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

vulnerable parts. She was terrified, yet she did not want to leave. She
couldn’t break away, yet the feeling of being so exposed—so known —aroused
her like a drug. She looked into those eyes and couldn’t turn away. Or maybe
she didn’t want to.
    She had been locked in that dream for what felt like hours
when a knock on her bedchamber door jolted her awake. When she sat up, a steel
ball rolled through her skull and crashed into her forehead. She was still so
tired it felt like she’d only managed a few moments of sleep. The headache tore
into her as she stood and shuffled to the door.
    Brother Eustis’s bulbous nose and dimpled cheeks flushed when
he saw Sister Bastille in her underclothes. Her headaches made her
absent-minded sometimes, but she’d forgotten all about putting her robes on.
She shied away behind the door, grunting with embarrassment. It was as though
she’d woken from one bad dream only to find herself in another.
    “Apologies, kind Sister,” said Brother Eustis, averting his
eyes. “The Fathers are preparing to escort the initiates in through the gates.
Sister Gallica asked me to come fetch you out to the west yard for the
welcoming ceremony.”
    “Tell her I’ll be there shortly.” She shut the door in his
face, sat on the bed, and clutched her head in her hands. Her temples were
pounding. Sleep usually alleviated her headaches, but today her short nap had
only succeeding in bringing one on. There was no time to worry about how she
felt.
    Donning her ceremonial robes, Bastille ran a brush through
her hair, tied it back, and lifted her hood. Her feet were unsteady beneath her
as she walked the empty halls, the steel ball still rolling around inside her
skull. The absence of others told her she must be very late indeed.
    By the time she exited the basilica through its stained-glass
front doors, the gates were open. Priests and acolytes lined the west yard,
clustered beneath the building’s shadow in robes of purple velvet. Sister Larue
was leading the new initiates through the gates. They passed between two
opposite-facing rows of Cypriests standing at attention and halted before the
Most High.
    The initiates were as lean and unwashed as any group Bastille
had ever seen. While most of the Order’s recruits were from South Belmond, the
basilica saw the occasional arrival from some remote corner of the Aionach.
That seemed to be the case today; one of the young men had the look of the
eastern port cities, and Bastille immediately picked him out as a Farstrander.
He strutted in like a spring rooster, wearing netted cloth and rope jewelry
infused with beads and seashells. His eyes were wild and fierce, and his hair
hung about his shoulders in thick tangled knots. Bastille guessed him from
Yellow Harbor or Cowl’s Pier, a former ship’s hand or beachcomber searching for
something more.
    They’re all searching for something more, aren’t they? she thought bitterly, her head throbbing like a bruise. How many will be
fortunate enough to discover that there is nothing more?
    The gates were banded with new metalwork where Brother Jaquar
and his artificers had reforged them. The hinges creaked as the Cypriests
guided them to a close. Bastille remembered the day when she’d stood where
these newcomers were standing now, watching the gates shut out the world behind
them. Brother Froderic had given them a short speech as they waited in the old
bus station down the street.
    “The Most High Order of the Infernal Mouth takes no
hostages,” Brother Froderic had said. “There are no prisoners within our
walls—only those who have chosen to be there. Choose now the way you will go.
Leave here and walk in freedom… or follow the Mouth and walk in service for the
rest of your days. The Mouth is the perfect enemy of all living things, and
there is no mystery of life it cannot unravel. The Mouth blesses those who
serve it and devours all else. If you enter our gates today, you will leave
again only by the