“Close the door between here and the nave,” Jerinne said as her feet gave out. She slumped to the floor. “You all have to stay safe.”
The cloistress turned around, and looked at the people in the nave. “Do as she says. Shut it, barricade it, and hide yourselves. Now!”
Whoever she gave those orders to obeyed. Jerinne couldn’t quite see, everything was going hazy, and her head was pounding.
No, the pounding was on the door. Each slam knocked the hinges a little looser.
But the doors to the chapel were shut, and the people in there were safe.
Except the cloistress was still there, in the narthex.
“What are you doing?” Jerinne asked.
“I don’t even know,” the cloistress said, kneeling next to the dead old man. “I’ve remembered today so many times, but this isn’t how it ever went. I’m still not sure this is really now. You shouldn’t be here.”
“You shouldn’t,” Jerinne said. Where could she hide this girl, protect her? Was the bell tower safe?
“I’ve remembered today so many times, as the person I am tomorrow. And you’re not supposed to be . . . you are supposed to be with her . . . but it’s today, and you’re here. Why . . . why do I remember all the wrong todays?” She picked up his mace, looking at it with confusion. “I know this isn’t mine, not the one that I . . . I know this isn’t who I am, not today. But I’m here, today, with this in my hand. Even if it isn’t mine, I need to take it up.”
Jerinne tried to get back on her feet, slumping against the wall in the base of the bell tower to stay upright. “Sister, you have to get out of here.”
The cloistress let the mace fall and came back into the bell tower. “I don’t have much time. Now if you’re the one in the narthex, you will die. And if you die today, no one—” Her eyes glassed over for a moment, as she looked up to the top of the bell tower. “No one will be there to save her.”
The main doors were splintering. Those things would be in here any moment.
“I have to—”
The sister cupped her hand around the back of Jerinne’s head. “You have to live, Jerinne.” The other hand went to the wound. “You have to live.”
Suddenly the wound burned, scorching hot, and Jerinne couldn’t hold back her scream.
“Listen to me,” the cloistress said, her words intense, her face full of fear. “I have to fix this. We weren’t supposed to meet until Erescan, Jerinne. I thought if I changed the path of today, I could end it all here. But I think I got it all wrong, if you’re here now. I’m so sorry. You have to live.”
Jerinne could barely hear, barely think straight, as the fire of the cloistress’s touch seared through her body.
“You have to live,” the sister said again in a whisper. She pushed Jerinne to the ground and went back into the narthex. “And I have to become who I was tomorrow.”
The doors cracked open. Another blow and they would fly apart.
Jerinne tried to get to her feet, but she had no strength to do so. She barely could breathe through the burning pain in her side. She was on fire.
The sister picked up Jerinne’s shield and the old man’s mace, and looked back to Jerinne. Her expression changed. No fear on her face.
“This is for tomorrow.”
With a sudden, assured motion, the sister spun and knocked the door to the bell tower closed.
In the same moment, the front doors flew open, and at least six of those horrible monstrosities poured in. The last thing Jerinne saw before the door slammed shut was the cloistress turning toward them, shield high, mace at the ready.
Then the pain exploded through Jerinne, burning through her whole body, knocking all sense out of her as her world went dark.
Chapter 23
“THORN,” GUROND SAID, THE WORD rolling through his throat. “You came to die as well.”
“Not really the plan,” the Thorn said.
Dayne did his best to stay on his feet, but the pummeling he had taken from Gurond made that almost impossible.
“You can’t take him,” Dayne said. “He’s too—”
“I probably can’t,” Thorn said. He flashed a quick smile. “But five crowns says we can.”
Gurond charged at them, and the Thorn jumped out of the way, staying out of the reach of Gurond’s massive fists. He bounced and flipped, always too quick to be touched. He went over the man, planting his staff in Gurond’s face, then landed far behind him. Gurond spun around, enraged. It was like watching a rabbit fight a bull, though Dayne feared one wrong step would get the rabbit gored.
A bull.
“Hey, Thorn,” Dayne called. “You ever been to Lacanja?”
“Yeah,” the Thorn called back as he adroitly dodged the massive fists. “Great fish crackle there. And the oysters! Though when we finish this up, there’s this Fuergan place—”
“I was thinking more the Blood Shows.”
“Shut it!” Gurond shouted. “I’m going to give you a blood show!”
The Thorn dodged another blow and nodded. “I got you,” he said, and tossed his staff to Dayne. Then he ducked another punch and slipped under Gurond’s legs. With a roll he ran over to Dayne. “I figure I’m the Zany and you’re the Burly.”
“Makes sense,” Dayne said. He had only gone to the Blood Show once when he was in Lacanja—Master Denbar insisted he take in the local culture—and he couldn’t stand to watch such casual cruelty to an animal in the name of entertainment. But he remembered it well enough.
“Hey, Gurond, hey, hey, Gurond,” the Thorn said, waving his hands and making magical sparkles. “Weren’t you always going off on how strong you are?”
“I am the strongest!” Gurond shouted, charging at him. The Thorn blasted him in the face with the sparkles as he leaped away from the charge. At the same moment, Dayne
