Malachai's Arc

Chapter 3 of 11

Malachai walked the long steps up to the black stone temple with the bone coat buckled tight. Torches burned red in every window. He could hear his brother's voice already through the doors, steady and warm, leading the rite. Malachai pushed the doors open and stepped inside. The chapel was full. Newcomers crowded the back benches, still nervous in their clean robes. Devotees stood shoulder to shoulder near the altar, mouths moving with Shae's words. Shae stood on the raised stone, hands lifted, blue eyes bright above the crowd. He saw Malachai in the doorway and his face broke into a boy's grin. "My brother," Shae called out. The room turned. A cheer went up, ragged at first, then loud. Hands slapped the pews. Someone shouted his name. Shae stepped down from the altar and met him in the aisle. "Take the sermon," he said, low. "They came for you. Half of them heard you were here and walked all night." Malachai climbed the altar step. The pressure in his skull eased another notch, as if his master were leaning in to watch. He looked out at the faces and knew each one belonged to him already. "Loyalty," he said. The room went quiet. "Diablo does not weigh your prayers. He weighs what you are willing to lose." He walked the edge of the altar. "Look at the person beside you. If they died tonight, would you climb higher in his favor? Or would they climb over you?" A man in the third row shifted. Malachai smiled at him. "Only the loyal find his hand," Malachai said. "And loyalty is not a word. It is a knife in your hand and a body at your feet. Prove it. Now. To each other. The last ones breathing are his." A breath held across the room. Then a woman near the front drove her thumbs into the throat of the man next to her. A bench cracked. A boy in clean robes swung a candlestick into his neighbor's temple. The devotees fell on the newcomers. The newcomers fell on each other. Screams filled the black stone hall and did not stop. Shae stood frozen in the aisle, staring up at him. Malachai met his eyes and did not move. The killing washed around Shae's knees. No one touched him. Malachai had not named him. When the noise thinned, Malachai counted the bodies on the flagstones. He stopped counting at forty. Blood ran between the pews and pooled at the altar step. He wiped a fleck from his cheek with the back of his hand. "Shae," he said. "Come. Sit with me." Shae climbed the step. He sat on the stone beside his brother, hands red where he had touched a body to check it. Malachai put an arm around his shoulders. Shae did not pull away. "We need to talk," Malachai said.