“The Beast does not rouse for you,” the priest snapped. “As you know, the rituals must go on as prescribed or they’re meaningless.”

“Would you like to test that?” the third man queried.

The priest looked amongst them.

He needed them.

He needed all of them.

He could not recruit four men. Not do that and retain his guise as a Go’Doan emissary.

And if they all fell prey to some “accident,” how would he explain that to the Society?

He needed them until he was free to replace them.

All of them.

“I’ve received a missive from the Society,” he said. “They know of Rupert’s demise and they’ve informed me they’ve planned for such an occurrence. There is one always ready to join our ranks. I will dispatch a message to them and have him brought to me. I will interview him. If he’s suitable, I will train him, I will bring him to you and I will come with him.”

“And what if we don’t find him suitable?” the second man asked.

“You will,” the priest gritted.

“And how long will this take?” the first man inquired.

“The ride from Notting Thicket to the Ritual Ground is but a week. We’ve been delayed in leaving Firenze due to the death of that woman and the ostentatious ceremony King Mars bestowed on her. And the King of Mar-el demanded a further delay as he, for some reason, must take his wife and men to the sea. In other words, there is an interruption in the prophecy fulfilling itself. With our setback, we’ve been granted a boon.”

“Without our setback, and this delay, the Beast might be here already, and Triton would be ours,” his antagonist noted.

The priest said nothing.

“Fix it,” the man hissed.

“It will be done,” the priest returned haughtily, and before they could annoy him more, he returned across the astral plane to his physical form in the forest of southern Wodell, sitting atop his pentagram drawn in the dirt, the candles about him in a circle lit.

He extinguished them immediately. He was not near to the camp. He was also not far enough for his liking. He’d taken a chance lighting them. Now that he was safely back, he could risk it no longer.

And he sat in the dark, staring into the shadowy trees, giving the wax in the chilly clime time to harden so he could gather his implements, and he did this trying to keep his thoughts calm.

“This is but a setback,” he eventually murmured and stood, reclaiming the candles and putting them in his sack.

He used his foot to erase the pentagram.

“Just a setback,” he decreed.

With that, he made his way back to camp.

44

The Incomplete Circle

The Great Coven

Silbury Henge, Argyll Forest

AIREN