by Scott Hale
Herbert North, close enough to get a good look at the Skeleton, mouthed “Holy shit.”
The Skeleton extended his hand.
Herbert North took it and said, “They took care of me, too.”
“Appreciate it.” Pointing to the blood well, he said, “What do you think?”
“Most beautiful, awful fucking thing I’ve seen all my life. Love it.” Still bone-struck by the Skeleton’s appearance, Herbert said, “You got room for me? That’s one more shepherd to add to the mix.”
“Funny you seem to know what they’re about now.”
“Didn’t want to scare you.”
Clementine nudged the Skeleton. “Let’s go, men.”
The Skeleton took up his wife’s and son’s hands again. With Herbert, they both bowed to Pulsa diNura, the home they never wanted, and yet always had.
“Do you know what they are? The shepherds?” Will asked. “Do you—”
Thump, thump, thump.
The Skeleton didn’t need to turn around. He already knew what was behind him, in between him and the blood well’s portal. It was perfect fucking timing on the Membrane’s part. And if he hadn’t been so short-sighted his entire life, he may have even seen it coming. But did the shepherd that stood behind him—or shepherds, now that they were all getting out—know that he knew how to destroy them? Did they know he held all the power of the Black Hour’s heart in his cursed hand? They sure as hell were about to find out.
So the Skeleton turned around, ready to go toe-to-toe with the only creatures that could kill him. Except there wasn’t one shepherd standing with them on that dried out lakebed. Not even three or four. No, standing there on that dried out lakebed, in between him and their sanguine salvation, there were hundreds upon hundreds of the shepherds, each of which were dressed in their identical, iconic garb. With their crooks, they pounded the scabby ground. Each thump they released was a violent tremor that rocked the Membrane like a demonic pulse. Portions of Pulsa diNura collapsed completely to those rapturous repetitions.
Despite each shepherd looking no different from those that surrounded it, there was one the Skeleton recognized. It stood in front of the others, its fingernails painted yellow. It was the shepherd from Ghostgrave’s dungeon.
The yellow-nailed shepherd raised its hand. Immediately, the others went silent.
The Skeleton took the Black Hour’s heart out of his cloak, to show off to these show-offs. To his satisfaction, the shepherds recoiled. They pulled the brims of their hats further down their faces, to block out their view of the unholy organ.
“We don’t want you,” the yellow-nailed shepherd purred.
The Skeleton didn’t believe the shepherd, so he took a step forward, forcing the creature one step backward. “Come on.”
“Orders have changed.”
Clementine, confused, said to the Skeleton, “What is that thing, Atticus?”
The Skeleton held the heart high above his head. It started to throb in his gloved hand. Black, chunky secretions oozed out of its porous ventricles.
“We’re leaving,” he said, heading for the portal.
The yellow-nailed shepherd stepped aside. When it did, its brethren did as well.
“Orders have changed,” it repeated, twisting its crook into the ground. “But we will not stop.”
The Skeleton shrugged, said, “Doesn’t seem that way right now.”
At this, the shepherd smiled. It smiled so hard the stitching in its lip split and a chain of tongues spilled out. “You haven’t suffered enough. We’ll get you. When you’re good and fat with the stuff.”
“I’ll be waiting,” the Skeleton said.
“No, orders have changed from our Lepidoptera,” the shepherd said. It started cracking the crook against the ground again. One by one, the others followed its example. “You won’t, Atticus. And that’s what we are looking forward to the most. When you’ve bared your teeth and ravaged everything, and moved past that point of wanting to die because of it. When you’ve grown complacent with your sick soul, when you’ve convinced yourself all the terrible things you’ve done were justified—that’s when we will come for you, and remind you that it was not.”
“Stay the fuck out of our way,” the Skeleton said. He pocketed the Black Hour’s heart and grabbed onto Clementine and Will. With Herbert North creeping behind him, all four passed through the ranks of shepherds, and walked into the blood well’s portal.
The world twisted itself around, turned itself upside down. They walked out of the Membrane on two feet, and fell face-first into Gallows’ lake of blood.
“Atticus! Atticus,” Clementine screamed, spitting up and sneezing out the red water.
Will struggled to find his footing. Gallows’ own lakebed had become a slippery stretch of bloody mud. “Dad,” he cried, grabbing for Herbert North, instead.
“It’s okay,” the Skeleton said, wading through the blood. He packed them together, Clementine and Will, and held them there until they were right again. “It’s okay. We’re out.”
Herbert North let out a laugh. He plodded away from the Skeleton’s family, dropped to his knees, so that the blood was covering his mouth. He wasn’t afraid, wasn’t horrified. The old man was happy, damn near ecstatic. It was a sad state of affairs when the scenery here somehow surmounted that of the Membrane’s.
“What is this?” Clementine clung to the Skeleton, like Vale in her weakest moments. “Atticus?”
Will kept coughing. The plumes of smoke from Mr. Haemo’s ritual, though weaker than before, were still roaming the lake.
“We’re out.” The Skeleton tried to kiss Clementine’s head, but he had no lips. “We’re out. This is Gallows. I know it doesn’t look it, but it’s home. A lot has happened, but we’re safe. I swear it.”
From behind the sooty clouds, Mr. Haemo called out: “Is that you, Atticus?”
Slowly, the smoke started to part, as though the mosquito were doing its best holy prophet act. A hazy outline of the general store began to form, and there, at the bottom, the Marrow Cabal waited, bloodied and beaten, but more or less, minus James’ few fingers, in one piece.
Clementine, pointing at the boy, shouted, “James!”
He waved his mangled hand. “Oh, heavens, is it good to see you again.”
It was odd to think it, but there was a kind of serenity in Gallows. With the Red Worm and most of its population dead, the place had an aura of finality to it that was not only morbid, but calming.
“This is the Marrow Cabal,” the Skeleton said. “They’ve been with me the whole way. I would’ve never done this without them.
“That’s Warren.”
The big man nodded, but just barely. He was covered in so many slashes that half the blood in the lake was probably his.
“And Elizabeth and Miranda, part of his Deadly Beauty squad.”
Elizabeth made a curtsey. Miranda gave a half-grin, gave more of a shit than usual.
“And that’s Hex.”
Hex smiled a half-smile. Eyes glowing brightly, she said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The Skeleton rolled his eyes. “You know Mr. Haemo.”
The mosquito came forward, bowed, but Clementine and Will didn’t pay him any mind.
Pointing to the recruits, he said, “That’s Sean and Allister. They’re new. They could’ve run, but they stayed to fight.”
Neither of the men really knew what the hell was going on, so, blood-shocked, they just smiled back and went back to minding their own business.
“This is Clementine, my wife,” the Skeleton said, holding onto his wife tightly. “And my son, Will.” He threw his other arm around Will. He wondered how long he could keep them this close. He had all eternity, after all, but them, not so much.
“And this is Herbert North,” the Skeleton added, nodding to the old man. “Don’t know much about him. But word through the grapevine is he kept them safe for me. So if we have any spoils from our efforts, this man deserves them.”
Herbert didn’t seem to hear the compliment. Instead, he kept staring at Mr. Haemo. Finally, he asked him, “Do I know you?”
The giant mosquito threw the skin hood over his head. Blinking his million ruby-like eyes, he said, “We’ll, I’ll be. Herbert fucking North. How you been, brother?”
As those too reunited with one another, Clementine leaned into the Skeleton, pointed at Hex, and said, “Hey, who’s that?”
“Hex,” he said. “Weird name, but yeah.”
“No, the little girl.”
“What?”
Clementine pointed harder. “There, right behind her.”
The Skeleton cocked his head. She was right. There was someone standing behind Hex. Someone smaller. A child. “Hey, Hex, who’s that behind you?”
Hex took a deep breath and stepped aside. “I’ll let her tell you.”
It was the young girl he’d seen earlier, the one with the scar on her head. She still had the ax from before, but in her other hand, she was carrying what looked like the hollowed-out body of an octopus. The smeared Corruption he’d noticing running down her arm earlier was gone, too.
“Who are you?” the Skeleton said.
“R’lyeh.” The young girl came forward. “R’lyeh, of Alluvia.”
Alluvia. The Skeleton glanced around the lake of blood, the remnants of the Red Worm lying foul and festering in the red water. “You’re a Night Terror?”
She nodded. “My mother and father are here, in all this.”
“I’m sorry. I heard what happened.”
Will and Clementine came at him from both sides with, “What happened? What happened?”
R’lyeh sounded stone cold as she said, “I was there, in Geharra, when Penance did this.” She took the octopus and slid it over her head, donning it like the mask it was. “You brought them back from the dead?”
The Skeleton looked at his wife and son. “In a way.” He let go of Clementine and met the girl where she stood. “Hey, are you okay?”
“No.” Taking the ax with both hands, she said, “I was there, in Lacuna, when the Blue Worm was destroyed, too. I know a lot. More than you.”
“I’m sure you—”
“You brought them back from the dead.”
“Uh, yeah.” Did he need to protect them from this girl? What was she getting at?
“If I help you, tell you everything I know, will you help me?”
“R’lyeh.” The Skeleton butchered her name. “I’m not who—”
“A Witch named the Maiden of Pain took my friend. My friend, Vrana. I’m going to get her back. I’ll kill anyone you want. I’ll do anything. She was… is all I have. If you and the Marrow Cabal can do this, I know you can find her. Help me save her.”
Before the Skeleton could reject her offer, Hex said, “Remember why we killed the Red Worm?”
He looked at his wife and son. He remembered. They killed it to turn this place into a massive blood well, only to save two people. The others that were saved as a result were a nice consequence he never cared to consider. But by the look in Hex’s eyes, he knew this wasn’t what she was getting at.
“Because we are the Marrow Cabal,” she continued. “Because we are going to put a stop to things like this from ever happening again.” Now she was talking to Clementine and Will: “Your husband, your father, risked everything not only to bring you back, but to fight against Eldrus.”
Clementine’s jaw had dropped. She had already seemed impressed with the Marrow Cabal, but now this? “Atticus, is that true?”
Will didn’t need to hear his confirmation. He was already looking at the Skeleton as though he were some seasoned, celebrated war hero. When he finally spoke next, it would probably be to sign up for the Marrow Cabal.
“It’s true,” Hex carried on. She was smiling at the Skeleton, making sure he knew that he was hers now. “Now’s not the best place to tell it, but we’ve been everywhere. Your husband is famous. We were stumped as to how to proceed, but R’lyeh here has given us all the fire we need to burn our overlords to the ground.”
Clementine came up behind the Skeleton and took his arm. “You really did all that?”
He knew she wasn’t herself, yet. She sounded tired, looked tired. The fight that had been thirty-one years strong in her, since the day she was born, was still trying to find its footing in her resurrected body. Hex was taking advantage of her and their son’s state. The same way the Skeleton had taken advantage of the situation here. Son of a bitch.
“I did,” the Skeleton said. “A lot has changed. I’ve… changed.”
Clementine touched his bones, her eyes struggling to stay open. “But you’re still you. That’s all I want. You’re still you?” She stared at R’lyeh. “You still do the right thing?”
The Skeleton looked at R’lyeh and, for a moment, was reminded of his daughter, Vale. Here stood another test of his humanity. Clementine and Will had more or less completely accepted him for who and what he was back in the Membrane. The ordeal that would’ve been convincing them should’ve taken months, and yet he’d managed it in five minutes flat. Maybe the Membrane hadn’t worn off. Or maybe this is what the Membrane had made of them, and that dull gullibility of theirs was about all he could expect from here on out.
He just wanted to tell Hex to fuck off, to go home, back to the farm, and live out, with his family, however many days he had left with them. But how could he do that now? Now that Hex had him cornered and this little girl was begging him for help? If he said no to either of them, then Hex would tell Clementine and Will about his insanity, his bloodlusts; everyone he’d killed and the Black Hour heart which, in a way, had become his own. His wife and son had wrapped him in love, and so perhaps all they saw was what they remembered and expected of him. With a few sharp words, Hex and the others would have him unraveled, stripped to the bone and put on display as the monster he truly was. And if that happened, if those who had stood behind him suddenly turned against him, and took from him the only two things that mattered to him in the world, then he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, his hungering soul would eat them whole. And it wouldn’t stop there. If he lost Clementine and Will again, he would be lost for good.
So the Skeleton stepped forward, outstretched his hand, and said, “Welcome to the Marrow Cabal, R’lyeh. Help us make the world a better place, and we’ll save your Vrana.” He touched his chest, where the Black Hour’s heart stirred. “I am who they say I am.”
The Gravedigger had dug too deep, and now there was no way out.
PART THREE
THE SINNER AND THE SHADOWS
CHAPTER I
Heaven had to be empty, because the Holy Child hadn’t heard anything from it in a very long time. God was still around, no doubt about that, but he was pretty sure he and everyone else were sending their prayers to the wrong place. The exemplars liked to call him gullible, but since he didn’t really want to know what that word meant, he just assumed they were jealous he had figured everything out before them.
The Holy Child sat on his bed, a faint light coming through the frosted windows beside it. “Gullible,” he said with a snicker. Shaking his head, he slipped on his quietest shoes and laced them as tightly as he could. “If you pray for good things,” he said, as though the exemplars were standing in front of him. “Then god will make good things happen!” He hopped to his feet and, with his secret journal and pen, went to the door. “Gullible.” He rolled his eyes and opened it. “Idiots.”
No matter how hard he tried, he never could manage to wake up before everyone else. As he stepped out of his room, he saw, even now, in the gray hours of dawn, Pyra was packed. Yes, the sprawling abbey was the headquarters for the Holy Order of Penance, but didn’t these people ever sleep? The guards had an excuse—they were guards—but what was theirs? With so many people running around Pyra all the time, he still couldn’t figure out how Exemplar Samuel Turov had managed to smuggle him into the South last year. Heck, he still couldn’t figure out why he had
even done it in the first place. But he would soon enough, he thought, closing the door behind him, and suddenly feeling like he needed a bath. Eventually, Mother Abbess Justine would cave in and tell him the truth. She always did.
His quarters sat at the highest point of Pyra, the Ascent. It was here where he, the six exemplars, Mother Abbess, and the dedicated guards who protected them resided. For the longest time, he’d had the same two men watching over him, ever since he had been chosen as god’s speaker when he was a year old. But not anymore. He got new guards after Penance’s soldiers finally found him in the South. Justine told him his old guards had been fired, because they hadn’t kept him safe like they were supposed to. That made sense, but why he had butterflies in his stomach when he thought about them didn’t.
“Where you off to this morning?” Avery, one of his two guards, asked. He was standing where the circular Ascent jutted outward, to the hall and cloister that connected it to the rest of Pyra.
Quickly, the Holy Child put his journal and pen behind his back. “Nowhere. You didn’t see me.”
Avery hummed. He tapped on his scabbard a catchy hymn from mass. “Who are we spying on today?”
The Holy Child bit his lip as a few people passed in the hall ahead. The cloister had the most traffic, and everyone there seemed to be in a hurry or shouting about something. What was going on?
“Where’s Mackenzie?” She was the Holy Child’s other guard. It was weird not seeing her and Avery together.
“She’s around, but sick.” Avery shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry. So you didn’t answer me. Who are you spying on?”
“Isla Taggart.”
Avery laughed. Glancing around the Ascent, he said, “Really?”
The Holy Child took out his journal, tapped the front of it. “She has a page now.”
“If you say so.” Smiling, he shook his head. “Have fun with that.”
“You didn’t see me, right?”
“I don’t even know who I’m talking to right now.” Avery went cross-eyed and looked crazy. “Hey,” he added, as the Holy Child started for his hidden place.
