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The Rite for the Dead
The moon gleamed brightly as the tension below it became palpable. Even the wind knew something was wrong as it rarely passed through the horde of Wielders: There were ones pointing spears to the Skippers who were slumped on the ground, their hands raised, while Marjorie stood frozen in front of them.
It took Berry a hundred gulp, his eyes roaming the place for some escape. But he was frozen when Marjorie started laughing, a crisped one. Everyone stared at her with furrowed brows. If Berry didn’t know her, he would’ve perceived her crazy.
Who would laugh in this kind of situation? It’s never funny, to say the least. If need be, they should start begging now, and, assuming it wouldn’t work out as Berry hoped, they should at least ready their weapon for some course of action.
But that’s not happening anytime.
“What are you doing?” whispered Berry with gritted teeth, his eyes intent on the spears pointed at him, a dry smile curved on his lips.
La
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