by Jasmine Walt
“How so?” I ask.
“It hasn’t been proven, but there is a rumor that some Chibold claim the Universe said Forever Girls will be those reborn by our magic.”
“Then it might not be long,” I say solemnly. “I couldn’t save her. The cell was encased in iron; I couldn’t travel or use most of my abilities for that matter. Once I escaped, I saw a woman weeping over her body during our escape, and I moved her.”
“You what?” Tess’ smile turns to glowering. “Now is not the time to be traveling, Cord!”
“I had to!” I ball my fists at my side. “It’s done now, and it was the right thing to do.”
“I hope you’re right.” She shakes her head. “You still haven’t told us how you escaped.”
“The compulsion magic. I was able to control one of the Morts long enough to escape.”
“Thank goodness,” she says.
“This is bigger than I thought.” When Tess doesn’t respond, I add, “The Cruor are killing humans that are awaiting trial at the settlement.”
Tess’ shoulders sag, and she walks to the cabin window, looking out toward where Adrian sits in the lingering darkness, his back against one of the trees that obscure our location. She’s distressed—the way she tugs her earlobe gives her away.
“We’re aware,” she says. “You aren’t the only one who has been controlling the Morts. There are others...with the Maltorim.”
“Others?”
Tess still doesn’t look at me. “They are controlling the evilest of the Morts, using them to possess some of the humans in order to lure others. But that’s not all.”
“Hmmm?”
I think she must not hear me, because moments pass without a response.
“What’s not all, Tess?”
“Cord—” Her voice cracks. Slowly her gaze sweeps toward me, haunted. For the first time, I think I’m seeing Tess afraid.
“Please, just tell me.”
She takes a long shuddering sigh. “The Maltorim are using a form of...necromancy. They’re not just making the Morts possess the living, Cord. They’re also making them possess the dead.”
24
March 1692
I rock back on my feet. The Maltorim are using necromancy to compel the Morts to possess the dead? “How, Tess? Is that even possible? The Maltorim can’t do that! I thought they were mostly Cruor? Is it anything like what I did in the cell? The compulsion magic, maybe?”
She twists her lips. “No, it can’t be that. Possessing the dead is very different from a spirit sharing a body with a living host. If they are performing this kind of magic, they must have help from an Ankou. That’s the only explanation. Cruor simply were never designed to perform such magic.”
“Why would the Ankou help the Maltorim do that? It goes completely against our calling!”
Tess scoffs. “Can’t you see, Cord? What is it humans say when they make mistakes? ‘I’m only human.’” She says this mockingly. “Well, if that’s true, we’re all only human.”
I cross the room and grab Tess by her shoulders. “We’re not human.”
Her big green eyes look up at me, and the weight of her words settle into my chest. “There is no perfect race, Cord. The Morts—there are good and bad. The Strigoi—there are good and bad. The Cruor—there are good and bad. Do you think all Ankou are good? Do you think we’re all good guys?”
I drop my hands to my side. “I guess—”
“Please, Cord. Don’t guess.” Tess grabs my shoulders this time. “Just give us something useful. Anything useful. Think hard—what happened when you were in that cell? What can we use to fix this?”
The desperation in her plea tugs at my heart. I reflect on my time in captivity, trying to figure out how it might all tie together. All I can see is Thornhart reading from that evil book. Why would Thornhart be involved in this? Some of the men had clearly been taken over by the Morts, but not all of them.
“What can you tell me about the Malleus Maleficarum?” I ask.
“Written by the Maltorim over two centuries ago, delivered through a possessed man—Heinrich Kramer—and a comrade of his. Why? Where did you see it?”
“Thornhart had a copy. He read from it to us.”
“If that’s true,” Tess says, “then they have been planning these events for long time. Much longer than we could have imagined.”
“Then some of these people are possessed, and others are being led by the possessed, and more yet have simply been influenced by the times—by a book?”
Tess frowns. “It’s all being blamed on witchcraft, and the possessions have helped make witchcraft a believable plague. It explains the unexplainable, gives them a solution to their fears. The Malleus Maleficarum is clearly just one piece in their puzzle, one more thing that can reinforce the ideas being pushed on your settlement.”
My settlement. Not really. Abigail’s settlement, sure. Aren’t I, in a way, possessing Abigail? Whose life has Tess taken over? William is the only one of us here who was born Ankou. Are we no better than the spirits we hunt?
Tess continues on, unaware of my inner conflicts. “This whole charade is meant to give the Cruor an easy blood-life source. It weeds out the lives people are willing to sacrifice—then the Cruor can feed. Unfortunately, even those who are not possessed have become caught up in the witch hunts. The settlement will destroy themselves, and then the Cruor will move on to find new life to feed from.”
“Well...are we doing anything about that?”
Tess turns back to me. She stares at me a long time, as though studying me. “Do you want to?”
It’s not just getting back to Anna that motivates me, and I am not sure if I should feel guilty to admit that. There was a time where she was all that mattered. Somehow, I’ve come to see this world as worth saving. People have the right to their own bodies. Tess says those involved need to be brought to justice, but I know her idea of justice isn’t quite the same as mine. William, though, is the only of us who is driven by pure nobility. All he wants to do is help these people because these people need help.
It would be nice if my motivations were as simple as that.
When Adrian joins us inside, he at least proves more useful than I expected.
“The Maltorim have built an army of possessed,” he explains. “They have found the only known living spirit elemental and are forcing her to use her abilities to control the Morts.”
Tess shoves him hard in the shoulder. “Damn it, Adrian! You should have told us sooner.”
“I didn’t have a chance,” he says sharply. “I only found out on my last trip back to the Maltorim, and I only got as far as to tell you that they were possessing the dead using necromancy when Cord arrived.”
I lean back. My alarm bells are going off. “Adrian is with the Maltorim?”
William waves me off. “Not really. It’s for appearances. He’s our ‘in’. He grew up there. We can’t choose what families we are born into, can we?”
“I guess...”
William nudges Tess in the shoulder. “Don’t be so hard on him. It’s better he tell us together anyway, all at once.”
I roll my eyes. Because God forbid Adrian repeats himself. I huff, shaking my head. “Tess said there are no spirit elementals. And spirit elementals are not the only ones who can control the Morts. Anyone who knows compulsion magic can do the same.”
Tess clears her throat. “There is no proof of any spirit elementals in existence,” she says. “I’m afraid Adrian and I are not in agreement on this.”
Adrian turns to her. “The girl is a spirit elemental, I assure you. There is no other way they could possess the dead. Compulsion magic alone wouldn’t be enough for that. They have Ankou working for the Maltorim and need her blood to perform the necromancy.”
“There’s no evidence,” Tess shoots back. “I just find it odd that a spirit elemental would turn up now. That would make two, if Cord is right about the girl she met in the cell. How could it be they have been he
re without us knowing?”
“Yet you don’t find it odd that these events have not taken place before now?”
I put my hands up. “Enough. So this woman may or may not be a spirit elemental, but she is controlling the Morts. That is what is important, correct?”
William bends up a knee and rests his elbow there. “More so that they are using her blood to do it against her will.”
“What does this mean for us?” I ask, trying to get William and Adrian refocused. From the corner of my eye, I see William smile, and I feel a smile within myself, too, hidden in my heart where no one can see it. For once in my life, I feel...in control.
“I’m not sure what the end goal is,” Adrian says, “but they are using Morts in human bodies to carry out their wishes during the day—to hunt the Ankou.”
“The Maltorim has the Morts hunting us? Why?”
“Because,” he explains, “the blood of the Ankou allows the Cruor to walk in the sun.”
The hunters, it seems, have become the hunted.
As it turns out, some Ankou are cowards that will sell out their own kind to protect themselves.
The windows are quickly covered before daylight arrives, though every now and then the sheets will catch a draft and flutter, and a few rays of light will squeeze by, revealing our veined wings, a reminder of how inhuman we really are.
We’re insects. Very large insects.
Adrian, however, manages to always stay to the shadows, even when indoors, perhaps because the sunlight would be far more damaging to him.
I sit on the splintered wood floor, wrapped in a scratchy blanket but thankful for the warmth against the draft. A stew Tess has prepared gurgles in a pot over the fire, and she serves us bowls of rough meat and bitter wild onions. We cannot build our fire larger than required to cook our meals, for fear of drawing attention to ourselves.
I hadn’t realized how famished I was until I smelled the food, and although the meat does not taste fresh nor the onions sweet, I greedily consume every drop in my bowl.
The day passes uneasily, my stomach twisted in knots of fear over whether we will be discovered and how much longer we are safe here. But we cannot travel into daylight; we are prisoners of our own nature. By midday, it’s evident spring is coming a little early this year. The cold is gone. I would almost say the day is warm.
How long have I been trapped in this life? If spring has just begun, then no more than a season. The fire adds a smoky haze and yellow glow to the room that seems more alive than my daytime vision.
Not nearly soon enough, night arrives. As our location is compromised due to the Maltorim soldiers we battled earlier—and, Tess says, because of my traveling—we set out immediately at sundown. Adrian leads the way.
“We need to find a find a good location to travel through,” he says, his gaze steady on Tess. His expression is somber, perhaps even sad. “Do you know of a good place?”
Tess tips her chin. “Not far ahead, still surrounded by the dandelion. I haven’t seen any Morts or Cruor in the area.”
“We’ll need transport to Damascus. Once we arrive, we’ll need to break in to rescue the girl,” he says. “It’s important we stay together.”
Tess picks up the pace, leading the way. “Do you know any Chibold in that area, or must we bring her back here?”
The question is clearly directed at Adrian, but William cuts in. “We’ll bring her to the Chibold here,” he says. “We know them best.”
“So be it.” Tess cuts her attention to him. “They’ll be able to tell us if she’s a spirit elemental and protect her if needed.”
“Protect her?” I ask. “Shouldn’t we want her to help us?”
Some trees block our path. Tess squeezes through, and Adrian puts his hand on my shoulder to push me onward as well. “Perhaps, if she’s capable of helping,” he says. “But if she’s not, she will only get in the way, risk her recapture, and put us back where we started.”
“Where we are now,” William says. He cuts between Adrian and I, placing his hand at the small of my back but devoting his attention to Adrian. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves. We haven’t even attempted the rescue yet, and we need to discuss the risks. Is this really our best course of action?”
Adrian stops walking, as does William. Adrian raises an eyebrow. I try to continue walking, to catch up with Tess, but William’s hand slips to mine, and he holds me steady at his side. His touch is cold, his presence colder, but my whole body is heating up. Tess’ footsteps come to silence, then shuffle closer.
“Everything all right?” she asks.
Adrian’s expression softens, and he turns to Tess. “William was just expressing some... concerns.”
“We’re not simply going to waltz in the Maltorim asylum,” William says. “There are risks.”
All at once, the situation comes rushing at me, and I’m woozy. I lean my head against William’s shoulder. I can feel him turning his neck, to look at me, and I imagine the annoyed expression that must be on his face right now, but I can’t pull away. I just need a moment.
When I look up, however, his expression is not one of annoyance. He seems...worried, but restrained. What is he trying to protect? His heart...or mine?
William frowns and turns to Adrian, staring him down, his pale skin almost ominous against his oak-brown hair, dark eyes, and shaded jaw. Tess glares at William, as though doing so can somehow get William to back off.
The tension is unsettling. Adrian has the connections necessary to pull this off, and Tess trusts him. Which to me says a lot. The Maltorim are stronger and more powerful than us four, and none of us know the extent of what we are up against. Attempting to save this girl will expose us and further put us at risk. We can’t be weakened by lack of unity.
We need to pull together.
William faces me again. “What do you think, Cord?”
“Me?” Now they are all looking at me. How should I know? “If we try to save her, we might be captured ourselves?”
“Correct,” William says.
“But if we don’t save her, they will continue to grow their army, who will hunt us, which could also lead to our death or capture.”
Tess nods.
If we are to overcome the Morts in time for me to return to Anna, we will have to first stop them from hunting us during the day. Which means we need to stop the Maltorim from creating these possessions.
Indeed, it’s my thoughts of Anna—not the wellbeing of this world or my comrades—that finalize my decision. Perhaps I haven’t changed so much as I would like to think.
“Well, then,” I say, still uncertain, “it seems obvious that we need to save her.”
And so it is decided.
25
March 1692
I’ve never seen anything like this.
A world of gray. Stone stacked on stone. Dry dirt that lives on every surface, that claims even the air, drowning the world in hues of worn gold beneath a midnight-blue sky.
So this is Damascus. This is where the great, mighty, powerful, and corrupt Maltorim call home.
“Where do we go from here?” I ask, staring out over a humble cemetery that stretches on acres of land.
Adrian points to a large building in the distance, but even that looks like a grave. It goes against my instincts to approach such a destination, to enter a final resting place with hopes of saving a life. But if we don’t save this woman, the Maltorim will continue to build their army, and we’ll never overcome the Morts.
And if we never overcome the Morts, I’ll never return to Anna.
William frowns. “That’s it? It looks a little small for an asylum built for so many Cruor.”
Adrian laughs. It’s an easy, relaxed laugh, and it doesn’t suit him and doesn’t suit the moment. It’s unnerving. “It’s beneath the mausoleum. Truly, it does take up most of this land, right below our feet. But you will never get inside.”
Tess’ brow furrows, and I feel mine do the same. We all turn
toward him.
“Then why did we come here?” Tess asks.
The smile falls from his face, and he looks at her with sad eyes. “I’m sorry, Thessaly.”
Before any of us can make sense of the exchange, a dozen large men approach us from the distance.
Cruor, each one. Some short, some tall, some thick, some thin. The only thing they have in common are their navy blue and scarlet-red uniforms with large brass buttons that glare at me as though they themselves are the poison that can end my life.
Anger rips through me, but I can’t pull my focus from Tess; she looks more anguished than angry. Tears have already glazed her eyes and her face is bright red and she’s shaking. Just looking at how hurt she is cripples me.
“How could you?” She lunges toward Adrian, but we don’t have time for shattered trust.
I hold her back, reach down, grab a stake from her ankle, and thrust it into her grasp.
The Cruors’ waltz toward us turns into a blur, and before I can retrieve my own stake, one kicks me in the shoulder, knocking me back. I grasp the stake tighter and pull it up just as he pounces, and the stake tears through him, demolishing him into ash that seems to belong all too well to this dreadful place.
Adrian neither defends nor attacks us, but his attention never leaves Tess. Two guards have grabbed her by each of her arms, but she throws her head back, hitting one of them in the face. The guard seems unfazed, despite a bleeding nose that quickly heals.
William stakes one of them, and Tess twists enough to kick the other in the chest. She removes a sword from the hilt at her side and decapitates him.
I know each of us moves with a speed that would go unseen to the human eye, but it’s as though the events are rolling out like honey. These Cruor are not the best trained, and I know it’s a matter of time before more competent minions of the Maltorim are sent out for us.
Now we either run, or we fight. William and Tess told me we always fight. And, eventually, we will have to. But there is fighting smart and there is fighting because you have no choice, and this is neither.
