Stone of Tears

They glanced at each other. Ranson lifted his hand a little. “Our robes, Sister? Now? Here?”

She looked to each. “don’t be bashful, boys. I have seen you both swim naked in the lake since you were only this big.” She held her hand out just below her waist.

“But that was when we were boys,” Weber complained. “Not since we have grown into men.”

She glowered at them. “don’t make me have to tell you again. The next time, I will burn them off you.”

They both flinched and began pulling their robes over their heads. She made a deliberate point of looking each up and down, just to show them her displeasure with their argument. Each man’s face turned red in the torchlight.

With a flick of her wrist, she brought her knife to her hand. “Up against the wall. Both of you.”

When they didn’t move quickly enough, she used the collars to slam them against the wall. With a thin stream of power to each Rada’Han, she immobilized them against the stone. They were flattened against the wall and helpless to lift a finger.

“Please, Sister,” Ranson whispered, “don’t kill us. We’ll do anything. Anything.”

Her cold gaze settled on his dark eyes. “Yes, you will. One of you anyway. But we haven’t gotten to the oath yet. Now still your tongue or I will do it for you.”

As the two were held helpless, she moved to Weber first. Putting the knife tip against his upper chest, she drew it slowly down, carefully cutting through the skin and no more. Sweat poured from Weber’s face as he gritted his teeth. His jowls shook. After she had made a cut, about a forearm long, she went back to where she had begun and made another next to it, so the two cuts were about a finger’s width apart. Small, high-pitched sounds escaped from the man’s throat as she drew the knife along. The ends of the lines drew together to a point. Small trickles of blood ran down his chest. She worked the knifepoint under the top, between the cuts, separating the skin from him until there was a generous flap of it hanging down.

She moved over to Ranson and made the same twin cuts, with a flap of skin hanging away at the top. Tears ran down his face with the sweat, but he said nothing. He knew better. When finished, she straightened and inspected her work. They looked the same. Good. She tucked the knife back up her sleeve.

“One of you two is going to have the Rada’Han taken off tomorrow, and be free to go. As far as the Sisters of the Light are concerned, anyway. Not as far as I, or more importantly, the Keeper, are concerned. It will be the beginning of your service to him. If you serve well, you will be rewarded when he is free of the veil. If you fail in your tasks… well, you wouldn’t want to know what would happen to you if you should fail him.”

“Sister,” Ranson asked in a shaky voice, “why only one of us? We could both give the oath. We could both serve.”

Weber’s sudden glare shifted to his friend. He didn’t like being spoken for. He always had been obstinate.

“The oath is a blood oath. One of you will have to pass my test to earn the privilege of taking it. The other is going to lose the gift tonight, lose his magic. Do you know how a wizard loses the gift?”

They both shook their heads.

“When they are skinned, the magic bleeds from them.” She said it as if she were discussing peeling a pear. “Bleeds away until it’s all gone.”

Weber stared at her, his face gone white. Ranson closed his dark eyes and shook.

At the same time, she wrapped the flap of skin on each man around her first fingers. “I’m going to ask for a volunteer. This is just a little demonstration of what is in store for the one who volunteers. I don’t want either of you to think dying is going to be the easy way out.” She gave them a warm smile. “You have my permission to scream, boys. I believe this is going to hurt.”

She yanked the strips of skin off their chests. She waited patiently for the screams to stop, and even a little while longer while they sobbed. It was always good to let a lesson sink in.

“Please, Sister, we serve the Creator, as the Sisters have taught us,” Weber cried. “We serve the Creator, not the Keeper.”

She regarded him coolly. “since you are so loyal to the Creator, Sam, I will give you first choice. Do you want to be the one to live, or to die tonight?”

“Why him?” Ranson demanded. “Why does he get to choose first?”

“Keep your tongue still, Neville. You will speak when spoken to.” She slid her gaze back to Weber. She lifted his chin with a finger. “Well, Sam? Who dies, you or your best friend?” She folded her arms across her breasts.

He looked up at her with hollow eyes. His skin was ashen. He didn’t look over at his friend. His voice came in a flat whisper.

“Me. Kill me. Let Neville live. I won’t give an oath to the Keeper. I would rather die.”

She looked back into his empty eyes a moment and then turned to Ranson. “And what have you to say, Neville? Who lives? Who dies? You, or your best friend in the world. Who gives the Keeper their oath?”