Shallin woke with the first sun’s rising. She’d slept out in the open on the hill of the Cull. The night had cooled her temper, as had the rain. One by one, she’d watched the lights of each home go out, knowing a mother and father mourned the loss of a child. Had theirs stayed lit the longest? She could not be sure.

The storm had been mild but expected. Shallin could not recall a Cull where the elements hadn’t made their displeasure known. Even so, a mere child with no inkling of her talents or fate had caused it with her last gasp. She found it fitting to weather the storm and take the mourning of nature upon herself, even as she mourned the life she had stilled.

Charred ground and the muddy patch of soil marked the remains of the pyre and the child’s burial, and the storm had distorted even those. Her clothes remained damp and she detested the filth clinging to her body. She wanted to bathe.

Instead, Shallin began walking down the hill to the town. Two week’s ride from Briarthorne to the north, its distance so far she hadn’t bothered to learn the town’s name. That had been Frain’s responsibility as her handler. Let him deal with the details. Her job was to Cull. Desi had been very clear on that. She had performed her duty. Her hands still spasmed from the effort.

Another week’s ride to the east and she would reach the extent of the Regency’s lands, and the onset of war. Unlike the suns rising above that distant horizon, she could not go there. She had been cut off from her intelligence contacts when Desi banished her to the kitchens. The punishment still rankled, but she deserved it.

Lady Desdemona hadn’t backed down like she thought she would. For two months, Shallin cooked, cleaned and slaved away at peeling potatoes on top of keeping up her time in the practice field. When this Cull came across Desi’s desk, it had immediately fallen to Shallin.

“I hope the Council approves my post at the Atrium,” she muttered. “It’s preferable to the galley any day.” No one passed her as she walked the road leading into town. Talking to herself didn’t feel out of place. “I should just go. Leave Frain here.”

Her mouth said one thing, but her legs said another. They led her into the nondescript town, indistinguishable from the many others she’d visited. On Cull duty, she focused on her dread. Even a child terrified her, as odd as that seemed. This had only required two Sentinels of the Vigil. A rogue practicing shaman demanded an entire Cadre to subdue.

“I’d still prefer someone who can fight back,” she said. Shallin passed a small rectory and the pitiful excuse for a Chapel nearby. The Red already worked the garden within, so she decided to stop and let her know she had taken care of things. It was the Sentinel thing to do.

“Ho there, Priestess,” she greeted the Red.

“Good morning, child.” The Red had several more cycles on her, but Shallin did not consider the woman to be old enough to be her mother. “Light shine upon your purpose.”

“The Light’s will is done,” she returned. “She did not suffer.”

“It is a heavy burden to bear,” the Red nodded. “I watched the pyre from here and wept for her parents. The night’s storm was clean.”

The Red’s words irked her. They matched the same cold detachment in Frain’s attitude - as if the loss of a child meant nothing more than an inconvenience to the Light. Why does this Cull bother me so much? What has changed? Nothing truly felt different, and yet everything did.

“I must be on my way, Mother. Thank you for bringing this to the Vigil’s attention.” Shallin hated the words she spoke. The Red nodded at their rote recitation. “We are at your service.”

“Please stay for tea. It is the least I can offer.”

“You are too kind, but no thank you. It is a long trip ahead of me and I must collect my second. We leave early this day.” Shallin meant to put as much distance between her and this place as possible soon. She had one more errand, however.

“I understand, child. May the Light illuminate your path,” the Red said.

“And let it keep the darkness at bay,” Shallin replied. The Red turned back to her gardening, and she moved on. The child’s parents needed to be informed. She couldn’t in good conscience neglect that part of her responsibility.

She wound her way through town. Smoke rose from several homes and the scent of burning wood filled the air. Shallin desired the warmth to restore her numb skin from her night exposed to the elements but hustled briskly to the bakery.

Smoke puffed from its chimney, and the aroma of fresh bread greeted her arrival. Like nothing was out of the ordinary. Life carried on in a ceaseless array of vague days that blended one into another. Today seemed no different.

Both parents were within. The father kneaded dough on the countertop, and several loaves already cooled on a rack while the oven radiated warmth behind him. The child’s mother slumped over in a chair, her face wracked with grief. Seeing Shallin enter without her child made her slump more. There was a finality in her arrival.

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The three of them looked at each other for several moments. Shallin didn’t know what to say now that she’d arrived. What can I offer them? Consolation? Reparation? I took their child from them. They bear no love for me.

“I didn’t think you Sentinels would be back. You are not welcome here,” the father said. What was his name? “You can leave now.”

“No, wait, Afrid. Let her have her say,” the mother said. Afrid. “Was it…did she…?” Afrid and Monelle, that’s her name.

Shallin approached and knelt, taking Monelle’s hands in hers. Her clammy skin felt the same as her heart - cold and emotionless. “You’re right, Afrid. We don’t normally return. It’s more tradition than protocol, anyway.” She could see that Monelle hadn’t slept, her eyes rimmed with red told the tale of the tears that stained her cheeks. “She did not suffer. I am sorry. She was a beautiful child.”

Monelle nodded and withdrew her hands. No reply would mean enough. Shallin understood. Afrid embraced his wife and she leaned into him. “That’s all you need to say. Stand your Vigil elsewhere,” he said.

I should just go. I bring only grief. “I was only following orders.”

“Of course, you were following orders. You’re just a soldier, mindless and thankless. Blameless. What is any of this to you but duty?” Shallin knew her actions justified his anger. He continued. “You’re young and I reckon you’re smart, so listen. I’ve seen war. I’ve seen fighting. Ellen never knew these things. You’re all the same. Eluvans. The Elerion Regency. How can you claim to serve the Light by murdering a child? That’s what it was. Murder.” His lips trembled.

“Through the Light, her sacrifice maintains harmony,” she said, trying to placate him. “We take no pleasure in it.”

“That’s the line they feed you. It’s what they want you to believe. A smart girl like you can think for yourself. I want to know if you took pleasure in it. None of this we business.” Afrid charged her with his command. Monelle wept into his shoulder.

Shallin looked away. Both her hands tingled, the after-effect of power that had coursed through them with the child’s passing. Is that why it was so hard? She could not look them in the eye and deny how much the feeling of power filled her with ecstasy she could barely contain. It clashed with the certainty that she had done something horrific and wrong, but duty didn’t care. Why did she?

A furious father and a grieving mother looked to her for any sense of sanity in her actions, and she could not offer any. Elerion demanded that the Cull take place. Eluvan doctrine demanded that as a Sentinel, she carry it out, or one in another of the other Cadres. Every Priestess urged them to do no harm, yet her sole function was to do exactly that.

Why do Sentinels exist if not to cause harm?

“It’s complicated,” she began.

“No. No. You don’t get to deflect. You’re all like this. I’ve spoken to others who’ve lost family to your kind. When you slit her open, did you enjoy it?”

“Children don’t fight back,” Shallin continued. “It wasn’t like that at all.” She could see already that Afrid had made up in his mind what she had done to his child. No amount of elaboration would change his perception. He wouldn’t understand a Grimcell and how it leached the child’s life away as it severed her connection to the elements. For a shaman, both intertwined as an intrinsic part of their being. The loss of one meant the loss of the other. Her and Frain’s very presence had begun the job.

She had held the girl in her arms and given her a powerful sedative that stopped the girl’s heart. The child had passed in her sleep. Shallin couldn’t describe the sorrow she felt as the child’s body grew cold or the thrill that flooded her with energy before that. For her, it was pleasure and pain, just as intertwined. No, they’ll never understand.

“Your hesitation tells me all I need to know, girl. Leave. I gave you a chance, but I see you don’t care. Light do with you what it will, Sentinel,” Afrid said. “Never come here again.”

Shallin bit her lip and nodded. “I’m sorry,” she said weakly. She left. Monelle’s wails grew louder even as she shut the door behind herself.

“I definitely could have handled that better,” she whispered. “That’ll teach me not to ignore protocol.”

It’s all Desi’s fault for sending me here. Shallin wanted to hate someone or something, anyone but herself. She walked away, her stomach grumbling at the smell of food all around her. Hungry and angry, just like I always am, she thought. She could already imagine Lady Desdemona’s pleasure when she brought the report. Shallin doubted it would do her any good.

The inn wasn’t far, but she hadn’t walked more than a street or two when she heard a familiar voice.

“Hey, Shall.” Frain crossed the street to meet her. “You had to go, didn’t you?”

“I can’t exactly deny it,” she replied.

“I had an inkling after last night. The bed was cold without you.” He fell into step beside her.

“I wouldn’t have joined you anyway. You know that.”

“The offer always stands. Was it worth it to go?”

“I thought it would be. I don’t really know,” she said.

“We’re never welcome back. I figured that would be obvious but clearly, you wanted to experience it yourself.”

“Did the girl deserve what we did to her?” Shallin knew what he would say before he responded. She wanted to hear it anyway.

“Shamans are distortions of the Light. You saw the child weaken in our presence. Every instinct of the Red to send for us was correct. If what we did was wrong, Elerion would not have taken her Light.”

“I did, not Elerion.”

“Having a crisis of conscience, Shall? I remember struggling with it like you do. Most of us go through it. Why share wise words when they make us do foul deeds? We were made to be killers to enforce Elerion’s will. Without us, the Tenets lose meaning.”

“How did you reconcile your actions with our beliefs?”

“I trust in those who know better, and have faith in their guidance.”

They reached their mounts, stabled near the edge of town. As the hostler helped saddle them, she couldn’t help but wonder if she could have the same trust and faith as Frain.