by Scott Hale
The hundreds of soldiers continued to stare at Felix, unmoved. They’d been traveling this road for weeks through enemy territory, losing friends and comrades here and there as squadrons were dispatched to the various villages and towns along the way. They were exhausted, mentally and physically, and Felix could see that he had no place here in the wilds, where a Holy Child was simply a child and nothing more.
“I… need…” Felix paused, tried again. “I would have the commanding officers bring the names of the victims to Commander Millicent. We will see they are never forgotten.”
Blew it, he thought, hurrying back to his carriage.
Halfway there, he met the two Holy Children, and Commander Millicent on her huffing steed.
“Your Holiness…” she started.
“I know,” he said, shouldering past her and his stone guards. “I’m going. But Commander?”
She twisted in her saddle, her pearlescent armor making a squelching sound as she did so. “Yes, your Holiness?”
“I understand keeping the Mother Abbess and myself separate…”
“Mother Abbess Justine is well-guarded, your Holiness,” Millicent said. “The suicide bombers were not targeting her.”
“But they were so close… Who did they hit? Soldiers?”
“No,” she said. “Compellers.”
Felix furrowed his brow. Commander Millicent kicked her horse into a hard gallop. Chunks of mud flew onto his robe. He didn’t hold it against her, because he was stuck on what she’d said. The suicide bombers had attacked the Compellers, Sloane’s missionaries. Why them of all people?
Getting back to his carriage, lost in thought, he was wrenched backwards by the two Holy Children. They plodded in front of him, stopped short of the door to his compartment. Standing on the tips of his toes, he saw James in front of the Holy Children, waving his nub for a hand.
“Move!” Felix shouted.
The Holy Children parted.
James nodded, and bowed to Felix.
“Please, come inside,” Felix said.
James went in.
To the Holy Children, Felix said, “Stay out here, until they’ve cleared the road,” and went in after James.
Felix closed the door behind him. James was sitting as far away as possible, his legs together, his hands in his lap. His face was screwed-up into an awkward smile that reminded Felix that he and James had never really had been alone together since the Marrow Cabal had been hired by the Holy Order.
Felix from a year ago would’ve been disappointed in his current self for not having spied on James and jotted down every detail about the guy. James was in his mid-twenties, and he had a dark tan that almost seemed as if he were covered in a layer of dirt. Felix had heard a lot of people from Gallows had that look about them. Despite that and his mangled hand, James was beautiful. It was weird for Felix to think it, because he was sure he’d never thought it about another man before, but yeah, James was beautiful. It was his eyes, large and green and always filled with light, and really, just his face in general. Smooth, not rugged; sharp, but not too sharp. The kind of face that was easy to talk to, which made sense, since James was supposed to be the Marrow Cabal’s diplomat.
“What is it, James?” Felix asked, taking a seat. “Are Clementine and Will okay?”
“They are—”
Clementine and Will had their own carriage, which was attached to the same train that carried Gemma and Warren’s.
“—but I’m not sure for how long.”
“What do you mean?”
“Rumors are spreading about the Marrow Cabal. People are saying Hex let the Bloodless out on purpose.”
“I’ll have them moved nearer to me.”
James nodded. “Two things, your Holiness…”
“Drop the ‘your Holiness.’” He laughed. “It makes talking take so much longer.”
“Alright, then. Appreciate it. Mouth was starting to hurt from saying it every other word.” James’ gaze lingered on the window. “I, uh, received word from our people in Cathedra. They were finally able to get into Cenotaph.”
Felix’s heart picked up the pace.
“The Bloodless is gone. Hex and Mr. Haemo and whoever she took in there with them killed it.”
“Thank god.”
“Yes, thank you, god.”
“How?”
“Well, it sounds like Mr. Haemo let the Bloodless keep feeding for a few days…”
“What?!”
“Yeah. Once the Bloodless had enough blood in it, Mr. Haemo opened a blood well inside the plant. It tore it apart, killed it dead.”
I am going to do it. I’m going to kill him and Hex when this all over.
“Hex and Haemo and the Marrow Cabal went into the blood well.”
“To the Dead City?”
“I guess so. No one knows.”
“How many did it kill before Mr. Haemo opened the well?”
“Maybe another hundred? I’m not sure how the mosquito kept it contained in the cathedral, but he did let it get fat on purpose.”
Maybe I messed up their plans by leaving Cathedra so soon. If I hadn’t, he would’ve had me, Justine, and all of the Conscription and Narcissus to power the well.
“James?”
“Yes, your H… Yeah?”
“What’re the chances of Hex going to the Dead City and coming back with the weapons to help us?”
James propped his elbow up on his leg, laid his chin in his palm. “If Atticus was still here, I’d say… pretty good. He kept her in check. They kept each other in check. Hex is a force. That’s all. I’m sure you saw that with how she treated Ichor. I think getting something good out of what she does is just luck of the draw. The odds are good, though. It’s Mr. Haemo I’m not so sure about.
“Back when I lived in Gallows, there were stories about him, his ‘children.’ He’d collected blood from all over to keep tabs on everyone. He’d make blood slaves, but I think he calls them blood pets now. He’d infect people with tainted blood, turn them into blood-crazed minions who’d do whatever they wanted. I’d say never trust Mr. Haemo, Felix. If Gary were here, he’d say the same thing. Mr. Haemo was there when Atticus died, when he came back to life; he saved him from the fire at Carpenter Plantation; and he’s opened three blood wells now. The mosquito has been preparing for something for a long ass time. I don’t know what, but whatever it is, it might be coming up here soon.”
“Can Mr. Haemo be killed?”
James laughed. “Good question. Sure doesn’t seem like it. Maybe if we get him to buzz about the Vermillion… the Impostor God’s head a bit, It’ll swat him out of existence.”
“That’d be great.”
“Hell yeah, it would. I hate that freak.” James poked and prodded his nub. “Gemma told me why we’re going to Eldrus. She told me about the Mother Abbess.”
Felix’s face went as hard as the stone Holy Children’s.
“I don’t care,” James quickly clarified. “I got my second chance last year, and I’m just trying to make the most of it. To be honest, back then, when I looked to now, I saw myself lying in some stranger’s bed, rubbing coins together, trying to figure out how to turn two of them into four.”
“What did you…?”
“I was a whore. Call it what it is. I was a whore.” James closed his eyes, sounded as if he mumbled a name, but Felix couldn’t make it out. “A runaway whore with a… bad influence of a brother getting me to do real bad things. I’m glad you know that about me, though, Felix. It’s vain, but I like when people find out, so just in case they knew in secret, they can see how far I’ve come.”
“I get it,” Felix said.
“Like I said, I got a second chance. From Atticus. The Skeleton. I didn’t have to follow him through everything with the Marrow Cabal. If I hadn’t, I’d still have this hand here, but… I did. So, I don’t care why we’re going to Eldrus. It’s not up to me. Sometimes, we just have to do what we have to do for the ones we love. I did for m
y brother… at least, I thought I loved him. Didn’t really. Elijah, that was his name.” James sighed heavily. “Elijah. Yeah, that’s him.
“I don’t presume to know your relationship with the Mother Abbess and all. I don’t. But can I ask you something?”
Felix whispered, “Yes.”
“Is she worth it?”
“Yes.”
“Elijah wasn’t. Luckily, Atticus was there to bail me out. I don’t see you as having anyone else.”
Felix couldn’t argue with what he was saying, because it was true.
“This is a roundabout way of getting at what I came here to say—”
“That’s why you’re a diplomat.”
James snorted. “Sure. The other news I bring you is this: Those weren’t Edgar’s soldiers that bombed us. They weren’t townsfolk, either. They weren’t even Disciples in the way we know them.”
“What? Wait, what? Then who were they?”
“Our own,” James said. “Our own soldiers. I’m a diplomat, but what I really am, in a way, is Human Resources. A whore that doesn’t fuck, but fucks people over. Excuse my language.”
Felix waved him off.
“I’ve been getting to know the soldiers on the march to Eldrus. That’s how I gather intel. I trade things with them. Whatever. I’ve been keeping a close eye on those nearest to you in the procession. Who they are, who they spend time with; if they’re freaking happy. Today, Benjamin Milner and Kate Waterstone were missing. Word got around that they were missing last night, too. And just a minute ago, guess who I saw come screaming out of the trees?”
“Are you sure?”
“I have a mind for faces. Whores have to. I saw their faces. I bet you the others did, too, but no one’s talking. No one’s reported it yet.”
“Commander Millicent said that they targeted the Compeller’s squadron near Justine. They could’ve hit her or me, but why the Compellers?”
James hesitated.
“What? Tell me.”
“The best way to hide what you love is to be what you hate. I’m going to keep looking into this, Felix, but this road trip is going to get cut short if our own people are turning on us.”
“Why did they attack the Compellers, James?”
“The Compellers are missionaries, right?” James lowered his voice as he noticed the Holy Children approaching the door. “Are they still our missionaries? Also…” he got even quieter. “Who planned this route to Eldrus? It’s got us stopping by every seed of heaven farm along the way.”
CHAPTER XXXVI
It was the Black Hour, and Audra couldn’t sleep. She lay in her old bed, in her old room, wearing next to nothing, yet drenched in sweat all the same. Fear had found her. She’d skirted it for months now—sex and drugs had been the fuel that kept the fire of her ego burning—but now her bed was empty and her cup dry, and the cold of closure was creeping in.
Every creak and crack brought her eyes back to the side of her bed, where Edgar had stood years ago, a knife in hand, ready to kill her as he had the rest of their family. She’d been asleep, but enough time had passed that her mind had made up a memory of the night, regardless. It was so clear, so distinct, like she’d been awake through it all. Even now, she could feel his presence at her bedside, his dead eyes on her; one hand grasping her blanket, the other, her end; both ready to tuck her in. For so long, she wondered why he’d spared her. Was it because he loved her more than the others? Was it because he pitied her, like everyone else pitied her? Or was it because, deep within, God’s will had stayed his hand, for she was Its Speaker? She still didn’t have that answer, not that it mattered. None of them would do.
Edgar’s act was a spirit of the past come to haunt her, but there was another reason why her underclothes were soaked through. Joy. She knew of the woman, that witch, and it almost seemed impossible for Joy not to know Audra.
First, Audra had tried to help Felix save his Night Terror friend, Vrana, by sending her shadows into the Void. Seconds later, Pain, Joy’s sister, had sent a handful of the Cult of the Worm into Felix’s room, to kill them for what they’d done. Though Audra had never entered the Void herself, she’d glimpsed it through the ritual, and the rage she’d felt from the sisters for having their domain trespassed against had been staggering.
Afterwards, when she, Deimos, and Lucan had made it to Rime, they were quickly imprisoned by Ghelys, Rime’s only elder, on account of him having murdered the others. Deimos and Lucan, who died of his wounds shortly thereafter, were kept with Ghelys, while Audra had been locked in the “Sick House.” Deimos had explained to her in the brief times they had together in Rime that the Children of Lacuna were being kept in the Sick House, because they were being contacted and tainted telepathically by Pain and Joy, who’d managed to lift an ancient artifact from Vrana. The connections and coincidences had been too overwhelming to consider, so instead, she focused on what Ghelys had sealed her away for in the Sick House: to heal the cultists.
Audra never figured out how Ghelys knew about her abilities as a shadow-weaver, but she did what she was told. While the Children of Lacuna were shackled in the Sick House and kept separate from one another, to stop them from fucking and cannibalizing one another, she used the shadows to break several of their minds’ connections to the witches. Being of the Deep, the shadows were able to traverse any plane, and from their hell being so close to heaven, some had inherited God’s ability to manipulate things, albeit on a much smaller level. They did this by sacrificing pieces of themselves, because they hated themselves, and saw only in sacrifice a way to better themselves.
On the day when the octopus Night Terror and her companions came to Rime, the witches had caught onto what Audra was doing. They sent those in the Sick House into a violent rage. They broke free of their fetters, began to murder and rape the other Rimeans inside, and the witches watched through their cultists’ eyes as they tried to find the person who’d been interfering with their plans. By the time the scouts from the outside had broken up the riot, every glowing blue eye of every Lucanan had been fixed on Audra. If Isla hadn’t showed up with her Winnowers moments later to sow their own chaos, she was certain one or both of the witches would’ve come to kill her for meddling in their affairs.
It was no wonder, then, why she couldn’t sleep in the bed where she should’ve died and where she might still die, if the monster who’d suddenly arrived decided to come calling to this dark and abandoned part of the keep. With Deimos, Audra had thought she might be safe here, resting where the rest of her family had been murdered. She’d thought she could do what she needed to do here in private. If at any moment she began to doubt herself, she’d need only look at her surroundings and remember what’d happened here.
Whether it was real or imagined, Audra wasn’t alone in this dark and abandoned part of the keep. Deimos was in the next room over, a servant’s closet, but that wasn’t him she heard in the hall. Those weren’t his feet padding softly across the carpet and tile. Those weren’t his fingers running through the rungs of the metal candelabras. Those weren’t his breaths coming in through the keyhole, hot and rancid—the vapors of spoiled yearnings.
Audra hurried to her feet, went to the wall she shared with Deimos and beat the shit out of it, screaming, “Deimos! Come here, now! Please!”
Movement came from the Bat’s bed. She heard his door unlock, swing back. She held her breath as he entered the hall. Not thinking, she’d sent him into the trap that’d likely been placed there for her. Grabbing her robe off a chair, she threw it on, tied it shut; went to the door, held the knob. She should’ve heard him coming. She didn’t hear anything.
“Deimos?” she whispered.
No answer.
“Deimos?” she rasped.
Still, nothing.
Audra went to the bedside table, grabbed the dagger off it.
“Audra? What’s wrong?”
She gasped. Hand to her heart, chest heaving, she hurried back to the door. “Deimos? Holy Child,
don’t… not respond like that.”
“I’m sorry, I—”
She threw back the bolts and, with a yank, ripped the door open, past where it snagged on the floor.
“—thought something was wrong. And I found this…”
Deimos was holding the swollen, severed head of a young man. The head was covered in a clear discharge. The head looked as if it’d been smashed. Blood vessels broke through the skin. His eyes bulged from their sockets. An encrusted ring of blood circled the man’s scalp.
“I…” Deimos let himself into the room, barely able to hold onto the head. “I know…” He closed his eyes. He wanted to set the head down but couldn’t bring himself to do it. “I know who this is.”
Audra close the door, locked it. “Who?”
Deimos’ cloudy eye twitched. “Aeson.” Saying the name took it out of him. “He was Caldera’s Archivist.” Deimos shook his head, and then, losing his composure, dropped onto the bed, tears streaming down his face. “He was Vrana’s… everything. Oh, god.” He cradled the head on his lap, handfuls of hair in his grip. “I am so sorry, Aeson.” He closed the eyes. “I am so sorry, Vrana.”
Audra, mouth agape, went to where the moonlight cut through the windows and came out of the shadows. “The same Vrana I told you I tried to help Felix save?”
Deimos nodded as he rubbed his thumb over Aeson’s cold, hard cheek.
“What did those two do to piss off the witches so bad?”
“I…” Deimos paused, pressed his fingers to Aeson’s lips. There was a piece of string dangling between them. “What is this?” He pulled it, and out came a small square of parchment. It was white, but when the light hit it right, purple sparks danced across the fibers. “May I?”
