No Sin Too Great

Chapter 2


A few weeks later…

“Sir, I can’t go out there with her another day. If they don’t kill her for her lack of fear, they’ll kill me just based on association.”

The elderly priest wanted to laugh at the young man’s predicament, but knew the moment he did, he would lose what little credibility he had accumulated with the new recruit. The boy already thought he was crazy, he didn’t want him to think he was cruel too.

“Jaron,” said the head priest from behind his simple wooden desk. Before him was a steaming bowl of broth and a piece of bread, as well as his prayer book. Jaron paid no attention to the fact that he had interrupted the priest’s afternoon vigil. “I do not understand why your faith in our townspeople is so low. It has only been two weeks, and great progress has been made.”

Jaron slumped into the wooden chair in front of the desk and put his head into his hands. “It’s not the townspeople. In fact, they pay no attention to her presence at all. It’s the soldiers, especially Darius and his lot. They refuse to work with her on the same site. They’ve spit on her, called her words that are not pleasant in any language or context, and yesterday, someone rigged a particularly large section of a stone wall to fall on her when she started to move rocks out of the way.”

Priest Risyn slipped the spoon back into the bowl, and sat back and crossed his arms. “And what does she say to them?”

Jaron shook his head. “Nothing, head priest. She ignores their words and actions. She focuses on the task at hand without a word to anyone, even me.”

“Then she is doing as I requested, Jaron,” said Risyn with a smile. “The soldiers have a right to their anger, their grief, and their desire for retribution. They, however, do not have the right to focus it on a potentially innocent woman who could have been in the wrong place at a bad time.

“There is strength in her that is yet to be realized, Jaron, and I believe the same is true of you, as well. Right now, she needs your strength during her time of renewal. Until she learns who and what she is, we need to support her.”

Jaron looked at him, his eyes showing his innocent surprise. “What makes you think she is guiltless of her crimes?”

The old priest smiled. “I stand firm in the belief that complete truth can not be known until all stories have been collected, and all facts are documented.”

~*~*~

The day had started out cool and cloudy with a dense fog settled around the forest. But, by the time Jaron and Phyra had left their morning practice, the sun had come out enough to warm up the atmosphere. The two of them had a pleasant lunch under a maple tree that was still clinging to its bright orange leaves. Phyra knew there was work to be completed today, but for some reason, something inside of her wanted to be somewhere else. In her daydreams, she had started to doze, but a few moments later, Jaron woke her and told her it was time to depart.

The modified axe she now wielded was heavy in her small, delicate hands. But that did not deter her from swinging it repeatedly with strength equal to a human man. She was working on a large pile of stone with Jaron. Together they were making the large pieces smaller for easy transport.

And just like the last few days, they were alone on this particular site. The townspeople were not allowed around the remnants of the manor house for fear that they would steal its treasures or learn its secrets. Priest Risyn had cleared their participation with the general on duty in the hopes that the two of them might accidentally uncover some truth of what happened that day when the town burned. But so far, all they had found was rubble. No furniture had survived, documents were charred and illegible, and only the occasional body was recovered.

“I need a medic over here!” someone yelled from along the southern wall.

Jaron and Phyra both stopped their work. Jaron let his axe fall to the ground. “Will you be all right by yourself?”

Indifferent, Phyra said, “Jaron, I do not fear these men in the way you do.”

Jaron flinched at her harsh words, then ran across the work site and disappeared around a pile of rubble. Phyra took the moment to squat, relieving the stiffness in her knees and stretching her tight leg muscles. Pulling up the hem of her robes, she wiped at the sweat on her brow. Standing up with a long, full-bodied stretch, she eyed the bucket of drinking water left behind by Jaron. Though it was mid-fall, the sun was still warm above, making her mouth parched as she worked.

The water was cool against her lips as she took a long slow drink. As she put the cup back into the bucket, she heard footsteps approaching from behind, steps that were too heavy to be her partner.

“I was warned that you might be useless,” said a gruff voice. “I come around the corner, and here I find you letting your work go as soon as your supervision leaves.”

Phyra did not turn around to dignify his comment. She had found early on that if she kept quiet during their continued provocations, eventually the brigands got bored and went away. Today, however, was not that day.

A thick hand grabbed her by the neck and shoved her forward. Phyra fell to the ground, her knees and hands taking the brunt of the damage. Her knees throbbed from the impact, and small pieces of rock cut into her palms.

“So, you’re thirsty, huh?” he said.

Suddenly, he grabbed her by the hair, and yanked her head and upper body backward. Phyra found herself staring into the face of the soldier known as Thorrin. He was smiling a wide, almost toothless grin that was barely discernable through the dirt and dust caked on his face.

“I got something you can drink from,” he snorted as he started to lift up his tunic and untie his breeches.

While the man was physically imposing, she had heard enough banter between the soldiers to know that this man was no real threat. He had lost no one in the fire; in fact, he wasn’t even from this area. He was only there to help with the clean-up effort.

Phyra leaned back on her haunches as Thorrin pulled his manhood from his pants, and started to stroke it. Unconsciously, Phyra wrinkled her nose with disgust and turned away from the embarrassing display.

“That’s right,” he said, his breathing getting heavier as he played with himself more. “Come and drink from this fountain, you elven bitch.”

“What is going on over here?” yelled Jaron.

Phyra looked around to see him running to her aid. She did not say a word, only rose to her feet and stepped away from the behemoth next to her. Jaron’s presence did not deter him from continuing his previous actions.

“Your little helper was resting on the job. I decided she needed a real man to teach her what happens to lazy bitches,” said Thorrin as he continued to stroke himself harder.

Phyra could see Jaron’s lips moving, and knew he had something up his sleeve. When Phyra started to move to his side, Thorrin grabbed her with his free hand. As he yanked her toward him, Jaron stepped close enough to put his hands on the large man’s chest. The two shared a stare for only a moment before Jaron thrust a bright and holy energy into his ribcage. Immediately his grip on Phyra’s arm disappeared, and he dropped to his knees. The man put both hands to his chest, ignoring the fact that his manhood was now flaccid and still dangling on the outside.

“You fucking priest,” he said as he fought for breath and clutched his chest. His heart felt as though it would pound through the skin. “What did you do to me?”

Jaron gently took Phyra’s hand in his, and guided the woman behind him. “I only favored you with the same trauma she would have experienced had you continued with your perverse act. Remember this well, soldier.”

Jaron turned to Phyra. He knew this man’s gruesome display of masculine domination had to have disturbed her, but as always, her face was a blank slate.

“I think we’ve accomplished enough for this day, Phyra. Let us return to the monastery.”

~*~*~

The next day saw much of the same activities, but the tone was different. The morning training session was strained, and Cera picked up on it after Jaron blew up after a botched spell. Phyra did not understand why he was so angry, so she decided just to keep her distance. Later, Priest Risyn pulled Phyra aside and explained that after the previous day’s events, she did not have to return to the site that day. She had worked hard over the last couple of weeks, and the afternoon was going to be one of the last nice days before the temperatures dropped in preparation for winter. He suggested a walk in the surrounding woods, maybe some bird watching also. While she appreciated his gesture, she dared not walk in the woods due to the amount of men who hunted during the day.

Even though his suggestions seemed sincere, she knew what the head priest was doing. Inside, she knew Jaron would have told the head priest about her assault, and at no point did she ask him to keep quiet. She was not angry with her partner, nor was she shamed by the warrior’s actions. Phyra considered the priest’s words, and decided if the head priest had approved it, then she would take the afternoon off. At least, that was her intention until Priestess Cera found her in a desperate panic.

It seemed while she was preparing the monastery’s residents for the coming cold, she forgot to pick up fabric that she had ordered. She claimed it was a thicker variety than what was normally worn, and made specifically for the winter months. There were more people living in the monastery than the previous winter, and she didn’t want everyone to freeze to death within the stone walls. So, with a mule and cart in tow, Phyra made her way into town.

As she guided the mule down the main thoroughfare, no one acknowledged her existence. No one took the time to wave, or say hello. The townspeople just moved about their daily chores without interruption. Children played with a kick ball in the street. Stray dogs ran along the sidewalks, occasionally sticking their heads in the random shop door searching for food.

The tailor’s shop was on the far end of town, where the fire had not reached. She had never been to this area of town before, and was pleased to see the history in the statuesque buildings. Each one was wooden, most only two stories in height. Only the foundations were made of stone, the building resource was reserved for those with the gold to pay for it. Phyra wondered if the stone from the manor house could be used to rebuild the damaged section of town. She decided to keep that question for when she saw the head priest again.

When she looked towards the door, she found a Halfling man standing before her. “Are you here to pick up Cera’s order?” he asked.

While the man did not look at her with the same disgust of others in the town, she was still wary. “Who is asking?”

The small man held out his hand to her. “People call me Dilun. And I like to sew. Plus you wear the robes, makes it kind of obvious why yer here.” Phyra shook the man’s hand, careful not to squeeze too hard. He smiled, “Go ahead and tie that nag up, and we’ll see what we’ve got in the shop for ya, all right?”

Pleasantly surprised, Phyra nodded as Dilun wandered back into the shop. But as she was tying the mule to the post outside the shop, four men on horseback galloped up the street. None of them were wearing their usual black armor, just their plain clothes. Phyra assumed whatever had them rushing through the streets was not a matter of security or protection. As she watched them start to pass, one pulled up the reins of his horse and stared at her. Phyra recognized him as the general.

“You are the monastery’s newest recruit, are you not?” he asked.

Phyra nodded, “I am.”

The general, she recalled his name was Worjack, walked his horse to her side. He was the most distinguishable of all the warriors in town. His hair was long and thick, and the color silver like polished metal. His right eye was sealed shut with a large scar that he refused to cover. He was proud of his battle wounds, and the stories he could weave about them. This was the first time he had spoken to her directly. “We have a report of a collapse at the ruins. There may be injured. Are you able to assist us?”

Phyra looked back to her mule, and found the tailor standing in the doorway of his shop. As if he understood what she was looking for, he simply nodded. “Go, I’ll load up the cart for ya. It will be ready when ya return.”

When she turned to Worjack, she found him with his hand outstretched. “Come, there is no time to waste.”

Taking his hand, the general yanked her off of her feet as if she were a feather. As she settled in his lap, he kicked the horse into a gallop that forced her to hold on to the man’s thick neck to keep from falling off.

The scene that awaited them could only be described as chaos. A cloud of dust hung in the general area, stirred by the collapse. Men were shouting, others were running for the monastery, seeking the priests’ aid. The men who had arrived on horseback ahead of them were now standing at the edge of a hole, examining the devastation below. Phyra walked cautiously behind the general, deciding that it was in her best interest to let him speak.

“How many are down there?” he asked as he came to a stop.

Phyra stepped out from behind him to peer at the damage, only to find Darius staring down at her. He continued to stare as he addressed Worjack. “Sir, three of our men are down there. The men on site said that they were leading out a cart over weighted with stone when the floor below them collapsed, taking the men, the cart, and the horse with it.”

“You have sent men to the monastery for assistance?” asked the general as he leaned over the hole.

“Is that why she is here?” Darius asked as he continued to stare at her.

“Captain, are you addressing me with that tone?” the general said, turning his glare to the young warrior.

The general’s chastisement got Darius’s attention. The young man looked to his superior. “Yes, sir, we have sent a squad to retrieve the priests. However, we are short on equipment here, so they are gathering rope and medical supplies as well.”

“Good,” said Worjack before turning back to Phyra. “Will you let me lower you into the pit? I need someone with your skills to assess the situation expeditiously. I fear what condition my men might be in, and I believe time is critical.”

Phyra did not know of what skills he was referring to, but from the sincere look on the man’s face, she could not tell him no. The two men on the other side of the general handed him a length of rope some 30-feet in length. Phyra took a small bit of the end in her hands, wrapped it around her knuckles to secure it, and stepped to the edge of the pit. She sat down, then scooted off of the edge. Immediately the rope was drawn tight as the general easily caught her weight.

Slowly he lowered her into the pit. Phyra glanced around, and surmised that this was actually a lower level to the manor house, something that neither she nor Jaron had seen during the excavation. Blackened candelabras hung on the walls next to charred bookshelves and faded wall hangings. Peering down, she could see pieces of fabric below, remnants of carpeting peeking through the ash.

The hole itself was only ten-feet in width, but in depth, it took almost the length of the rope before Phyra touched the hard floor. She was thankful for her eyes that were meant for darkness, for with the angle of the fading afternoon sun, it would have been hard for the humans to discern anything in the shadows.

At a glance, she figured the room to be a library, maybe a study. What furniture was left was crushed below the weight of debris from above. But as she scanned the southern wall, she spotted a door. It was unobstructed by debris, and untouched by flame. It appeared to have stood strong against recent damage. Quietly, she felt compelled to investigate. Ignoring the mess of stone for a moment, she started to work her way to the door.

“What do you see?” shouted the general’s voice from above.

Phyra stopped her advancement, the general’s voice breaking her trance. “A chamber! Possibly a library!” she yelled back.

“Please...is someone there?”

Hearing the first human’s cry, Phyra turned toward the weak voice. On her right, she could see what was left of the wooden cart. As she stepped closer, she could see the pile of rock that it had hauled. Mixed in with the rock were long locks of black hair. The horse, she presumed, buried under the weight of stone.

Careful not to disturb the impromptu grave, she walked around the cart to find two bodies. Both were men, their forms twisted in inhuman poses, and their blood soaked the old carpet below.

Shielding her eyes, Phyra looked up to the men above. “I need more rope, and something for the bodies! So far, there are two!”

She could see the general nod, then turn to give directions to the men with him.

“I…can’t…move…”

Hearing the voice again, fainter this time, Phyra followed the sound. She came to a section where larger fragments of stone had collected from the collapse. Lying against a flattened section of flooring was Thorrin. His left leg was lying at an unusual angle, and the bone was sticking through the thigh. He was bleeding from a number of cuts on his arms, his chest, and other unseen wounds. The man was still as she approached, and she wondered if he had also broken his back in the fall.

Phyra climbed onto the rock and sat next to him. “Thorrin, can you see me?”

Thorrin raised his left arm, and Phyra could see it was slashed along the forearm. Some of the cuts were deep enough that she could see the muscle below.

Phyra put her hand to the man’s forehead. “Do not move. I need you to remain still so I can examine you.”

In the fading light, Phyra could see one of his eyes open and aware while the other was swollen shut. Below his bushy black brows, she thought she saw surprise in that eye. His mouth opened, but when he tried to speak, he started to cough violently.

Phyra put a hand to his chest. “Thorrin, you have to lie still.”

“Phyra! Is that you down there?”

Phyra looked up to see Jaron at the edge of the cavern. Someone was wrapping a length of rope around his chest.

“Jaron, I need a knife!”

Without waiting for his answer, Phyra stood up and started to remove her dark outer robe. Their priestly habits were always worn in layers, not only for warmth, but for extra protection as well. As she pulled the heavy garment over her head, she yanked her long blond hair free, and was left standing only in her thin white under robe.

From behind, she heard something metal strike the floor, and Darius make a comment about missing her from above. Choosing to ignore the man’s immature remark, she moved to where she saw the glint, and picked up the dagger.

Immediately, she went to work on her discarded robe, cutting it into long strips to be used as bandages. Thorrin tried to turn his head to watch her, but Phyra put her hand on his chest again to calm him.

“Goddess, what happened here?” she heard Jaron ask as he touched down on the floor.

Phyra continued to work with the dagger. “Thorrin is the only survivor. It appears the other men and the animal died on impact.”

Once he was free of the ropes, Jaron moved to rock pile, made several hand signs, and uttered a prayer for the dead. When he finished, Jaron came to her side. “Phyra, I can’t see down here. Where is he injured?”

Phyra was laying out her strips when she paused to take Jaron’s hand. “Here,” she said, guiding him to Thorrin’s head. “He is bleeding profusely from a wound on his head. I did not take the time to search. I will care for the exposed bone in his leg.”

Phyra slid a couple of strips into his hand before moving back to the leg wound. Searching the ground, she found her discarded belt and a large piece of flat rock. Gently, Phyra lifted Thorrin’s thick leg at the knee and set it on the stone. Thorrin did not make a sound, and Phyra knew the man was going into shock. With the leg elevated, she easily wrapped the rope belt high around the man’s thigh, above the break. As she tightened the belt, Jaron touched her arm.

She turned around to find Jaron with a concerned look on his face. “Phyra, you don’t have to do this.”

Ignoring his words, she removed the rock and set Thorrin’s leg down again. The bone was jagged, and Phyra knew it was not a clean break. But what she didn’t know was how she was going to fix it.

“Phyra, this guy assaulted you.”

There was so much blood. There had to be a way to force the bone back inside the leg so she could bandage the wound. If she could just get him patched up enough for transport…

“You do not owe this man anything.”

“No I don’t!” she said in a raised voice, turning to look at Jaron again. Her frustration was evident on her face, and in her anger, Jaron saw a tear slide from her eye. It was the first real emotion she had shown since they had first met. But not one to be distracted by emotion, she hastily wiped away any traces of her tears. “This is my job now. It is my purpose. How can I repair this town’s hatred of me if I can not heal a simple soldier?”

With those words, Phyra felt something inside of her shift. From somewhere in the dark recesses of her mind, she knew what she needed to do. If she could force the bone back into his leg, she could seal the wound. She might even save his leg. Bandages were not enough. She needed something to clean the wound. Fire…fire would work. It would clean the wound. It would seal the wound.

“Oh my Goddess,” Jaron whispered, disrupting her chain of thought.

Phyra ignored the interruption, choosing instead to keep her focus on Thorrin’s wound. More pressure…feel the muscle as you slip the bone back beneath the skin…work it back through the severed sinews…the bone will heal itself together in time…the bleed is lessening…time to bandage the wound…

Without opening her eyes, she reached to her side for the shorn piece of cotton. She proceeded to tie strip after strip, one on top of the other, until the whole of the soldier’s thigh was covered in the remnants of her robe. It was only when she tied off the last piece that she opened her eyes, and found Jaron staring at her, pale and silent with half of a bandage hanging from his hand.

She turned her attention to Thorrin’s other wounds, but found that not only had his arm stopped bleeding, his other cuts had ceased leaking as well. The man was unconscious, the pain finally taking its toll on his physical and mental well-being. He breathed slow and deep, showing no signs of residual pain in his sleep state.

Deciding that her job was finished, Phyra stood up, and felt a sudden draft along her right side. Looking at her arm, she found it exposed. The sleeve of her robe was gone, and her tattoo glowed faintly. The seam that connected the sleeve to the bodice was not frayed as though it was ripped off. It was singed.

Phyra looked back to Jaron, but found him still in the same position. “Jaron, what happened to my robe?”

Jaron heard her question, but couldn’t form the words to answer. He had no idea how to explain the phenomenal sight he had seen. How did you tell your partner that only moments ago she was covered in flames?

Well, there's chapter 2. Chapter 3 is already in progress.