49

“These enough?” an out-of-breath Sister Peregrine grumbled as she dropped the mangled carcass of a low-dweller at Hunter’s feet. Brother Aurochs was just a few steps behind, carrying four more, give or take a limb or two.

“Peaches and cream” nodded Hunter, sizing them up.

“What now, then?”

“Now we chop them up.”

That was the grisly part of the plan and it took the four of them the better part of an hour, but it had to be done. Butchering corpses is a lot easier when you have some actual butcher tools, like a cleaver or a bone saw. Hunter found that out the hard way. Their hunters’ knives weren’t much use when it came to cutting through stringy low-dweller flesh and gristle. That huge axe Brother Aurochs had been swinging around during his short stint as a two-legged bovine juggernaut would have been useful, but it was lying on the floor of Mother’s chapel along with his glaive – if her goons hadn’t repurposed the weapons already.

When they were finally done, they were covered from head to toe in stinky dark ichor, but the large sack Fawkes had sewed together from their blankets was filled with arms, legs, heads, and other chopped up body parts to the brim. Fawkes and the Brethren sat down to catch their breath and clean themselves a bit, and Hunter passed around the Kannewik hair charms he’d made. Fyodor didn’t have a collar or anything, of course, so Hunter had to tie the charm to the hair of the direwolf’s own fur.

“What are these?” asked Sister Peregrine, examining the tangled mass of corpse hair in the torchlight.

“A bit of Transient magic. It will protect us from getting hypnotized and whatnot.”

“Do we have to eat them?”

“Eat them? No, ew, just… just pin it to your tunic or put it in your pocket or something.”

The Sister shrugged and did just that.

The group sat down to catch their breath for a while, each preparing for what was to come in their own way. Fawkes kept herself busy inspecting her weapons and gear, making sure every button was buttoned, every strap tightened, every single one of the who-knows-how-many surprises she carried on her person in its right place and within easy reach. She was acting purely out of habit and going through the motions on muscle memory alone. There was a weariness to her that simply hadn’t been there all the other times Hunter had seen her do that, a fatigue he found quietly disturbing.

Brother Aurochs sat cross-legged and meditated with his eyes closed, his great chest heaving slowly and peacefully with each deep breath. Absent-mindedly or not, Hunter couldn’t tell, but the hulking man’s breathing was in perfect rhythm with the insidious, ever-present heartbeat of the Halls of the Cor Ancestors. Sister Finch tried to do the same, but, quite understandably, couldn’t. She kept groaning and squirming and fidgeting until Brother Aurochs finally placed a calming hand on her shoulder. Without their animalistic headdresses and with their faces finally unobscured, they looked more vulnerable and human than Hunter had ever seen them before. He caught himself wishing he’d had a chance to get to know them better. Or that he would have one in the future, when they were out of this mess, he corrected himself. Hopefully.

Fyodor was curled next to Hunter, resting his big furry head on his lap and radiating reassuring warmth. Biggs and Wedge were perched on the direwolf’s flank, two balls of ruffled black feathers and curious beady eyes. As if understanding the gloom of the moment–which they probably did, to some degree–they wisely kept their beaks shut.

As for Hunter himself…

Now that he had an idle moment alone with his thoughts, his initial enthusiasm and confidence in his batshit crazy plan was starting to lose steam. As he watched his companions prepare themselves for what could very well be the last moments of their lives, he finally started to get a glimpse of what Fawkes had been telling him all along. There was a quiet disconnect there, a chasm between them and himself that could never be bridged. What for them was a matter of life and death, he merely experienced as a self-imposed test of conviction. He simply didn’t have enough skin in the game to join in that quiet all-or-nothing camaraderie. Would he still be here, if he did?

Fuck if he knew.

He briefly considered breaking the silence to make one of those last moment rousing speeches like the characters in war flicks did, but quickly abandoned that notion. It wasn’t his place to make such a speech. Even if he had the chops and the charisma to pull it off, even if he actually had the slightest idea of what to say, it was simply not his place. Conviction or not, he was simply along for the ride. Such a speech would ring hollow, ridiculous.

Well, they’d simply have to do without a heroic speech, he guessed. Glancing at the quiet, somber faces of the others, it struck him as oddly fitting.

It was Fawkes who finally broke the silence. She rose to her feet, patted herself down, spat on the floor, and squinted towards the dimness that was the way back to Mother’s chapel.

“Well, sitting around and waiting won’t do us much good. Let’s get this over with. Now’s as good a time as any.”

The Brethren said nothing. They helped each other up, grabbed their weapons from the neat little pile of gear and supplies they’d stacked at a corner, and left the rest behind. Hesitating just a moment, Hunter did the same. If–when–they’d need rations and tools and changes of clothing again, their packs would still be there waiting for them. They each grabbed a corner of the carnage-filled blanket sack, the four of them, lifted the stinking thing in the air as best as they could, and started for the doors of the Inner Sanctum.

“So, uh, let’s review the battle plan one last time”, said Hunter as they were getting nearer. Nobody replied, but he went on anyway. “Fawkes, you mix those potions and spill them all around these the body parts, get that Phage thing started. Once it’s ready, we bust in that place guns blazing. We hold the line against the uglies for as long as we can, while the ravens drop infected body parts on everything and anything that moves, Moth-, uh, Sister Finch and her alien friend included. If things get too wild, we skedaddle and pray the Phage thing does its job. Any questions?”

“Yes”, said Sister Peregrine. “What’s skedaddle?”

“Get away as fast as we can.”

“I see. It’s a stupid plan.”

“It’s the only on we have”, Fawkes butted in, saving Hunter the embarrassment.

“It’s only going to get us all killed.”

“If it does”, said the old swordswoman, flashing a wolfish grin, “let’s make sure we take the damn things down with us.”