by Scott Hale
“What about you?”
“What about me?” she said, darkly.
He shrank beside her. “Nothing.”
“Nothing’s right.” She paused, considered where to take this next. Then: “How are you? Really?”
Felix’s eyes widened and he smiled like a lunatic. “I don’t know. I’m glad you’re here. Why… are you here?”
That wasn’t a question so much as a probe. “I’m God’s Speaker.”
Felix didn’t even bother feigning surprise.
“That’s not why I’m here. That’s just what got me in. I came here… to kill my brother.”
“Will you?” Felix asked, excitedly, as if that were the reason he was here, too.
“One day. Why’re you here?”
Felix stared into his lap. She could see the deliberation in the creasing of his brow.
“I just admitted planning regicide to you, Felix. Me, the sister who knows what my brother did to my family, and the part he played in Geharra’s genocide. Me, who, really, should be ruling Eldrus, not him, because I was ahead of him in the line of succession. If telling you, our enemy, isn’t the stupidest thing I could do, then I don’t know—”
“To stop you,” he said, forcing the words out. “To stop you… from being Speaker.”
That threw Audra off-guard. She’d always assumed they’d come for her brother, or even Valac. Justine, like Joy, had a reason to take her out, but never did she imagine she’d be at the top of her hit list.
Felix quickly added, “Not to kill you!”
“How do you know I’m the Speaker?”
“Justine…”
“She also tried to convince you I was the White Worm, and look how that turned out.”
“Are you really the Speaker?”
“Yeah, I am.”
Audra pointed at the far wall. A shadow seeped through the stone. When she waved her hand, it disappeared.
“Holy crap, you’ve gotten really good.”
“Yeah, a little too good, too quickly. Why’s Justine want you to stop me?”
That, then, threw him off-guard, too. “She’s the White Worm. She’s dying.”
Oh, man. Finally.
“If you start listening to God, like, for real, she’ll die…”
Oh, man. He really loves her.
“… and Lillian will be reborn.”
Oh, man. Wait… what the fuck?
“She lives inside Justine, kind of. I saw her. She summoned Justine after the Trauma to revive the Faith. She was the original Speaker.”
“But I’m supposed to be the Speaker.” That sounded whinier than it should’ve. “What happens if there’s two Speakers?”
Felix shook his head.
But she knew the answer, because it was always the same in this world. Lillian would try to kill her, or enslave her.
“And not letting me become Speaker does…?”
“The White Worm is religion. God’s religion. As long as It’s missing some of the pieces, she won’t die. Lillian won’t come out.”
“I wonder…”
Desperate to hear something good, Felix practically sprung out of the throne, crying, “What? What?”
“Edgar knows I want to kill him, but he’s let me do whatever I want here. That’s how bad he wants me to be Speaker. But… the other day, he said I could be God’s… Interpreter.”
“So, he’s on our side?”
“No, never. Edgar’s never been on anyone’s side but his own. He just sounds like he’s on everyone’s. My brother is… long gone. But Interpreter? That’s different. I think some part of him is trying to have its cake and eat it, too. He wants to use God, but not give It what It wants, not completely.”
“Would that work?” Felix asked. “Would that… save her?”
“Honestly, Felix, I don’t trust Justine, and I can’t believe she’s put you through so much—”
He went red in the face, ready to fight.
“—but maybe if I were the Interpreter and you were the Speaker.”
“That’s what Justine and I used to do,” he mumbled.
“That might be enough to throw a wrench in the whole thing. Honestly, I’m not sure what would happen if Lillian were reborn, but given that last time she was responsible for the Trauma in some way… It’s probably best the bitch stays asleep.”
“Yeah,” Felix said, brightening up. “Yeah, yeah. You’re right.”
“You’d still be the Holy Child, though.”
“I mean, I don’t know what else I’d be.”
“Anything!” she cried. “Dude, you could be anything.”
“I want to do this,” he said, resolutely.
“Be honest with me, though. Why was the Bloodless in Cathedra?”
Felix looked as if he might lie, then: “Justine.”
“It was supposed to come here, wasn’t it?”
He nodded.
“Maybe it should’ve, you know, to meet its Maker. Me.”
“No.”
“If we do this, if it works, we have to control Justine when this is through,” Audra said. “At the end of the day, she is still a Worm. You said she’s religion. She is going to try and undermine things again. Nothing against her. That’s just what she is.”
“She’s trying to be human,” Felix said.
Audra sighed. “So were the Night Terrors, and look what happened to them.”
At once, they both snapped their heads to the doorway, where Deimos stood, perched against it, his arms crossed, fake Corruption displayed prominently. He looked as if he’d just had a bath. He was taking a lot of them these days, given his lessons with the flesh fiends in the torture chamber.
“Sneaky son of a bitch,” Audra chided.
Felix got out of the throne. “D-Deimos?”
“It is good to see you again, your Holiness,” Deimos said, coming into the room.
Audra stood, too, and walked with Felix to greet the Bat.
“I am sorry about the Marrow Cabal,” he said, bowing his head out of respect. “Audra told me how hard it was. They must have been close friends.”
“We hadn’t gotten that far… yet,” Audra said.
“Guess it was pretty obvious,” Felix said.
“There may still be time to change Edgar’s mind.” Deimos’ slow, measured speech seemed to soothe Felix. “I know Hex.”
“You do?”
“I met her once, with the Skeleton. Well, he was the Gravedigger, then.”
“What was she like?”
“Calculating,” Deimos said. “Did she ever find her brother?”
“Ichor, yeah,” Felix said. “She was torturing him in Cathedra. He wasn’t even human. He ate one of those seeds of heaven.”
Deimos hummed. “What happened to Ichor?”
“She used him to free the Bloodless,” he said. “I guess I never really thought about what happened to him. She didn’t go the Dead City, like she said she was going to.”
“To get weapons?”
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
“Same reason my people wanted to go there.”
“I think Mr. Haemo went, though. Maybe he took Ichor with him.”
Deimos glared at Audra.
She didn’t know who this Mr. Haemo was, but clearly, Deimos did.
Instead of getting further into it, he said, “Should we be going?”
This time, she glared at Deimos.
“Where are you guys going?” Felix asked, a fearful warble in his words.
“We…” She shot him a look that said, I was getting to that, Big D. “We, us three, have a meeting with my brother in the next few minutes.”
Felix took a few steps back, his eyes locked on the exit.
“This isn’t an ambush,” Audra said, holding her hands out, wanting so badly to hug him, because badly, he needed one. “I swear to… whatever freaking god is out there… it’s not. Like I said, Edgar is eager to have me become Speaker. I know you just got here, but you know, we c
an’t wait, right?”
Felix mouthed Yeah.
“Are you still completely in charge of the Holy Order?” Deimos asked.
Felix said, “You don’t want Justine there, do you?”
“Do you?” Audra said.
“I’m in charge,” he said, pushing his chest out. “Whatever I say goes.”
“Then…” Audra took his hand, squeezed it. “Let’s go surrender together.”
A gay Night Terror, a lesbian Corrupted, and a heretic child walked through Ghostgrave. There had to be a punchline there, but Audra was sure she wouldn’t hear it for decades to come. It felt good. It felt right.
The meeting was being held in the unlikeliest of locations: the attic. According to Edgar, he had chosen the attic, because it was small and cramped, and everyone would literally be at each other’s necks. It was, she later realized, an attempt to adopt their father’s philosophy of ruling as related to sitting on an uncomfortable throne. Their court would be one of musty wood and dusty cobwebs, he’d said, and indifferent insects thrilled not by the political intrigue, but by the soft flesh and sweet blood in their seldom visited haunt. Needless to say, Edgar had lost his goddamn mind, but he did have a point. She wasn’t sure what it was yet, but she felt its pricking all the same.
Coming up on the gated stairwell reserved for trusted servants, the three of them crossed paths with Joseph Cleon. Clad in black and hair greased back, he was armed to his yellow teeth with pamphlets and posters. The prints were so fresh, and his hands so sweaty, that the tips of his fingers were covered in ink. At first, he pretended not to see them, but then, he came to a comical stop and swung back around, one sinewy scarecrow-like leg at a time.
“H-Holy Child,” Felix’s former Demagogue said.
Felix held up his hand in that way all spiritual leaders do.
Joseph dropped several pamphlets. In trying to collect them, he dropped a few posters as well. “I… I… It is so good to…”
“What’re those?” Felix asked.
Audra swept in front of him, before the posters unraveled and he saw what was on them. Felix had enough on his plate. If she doled out any more, he was liable to choke. She didn’t want him mixed up in this Joy business, not after she’d sent the Cult to kill the both of them back in Pyra. In a week, it wouldn’t even matter.
When Felix got around her, Joseph Cleon had already scurried off. She shrugged in a Demagogues will be Demagogues kind of way, and flashed a smile at Deimos. Isla had done her part so far. Now, it was just a matter of her keeping that toxic mouth shut until the deed was done.
Running late, they ran up the stairs that led to the attic. True to Edgar’s word, there were no guards along the way. As far as she could tell, no one was even aware this meeting was happening. Audra was thinking that was pretty decent of Edgar, until, out of nowhere, she started thinking of the night he’d killed their family. Who were they meeting with today? Edgar? Or his “ghost?”
Floor by floor went past.
Felix said, “God, how big is this place?”
“Way bigger than it looks,” Audra said, feeling a stitch in her side. “Not much—”
Ahead, where the staircase began to wind into a spiral, a train of white satin lay across the stairs.
Audra hit the brakes.
Felix crashed into her.
Deimos braced against the walls, trying not to lose his balance.
The fabric moved. One leg took a step back. Then Joy leaned backwards, smiling coyly. “I thought I heard rats.”
What the fuck is she doing here?
Joy stepped down, turned around. “Holy Child,” she said, eyes like black holes.
“Do I know you?”
“You know my work. Oh—” she made a gesture with her hand, “—if you wouldn’t mind?”
Deimos, out of character, covered Felix’s body with his own. Because coming up the way they’d come was Joy’s right-hand flesh fiend, Ezra. An idiot dressed smartly, the creature drooled all over the lapel of its blood-splattered suit as it limped up the stairs. He, or Joy, had tried to comb the wiry doll-like hair that grew out of his soft, scarred head. And was that cologne she smelled? To cover up the fruity reek of rot? It must’ve been, and Ezra must’ve had an allergy to the stuff, as his hands and neck were covered in blotches; and some, he’d even dug into down to the muscle.
“Greetings and… Salutations,” he said, shambling past, but not before getting a good whiff of Felix.
Joy collected Ezra once he reached her and said, never taking her eyes off Felix, “Shall we?”
There were more surprises awaiting them in the attic. They went by the names of Valac and Isla Taggart.
What was worse, though, was where they were seated. Between and under the crossbeams, a relic from her childhood had been wheeled out and desecrated with what surely must’ve been good intentions. It was a long, sea green table, cracked to the point you could say it had character. Audra, Auster, and Edgar used to sit at this table when they were little, ten and eight, and over it, they’d plan how they’d rule Eldrus together and fix all of its problems. Back then, the solutions had been simple. Lock the bad people up. Take away all their weapons. Feed the poor. Fleece the rich.
Edgar’s eyes lit up when he saw them. He didn’t have to smile, because the vermillion stains on his lips gave the illusion he was. See, we finally did it, his body seemed to language. Look how human I am, Sister.
Isla had a corner to herself. Her arms and legs were crossed, and she was doing her damndest to look as if she wished she was anywhere but here. It was reassuring to see her back in a burka—her face exposed, her tits out. For a second there, Audra had thought she might’ve actually gotten her shit together for once.
Valac sat to Edgar’s left, his pudgy fingers picking splinters out of the tabletop. When he spotted Felix, he slipped and cut himself, but the wound was quickly healed by the veins inside him. Could a child be a pedophile? How about a child that’d never truly been a child? Because that’s what Valac was. He’d been obsessing over Felix’s arrival for weeks now, asking about his clothes, his hair, what he smelled liked, what he talked like; he’d asked Audra if she’d ever seen Felix naked, and if so, after dropping his drawers, if the two compared. Valac was a predator, an Unholy Child who’d been born into a role that Amon had more or less phased out. He was supposed to be the Harbinger, and yet God had already been, more or less, brought. He was supposed to be the Anointed One, and yet most people forgot he even existed. He didn’t learn, he just leered, and languished until the day when he’d consume the object of his leering. And for that reason, Audra had to keep Felix close.
Edgar rose. “Thank you, your Holiness, for joining us. I know that the surroundings and company are… unexpected—”
Valac scratched behind his ear until it bled.
“—but I wanted us to sit with one another away from prying eyes and ears. History’s delicate these days. Our fumbling hands can hardly hold onto it.”
Felix, catching her and Deimos off-guard, came out of nowhere with: “Where are my people?”
Joy snickered and sat at the table. Ezra plopped down beside her, smoothing out a spot for himself on her dress by wiggling his ass.
“Though it may not seem it—” Edgar offered him a seat.
He took it. Audra and Deimos sandwiched him.
“—you have us outnumbered.”
“You’re right, it doesn’t seem it,” Felix said.
Shit, Audra thought, that’s the Holy Child I know. Watching him speak, she could see his “god” speaking through him, empowering him. One man’s schizophrenic was another’s savior. That wasn’t fair, though. At this table, Felix was the only who had it together.
“Well, let’s be honest. Audra and Deimos are on your side, not ours,” Edgar said. “And I’m not sure I’ve won Isla or Joy over yet. This is Joy, by the way.”
The witch licked her lips, said, “We’ve met.”
“Everyone here has come together i
n Ghostgrave at relatively the same time,” Edgar said. “Everyone here plays an integral part in the Disciples of the Deep. Everyone here… wants something, myself included, and though we all may not realize it, in the end, I believe what we all want is God.”
Audra rolled her eyes.
“Isla wants…”
She hit the bottom of the table with her knee. “I can speak for myself.”
“She sure can,” Joy said.
“I want equality. I want…”
“I know what you want, Traitor,” Felix interrupted.
Audra stifled a laugh.
Even Deimos had to look away.
Surprisingly, Isla didn’t snap back. Instead, as soon as she’d heard ‘traitor,’ all the color left her face, and she shrank, as if Felix’s condescension had been a microscope that’d revealed an irreparable weakness.
“What do you want?” Valac asked, his vermillion-flecked eyes watering. He came out of his seat a little, to suck up Felix’s air. “What does a boy like you want?”
“Peace,” he said.
Before anyone else could get a word in, Joy, outstretching her hand and plucking a cobweb from the crossbeams, said, “Exactly. We all want to serve God, in our own way. Tell me, Holy Child, have you heard of the Cult of the Worm?”
Audra tried to take his hand underneath the table, but his anxiety carried it away, between his legs.
“We were quite popular, for a moment.”
End this, Audra tried to signal to Edgar.
And to her, he replied: I can’t.
“I’ve heard of it,” Felix said.
“Well, Valac and I are rebranding the Cult. We haven’t quite come up with a name yet, but Deimos here—”
Deimos crossed his arms.
“—has been a big help.”
She’s trying to turn him against us, Audra thought. Either she knows what we’re planning or…
“The problem you ran into with the Marrow Cabal and the Compellers is that they had their own ideas about what was best. My Choir doesn’t make its own songs. It just sings. You see—” she leaned forward, “—when one thing goes extinct, another occupies its place in the food chain.”
At this, Edgar cleared his throat and took charge of the meeting. “Isla wants equality. Joy… is a true missionary.”
Audra could tell how hard it was for Edgar to say that.
