Rhun stepped farther in the room, but he cautioned the others to hang back.
They were not alone.
In the deeper shadows at the other end of the church stalked the four shaggy dogs that had attacked them in the forest. Other beasts stirred back there, crimson eyes glowing, revealing their accursed natures. He spotted a pair of grimwolves, a black leopard, and hulking on one knuckle was a mountain gorilla.
“Do not be afraid,” Hugh said, standing to the side with the torch. “You are my guests… until I say otherwise.”
Rhun moved out with the others, but he kept everyone back from that dark menagerie, whose eyes watched their group with equal suspicion. He frowned at the state of this small cathedral. The nave held no pews, and the stone floor was spread with straw. A dozen cots lined the walls, while smaller side chapels were penned off, revealing troughs and thick beds of loose hay.
Sophia nudged Rhun, nodding toward tall, thin figures hovering near marble statues.
Strigoi.
At least a dozen.
The strigoi had no weapons that he could see, save perhaps those garden tools leaning against the walls — rakes, hoes, and spades.
“You need fear no one here, Father Korza,” Hugh tried to reassure him.
Rhun hoped that he was telling the truth. He glanced around at the building itself. Rather than raw rock, the walls were covered in white bricks, soaring up into great gothic vaults. Huge wrought-iron chandeliers hung down, dripping with candlewax.
Even up there, creatures stirred.
Hugh noted his attention, lifted an arm and whistled.
A shred of black shadow broke away and swept down, landing on his wrist.
It was an ebony-feathered raven with glowing eyes. Its beak was a spear, its claws true talons. Hugh used a finger to gently ruffle the feathers along its neck. The bird bowed, rubbing back in turn.
“This is Muninn.” Hugh glanced upward, searching the roof. “Huginn is up there, too. Or perhaps he’s off hunting.”
Erin must have recognized the names. “Odin’s ravens,” she said. “They were said to be able to fly around the world, bringing information to the Norse god, keeping him informed of everything. You’re not suggesting these are—”
“The same ones? No, my dear,” Hugh said with a smile. “It just amuses me to call them by those names. And the pair is but two of a great flock that haunts these forests, a mix of blasphemare and natural birds.”
“Amazing,” Erin said, her gaze searching the ceilings.
Rhun suspected she wasn’t looking for more birds, but her attention was captured by the decoration across the vaulted roof. The ceiling was white, but red stars and blue wheels had been painted across its surface, forming an elaborate, fanciful design.
“The frescoes above,” Erin muttered, confirming Rhun’s guess. “They’re extraordinary. They look Middle Eastern — with the wheels and stars — but not quite, somehow.”
She wandered off a few steps to better take them in.
Jordan kept to her side. Elizabeth trailed after them after Rhun quietly signaled her to do so.
Sophia waved to the beasts and strigoi. “How did they come to be here?”
Hugh looked lovingly upon his flock, as Muninn hopped to his shoulder. “It is my experience that creatures seek out their true masters. To reach my sanctuary, many blasphemare and strigoi traveled hundreds of miles. I did not call them. They are drawn to me, just as this sweet lion was drawn to Rhun.”
Rhun rubbed the cub’s head. “But how do you keep them from killing in these mountains?”
Hugh lifted his arms. “Because, like you, they have made peace with their nature. Instead of being ruled by their savage blood, they control it. They are no longer killers.”
Sophia looked little convinced by the man’s words.
Rhun could not blame her. “How does one find peace outside the bounds of the Church?”
“Acceptance and mindfulness,” Hugh answered. “I was taught certain techniques during my travels long ago, ways to open your mind and develop patience and love. I can teach them to you, if you like. All are welcome here.”
Hugh motioned gently behind him. “Francesca, would you join us? I’ve found truths are best heard from the lips of those who have experienced them firsthand.”
A slim woman parted from the shadows only yards away. Rhun had not even known she had been there. She was likely once beautiful, with long pale blond hair and supple limbs, but there was a gentle frailty about her thin frame. She smiled at Hugh, love shining from her eyes.
Rhun noted the hint of fangs, the lack of a heartbeat.
“Tell them,” Hugh said.
“We were first taught awareness,” she whispered reverently. “Awareness of our nature, of who we are. To know we are one of God’s creatures.”
Sophia made a scoffing noise. “You are predators, preying upon the weak.”
Francesca smiled sadly at her. “No one judges a lion for bringing down a gazelle. It is the lion’s nature, and the lion need feel no guilt or shame.”
Hugh moved to a stool and sat down. A three-legged gray fox scurried over and jumped onto Hugh’s lap. A clean white bandage had been fastened around its stump, and Rhun felt a twinge of sympathy for it. When Hugh stroked its back, the fox leaned against him, showing no fear, not even of the lion, whose ears had perked up at the sight of the injured animal.
“But how do you sustain yourselves?” Rhun asked.
“Somewhat with wine,” Hugh answered. “Like you.”
“Monsieur de Payens, can you still consecrate wine, even after turning your back upon the Church?” Elizabeth asked.
“A priest bears an indelible mark upon his soul,” Rhun explained, “which means that one remains a priest and can consecrate wine even after one leaves the Church.”
Sophia picked out a guileful detail to the man’s explanation. “You said wine somewhat sustains you. What else does it take?”
“Blood, of course.” Hugh showed no sign of shame or guilt at this admission. “As Francesca has told you, we are all predators and must accept our natures.”
Rhun felt sickened, remembering how Rasputin’s followers mixed wine with human blood to survive. They remained killers. It seemed Hugh had fallen into the same sinful trap. He remembered too well the taste of Rasputin’s blood-damned wine.
Hugh held up a hand. “Understand, we take as little as we need to survive — but we also have a right to survive. As I mentioned awareness is but one half of a whole. Mindfulness is just as important.”
Francesca nodded in agreement, explaining, “While we accept and are aware of our nature, we must be mindful not to lose control. We meditate, learn to separate need from desire, taking only what is necessary and right.”
“How can any killing be right?” Rhun asked.
Francesca folded her thin hands. “We only take the blood from those who are suffering or those who inflict suffering upon others.”
“Our purpose is to end suffering,” Hugh expounded. “We find those who are in terrible pain and wish to die. Those who are so wracked with disease and will never recover. We end their lives with mercy, grace, and joy.”
As a priest, Rhun had spent time with the dying. While he balked at such a concept as killing as an act of mercy, he knew how man had created technology to stave off death, but so often it seemed these methods were used to extend suffering, to prolong an inevitable end to an unnatural length.