by Chad Huskins
“Of course, Sia. But…may I ask, where are we going?”
“To see my uncle and new-sister at hospice.”
Drea put away her things and tidied up the clothroom before she left out. Fengin was bringing the horses out to her when she exited the front door. By the time they were mounted, Kulisa returned with the Old Man, wrapped in a woman’s bag, just as she’d been ordered.
“Thank you,” Drea told the girl. “Do you happen to know where my new-brother is?”
“I saw Daedron at the hospice earlier,” Kulisa said. “But he left quickly on some errand, I know not what.”
“If you would, deliver a message for me when you see him. Tell Daedron that I’ve spoken with the Lady, and that we both accept his offer. He’ll know what it means.” I hope.
“Yes, Sia.”
Drea kicked her heels into her horse and raced down the Avenue of Gods, with Fengin quick on her tail. Just as they were getting to the end of the lane and turning, Drea heard galloping hooves. She looked over her shoulder and saw six Rain Guards coming up to Lord Syphen’s house. Drea and Fengin dipped into an alley before they were spotted.
They took a circuitous route all the way to the Lane of Hospices. It took longer than Drea expected, and by the time they got there it was already the Hour of the Horse, passing noon. The Hospice of Sora was a large, two-story building with monuments built around it in honor of the Mother of Mercy. When Drea and Fengin dismounted from their horses, they got on their hands and knees and crawled up the steps—all healthy persons must crawl up the steps of any of Sora’s hospices, to show humbleness, and to plead on behalf of their sick loved ones inside the hospice.
Drea passed the Lictors standing outside, for none of them recognized her. A couple of Rain Guards also went by her in the halls, giving her nary a glance.
Drea found one of the temple healers—an old, hunchbacked woman—and asked her where she could find Saephis Syphen. She was conducted at once to a corridor lined with Lictors and sympathizers. Drea spotted Lord Syphen standing there, speaking to two of the hospice’s elder healers.
Drea walked directly towards him, taking the Old Man out of its bag. She felt its heat in her palm, she heard its screams in her skull. And, before Lord Syphen could even look up to register her, she presented it to him and said, “Lord Syphen, I’m so sorry to bother you at this dreadful moment, but I come with news most alarming.”
When he turned around, Syphen looked down at her, his mouth parted. He appeared slightly astonished. He looked around for the Rain Guards he’d sent to retrieve her, and when he saw none, he said, “What are you—”
“Please, take this from me!” she said, holding it out with both hands. “Please, I…I cannot bear it anymore.”
“What is this?” he said, slowly lifting it. Then, just as the screams left Drea’s mind and the heat left her palms, it all was transferred to Lord Syphen. She could see his face document the realization. She saw his eyes widen in surprise, then narrow in suspicion. “Where did you get this?” he whispered.
“It was—”
“Shh!” he hissed, grabbing her by the shoulder and leading her away from the others. Syphen guided her down two hallways, then found a hospice room that was free of any patients, and flung her inside and slammed the door.
“My lord, I’m sorry if I’ve offended—”
“Where?” he said, holding the gun up in his hand. “Where did you get this?”
“A woman visited me in the night,” she said, coming with her lies prepared. “She knocked at my window. I was excited because I thought it…well, I believed it would be Thryis. I know she’s been forbidden from seeing me, my lord, but I love her and I wanted to see her—” She cut herself, allowing a tear to fall. Always lace your lies with truth: Lies work best when there are grains of truth to them. So said The Way.
“But it wasn’t Thryis,” Drea said. “It was a woman. A lady in a black stola and veil. I knew I’d seen her before, but I couldn’t place where. It took me a moment to realize I’d seen her on the Street of Stone, on the day that Daedron took my new-sisters and I on a tour of the breakrock machines—”
“What did this woman want?” Syphen cut her off. His eyes were hard and unblinking, he was staring directly into her soul, trying to ascertain the truth of her.
“She said she knew some things. She said…she said some terrible things about my parents’ deaths. That…that…” She looked up at Lord Syphen fearfully. “That my adoptive family had them both assassinated. It was horrible, unconscionable, but…I listened. I listened to her story, and I’m ashamed to say that I wanted to believe her because…because…” Here, Drea didn’t have to lie, and the tears she shed were genuine. “Because I didn’t want to believe my mother killed herself!”
She hid her face in her hands and wept.
“What else did she tell you?” said Lord Syphen, unmoved by the display of emotion.
Drea kept it up, sniffing and wiping her eyes. Play a fool to catch a fool, she told herself. Pretend to be stupid. Be the silly little girl he wants to believe you are. Confess everything to him, for he won’t believe someone that’s stupid enough to admit to all of this could also be clever enough to undermine him.
“Sh-she said that I ought to come with her. She said she had proof. I wanted to b-believe…I’m ashamed to say, I did believe! But only for a moment. Then, thank the gods, my good senses returned and I said I wouldn’t go with her, for I believed she might be some kidnapper who would use me for ransom. My mother always warned me of such villains. But when I refused to go with her, she put a pistol to my head and bade me to follow her.
“So, I left out of my cottage last night, into the fellstorm, and she took me to a street…I can’t even remember which one, I was so afraid…but she led me into a mariya shop, and inside…inside…”
“You found Lord Dustrang,” Syphen said.
She looked up at him, feigning shock. “How did you know?”
“His body was found last night. A bullet had been put through his skull.”
Drea covered her mouth. “I know. I heard this morning from Ustus. But I swear, last night, the woman said she would let him go, after…”
“After what?”
“My lord, she made me watch! She made me watch while she did things to him! She made him talk! Lord Dustrang withstood her tortures bravely, but then he started uttering inane babble—”
“What sort of babble?”
“I…I can hardly recall. It was all so terrifying! He said something about…about…Orick Syphen. And…a door? Some sort of hidden door? I can’t remember, he was screaming through most of it. I…I…I…” Drea flung herself at him, hugging him, burying her face in his chest and weeping. “It was horrible, my lord! Horrible!”
A cold, callused hand touched the back of her head, and stroked it. “And what else did he say, Drea?” Syphen asked. “Did he say anything about me, or my family? Anything at all?”
“No,” Drea said. Then, she came away from him, and wiped her eyes. “Wait…wait…yes, he did. He said—what was it?—he said something about ‘Orick Syphen still lives,’ and that ‘others are beginning to suspect.’ I don’t know what he meant, it was all just so…so…” She buried her face in her hands again, sobbing.
Lord Syphen paced the room a moment, then turned back to her, and held out the Old Man. “And this gun? How did you come by this?”
Drea wiped her eyes. “Th-the woman…she said I ought to keep it. She s-s-said that I could use it to defend myself against the vipers of House S-Syphen.”
“And did you?” Syphen asked. “Use it, I mean.”
Drea nodded. “We were on our way back to the cottage, when some…thing…it came out of the sky. My lord, I don’t know if I was dreaming or not, but I thought I saw…a demon! It came streaking out of the sky! The woman ran one way, I ran the other, and as these shadows approached me, I fired madly at them. And what I saw…my lord, that gun…it’s unnatural! It’s evil!”
“Why did
you wait so long to come to me with this?” Syphen asked. “Why didn’t you come to me first thing this morning, or last night even?”
“Because as soon as I got home…I don’t know what happened, I must’ve fainted. And when I woke up this morning I believed it was all a dream. I hoped it was. Like my lucid dreams of the Man in the Charred Temple, which Lady Blackveil somehow knew about—”
“What man?” said Lord Syphen, taking a step closer. “What temple?”
Drea looked into Syphen’s eyes. So, he knows about the “Host” too. It’s not just some secret that only Lady Blackveil knows. Is it something that only sorcerers know about? Who is he?
“It’s a man I sometimes see in my dreams,” she said innocently, still sniffling.
“How often do you see him?”
Drea shrugged. “Every two or three nights, sometimes more often.”
“Has he invited you into the temple yet?”
“What?”
“Listen to me very carefully, Drea,” said Lord Syphen, taking another step closer. “And answer me truthfully. Has this Man in the Charred Temple invited you into the temple yet?”
She shook her head.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded.
Lord Syphen looked at her critically, then, slowly, he turned and walked away. He opened the door to exit the room, and Drea called after him, “My lord, how is Saephis? Is she going to be all right?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know,” he said, pausing in the doorway to look at her. “I need to check on her.”
“Can I visit her?”
“No. You stay here. I’ll send for you when I’ve made a decision.”
“A decision about what, my lord?”
“About what to do with you.”
He shut the door, and left her alone in the room.
Did it work? she thought. Does he believe me? If so, by what degree? Does he believe my entire story, or does he know which parts are false? And the part about Markus Dustrang saying that Orick Syphen still being alive, and that “others” knew about it, was it vague enough to worry him?
And if Lord Syphen didn’t believe her, what measure of punishment would he deliver to her? Having seen what fell-sorcerers were capable of, Drea imagined that their versions of torture would be unspeakably agonizing.
: The Ruin of Saephi s:
It felt like several hours before anyone came for her, but in actuality it was not even one hour before the door opened and the three Lictors entered. Drea had been pacing in the room, fretting, hoping that her nervousness would make her story seem more plausible.
A large, muscular Lictor sat across from her, one with manicured beard, pistol holstered on his right hip, and shortsword sheathed on his left.
“Drea oda Syphen,” he said. “My name is Prefect Vegarun. How do you do?”
“Very well,” Drea said. “And you?” Her mind was racing. Prefects were men who were left in charge of whole districts, they were selected from the most senior men in the Guild of Lictors and then voted on by Drith citizens. That he was here meant Drea’s encounter was being taken seriously.
“I’ve come to take your statement,” he said.
“My statement?”
“Yes. Your uncle has informed us of some most distressing news, so I’m here to listen to your story and hear you give a description of this veiled woman. I’m not sure if you’re aware, but we’ve actually been looking for a woman fitting the description you gave your uncle. We don’t know her name, but she’s been called Lady Blackveil. Have you heard of her?”
Drea shook her head.
Prefect Vegarun launched into some vague stories about Lady Blackveil, about how she once hounded House Syphen, even murdered a few of them in another city far from Drith. Drea was barely listening, for she was so relieved to see that the Prefect was listening intently to her story.
If he’s listening, it means he believes. And if he believes, it means that Lord Syphen is at least leaning towards believing me, also.
Drea finally found her voice, and gave the description of Lady Blackveil as best she could, with just a few alterations to her dress—No use in giving her away entirely. She may be easy to spot, and her facial deformity makes it impossible for her to go without her veil, but I’m not going to give them any more than they already have.
Once they were finally finished, Drea was led outside by a Lictor. She wasn’t threatened or made to feel afraid. They let her walk right out. Prefect Vegarun even said to her, on her way out, “You’re a very brave young girl. Surviving all that you did…I pray the gods grant me a son or daughter half so brave as you.”
Drea bowed humbly. “You flatter me, sir. But I assure you, most everything I did, it was done at gunpoint. And I only made it home because I half believed I was in a dream.”
“Even so, it would’ve done your parents proud. I knew them only by reputation, but still, I’m certain they would approve.”
“Thank you,” she said, and followed the Lictor out into the corridor.
Drea saw that she was being escorted out of the Hospice of Sora, but, before she could be led out the front door, she turned to the Lictor and said, “Is my new-sister still here?”
“She is,” he said. “But none are allowed to see her at present.”
“Not even family?”
The Lictor hesitated. He glanced back at the hallway from whence they came. “Well, I’m not sure. I could ask one of the healers…”
“Would you? I would dearly love to let her know I’m thinking of her.”
The Lictor looked a bit uncertain, but then hove another sigh, and waved for her to follow. “I suppose we can ask. Come along.”
Up a narrow set of stairs and into a cold, dusty corridor, they returned to the hallway where Lord Syphen was waiting just outside of Saephis’s room. The Lictor approached Lord Syphen and whispered into his ear. Syphen looked at Drea, and Drea averted her gaze. Syphen considered it for a time, but then nodded and waved them on.
With a gesture, the Lictor directed Drea to a door. Drea stepped through slowly, and was almost immediately assailed by a stench most foul. It smelled of rotten eggs and dead flesh.
Inside the room, she found there was just one bed on a raised dais, and that it was surrounded by an array of lit candles and incense, as well as four cages filled with birds. A priest reached into one of those cages, grabbed hold of a dove, and broke its neck with a single twist. Drea watched him cut the dove open and pour its blood into a chalice, which was held up by a temple priestess.
Drea walked over to them and said, “May I?”
The priest smiled silently, and handed her the chalice. As the priest and priestess walked around the bed, chanting a prayer in low tones, Drea approached her new-sister’s bed with the chalice of blood, and looked down at the horrible ruin that had once been the beautiful Saephis Syphen.
Her skin was gray, rotted, and peeling off in small flakes. She looked to have lost a lot of weight, her skin sat on her bones like an empty sack. Saephis’s breathing was shallow and wheezing, and her eyes were closed. Her hair was thin—some of it appeared to have fallen out.
Drea put a hand to her nose. The odor was tremendous, and almost made her gag. Drea thought, Gods above and below, what did the Lady do to her? Drea looked at the lower half of Saephis’s body, which was covered by bloody sheets. She lifted them, and saw that her new-sister’s right leg was wrapped in a bandage seeping with blood.
“She was shot,” murmured the priest by her side. “It was merely a grazing flesh wound, but we cannot make the wound stop bleeding. Some unknown malady has befallen her.”
A cursed bullet, no doubt, Drea thought.
She’d never felt overly fond of her new-sisters, and Saephis had obviously dabbled in dark Arcana, but that didn’t mean that she deserved this. I’m not sure anyone deserves this. But then Drea imagined that she might feel different if she knew Saephis had had anything to do with her parents’ deaths. If she were a knowing
participant? she asked herself. What then, Drea? How would you feel, then?
Just thinking about it stirred her anger, and she was uncomfortable with the emotions swirling within.
Drea put her fingertip into the chalice, and used the dove’s blood to draw the protective wards on Saephis’s forehead, cheeks, and hands. Some of this was because she felt pity—even responsibility—for Saephis’s predicament. But some of her actions were also being directed by the need to keep up appearances. She needed Lord Syphen and others to know she cared for her adoptive House.
It was while she was drawing on Saephis’s hands, though, that she heard a whimper. Drea looked at Saephis, and saw that her eyes were slowly opening. She looked around the room uncomprehendingly. Her rheumy red eyes seemed to see nothing at all. Then, Saephis looked right at Drea. She gasped, snatched Drea’s wrist, and pulled her in close. So close that Drea could smell her rotting breath.
“You…did this… to me!” Saephis croaked.
“Saephis—”
“The vehl told me…what they saw…and they saw you…they saw you!”
“Saephis, you’re very sick. You don’t know what you’re—”
“Don’t patronize me!” Saephis screamed, trying to sit up. But then, her whole body went stiff, and she threw herself back onto the bed and writhed in agony. “The fire! It burns! IT BURNS THROUGH ME!”
The priest and priestess rushed forward to grab her hands, and Drea was frightened as she watched them force Saephis to lie still. The priestess tried pouring some potion down her throat, but Saephis spat it out. She screamed inarticulate things.
Saephis’s eyes flashed, first red and then green. Her body went into seizures and she was foaming at the mouth. She snarled and bit at the healers that rushed in to control her.
And, as she spoke, Drea could hear Saephis’s voice take on a strange, dark tone, with a cadence and resonance that was otherworldly.
“There are nine years and ten left!” the ruined girl said. “We see it all now! We see it all! Nine years and ten! You’ll see the pastures green and weep tears of blood! You all will! The Veridician and then the other one will come! Magonogahn, we name him!” She threw her head back and laughed. “And the Host will see to it! The Host will see to it all! See if he doesn’t! Just wait and see!”
