Page 36 of Sin Eater

Ember Crow

Out in the open, the pressure eases, but something oppressive remains. These people are clearly hostile to me, although I still don't understand why.

The layout of this fortress gives the impression of a small, self-sufficient medieval town. Vegetable gardens rub shoulders with garment workshops, an industrial bakery, and a cemetery as creepy as it is intriguing.

Perhaps that's the place to start. What better place to hide a body than in a cemetery?

Under the thin rays of moonlight, I thread my way between ancient tombs, their modest crosses crumbling over the centuries. Most of the family names have been at least partially erased. Although well-maintained, the headstones seem frozen, with no vegetation other than freshly mown grass. Only a few docile flowers encircle the pathways, along with the occasional tortured tree, now devoid of foliage. No superfluous decoration, no ostentatious signs, just rows of sober, impersonal graves.

I methodically walk the aisles to make sure I haven't missed anything. With the exception of the gardener, there's no sign of anyone having been here recently. So, to imagine that someone could have brought a body here and buried it in the last few days seems unlikely. There's no trace of mine, not even a clue to point me in the right direction. Once again, I find myself back where I started, unable to understand the reasons for my demise.

Despite the heavy atmosphere emanating from these old stones, I can't make out much that betrays their involvement in the trafficking of human tissue. Where would these churchmen be working, if they were to accumulate abnormal remains over the years? And in whose interest would they do so? I doubt they’re working for science...

If this had been an ordinary organ deal, such an isolated location might have been as much a geographical handicap as a perfect cover. But I can't find a heliport or any other means of getting back into the air. And without air transport, I don't see how they could meet the demand, given the short lead times.

It's not that.

But what is it then?

What's wrong with me and why the interest?

How many others before me have been used by these men of the cloth for a purpose that still eludes me? No matter how much I poke around, this place isn't ready to give up its secrets.

I've got to find Believ. Even if I doubt she's learned anything more, I've got to make sure she's all right and get her out of this place before daybreak and the monks swarm the corridors again.

Where on earth could she be?

Chest compressed, I pace the first-floor corridors trying to locate her. She's discreet, to say the least; she remains invisible.

No longer bothering to follow the path traced by the walls, I cross them in a straight line, barely glancing into the rooms on either side of my route.

Believ, where are you?

This place oppresses me and alters my perception. My skull hurts as if my brain were trying to ooze out through my ears. If she were in the middle of the corridor, I wouldn't be able to see her anymore. I try to concentrate on the bond between us, the one I established the day I met her. In this place, it's tenuous, but still there. Like a safety line, I cling to it and, blindly, follow it to reach the one who will save me.

Every step is an ordeal, every breath brings a terrible burn. I pull myself up with difficulty, driven only by the fierce desire to find her before deserting this cursed place. As for my body, we'll find a solution that doesn't involve merging into these corridors.

Suddenly, a surge of pain assails me. My insides twist; I fall to my knees, unable to move. Paralyzed, I pass out.

It's been a while since I met Christy. We still keep in touch by phone. It's simple. I only have one registered contact and I only use this line when absolutely necessary, which is never—until now.

So I limit myself to exchanging the odd text message with my new friend. We're careful not to give each other too much information and, above all, never to reveal exactly where we stand. This is a rule imposed by Christy; it took me a while to understand it. At first, I thought he was a little paranoid—but then, who wouldn't be in such circumstances?—and mocked him a little, though I respected his instructions all the same.

Who could wish us so much harm?

I'm well aware that people don't really like us—not to say dislike us outright—because they're so afraid of us. Most of them believe that we're jinxed, that it's best to avoid us or, failing that, not to set eyes on us or meet our gaze.

But to physically assault us?

For a long time, it was hard to imagine.

I never really raised the subject with my friend, preferring to confine myself to mild teasing. I dreaded discovering that the only person I could still confide in lacked discernment, or was even totally mad.

Eltz's journal

18

Believ

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