Iniquity (The Ascent Book 1)

by Melody Winter

  I froze, my posture rigid with shock. I’d do anything to have my parents back. I’d never leave the house again if that was what they wanted. “How can you say such a thing? They love you.”

  “You think so? I’m not so sure anymore.” Her shoulders dropped and she sighed. “Let’s just say that I’m actually looking forward to getting away from the dreary life here . . . and them. It’ll be amazing at the Master’s home.”

  I gasped and jerked my head backward.

  “I’ve heard it’s a giant castle,” she said, eyes wide as if she was actually imagining being there. “Tall turrets and a deep lake around it to keep people out.”

  “Or keep people in.” Her positive outlook was one I didn’t share. “And what about all the other things they say? The nasty things?”

  She slopped two large ladles of porridge into each bowl and brought them to the table.

  “Eat,” she said, not answering my question as she plonked a bowl in front of me.

  We ate in silence, both of us tucking into one of our two daily meals, breakfast and then dinner tonight, depending on what the men brought back from the fields.

  Hannah shoved spoonfuls of hot porridge into her mouth, not pausing.

  “Hannah,” I said, placing my spoon on the table, the porridge forgotten.

  “Don’t,” she said, her eyes glossy with unshed tears.

  I reached across the table to rest my hand on her arm.

  “I don’t want to be sent away,” she said as her tears broke free and her spoon slipped from her hand and clattered onto the table.

  HANNAH RECOVERED HER DEMEANOUR QUICKLY. She brushed my hand off her arm and picked her spoon from its dropped position before stirring her porridge.

  She nodded at my bowl. “I haven’t made it just for you to waste.”

  I narrowed my eyes at the girl sitting opposite me and duly did as she instructed. She refused to meet my concerned gaze, and concentrated on eating the bland oat mixture.

  I hated what was awaiting us, and it seemed that Hannah did as well. Once a year there was an Ascension Ceremony. All the girls who had turned twenty-one between the ceremonies had to attend. Each girl was categorised on her twenty-first birthday by the village demon and either stayed in the village or left at the ceremony to fulfil her designated role. If sent away, she was allowed to return ten years later.

  Gran never let me attend the yearly Ascension Ceremonies, and since her death, I’d chosen not to watch them. But the screams and deathly wails that accompanied the ceremony crept into my nightmares for weeks after their occurrence. It was the same every year. Only this year it would be different. I’d see what caused the noise, I’d witness the horrors that I imagined—I’d be part of it.

  “Did Paymon say what happens at the ceremony?” I eyed her wearily, unsure of how she would react to my mention of her recent visit to see him.

  “He didn’t tell me about the ceremony,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ears. “All he told me was that I was suitable for the Master. He categorised me as a feeder.”

  “A feeder?”

  She nodded, her eyes wide. “I mean, what’s that?”

  “I don’t know.” I paused, watching my friend. She was scared, and she was desperately trying to not let it overpower her. “Hannah, how did you know when to go and see Paymon?”

  “He sent his raven . . . with a letter for me.”

  I shuddered. Damn ravens.

  “He said I was ideal, that I would serve the Master perfectly.” I detected an air of smugness about her as she smirked. “I wonder what you’ll be selected as.”

  I shrugged, pushing my bowl aside, my appetite deserting me. “He’s creepy,” I said, recalling the last monthly village feast we held. I didn’t always attend them; I preferred not to put on a show of thanks to a demon who was part of the reason for our miserable lives.

  “Did he make you do anything?”

  “No. He just invited me in and told me to stand in the hallway.”

  “And that’s all?”

  She nodded. “He walked around me a few times and then told me about my categorisation.” Looking straight at me, she jutted her chin out and smiled. “I’m going to be a feeder for the Master.”

  “But you don’t know what a feeder is,” I said, shocked at her obvious pride.

  “I think I’ll cook, work in the kitchens. Maybe I’ll catch the Master’s attention if I’m really good.”

  I leaned back in my chair and sucked in a deep breath. “Seriously? You want to get his attention?”

  “Why not?”

  “I’d never want to get his attention. Gran told me he was evil, that he kills women. He uses them, gets bored, and then gets rid of them.”

  “He uses them?” She wiggled her eyebrows.

  “I’m serious, Hannah.”

  “Maybe I can keep him interested. Demons are meant to be exciting lovers.”

  “Hannah!”

  She shook her head. “Your Gran didn’t know everything. I mean, come on. She was full of stories—and that’s all they were.”

  “No, no, she knew things.”

  “How?”

  I looked away and picked at the loose threads on my belt. “She just did.”

  “She was a dreamer, just like you. You go on about returning the light, but you have no idea that they’ve actually caused the darkness. Maybe it’s just one of those things that happened when they came.”

  I shook my head. The darkness was all their doing.

  “Perhaps getting sent away is the best thing at the moment,” Hannah said. Her eyes danced with an excitement that didn’t match my own. “Myrtle always said we’d both be sent away. It’s not a surprise, is it?”

  I shook my head.

  “We’ll be fine. We’re survivors remember.” She pulled me into an unexpected hug. “Remember what you always say? ‘We lived through their arrival, and we’ll live through their demise.’ That Master Demon won’t know what’s hit him when we arrive.”

  I hugged her tighter. I needed to stay strong—for both of us. I didn’t believe for one second that Hannah was as fearless as she was trying to make out.

  Hannah shrugged away from my hold and smoothed her dress over her hips.

  “Let’s go see Myrtle and get the lace,” she said. “And then I’ll come back to see you when I have a break. I’ll make you look pretty for your party tonight. It’ll be fun. James has managed to get some mead.”

  I sighed. Partying was the last thing I felt like doing at the moment.

  Hannah picked her cloak up and swirled it over her shoulders before heading toward the door. I reached for my dirty brown cloak and pulled it tight around my shoulders.

  The warmth of the fire-lit room disappeared as soon as we stepped outside. The sooty smell of the inside fire left my nostrils, but the overpowering aroma of multiple fires sending their smoke into the air only replaced it. I glanced at the crackling central fire as it too sent unpleasant plumes into the darkness above. This fire was the life-force of the village and was always lit.

  Lanterns lit the village, the false light of day swinging merrily on ropes strung between houses and across the central clearing. It was as if they were to remind us of what we’d all forgotten, although there was always the distant glow of the light over the fields, a tease for what we all craved.

  Hannah and I walked to the large hall, which rested in the first row of houses. It was the only building with walls on four sides, and it was the biggest structure in the village, easily the size of ten of our homes. The older men shuffled around the village, feeding the animals and fetching water to the large hall where the evening meal would be prepared. They looked as miserable as I felt, trying to carry on as if all of this was normal.

  As we strolled into the hall, Myrtle cast a smile my way, but I noticed it drop when she saw Hannah.

  “Hannah and I need some lace please, Myrtle,” I said, requesting the seeds that we’d need to chew to a mushy slime before swallo
wing.

  She tutted, fussing with the grey hood of her cloak, before reaching into a black pouch tied around her waist. She dipped her head toward Hannah and glared at her before pouring out a small heap of the black seeds into each of my palms. “Who’s she sleeping with now?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied, placing my seeds in my mouth.

  Not wanting to chat with her any longer than necessary, I walked across the room to Hannah.

  “Lace?” she said.

  I held my hand in her direction, palm upward.

  “What was the old bag nagging you about this time?” Hannah said, reaching to take her lace seeds.

  “Nothing. I didn’t give her chance to start.”

  “She’s crazy.” Hannah shook her head before popping the seeds in her mouth. “Get out of here before she ties you to the loom and makes you work.” She shooed me away with her hand. “And don’t forget, I’ll come and see you later, sort your hair out for tonight.”

  I nodded before striding out of the hall.

  Hannah called to see me as she’d promised. She’d twisted my hair and secured it in two long plaits along the crown of my head. I’d remained quiet while she worked, letting her chatter and fuss over me. And when she’d left, I slumped in the chair, placed my arms on the table, and rested my head on them.

  Just as the distant comfort of sleep beckoned, a fluttering of wings and a loud squawk broke me from my tranquillity. A raven perched at the window opening, its wings flapping. It didn’t need to create such a commotion to announce its presence. I was aware of its sinister arrival without the waft from its rainbow oiled feathers. I eyed it wearily, trying to ignore the white paper in its beak. The letter stood out against the blackness of the bird’s feathers, although a white streak on its breast merged effortlessly with the ominous envelope. I had no desire to rush and read Paymon’s words. As far as I was concerned, he could wait all day, but I jumped at each unwelcome loud squawk the raven made. My skin heated and tingled, and I pulled at the neck on my smock. I was hot, sticky hot. I hated ravens.

  “Stupid bird,” I muttered.

  It stilled, watching me with as much interest as I was trying not to show it, and then I noticed something else in its beak—a red rose. I frowned trying to understand why I’d not seen it earlier. The raven squawked and my heart pounded as we stared at each other, eyes locked as if daring the other to make a move.

  “It’s a bird, Athena,” I whispered to myself. “Just a bird.”

  It squawked again, tilting its head to the side, angling the letter, tempting me with the contents of its beak. I swallowed and ran my tongue over my dry lips. Ignoring my raised heartbeat and my shaking hands, I stepped toward the raven. It dipped its head, and then turned it sideways, its beady eyes staring back at me. I’d never seen a raven close up and its size added another shudder to my movements.

  But I pushed through my fear. This was the start of a journey I’d always known would happen. As my fingers touched the edge of the paper, the raven closed its eyes but remained in its strange position, tipped forward. Only when I removed the envelope and the rose from its beak did it straighten. It cawed noisily before flapping its wings and flying away.

  I slammed the wooden shutters together, blocking its return. Grabbing one of the lit lanterns I placed it on the table with the envelope and rose. A black embossed seal greeted my weary eyes. It had the indent of a pentagram with a circle surrounding it—a pentacle, the demons’ symbol. I’d seen it once when I was little, drawn into the ground behind the lake. There were wooden posts situated at each point of the pentagram. Long ropes were threaded through the posts, and I often wondered what they were for. It was Thomas who’d told me that Paymon tortured one of the old men in the village. He’d tied his hands and feet with the ropes, before burning him alive. An unwelcome tremor ran from the bottom of my spine to my neck, and I took a deep breath to steady my rising panic. This was their symbol, nothing more.

  I pulled the lantern closer to the envelope before opening the letter.

  I read it once, twice, and then again.

  He’d called me a girl of low breeding. How dare he? My mother had been a physician and my father a professor. I huffed as I reread each word. An honour and a privilege? Who was he trying to kid? I reached for the rose, frowning at the stem, which was devoid of any thorns. As I lifted the delicate red bloom to my nose, the sweet aroma caressed my senses. I closed my eyes as the scent became deeper—it reminded me of the perfume my mother used to wear. Grabbing the lantern from the table, I jumped to my feet and rushed to my bedroom. There were only two items of furniture in here apart from the bed— my Gran’s old wooden chest of drawers and a wooden wardrobe with two ill-fitting doors. I headed to the chest, balancing the lantern on the top. The drawers never opened easily, and as I rattled the middle one, the dirty, scratched mirror balanced on top wobbled.

  “Come on, come on,” I muttered, yanking the drawer.

  It opened, but the force of my gesture sent the unlevelled mirror and the lantern crashing to the floor. I groaned as the only light in the room extinguished. As if I needed anymore bad luck.

  I groped around the drawer, rummaging through the haphazard jumble of knitted socks and shawls. Feeling each bunched up item, I systematically felt for the one hiding my secret treasure—my mother’s perfume. The gold topped, slim, smooth bottle was labelled with the branding of what used to be a popular perfume maker, and there was still an inch of the amber coloured scent inside. I’d never sprayed it onto my skin, but often sniffed at the bottle top when I wanted a deeper connection to my mother. The scent brought memories of her laughter, singing, and bright, sunny days outside. It also reminded me of the love I had felt—the safe, unquestionable love of a mother for her daughter.

  Refusing to let my memories bring on a full blown crying session, I took a deep breath before spraying the perfume on both my wrists and at the base of my neck. I knew, without looking in the shattered pieces of the mirror, that I would pass as presentable. My hair was still held securely in place from Hannah’s earlier ministrations, and my cheeks were still red from the nip of her fingertips.

  I wanted to postpone my meeting with Paymon for as long as possible, but I knew it would only increase my worry and feed my fear. I lifted my chin, defiant to my inner emotions. I was strong; I was a survivor. I would go and see him. Now.

  After lighting a fresh candle with a splint from the fire and placing it in a lantern, I grabbed my cloak from its hanging place and swung it over my back, pulling it tight across my chest.

  As I strode through the centre of the village, the wind brushed against my face, and I couldn’t help but think that it was a warning for me to stay. Several women looked up from their tasks as I passed them, and others peered out from behind their doors.

  “Good luck, Athena,” a woman called.

  “Be careful!” another warned from her doorway. “You know he’ll take it out on the whole village if you upset him.”

  I took a deep breath and carried on walking. Their concerns weren’t needed; they weren’t welcome either. I’d make sure I was the same categorisation as Hannah—a feeder. We’d get through the next ten years together. We’d look out for each other like we always had.

  Leaving the village behind, my bravado deserted me. My heartbeat raced, and I clutched my free arm across my chest, pulled my cloak even tighter and curled my shoulders forward. The wind was even wilder outside of the village. It whipped its sharp tongue of icy breath across my face as I trudged forward with no haste to reach my destination.

  The path to Paymon’s was near enough hidden. Piles of pine needles covered the earth and obscured what lay beneath, but the blurred outline of Paymon’s house loomed before me like a dark foreboding beacon. My walk led up a slight incline bordered with nettles and weeds, beyond which grew the monstrous pine trees that surrounded the village. I couldn’t see into the crowded trunks and thick growth of bushes; the constant gloom ensured the forest was a soli
d black mystery. I hunched over even more, trying to make myself small, invisible even, to the unknown creatures that lived there. My misted breath blew from my mouth, each short burst coming in rapid succession as my heart rate accelerated. I increased my pace, eyes forward, fixed on my destination. I kept the lantern as steady as possible in my knuckle white grip so as not to shine its flickering light into the forest.

  As I approached Paymon’s house, I gasped. The building had always been a mystery to me, its blurred outline only occasionally visible from the village, but now that I was here, it was impossible not to notice the narrow beam of light that shone from the sky and disappeared into the centre of the house. Why had I never seen it before? Surely I should have seen the light, even if I couldn’t see the house. I frowned, confused and even more curious.

  Paymon’s house was dark and mysterious, like an angular monster waiting to devour me. I stepped forward as if invisible ties had wrapped around my legs and moved them without my agreement.

  “Stupid demon,” I muttered, and not for the first time, I cursed their very existence and the day they crawled from the earth below us.

  When I placed my hand on the lopsided gate, the damp cold wood forced another unwelcoming shiver from me. I breathed deeply, trying to steady my nerves as I looked up at the house. All the windows were dark or had curtains pulled shut. But these windows had proper fitted glass, small rectangular panels—physical barriers against the cold we all suffered in the village. Two storeys tall, large chimneys, and ivy covered walls helped paint it perfectly as the demon’s home—it was creepy, sinister, and cold looking—a house you’d run away from.

  I narrowed my eyes as I caught sight of a flickering light from an upstairs window, but as soon as I focused, the light was gone. Shadows clung to the walls as I followed the line of windows upstairs, but there were no other lights to see.

  With nerves jangling and my hands shaking, I shuffled along the short path to the wooden door—the final barrier between me and my future.

  Holding my head high, I lifted my hand to knock on the door.