The Unblessed Dead

by Rhiannon Frater

  I hate that Rennon is stuck at home. The boy school is some distance away and the administrators refused to add ramps to let Rennon roll about the building.

  A sharp, painful cry from Carrie startles Rennon and me. She covers her face with her hands, sobbing loudly. Her entire body shakes and I hurry to console her. Wrapping my arms around her, I press my cheek to the top of her head.

  “It will be okay, Carrie.”

  “How?” she exclaims. “Aunt Leticia is dead and they want to take you away!”

  “I don’t know. We’ll figure it out.”

  “But she’s dead! They let her die!”

  Rennon lets out a hiccupping sob as his bravado dissipates. “It’s not fair!”

  The floodgates open and I’m helpless in the emotional tumult that follows.

  When Father enters the room with the Elders, they find me holding my sister, and Rennon crying with his head tucked into his folded arms on the table. It’s a very dramatic scene but genuine. Surprisingly, from a few expressions on the faces of the Elders it appears to move a few to near tears.

  “Very well,” Elder Johan says to my father. His shoulders sag as he gives Elder Alvus a weary look. The sterner man lifts a disapproving eyebrow, but Elder Johan shakes his head. “Ilyse can stay here. Wardens will protect the house from the protesters and make sure she does not leave.”

  “Thank you! Thank you! She’s a good girl. Pious Standing. She’s a worthy wife to any man. These accusations are unfounded and cruel. You must realize that,” my father blurts out.

  “The investigation will continue,” Elder Alvus responds. “I will see to it personally.”

  This is more a threat than promise, but my father appears relieved. “Thank you.”

  The dozen Elders leave without acknowledging me. Perhaps they don’t see me as the new mistress of the house since I’ll either be hauled away to jail or married off in the near future. They shake my father’s hand and depart in a long line of flowing robes.

  When the door shuts at last, my father stands in silence, his hands clasped beneath his chin.

  “You can’t let them take Ilyse away! Ever!” Carrie says, wiping her eyes with a napkin. “She’s innocent!”

  “They’re not. No one will take her away. The charges against her are ridiculous. It’s already been proven she’s not a necromancer. It’s only a matter of time before they recognize she’s innocent of all the accusations. Now enough of this carrying on. It’s time for bed. Rennon, go to Annah. She’ll get you settled.”

  Rennon turns to me. “You will come and say goodnight, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “Ilyse, Carrie, calm yourselves and prepare for bed. This house will return to order. I know you miss your mother but we must have faith and be strong.” With those words, my father leaves us.

  I’m too emotionally drained and too tired to demand he pays attention to his youngest children who clearly need him. Instead, I call for Annah so she can help Rennon prepare for bed and steer Carrie to our room.

  The evening ritual feels empty. We wash our faces, brush our hair, clean our teeth, and put on our nightgowns. Instead of my aunt making the rounds to say goodnight and pray with us, I take her place. When Rennon sees me come into his bedroom, he holds out his arms. I lean over his bed, kiss his cheek, and hug him tight.

  “I love you, Ilyse,” he says.

  “I love you, Rennon,” I answer. “You’re very brave to try to protect me. You’re a good brother.”

  He inhales sharply and his eyes widen.

  “What?”

  “Ilyse, that’s the first time you’ve called me your brother!”

  I start to protest, but realize he’s right. After my aunt arrived with him as an infant, I’d taken great pains to keep a line between me and the new members of my immediate family. To do anything less felt like a betrayal of my mother and Angelina. But at what cost? My aunt is gone now. I’ll never know who she really was and what she’d gone through to hide her necromancy.

  “Well, I should have said it sooner.” I hug him again, and when I pull away he is grinning despite the tears pooling in his eyes. “May the Three Gods protect you.”

  “Until the morning,” he replies.

  I return to my bedroom to find Carrie perched on her bed, her knees drawn to her chest, and her hands plucking at her toes. I sit next to her and she tilts her head to gaze at me.

  “Can we talk?” she asks. “About what we saw?”

  I lower my voice and reply, “The necromancer?”

  She nods. “I saw her before. When the wardens took us to the Courtyard of the Accused. Up on the roof in the shadows. She was watching us.”

  “How did you know she’s a necromancer?”

  “I guessed. Why else would she hide her face? Or keep out of sight? I told you before I thought there’s one here in the settlement trying to draw you out.”

  I nod. “I saw her standing in the outside corral when the Unblessed were herded inside. Just for a moment, then she was gone.”

  “And she was wearing a long, dark green coat with a hood?”

  “I didn’t notice the color, but yeah.”

  Carrie sighs, her fingernails digging at the dead skin around her toenails. It’s an old nervous tick I haven’t seen in a long time. “The necromancer made Aunt Leticia’s body try to get up. That was cruel. I don’t think she’s any kind of friend.”

  “I agree.”

  “Did Quade see them?”

  I shake my head.

  Carrie rubs her red nose against one knee. “Did they make the Unblessed try to knock over my tower?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “I hate that Aunt Leticia died for me. I hate it.”

  “She did it because she loved you. She wanted to protect you at all costs.”

  “How do you know?”

  “She told me.” I tap my forehead. “She was a necromancer like me and our mother.”

  “Oh.” Carrie rubs her lips together. “Then I’m a necromancer, too, right? I’m just not showing it yet. But I will.”

  “Maybe. We can’t be sure.”

  “No, I’m sure. I know it. You, Mother, Aunt Leticia…maybe even Angelina. So I have to have it, too.” Slumping against my side, she whimpers, “I don’t want to die.”

  “We’re going to find a way out of this. I promise. Somehow. I’ll find a way.”

  “How? We can’t even leave the house.”

  “I don’t know. Not yet. But I will figure it out.”

  When we finally lay down to sleep, I listen to my sister sobbing into her pillow. Tears trickle down my cheeks while I stare up at the ceiling. Everything is so wrong, and I have no idea how to survive what is coming. There are wardens patrolling our garden, and watching our front gate. There’s no other way to leave the house. I’m a prisoner. Trapped.

  Quade, if by any chance you can hear me, help me.

  Silence follows.

  I close my eyes in despair.

  Fight back or die, Ilyse.

  It’s the voice from my nightmare. The necromancer. She must be nearby, spying from the shadows on my home.

  Terrified, I roll over in my bed and hide beneath my covers. My body trembles as I fight to keep my teeth from chattering. Dread fills me as I ponder the words of the necromancer.

  Were those words advice to save me? Or a threat?

  Chapter 16

  Truth & Lies

  Life is misery.

  It’s been five days since my aunt died. Five long, emotional days of trying to be strong for Rennon and Carrie while they mourn her loss and our father hides in his study. Five long, terrible days of hiding behind closed curtains while a handful of protesters demand justice for Bale outside our front gate and wardens keep us safe. Five long boring days of not venturing to school or Wednesday Gathering, and not being able to reach Quade. Five long days of the necromancer whispering into my dreams and filling them with images of the Unblessed destroying the Atonement Sett
lement.

  I don’t know why the necromancer is tormenting me or how to even deal with her. I have yet to figure out how I can get word to Quade. He is the only person I can speak to about the necromancer. I haven’t confided in Carrie. I don’t want to worry her more than she already is now. Both she and Rennon are terrified that I’ll be taken away at any moment.

  I wonder if my aunt could have helped me deal with the necromancer if she’d survived. Is Carrie right? Did the necromancer compel the Unblessed to attack her tower? When I consider the dreams I suspect the necromancer is sending me, I’m inclined to believe it was a trap set for me. Was the necromancer trying to out me? If so, for what purpose?

  I suppose in the end it doesn’t matter. The damage is done. My aunt is dead. Our lives are forever changed, and we are in limbo.

  Though trapped in the house together, my family is drifting apart. Of course, the lack of my aunt’s presence is weighing heavily on everyone. Carrie spends most of her hours in bed, either sleeping or staring at the ceiling. Rennon sits in his room writing endlessly in his personal journal and he refuses to let me read it. All I want to do is lie in bed and sleep the days away like Carrie, but instead I take over my aunt’s duties. Keeping the house orderly and on schedule gives me purpose and maintains a certain sense of normalcy.

  When we sit down to eat, my aunt’s empty chair looms over us even if my father won’t acknowledge her absence. The topics of discussion at our meals are awfully mundane: the weather, profits at the bakery, recent news from outside the walls, but our father doesn’t even acknowledge the protestors outside our gate.

  Ugh! Father!

  He won’t leave the house. Though his presence is supposed to be reassuring, it rankles me. Sadly, he’s made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t wish to speak about her death or the trial the women in his life endured. It is difficult to pretend that I am still his faithful daughter when the fury inside me hasn’t abated. He allowed my mother to be killed. How can I ever forgive him for that betrayal? I understand, more than ever, why Angelina went over the wall.

  But I pretend to be the perfect daughter exactly as I was raised to do.

  I’m at my aunt’s desk in the kitchen working on a list of goods that are needed to maintain the house for the next month when Annah hesitates at my side.

  “May I have a moment?” she asks.

  “Of course.” I set aside the notepad and pencil. “What is it?”

  I’m surprised when she walks from the kitchen, clearly expecting me to follow. I rush to catch up with her, curiosity filling me. I almost expect we’ll go to Rennon’s room, but instead we arrive at the door leading to the sewing room.

  “Your father requested this,” she says in warning.

  I know what I’ll see when she opens the door. Nonetheless, my breath hitches in my throat when I see the wedding dress on the dummy near the window.

  “Your aunt had already cut the dress from her pattern and basted the pieces together. I finished it using her notations as a guide,” Annah explains as she shows me the notebook where my aunt kept meticulous notes and designs for the clothes she made for the family. “I did everything according to her instructions. Your father was insistent.”

  I take the notebook from Annah and stare at sketches of the wedding dress. She planned out every stitch and tears form in my eyes. I flip the pages, examining the pattern for the dress, illustrations of where to place the lace and add little elements of flare, such as the tucks at the waist. My dress isn’t the only one she designed. I find the exact same care was given in the notes for Carrie’s dress, too.

  Annah opens a door to the large pinewood cabinet against one wall. It’s where my aunt stored her sewing utensils, fabrics, and thread. Opening a small box set on a shelf inside, Annah reveals lace.

  “For Carrie’s dress,” she explains. “I found the lace pieces for your dress referenced in her notes in here as well. The lace is handmade by your aunt. She must have started planning for your weddings some time ago.”

  I step closer to the dress. It’s a finer garment than any I’ve ever worn. It has a high neck and long sleeves made entirely of lace. It’s a bit scandalous in how much skin it will show, but it’s beautiful. The bodice is plain, but the tucks at the waist are striking, for they form little rosettes. The skirt is straight, but the train is ruffled, resembling a bustle.

  “It’s so extravagant,” I whisper.

  “A wedding gown is allowed to be,” Annah says, her voice shadowed by sadness. She lightly touches the sleeve of the dress. “I’m still working on the veil.”

  “But why?” I ask. “There’s no way any man will want to marry me now. Will they even let me into the auction? I haven’t been to school and I missed my final exam.”

  Annah shuts the cabinet door, then leans against it. Her chubby face is rather pretty, but always flushed, giving the impression that she’s persistently anxious about something.

  “Ilyse, please don’t let your father know this but I did overhear him speaking with Crofter Beckett in his study. This was when you were in the garden with Rennon and Carrie yesterday picking the strawberries. Your father is giving up half of his business so Crofter Beckett will marry you.”

  “No!” I gasp. Even though I’m furious with him, I know my father worked years to build up the bakery that provides bread not only to our settlement, but to other communities including the Enclave. My marriage was supposed to expand his business, not take half of it from him.

  “He’s doing it to save you. Crofter Beckett doesn’t believe you’re guilty and is willing to protect you from accusations. Besides,” she flushes, “he says you’re very pretty, even if you’re too thin.”

  I wonder how many times Annah has listened in on conversations and just how much she knows about our family. It’s shameful to admit but I often regarded her as a piece of the background of our life. My aunt oversaw her duties and dealt with her on a daily basis. In many ways, Annah never felt like a fully realized person until this moment. Away from the scrutinizing glare of my father or watchful gaze of my aunt, Annah seems younger and more animated than I’ve ever seen her.

  “My father says a thin girl shows discipline,” I say weakly. As the words leave my mouth, they sound foolish.

  Annah pats her wide hip. “Yet, many men like a girl they can grab onto.”

  “Do they?” I’m curious, my eyebrows lifting. I always assumed the Unclaimed never interacted with men.

  “Oh, I can assure you, they do. Make sure you eat extra portions once you’re married. Crofter Beckett will be pleased.” Annah points to the dress. “Shall we try it on?”

  I shake my head. “No, no. I can’t. I just…”

  It’s hard not to cry. My aunt should be in this room with us, explaining each detail of the dress, then observing critically as I tried it on. Instead, Annah stares at me in confusion. I understand why. I have what she was denied: a chance at a husband and a future. What she doesn’t comprehend is that I’m doomed to die if I don’t escape.

  “The Bridal Auction is so soon. It really is best if we try it on you and see if we need to tweak anything. I’m worried the waist is a little big. You have lost some weight since… since…”

  “It’s hard to eat.” My stomach churns at the memory of the Unblessed swarming my aunt.

  “Maybe tomorrow? I promised your father I would have it ready in time. I’m still working on the veil. It’s a little more intricate work than I’m used to but it’s coming along.”

  I’m saved by a knock on the door. It opens to reveal my father. “Ilyse, Schoolmistress Simmons is here to see you. Please come to the parlor.”

  I’m relieved to have company but nervous about the possible topic of conversation. The last thing I want to discuss is the final exam I need to take and the Bridal Auction.

  My father stares past me at the wedding dress. Sorrow fills his eyes, but he says nothing. Instead, he steps aside to let me pass.

  Hands clasped before me, I walk
to the parlor with my father in my wake. He no longer tries to engage me in conversation when we’re alone. I am certain it’s out of guilt. I suspect he knows I blame him for my mother’s death after I refused to speak to him after returning home from the test. He’s been very careful not to broach any topic that might lead to a discussion about my mother or Angelina. He hasn’t even spoken with Carrie and me about what we went through during the test. When Carrie cries out in her sleep, I’m the one who comforts her. Whenever either one of us shows the slightest bit of our trauma, he diverts the conversation or leaves the room. Maybe ignoring what happened is how he copes, but I hate that we’re forced to follow his lead.

  When we reach the doorway to the parlor, he rests his hand on my shoulder before I enter. “I asked Schoolmistress Simmons to speak with you since your mother is no longer with us.”

  The careful wording fans the flames of my fury but I keep my expression blank.

  “There are things women should speak to women about. Alone. I’ll be in my study should you need me.”

  I realize that my father doesn’t know that my aunt took the time to speak to me about physical intimacy before Prudence explained it in much more explicit detail. I duck my head, pretending to be embarrassed.

  “Thank you, Father.”

  He gently squeezes my shoulder, obviously relieved to have foisted this task off on someone else, and disappears into his study. I enter the parlor, and shut the door behind me.

  “Thank you for coming, Schoolmistress—”

  “Call me Jane,” she says, cutting me off while hurrying to greet me. She grips my hands tightly and scrutinizes my face. “You’re so pale. And thinner.”

  “It’s been difficult,” I hesitate, “Jane.”

  “The Necromancer Trial is barbaric! I’ve written a formal letter of complaint to the Elders.”

  “I doubt that will make any difference,” I answer.

  Shoulders sagging, Jane sighs. “Probably not, but I have to use what little influence I have as the schoolmistress to defend the rights of women in this town.”

  “Rights of women?” I lift my eyebrows. I’ve never heard this phrase before.