The Echoes of Sin (The Kinless Trilogy Book 3)

by Philbrook, Chris

  Peiron slid his daggers back into their diminutive sheaths again, and left them there. It gave him more than a little satisfaction to know that they were still sticky with the blood of the dead priests. He reached down and searched their bodies for a weapon. It took him until the fourth body to find what he was looking for: a dagger. He took the blade and stabbed the front and back of each Apostle, viciously tearing into them like a wild animal. Once he’d hidden his singular wounds in the chaos of post mortem punctures, he gritted his teeth and stabbed his side in the soft, safe flesh. He saw blinding white flashes in his eyes as the pain seared him. He pulled the blade out with some effort and a grunt and before he could hesitate, he stuck his shoulder in the meat outside of the bone. He left it there wobbling and heavy. The pain threatened his focus, daring him to stay conscious, but he tapped his inner reserve and blinked away the pain. He could heal himself soon enough.

  Surveying his painful and murderous work, Peiron readied a Sending spell, though this would be going to the General again, and it would relay the news that all of the Apostles in Ockham’s Fringe able of calling for help now lay dead at his feet.

  It would be the best moment of Peiron Fitch’s life.

  —Chapter Four—

  GETTING A LITTLE LUCKY

  Good fortune had visited the twins and their two friends, and it could not have come at a better time.

  The group had ridden to the tracks west of the village of Action without incident. The weather had held for them, and they had encountered no trouble from flora or fauna, wandering dead, officials seeking justice, or mischief making citizens of ill repute. They had reached the small rail station and the modest village built around it no more than five minutes before the train reached it, and they had purchased their tickets, gotten their mounts loaded in to the freight car quickly, and boarded the passenger car heading south. They were crossing the southern plains of Varrland heading towards Farmington at full speed in less than half an hour.

  The train had been crowded. In fact all four of the travelers had never ridden with more passengers. The packed-in cars were filled to the brim with Varrlanders fleeing sound to escape the effect of the war that was coming. Even though the first arrow had yet to fly that day, those with the means had purchased tickets, and were heading to Farmington or points even further south to ride out the hostilities. Many of the faces they saw on the train were stoic, or frightened. No one wanted to be anywhere near the oncoming misery threatened by war.

  Despite the crowd of refugees, the four had been able to splurge with the meager funds they’d brought and got their small party the last available cabin. Inside the cramped stateroom on the crowded train they had four beds, arranged two by two stacked atop one another, flanking a small wood stove with a tiny wrist sized chimney poking out the side of the train if the temperature suddenly dropped. Being that it was midsummer, there was little chance the stove would be needed.

  Door shut, curtains drawn against prying eyes, the group settled in for three days of southbound travel on the Artificer’s train.

  Rail lines traveling between two large hub cities of Elmoryn typically have multiple stops along the way. Dozens of villages cluster along the tracks like grapes on a vine, clinging to the life that the twin iron rails and the trains that ride atop them provide. The trains of Elmoryn mean food from lush areas. It means lumber, iron, clay, spices, security and safety, and perhaps most important of all, the trains mean society. They deliver news and new faces in a predictable and almost entirely safe way. On a popular and populated route with the distance traveled like the one they rode from Daris to the city of Farmington there could be a dozen of these stops or more. With nearly seventeen hundred miles of open, fertile land to cross, it made sense that a few people would want to get on, or get off along the way.

  Travelers on the trains either dread these short stops, or tolerate them. Riders with mounts like the twins, often use that time to visit their animals and ensure they are doing well in the cargo cars. The stops are usually quick, no less than half an hour, very much like the stop near Acton where the twins loaded themselves on. These stops only occur when they are needed. When a ticket holder has told a ticket taking Guild member on the train that they require a stop, or when the signal flag is held up at a station that a stop is required. If no stops are requested by station or passenger, the train continues to steam along at full speed, picking up all the positive time as a reward.

  Such was their fate on this particular southbound trip. Of the fourteen potential stops, only eight were needed, trimming almost six hours off their transit.

  This surplus of time would prove lifesaving for them in several days.

  “She’s like a steam engine,” Chelsea whispered to Mal. Her head was on his shoulder as they sat reclined steeply on the lower bed of one of the bunks. Directly above their heads and out of their line of sight slept James. As it turned out, he was a heavy and frequent sleeper, resting easily after saying soft prayers. He snuffled and snored softly. Across from them and above on the upper bunk was Umaryn. She was on her stomach reading an instructive Guild text on The Way. The raven headed smith hadn’t moved an inch for hours other than the effort it took to flip one page to the next, or to occasionally write a note in a tiny journal she’d kept for years.

  “Diligent is the word my dear,” Mal said, appreciating his sister.

  “Focused would work,” Chelsea said, nuzzling into Mal’s neck. He returned the gesture by opening his body up to accept her happily.

  Mal explained, softly. “I learn easily from books. I always have. I read fast, and it soaks in on the first try. I was reading when we were four. Umaryn didn’t take to writing until a year or two later. She’s gifted with her hands and eyes though. Show her how to do something and she’ll do it for you exactly as you showed her only a minute before. But books… Unfairly they confound her. It takes her hours to digest a few pages. She’s methodical. Dedicated. Even more so since we went to Graben. She has learned how to learn from them. Almost every spell she knows today she learned from a book up there. For me to say that today is a giant feather in her cap. It’s a shame that we all learn so differently.”

  “So strange,” Chelsea said watching the woman she now thought of as a friend and almost a sister. “Mal, who taught you necromancy up in The Empire?”

  After a baited breath he spoke. “There was a necromancer who we crossed paths with on the voyage north who kept tabs on us as we moved through the city. His name was Dram Sorber. He caught us red handed after we’d killed a slew of soldiers and politicians and officials, and gave us an opportunity that we couldn’t look away from. There was no choice really. We’d been very reckless,” Mal said with some sadness.

  “What happened? Did he blackmail you?”

  Mal’s shoulder moved in half a shrug. “In a way, yes. He was powerful. Very thick with The Way, and he had more undead at his beck and call than we could’ve dealt with, so there was that. He had us dead to rights and a fight with him wasn’t winnable. He offered us a mutually beneficial situation. If we helped him advance his goals and station in the city, he would lead us to who we wanted dead. He gave us what we needed most; eyes and ears inside the workings of The Empire. In the end he proved honorable, and we all came out as winners, as far as we know.”

  “How did necromancy become part of it?” Chelsea asked. Part of her was relieved that this conversation was finally happening, but part of her dreaded what the answers could be. She was beyond stopping it now though.

  “One of the friends of a previous victim went after Umaryn in the city one night. Our ancestors were present that night though; I was nearby. Dram too. We fought them, and we were able to kill them. When one of their bodies reanimated, I was able to instruct it. For some reason I told it to stop, and it did. Dram saw this, and within a minute told me I was gifted in The Way. Of course my gift was necromancy…” this time Mal’s voice was more than just a little sad.

  Chelsea reached over and
wrapped her fingers around Mal’s hand. He sighed and pressed into her. “You didn’t want to learn it did you?” she asked.

  “Oh no. After the initial shock and horror I set my mind to learning it as fast as I could.”

  Chelsea leaned back, shocked. “Seriously?” she asked him loudly.

  “Shhh. And yes, seriously. I realized that as foul a gift as necromancy was, it was still a gift I could put to use, Chel. Have you any idea how much of necromancy revolves around controlling and destroying the undead? Only a fraction of the spells are dedicated to raising the dead, or disease and sickness. Oh I knew very quickly that in a city filled with the dead the ability to dominate them or destroy them outright was a gift indeed. And I’ve been proven right time and again since that night. Lives have been saved because of my ‘gift.’ I still have my shame for what I am, make no mistake. I fear being revealed. People won’t understand what we were going through, and why I did what I did, but I cannot change the past, nor would I. I know this may sound strange to you, but in more ways than one, I’m proud for my choice.”

  “I think I understand what you’re saying,” Chelsea whispered. She leaned back into his chest.

  Mal’s body tensed, coursing with a quiet purpose. “I am doing what I must. I am doing what so few can do, and so many fewer are willing to do. I have taken this gift, this burden, and I’m doing something with that no one else seems to be doing. The shame, the hiding, the living in fear of being outed, all of it. It’s the price I pay for being able to do what I can do.”

  “Duty,” Chelsea offered.

  “Duty.” Mal savored the word. “For family. For those that can’t too, I guess.”

  “That’s something I can really wrap my head around,” Chelsea said, pointing to her finely folded uniform on the bed only a few feet away.

  “Yeah, I bet huh?” Mal posed after kissing her temple. “What made you join the military?”

  Chelsea chuckled. “You met my father right? The wine tastes like the grapes. My father insisted I serve. In truth I was excited. I’ve always been a tough little turd, picking fights with everyone who couldn’t get out of my way fast enough. Kids at my school called me ‘Black Eye Rourke.’ I don’t think you or your sister would’ve liked me when I was growing up.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “I do, I was there. It took the army to teach me humility. Self control. When Marcus posted that he was taking on a squire I leapt at the opportunity. To be a Knight? To take the vows, and follow that code of honor? Such a romantic notion. Plus it meant I could stay in the 2nd. My mother and father are so proud of me. Our family has never had a Knight.”

  “I’m proud too,” Mal said strangely, like they were errant words that jumped out of his mouth and threatened to embarrass him.

  “I like that.”

  The two sat in a strange, heavy silence, both unsure of what to do with the moment, unsure of what to say next. It was as if too much had been said, and neither knew where the space was to add words.

  Chelsea’s courage came first. “I gave you a pretty hard time about you being a necromancer.”

  “You did. But, I understand it. It’s natural to be that way about it. I forgive you.”

  “I think I’d be more comfortable if you were still angry with me,” Chelsea joked. “I’m better with people being pissed at me than I am with people who are…” her courage slipped away and her lips pursed.

  “Who are into you?” Mal supplied.

  “Yeah. That.”

  “You two disgust me,” Umaryn said from the top bunk across the cabin. A moment later two thin pillows bounced off her head.

  “It’s huge. That’s the biggest one I’ve ever seen,” Chelsea said.

  “I hear that a lot,” Mal said back to her.

  “No you don’t,” Umaryn said to her brother.

  James laughed.

  The four travelers awoke to the visage of the Akeel Mountain range, the longest and tallest of all the peaks of the land. Thousands of miles long, the Akeels bisected the continent nearly in half, running east to west. They created the natural southern borders of Duulan and Varrland, and marked the edge of the territory known as The Eastern Wilds. Mal and Umaryn’s parents had forayed into that wild region several times with Alisanne and Weston many years ago when they were the same age as the twin’s were now. Their mother and father had scars as souvenirs.

  The train weaved through gaps in the mountains and hills that had been carved away centuries ago, long before The Fall using lost technology and The Way. Machines with gargantuan souls had somehow etched the stone away, leaving arrow straight walls behind, with uniformly spaced fissures running from top to bottom every few feet. It was a peculiar remnant of the time before the Great Plague’s destruction of their society. The ancient gouges in the hills and mountains spoke to how old these rails were, and for how long the trains had run along them. Taken together, it all was a relic of the past. Umaryn tried to fight away the memory of the unnatural and strange black key-thing that their aunt had hidden away. A different relic that had been the cause for all the death.

  “How long are we in the mountain pass?” James asked Chelsea.

  “I forget exactly. A few hours. No more than half a day I think. There are no stops in the mountains, or at least there weren’t any the last time I came through. Not many people want to risk living here. Too many things in the forests and hills here. Untamed places filled with very untamed things.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong,” James asked, “but isn’t our final destination somewhere in the Akeels?”

  “The good news is you’re right,” Umaryn said humorlessly. “The bad news is, you are right.”

  The white tipped summits of the mountains stood tall and alien, looming above the flatness everyone knew surrounded them. They were like a challenge to the sky, saying; Soon. I’ll be at you soon, and I bring jagged rocks, and such cold with me.

  Malwynn shivered at the sight of it all, and found Chelsea’s hand.

  For a few extra Marks the group was invited to the dining car each night. The value of a few extra hot meals seemed well worth the expenditure. They couldn’t take their money to the afterlife if things went badly in New Falun after all. No sense in hoarding something that could be proven useless in a few day’s time.

  A single stop just before the mouth of the gorge of the Akeels at New Laysara saw a quarter of the train’s refugees get off, and the freed up space meant extra seats and tables at the dinner that night. They’d arrived too late to the service to get a table that sat four, so they split into pairs. Umaryn sat across from James at a table beside a window, and Chelsea and Malwynn sat in the center of the car, just out of earshot. Only James seemed to fit in amongst the semi-elite at the dinner. His Church robes—the color of ivory—were acceptable garb at any event, and everyone all around him seemed pleased the Apostle was present. Chelsea wore her field uniform to the meal, which brought a series of judgmental stares from nearly all the same people. The people who didn’t give her a second glance were likely residents of Farmington, and didn’t care that she wasn’t at the front. The twins only had clothing appropriate for casual wear, or for the wild. They hadn’t prepared for a formal dinner on this trip. Malwynn and Umaryn looked out of place, but on the eve of war, everyone seemed a bit out of sorts.

  “Something is different about them,” James said as a hot plate of food was sat on the table in front of him. It was roasted quail with glazed turnips and carrots. It smelled sweet, savory, and wonderful.

  Umaryn waited for the white-shirted waiter to set her plate down and leave before replying. She watched her brother and Chelsea as they smiled at each other, and leaned in close as two people in love would do. “Yeah. I think they’re realizing that life is too precious for too much hesitation.”

  “Good,” James said as he picked up his fork and knife. “About time.”

  A few minutes later the man and woman stood up and departed the dinner car, their me
als left untouched, still steaming. A waiter came a moment later and brought them to the economy car where the poor rode, as per their instructions. There was little sense in letting the meal go to complete waste.

  “Eat slowly,” Umaryn said to her dinner companion. ‘You’ll make two friends for it.”

  It was hard to tell who pushed who against the wall of the train car passage beside their cabin. The two were aggressive with one another, needy and full of now unrestrained lust. Their bodies entwined as they pressed against the doorframe, mouths locked together, tongues dancing and hands exploring with adult glee. Mal reached into his pocket and produced the small key that would allow them into the cabin, and give them some privacy, and a soft enough bed. He promptly fumbled it to the floor. He sighed, left the key there, and the two continued to kiss.

  “Ahem,” a male voice announced from down the passage.

  Chelsea and Mal froze, turning to see a stately older man with a handlebar mustache standing, half amused and half irritated watching them from ten feet away. They were taking up nearly the whole passage and making quite a scene.

  “We’re sorry,” Chelsea said with a wet, guilty grin as Mal crouched and retrieved the key. He inserted the key and with a deft flick of his wrist unlocked the door. He went around her and entered the cabin with a hop.

  “Don’t be,” the older man said through a laugh. “I’ve been young and in love before. I know how it is. Have fun.”

  Mal wrapped his arm around Chelsea’s shoulder and tugged her inside the stateroom. Chelsea waved at the old man just as Mal shut the door and locked it, pushing the outside world away, leaving just the lovers alone together. Without hesitation they dove into another passionate kiss, Chelsea’s hands unbuttoning Mal’s shirt, and Mal’s hands returning the favor to hers. He caressed her breast for the first time, and they cooed together, smiling into the kiss they shared.