by S. C. Green
“It’s warm in here.” She giggled. “But you’re right, it smells awful.”
I took the pile closest to the wall, hollowing out a hole for myself and stacking the clothing around me as best I could. I wasn’t sure what good hiding would do. Wraith seemed to be able to sense human presence, even if they were hidden from sight. But Alain knew more about wraith than I did. If he said hide in a pile of stinking laundry, then I would hide.
But damnit if I would hide in the dark without knowing what was going on.
I pressed my hand against the wall, and my mind folded back the layer of brick and mortar to the room beyond. It was a large space containing only a few desks pushed together in the centre of the room. Strange diagrams and maps were tacked to the walls. On the other side of the room were three full-length windows, two of them open to the courtyard beyond. I shifted a little to the left, giving myself a clear view outside.
Reapers poured from every entrance to the cloister. There must have been at least fifty black-cloaked men, silently moving into position for something … For what? More black ravens swooped in from above, their disdainful croaks the only sound in the crisp, cold night. Where were the wraith? I couldn’t see any of them, nor hear their unmistakable hissing.
The Reapers gathered in a circle, raising their arms in unison. The ravens who remained unchanged flew around the tops of their hands in a circle, their vicious wings lifting them over the congregation like a cone of power. Something was happening.
“What do you see, Syd?” Diana asked. A coughing fit caught her, and she pressed the corner of a black coat against her mouth to muffle them.
“Hush.” I shifted my grip, splaying my fingers wide to get as big a view as possible.
Energy crackled between the Reapers, sparks flying from the ends of their fingers. The ravens flew faster, drawing out their cry into a terrifying maw. With a roar, a tall fire rose up in the centre of the courtyard. It blasted like a pillar of light high in the air, higher than any natural flame would stretch. Inside the flames, I caught the open-mouthed scream of a wraith as it rose from the cobbles of the courtyard. It scrabbled against the ground, trying to claw its way back beneath, but the fire pulled it up, up, and away, carrying its soul into the sky above, toward the apex of the dome.
This was the same fire energy Alain had used to destroy the wraith who attacked me in the tunnel. Here, with all the Reapers focusing on it, their power was tremendous. The walls shook as the cloister groaned under the strain of their magic.
Diana whimpered. I longed to go to her, but I didn’t dare take my hand off the wall.
As best I could guess, the Mimir—whatever it was—must be underneath the courtyard. The Reapers were drawing up the wraith from that chamber, desperately trying to keep them from their prize. It was the only explanation that made sense. The wraith already had May, but they must have figured the Reapers weren’t going to give up the artefact for anything. Either that, or they were hoping to possess both mystical object and Reaper woman. Either way, they were here, and they were in for a fight.
Another wraith was drawn up from the ground, its hiss of defiance turning into a wretched scream as the flames consumed it. Another came up after him, this one bearing the flash of a red handkerchief wrapped around its neck. Its skeletal hands stretched out from the flames … and found purchase on the rough stone.
Shock rooted me in place as the wraith pulled itself forward. It fitted its fingers between the cracks in the stones and crawled out of the flames. Behind it came another, and another. They all wore the same red bandana, and one of them carried a small wooden box, the edges of which glowed with a beautiful grey-gold light.
The Mimir.
Alain’s vague description of it left me no real clue as to what it did or why the wraith had any use for it, but I knew it was important they not get their hands on it. And yet, the Reapers stood seemingly transfixed, as if unable to do anything to stop these wraith.
How could they pull an object like that—a solid object—through the ground like that?
More wraith flooded from the fire, no longer bound inside it, but tugging themselves free of its flames. Orange fire crept along their skin, ringing them with flaming auras, but it did not slow them down.
And then, as suddenly as the flaming pillar appeared, it died away. I squinted as my eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness. I could just make out more wraith clambering through the cobbles. Their fire-ringed shapes raced toward the Reapers. Open-mouthed, hands reaching, they hissed with hunger.
My heart pounded. Things looked bad. But if the Reapers were panicking, they didn’t show it. Silver flashed under the Reapers’ cloaks, and several particle beams hit the wraith as they charged forward.
Unlike the simulations I’d run, these wraith didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down. One reached a Reaper in the front of the circle and thrust its hands into his black-clad chest. As the wraith twisted its arm around, the Reaper finally made a sound—a scream that barrelled through the locked door of the closet, a sound like the tearing apart of a soul.
The Reaper’s hood fell back, revealing a thin, youthful face twisted in terror. His eyes rolled back, and his skin turned grey. The wraith gasped and hissed as it sucked the life energy from the Reaper’s body. The Reaper raised his hands to fight off the wraith, but all he grabbed was air. More particle beams hit the wraith, but it didn’t even flinch.
Why didn’t their weapons work? How did the wraith fight back that fire?
The other Reapers stepped back as the young man fell to his knees, his mouth open in that horrible scream. His skin contorted, the colour sucked out of it as it shrivelled and dried on his bones, the dust flaking away. The wraith’s face twisted into an evil grin as it drew back its hand, pulling with it the final strings of the man’s life. The Reaper’s eyes glassed over, and his body crumpled to the ground, shrinking into itself and contorting as it became the body of one beautiful but very dead raven.
My breath came out in ragged gasps. It had been years since I’d actually seen a wraith husk a person, and I’d never seen it happen to a Reaper. Watching it twisted my stomach.
“Sydney?” Diana asked. “What’s wrong? What’s happening? You sound frightened.”
“Just stay quiet,” I called back, gulping back my terror. I had to stay calm, for Diana’s sake.
I focused again on the scene in the courtyard. The Reapers moved forward, drawing out swords and other weapons. They hacked and slashed at the wraith, who laughed gleefully as the weapons fell through their translucent bodies.
Cackling their horrid laughs, the wraith leapt toward the wall of the Compound and flew straight through it. The wraith holding the Mimir stood back, glaring at the Reapers as he held the box aloft.
“The Mayor sends his regards,” he hissed through his blackened, parched mouth. Then he, too, disappeared through the wall, taking the Mimir and leaving the Reapers in stunned, stony silence.
A Reaper bent down and picked up the body of their brother. His beak had frozen open in terror, his skin and feathers crumbling away to dust in their fingers. The gaping wound in the bird’s chest was clear evidence of what had happened to him.
“He’s a husk.” That was Dorien’s voice.
“They can’t do that.” I recognised Cory’s voice, high-pitched with fear. “They can’t turn Reapers into husks.”
“Apparently, they can.” One of the men near the body stood and removed his hood. I recognised Dorien as he turned to the gathered Reapers. “We have to face reality. It’s as I have been warning for some time. The wraith have not been idle. Their forays into the city, all the huskings … They have been systematically building up their strength. Now they are no longer content to remain inside the Citadel. Our weapons no longer work against them. And now they have the Mimir, which means they have control over the portal to the underworld, and soon, over us.”
“This is ridiculous,” A figure flew out of the crowd. He pulled his hood down as he leaned over
Dorien. Long, white hair billowed behind him as he boomed, “This has nothing to do with the wraith gaining power. They are beings of energy. They are what they are. They can’t change their state. This disaster happened because the brothers were not in accord. The ritual failed because we weakened it—”
“You mean because not everyone here is in accord with you, Malcolm,” Dorien shot back.
Malcolm’s face reddened. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. I am our Council leader, the governing body of our Order. The Council makes the final decisions, just as they have always done, and they decided how to handle the wraith situation. You had your chance to speak in Council meetings, Dorien, but you are not to take your dissent outside of those walls. This mess is all your fault. This dissent you’re brewing is why men in this order are involved with dark, sordid acts—”
“Dark sordid acts?” Dorien sneered. “You’ve been hearing things, old man. You’re more concerned with idle gossip than the preservation of our Order—”
“It isn’t just gossip.” A deep voice piped up from further back in the crowd. “I’ve been tailing Salvador Dimitri for three weeks, and he told two girls at his brothel they’d been purchased for a Reaper. It’s all over the underground—”
“Do we pay stock in what crime syndicates say now, Lucian?” Dorien fumed. He stalked the length of the courtyard, glaring defiantly into the crowd of Reapers. “This order has always been the height of decorum, and although some among us may indulge in the occasional visit to a house of ill repute, that’s wholly different than the accusation of involvement in the city wide sex market. These rumours are just another method to discredit us so the syndicates can gain control of our weapons and, therefore, the riches of the Hub. Why do you place such stock in gossip? You’re going to chase after shadows and fight amongst yourselves instead of meeting this wraith problem head on?”
Sex trafficking? That must’ve been what Alain was alluding to when he walked me through the cloisters earlier. I knew it went on, of course. You didn’t come of age as a woman in the Rim and not live in fear of being snatched by one of the gangs, to be sold to men with disturbing tastes in the Hub’s suburbs. I was lucky that I had more value as a thief than a whore. But the very idea there were Reapers involved ...
Tension cracked in the air. I could sense it even through the walls and windows of the building. The Reapers were divided. Some agreed with Dorien, and others wanted desperately to believe Malcolm was right, that the solution to their woes lay within their own Order, and was not at the whim of a powerful undead enemy.
“You should listen to Dorien.” That was Alain’s voice.
Murmurs of assent rippled through the crowd.
Alain stepped out of the line of Reapers, his long coat billowing around him as he came to stand beside his friend. He glared at Malcolm, his expression stony. “We can’t ignore this.”
“You.” Malcolm marched up to Alain, his face red with anger. “I’ve heard just about enough from you. If you hadn’t disobeyed me, we wouldn’t have lost Edward tonight—”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Alain’s eyes flashed. “I’ve obeyed the orders of the Council, even though they’ll cause the death of my daughter.”
“It’s no coincidence that you brought a human woman and a sick child here, and now the wraith have taken the Mimir.” Malcolm turned back to the crowd. “She has attracted them here, and now one of our own is dead. But why is this woman here? Perhaps it is Alain who is responsible for the trade in human flesh, and this woman is his latest victim—”
Alain’s hands balled into fists. “Speak again, Malcolm, and I’ll gut you with my bare hands.”
Judging by the raw fury on his face, I suspected he was capable of carrying out that threat.
“Don’t threaten Alain.” Dorien came to stand beside him. He placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “He saw an opportunity, and he took it. That woman could save us.”
Malcolm’s eyes narrowed. “How?”
“She has a power none of us possess. She is the kind written about in our ancient books, an energy worker who can see into the heart of anything. She is also willing to enter the Citadel. She could reclaim the Mimir.”
What? I jumped so high my hand flew off the wall. Like fuck I could. I slammed it back on in time to hear the rest of the conversation.
“—ow do you know this?”
“I’ve watched her,” Alain said. “She has a unique power, as Dorien said. She certainly sounds like the valeda of legend. I believe she will be able to penetrate the Citadel—”
Malcolm’s lip curled back. “Of course. You planned to have this woman go after your daughter, against my explicit instructions.”
“For Odin’s sake, Malcolm,” another voice spoke from the crowd. “What did you expect him to do? His daughter was taken.”
“May is our only hope for survival,” another piped up. “We should never have left her there.”
“We should have gone after May,” Dorien said. “She’s one of our own. She is—”
“You only want her because you were first in line to have her,” someone at the edge of the crowd muttered. “If what Malcolm says is true, there are plenty of whores for you to take your pleasure with—”
Alain pounced into the crowd, his fist raised, ready to do some damage. Dorien hauled him back. The Reapers exploded into chaos, yelling insults at each other, fists swinging, robes flapping and unfurling as they worked out their frustration and fear.
“Enough!” Dorien yelled.
Malcolm was yelling at Alain, while trying to shove Dorien out of the courtyard. Alain tried to yank Malcolm’s arm from around Dorien’s shoulder, and as he did, his elbow swung up and knocked Malcolm’s face. Malcolm reeled, and Alain wound his fist back and punched him in the jaw.
Malcolm skidded back, clutching his bleeding jaw and howling with pain and rage. He tripped over the edge of his robe and sprawled on a heap across the cobbles. The Reapers fell silent. Alain stared down at his clenched fist, his expression stunned.
Malcolm picked himself up, still pressing his hand against the side of his jaw. Blood oozed between his splayed fingers.
“You,” he snarled at Alain, his eyes flashing. “You’ve done this. You’ve created chaos, where we should have unity. I am stripping you of your rank. Yours, too,” he snapped at Dorien. “If you both want to send this human woman on some suicide mission into the Citadel to get the Mimir back, then so be it. But you will have neither our support nor our resources.”
“And what are you going to do?” Dorien sneered back, folding his arms across his chest. “Without the Mimir, we’re helpless against the wraith. We cannot send them to the otherworld, nor can we take any other souls there, either. They’re just going to float around, aimless and distraught.”
“We will do what we have always done,” Malcolm’ said, his voice low and deadly. “We will consult our gods and our auguries and pray for guidance. And we will keep order in the city. An order you have tried to disrupt.”
“Maybe it’s time for us to embrace the chaos instead of hiding from it,” Dorien said, dusting off the front lapels of his coat. “Does any Reaper here agree with me? If so, follow behind me. We will take back what has been stolen!”
Cheers rose up from amongst the Reapers, and several men—at least half in attendance—stepped forward and surrounded Dorien and Alain. I lost sight of them amidst the chanting black cloaks. As one, the gaggle of Reapers swirled and shifted, becoming a dark cloud of wind, then changing, shrinking, growing wings. Ravens soared around the courtyard, croaking with glee as they dived at Malcolm and his cronies, before swooping through the door to the cloister and flying up the stairs.
Malcolm barked at the remaining Reapers to return to their beds. Although his face betrayed no emotion, no hint to how he felt about the coup Dorien was staging, his voice trembled a little as he spoke. Two of his men helped him to his feet, and he limped off in the opposite direction, toward the
second cloister.
I rubbed my hands against my temples, fighting back the headache that throbbed against my skull. What was Dorien thinking, inciting Malcolm’s wrath? Why had I suddenly become the great hope of the Reaper rebellion? As if going into the Citadel was bad enough, now the wraith had this huge weapon, the Reapers were divided, and there was some sort of evil crime going on in their midst.
How had everything got so complicated, so quickly? And why the hell had I walked right in the middle of it?
6
The laundry door creaked open. Alain poked his head inside. “You can come out—”
I flew at him in a rage. Dirty cloaks billowed everywhere as I swung my fist at his face. He easily trapped my wrist. His eyes flashed with concern, but I didn’t care. I roared again and brought my other fist up, managing to graze his shoulder before he trapped that one, too.
“So you heard, then?”
“You bastard,” I spat. “You just changed the rules without consulting me. I never signed up for extracting magical objects or fighting superwraith.”
“Nothing’s changed,” Alain said, his voice tight. “I don’t give a damn about the Mimir. I just want you to help me get May back. Are you saying you won’t do it?”
Why did seeing his face crumble make my chest ache so badly? I barely knew this guy. I’d never met his daughter. I didn’t have to save the Reapers and bring back their stupid orb. I could leave the Compound now with Diana and never look back. Let the Reapers worry about the battle with the wraith. It could be months or years before they were a serious danger in the Rim, and I was pretty good at hiding.
But I couldn’t do that. Alain saved my life back in those tunnels. And besides, I couldn’t walk out on him when he had that hollow, haunted look in his eyes, the look of a man who teetered on the edge of despair. I didn’t want to think about what would happen if I didn’t help him, so instead I channelled my anger at him.
“This is ridiculous,” I yelled. “I don’t see how we’ll even be able to get inside now, even with my sight. The wraith will be expecting us to retaliate. They have this Mimir now, and with it, all the advantage we might have had.”
