Blood Requiem

by Christopher Husberg

  The Son did not meet her eyes. “We have been specifically instructed to not let you through the gate, Miss Cinzia. I am sorry.”

  Miss Cinzia. No longer a priestess.

  Cinzia smiled despite herself. “Surely you cannot deny us safe passage,” she said, spreading her arms wide. “We are not a small group, obviously, but we are efficient. We would spend very little time in the city itself.”

  “It is not the city itself we protect, Miss Cinzia.”

  No, Cinzia realized, they are protecting Triah, the seminary, and Canta’s Fane.

  “But we cannot go around,” Cinzia said. “The cliffs block us to the west, and it would be impossible for such a large group to travel through the forest on the east. Kirlan is our only way south.”

  “I am afraid that is the point, Miss Cinzia. We cannot let you travel any further south than you already have.”

  “Are you the leader of this section?” Cinzia asked, nodding at the rest of the Sons guarding the gate.

  “I am the commander of the battalion that has been stationed in Kirlan.”

  Cinzia clenched her jaw. The Denomination had sent a Crucible first, to Navone. Then Nazaniin assassins to Harmoth. And now this, the most mundane of threats that Cinzia had faced in the last year, could be the force that might actually stop them.

  And the Denomination had sent an entire battalion. At least five hundred Sons of Canta.

  “Then I am afraid we shall have to set up camp here,” Cinzia said, indicating the field behind her, “until your orders change.” Cinzia hated to propose such a thing without consulting Lord Derard first, but the truth was she knew exactly what he would say. If the Prophetess required it, he would do it.

  The soldier all but shrugged. “Our orders do not prohibit that. You are welcome to do as you wish, Miss Cinzia. Although what the city of Kirlan will think of such a group smothering its front gate, I cannot say.”

  He kept staring out into nothing, no matter how hard she tried to make him meet her gaze. More than his nonchalance, more than the fact that he was impeding their progress, that gesture threatened to drive Cinzia mad. She knew the protocol for the Sons of Canta: never look a heretic in the eye.

  “Very well,” Cinzia said. It was all she could do to keep calm. “I daresay this is not the last you will see of me.” Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and brushed past the Prelates standing behind her. Knot, Elessa, and the Prelates reluctantly followed.

  “We need to tell Jane,” Elessa said, rushing up to Cinzia’s side.

  “Of course we do.” Cinzia looked up at the sun. “The Magnifical should be over soon. We shall meet her when she finishes.”

  Perhaps Canta would reveal some insane course of action through Jane. Perhaps Jane had already received a revelation— such a thing would not be untypical. They would need nothing short of a miracle to get through an entire battalion of the Sons of Canta blocking their way. Even if they tried to move through the forest, Cinzia imagined the Sons would be quick to impede their progress. She wondered what force the Denomination had authorized the Sons to use. Given the fact that the Denomination had already sent assassins against the Church of Canta, Cinzia feared the worst.

  They reached Jane just as she descended from the dais. Cinzia rushed her last few paces.

  Jane smiled. “Cinzia. I was hoping to speak with you, I…” The smile faded from her face. “What is wrong, sister?”

  “The Denomination has garrisoned an entire battalion of the Sons of Canta in Kirlan. They will not let us pass.”

  Jane glanced over Cinzia’s shoulder at the city. “They intend to attack us?” she asked.

  “I do not think so,” Cinzia said. She glanced at Knot.

  “If they’d meant to attack us, they’d have done it by now,” he said. “Wouldn’t have shown themselves. They want to set up a blockade, not a battleground. For now.”

  “Can we not just go around the city?” Jane asked.

  “Not without backtracking,” Cinzia said. “The forest is too thick on the eastern side. We would have to go all the way back to Turandel to take a different road.”

  “That’d add months to our trek,” Knot said.

  Jane’s eyes moved to the Odenites, crowded around the dais. “We must continue southward,” she said quietly.

  “We must get to Triah in time.”

  “In time for what?” This was the first Cinzia had heard of any sort of timeline for their travels.

  Jane took a deep breath, but did not meet Cinzia’s eyes.

  Cinzia shook her head. Transparency.

  Jane opened her mouth to speak, but then stopped, cocking her head to one side.

  “We need to get to Triah,” Jane said, “but we can make camp here for a time. Lord Derard will accommodate us, I have no doubt.”

  “He may accommodate us, but he will destroy his house and fortune in the process,” Cinzia said.

  “What are you two talking about in such hushed tones?”

  Cinzia and Jane turned to see Ocrestia, the tiellan disciple, along with the newest disciple anointed, Baetrissa. There were four of them now, and Jane wanted to anoint five more, to match the nine original Disciples of Canta. The process was slow, however. As she explained the situation to the two other disciples, Cinzia wondered whether they would ever find the right women to complete their number.

  “Canta will get us through this,” Jane said after Cinzia had finished. “She will provide, as She always has.”

  Cinzia turned to her sister, eyebrows raised. “What do you mean, ‘Canta will get us through this’? A moment ago you were afraid we might not make it to Triah in time.”

  Jane met Cinzia’s eyes. “My faith faltered, just for a moment. I am just as human as you are, sister. But now I see the truth of our situation. Canta will aid us. She will make sure we get to where we need to be, when we need to be there.”

  Cinzia blinked in shock. “Jane, this is a real problem. We cannot just wait for Canta to resolve it for us.”

  “That ain’t what the Prophetess said,” Ocrestia interjected. “She’s just saying we need to have faith. We should do what we can, but trust that Canta will do the rest.”

  Jane smiled. “Exactly, Ocrestia.”

  Cinzia was about to react, when she stopped herself. Had she not just learned the importance of trusting Canta a couple of months ago, at Harmoth? Faith implied a lack of control, and necessitated an act of trust.

  “I agree,” Elessa said, turning to face Cinzia. “We will do what we can, of course. But we must trust in the Goddess’s plan for us. What is the point of all of this otherwise?”

  What is the point of all of this? Cinzia could not help but wonder. But part of her suspected she already knew. If she gained nothing out of this but learning to trust in a power greater than herself, was that not worth the struggle?

  “Baetrissa, what about you?” Jane asked.

  The newly anointed disciple looked at the women around her. “How can my thoughts matter in light of your opinions? You are women of the Goddess.”

  Ocrestia smiled. “So are you. Your voice matters just as much as ours.”

  “Every voice matters just as much as ours,” Cinzia said.

  “Of course. That is what I meant.”

  “Very well,” Baetrissa said hesitantly. “I suppose it doesn’t matter much anyway. I agree with you all. I think trusting Canta is the most important thing.”

  Then all eyes turned to Cinzia.

  She sighed. “I am not going to argue against you. And, truth be told, I agree with you, too. Trusting Canta is important. But if we discern a way to take action, we need to follow it.”

  “Of course,” Jane said with a smile.

  “Are we always going to agree like this?” Baetrissa said after a pause. She was looking at Cinzia, eyebrows knitted together.

  Cinzia could not help but laugh. “No,” she said, feeling some of the tension leave her body. The others were right. They would do what they c
ould, but trust that Canta was helping them every step of the way. “I daresay we will not.”

  “Especially not as our rank grows to its fullness,” Jane said. “There are five more disciples yet to be found.”

  Cinzia turned at the sound of someone clearing their throat behind her. It was Arven, their cleric, and beside her a young man not much older than she. Twenty summers, or thereabouts.

  “Can we help you, Arven?” Cinzia asked.

  Arven’s head bobbed up and down rhythmically as she spoke. “This fellow is a new arrival, and he, well, he is alone, and he just arrived, you see, and because he is alone, we wanted to introduce him to a group that might take him in, perhaps give him a space, offer him food and water. He arrived alone, you see. But, well, he insisted on meeting all of you first.”

  A smile spread across the man’s face as Arven spoke, a smile that sent a chill running up Cinzia’s spine.

  Jane didn’t seem to notice. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, young man. I am Jane. Where have you—”

  “I bring a message,” he said, his voice steady and firm. Before anyone could respond, the man raised a hand high in the air and continued to speak, this time in a strange tongue. The words struck Cinzia with almost tangible force, and she took a step back.

  And realized, at once, that while it was no language she knew, she actually did understand what he was saying.

  “My blood for the blood of Aratraxia,” the young man said, voice rising. “My blood pays the price of passage, from their realm to ours. My blood for the blood of Aratraxia.”

  Knot darted forward as the man spoke, but too late. The young man brought his hand down—in it he held a dagger, how had Cinzia not noticed?—and drew the blade with a sickening tear across his own throat.

  The disciples gasped, backing away from the horrific scene, but Arven froze. The man’s body twisted as blood arced out from his neck. Blood sprayed across Arven’s face and dress and hair, and the poor girl looked down at herself, silent, as the man fell to the ground.

  Knot was already at his side as his body thrashed in the dirt.

  “Where did he come from, Arven? Did he say anything to you?”

  Arven looked down at Knot, then back at herself, covered in crimson. Blood dripped from her hair, down her forehead, streaked her cheeks like dark tears. The girl did not respond, instead raising her eyes to Cinzia.

  “Discip—”

  A crack split the air above them, and Cinzia looked up.

  Above the man’s now-still body, a patch of dark space had appeared, twisting and shimmering. Cinzia’s breath caught in her chest.

  “Shit.” Knot stood, taking Arven by the shoulder, and dragged the girl towards the disciples. “Get everyone as far away from this spot as you can,” he growled. He shoved Arven towards Cinzia, and Cinzia wrapped one arm around the young woman’s shoulders.

  “What is happening?” Cinzia asked. A writhing shadow took shape within the darkness.

  “Get back!” Knot shouted.

  The desperation in his voice galvanized Cinzia into action. She turned, holding Arven close, and led the other disciples away in time to see Astrid rush past her, towards Knot. The girl moved too quickly for Cinzia to ask any questions, and Cinzia had other concerns. Dozens of Odenites stood nearby, gawking.

  “Everyone, get back!” Cinzia screamed.

  Some of the Odenites turned and ran immediately, while others slowly began to step backwards.

  “Help me get them away from here,” Cinzia said through gritted teeth to the other disciples. Arven still cringed beneath her arm. Glancing over her shoulder, Cinzia saw the dark twisting shadow topple downward and crash into the earth below. A cloud of dust burst upwards. The dark space above winked out of existence, returning to blue sky.

  Then, from the dust, a form rose, and Cinzia could not stop the scream of terror that tore from her throat.

  3

  AS THE CROWD FLED, Knot backed slowly away, keeping his attention on the beast.

  He recognized the thing, or at least its general form, as an Outsider—one of the monsters he had fought underneath the imperial dome of Izet, when he had lost his wife, Winter. This one stood three times the height of a human, its body muscled and sinewy beneath slick black skin. It balanced on two thickly muscled hind legs, and its long arms ended in curved claws the size of Knot’s arms. Its massive head was oversized for the sinewy neck, with jaws and teeth so large they seemed to weigh the creature down, hunching it over. The creature swerved its head, empty black eyes observing the crowd around it, and dropped its jaw to emit a terrible sound between a roar and a scream.

  Questions raced through Knot’s mind. The last time he’d seen one of these monsters, Azael had been close. Was he here now? Would more Outsiders follow?

  But he had no time to consider them.

  “Astrid!” Knot shouted, keeping his eye on the Outsider. The monster took a step forward, and the vibration of it echoed up through Knot’s bones.

  Why was that girl never around when he—

  “I’m here, nomad.”

  Knot looked down. The girl stood at his side. That was something, at least. A large hooded cloak shielding her from sunlight. He looked back at the Outsider.

  “How are we going to fight this thing?” she asked.

  “Was hoping you’d have an idea,” Knot said. They continued to back slowly away.

  “You think it’ll wait ’til nightfall?”

  Knot grunted. The last time they’d faced Outsiders, Astrid had been at her strongest, and he’d had access to telesis. What limited ability he had now, after his healing, wouldn’t possibly damage the beast before them, and Astrid, while she was still strong, would not be nearly as powerful as she was at night.

  “We could ask nicely,” Astrid said.

  The Outsider roared again, its gaze fixed on Knot and Astrid. Knot heard footsteps behind him, and glanced back to see Eward approaching. The Prelates stood in formation behind him, an unmoving wall amidst the fleeing Odenites.

  “Orders?” Eward asked.

  “Archers only,” Knot said. “Line them up. Fire on the creature whenever you have a clear shot.” The Prelates made good footmen, but he had not trained them to handle anything like this. Better that he and Astrid made the front line.

  Knot could tell Eward wanted to argue, but the lad raced back to his line. He’d learned not to argue during combat.

  The ground trembled as the massive beast rushed towards them.

  “Flank it,” Knot said to Astrid. “Give the archers space.”

  Astrid sprinted to the left, cloak billowing behind her, and Knot moved to the right, sword drawn. While Astrid’s preferred weapons were her claws, she couldn’t extend them in the daytime. Instead she wielded two short swords, one gripped in each hand.

  Eward shouted behind them, and a volley of arrows hissed through the air, striking the Outsider’s armored skin. Most glanced away, but a few plunged through.

  The creature did not scream, and did not falter in its charge. Knot remembered the last time they’d faced Outsiders, and how much damage it had taken to bring one down. A single Outsider had demolished an entire squad of Rodenese Reapers—the emperor’s elite soldiers—in moments. If this one got to the Prelates, it would massacre them. He and Astrid had to keep the thing distracted.

  The Outsider lunged for Knot first. He dodged a swipe of the monster’s massive claw, then rolled out of the way to narrowly escape being trampled by its feet. The Outsider screamed as Astrid leapt atop it, plunging her swords into its back. A high-pitched roar of pain pierced the air, and it bucked her across the field. She rolled to a stop, not moving.

  The monster kicked Knot squarely in the chest with one of its feet before he could react. The impact sent him flying backwards, sliding along the grass. Knot gasped, regaining his breath with effort. The Outsider turned, moving in Astrid’s direction just as another volley of arrows hailed down on the thing from behind. Knot wasn’t su
re the arrows had any effect; the creature barely flinched, and continued sauntering towards Astrid, lying still on the grass.

  Knot sprinted forward, a growl forming in his chest. The Outsider was almost upon the vampire, raising one leg to stomp down. Knot reached her just in time, sweeping her up and out of the way as the ground shook beneath them. Cradling Astrid in one arm, he turned and thrust his sword through the monster’s side. He withdrew the blade quickly, slashing upwards, but the Outsider parried with one monstrous claw and Knot nearly lost his grip on his sword.

  Astrid groaned, stirring, but Knot couldn’t set her down. She was still disoriented, and she’d be an easy target. Instead, he kept his grip on the girl, dodging swipe after swipe from the Outsider’s claws. The monster wasn’t slowing down. If Astrid didn’t get her senses back soon, they’d both be dead. And being at such close quarters with the monster wasn’t helping—the Prelates could not fire without risk of hitting Knot and Astrid.

  Knot’s muscles strained as he narrowly escaped another slash of the monster’s claws. He stabbed up again with his sword, but the monster snaked out of the way. The thing was fast, especially for its size. Knot didn’t remember the Outsiders he’d fought in Roden being this fast.

  He dodged again, then sprinted away as fast as he could, hoping to give Eward’s archers a chance to get another volley in. Arrows hissed through the air, thudding into the monster’s hide and the grass around it.

  “What’d I miss?” Astrid asked.

  Knot looked down at her long enough to see her eyes open.

  “Can you stand?”

  The Outsider rushed at them again, and Knot’s muscles tensed.

  “Give me your sword,” Astrid said.

  Knot dodged and parried another attack from the Outsider.

  “I don’t think—”

  “Those stupid short swords of mine aren’t enough, nomad. Give me your sword.”

  Knot didn’t argue further. He let her take the sword, and she shifted in his arms just as the Outsider charged again. Then, the girl kicked off of his chest, springing directly at the charging Outsider, cloak flapping in her wake, a sword as long as she was tall held in both hands. The force of Astrid’s leap pushed Knot backwards into the grass.