by Chad Huskins
Drea glanced at Lord Syphen, who stood not five steps away. Her hand slipped inside her bouquet, and gripped the Hand in the Darkness. Her heart skipped a beat as she thought, Is this really going to happen? Am I really thinking of doing this?
Suddenly, she imagined her life up to this point. She wondered if her father or mother would approve, even for vengeance’s sake.
But you’ve killed before, Drea, came a soft voice at the back of her mind. She recalled the boy in the Street of Wares, and her hand going towards the knife, then plunging it into the boy’s stomach. Yes, but that was an accident, she argued back at herself. It was reflex, self-defense, I didn’t meant to…
But you did, the voice reminded her forcefully. And the guilt, which had been buried for so long, came washing over her anew. It’s in you. The killer instinct is inside you. It’s in everyone. You’ve just found reason to let yours out. You did it to defend what was right. You did it for control.
Drea’s mind vacillated between one thought and the other so quickly she thought she would never be resolved.
“Let the birds fly!” the augur shouted. The cage was opened, and the doves took to the sky.
As quickly as they were free, they shot east. East, which was the best possible sign. They went so fast and so easily that, if Drea were a gambler, she would wager they’d been trained. And as the crowd applauded the first great sign, Drea remembered that Daedron had told her how the avatar of Hyra had merely been a paid actress, meant to control the public.
It’s all charade, she thought. All of it.
Drea squeezed the hilt of the knife. And, as she did, she heard the screams of the damned, just as she had when holding the Old Man. The Hand in the Darkness was definitely a cursed item, but the question was, what kind of power did it have?
She glanced over at Daedron, and saw that he was looking at her and smiling. He even nodded encouragingly. Whatever vehl was speaking into his ear, it seemed to be telling him that now as the time.
But Drea still wasn’t sure. She wasn’t convinced that she was a killer. Perhaps there’s another way to defeat him, she thought, loosening her grip on the Hand in the Darkness. Perhaps there’s some other way to expose Lord Syphen…
As the audience applauded, a fresh group of prisoners was brought out, all of them either naked or dressed in rags. They all had bags pulled over their heads, their hands bound in front of them. Rain Guards directed them forward at swordpoint.
The crowd shot to its feet again and roared its approval. The augurs and priests directed the Rain Guards to place the prisoners on their knees. The Rain Guards kicked each man’s knees so that they buckled.
The augur shouted, “And now, the final blood sacrifice to cement our Triumvirs’ authority over all of Drith, and make permanent their commitment to the gods!” He took out a short dagger, then waved to the Rain Guards to remove the prisoners’ hoods.
Drea looked at the poor souls, saw the fear in their eyes. She wondered what each one had done. She wondered if they were as innocent as Drea’s parents had been, if they’d been as forsaken by Loraci as she had been.
Then, Drea’s eyes landed on one of the prisoners. His gray hair was unwashed and in disarray, and his tattered robes were covered in filth. The long beard obscured much of his face, but when Drea saw his eyes, her heart collapsed.
“Uncle…” she breathed, taking a half step forward.
Halorax oda Kalder looked at her, his eyes going wide with surprise. Drea took another step towards him but then he shook his head, warning her away.
While the crowds roared, Drea turned to Daedron, who looked at her with sudden fear. He looked just as surprised as she was to see Halorax here. Then she turned to Lord Syphen. She ran quickly to him and said, “Lord Syphen—”
“He was tried and found guilty,” the patriarch cut her off. “There’s nothing more to say.”
“Guilty of what?” she said, her eyes filling with water.
“You said it yourself. He tried to convince you to run away on the day of the Imperator’s death.”
“Yes, but I didn’t listen to him—”
“Be that as it may, Halorax’s very suggestion that you run shows sedition, as well as a disloyalty to both Drith and the gods that protect it.”
“But you can’t just—”
“It’s already done.”
Drea looked back at the prisoners. The senior augur had stepped behind the first prisoner and placed the blade across his throat. “No,” Drea said, and she started to run towards the augur, her mind set on stopping this madness.
But a bony, strong hand planted on her shoulder, and yanked her backwards. And, without thinking, Drea ripped the Hand in the Darkness free of its bouquet. She spun around on Lord Syphen, her instincts operating without thought, exactly as she had done years before in the Street of Wares.
Lord Syphen’s other hand was fast—faster than it ought to have been for a man his age—and he caught her by the wrist, stopping her blade an inch away from his chest.
The crowd gasped.
He looked at the blade, then at her. “So,” he said. “There you are.” Syphen’s face turned livid, and the next thing Drea knew more hands seized her. These were the gloved hands of Rain Guards, and they jerked her away from Lord Syphen and wrenched her arms behind her back.
“Assassin!” cried one of the priests.
“A nightblade!” cried another. “She’s a nightblade!”
“She tried to kill her new-father!” That was Daedoris, clutching at her uncle’s robes.
“Traitorous witch!” Vaedris screeched, picking up a stone and throwing it at her.
Daedron stood there, staring, watching it all unfold. He didn’t move. He remained as still as the statues in the Avenue of Gods.
Drea stared madly into Lord Syphen’s eyes and screamed all the rage that had been pent up in her, all the anger at Loraci’s unfairness, all the dark knowledge she had learned about her family’s past from Lady Blackveil.
Someone slapped her. Hard. Drea felt the world tilt. Her eyes floated for a moment and her brain spun inside her skull.
So close…I came so close…but he knew…of course he knew, stupid girl.
Strong hands squeezed her wrists. They were trying to pry the knife away from her, but she wouldn’t let them have it. She stared at Lord Syphen’s calm yet troubled face, and she screamed. She screamed louder as the crowd began to murmur that something was wrong.
Drea heard a familiar voice shout. “No!” She turned and saw that Halorax had gotten to his feet, and was rushing at the Rain Guards. He caught one by surprise, tackling him to the ground, but two other Rain Guards came up behind him and peeled him off their partner.
Drea saw it all, as though she were in one of those dreams where time slows. She saw one Rain Guard withdraw a shortsword. She saw him grab Halorax by his shoulder. She saw the blade go through his chest. She saw Halorax’s eyes go wide with shock. She saw him drop to his knees. She saw the blood leaking from his mouth.
“Nooooooooo!” Drea screamed.
Most of the crowd cheered, but part of the crowd booed. They actually…jeered. Drea barely registered it. She watched her dear Halorax as he fell onto the bloody sand, rolled on his side, and looked at her. His lips moved, but Drea couldn’t hear his words.
A shadow fell over her. When Drea looked up, Lord Syphen stood over her, looming and blocking the light of Janus. “And now we finally see you, Drea,” he said calmly. “We see you. I took you in. I invited you into my home. You accepted our gifts. The gifts of education, enlightenment, family, and home. All because of some loyalty to Fedarus—”
“I’m not loyal to Fedarus!” Drea shouted. “I barely knew him!”
Syphen lifted an eyebrow.
Drea’s voice dropped an octave. “You killed them. Both of them. You killed my mother and my father and made it look like accidents. You and the Temple of the Hidden Door.”
The crowd was cheering again, like some great beas
t demanding more blood. It was hungry. It needed to be sated. However, there were still some jeers, as if some in the crowd were unhappy with the abuse to Drea.
“You could’ve gone far,” said Lord Syphen. “But you were seduced by your rage and by your studies. You learned from The Way. You read of its words, but you tried to realize its goals too soon. If only you’d had more patience.”
“You won’t get away with this. Someday…someday the gods will—”
He grabbed her chin in his hand and leaned forward, so that only she could hear his words. “There are no gods,” he whispered. “That was your first mistake. Sending out prayers to beings that are never going to reach back, expecting Loraci to deliver justice when she doesn’t even exist. The only two great powers you can count on are the Arcana and people’s own stupidity. Listen to them, Drea. Just listen.”
Drea could hear their screams. She heard them chanting the name of Syphenus, she heard them chanting kill her, she heard them screaming for justice.
“Do you hear that?” Syphen said. “They want justice, too. They all do. But what they don’t know is that justice is an illusion, and it’s always being cast by the ones in power. We have the power, Drea. We do. We always have. Not just the Hidden Door, but all men like me. At no point were you ever in control. At no point did you ever have a glimmer of hope. The only chance you ever had to have a good life was by obeying men like me, by listening to what I told you, by being grateful for what I was gracious enough to give you.”
“You gave me plenty,” she hissed. “You gave me a fallen House. You gave me a murdered mother and a murdered father. You left me empty. You made me a husk. And now…” She looked over at Halorax, and the tears fell freely. “Now…you’ve taken what was left of my family. You have systematically dismantled me in every way imaginable and used what was left to be a broodmare, isn’t that right?”
Lord Syphen tilted his head curiously, then smiled.
Vaedris stepped up beside Lord Syphen. “Kill her, Uncle,” she said.
Daedoris was right behind Vaedris, and looked grimly down at Drea. “Yes, Uncle. Kill her. She’s sullied these religious ceremonies with her plot. Blood must be paid to restore order with the gods.” She looked at one of the Priests of Mezu standing nearby, looking on in shock. “Isn’t that right, priest?”
The Priest of Mezu looked at her, then at Lord Syphen. “Uh…er, that is, yes. Yes, it is required to appease the gods, whose ritual the girl has sullied.”
Lord Syphen stood to his full height. He looked down at Drea with supreme equanimity. Then, he gave a single nod, and the Rain Guards that had taken hold of Drea now hauled her to her feet. A blade was put to her throat to give her incentive.
The Hand in the Darkness was still in her hand, they hadn’t been able to pry it from her willful fingers. It didn’t matter, though, for her hands were pinned, and she was soon to die.
Drea’s eyes went to Daedron, who stood there, watching her, looking uncertain of everything. But he also looked tense, like he might spring to save her. Though, he might also turn and sprint, fearful that his uncle would see he had some part in this.
Drea felt the cold kiss of the blade against her throat. She both heard and didn’t hear the pronouncement of death that came from one of the priests. The crowd cheered, but some of them booed again…
Mother, father, I’m coming to see you. Drea chose not to believe Lord Syphen’s words. There were gods, there was an afterlife, and she was going to see them all very soon…
Or was she?
For a moment, her confidence failed her, and fear set it.
The Priest of Mezu turned to looked at Drea. He nodded at the Rain Guard holding her. The Rain Guard took a wad of Drea’s hair, snapping her head back, and pressed the blade into her throat—
—when the lights flickered.
They shut off, came back on, shut off again. Half of them came back on, but were dim. The crowd murmured loud with discontent, for they wanted to see the executions, but as electric globes failed all around the arena, they were cast into almost perfect darkness.
Then, the lights shut off completely, and all that was left were the sister moons and ambient starlight. At that point, Drea felt a heat growing in her hand. The Hand in the Darkness became almost searing hot, as though it had been left on a stove too long.
“What’s going on?” one of the priests said. “Why are the lights—”
He was interrupted by loud crack that echoed across the arena, followed by a boom. Beside Drea, the head of one of the Rain Guards holding her snapped back, as if he’d been hit by something. A hearbeat later, the other Rain Guard went down.
“What is this?” called one of the augurs. “What’s happening—”
Drea happened to be looking at the augur when a bull-masked Priest of Mezu stepped up behind him. The priest lifted his hand, and from the folds of his robe, produced a long, cylindrical object. It was a pistol, and Drea saw him fire directly at Lord Syphen, who took the bullet in the chest and fell backward in the bloody sand.
As soon as his body landed, Lord Syphen screamed, and his body twitched once before something dark and twisted sprouted from his chest. Briars. Jagged, wooden limbs. It was like some dark tree growing out of him.
“House Syphen!” screamed a familiar voice. The priest peeled off the mask, and long strands of black hair fell around the shoulders. It was a woman, wreathed in darklight that emanated from the jypsite hanging from her necklaces, and encrusted on her single glove. “Syphenus of Drith! I am Lady Blackveil! You know me!”
Many things happened in quick succession. First, Drea heard a scream. She turned and saw Vaedris raising her hands over her head. She saw the stygian stones hanging from her neck burn bright with blue darklight. An arc of lightning came out of Vaedris’s mouth, and strucked Lady Blackveil, who fell back onto the ground.
Next, she heard Lord Det scream, “Gods above and below, save us!” as he backpedaled, stumbled, fell, and crawled away. The augurs were not far behind him.
Then she saw Daedoris reach her hands out and summon fire to her fingertips. In a burst of red-orange light, she sent flames at Lady Blackveil’s priestly clothes, and her disguise was soon burned away.
Drea saw Daedron, turning and running, his courage fleeing as quickly as he was.
She saw Lady Blackveil lying on the ground, screaming as flames and bolts of blue lightning began to burn her body. She saw the arena become illuminated with the combined light. She saw the crowd becoming panicked, dozens of them running for the stairs and the exits.
“Fell sorcery!” one of the priests screamed.
“Gods above and below!” cried an augur, who turned and fled after Daedron.
Drea saw something else, too. She saw blue darklight emanating from her hand. Or rather, from the Hand in the Darkness. She saw her decision. She saw the paths she had before her.
Turn and run like Daedron, or do the black deed that’s in your heart.
Drea saw herself taking the steps towards her new-sisters. She saw that their focus was on Lady Blackveil. She saw flashes of demons all around—vehl that had been summoned to the sides of these two fell-sorceresses. The vehl moved in the shadows. Perhaps the audience in the arena saw them, or maybe it was only Drea.
Drea saw the vehl looming over both Vaedris and Daedoris. She saw the demons with their tendrils feeding into her new-sisters’ bodies like strings to a puppet. They were feeding Vaedris and Daedoris their power.
Drea saw all this, and she saw herself walking through the field of vehl. She saw one of the demons turn towards her, its many baleful eyes staring at her. The vehl tried to warn the two remaining Syphenus sisters, they tried to tell Vaedris and Daedoris of the threat.
If Vaedris received the warning in time, Drea never saw any hint of it. One of the vehl tried to stop her—it stood in Drea’s path—but Drea realized the power of the Hand in the Darkness. So when the first vehl came at her, she stabbed at its outreaching hand and watched
it sizzle, and heard the creature scream.
She slashed at it twice, and the vehl was powerless to stop her. It came to pieces, just as the demons had when Lord Hiss had ripped them to shreds the night before. Another vehl came at her, and she slashed at it, too, nicking its arm. Drea actually managed a smile as she watched its arm burn off, and she listened as its sweet screams died away.
But then a dark, gravelly voice whispered, “Daughter of None!”
Drea turned, and her blood ran cold. There was a demon looming over her, and it was huge, twice the height of Lord Hiss if he was an inch. It was made of flame and tenebrous shadows, which it drew inward towards itself strings. It had a long, stalk-like neck, and a bald head pocked with scars. Its veins pulsed with the light of molten steel, its flesh was rock-like and sizzled like meat on a spit. The vehl’s eyes were hollow caves, the nose was wide and flat, and it had no mouth.
Ziir. Drea knew it was him, Lord Syphen’s pet demon and advisor, the one that Daedron had warned her about. A creature that had been with Phaedos Syphen for years uncounted, perhaps since the time he went by the name Orick, or perhaps even longer.
And old, childish fears crept into her heart. Drea could feel this demon’s mind. It was penetrating hers, laughing at her. She heard its voice inside her skull, felt its invisible hands around her heart…it was so hard for her to breathe…
The dark vehl stretched out long, branch-like arms, each one topped with spindly fingers. It reached out to her and she slashed out with the Hand in the Darkness, stabbing into Ziir’s stone-like flesh. The blade went inches deep and became stuck. The demon screamed and yanked back its hand, dragging Drea with it. Ziir shook his hand like she was a spider that had crawled up his arm, and finally the blade came free and Drea fell to the ground.
Drea scrambled to get to her feet, watching as Ziir faded into a cloud of smoke—
All around her, she heard the screams of the panicking crowd. She heard the screams of Lady Blackveil as Vaedris and Daedoris bombarded her with fell sorcery. By the time she got to her feet, Ziir was coming at her again, emerging from his dark cloud with his arms splitting out into many different tentacles.
