House of Vultures

by Maggie Claire

  House of Vultures

  By

  Maggie Claire

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  World Castle Publishing, LLC

  Pensacola, Florida

  Copyright © Maggie Claire 2018

  Smashwords Edition

  Hardback ISBN: 9781629899329

  Paperback ISBN: 9781629899336

  eBook ISBN: 9781629899343

  First Edition World Castle Publishing, LLC, June 11, 2018

  http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com

  Smashwords Licensing Notes

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews.

  Cover: Karen Fuller

  Photo: Maggie Claire

  Editor: Maxine Bringenberg

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Dedication

  To my family –

  Thank you for supporting me through the struggles that ultimately led to the writing of this book. You mean the world to me.

  Chapter 1

  Starlight is just winking into existence as the sun falls over the Devil’s Spine. Laughter tickles the air as children tumble in the cool grass. They run around the nearest sycamore trees, racing to see who can reach their appointed end first. Parents smile and coo at the sight of their happy families.

  I am not among them.

  “Get away from the window!” My mom snaps, throwing the curtain closed. “I’m sorry, but you just can’t be seen right now.”

  “But why not, Momma? Why can’t I play with the other kids?” I whine, desperately trying to pry open the curtains in her clenched fist.

  “Please trust me, dear. Now is not a good time.” Her voice is tired, no doubt because we’ve been having this conversation every night for years.

  “It’s never a good time, Momma! Something is always wrong!” I persist, knowing it will not change her answer. I sigh and turn away. She and Dad have always been so overprotective, but this time I think it is different. This time bags are packed, sitting like servants by the door. I look at my mother’s face with a question in my eyes. “But tomorrow you said we could go—”

  “We are. Then we are leaving this place entirely.” Dad opens his arms to me as he steps into the living room. He speaks to Mom as I tuck my head under his chin. “It’s her birthday wish. We can give her that, surely.”

  Their faces change in my memory, and suddenly I am forced to watch as they melt away with the wicked wind. My mouth falls open as my hands reach for them, a scream frozen on my lips. The last thing that is torn apart is their fingers. I see their skin splitting into bloody cracks as flesh withers away. Fingernails separate into long splinters, then bones slowly disintegrate as a mighty howl is loosed inside the wind storm spiraling around me. It is alive, and as it draws near me, it seems to sense my fear. The winds hover over me, then pass by on my right, leaving me to pick up the pieces of my life at only seven years old. And a voice calls to me, screaming, “Run, daughter! Don’t look back!”

  ***

  About three-fourths of the population of Cassé disappeared that day, torn apart while the helpless survivors watched. Everything good, everything decent in our world was shattered. The green verdant land that I knew was gone, and a dry, dusty, empty place remained. Our once proud forests held trees that bent like elderly men, many of them too broken to survive. Grasses browned and crops of thorny bracken took over their spaces. It would take many years before Cassé recovered, and even then, it would be a shadow of its former self.

  Yet all I clearly recall about that day is the hands of my family, pointing their accusing, broken fingers at me as they dissolved. They blamed me for everything that happened. We would never have died if you hadn’t sent us here. We might have survived if we had not been in the city! It is all your fault, little—

  “Mynah!” A hand rattles my doorknob, testing the lock. “You’re up for the first shift! Get out of that bed!”

  I shoot up from my pillow, hand clutching my face until I graze the rough edges of my mask. I let my fingers drift along its length just to assure myself that it hasn’t slipped during the night. Even with my door latched there could still be eyes watching. The thought of unseen voyeurs peeking at me sends a cold shiver over my body.

  “Are you moving?” Condor’s gruff voice hurries my feet to my shoes, my hands grabbing my holey jacket off the lop-sided stool in the corner of my room. I throw open the door before Condor protests a third time. “Almost too late, love,” he grins as he lowers his hand, set to knock on my door in one final attempt. I stare at his ebony mask and the silky black feathers that trim the edges. A blood red scar, dyed into its dark surface by wild raspberries, runs diagonally along the left eye hole and over the nose. It ends at the edge of his mouth, where a real scar continues down his neck. “Almost thought that I was going to have to punish you, Mynah.”

  “I know the house rules,” I grumble sleepily as I try not to react to his words. The last girl he had punished hadn’t been able to move for a week. “I don’t screw up on purpose, Condor.”

  “And yet, you are always in trouble,” Condor replies with a growl. So fast that I did not see it coming, Condor’s hand grips my neck, slamming my body against the door frame. His breath rustles through the eye holes of my mask. “Most of the females in this house would love to get my attention, even in punishment. So why don’t you?” His free hand slinks along my waist.

  I will my eyes to look vacant and bored, my mouth dropping into a frown. “What about the shift?”

  “It can wait,” he growls, moving in closer to me, his hands drifting higher.

  My fingers inch toward the knife in my belt. “Nothing is more important than the shift.”

  Condor smirks but stops his assault. “I thought that you never listened to my rules.”

  “I always hear them. I just don’t follow them,” I admit with a sigh, knowing that I’ve won. “Except the ones that I like.” Only the ones that help me get away from you.

  “Well, damn! Using my own words of wisdom against me.” He slides away from me, but my skin still feels oily, like I need a good, hot bath and some scrubbing salt. When he speaks to me again, his tone suggests that it is business as usual once more. “Too smart for your own good; I’ll be watching you closely.” I know he means that. If I keep crossing him, if I keep challenging his intentions for me, we will one day find ourselves at war. “You are running solo today.”

  A glimmer of terror races through my blood, but I try not to let it show. “Are you sure?” I can barely breathe as Condor slams a hand across my mask, and I shiver as it bites into my nose.

  “You question me? Let’s see how that brain of yours works when you’re in the forests alone. Either come back with treasures or do not come back at all.” Condor leers in triumph as my hand reaches to my jaw, testing the soundness of the bone.

  “Have I ever failed?” I grumble, already moving toward the door before Condor can answer me. Hurrying down the rickety staircase, I pass by axes, bows, slingshots, and other weaponr
y used by the others in the House. I pick up no other weapons for myself; I want nothing more than the long, serrated blade jutting out from its sheath at my hip. The blade slaps my leg as I hit the last step, almost as if the metal itself is a harbinger of fury trying to slice its way to freedom.

  The morning dew is traitorously pretty for this land. It glistens on the dusty road, not yet heavy enough to make the ground muddy. The sky is on fire with its orange hue, and I shut my eyes against it. Too beautiful for me to view. Such a sight belongs only to the innocent, I think as my hands tremble.

  Immediately I bolt for the cover provided by a dilapidated car in the driveway. Its windows long broken and its hood rusted through, the car stands as a cruel reminder of the life we all once shared. Many a time I have passed by and wondered who had owned it before the windstorm. What would they say to learn that the House of Vultures now squats in their home?

  I hopscotch my way to the tree line, passing through the fence with my eyes alert for any signs of danger. Nothing slows my pace until I am hidden behind the blackened bark of a thick oak tree. New saplings stretch their branches up toward the sky, but all of the tallest trees bear the scars. These strongest trees that still stand after the windstorm now seem to grieve, to scream out to the younger generations as if in warning. I’ve always felt skittish in the forest, as if I am being watched. Though whether it is the trees or other intruders on our land, I am never certain.

  “Please let there be at least a deer or two, and a few rabbits—enough to feed the ones that live inside,” I pray to whatever god might be listening. There are nearly seventy who claim loyalty to the House of Vultures, but only eight of us actually live indoors. We serve as the elite council, with Condor acting as the self-proclaimed leader. The rest of the members make camp in the fields behind the House, scrounging their living out of what they can find there. When those of us that live inside run the forests of Cassé, we are foraging for everyone in the elite. If I go back to the House empty handed, I will not only be beaten, but also cause myself, Warbler, Bittern, Falcon, and Grouse to go hungry. Food goes to the males when it runs short. A chauvinistic practice in my thoughts, but I cannot stand alone against Condor, and I know that none of the other girls would back me. Except Warbler, and no one takes her seriously anyway.

  The first trap yields a scrawny buck, and I quickly clean and dress him before continuing. I learned long ago not to let my mind focus on my actions. The first time I’d had to do this task, I butchered the animal, practically ruined the meat, and cut my shaking hands at least three times. Over time I had learned to detach myself, not allowing the guilt that I feel to affect the steadiness of my knife. Emotions are worthless when you are fighting to survive. They are weights that will get you killed if you let them. “Barely enough meat for three. Even if the other runners are lucky today, there won’t be enough for us all,” I lament as I wipe the blood off my knife. “Have to do better than this.”

  The next two traps are trampled, suggesting that whatever had been caught was strong enough to get away. I inspect the surrounding forest until the sun is high over my head, and I curse when I come up empty handed. My eyes began searching the bushes for wild berries that I can smuggle in my coat to the other girls. A growl roars from my stomach as I prepare for another day skimpy on food.

  However, when I reach the fourth trap, I find that it has been sprung on purpose. A small white flower is caught in the wires, and I draw my knife immediately. Someone is waiting, my inner intuition tells me. That otherworldly knowledge that eyes are focused on me skitters across my bones. Every sound heightens, from the cacophony of birds to the gentlest breeze rustling the leaves, and finally to the forced shallow breaths of the person behind me. I discover his presence only a second too late.

  “Foolish girl,” a voice whispers in my ear as a hand grapples with my throat. “Leaving your party to go off alone in the woods, tsk tsk.” I feel soft fur tickling the base of my neck.

  “I’m all alone,” I breathe, relaxing as I recognize the speaker. “That’s hardly a score for someone of your stature, Wolf.”

  “Really? That fool let you out in this land alone? What is Condor thinking?” The outrage in Wolf’s voice makes me smile, hampered only by the tips of the claws he wears over his fingers. They graze my skin so deeply I fear they will leave bloody trails on my neck.

  “I didn’t realize you cared so much, Wolf. But I can take care of myself out here.” I pull at his arm in vain, unable to free myself from his clasp.

  “No, you can’t. But it’s cute that you think you can,” Wolf chuckles as he releases his hold on me. I turn to face his gruesome mask, literally made from the carcass of a gray wolf. I’ve never seen one alive, but the face of the creature that Wolf wears has always unnerved me. Such a fearsome beast should be left alone, free to run and live its life.

  Traitor, traitor, my blade seems to accuse as it knocks against my thigh. You’ve killed many creatures in your time.

  I try to block out the sentiments, focusing on the man in the wolf’s mask. “So, what did you steal from me today? Anything good?”

  “I never steal, Mynah. Not from your House or any other.” He truly sounds angry, his voice almost a growl. Then his eyes drift over the skin of the buck, the meager amount of meat that I have salted and covered inside it. “Not much today, it seems.”

  I shrug, staring at the horizon. It would do no good to show weakness to Wolf. While he and I may be on speaking terms, that doesn’t make us friends. “I’ll manage somehow. There’s still a couple more traps to check, and I’ll do some hunting if I need to.” That’s not exactly true—I never hunt for extra food. It’s one thing to end the misery of an animal still caught in the traps, but I cannot force myself to go out looking for a kill.

  The feel of Wolf’s hands brushing against my arm startles me. “Join me, Mynah. We will change your mask and your alias. You would do so much better in my pack.”

  This is not the first time Wolf suggested I join his pack. The first time had happened the day that we first met. It had been under very similar circumstances as today’s encounter. I had been foraging for wild vegetables and fruit on another lean meat day, so engrossed in the task that I had not heard him sneak up behind me. He quickly grabbed me around the waist, thinking I was one of the nameless unchosen that still wander through our forest. Yet before he could kill me I had thrown him off my back, nearly plunging a knife into his gut in my fear. Rather than fight me further, he’d grinned and asked me to join his pack.

  “You would be the perfect beta, Mynah,” Wolf whispers with a smile. His upper jaw is hidden by the wolf’s mask, but his bottom teeth are visible and filed into points. While I understand the reason behind it, I still shudder at the sight. “With you as my beta, nothing would stand in our way.”

  “I am fine in my House, thank you.” I try to scuttle past Wolf, but his agile form lithely intercepts me once more.

  “You are starving, Mynah. Barely skin and bones. Surely you see that! I could feed you, keep you from having to be out here in the woods at all. I’d make sure you wanted for nothing. I could make your life one of luxury if you’d allow it.”

  “But at what cost, Wolf? What else would you want to do?” I answer indignantly, already knowing the response to my questions. Wolf runs his house like a literal wolf pack, complete with alpha hierarchy. If I become his beta, or second in command, I will also be his wife in every sense of the word. Bearing litters to Wolf is not on my to do list.

  Wolf grins, his fingers dancing up my arm. “I’m not so bad, Mynah. I’d be faithful to you, loyal. I’d never raise a hand to you, nor would I allow anyone else to have the chance to hurt you. You would be in control of the pack, answering only to me. You’d have power, strength, wealth, everything you could ever wish for. Surely life as my beta would be worth sharing a bed with me?”

  A guttural cry cuts off any irate response from me. Wolf and I bolt in the direction of the sound, my small form allowing me t
o easily keep up with his pace. Running with a mask on my face had been a vital and difficult skill to learn when the rules of our society changed. I have a fair number of scars from my attempts, but I had adjusted. Still, I do not see Wolf’s arm until he almost clotheslines me in the throat. He catches me by my shoulders, keeping me hidden in the shadows.

  “Animal in a trap?” I ask as my breathing slows.

  Wolf shakes his head no. “That sound is human. I’d bet control of my pack on it.”

  I feel my face pale at the thought. A human, dying at the sound of it. I pray to whatever god cares that he isn’t stuck in one of my traps.

  And I swear violently when I see that he is.

  The body of the young male writhes on itself as he pants, the teeth of the snare firmly lodged in his left calf. He’s been there all night by the looks of him, arms and face bearing scratches and bites from animals that had attempted to get an easy meal during the night. A bloody club lays beside the boy, and I feel my stomach turn. One of his fingers is missing, blood oozing sluggishly from the dirt covered wound.

  “He is your responsibility, Mynah,” Wolf whispers, and as he speaks the eyes of the boy fly over to our hiding place.

  That’s when I notice that he is unmasked. His mouth draws up in a snarl, sweat glistening on his brow. He has a straight nose and dark hazel eyes that almost seem to shout hateful curses where his voice fails him. Yet I drink in the sight of an uncovered human face. He is either one of the nameless unchosen or he is from the Déchets, the neighboring land across the Devil’s Spine. Either option is a death sentence.

  A sentence that is my responsibility to carry out.

  “You know the laws, Mynah,” Wolf urges me, tapping my hip over the sheath of my knife.

  The boy realizes what Wolf is intimating and raises his club defiantly. “Come on, then!” His body trembles with fever as he speaks the words. His death would be quick, my traitor mind rationalizes. One slice just under the chin and he’ll bleed out before his head hits the ground.