Page 66 of Bloodmoon Ritual

“What do you want?” he asked as the bikes pulled off the main road and down a dirt pathway. “What do you need to love me?”

Another small Congregation scrabbling a living in hard dirt and mud, hardly daring to hope in the paradise Eli and Rhyder described.

It was always the same.

The shock and horror when they heard the rumors about what Ronan had allowed.

What happened to women was supposed to be left solely to the Allfather.

Then the influence of Rhyder’s verses, the way he passionately preached from the Holy Writ, his strong, deep voice assuring them that the Allfather’s favor stayed with those who were pious and faithful.

And no one could ever accuse my brother of not being faithful.

We rode fast, took quick meals of dried meats and fruits and crumbling cheese, supplemented with what berries we could find in the barren forests, and slept a few hours at a time. I dozed fitfully on the road, feeling wracked with exhaustion, my body limp and boneless, because I knew Rhyder would never let me slide from the bike.

He wanted me too much for that.

“Almost home,” Rhyder said as he put me on the motorcycle in front of him after a break.

Of the original dozens of women the Congregation had kidnapped, there were only three of us left after the attacks, and Norah and Elizabeth’s eyes looked dull with constant terror when I saw them in the back of the truck.

I ignored him as much as I could, tried to ignore the warm comfort and protection of his arms, refused to lean back into his chest where I would be more comfortable. But it was impossible to do.

Memories crowded into me the closer we got to our Congregation’s lands, the way we had raised each other in these rough, hard lands.

I could feel Rhyder’s excitement growing too, his thighs tightening around me.

Even when I didn’t respond, he was often talking to me or singing hymns. It reminded me of how I had never gone to sleep growing up without hearing his low voice in my ear. Even across the room, in his own bed, his voice had seemed to stretch long tendrils over me, surround me with hypnotic power.

It had taken me a while in the city to figure out how to fall asleep to dead silence, a silence even deeper because it meant more than a lack of noise. A lack of protection, caring, devotion.

“Praise to the Allfather!” Rhyder called as I rubbed my eyes.

We were back

My brother’s strong arms lifted me easily off the bike, and then he was falling to his knees before the Prophet.

“Blessings on you, Father,” he cried, his voice reverent with devotion.

I had never had much interaction with the Prophet, but he looked the same as he always had.

A man in his 40s, whip-thin but strong too, yellow-gray beard, small hard gray eyes.

Nervously, I fiddled with my scarf as the Eli and the other Congregants fell to their knees in front of the Prophet, each one touching their shoulders in a sign of respect.

“You may rise,” the Prophet said. “What news do you have for me?”

“The Congregations are united,” my brother said, striding back to stand next to me. “We are ready for war.”

The Allfather is good, the Prophet called out.All the time. And all the Congregation answered together.

All the time, the Allfather is good

“Now Holy Warrior,” the Prophet said, “leave the whores to the Helpmeets and come here.”

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