Dagger and Scythe

by Emilie Knight

  He kept his chosen weapon in one hand and placed a few more throwing knives between the fingers of the other. Keeping his senses sharp, Dagger entered the warehouse.

  He saw the shadow peek around a stack of boxes on the walkway above him. The smallest sound of a click followed by the twang of a taught string being let go reached his ears before the bolt did. Two inches of steel punched into his right shoulder. Dagger cursed; the man hadn’t had a crossbow before. This place must have been a well-stocked hiding place with weapons at the ready.

  The force of it made him stagger, gritting his teeth against the pain. He took a step back and Dagger threw the knives into the corner where he had seen the shadow.

  There was a satisfying choking sound, and Dagger saw the man stagger from the corner, clutching his neck. Dagger hurried to the ladder that led up to that walkway and climbed up, deciding to leave the bolt in his shoulder, he’d heal relatively quickly once it was out. The scared bastard couldn’t kill him anyway, even if the bolt had pierced his heart.

  He found Nereus clutching his neck. The crossbow on the floor was a new design that was able to keep two bolts notched. He managed to get the weapon up and fire the last bolt into Dagger’s stomach. Nereus dropped the now-useless weapon and tried to rise as death approached.

  Dagger left the bolts in him as he knelt over Nereus. One of his knives had landed in Nereus’s arm, while the other had opened his neck at the side.

  “Fucking Salus couldn’t wait to be paid, eh?” Nereus managed to choke out.

  “Salus didn’t send me,” Dagger replied. He didn’t know who Salus was, probably one of the other gamblers back at the Card.

  “What the fuck are you?” Nereus spat blood. His eyes darted from Dagger’s face to the bolts in his shoulder and stomach.

  “It’s not important.”

  “I’ll pay you,” Nereus was growing pale. “Help me out of here, and I’ll forget this.”

  “You couldn’t even pay Salus, apparently,” Dagger said.

  Nereus coughed up more blood. He was struggling to breathe as his life poured through his fingers. “I can get the coin…”

  “I don’t need it,” Dagger shrugged.

  Nereus slumped to the ground, and the second name on the list was eliminated.

  Chapter 17

  Scythe slumped lower in the high-backed chair, letting the scroll curl back into its tube. She was getting nowhere. After caring for their guests again, Scythe had come right back to the library for research. All of the stories she found were the same. Nyx creating Phaos and Maniodes. Phaos creating Ichorisis, then Maniodes creating Skiachora. The fights between the two brothers was interesting, but neither of them actually defeated the other. Their war had come to a stalemate when Maniodes created Hamia and the Blood Warrior line.

  Scythe vaguely remembered hearing about the Blood Warriors during her life, but couldn’t recall any details except that the last living one had gone mad and had to be hunted down. Though he couldn’t do more then send thin spikes of blood a few feet from his veins. It was said the power weakened over generations. She felt sad for them, actually. They were once respected and honored.

  Moving on in the myths, they carried the stories of the gods meeting with humans and the trouble that caused. It even led to when Nyx forbade either of her sons from procreating with humans again.

  The last demigod had been a child of Phaos known as Furos. It turned out to be an abomination that ripped its way out of its mother in three days and caused enough chaos with its uncontrollable storms to nearly drown all of the northern city-states. Phaos couldn’t control his monstrous son, so Nyx had to kill him.

  Scythe wished Dagger was in the library with her. At least she’d have someone to talk to. Axe hadn’t come to the library all night, and she wondered if he was avoiding her. Pitch had come to say hello but couldn’t stay because of his duties.

  Scythe got up and set the scroll back where she found it. It was another ancient text about their origins. It referred to Maniodes’s shield a lot, and Phaos’s sword, but there was nothing useful about destroying or controlling it. Maybe this tactic was useless. She turned back to the thick book that held the death of Phaos’s son at Nyx’s hand. Maybe widening the scope to the defeat of any divine being might help. It was worth a try, but even that had been putting her to sleep.

  Scythe took her usual spot on the second-floor balcony where she could see the entrance. The sound of footsteps reached her before she could start reading. The shape of the tower and its hollowness made every small sound seem grand. She glanced up to the archway expecting to see Pitch or Axe.

  Maniodes strode in and took the extra-large chair by the fireplace. Pitch followed, and Maniodes gave him an order. Pitch scurried off to fulfill whatever it was while Maniodes waited, watching the fire burn.

  He hadn’t noticed Scythe on the second floor. She had to greet him; this was his house, and it would be rude not to. In her century of bloody service, she had never felt so anxious. The god she was trying to take down was in the same room as her research. Her and Dagger might have joked about it before, but now it was actually happening.

  Scythe managed a breath and set the book down. Her weapon leaned against the chair at full length. She shortened it and tied it to her waist to seem less threatening. Not that the god of the underworld would feel threatened in his own home, but having her scythe looming over her might cause a questionable image in a place of learning. Her nerves crackled like the logs in the fire. She started her descent down the spiral stairs to greet the god.

  The sound of her steps was enough to bring Maniodes’s attention out of his own thoughts. His expression didn’t hold any malice, but he looked surprised when he spotted her.

  “My Lord,” Scythe gave a deep curtsy when she reached him.

  “Hello, Scythe,” Maniodes said. “I thought you’d be in Chalcis with Dagger.”

  I wish I was, she thought.

  “The letter said only Dagger was to carry out the job,” she said. Which he well knew; he wrote the damn thing. “So I thought I’d spend some time here.”

  “A wise choice,” Maniodes said. “I’d rather you here than out causing trouble. I’d let you stay in that regard, but I’m meeting Phaos.”

  “I’ll leave you alone then, my lord,” she said gratefully.

  She curtsied again and turned to leave, but Maniodes stopped her.

  “What were you reading anyway? I’ve never seen you use this library.”

  “Just the old tales, my lord. I had just finished with the last son of Phaos,” she explained. If she tried to lie completely, she’d botch it.

  “Ah.” Maniodes sneered at the mention of Furos. “The one that had us both forbidden to feel a human woman’s love again.”

  Maniodes looked to the fire in thought, probably of his own lost lovers. He appeared concerned about something.

  “You may go, Scythe.” He waved at her dismissively, not looking away from the fire.

  She didn’t bother with another farewell curtsy. She hated them.

  Chapter 18

  Dagger admired the temple of the spider goddess. No one knew her name or where she fit into Nyx’s family tree, but she was usually worshipped in smaller towns. Her main attendance and imagery were those of spiders, but people associated her with small animals and livestock too. Having grown from a small farming village, Chalcis clearly still loved the nearly forgotten goddess. Chalcis wasn’t a monarchy like most city-states in Ichorisis but chose to be a democracy. It had its flaws, of course, but the fact that the people chose to spend their hard-earned gold toward this temple proved their love for her.

  The temple was huge and made entirely of white marble with black-and-grey veins crossing all over the surface. These veins were fitting for the goddess, resembling a giant network of webs. The main structure was surrounded by almost a hundred columns made of the same material. The columns supported the peaked roof, which was made of terracotta tiles like the rest of the city
. There was no door on the temple’s entrance. A single, tall archway stood open on the west side. Everyone was welcome to enter at any time and provide sacrifices and worship.

  There were crypts below the temple that held the late husbands of the goddess. She was an ancient deity that supposedly often took human lovers. Those chosen by her were placed here, though there hadn’t been a new addition in a few years.

  Dagger wasn’t sure about the credibility of this myth. This goddess supposedly took a random man from each generation as a lover, yet no one noticed him go missing? She also didn’t even have a name. Dagger wondered if she was one of Phaos’s daughters, although this religion seemed older. This temple alone seemed as old as Nyx.

  Dagger cast the questioning thoughts aside. The sun was rising, and Basil Paavo would have to wait. Dagger entered the temple. The statue before him was just as breathtaking as the temple itself. A stone woman stood at the back without any facial features. There were windows cut into the marble, so she was illuminated by the rising sun. She stood as a silhouette with both arms outstretched in welcome, but eight spider legs sprouted from her back. The bottom two touched the floor. The top two touched the walls above her, as if she were about to climb.

  Other than the statue and the alter at her feet, the room was empty. There was a cut in the floor by one wall that opened to the crypts. Dagger descended the stairs and was greeted by several stone coffins, each with the spider painted on the surface. Statues of these men lined the walls, but none were as grand as their goddess. A tarantula the size of a small cat was carved to cling to each of the statues right shoulders. The detail in the men’s faces was incredible, no two looked alike. The detail in the tarantulas was just as impressive. It looked as if Dagger could feel the fur if he ran a hand over them.

  “Don’t move,” a female voice warned behind him. Dagger heard the creak of a crossbow being hefted.

  “Cross?” Dagger turned to face the other visitor. He knew that voice, and all sense of threat vanished.

  A woman stood with a huge crossbow drawn and aimed at his heart. Her green dress was ragged at the hem as if it had been too long for her. It ended in tatters around her ankles where she had ripped it. Its color matched her dark-green hair, but her most striking feature were her eyes. They were bright orange, like a tabby cat.

  Cross relaxed her crossbow and smiled.

  “Where have you been, Dagger? I haven’t seen you in months,” she said slinging the weapon across her back.

  “Here and there,” he confessed. “Lately, I’ve been lying low at home. I’m kind of on probation.”

  “Right. ‘Probation.’ ” Cross made air quotes. “How is married life, anyway?”

  Dagger was taken aback. The Incruentus Ferrum wasn’t a huge organization, but he hadn’t expected word to spread this quickly.

  “How did you know marriage was part of the punishment?” he asked.

  “Oh, come on, you and Scythe are the most vicious among us. Did you really think it was going to stay quiet?” she scoffed, but smiled.

  “Pitch told everyone, didn’t he?”

  “Actually, he only told me and a few others. The rest spread like wildfire.”

  Embarrassment took hold then. He knew he and Scythe were well-known, but he didn’t appreciate the attention. People always gossiped for entertainment, but he never wanted to be the subject of it.

  Being king of the underworld would make that worse. Dagger didn’t know if he could handle that. He preferred to work from the shadows.

  “Hey, be honest,” Cross said, sitting on top of one of the coffins. “Was the marriage your idea, and you hinted at it to Maniodes?”

  “No, why?”

  “Because everyone knows how much you two have been eyeing each other. That village-burning you pulled off was spectacular.”

  “Okay that was my idea, but Scythe jumped on it instantly.” This was something else he’d have to deal with as king. People reading too much into his actions and making the wrong assumptions.

  “Alright, relax,” Cross said, probably reacting to his agitation. After a moment she asked softly, “Is everything alright between you two? I know marriage changes everything.”

  “Everything is fine,” he said. “Have you been married?”

  “I was,” Cross admitted. “He’s buried here. He was the last one added to this collection. Over there.”

  Cross pointed to the coffin closest to the entrance. It was the same as all the others, but the stone looked a little cleaner.

  “He died after me, fifty years ago. You know, I still don’t believe he ever met this spider goddess.”

  Cross’s jubilance had faded. Even after all this time, she still missed her husband. Dagger felt guilty at having brought it up.

  “It must have been a good union, since you still visit him.” He didn’t know what else to say.

  “He beat me every day.”

  Dagger almost choked, her words forcing him into an awkward silence.

  “Don’t feel bad,” Cross said, looking back to him. “I’ve accepted it and moved on.”

  “Good for you,” he said. “I’m glad for that, but why visit him then?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. Every day I woke up with new bruises, and I was terrified when he’d come to me at night. I hate him, but I always visit when I travel this way.”

  Cross fell quiet then and gazed at her husband’s coffin. Her eyes bored through the stone, seeing the memories beneath it.

  “Can I admit something else?” Cross asked, sounding hopeful.

  “Of course, but why tell me?”

  “Because it felt good to admit what that man did to me. And I trust you,” Cross shrugged.

  “Of course you can tell me.” He sat next to her.

  Cross took a moment to gather her thoughts. Her words at first were slow and nervous, but as she continued she grew calm.

  “He stopped hurting me when I got pregnant. He still got angry at the smallest thing, but he broke furniture, not me. He was…tender with me. And I know he didn’t change overnight; he just didn’t want to hurt his son. He always assumed it was a boy. If it had been a girl, I think I would have taken her and run. It was a boy though, my little bundle.”

  Her eyes were soft, watching the memory of her son float by.

  “He tried to be kinder to me, but I had served my purpose in giving him a son. He started beating me again, but he never hurt our boy. I still hated my husband, but a boy needs his father, so I stayed.” She shook her head. “My son died in his first year.”

  Dagger wanted to say something, but he didn’t want to interrupt Cross. He stayed quiet, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

  “My husband grew so angry he nearly killed me,” her hand drifted up and caressed her neck. “The only reason he didn’t was because he needed a new son.”

  “I threw myself into the river at the bottom of a cliff shortly after. It was the only way to escape that.”

  Cross fell silent, wringing her hands over a bolt she had plucked from her quiver.

  “I have a loved one in Skiachora as well: my father,” Dagger said. “He was killed in a robbery, and I visit him sometimes. Have you found your son there?”

  Cross shook her head. “Maniodes forbade me to look for him.”

  “You have a right to visit your son,” Dagger argued, shocked that Maniodes would refuse her.

  “He thinks if I find my son I’ll never leave his side. I probably wouldn’t, come to think of it. There’s no convincing him, though. He’s denied my request to go grey twice.”

  The rage was enough to cause Dagger’s hands to shake. That pompous ass of a god had denied a mother her child.

  Cross was one of their elite and one of the few to choose a long-range weapon. Her jobs were carried out with cold precision, and she never missed a target. Maniodes would lose an efficient weapon, but given her situation, it shouldn’t matter.

  They had been sent on a mission together once. Maniodes
wanted five people killed in Stymphalia in a single night, so he sent two of his weapons. Cross had seemed almost obsessed with catching her targets, as if the thought of missing one would cause her physical pain. Dagger had asked once why she had been so obsessed with that mission. He always took care of every victim just like her, but he took his time and enjoyed the moment. Cross had said she couldn’t help it. When she was given a target, she had to dispatch it quickly and cleanly.

  “You could try missing a target,” he suggested. “Show him you’re distracted and losing your skill. Once he sees you as less valuable, he’ll let you either see your son or go grey.”

  “I’ve thought about that, but I can’t,” Cross said quietly.

  “It’d be easy, just miss a target or two.”

  “My father taught me archery,” she said after a pause. “When I got a crossbow, I loved the challenge and learning curve it gave me. My father was proud too, because I mastered both. Every time I miss my target, I feel like I’m failing him. I know I’m not, but I feel closer to my father whenever I fire. I know he wouldn’t appreciate me killing people, but there’s a certain thrill in that, you know?”

  She looked at Dagger, as if hoping he’d understand. He knew the bloodlust she felt. He nodded for her to go on.

  “Every time I fire and a person falls, I see him.” Cross gestured to her husband’s coffin. “I imagine him choking on the blood as the bolt sticks in his neck. I don’t want to lose that feeling.”

  He’d seen when working with her that Cross was stubborn. Trying to change her mind would be useless.

  “Alright, so no fooling Maniodes.” Dagger let the argument drop.

  Cross stood and approached her husband’s coffin, looking down at it over folded arms.

  “Cross?”

  She looked back toward him.