Revenant Winds

by Mitchell Hogan

  He waved his glass towards one of the girls. “Her hair is too short.”

  The madam jerked her head toward the curtain, and the girl hurried out. The two that were left both smiled at him, and one drew her shoulders back so the material of her dress tightened over her nipples.

  Niklaus dropped his empty glass on the table, where it wobbled, then tipped over. He stood, clutching the goddess’s sword and his cane in one hand. The girl on the left was taller, but her skin wasn’t as smooth or blemish-free as the other. Still, she’d do. In the dim light, with her height and her long dark hair, she came close to what he’d seen of the goddess.

  He gestured to her. “That one.”

  Fumbling with his purse, he handed the madam some coins, and she and the other girl left.

  “Thank you for choosing me,” the girl said. “I won’t disappoint you.”

  “No talking,” Niklaus said.

  She nodded, mouth twisting into a wry smile. Her hands moved up to undo the clasps of her dress.

  “Not yet,” he said. “Come here and … love me.” He closed his eyes at the desperation he heard in his own voice.

  Fabric rustled as she approached. Her fingers stroked his cheek, his chin, his neck. The scent of her wafted across him: orange blossom and amber. His pants tightened as his groin swelled. He groaned. The girl wasn’t his goddess, but she was the closest he’d come to touching her, tasting her. Maybe, if he kept his eyes closed, he wouldn’t know the difference. But deep inside, he knew he would. He always did. All the girls he’d used were but pale imitations of her glory. And after, the guilt and shame and longing would come crashing down on him.

  He felt the pressure in his groin ease and whimpered. No! He wouldn’t lose her. Not this time.

  He brought his head down and touched his mouth to the girl’s. The goddess’s. She responded, her tongue slipping between his lips, over his teeth. Her hand crept down and pressed against him. He tangled his fingers in her silky hair and felt himself return.

  Yes. The goddess was with him.

  ~ ~ ~

  Remembering the goddess, and what he hoped to achieve, was key to not succumbing to the pit of insanity he always seemed to be circling. Nights like the last, with the goddess substitute, kept him grounded. In the beginning, when he’d realized he wasn’t aging, his mind had flirted with madness, and it had taken him years to recover. Many men and women had died while anguish and desperation gripped him; and many more had died to make him whole again. But they were of no significance. She was all that mattered. Although at times like this, he wondered if part of him still plumbed the depths of despair.

  “How can I be sure I’m getting what I’m paying for?” Niklaus asked the alchemist.

  The portly man, bespectacled, with long gray hair tied back in a greasy tail, smiled as if he completed transactions like this daily. “A moment,” he said, and pulled on a pair of calfskin gloves, followed by a thicker pair of leather gloves.

  Using tongs, he withdrew the dull green crystal from inside its metal flask. He held the thumbnail-sized gem at arm’s length and approached a table, on which sat a wire cage that held a white rat. The alchemist pressed the crystal to the cage, and the rat came sniffing. Its nose touched the gem, and the alchemist pulled it away and hastily deposited it back into the metal flask. He placed the tongs into a water bath, then screwed the flask lid on tight, sealing the gem inside.

  It paid to be careful, Niklaus thought. The almost-extinct worm of Ak-Settur produced a venom that killed with the slightest touch. The crystal was supposedly imbued with the venom through some unknown sorcerous and alchemical process. It was rumored the poison was strong enough even to kill demons, who were supposed to possess an uncanny resistance.

  Unaware of its fate, the rat scurried across the cage, then froze. It fell down, paralyzed except for its breathing. Its fur rippled, as if maggots moved underneath its skin. Its eyes were still, though Niklaus knew it must be in excruciating agony. Suddenly, its limbs contorted, and its neck twisted as its muscles spasmed. Slowly, its body ballooned, like a bladder filling with air. Its skin tore along one side, and a gush of thick red liquid spurted out. The rat deflated as if it had been crushed. Even its bones had dissolved.

  “As you can see,” said the alchemist, “the efficacy of the venom is assured.”

  The venom was certainly potent, Niklaus thought. On a larger animal the effects would be diminished, but a painful death was certain.

  He handed over a purse bulging with gold royals and another filled with gems. Coin meant nothing to him; he could always ask the goddess’s Church for more. Though the priestesses were uncertain of him and feared him, they also knew he’d been chosen by her.

  It was the withered old Matriarch who had sent him here, claiming the goddess had given her a vision, and he was inclined to believe her. The goddess punished those who used her name without her permission, often severely, no matter how small the transgression. Once, a priestess had claimed the goddess spoke through her, and the next day she was found lifeless in her bed, pillow covered with congealed blood, her own fingers buried deep in her eye sockets.

  Niklaus grasped the metal flask and left the alchemist’s premises. “Be extremely careful,” the man called after him. Likely, he was relieved to have survived the transaction without being killed.

  After all, there was only one use for the crystal. And given the sum Niklaus had paid for it, the venom was probably intended for someone powerful. If the alchemist was wise, he’d take his coin and gems and disappear, lest the murder be traced back to him. But men were rarely wise.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Knock on the back door, and ask for Missa. She’s a scullery maid there. She’s one of us.”

  “One of us?” echoed Niklaus.

  Matriarch Adeline scowled at him. “You know what I mean. Just because you don’t have breasts and a slit doesn’t set you apart.”

  “Language, Matriarch. What would the goddess think?”

  “A name is but a name, and one is as good as another. Missa will let you inside and point the way to the hidden room. Make sure you kill all the—”

  “I know what to do,” said Niklaus.

  In order to get answers about the gods from her, he’d agreed to a few tasks as long as they were reasonable. But he didn’t have to like them.

  Adeline glared, but refrained from barking at him. “This is important. The goddess wills—”

  “You don’t know what she wills, old woman.”

  “Still your tongue! You may be her Chosen Sword, but I have served her almost my entire life. More years than you have.”

  She doesn’t know I’m immortal, and thinks of me only as a killer, he thought. She has no idea of my potential, or what I’ll become. When I ascend and sit at the goddess’s right hand, only then will Adeline understand. At this moment, I’m but a male she has no control over, and she hates that.

  “She appears to me,” he said. “She shows me signs.”

  “Any fool can see omens in everyday occurrences.” But her tone held uncertainty.

  Niklaus let the silence grow.

  “I am also visited by the goddess,” Adeline continued eventually, “sometimes. This is what she commands.”

  “Then I’ll do my best to obey. Now, if there’s nothing else?”

  The Matriarch shook her head. “Return when it’s done. We’ll be able to scry the dwelling to perceive the results.”

  A short time later, Niklaus was knocking on the back door of the expansive house. A timid, mousy woman let him in. Her eyes were slightly too wide apart, no doubt from some Charral blood in her ancestry. It was rare these days, as the Charral were a much-diminished species.

  Probably a good thing, he thought. She looks like she couldn’t count to twenty with her shoes off.

  “Thank you, Missa,” he said.

  She bobbed her head. “May the goddess protect you,” and her voice held more fervor than many of her priestesses’.

  �
�I find it advisable never to expect anything,” replied Niklaus. “That way you’re never disappointed. I presume no other servants are awake? Good. Then lead the way.”

  She crossed the kitchen, her skirts rustling. “Please be quiet,” she said softly. “There was a disturbance last night, a thief. The master was informed, but he wasn’t concerned, so I guess nothing of value was taken. Still, the servants are wary and suspicious of strange noises.”

  “Then let’s be quick. Show me the door, and get yourself back to bed. If there’s a ruckus, it’s best you’re not found walking the corridors.”

  Missa nodded solemnly, as if both proud and humbled she had found a way to serve the goddess. He wondered if she’d be so proud once the bloodshed started.

  She led Niklaus out of the kitchen, and they ascended a narrow servants’ staircase at the back of the dwelling, keeping to one side so the boards didn’t creak. They paused midway along a hallway where a massive painting adorned the wall. A family probably: a man, woman, and their two brats. Missa groped behind the gilded frame, presumably triggering a locking mechanism as the painting swung open on well-oiled hinges. She stepped back, her skirt clenched in her hands. Her task was complete.

  “Go now,” Niklaus said gently. “You will be above suspicion. The goddess thanks you.”

  A timid smile broke out on her face, and she hurried back down the hallway and then the stairs. Niklaus waited until her footsteps had faded. Then he waited some more. The house was quiet, as it should be at this time of night. But wouldn’t remain so for long.

  He drew her sword from its sheath. As always, his breath caught at the sight of the magnificently crafted blade. His eyes were drawn to the exquisitely detailed figure of Sylva Kalisia, her mouth stretched in a sardonic smile. Goddess, she was beautiful. His fingers traced her outline in the metal, tingling as they caressed her. She’d touched the blade herself, here in the material world.

  Niklaus swallowed and shook his head. With any luck he wouldn’t need to use her sword, but the unprepared usually got what they deserved. Death.

  Behind the secret door, the space was devoid of light. He paused, allowing his eyes to adjust. The wooden walls and floor took on a gray cast, and he could see as if it were dusk. One of the gifts she’d bestowed upon him.

  He swiftly reached the bottom of a set of stairs, where a metal door blocked his path. Orichalcum. With a Sandoval locking mechanism.

  Sandoval had been a grumpy old prig of a man who’d somehow managed to leverage slightly above average talent into a huge success. That memory, at least, was clear to Niklaus. Sandoval had died from choking on his own vomit after a three-day drinking spree when the woman he was courting, thirty years younger than him, had spurned his advances. Good riddance, Niklaus thought. He’d never liked the man.

  Squatting, he placed his ear against the door beside the lock. With his free hand, he turned the first dial until he heard a tiny click of metal, too faint for any normal person to discern. Another of her gifts. He had all four dials aligned correctly in a few moments. The handle turned smoothly, and he entered a corridor reeking of decayed flesh.

  He lifted her sword, prepared for anything, but nothing stirred.

  Breathing through his nose, Niklaus found he could stand the stench. It was bad, but he’d smelled worse. The field strewn with days-old corpses in the aftermath of the Battle of Yellow Plain had been ghastlier than this, with maggots and flies, rats and vultures feeding on the dead. He’d had to burn his clothes to be rid of the smell.

  The floor was dusty and marked with trails denoting numerous comings and goings. The corridor opened into a round room with a wooden door opposite. Hanging from the high ceiling were two butchered men. The stench seemed to be coming from a half-barrel against one wall. He glanced inside to see their discarded innards.

  Scratching noises came from behind the door. At least he knew he was in the right place. It seemed the Matriarch’s sources were good, though why she was concerned about demons was another matter. Usually, the goddess left such creatures to their own devices, not caring what they got up to in the world of men. Their domain was not hers to meddle in. Which begged the question: what had changed?

  He observed the corpses hanging from the ceiling. Demons didn’t eat their meat the way these men had been prepared. They preferred live prey, its blood hot and spurting. Which meant something, or someone, else was at play here. And to be active in Caronath, indeed, to have servants, they had to remain unnoticed. What creature that ate human flesh was also able to pass as human in a city this size? Niklaus could count the options on one hand, and some would require considerable sorcery to disguise their true nature. In Caronath, with its powerful sorcerous practitioners and high priests and priestesses of numerous gods and goddesses, such a sorcerer would likely be found out in short order.

  Which left only one possibility: a follower of Nysrog. And not a weak one either. Powerful enough to operate in Caronath undetected. And a flesh-eater, a human corrupted by demonic sorcery or possessed of demon blood themselves.

  Blood and damnation.

  And the goddess was making a move against them.

  Niklaus smiled. Perhaps this was an opportunity. The Tainted Cabal, as the followers of Nysrog were known, had to know more about the veil between life and death, and godhood, than anyone else alive. If alive they truly were. Perhaps the goddess was showing him the way, providing him with an opportunity to further his knowledge, to aid his quest. The thought warmed him, making his chest swell. She was guiding him. She did want him by her side.

  Carefully, he removed a wooden rod from his pocket. There was a metal knob on one end, fastened with a cunning latch. He removed the covering to reveal the green crystal imbued with venom from the worm of Ak-Settur. To his goddess-aided sight, it seemed to glow from within.

  The bodies first, he thought. If he contaminated the innards first, the smell would transfer to the curing meat, and the demons might become suspicious. That wouldn’t do.

  He rubbed the crystal over the butchered men, then over the intestines and livers, hearts and kidneys, lungs and stomachs in the half-barrel. The poison immediately killed the maggots writhing on the offal, but that didn’t concern him. The demons wouldn’t recognize the danger. It was whatever had summoned them that he had to watch out for.

  Niklaus dragged the half-barrel toward the wooden door. It was unlocked, and the scratching noises ceased when he turned the handle. He jerked the door open and shoved the barrel inside. Snarls erupted from fanged mouths beneath orange eyes. He yanked the door shut and listened as the demons devoured the tainted innards. Tearing sounds were punctuated by growls and wet slaps as offal hit the floor.

  It didn’t take long. One by one, the demons grew still. Some mewled pitifully before succumbing to the venom, but most made no sound.

  When there had been silence for a few minutes, Niklaus opened the door. He prodded the closest limp body with his boot. They looked like minor demons: yellow leathery skin with a scalelike pattern, and mottled brown horns jutting from their heads and backs. Their offal-covered mouths were open, their eyes unseeing. He was glad he hadn’t had to use her sword on them. It would have felt like he was polluting the goddess-touched steel.

  The demons might have been weak, but there were many of them. A dozen or so. Whoever controlled them was powerful, probably protected by sorcery and perhaps even a major demon.

  Niklaus sighed. He should have known the goddess wouldn’t make his task easy. After all, he had to prove himself worthy of her.

  Well, this task was done. Time to leave. He chuckled at the thought of the Cabal member’s face when they found their demons slaughtered. With any luck, they wouldn’t think their own meat was contaminated. Niklaus didn’t think they’d be that stupid, but it was worth the attempt.

  As he turned to go, a small book on a side table caught his eye. The diagram on the cover was unmistakable. Stitched with silver thread, it showed a clawed and winged being ascending fro
m flames. A demon. And its image on a book such as this could only mean one thing. The book was a grimoire. Evidence and mysteries of the unholy cabal, there for the taking. Secrets upon secrets.

  He peered closer and saw that a clasp locked the book, its metal gleaming in the dim light. Demon sorcery, no doubt, a deadly trap to claim whoever tampered with it.

  He hesitated, then, overcome by temptation, tucked the fell tome into his pocket. The Tainted Cabal must know more about piercing the veil between worlds than anyone else, and it was likely the grimoire contained information he would find useful, if not outright revelatory.

  But he’d need to find a sorcerer to unlock its secrets. Either one who didn’t fear the Cabal—and, as such, a fool. Or one to whom such valuable knowledge was worth any risk.

  Eckart was too weak, but perhaps he would know of such a sorcerer.

  Chapter Eleven

  An Initial Task

  ALDRIC STOOD IN THE middle of the paved square in front of the Church of Menselas. In truth, the word church didn’t do the building justice. It was—he searched for the right word—imposing. Steeples rose into the cloudless sky; archways and buttresses punctuated the stone walls, every inch of which were decorated with carvings. There were many stained-glass windows, ranging from smaller simple depictions to the great scarlet rose above the entrance: a complex symbol made from intricate patterns.

  He shaded his eyes against the sun to peer at the wooden scaffolding that enclosed one section, where workers scrubbed away grime and bird droppings. The edifice was magnificent, but there were many nooks and crannies where birds could nest. Even the god wasn’t immune to nature.

  A number of lesser churches lined the square. Closest to the Church of Menselas were the houses of worship dedicated to Antiam, the supposed mother of all creation, and the Lady Sylva Kalisia, a goddess for degenerates. Worshipers of all faiths mingled among the numerous market stalls set up in the square. Many sold hot food to the hungry people finished with their worship: meat on wooden skewers cooked over charcoal; pies and pastries warmed in portable ovens on the beds of wagons. Children dressed in their best clothes chased each other, dodging around people and between stalls, their shouts rising over the general hubbub.