The Bound Angel (Sacrilege Rising: Book 1)

Chapter Eighteen

“My friends,” Silas said, keeping his voice calm. “Thank you for joining me tonight. I could not be prouder. You have all come a very long way. Mary,” he looked at a woman on the right. She was thin and frail, with graying hair and sunken eyes. She’d been poisoning her husband’s food for months and now he was in the hospital, finally succumbing to his sickness.

“The road you have traveled these last weeks was steep and broken, with pitfalls around every turn. I am so thankful you have finally arrived. Frank,” he turned to a younger man on the right. He was out on bail for manslaughter after hitting a pedestrian while driving home from the bar.

“None of us is perfect, but few have the bravery to atone for their sins. Your courage should be commended. Alice…” he continued down the line, speaking to each person in turn, looking them in the eye to reinforce the connections he’d nurtured. There were six here tonight. Six lost souls looking for guidance.

“Such a long way. You have all traveled far, navigating life’s challenges as best you can. And now you stand at a precipice. Each of you has a choice to make, and I cannot make it for you. Do you continue on? Struggling and toiling away, your minds and bodies broken with no relief in sight, no reward on the horizon? Or do you make a different choice? A bolder choice. Tonight you have the opportunity to devote yourselves to something bigger, something that matters, to commit to a cause that will be spoken of with reverence in the days and years to come. Will you send a message, loud and clear, that you will not tolerate these injustices any longer?”

The looks in their eyes varied from person to person. Some were confident, others scared. As their shepherd, it was Silas’ responsibility to temper those that were too eager, and encourage those that still doubted. Mary’s hands were shaking, threatening to spill the cup she gripped with white knuckles.

“If you return to your lives, it is not a sign of weakness. On the contrary, it shows strength. A willingness to persevere, day after day, week after week, year after year, until the last remaining spark of hope and ambition has been ground into dust. If any choose that path, there will be no judgment here tonight. Familiarity breeds comfort. But, as each of you has come to learn, comfort is not always enough. If you choose a different way, a way that is daring and courageous, bold and resolute, I swear that your flame shall burn brighter than it ever has. Your deeds will be revered, and your names whispered with awe. Let us pray.”

Together, they spoke the now-familiar prayer. The words twisted truth while not lying outright. It spoke of benevolence and empathy without mentioning cost. It rejected tyranny without consideration for what would fill the void. It opposed injustice and encouraged noble pursuits while obscuring the question of who decided what was just. As the last words were spoken, Silas let their echo settle over his congregation, looking to each in turn. One last bit of reassurance. The room seemed to hum with energy, and he recognized the signs.

“It is time.” Silas raised his arms. His flock lifted their cups to their mouths. Some stared at the dark liquid within, seemingly searching for some hidden property. Some sniffed the air above it as one might an expensive glass of wine. Others closed their eyes, too afraid to even look. The air felt heavy and charged, like just before a storm. Nobody moved. Instead, they looked around at each other with nervous energy, waiting to see who would be first.

Frank lifted the cup to his lips. With tears streaming down his face, he tipped his head back and drank until it was empty. His actions were the spark, and before he was finished the others were following suit.

The smallest were the first to feel its effects. Joan, short and wiry and who couldn’t have weighed more than ninety pounds, held the wall to steady herself. Her head drooped loosely, first to one side, then the other, before coming back upright for a brief moment, and then lolling again.

Clarence went down to one knee with his face in his hands. Marco started to lean, reflexively stumbling to keep from falling over, until he overcompensated and hit the floor with a thud.

A few minutes later, only one person was still upright. Mary. Her hands were trembling so hard she couldn’t hold the cup steady enough to drink from. That wouldn’t do. Six was the required number, and Silas wasn’t prepared to break from the scripture just yet. He asked, “Would you like my help, dear?”

Her nod was all the agreement he needed. Circling his hands around hers, he lifted the cup to her lips, tilting it back for her as the rest of his flock fell to the floor like loose sacks of meat.

The candles grew brighter. The chalk circle on the floor began to glow. An impossible wind picked up, swirling around the room. These familiar signs didn’t scare Silas. In fact, he was encouraged. For although his first attempt was a failure, he’d learned from it.

The memory of that day was vivid in his mind. The doors and windows slamming open. Wind whistling through the hallways as laughter rumbled from the walls. The laughter held a message. It appeared in his mind like a lit match. There was nothing wrong with the theory in the bloodred tome, he just needed more power.

Mary was the last to die. As her knees thudded on the hardwood, Silas felt something shift behind reality’s veil. Like a breeze changing direction, or the first autumn leaf falling from a great tree.

A hand reached through the glowing circle in the middle of his living room. It was thin and gray and bony, its nails yellow and cracked. Its mate followed, and a moment later, a creature pulled itself through the portal. It was a tiny thing, no bigger than a toddler. Its hair was thin and wispy, and the wings that sprouted from its back were pocked and ragged. It had trouble standing upright, constantly listing and stumbling from side to side within the circle. It was a weak, fledgling thing.

But it was the most beautiful sight of Silas’ life. His eyes widened as a smile spread over his face. He dropped to one knee. Hesitantly, he reached his hands out, palms up. At first, the creature stumbled back, clearly afraid. But when Silas held steady, it looked up at him with wide, mucus-filled eyes. Then it placed its hands in his own, and Silas began to weep.

Around the creature’s throat was a smooth black band with a single, silver loop.