Hexborn

by A. M. Manay

  Please write to me. Carefully. These are strange and dangerous times.

  Your faithful husband,

  Silas Hatch, Baron of Northgate, Lord of the Frontier

  The words of Kepler’s curse flowed through Shioh’s head with a rush that sounded like a waterfall. “With my life’s blood I curse you, Rischar, son of Jeroh, and all of your issue, until your bloodline is extinct and despised.”

  She didn’t even realize she was crying until Charls handed her a handkerchief to dry her tears.

  “I am sorry for your grief, my lady,” he said softly.

  “Thank you,” she replied, then blew her nose loudly. “Queen Penn was my first friend at court. And now she’s lost a husband and a son in quick succession. If I had been there, I could have saved the baby. If I had just gone with Silas when he got word about the king, instead of hiding here like a coward.”

  “You don’t know that, my lady,” the priest countered. “This isn’t your fault.”

  “Whatever comes, I am glad to have you here,” she told him. “You were my second friend.”

  “I hope you shall not be punished for it,” Charls replied fretfully.

  “We could always dye your hair and change your name. No one up here knows you from the Patriarch,” Shiloh pointed out with weak smile.

  He returned her halfhearted smile with one of his own, equally sad.

  ***

  Shiloh looked down at the parchment with a face that would turn milk.

  By the divine authority bestowed upon the Patriarch of the Holy Church Universal by the Six Lords of Heaven, the Laws of Cleanliness are restored in the kingdom of Bryn, with the blessing and concurrence of her grace, Esta, Queen of Bryn. Long may she reign.

  Declared among the Unclean are the following:

  The mad

  The deformed

  Those with the falling sickness

  Women afflicted with hemorrhage

  Those with Leprosy

  The barren

  The eunuchs and hermaphrodites

  The consumptive

  The deaf

  The blind

  The mute

  The mentally deficient

  The heretics

  The hexborn

  The following practices are to be rigorously enforced:

  The Unclean are not to break bread at table with the Clean.

  The Unclean are not to prepare food for the Clean.

  The Unclean are not to touch the bare skin of the Clean with their corrupted flesh. If close contact is unavoidable, gloves may be worn.

  The Clean are not to handle the garments or bed linen of the Unclean.

  The Unclean are not to share bed nor blanket nor bath with the Clean.

  The Unclean are not to wed the Clean.

  The offspring of the Unclean are considered Unclean until they are ritually purified upon reaching the age of majority.

  Parents of the Unclean are themselves declared Unclean.

  So as to provide ample warning to the Clean, the Unclean must add trim of deepest purple to their attire and wear a bell to warn of their approach.

  The only place in which the Unclean are rendered pure is while inside a consecrated Temple of the Holy Church.

  Shiloh read the declaration only once. She’d known exactly what it would say. She remembered too well the rules she had been obliged to follow as a young girl, before King Rischar had sent the Patriarch into exile.

  She opened the great cabinet that held her wardrobe. It was full to bursting now with gowns and cloaks. After all, she was now a baroness. Or would the Patriarch annul her marriage? Perhaps he already had.

  She fingered the cloth. There were so many pretty colors: yellows and reds, pinks, blues, and greens. They were so different from the drab clothes of her childhood in the Teeth. Her lips trembled for but an instant. Then her face grew hard, and she pulled out her wand.

  One by one, each piece turned purple. The law only required that her clothes be trimmed in the color. Most of the Unclean would likely comply with as small a purple patch as they could get away with.

  But not Shiloh. Shiloh burned with a righteous anger. If the queen and the Patriarch wanted to persecute the Unclean, to single them out, to force them to display their afflictions to the world, then Shiloh would live in purple from head to toe, from morning to night. She would flaunt her pink hair. She would gild her hook in gold. She would be the proudest Unclean person who had ever lived.

  Shiloh turned to the box Silas had given her and opened it carefully. She then pulled out a little bell on a worn satin ribbon. She put it down upon her bed and waved her wand, and the ribbon tied itself around her wrist.

  She closed the door to the wardrobe and stood before her mirror. She touched her wand to the cream-colored gown she had worn to the Temple that morning. Purple spread across it like a bloodstain until she fairly dripped with the color of the Unclean. She narrowed her pink eyes and squared her shoulders.

  If you think you can destroy me by casting me out, Patriarch, I wish you luck.

  You’re going to need it.

  Shiloh and Silas will return.

  Continue reading for a peek into the squel-in-progress.

  A Peek Inside the Next Hexborn Chronicle

  “Go back to your homes,” Shiloh ordered, her voice hoarse but resolute. She stood on the back of a hay wagon, wand in hand, cold wind snapping her purple headscarf behind her with a loud crack. Northgate Castle stood behind her, dark and lurking against the pink of dawn. Several dozen frightened villagers stood before her, attempting to flee the plague that had swept in from the north.

  “We’re not going to stay here to die, my lady!” one of the men yelled. Shiloh could hear some of them saying, “Abomination!” under their breath.

  “Do as I tell you, and you won’t,” Shiloh spat back. “Wear the protective charms I gave you. Boil your water. Cook all your food through. Stay inside. Mark your door if any of your folk take ill, and I will send medicine. If you leave this place and grow ill, there will be no help for you. You will die in the woods, in the cold. No other village will let you through their walls. They know you’ve been exposed to the Red Fever. They know, because I sent word to everyone within a hundred miles.”

  Some in the mob began to look at each other, uncertain in the face of their lady’s opposition.

  “I know you’re afraid,” Shiloh said more gently. “But I assure you the gifted sisters at the monastery and I are doing all we can to protect you. And I cannot allow you to spread this pestilence south and east. I will not. The safety of this kingdom depends on stopping the fever here.” Her wand began to glow, and the crowd took a wary step backward as one. “I survived the Red Fever as a child, a crippled and sickly child at that. If I could, so can you. Go home, for the Gods’ sakes. You’ll be safer there. I promise.”

  “And if we don’t?” someone called belligerently.

  “Then make yourselves comfortable here in the dirt, because you are going nowhere.” Shiloh raised her wand and hummed, and a shimmering dome filled the sky, encasing the castle and its surrounding village, forming a glowing barrier a few dozen yards from where they stood. A fearful murmur rustled like dead leaves. Some of the children whimpered, which nearly broke Shiloh’s heart.

  “I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” she warned them, sheathing her wand. “Not if you’re fond of your hands. Now, I have more than enough work to do, between saving your neighbors and chasing off Gernish raiders. Don’t bother me with this foolishness again, and thank the Gods I’m a patient girl. If my husband were here, make no mistake, he’d have killed at least one of you for an example. Go home.”

  She jumped down from the cart and strode through the crowd, head high and heart pounding. To her immense relief, they opened to make her a path. Most of them even bowed a respectful head.

  “Would that really take off a hand?” Brother Charls whispered in her hear as he
fell in beside her for the walk back to the castle.

  Shiloh snorted. “Of course not. I’m powerful, but not powerful enough to keep something like that up without paying attention to it. Besides, one of the children might stumble into it. It’s just a light show.”

  Charls swallowed a laugh. “What if they test it?”

  “They won’t,” Shiloh asserted with far more confidence than she felt. “They won’t.”

  They didn’t.

  ***

  Shiloh spotted them easily. She’d been expecting them since the moment she’d heard the fever was in the barracks. Sick men meant too few soldiers along the wall, and sick villagers meant unguarded livestock in their pens and barns, unguarded treasure in their Temple, unguarded daughters in their homes.

  From the shadows of a clump of trees, adrenaline alone keeping her upright in her saddle, she watched the raiding party sneak through the last crumbled section of wall that she had not yet been able to rebuild. Beside her stood a dozen armed villagers, the few who had immunity to the fever by virtue of previous infection. The outbreak had burnt itself out, thank the Gods, but the recovery was long, and many of the normally able-bodied were still barely out of their sickbeds. On her shoulder sat Honey. The bird glared at the interlopers and snapped his beak, as affronted as his mistress at the trespassers.

  Shiloh raised her wand and lit up the cloudy sky. “Drop your weapons and surrender for trial, or prepare to die,” she called out in both Gernish and Brynish. She watched the thieves brandish their weapons and set their feet, prepared to fight. Shiloh sighed deeply. With a wordless spell, she disarmed the raiders. She allowed herself a small smile at the sound of their cries of surprise and dismay as her magic pulled their axes, spears, and knives through the air.

  She nodded to her men, and they ventured out to finish the job, grinning.

  Shiloh sighed again, too exhausted to be properly appalled at the screams of the raiders. Maybe tomorrow night I can get some damned sleep.

  The makeshift captain of her ramshackle guard returned to her side minutes later. “They were wearing peasants’ clothes, my lady, but the weapons are those of Gernish guardsmen. No wands, so they aren’t of any rank.”

  Shiloh nodded, unsurprised. The transfer of power in Bryn had made Gerne far too bold for her taste. With a friendly queen in Greenhill Palace and a Gernish Patriarch installed in the Citadel, they knew repercussions for such small incursions would be few.

  “No Feralfolk?” she asked, fingers clenching.

  “No, my lady,” he assured her.

  Well, at least there’s that. Feralfolk had been spotted as far west as the Vine, and Shiloh dreaded the day they’d appear in Northgate Village.

  “Good,” she nodded. “Well done,” she called to her men. “Hang them from the wall when you’re done, facing the Gernish side. You may divide their valuables evenly among you. No fighting each other. Is that understood? Anyone who throws a punch gets the stocks.” They nodded eager understanding, impatient to split the spoils. “And I owe you each a flagon of wine on Lordsday for your trouble,” she added. They whooped and hollered in reply.

  She clicked her tongue at her horse, and Ruby wheeled around to head back to the stables.

  “My lady!” one of the men cried.

  “Aye, good sir?” she replied, turning in surprise.

  “Just wanted ta say my thanks. Yar medicine saved my woman las’ week,” a black-toothed farmer shared, cap in hand. “I wasn’t sure what to make of a hexborn wisp of a mistress when ya firs’ come, but ya’re a damn fine lady as far as I can see.”

  “I am most glad to hear it,” Shiloh replied with a laugh. “I’ll hold you to that judgment when I have to collect the taxes.”

  She trotted away, their laughter behind her raising her spirits for the first time in weeks. She found her steward waiting for her in the stable.

  “Shouldn’t you be in bed?” she asked, sliding to the ground.

  “I could say the same, my lady,” Gare scolded. “Out with ruffians in the dead of night without telling me.”

  “Your fever only just broke. And I wasn’t alone. I took men. And Honey. And I can handle a half dozen idiot Gernishmen without supervision,” she protested.

  “I’d wager you can handle about anything, but your husband will have my head if he hears.”

  “What my lord husband doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Shiloh declared.

  “Hrmm,” he grumbled. “Good luck keeping Lill quiet about it.”

  Shiloh snorted. “Fair point,” she allowed.

  “You need to give yourself time to rest before your journey south,” Gare admonished her.

  “I know,” she replied. “Now that the fever has burned out, I can rest for a week and still make it to the City for Winter Solstice as planned.”

  “How many did we lose in the end?” Gare asked, coughing into his sleeve.

  “Eight, out of fifty-nine afflicted,” Shiloh replied. “I’d have preferred zero, but given that it’s usually fatal in at least fifty percent of cases, I’ll take it.”

  “You did admirably, my lady. Had it struck last year, I shudder to think what would have become of us,” the steward replied. “And we stopped it here? Brother Charles said you had to put the fear of the Father into some of the farm folk who tried to bolt.”

  Shiloh smiled ruefully. “We stopped it here, as far as I know,” she confirmed. “No cases reported in the closest three villages, and it’s been over a week since our last. I did have to be rather harsh with them. They’re probably ill wishing me as we speak.”

  “Nay, my lady. They’ll respect you the more for it. Got used to an absent lord, they did. Needed reminding who is in charge. And her grace ought to give you a medal. Can you imagine if the fever had travelled south?” Gare shuddered.

  “I don’t want a medal. I just want her to smile on my husband,” Shiloh sighed.

  “Lill doesn’t like it,” Gare confessed as they entered the castle’s front hall. “His lordship serving a queen who hates him, I mean to say. The Patriarch has no love for him, either, my lady. She fears they are simply waiting for the perfect time to sink a blade into his back.”

  “I well understand her anxiety,” Shiloh admitted, “but it could be equally dangerous for my lord husband to resign.”

  Shiloh shook her head and swallowed her own fear. She hadn’t set eyes on Silas since they’d gotten word of the king’s death nearly three months previous. His letters had been short and vague, which did nothing to set her mind at ease. She hadn’t had much time to worry about him, though, truth be told. She’d had her own troubles to handle.

  She’d had to be lord and lady, both, with no experience to draw on and no shoulder on which to lean. There had been a wall to rebuild, disputes to settle, disease to battle, accounts to keep, bills to pay, maids to hire, crimes to punish, letters to answer, debts to collect, textbooks to study. The thought that she’d be back at court in a week, with nothing to do but attend class and entertain the queen, seemed like madness.

  She bid Gare a good night and dragged herself into her bedchamber, collapsing atop the bedding with her boots still on, even the worry gnawing its way through her ribs not enough to keep her awake.

  Index of Magic

  Click here if you prefer to view this table online.

  Name of Spell or Potion

  Effect of Spell or Potion

  Bancroft’s Elixer

  For nausea and vomiting.

  Comfort Potion

  An opiate painkiller.

  Fellix’s Hex

  A simple, blunt force curse. It does not persist or spread upon impact.

  Gilbert’s Ward

  Works well to block curses in all weather, but does not dissipate magic energy well, resulting in falls.

  Grayson’s Titrate

  For wheezing coughing, and shortness of breath.

&n
bsp; Hadrian’s Countercurse

  An all-purpose countercurse, nearly impossible to cast.

  Halli’s Draught

  Contraceptive.

  Jalar’s Poison Remedy

  Counteracts many magical poisons, though not biological ones.

  Kenn’s Hex

  Fatal curse that kills by inducing a stroke.

  Kirkland’s Spell of Revelation

  Destroys concealment charms. Difficult to cast.

  Kirshan’s Hex

  Causes severe pain in the bones.

  Kobard’s Curse

  Causes excruciating muscle spasms.

  Milton’s Hex

  A fatal curse that kills by shorting out the nervous system. Very difficult to cast.

  Neroh’s Hex

  A curse that, when powerfully cast, can break bones by twisting them.

  Nevsi’s Bane

  Fatal curse that kills by stopping the heart.

  Sawcro’s Hex

  Fatal curse that kills by paralyzing the diaphragm, making it impossible to breathe.

  Shiloh’s Ward

  A one-way ward that allows the user to cast curses without lowering the ward. It also reflects curses back upon the enemies who cast them. Difficult to cast.

  Soor’s Curse

  Used to inflict pain. Generally not fatal.