darkened blade_ A fallen blade novel - Kelly McCullough Page 0,86

Faran’s feet and the head of the goddess, perpendicular to both. Then she looked at me. “Your first duty as sponsor is to close the doors of steel around the petitioner.”

I drew my own swords and laid them so that a triangle of goddess-forged steel enclosed Faran hilt-to-point-to-hilt in a never-ending loop. When I stood up, Siri’s eyes met my own, and I knew her well enough to read a clear and simple message there.

Don’t fuck up.

I nodded even though it felt like my heart and stomach had decided to wage the most devastating sort of magical war on each other, laying waste to the whole of what lay around and between them in their battle. Siri turned her attention back to Faran, stepping to her left.

“I am Siri the Mythkiller. The Challenger’s sword is mine to deliver.” She extended her hand.

Faran nodded and flipped her left-hand sword around, extending the hilt to Siri, who took it and looked at me. “Sponsor, the other sword is yours.”

I took a deep breath and forced a calm I didn’t feel as I stepped to Faran’s right—I had a horrible suspicion that I knew where this was going, and I didn’t like it even a little bit. But the decision was Faran’s. “I am Aral the Kingslayer. The Sponsor’s sword is mine to deliver.”

Faran offered me her other sword, and I took two steps to the north, following Siri as she made the same move on the other side. We now stood slightly behind Faran, with the head of the goddess between us.

Siri spoke again. “Faran Ghostwind, you have chosen the way of ordeal. Assume your place.”

Faran nodded and leaned back against the head of the goddess, extending her arms behind her so that the backs of her wrists touched the goddess’s temples. “I am ready.”

Siri looked at me again as she raised the sword and turned it carefully, placing the point against the inside of Faran’s right wrist, its back toward her palm. I mirrored her action, though what I really wanted to do was swear and shout and call the whole thing off.

“The ordeal begins now.” Siri drove the sword through Faran’s wrist, sinking it deep into the stone.

I did the same. There was a tiny bit of resistance as the point passed through Faran’s flesh, but virtually none at all when it hit the stone. Pushing it forward until the hilt touched Faran’s skin took virtually no physical effort, though the emotional cost made me want to vomit.

Faran’s back arched and every muscle in her body went tight and hard. But she didn’t cry out. It wasn’t until the blood started dripping from the corner of her mouth that I realized she’d bitten her lip through in her efforts to remain silent. More blood rolled slowly down the stone from Faran’s wrists, though nowhere near as much as I would have expected from such wounds.

Nor was Ssithra spared the ordeal. Faran had drawn her familiar around her, forming a second, shadowy skin as part of the ritual, just as the rest of us had. Now Ssithra’s substance roiled and twisted around the place where the steel pierced her partner’s flesh, and I knew that Ssithra had submerged neither will nor sensation for the ordeal.

I couldn’t resist the urge to tug ever so lightly on the sword as I stepped back and slid my grip free of the hilt to mirror Siri’s actions. It felt as tightly fixed in the stone as if it had been pounded into place with a sledgehammer. When Siri moved back around in front of Faran and lowered herself to sit cross-legged there, I quickly joined her. It reduced the temptation to try to wrench the sword from the stone—an act I knew to be both against the spirit of the ritual and quite futile. That sword wasn’t going anywhere before the proper ritual conditions had been fulfilled.

Siri didn’t look any happier about the thing than I felt, and I could hear her slow-counting the seconds away under her breath. By the time the tally reached ten minutes, I thought that I would burst. More than ever I wanted to scream this horror to a halt. But if Faran could bear the pain in silence, I knew that I couldn’t fail her by doing less.

When half an hour had passed, Siri touched my shoulder and we rose together.

“Faran Ghostwind, you have stood the test of pain,” said Siri. “You may now release yourself or ask for