Mortal Rites

by Melissa McShane

  Dianthe was examining the cloak, which was of heavy twilled cotton imperfectly dyed a streaky dark green. Its hem was worn and fraying, and it had once had a hood, but someone had cut it off and not repaired the rent properly. “You’re sure it’s magical? I can’t imagine cloth lasting half a millennium, unless it’s that ugly rug in our sitting room.”

  “It radiates magic,” Sienne said, turning the fabric to look at the lining, which was dark green satin much nicer than the outer layer, except for the patches. Someone had mended holes in the satin with random pieces of fabric that stood out against the dark green. “These look like bits of old tapestry. I wonder why they didn’t try to make the patches blend in.”

  She picked at the corner of one patch, which was coming loose from the cloak. “Probably we could—oh!”

  “Sienne?” Alaric said.

  “I’m fine, it’s just—” In her hand she now held a silver fountain pen where the blue and gray patch had been. There was no hole in the satin, nothing to show a patch had been there.

  Sienne and Dianthe stared at each other. Dianthe took the pen from Sienne. “What kind of magic is that?”

  “A transform, and a powerful one,” Sienne said. “What happens if you put it back? Can you put it back?”

  Dianthe shrugged and pressed the pen to the lining of the cloak. Instantly it vanished, and once more a blue and gray patch of heavy woven fabric clung to the inside of the cloak. “We have to take this,” Dianthe said. “Suppose it works for anything?”

  “I found it!” Perrin exclaimed. He held up a book bound in tattered pale brown leather. “The title is on the inside.”

  “May I?” Alaric said, extending a hand. Perrin gave the book to him. Alaric opened it, taking great care with the binding that flaked away as it flexed. He turned a few pages. “It’s not what we thought,” he said, his voice flat with disappointment. “It lists rituals, yes, but it’s more a compendium of references to where the full rituals can be found.”

  “That is still more than we had before,” Perrin said. “It may yet be useful.”

  Alaric closed it with a snap. “We’ll have to study it later. Now we need to get out of here before imitate wears off and someone wants to know our business.”

  Sienne followed him through the house, her new finds nestled deep in her pack. Dianthe had the cloak bundled up under one arm. Sienne tried to summon up feelings of guilt at having stolen from a dead man, but failed to evoke anything more than mild distaste. The artifacts might be able to help her friends, and it was the least Samretto could do, given that he’d nearly killed them. Not to mention creating an army of undead who were now plaguing the city. Time for them to go hunting.

  Cold magic light played over the ghoul’s face, twisted in a final rictus of death. Death, or whatever one called it when the undead were finally laid to rest. Sienne breathed shallowly through her mouth, trying not to smell the stink of rot coming off the body. With her spellbook held at chest height, she cast float once more and watched the thing drift off the ground to hover a few inches above it. Kalanath prodded it with his staff, and it drifted away toward the others.

  “That’s seven,” Alaric said. “I think we can call it a night. Sienne? Perrin?”

  “I’m coming up on my limit,” Sienne said. In fact, the lights had blue and green halos around them that made trails of color whenever she moved her head too quickly, but she didn’t want to mention that. It was only a warning sign, and she felt no other discomfort or pain.

  “That was the last of the undead-destroying blessings. I choose to take it as a sign,” Perrin said. He tore off a green-smudged blessing and approached Dianthe. “Let us heal that wound before we proceed.”

  Sienne put away her spellbook and stretched. It was after one o’clock in the morning, and they had the street to themselves. The last set of ghouls, a trio considerably more decayed than the others they’d dispatched, had gone down quickly in the face of Perrin’s blessing. Sienne felt they were becoming expert at dealing with the undead. She wondered how much the bounty was. That two hundred lari fine had made a serious dent in their purses.

  A hand closed around her upper arm. “You’re weaving,” Alaric murmured. “How honest were you about your condition?”

  “I’m not at the exhaustion point, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Sienne, I know you don’t like being fussed over, but you shouldn’t conceal your exhaustion. You’re the only one who knows when you’re close to collapse. Perrin doesn’t hide it when he’s low on blessings.”

  Sienne scowled. “You’re right. I…might be a little closer to the edge than I implied.”

  “Come here.” Alaric put his arms around her and rested his forehead on the top of her head. “I told you I have trouble not trying to protect you. I know that makes you reluctant to admit you’re not well. I’ll make more of an effort.”

  She put her arms around his waist. “Thank you. For caring, and…for everything.”

  He kissed her hair. “Let’s get these turned in.”

  Kalanath said, “We are close to Denys’s guard post.”

  Everyone looked at Dianthe. “We can go elsewhere,” Alaric began.

  “No,” Dianthe said. “It’s late, we’re all tired, and I’m not interested in walking across town with a floating load of corpses. Besides, we might not even see him.”

  “It’s up to you,” Alaric said. “Let’s start towing.”

  Kalanath had tied ropes around each ghoul’s torso, and now they all took up a rope and walked toward the guard post. With float, the bodies swung back and forth, bouncing off each other and forcing the companions to tug harder to straighten out their trajectories. Sienne felt weary almost immediately. The floating cargo meant they had to walk side by side, so it was fortunate they weren’t doing this midday, fighting the crowds that thronged Fioretti’s daytime streets.

  “Tomorrow, we will have the amulet again, and tracking down our prey will be easier,” Perrin said. “I intend to retrieve it at first light. I have no desire to give those guards any opportunity to sell it.”

  “Is that what we’re doing tomorrow?” Sienne asked. “Fighting ghouls, I mean, not getting the amulet back.”

  “That depends on how much the bounty is,” Alaric said. “We’re no longer pressed for time as far as finding the book goes. I admit to being discouraged. I hoped—”

  “But you said it tells where to find rituals,” Kalanath said. “That is something.”

  “Who knows how old the book is?” Alaric tugged on the ropes in his hand, making the grisly burdens sway. “Some of what they reference might not exist anymore.”

  “Let’s not worry about that until we’ve identified the ritual we need,” Sienne said. “And I’ve decided to tackle the University of Fioretti library. I don’t care if my parents find out where I am. I’m not going back. This is my home now.” She didn’t feel as defiant as she sounded. Her parents had always been good at making her feel like a dependent child rather than a self-reliant adult. She wasn’t sure how well she could stand up to them on her own. Fortunately, she had four other people to stand with her.

  “I think that’s a good idea,” Dianthe said. “Let’s plan on spending tomorrow evening studying that book.”

  They turned a corner, and the guard post came into view. The streets were empty of whores, for once, but several people went in and out of the guard post, some of them carrying bodies over their shoulders. Sienne was suddenly struck by the absurdity of it all, how quickly handling the dead had become normal for scrappers. They were towing corpses behind them, floating corpses, by all the avatars! She had to swallow a giggle she didn’t feel like explaining to her friends.

  Getting the bounties through the door proved to be a problem, but one easily solved. One of the sergeants on duty came outside and down the stairs to examine the corpses. “How long until that wizardry wears off?” she asked.

  “Another two hours before the first one does,” Sienne said.r />
  The sergeant shrugged. “Clever solution. I’ll have someone take them away. That spell makes it easy on us. Come inside and collect the bounty.”

  Jerome wasn’t at the desk, but the man sitting there recognized Dianthe. Sienne guessed he knew at least a little of her story by the way his lips compressed in a tight frown when he looked at her. “Seven bounties at twenty-five lari a head,” he said, addressing Alaric and ignoring Dianthe.

  “That seems fair,” Alaric said.

  “I don’t know. I just handle the money.” The guard reached below the desk and came up with a sizable metal box. He counted out seven large brass tokens into Alaric’s hand. “And you might think about taking any others you kill to a different post.”

  Alaric made a fist around the tokens and slammed his other hand down on the desk. “You have a problem?” he said, his voice dangerously low.

  The guard leaned away from him. “I can have you arrested for threatening a guard,” he said, his voice trembling slightly.

  “Alaric, don’t,” Dianthe said. “It’s not worth it.”

  Alaric turned toward her. “I don’t—” He stopped, looking past her shoulder to where Denys had just emerged from the corridor. He was talking to his companion, but went silent when he saw Dianthe. Sienne saw him close one hand into a fist.

  Dianthe’s face was pale, her jaw rigid. “Let’s go,” she said, but her eyes were on Denys. Sienne hesitated, then followed her friends out into the street.

  Alaric handed Perrin the brass chits. “You’ll need to redeem them, but it’s more than enough to pay off the rest of the fine and get back the amulet. We—”

  “Dianthe!”

  Sienne was close enough to see the look of pain flash across Dianthe’s face at the sound of Denys’s voice. Then it was gone, and Dianthe turned around to face him. “What?” she asked, her voice empty and colorless.

  Denys came down the stairs and took a few steps toward her. “Dianthe,” he repeated, then seemed to be searching for words. Dianthe regarded him in silence. Sienne was afraid to move, even to back away and give the two room. Finally, Denys said, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Dianthe shook her head. “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “It matters. I need to know why.”

  “Because I didn’t want to put you in a position to have to choose between love and upholding the law,” Dianthe said. “I don’t know if I was more afraid you’d turn me in, or that you wouldn’t. I hoped…it was stupid, but I hoped it would never come out and we could just go on living our lives. I’m sorry.”

  “You could have trusted me.”

  “Trusted you to do what, Denys?” Tears trickled down her cheeks. “To do the right thing, and turn me over to the authorities? Or to become a stranger to yourself, someone who breaks the law when he has a really, really good reason? I couldn’t do that to you. I just couldn’t bear it.”

  Denys took a few more steps toward her. “Am I so rigid, then, that I only care about the law? You were defending yourself when you killed that man. I would have done anything to see you received justice—actual justice, not whatever that bastard of a duke wanted. Or did you think it meant nothing when I said I loved you?”

  Dianthe shook her head. “I thought I was protecting you. Maybe I was only protecting myself. Maybe I thought what we had was too good to be real, and your love only went so far.”

  “I wouldn’t have asked you to marry me if that were the case.”

  Sienne drew in a sharp, startled breath, but neither Denys nor Dianthe paid her any attention. Dianthe said, “I don’t know how to tell you I’m sorry in a way that will mean anything to you. I didn’t tell you about my past because I love you and I didn’t want you to be hurt. I wish by all that’s holy I’d told you the truth and let things fall where they would, but I didn’t, and I can’t change that.” She swiped water out of her eyes and added, in a voice made husky by tears, “We won’t come back here again. It’s the last thing I can do for you.”

  She turned away, and Denys said, “Wait.”

  Dianthe stopped, but didn’t turn back to face him. Denys walked the rest of the way toward her, stopping when he was close enough to touch her. He let out a deep breath that seemed to come from his innermost soul. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry I let you think I couldn’t be trusted to choose you over every damn law on the books.”

  Dianthe turned, startled, then flung herself at him, drawing in a great harsh breath that was just shy of being a sob. Denys drew her into his arms and held her tightly enough Sienne could see the tendons standing out on his arms. She backed away from the two of them, slowly, and bumped into Alaric, who put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. The warmth of his embrace filled her. She found she was crying and didn’t know why.

  Dianthe and Denys were talking again, too low to make out, though Sienne didn’t want to intrude on their privacy any more than they all already had. Dianthe nodded, and Sienne heard her laugh. Then she and Denys kissed, a long, lingering kiss that made Sienne turn away out of embarrassment at having witnessed it. In turning, she met Alaric’s eye, and he was smiling in a way that again made her warm all over.

  “Not tonight,” he said in a voice pitched for her ears alone, “but soon.”

  She didn’t have to ask him what he meant.

  28

  Sienne slept through the morning and into the afternoon, waking only when her bladder pressed its demands on her. When she returned from the privy, she found the kitchen empty of everyone but Leofus, busily preparing dinner. “Sitting room,” he said without looking up.

  Alaric sat on the sofa with the brown book open in front of him and a scattering of papers across the too-low table. Perrin, in the armchair, held a sheet of paper spread over his knee and was reading it with his brow furrowed. Kalanath lounged against the wall near the bookcase, reading something titled in Meiric. “Where’s Dianthe?” Sienne asked.

  “She went out,” Alaric said. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I hope she went to Renaldi.”

  “You like him, admit it.” Sienne sat next to Alaric on the sofa. “You don’t think…will she marry him? I can’t believe she didn’t tell us he asked her!”

  “I don’t know. It’s up to her.”

  Sienne, who’d been about to put her hand on his knee, withdrew. “You’re in a temper.”

  “He has had his head down over that book for several hours,” Perrin said. “It is a wonder he has not erupted.”

  Alaric sighed and put his arm around Sienne. “Sorry,” he said. “This is really slow going, and I admit I’m thrown by learning Renaldi wants to marry Dianthe. I shouldn’t let it bother me, but—”

  “You feel it would break up the team,” Sienne said. “Lots of married scrappers go out on jobs. There’s no reason Dianthe couldn’t still work with us.”

  “She is his sister,” Kalanath said without looking up from his book. “Reason does not matter.”

  “I’m not unreasonable. I’m not going to stop her, am I?”

  Sienne leaned into him. “We don’t know what she’ll decide, so there’s no point worrying. Tell me what you’ve learned from the book, instead.”

  Alaric nodded. “It’s better than I thought. Well-organized, for one. Whoever wrote it made detailed notes on where he found the information. He just didn’t reproduce the actual rituals. I gather that would have made the book three times its size.”

  “That is not the best part,” Perrin said. “Our unknown writer did include recipes for potions. It seems some of the rituals refer to potions by the name of their creator, without specifics as to how they should be brewed. The writer collected recipes that might be the ones referred to, attached to their references. And we have narrowed down those recipes to three that might be the one we seek.”

  “Which means we also know what rituals they’re associated with,” Alaric said. “Five rituals, to be specific. Non-necromantic and very old.”

  “So where do we fi
nd those rituals?” Sienne asked.

  “This is my third time through the book. I’m making note of every book this man refers to that’s related to our five rituals. Book, or letter, or pamphlet—he was thorough. Then we hope at least some of these are still extant.”

  “Do you want me to take over? Give you a rest?”

  “I’m already familiar with the man’s handwriting, which I can tell you is hard to make out. You can look at the list of sources and see if there’s anything you recognize.”

  He pushed a sheet of paper toward her. Sienne picked it up and scanned the contents. She refrained from commenting on Alaric’s handwriting, which was also spiky and hard to read. Fellic wasn’t his first language, after all. “None of these are known to me,” she said, “but one or two of the authors sound familiar. I’m amazed there are so many of them. I would have sworn the only rituals anyone wrote about were necromantic.”

  “It is unfortunate in one respect that our quest is well focused, as we might otherwise add to the body of Rafellish knowledge on the subject,” Perrin said. He rose from his seat. “I will ask Leofus if he has some of these ingredients. I presume we intend to concoct these potions, and learn which is correct?”

  “You presume correctly,” Alaric said. “Though I don’t know where we’ll do it. I doubt Leofus will be willing to let us use his kitchen.”

  “We will find a way,” Perrin said, and left the room.

  Alaric went back to making notes. Sienne leaned back and watched him. She loved looking at his hands, how agile they were despite their size. “I’m hungry,” she announced. “I hope dinner is early.”

  “You slept a long time,” Kalanath said. “I was glad to sleep in my own bed finally. And tonight we will hunt ghouls again?”

  “Tomorrow,” Alaric said, handing Sienne another sheet of paper. “We deserve a night off.”