Scourge

by Gail Z. Martin

  “None, sir. I’m just trying—”

  The guard’s fist caught Rigan in the stomach. He doubled over, gasping.

  “You were just breaking the law,” the guard growled. His knee came up, hard, into Rigan’s face, breaking his nose. Blood splattered.

  “Look at that,” the guard said to his companions, who had closed in a circle around Rigan. “He got blood on my uniform. I’m gonna have to buy new pants. Guess who’s gonna pay for that?”

  “Please,” Rigan begged. “I meant no harm.” If they search my bag, will that lead them back to Corran and Kell?

  “Doesn’t matter what you meant, boy. Rules are rules.” Two of the guards grabbed Rigan, pinning his arms, and dragged him into a dilapidated building. Enough moonlight filtered through the single high window that he could see his attackers clearly.

  “Now that it’s nice and private, we’re going to teach you a lesson you won’t forget,” the lead guard said, baring his teeth. “You’ll beg for a hanging by the time we’re done with you.” He swung a punch, catching Rigan in the jaw so hard he nearly passed out.

  The guard on Rigan’s right let go of his arm and drove a fist into his side. Rigan arched in pain, then collapsed as another guard brought both fists down into the small of his back. The men rode him down to the shed floor, pummeling him. Rigan could smell alcohol on the guards’ breath.

  A hand grabbed Rigan by the hair and shoved the side of his face against the floor. He bit back a cry of pain.

  “We don’t like lawbreakers,” one of the guards growled. The hard toe of a boot drove into Rigan’s stomach. A second guard kicked from the other side. Rigan felt ribs snap. It was difficult to breathe. One of the guards knelt on his back, with a chokehold on his throat. The world grew red and blood rushed in his ears. I’m going to die.

  Magic welled up in him, primal and strong. They’re going to kill me. And if they figure out who I am, they’ll kill Corran and Kell.

  Rigan reached down into the dirt to anchor his magic and lashed out, fighting for his life, and for his brothers. The man on his back was suddenly gone. Rigan heard a body hit the wall hard enough to break bones. He braced himself for more blows, but with a rush of wind, the other two men were thrown clear. One slammed headfirst into the door, hard enough to split his head like a melon. The other was thrown against an iron pitchfork and choked on blood as the metal tines forced their way through his chest.

  Rigan dragged himself to his feet. I’ve just killed three guards. With magic. He shook with exhaustion and pain lanced through his ribs with every movement. His split lip dripped blood, and one eye was swelling shut. Though he had tried to anchor his magic, he knew from his body’s reaction that he had pushed beyond his reserves.

  Hide. Rigan crawled from the shed. His power rose again, slipping from his control, and the shed came down in a rush, its timbers and walls crushing everything inside. Rigan staggered to his feet and stumbled toward the street. His heart thudded and the heaviness in his chest made it difficult to breathe. Everything around him seemed askew and unreal as fever overtook him, unleashed by the strong magic. The damage the guards had done ached in his bones and Rigan felt certain something inside him had been damaged, perhaps beyond repair.

  Rigan looked up and saw a faintly glowing figure approaching— Mama.

  The spirit beckoned and Rigan had no will to refuse, more terrified of what was behind him than what lay ahead. He tried to speak her name, but only a croak came from his swollen lips. Rigan limped toward the apparition, loss and longing overcoming terror. Mama, is that you? We’ve missed you so much. Mama, wait! I’m coming!

  He moved as fast as his injured body would allow, but the figure always remained out of reach. Mama, help me get home.

  Alaine Valmonde appeared as Rigan remembered her from his childhood, more than a decade younger than when she died. She motioned for him to hurry and he managed to hobble on. Not much farther.

  The back door to the undertaker’s shop was in sight. Alaine’s ghost stopped in the shadows on the far side of the doorway, just beyond where the light shone from the upper windows.

  “Mama,” Rigan croaked. He had so many questions, so much he wanted to ask her—about the magic, the Wanderers—but he did not have the breath to say the words.

  Alaine pointed to the doorway, shaking her head as Rigan tried to move toward her. She looked at him wistfully, a sad smile on her lips, and made the sign of blessing before vanishing.

  Rigan’s remaining strength failed him. He collapsed against the door, and slid to the ground. The door opened inward and he fell flat on his back, looking up at his brothers, who both had weapons readied.

  Corran’s eyes widened in shock. “Get him inside!” Corran and Kell grabbed Rigan’s arms and dragged him into the workshop, slamming and bolting the door behind him.

  Rigan groaned in pain as the movement strained his broken ribs.

  “Get water,” Corran ordered. “And prepare a poultice.” Kell ran to do his bidding.

  “Who did this to you?” Corran demanded.

  “Guards,” he managed, though his swollen mouth muffled the word.

  “Why were you out? What were you thinking?”

  Rigan tried to shake his head, but it hurt too much. Corran bent down and lifted him in his arms, wincing as his brother cried out in pain. He laid him on a worktable and turned away for a moment, hiding his face as he tried to regain control. Corran rarely let on that anything was more than he could handle; his reaction added to Rigan’s terror.

  “How could you be so careless? Was this about a girl?” Corran stripped away Rigan’s torn and bloody clothing and flinched when he saw the bruises underneath. Rigan’s labored breath struggled against the pain from his broken ribs and smashed nose. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

  “I have a mind to thrash you myself for being so stupid,” Corran growled.

  “Shut up, Corran.” Kell’s voice was flat and hard. “It wasn’t about a girl. He’s a witch, with a lot more power than simple grave magic, and he’s been going Below to learn how to use it.” For the first time, Rigan realized how deep Kell’s voice had become. He was no longer a child.

  More astonishing, however, was that Corran did what he was told.

  “Someone made your face more of a mess than it usually is,” Kell joked as he dipped a cloth in the icy water and gently daubed at Rigan’s injuries, grimacing as his brother winced. “Sorry, Rigan. I know I said I wouldn’t tell.”

  “You knew and didn’t let me know?” Corran sounded stunned.

  Kell did not look up from his work as he carefully cleaned the blood from Rigan’s wounds. “About you joining the hunters or Rigan being a witch? The answer to both is: yes.”

  “How long?”

  “Around the time you started practicing with the hunters. That’s when you both started sneaking out, when you thought I was asleep.” He chuckled. “I made bets with myself on which of you would get back first, and how close you would come to running into each other in the alley.”

  “If anyone finds out...”

  Kell looked up. “Yeah, I know. If either of you gets caught, we all die horribly. Trying not to think about that, since I’m just the cook. Not even a true apprentice yet.”

  For a while, Kell and Corran worked in silence. Rigan fought not to lose consciousness, though he wished for a respite from the pain. “How did you find out he could do more than grave magic?” Corran asked.

  “The night the insect-monsters came,” Kell replied. “Rigan blasted them back from the shop door. And then one of them fell on me and started to burrow. He was scared for me. His hands grew hot like coals. He made the monster fall away, and then burned it to death with his bare hands.”

  “That burn on your arm—”

  “Rigan did that. He saved my life.”

  “I swore on Mama and Papa’s graves I would protect the two of you. Damn fine job I’m doing,” Corran said bitterly.

  “Actually, you
do do a damn fine job. You can’t control everything.”

  Corran felt down Rigan’s chest, noting where his brother flinched at his touch. “We need to bind his ribs. Whoever beat him did a proper job on him. Let’s just hope nothing’s broken inside.”

  Undertakers had a better idea of how the body was put together than anyone but chirurgeons. Preparing a corpse for burial provided a lesson in anatomy, and handling the remains of those who died from various ailments was a primer in medicine. Corran’s hands moved swiftly and surely, taping up Rigan’s broken ribs before gently feeling his abdomen for signs of deeper injury. Finally, he let out a breath and stood back.

  “From what I can tell, I don’t think they damaged his innards. We don’t dare take him to a doctor.”

  “The Lord Mayor’s Guards did this,” Kell replied, contempt clear in his voice.

  “Yes. But what I want to know is, why was Rigan out there?”

  “I think you’ll have to wait for an answer,” Kell said. He added an herb mixture to the pot of hot water they kept simmering on the brazier. Some he used for a cup of tea, cooling it with water from the cistern. The rest he used to prepare a poultice, which he spread on strips of cloth Corran had ripped from a new shroud.

  “I’ll dribble tea into his mouth; you start wrapping up the worst injuries,” Kell said.

  Corran complied without a retort.

  A GREY FOG enveloped Rigan and he could hear voices murmuring in the distance. The figure appeared before him and he recognized her immediately.

  Mama. Is it really you?

  She smiled. You’ve done well. You were very brave. Your gift is powerful.

  There’s so much I want to ask you.

  You have to go back. There is work to do.

  Everything hurts.

  You must return. I can’t explain. It will be worse if you aren’t there.

  Don’t go, Rigan begged, as Alaine began to fade.

  Learn to control the magic, Rigan. Don’t fear it. Use it to shift the Balance.

  Alaine was gone.

  A knock at the door silenced the voices and he woke.

  “AIDEN. THANK THE gods,” Kell said.

  “Why does he look familiar?” Corran sounded uneasy and suspicious.

  “I’m Aiden. A friend. I sometimes glimpse something that is about to happen. That’s how I knew to come. With luck, I can save Rigan.” “He’s the reason you’re alive,” Kell snapped with a glare at Corran. “Rigan fetched him that night you came out of the sewer, or you would have died.”

  Kell turned his attention back to Rigan. “We thought we’d bound up his wounds. Is he bleeding internally?”

  “It’s not his body,” Aiden explained. “Magic has a price. Your brother’s power triggers when he’s in danger. He’s been learning to control it so he doesn’t hurt himself, but whatever he did has taken its toll.”

  Rigan tried to say something, but his body would not respond.

  His breath came in shallow gasps, and his heart beat rapidly, pain taking him in and out of consciousness.

  “You have soot and chalk?” Aiden’s tone was curt.

  “We’re undertakers. Of course—”

  “Give them to me.” A pause. “You want him to live or not? Do it!” Footsteps sounded, and Aiden grunted as if acknowledging being handed the materials.

  “What are you doing?” Kell asked.

  “Marking the sigils. They’ll help me with the working. He must have drawn on a lot of power to do this to himself. Thank the gods for my foresight, or I might not have been here in time.” Foresight? Rigan thought. Aiden never mentioned that. Does Damian know?

  “If I felt his power, someone else might have, too,” Aiden continued. “Let’s just hope they didn’t have time to trace it.” He paused. “Boy!”

  “My name is Kell.”

  “I want you to lay a line of salt by the doors and windows, and place iron across the thresholds, like before. You remember this mark? When you’re done with the salt and iron, take the chalk and make it on the doors and shutters. And pray the gods are with us.” Rigan slipped back into the shadows, catching only fragments of the conversation.

  “—thought he was just sleeping.”

  “—worse than before.”

  “—Corran wouldn’t have gone if he knew.”

  “—not much left.”

  The next time Rigan came around, he could hear Aiden’s chants and Kell’s muffled sobs. Aiden’s voice rose and fell, and gradually the pain receded. Either I’m getting better, or slipping over to the other side. Finally, the chant stopped.

  “Will he be all right?” Kell’s voice trembled.

  “If he wakes.”

  Rigan wanted to comfort Kell, but he could not make his body respond. Shadows folded around him and he gave in, too tired to struggle.

  Thick fog enveloped him Rigan and he felt cold, and utterly alone.

  Voices sounded from the darkness. Some cried out for loved ones, others denounced those they blamed for their deaths. The stronger ghosts pushed forward, forcing themselves on his consciousness. Share your warmth. I left gold in the wall of my shop. No one knows it’s there. I’ll tell you where it is if you give me a little of your heat.

  I know secrets worth a king’s ransom. Give me what I ask, and you can bargain for a fortune with what I’ll tell you.

  Bring a message to my wife, and she’ll reward you handsomely.

  She’s desperate for word from me. I promise she’ll believe you. A streak of white fire cracked like lightning through the fog.

  Alaine was back, limned in golden light, and she was angry. She interposed itself between the grasping spirits and Rigan. Leave him alone!

  She turned to her son. Run.

  In the next heartbeat, Rigan was back in his body, thrashing hard enough that he nearly toppled to the floor. Alaine’s voice rang in his ears. He shivered with cold and alternated between numbness and excruciating pain.

  “Easy,” Kell said, pressing his shoulders down, his touch firm but careful. “You’ve done enough fighting for one day.”

  “Mama—”

  Kell’s expression grew concerned. “Mama’s dead, Rigan.” “I saw her.”

  “That’s not good,” Kell replied, staring at him with red, puffy eyes.

  “She led me home.”

  Kell laid the back of his hand against Rigan’s forehead, the way Alaine had when they were small. “You’re running a fever. I’m not surprised, with what you’ve been through.”

  “Corran?”

  “He stayed with you as long as he could, until he thought you were going to be all right, and then left on the hunt,” Kell said.

  “Damn fool.”

  “I heard another voice.” I must have been hallucinating. “Aiden came to the door not long after you came home. He said something about someone ‘hunting’ you.” A steely note had come into Kell’s voice.

  “Did you forget what they do to witches?”

  “Oh, gods,” Kell murmured. He helped Rigan lift his head enough to drink more tea. “Looks like you get to sleep down here for a while. Don’t mind the company—they don’t snore. Neither of us wanted to try to haul your sorry ass up the stairs.”

  “Sorry.” Rigan’s jaw was stiff and sore from the beating he had taken. A couple of teeth felt loose. Split, swollen lips made talking hurt. I’m glad I can’t see a mirror.

  Kell sighed. “I’d ask you what you thought you were doing, being out that late, but you need your rest, so I’ll leave you to it.” He grimaced. “Congratulations on making Corran madder than I’ve seen him in ages. He was so scared you were going to die, he was ready to kill you himself.”

  “Thanks.”

  Kell wrung out a cloth and pressed the cool compress against Rigan’s forehead. “Did the guards recognize you? Should I be packing to run away?”

  “The guards are dead.”

  Kell froze. “You killed the guards?”

  Rigan grunted in acknowledgement.
<
br />   “With magic?”

  Another grunt.

  “Maybe I really should go pack,” Kell said. He shook his head.

  “Damn, Rigan. Like living here wasn’t dangerous enough. Between you and Corran, this hero stuff is going to get someone killed.”

  TWO NIGHTS LATER, Corran headed back to the shop after a late night with the hunters. Ghouls had slaughtered two entire families, a dozen people, and Corran was certain he would see the bloody remains in his dreams forever. The fight had been short and brutal, and the bodies of the ghouls were still ablaze on the garbage heap as he limped home. Corran didn’t let down his guard until he had the door to the workshop locked behind him. Rigan looked up from where he was sitting by the fire.

  “You didn’t need to wait up,” Corran said, taking off his cloak. “We need to talk.”

  Rigan’s tone made Corran stop. The room was not brightly lit enough to work on the corpses. Why was he waiting here in the dark? Three bodies had already been prepared, ready for the cart in the morning. Corran frowned. The fourth table held a fresh shroud and a few sharp knives.

  “Rigan?”

  Rigan turned away, toward the shadows. “My magic is a danger to you and Kell, Corran.”

  Rigan’s tone sent a chill down Corran’s spine. “Aiden said control would come with time. You’re learning. You’ll get better.”

  “I’ve killed six men, Corran.” Rigan’s back was to his brother, and Corran could see how tense Rigan’s shoulders were. His brother clenched and unclenched his right fist.

  “Rigan—”

  “I made one man’s heart stop, burned two men alive. Another three got thrown against a wall so hard it split their skulls. Then I brought a building down on them.”

  “You were protecting yourself,” Corran countered. “You would be dead if you hadn’t fought back. There’s no shame in that; they got what they deserved.”

  “But why should I have the power of life and death?” Sorrow and guilt colored Rigan’s voice. “How many more will I kill?”

  “Come on, Rigan. Let’s have a drink. You’re still alive. I don’t care how many guards or robbers you have to kill to keep it that way. No one will miss them.”