In Fledgling Whispers (Book 3 of The Transition of Pinn)

Dunn:

“Dunn?” the High Priest looks at me quizzically, but I can’t hear him above the angry ringing in my ears.

I dig my fingers into the wood of the desk, the hardness digging in under my short fingernails. My hand curls around a small object and I glance down. A small blue pen. I tighten my fists around it.

I look back up. The High Priest’s eyebrows are raised in confusion and I watch as his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. I watch a vein in his throat pulse with the tension.

I know then how to save Rachel- the only way to save Rachel- by eliminating the threat to her.

It makes so much sense it’s laughable. This whole time I was trying to do the goddess’ work and remove the High Priest, but I went about it the wrong way. She has now shown me the way.

I step closer and raise my fist. A deep breath and then I plunge the end of the pen right into his neck.

I step back and watch the High Priest’s face go from shock to scrunch up in pain as he reaches up to grab the pen with his hand. I came down hard, but most of the pen sticks out from his neck. Blood trickles over his hand as his fingers surround the pen.

And then he pulls it out.

Blood squirts everywhere. It flies across his desk, splatting on documents and books, it drips onto the floor creating small puddles, and it soaks into his white robes, starting with his chest but then quickly spreading to paint his lap red as he leans forward in his chair.

He clutches his neck, his mouth open but nothing comes out. He tilts even more dangerously forward in his chair,

The ringing continues in my ears. I look down at my murderous hands, the same hands I used to touch religious texts, the same hands I used to hold Rachel. And I feel nothing, no remorse, no regret, but the pain in my lungs from my heavy breathing to remind me that anything is unusual.

Thud.

I look away from my hands to see the High Priest has fallen forward out of his chair. Now face down, he stills. Perhaps he is dead. The goddess knows it’s too quick a death for someone who has caused so much suffering.

I don’t check. I just watch as blood slowly seeps from under his body. There is no rise and fall of his chest, no signs of life.

I take a step back. Don’t need to get blood- or more blood, I notice as I look down at the lines of blood marring the front of my clothes and on the hem of my robe. The ringing is dying down and my breath is evening out. This is how it is meant to be.

The goddess in her great wisdom showed me how to get rid of the High Priest. He will never harm another priestess again.

I take another step away and calmly sit in my wooden chair. I clap my hands in my lap and wonder when they will come and check on the High Priest, about an hour I would guess.

A great sense of peace fills me. I take a deep breath of the iron-tinted air and I bow my head to give thanks to the goddess who has lead me down my path to victory- who has graciously chosen me as a vessel to deliver her justice.

All is as it should be.