When the palm side of Samuel’s arm was complete, the foreigner had the patrolmen pile fresh snow onto the etched roots. The cooling brought instant relief, and Samuel’s muscles relaxed slightly. He tried to slow his breathing, imagining the moment when all of this would be over. The blacksmith drank some water, wiping sweat off his brows. He offered Samuel a drink from his cup, but Samuel refused.
“You need to drink,” the foreigner said. “I don’t want to force you. But I will.”
The blacksmith edged the cup closer to Samuel’s mouth, and he drank. The water cooled his burning throat, and some spilled over his chapped lips. He hated them all. The patrolmen. The blacksmith. The foreigner. All of them like the sheriff. All of them following orders. All of them. Evil.
“Continue,” the mayor said. “I’m tired and would like to be done with this soon.”
The foreigner lifted Samuel’s arm and dusted away the snow. He gently laid the burnt half of Samuel’s arm onto the anvil, putting a loose hold on his wrist. Samuel’s raw skin stuck to the anvil, and he groaned.
“Try not to move as much,” the foreigner said. “If you must squirm, try pushing the arm up. Like this.” The foreigner locked his elbow, stretching his arm out and back. “It will hurt much worse if I have to press the old burns onto the anvil. Understand?”
“Yes,” Samuel whimpered.
The blacksmith got the tools ready, and when he came back to the anvil, he gave a consoling nod. Samuel took a deep breath before the smoldering pick touched his skin. He thought he’d be more prepared the second time around, but he wasn’t. He gagged on his own tongue, the hurt engulfing everything. It’ll be over soon, he tried encouraging himself after each new pressing. It’ll be over soon. It’ll be over soon. It’ll be over soon.
But it wasn’t over. Time only slowed, minutes crawling like hours. He couldn’t take any more. “Stop,” he screamed as his flesh cooked. “Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop.”
Samuel’s father stirred once more, his shoulders arching. Jax didn’t wait. He raised the butt of his rifle and swiped it across his father’s skull.
The sound of his father’s harsh gagging followed. His wheezing morphed into hard chokes, and his battered body began to tremor.
The blacksmith pulled the pick to his side. “The cleric. He’s seizing.”
His father’s limbs shook, and bloodied spit oozed from his mouth.
“Help!” Samuel yelled as his father’s body thrashed on the ground.
Everyone in the room went still. The foreigner arched his head back.
“I said he’s seizing. Lift up the man’s skull and hold the tongue back! Else he might choke on it.”
Jax ambled over to Samuel’s father, reaching down to help him.
“Leave him,” the mayor said.
Jax obeyed. The foreigner glanced at the mayor for a moment, but then put his eyes back on Samuel’s arm.
Samuel pulled back, digging his heels into the ground, his arm writhing as all of the muscles stretched. He strained to free himself from his captives, but couldn’t break away. He watched in horror as his father’s face went to blue. He couldn’t breathe. He needed to breathe.
“Help him! Somebody. Please!”
This wasn’t fair. Samuel needed his father to know that he was sorry for everything: for his mother, for leaving him, for sending him to the jailhouse on a fool’s quest, for putting him here. He needed to ask him about the exorcism and tell him about Zei. He couldn’t let him die like this. Tears blanketed his eyes, and his sight became more hazed.
“Father, please! Stop. Can you hear me? You have to stop. Breathe. Please.”
His father’s shaking grew more and more extreme, his body and limbs hitting the ground like bullets being fired into the dirt. Samuel wrenched his limbs back and forth, trying to break free. He couldn’t get loose. His captors wouldn’t let him go. His father’s convulsions continued for another minute before they ceased entirely, and he went limp.
“Let me go,” he begged, drool oozing. “Please.”
“His body has taken too much,” the foreigner said in a hushed tone. “He can’t come back from this. I’m sorry, lad.”
“Is he dead?” the blacksmith asked.
The mayor clicked his shoes together, knocking up a cloud of dirt.
“Enough talk. Get back to work.”
The foreigner closed his eyes, his brows furrowing. He seemed to be lost in thought. When he opened his eyes, his demeanor instantly brightened. “How would you all like to hear a song? I do not mean to boast, but I am quite a gifted singer. There’s one particular ditty I’m quite fond of.”
Samuel curled into himself, angered by the foreigner’s levity. He imagined that he was back inside his father’s cabin, sitting beside the fireplace reading the scriptures. Only this time, he was passionate about the ancient writings and longed for more insight into Azhuel’s character; the desire to be anything other than a cleric was gone. If only he could’ve been happy with his destiny and not plagued by doubts and insecurities. He wouldn’t be here. His father wouldn’t be dying. He wasn’t able to dwell on the thought long. When the blacksmith burned the roots near the side of his arm, the pain increased. Samuel rocked backward into the patrolman, pretending he was able to pull his arm away.
“Fine,” the mayor said coldly. “Let’s hear it.”
The foreigner’s grip tightened, and he cleared his throat before beginning.
Upon the shores of Briston Rock
I came upon a lass
With hair as black as ravens’ wings
And eyes as clear as glass
I dropped down on a bended knee
And asked her for her hand
For I’d never seen a finer beauty
In all the southern land
The blacksmith switched picks, his hand remaining steady as he carved more roots into Samuel. The redlands soldier bobbed his head to the melody as he sang.
She embraced me with tender arms
And with regret she said,
“I can’t give you my heart, dear lad,
For another I must wed
My betrothed is a wicked man
Whose hands deliver strife
He’s paid my father handsomely
To take me as his wife”
“I can’t,” Samuel cried. He needed the pain to stop.
My body ached with maddening rage
That I could not control
I said, “Fear not, my dearest one
I’ll rescue your sweet soul”
I waited ’til the dead of night
Before I made my move
I visited this villain’s house
My love I had to prove
“Please,” Samuel begged. He was sure he was going to die. “Stop.”
The foreigner continued, his voice loud and boisterous.
I crept into his chambers