leave bruises in the sheets where he slept.
‘“You’ve seen one of these before,” he said, nodding to the monster.
‘I had to search long and hard for the words. “My … my sister.”
‘He glanced at my mama and back to me. “Your name is Gabriel de León.”
‘“Oui, Frère.”
‘He smiled like my name struck him funny. “You belong to us now, Little Lion.”
‘I turned to Mama then. And when I saw the resignation on her face, I understood at last. These men were here at her behest. This Greyhand was the help I’d asked her for – the help she herself couldn’t give. There were tears in her eyes. The agony of a lioness who’d do anything to protect her cub, knowing there was nothing now left to do.
‘“No!” Celene spat. “You will not take my brother!”
‘“Celene, hush now,” Mama whispered.
‘“They will not take him!” she cried. “Get behind me, Gabe!”
‘I stepped between the frère and my baby sister as she raised her fists, hugging her tight as she glowered at the riders behind me. I knew she’d have scratched Greyhand’s eyes out of his skull if given half a chance. But meeting the fellow’s cold stare, I could see the truth of it.
‘“These are men of God, sister,” I told her. “This is his will.”
‘“You can’t go!” Celene snapped. “It isn’t fair!”
‘“Perhaps not. But who am I to gainsay the Almighty?”
‘I was terrified, I’ll not lie. I’d no wish to leave ma famille, or my little world. But the villagers were still gathered about us, looking at me with fearful, furious eyes. My teeth were dull as they’d once been, but the red rush of Ilsa’s blood yet lingered in my mouth. And it seemed for a moment that everything stood poised on the edge of a knife. You feel those moments in your soul. These men were offering me salvation. A path to a life I never imagined. And still, I knew there’d come a terrible cost for it. And Mama knew it too.
‘But what choice did I have? I couldn’t stay, not after what I’d done. I didn’t know what I was becoming, I didn’t have any answers, but perhaps these men did. And as I’d asked my sister, who was I to challenge the will of heaven? To defy he who made me? And so, drawing a deep breath, I reached out and took what Greyhand offered.’
Gabriel looked skywards and sighed.
‘And that was it. Lamb to slaughter.’
‘They took you then and there?’ Jean-François asked.
‘They gave me a moment with ma famille. Papa had little to say, but I saw the sword in his hand, and I knew that when my life was on the line, he’d done what little he could to save it. I was afeared at what might happen to Celene without me to look after her, but there was naught I could do. Still, I warned Papa. I fucking warned him.
‘“Mind your daughter. She’s the only child you have left.”
‘Mama wept as I kissed her goodbye, and I was weeping too, holding Celene in my arms. Mama told me to beware the beast. The beast and all his hungers. All my world was coming to pieces, but what could I do? I was being swept up in a river, yet even then, I was old enough to know; there’s a difference between those who swim with the flood and those who drown fighting it. And its name is Wisdom.