The Omen Machine

Orneta smiled cordially. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t even asked your name.”

The Mord-Sith’s blue eyes were enough to make Orneta weak, but she tried not to show it.

“My name is Vika.”

“Vika.” Orneta smiled. “Well, Vika, what can I do for you?”

The Mord-Sith began advancing. “You can scream.”

Orneta blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

Vika seized a fistful of Orneta’s dress at her shoulder. “I said, you can scream.”

The Mord-Sith gritted her teeth as she pulled Orneta forward and rammed the Agiel into her middle.

The shock of pain was beyond anything Orneta had ever experienced or imagined was possible.

As the full shock of it hit her, it would have been impossible not to scream.

Screaming ended, Orneta crumpled to the floor, trying to get back her breath as tears of hurt streamed down her face.

“Why are you doing this?” she managed between gasps.

Vika stood over her, watching. “To help you scream.”

Orneta was dumbfounded. She could not begin to imagine why the woman had done such a thing, or what she meant about wanting to hear screams.

“But why?”

“Since you are so committed to having prophecy guide mankind, you have been granted the honor of being the instrument of prophecy’s fulfillment. Now, let’s hear a really good scream.”

As Orneta stared up in frozen, panicked confusion, Vika jammed the tip of her Agiel into the hollow at the base of Orneta’s throat.

Orneta screamed so hard she thought it might rip her throat. She wouldn’t have been able to stop herself if she had wanted to. The pain overwhelmed her, making the muscles of her arms and neck convulse in uncontrolled spasms.

The screams were drowned out as blood frothed up from her throat and out her mouth. It ran down her chin, hanging in long, thick strings, and soaked the front of her dress.

The room darkened in her dwindling spot of vision, but then slowly widened back into view. She was hardly aware of where the Mord-Sith was or what she was doing until Orneta saw her walk around behind her.

Without a word, Vika jammed her Agiel into the base of Orneta’s skull.

Light flashed in her vision. Sparkling colors exploded in every direction. There was a most terrible shrieking sound inside her head that made the pain beyond anything that had come before. Sharp shards of suffering drove inward through her ears.

Orneta sat on the floor, limp and helpless, as the shrieking, crashing, roaring sound and the blaze of light swirled through her head.

She heard Vika’s boots on the white marble floor as the woman came around in front of her. The Mord-Sith stood over Orneta, towered over her, looking down without the slightest hint of compassion, much less remorse.

Orneta had never seen such a cold and heartless look in all her life.

“That was quite good,” Vika said in a calm voice. “I’m sure everyone could hear it.”

Orneta couldn’t hold her head up. She couldn’t make her neck muscles respond. By the terrible pain, she thought that they must be torn. Her chin rested on her blood-soaked chest.

She saw blood spreading across the white marble floor. Her blood. A lot of her blood.

The Mord-Sith’s boots were the same color as the pool of blood she was standing in.

With supreme effort, through the burning pain in her throat, past the blood filling her mouth, she used all her might to lift her head to look up and speak.

“What do you want of me?”

Vika arched a brow over a cold blue eye. “Well, now that you have screamed very nicely for me, I want you to die.”

Orneta blinked up at the woman. She could offer no resistance, could not fight such a savage creature.

She was not surprised, though. She had known the answer before Vika had spoken it.

Orneta saw the Agiel coming again.

She felt only the first instant of exquisite pain as her heart exploded in her chest.

And then, even that breathless, crushing agony diminished into the last conscious, dimming spark of awareness.

CHAPTER 64

Ludwig was pouring himself a last glass of wine when he heard the door behind him open and then close. There had been no knock.

He glanced back over his shoulder just enough to catch a glimpse of red leather. The familiar odor of blood reached his nostrils. It reminded him of being back at the abbey, of his work at extracting prophecy.

He turned around and took a sip of the wine as he leaned a hip against the table. It was late and he was tired.

Vika stood tall and straight, hands clasped behind her back, feet spread, chin held high, not meeting his gaze.

“Was everything satisfactory, Abbot Dreier?”

He strolled across the room toward her. “Everyone was terrified. We all heard the screams. After you came out, and before they all scattered, they caught a glimpse of the body. I especially liked the glare you gave them as you wiped the blood off your boots on the carpeting. Nice touch.”

Still, she did not meet his gaze. “Thank you, Abbot Dreier.”

“Did Orneta suffer a great deal?”

“Yes, Abbot, just as you instructed, I made sure that she suffered greatly.”