THE DEATH OF A SPARROW
through the icy midnight
comes the somber light
of what can be life. in
that comes the whisper
of gods who speak from
those of holy bodies.
then comes the saints
born to bear the sacred
gifts t...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔇𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔣𝔞𝔖𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔯𝔬𝔴 THE COVENANT
MY MIND IS STILL WHIRLING FROM THE BLOOD OF MY FIRST KILL. I trained for almost two years for this moment yet I feel as much of a sinner as the bastard I killed. The dark blood on my hands makes me sick to my stomach because that is all that remains of a man's life. At only ten I have now become a killer.
A girl training with the Covenant of Night must perform her first task, her first kill, to be accepted as a true Sister of the Covenant, to become a Night Walker. It is a well respected title that all of Rusbincov respects, even the royal family. No one will know the physical torture women endure to become a Sister, and our payoff is to be able to kill criminals, assaultors, thieves, and all the filth of the country that should be dead.
Yet the blood on my hands feels heavy as if I have committed the greatest of sins. Being a deathless angel puts me at a larger risk of being punished by the gods, and while I remain standing, I will always fear their judgment. Doing what may be seen as an act of justice to the mortals of this realm may be seen as a horrid sin to the gods. Becoming a Night Walker suddenly feels like a risk that could keep me dead.
"Vrenya." Snapping out of my daze, I look up at the doorway of the nunnery to see Sister Osvora in the now open archway. "It is time, Sister."
Sister.
I nod my head, forcing myself forward to follow her into the chapel.
The chapel room, usually illuminated with many candles to display the holy works, are now snuffed out, still smoking as I enter. There are Sisters lining the center aisle, dressed in their black uniforms with ceremonial black veils over their heads. They all stand like statues as Sister Osvora leads me down the aisle to where Mother Lyncotha stands, the woman we all answer to. Her dark eyes are already fixed on me, the moonlight streaming in from the window above her giving no glimpse of any emotion. She is an old woman, one of gray hair and no mercy, and she is terrifying.
Sister Osvora and I stop between the last row of pews, bowing our heads to Mother. "Mother, I bring you Vrenya Kahnyehka for judgment," Sister Osvora says calmly as she lifts her head.
"Thank you, Sister," Mother says with a nod. "Do you believe Vrenya fulfilled her task dutifully tonight? Unwavering and just?"
"I do." My heart feels like a rock sinking further and further into the depths of my body. This exchange between these two women determines the rest of my life. "Vrenya's task was completed with a steady hand and a sharp blade."
