Chapter 6 THE DEVIL'S REGISTRY

The dead man's blood had barely soaked into the floorboards of Griefmere's church when Elias found it-wedged beneath the altar, hidden beneath a loose stone slab smeared with the priest's bloodied fingerprints.

A book.

Small, weatherworn, bound in leather that had darkened with age and, more troubling, something else-flesh? The texture made Clara recoil when he pulled it free.

Elias ran his thumb across the cover. There was no title.

Just a seal burned into the front: an open eye with a tear falling from it.

He glanced at Clara.

Her voice was low. "Don't open it here."

The remaining knight-Sir Tane, a quiet man with a grim mouth and sad eyes-nodded. "Not in a place where that thing breathed."

So they waited until nightfall and made camp outside the village in a clearing by the stream. The woods encircling Griefmere had grown too quiet, like the trees themselves were afraid.

Elias sat near the fire, the strange book in his lap, and finally broke the silence. "He called this town delivered."

Clara stared into the flames. "To what?"

He opened the cover.

The scent of smoke and wax wafted out immediately.

The first page was handwritten. Sloppy. Hastily scrawled as if in panic.

> Let this serve as record. Let it speak when I no longer can.

The confessions must be kept. For each name, a memory. For each sin, a sacrifice.

He hears them. Through the blood. Through the names.

This is the Registry.

Clara leaned closer. "A registry of what?"

Elias turned the page.

Names.

Dozens-hundreds-lined each page in cramped, frantic ink.

Next to every name was a confession. Some were mundane. Theft. Adultery. Blasphemy. But others-

He paused, eyes narrowing.

Gideon Harrow – Betrayed a child for bread. Spoke her name in the flames. Marked. Accepted.

Ilia Morn – Poisoned the well to silence a crying newborn. Marked. Accepted.

Jonas Vale – Lied to his brother. Lied again. Denied. Bled. Taken.

He slammed the book shut.

"Every victim. Every sacrifice. It's all here."

Sir Tane murmured, "He was keeping score."

Clara's voice cracked. "He wasn't forgiving sins. He was collecting them."

Elias nodded. "Sins weren't absolved. They were offerings."

She stood, pacing. "So that thing in Raven Hollow... it wasn't just a priest. It was something that fed on guilt."

"No," Elias said, standing too. "It fed on confession."

---

By morning, fog had crept back over the valley, thick and white like wool. The village behind them sat still and untouched-as though nothing had happened, as though it had always been empty.

But Clara could still see the blood on the chapel doors when they turned their backs.

As they rode north, Elias opened the registry again, carefully flipping page by page, searching for patterns.

"Some of the names have locations next to them," he said aloud.

Clara peered over his shoulder from horseback. "Look-there. That's not far. Fenward."

Sir Tane rode beside them, listening. "I know Fenward. River town. Trade center. Last I heard, they have a council-run church. Not part of the Abbey's fold."

"That could be why Thorne targeted it," Elias said. "Less oversight. Fewer questions."

Tane's hand tightened on his reins. "My cousin serves there. Sister Miriel."

Clara looked up. "Do you trust her?"

"I do"

---

They reached Fenward by twilight.

Unlike Griefmere, Fenward was alive-but barely. The streets were narrow, lined with leaning buildings and shuttered stalls. The scent of salt and fish lingered heavily in the air, and the people moved with hunched backs and lowered eyes.

Something hung over the town.

Elias felt it like pressure in his chest.

Clara whispered, "They look afraid to speak."

Tane dismounted first, leading them toward the chapel at the far end of the market square. It was modest compared to Coldmere-a simple stone structure with wooden doors and a single bell tower.

As they approached, a woman stepped out to greet them.

She wore gray robes, her hair long and braided, streaked with silver.

"Tane," she said, surprise and caution dancing in her voice.

"Sister Miriel," he replied. "I wasn't sure you'd still be here."

She gave a faint, tired smile. "Most aren't. Not anymore."

Her eyes flicked to Elias and Clara.

Miriel stepped aside to let them in, locking the door behind them.

Inside, the chapel was cold and dim. Only two candles remained lit, flickering weakly near a wooden crucifix.

"No sermons?" Elias asked.

"No congregants," Miriel replied. "Most stopped coming weeks ago. Some were... taken."

"Taken how?" Clara asked.

Miriel hesitated, then spoke low. "Each night, a confession is heard. A private rite. Only one soul is chosen. And the next day... that soul is gone."

Sir Tane's jaw clenched. "And you allowed this?"

She shook her head quickly. "I tried to stop it. I did. But the new priest-Father Alric-he came with seals and orders. Said it was reformation. Said the old ways were wrong."

Elias already knew what she meant.

"Did he carry a book?" he asked.

Miriel nodded slowly. "Always. Black leather. Eyes on the cover."

Clara looked at Elias. "Another registry."

"We need to see it," he said.

Miriel hesitated again. "He's kept it locked in the vestry. Only opens it during rites."

"Then we'll make him open it," Elias said grimly.

---

They didn't have to wait long.

Father Alric entered just before midnight. A tall man, unnervingly thin, with robes that looked more ceremonial than sacred. His mouth was small, lips tight, like he'd long since forgotten how to smile.

Clara stepped into the nave to intercept him.

He paused. "You're not from here."

"No," she said. "But I have something to confess."

His eyes gleamed. "Do you now?"

Alric beckoned her toward the small confessional booth at the side of the chapel. He didn't notice Elias or Tane slipping around behind the altar.

The booth was shadowed, lit only by a slit in the wooden divider.

Alric slid the grate open.

"Speak, child."

Clara leaned forward, voice quiet.

"I have seen the dead walk. I have watched them scream without tongues. I have stood where your god bleeds through children's mouths."

Alric said nothing.

Then: "You lie."

Clara smiled.

"Then strike me down."

He reached for his book.

Elias burst in, sword drawn.

"Don't open it."

Alric froze.

"You don't know what you're doing," the priest said coldly.

"Oh, I think we do," Elias replied.

Sir Tane entered next, sword raised. Miriel followed, a candle in hand.

Alric sneered. "You think the truth is yours to command? No. It commands you. It burns through silence. And you-"

He lunged for the registry.

Tane struck.

A clean cut.

The book fell from Alric's hands as he crumpled to the floor, mouth open in a silent scream, blood pooling around his knees.

The pages fluttered.

Elias stepped forward.

He knelt and picked it up.

Clara asked quietly, "Another registry?"

He opened it.

And stopped breathing.

Clara peered over his shoulder.

This book was different.

Each name was written in red.

But instead of sins... there were entries like these:

Elias Ward – Witness. Burden-bearer. Thread of rupture. Condemned.

Clara Dunn – Blood-bound. Voice of dissent. Condemned.

Jonas Vale – Unmarked. Slain. Appeased.

Annalise Merrow – Seed of fracture. Taken. Now Awakening.

Clara's hands shook. "Annalise is still...?"

But Elias was already flipping pages.

There were hundreds more names.

Some crossed out.

Some circled.

Others... underlined in gold.

Each bore a title. Not sins. Not deeds.

Flesh-keys. Soul-lanterns. Vessels. Seals.

"What is this?" Tane whispered.

Elias's mouth felt dry. "Not just confession. This is a map."

"To what?"

"To a ritual. A path. These people... they aren't guilty. They're chosen."

---

They burned the second registry in the chapel brazier before dawn.

As the flames consumed the cursed pages, the chapel groaned. Stones cracked. Candles snuffed themselves out.

It felt like something was watching.

And losing.

For now.

---

On the road again, Clara rode in silence, her thoughts spinning.

She finally spoke. "If Annalise is awakening... does that mean she's alive?"

"I don't know," Elias said. "But if she is... it's not in any way we'd recognize."

"And this map?"

Elias pulled the few copied pages he'd taken from the second registry.

"The next name," he said, "is a town called Bleakrest."

Tane made the sign of the cross.

"What?" Clara asked.

"It's not a town," Tane said. "It's a ruin. Burned down a century ago. No one goes there."

Elias's voice was grim. "Then that's exactly where we're going."