no one of consequence

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Though I am a priest of a different order, I know more of their doctrine than I could wish. You must have suffered greatly at their hands.”

I nodded once, though it was not a question.

He sighed. “The Blood Cult had a stronghold here once, a hundred years ago. And though my brothers and I have done our best to drive them out, some still tenaciously hold to the old ways. And it seems their strength—or desperation—has grown in recent months.”

I watched patterns of colored light play against his tunic as he stood. Stained glass. I knew this, somehow, though I had never been near a church before. One of the dead memories.

He approached me slowly. When I shrank back, he paused. “May I look into your face?”

It was a struggle to force my eyes up, but I managed it many moments later. His eyes were dark brown, the color almost lost in the flickering candlelight. Still, I was struck by how soft they were. They held no fear, no contempt.

“Wings like an eagle, body of a lion, face of a human. You were indeed fashioned to be a vessel of the Blood Cult. But it seems they failed—do you know why?”

I didn’t reply. My malformed wings and crooked spine were answer enough.

His sudden smile surprised me. “A vessel must be empty. You, child, have a soul.”

A soul? Could something pieced together from dead bodies have a soul? The idea felt like a piece of burning coal in my mind. It seemed impossible, and yet…

I remembered the hollow eyes of the second vessel, somehow more disturbing than those of the dead. Metal and flesh, not so much life as undeath. Perhaps the priest was right.

“The other…” I forced the words out. “The new vessel. It is…forged.”

“So they have made another?”

I nodded. “It is coming. Soon. Here.”

It was why I had run; the second vessel was nearly ready. I’d outlived my usefulness. But my plan had ended with running. I hadn’t expected to escape with my life, much less meet a priest who would offer food and shelter to a cursed creature like me.

The priest’s face was solemn.

“You must flee.” I stretched a clawed hand toward the town outside the church. “All must flee. They will…take lives. Blood sacrifice.”

His eyes wandered to the doorway. “No. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. Besides, the time has already come.”

The room seemed to be growing darker. Shadows moved beyond the stained glass windows. I recognized the low droning chant of the cultists and lashed my tail in fear. They had found me. There was nowhere to hide.

The sudden weight of the priest’s hand on my shoulder made me flinch, but his grim smile had an oddly steadying effect.

“Do not be afraid.”

The doors exploded, flung from their hinges with incredible force as the true vessel strode into the room. I wasn’t afraid; I was entirely paralyzed by terror.

It stood head and shoulders above the other men, bronze wings spread wide. Sinuous muscles ran along its lean body, crowned by a mane and face of plated gold. Its eyes glowed an unnatural mix of green and orange. One look into those empty sockets pinned me immovably in place.

I only managed to snatch a breath when the priest stepped between us. “You are not welcome here.”

The vessel tilted its head almost imperceptibly.

“Who are you to address the Vessel of the Blood God?” demanded one of the hooded cultists. I recognized his voice—their leader.

“I am a servant of the Most High. Leave this place.”

The cultists laughed. The vessel shifted, preparing to attack. The priest was going to die, and I was bound in place, unable to prevent it.

But the priest stepped forward, murmuring something. A prayer? I only knew that the moment he spoke the name of his God, the power shifted.

This new power washed the suffocating fear away like a flood. The vessel staggered back, blazing white gold before collapsing without so much as a screech. As it melted into the ground, the cultists stumbled. Some ran. Some never rose back up at all.

The power flowed over me too, like alcohol cleansing an open wound. My body began to melt away beneath me, just as the other vessel’s had.

Well, this was still a kinder end than I had expected. The pain passed quickly, and I felt strangely at peace. The Blood Cult had scattered, their god was defeated faster than I could have believed, and the priest and the town were alive. It was enough.

Whatever soul I had, I hoped this Most High would have mercy on it.

“Child.” The priest reached out to me. “Give me your hand.”

It was less a hand than some sort of molten mass, but I reached out with it.

He pulled me towards him. The melting skin of my twisted body sloughed off, and I stepped forward on two wobbling legs. I felt smaller, exposed, yet somehow infinitely more alive than before.

I stared at my hands as the priest removed his cloak and wrapped me in it. My spine was straight. I had no wings, no claws. This was a human body. “How?”

“The same power that drives away evil also grants new life to those who seek it.”

“But…I was a vessel.” My voice was clear now, the words forming easily.

“Has the potter no right over the clay, to make out of the same lump one vessel for honorable use and another for dishonorable use?” The priest smiled again. “The Most High has remade you.”

Remade. I flexed my fingers as the last of my old body evaporated like mist. “I would like to know more about this Most High.”

“And you shall,” the priest replied. “But for now, let us find you food and clothing and a place to sleep. Now is a time for rest.”

“Rest,” I said. “And then?”

“And then…a new life.”