Children of the Wastes (The Aionach Saga Book 2) Read Online Free Page A

responsible for the Order’s low
reserves, Bastille knew. As the priest in charge of supplies and inventories,
Froderic had enjoyed exclusive access to the storerooms. As Bastille had
discovered, Froderic had enjoyed it a little too much. He was trading away
our stores in exchange for sex slaves. His clandestine affairs are the very
thing that killed him and impoverished us . “I pray you have the right of
it, kind Sister. We all await Froderic’s return anxiously.”
    Liero cleared his throat. “We thank you for your testimony
this morning, Sister Bastille, and we rejoice with you for having chosen the
path of the Esteemed. Sister Gallica will see to the arrangement of your
induction ceremony. Now, you’ve been standing there looking positively
exhausted. I suggest you get some rest before the welcoming this afternoon.
Your presence will of course be required when the new initiates come in. Brother
Reynard’s team is more than capable of handling things in the infirmary while
you’re away.”
    “Thank you, kind Brother.” Bastille exited the meeting
chamber and trudged off toward her room, hoping to reach it without any other
postponements. The basilica’s normal schedule had suffered in the wake of the
attack—in her case especially. With no students to teach anymore, she had spent
every waking moment performing either surgery or sacrifice. There had been far
too many waking moments and far too few sleeping ones, in her opinion.
    She’d made it to the dormitory hall with her bedchamber door
in sight when someone slipped into view from around the corner. Daylight shone
through the windows ahead, wreathing the figure in a bright halo. Bastille kept
her eyes on her destination, praying that a curt greeting would be enough to
get her by.
    “Kind Sister Bastille,” called Brother Ephamar. The
basilica’s head librarian was a stunted, plain-looking man with an altogether
unremarkable affect. “It’s so good to see you well. All this confusion has put
me at my wit’s end. I’ve not seen you at the athenaeum in too long. You’ve been
by to see us on Sister Helliot’s watch, no doubt.”
    She hadn’t. Bastille had once been a dedicated student of the
scriptures, but recent events had turned her attentions to other things. “Yes,
I’m sure that’s it,” she said.
    “How have you been faring in the midst of all this dreadful
business?” he asked.
    “I’ve been making new Cypriests since it happened, kind
Brother,” she said.
    “You—is it you who’s been aiding Soleil and Reynard? Oh, yes
of course it is. Silly me.”
    “Just Reynard, I’m afraid. Soleil is now a Father himself.”
    “Oh, dear. Is he, now? I take that to mean his enhancements
were a success?”
    “Too early to tell. He’s resting at the moment. He’ll need
more time to recover.”
    “As you say, kind Sister.” Ephamar gave her a polite smile.
    Bastille was in no mood to carry on meaningless pleasantries.
Let Ephamar get his gossip somewhere else. There were scant few hours left
before the afternoon’s events—hours during which she intended to be dead to the
world. “If you’ll excuse me.”
    Ephamar nodded, looking somewhat hurt, and continued down the
hall.
    Bastille locked her bedchamber door and slipped out of her
robes, letting them puddle on the floor. The sounds of shovels in hard dirt
drifted through her window as the Mothers tended to their duties in the
graveyard. She was too tired to let it bother her. She was half-asleep before
her head hit the pillow.
    Bastille had been having the same dream every night since she
encountered the dark presence beneath the conservatory grotto. She was down in
the Catacombs again, standing beside those great metal machines as stacks of
paper fluttered behind her in some unseen wind, black and wet with mold. The
face was looking out at her through the porthole window, its gaze so compelling
it held her in place. Its eyes pierced her like knives, seeing through to her
most