City of Storms

by Kat Ross

  “I am happy to see you eating again,” he remarked. “You must get your strength back.” He gestured with the cigarette. “It is not the madness that kills us, it is the captivity.”

  Mikhail lifted the wooden-handled kettle, pouring out two cups. He was still too thin and he slept in a tight ball with the blanket covering his head. He didn’t like being outside the walls of the Batavia Institute, but Lezarius hoped he would get used to it in time.

  They sat on logs arranged near the fire. Lezarius blew on his tea and watched the sun sink behind blue-gray hills. The only way across the Traiana River ran through the Fort of Saint Ludolf, so they had been forced to veer northwest into the rolling fields and sparse woodlands bordering the southern reaches of the Morho Sarpanitum. Lezarius was a geographer by training and knew the continent well. In another day or two, the river would grow shallow enough to ford. The route took them uncomfortably close to Bal Kirith, but there was no other way.

  The cat used its claws to escape from Mikhail’s shirt and leapt down with an arched back to prowl around the campsite. The knight’s gaze followed until he was satisfied that it stayed away from the fire, then he began to sharpen his sword with a whetstone. Lezarius had been observing him closely but saw no sign of Mark sickness. It was peculiar because he had heard Feizah say she held twelve of Mikhail’s Marks and Feizah had been dead for three days now. Mikhail should be in the final stages of ley poisoning, seeing terrible visions, his organs rupturing like so much overripe fruit, yet he appeared the same as ever.

  The only explanation was that the Inverted Nightmark was protecting him. It was entirely possible. The combination of an Inverted Nightmark with a dozen Holy Marks was so rare as to be unheard of. In such cases, Lezarius suspected the outcome would depend on the individual. Mikhail Bryce was a priest of the Via Sancta. Lezarius sometimes eavesdropped when the brother came to visit and he knew Mikhail had been a forceful and formidable man, devoted to his beliefs. The Nightmark had undoubtedly corrupted him and its reversal left him mute and nearly catatonic save for their occasional chess matches. But the events at the Institute, the surge of the ley and breaking of the Wards, had awoken someone else. Not Captain Mikhail Semyon Bryce and not Patient 26, either. This was someone new.

  At the Pontifex’s Palace, he’d been a tornado of death, killing with no remorse or hesitation. If Mikhail had been militant before, now he was a fanatic, and Lezarius, having recruited him, was responsible for keeping him in line. Beneath the stony exterior lurked a worrisome fragility. Strike Mikhail in exactly the right place and his psyche might shatter into a thousand pieces.

  “I know you were betrayed,” Lezarius said quietly.

  The rasping of the whetstone paused. Mikhail did not look up, but he was listening.

  “I don’t know who it was, or how you came to be Marked by a nihilim, but that is all in the past. I was betrayed, too. Betrayed by those I trusted the most. I remember little besides my own name, but it must be so. Yes, I see from your face that you know what I’m talking about.” He drew deeply on the cigarette, then fell into a minor coughing fit. Mikhail laid the sword aside and handed him a cup of tea. Lezarius took a sip. The tightness in his chest eased.

  “There is a great darkness on the horizon, Mikhail. As the nihilim say, night is falling. It is falling on the Via Sancta, on all we have built. This long night begins in the north, but make no mistake, it will work its way southward until it covers the land.” He took a last drag from the Keef and tossed the twist of paper into the flames. “You might be thinking I’m mad, what do I know, but it is all true.”

  Mikhail touched the Raven Mark on his neck.

  “Ah, you believe me, that is good. So the next question is, what can we do about it? Two escaped lunatics and a cat.” He smiled. “I am suddenly rather hungry, Mikhail, can you find something sweet in your pack?”

  Lezarius watched the reflection of the clouds moving across the lake for a while. Then he heard the rustle of foil. Mikhail gave him a chocolate bar. He took a bite. It tasted extraordinary.

  “What was I saying?”

  Mikhail pointed to the west, where the first stars were coming out. Lezarius stared at him, puzzled, then broke into a gap-toothed grin. “Darkness, yes. It has already gained a stronghold in Jalghuth. If they deposed me and locked me in an institution, it is safe to assume their intentions are not benign. But all is not lost. Not yet. There is still a chance. I must ask you to do something for me, Mikhail. I want you to become a soldier again. I cannot do this alone.”

  His companion’s dark brows drew together.

  “I know it is a great deal to ask. Everything was taken from you, the last time you trusted. But I am not like them. I will never betray you. I want only light and law. Lux et lex. That has always been my motto, Mikhail. Light and law. I am a martyr now. So are you. We have sacrificed, yes? We have paid the price for our convictions. Over and over, we have paid it. They buried us, but we are not dead yet, are we? Together, we climbed out of the grave.” His mouth quirked in a humorless smile. “And won’t they be surprised when they see us again?”

  Something sparked in Mikhail’s gaze. Very slowly and deliberately, he touched the Raven Mark again.

  “Give me your sword,” Lezarius said.

  With ritual grace, Mikhail offered it to him, hilt first. Then he sank to one knee in the sandy soil at the edge of the water, head bowed. Lezarius took up the blade and tapped him once on each shoulder.

  “You are the first knight of the Order of Saint Lezarius,” he said. “The Order of the Invertido. Rise and be reborn.”

  Mikhail climbed to his feet. He was tall and fierce, yet there was also a childlike innocence about him that touched Lezarius’s heart.

  “We will make our way to Kvengard,” he said solemnly. “Saints willing, we will find sanctuary there, and perhaps some answers. But since we are comrades now, there is something else I must tell you. Something no one knows. The Pontifex Balaur . . . he is not dead.”

  The knight stared at him, shock in his azure eyes.

  “I know what you were told. It is what the world believes. That Balaur was executed for his crimes.” Lezarius swallowed. His voice was barely a whisper. “After all the death, the destruction, I could stomach no more. I tried to be merciful. But I think I made a very bad mistake, Mikhail. I am afraid—”

  A long, wavering howl broke the silence. A moment later, the unified baying of a pack came from the south. The Markhounds were still far off, but they would close the distance fast. Mikhail leapt into action, kicking the fire and scattering the embers, while Lezarius found the kitten. It was in the midst of stalking a grasshopper and mewed in protest. He pressed trembling lips to its head and placed it in the shoebox, which Mikhail had pierced with air holes. They quickly gathered their belongings. Mikhail slung the duffel bag across his shoulders and belted on the sword.

  It was not the first pack to find them, and Lezarius doubted it would be the last. The conspiracy against him was vast. He wondered if he could trust anyone besides Mikhail, if the poison had already spread too far and they were all doomed. It was a terrifying thought.

  The dogs howled again. The sound grew louder until Lezarius pressed his hands to his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force it down, but his Inverted Marks flared with ley and he knew there was no stopping it.

  Wind shrieked around a tower so high it pierced the heavy, roiling clouds. Through ragged shreds of mist, snow-wreathed mountains marched into the distance. His white robes whipped around him. He stood on an ice-slick stone platform, his back to the chasm beyond. Ahead were two cloaked figures, eyes burning from the depths of their hoods. He heard laughter, colder than the glacial wind that flayed the exposed skin of his face and hands, and the figures advanced, driving him backwards to the very edge. Wards shone along the octagonal walls of the tower, but they were not the blue of the surface ley, the pure blue of the Flame of the North, no, these flickered with a sickly red light that weakened his knees.
Betrayed!

  Lezarius screamed as a steel net closed around him, snaring his limbs so he couldn’t move, but then the starry sky returned overhead and he realized it was only Mikhail carrying him from the clearing.

  It had happened the first time with Doctor Massot. In his panic, he’d broken several of the Wards before the doctor jabbed him with a needle. Massot never brought him back to the little examining room after that, but the vision had returned several more times. At first he thought it was a waking nightmare induced by the Sublimin, but now Lezarius suspected it was a true memory.

  “I can walk,” he managed. “We will never outrun them if you must bear me in your arms the whole way.”

  Mikhail frowned down at him.

  “I promise, I am well now. It was just a spell.”

  The knight set him on his feet. He cast a worried glance to the south. The hounds had gone quiet. If they were like the last pack, they would not utter another sound until they materialized like smoky shadows beneath the trees.

  Lezarius clutched the shoebox with his little black cat. Mikhail had saved them before, but it was a close thing. They’d been walking for three days, pausing only to eat and snatch a few hours of sleep. The knight might have the strength to fend off the dogs once again, but he might not. And Lezarius could see it had pained him deeply to kill the creatures. They hunted at their masters’ command, but they were not the true enemies.

  Lezarius dropped down, ignoring the ache in his knees, and pressed a palm to the earth. There was very little ley left in the Void, but he found enough to push their trail a few kilometers west. It would not fool the Markhounds forever, but it would buy a little time.

  The effort cost him dearly, but Lezarius hid his weariness. He stood and patted Mikhail’s shoulder. “Let us make haste to the Traiana,” he said. “Fate will find a way across, my friend.”

  Mikhail nodded. His blue eyes were resigned, the look of a soldier who had seen many tours of duty. He would live or he would die, but either way he would go down fighting. Lezarius wiggled a finger in front of one of the holes in the shoebox. A paw playfully batted out. He touched it, then tucked the box under his arm.

  A pale crescent moon rose over the lake as the two men set off for the heart of the Morho.

  Afterword

  I’m planning six books for the Nightmarked series (and quite possibly more, since I’m growing attached to the motley cast of characters). Sign up for my newsletter so you don’t miss the next installment, City of Wolves!

  You’ll get monthly news about sales and exclusive freebies, like a copy of The Thirteenth Gate from my Gaslamp Gothic series. Probably some cat pictures, as well.

  If you like playlists, you can find one for City of Storms here. I listened to it about a thousand times while writing, especially Bad Blood by B.R.M.C., which describes Alexei’s conflicts so perfectly. There are also larger versions of the maps on my website. I’m a fantasy map junkie, so you can expect more to come of the other cities in the Curia and the realm of Dur-Athaara.

  In the meantime . . . Cave ab homine unius libri.

  Beware of anyone who has just one book.

  Cheers, Kat

  A GLOSSARY

  Of people, places and things

  Alexei Vladimir Bryce. A priest with the Interfectorem and former knight of Saint Jule. Suffers from severe insomnia. Marks include the Two Towers, the Maiden and the Armored Wasp. Enjoyed a successful law career before joining the Beatus Lacqueo. Wears a midnight blue ankle-length cassock with an inverted trident on the breast.

  * * *

  Alice. A Markhound and loyal friend to Alexei. Has a scar on her haunch from Beleth and harbors a special hatred for nihilim.

  * * *

  Arx. The inner citadels of the Via Sancta, they’re akin to small cities and sit atop deep, churning pools of ley power. The Arxes in the two rebel cities were largely spared by the Curia’s bombing campaigns, but they’ve fallen into ruin. Now the walls of the citadels in Nantwich, Novostopol, Jalghuth and Kvengard are Warded against anyone steeped in the use of abyssal ley, i.e., nihilim.

  * * *

  Bal Agnar. Situated in the northern reaches of the Morho Sarpanitum, amid the foothills of the saw-toothed Torquemite Range, the city was abandoned after Balaur’s defeat. Emblem is the Black Sun, a circle with twelve jagged rays.

  * * *

  Bal Kirith. Twin city to Bal Agnar, located in the central Morho on the Ascalon River. Its emblem is a Broken Chain symbolizing free will, although slavery and abuses were rampant. Before the war, the city was controlled by a small, vicious oligarchy with the blessing of the Church, led by Beleth.

  * * *

  Beatus Laqueo. A specialized Order of the Knights of Saint Jule whose name means Holy Noose in the old tongue. Notorious for using extreme tactics against the mages. Motto is Foras admonitio. Without warning.

  * * *

  Beleth. Malach’s aunt and the former pontifex of Bal Kirith. Fond of wigs, powder and decadent parties, she’s spent the last three decades writing books of poetry and philosophy that are banned throughout the Curia, as well as a manifesto on the Via Libertas, a counter ideology to the Via Sancta that embraces the Shadow Side as inevitable and argues for social Darwinism in its purest form. Despite Beleth’s eccentricities, she’s cunning and formidable with a sword. Dotes on Malach, whom she raised as her own.

  * * *

  Balaur. The former pontifex of Bal Agnar. His sign is the Black Sun. Believed dead since the war, he still has secret followers in every city.

  * * *

  Cartomancy. Divination using cards. Kasia uses it to foretell the future with oracle decks made by her best friend, Natalya Anderle. In Novostopol, it’s fairly lighthearted entertainment, often done at parties, but also for certain wealthy men and women who are devotees of the occult.

  * * *

  Casimir Kireyev. The archbishop of Novostopol, head of the Office of the General Directorate. Widely believed to be the Pontifex’s spymaster. Gnomelike and bespectacled, he is one of the most feared men in the Church.

  * * *

  Clavis. The Pontifex of the Eastern Curia in Nantwich. The youngest ever to wear the ring, Clavis’s special powers encompass doors, boundaries, and crossroads. A keeper of knowledge and technology from the past.

  * * *

  Corax. The word for raven in the old tongue. Symbolizes Fate’s Messenger, a bridge between the material and spiritual realms. In common parlance, coraxes are copper coins given to knights in the field and used to identify bodies burned or mutilated beyond recognition. One side is engraved with the owner’s name, while the other side indicates the Order within the Curia.

  * * *

  Dantarion. A bishop of Bal Kirith, she is Malach’s cousin and daughter of Balaur and Beleth.

  * * *

  Dark Age (second). A cataclysmic period a thousand years before in which the world devolved into violent anarchy. Led to the founding of the Via Sancta and the abolition of most technology.

  * * *

  Dmitry Falke. A cardinal of Novostopol and member of the liberal Neoteric faction of the Church. Patron of Natalya Anderle and close associate of Archbishop Kireyev. He led the knights of Saint Jule to victory against the Nightmages and defeated Balaur in single combat, severing three of his fingers. Balaur’s signet ring is now encased in a glass paperweight on Falke’s desk.

  * * *

  Dur-Athaara. Capital city of the island of Tenethe, part of the witches’ realm across the sea in the far east.

  * * *

  Feizah. The Pontifex of the Eastern Curia in Novostopol. A Conservative with the power to exhale wind and fog. Also called Feizah the Bold.

  * * *

  Ferran Massot. The chief doctor at the Batavia Institute. Marked by Malach. Conducted illicit experiments on his patients, in the course of which he discovered Patient 9’s true identity.

  * * *

  Interfectorem. The Order tasked with hunting and detaining Invertido. Emblem is
an inverted trident. The name means murder in the old tongue.

  * * *

  Invertido. Unfortunates whose Marks suddenly reverse, causing insanity. Symptoms include narcissism, paranoia, lack of remorse and severely impaired empathy. A genetic component is suspected as it often runs in families, although the condition can be deliberately inflicted using abyssal ley. Generally believed to be incurable.

  * * *

  Jalghuth. The capital of the Northern Curia, it’s located in the far north, in the shadow of the Torquemites. Surrounded by glacial fields with hundreds of stelae to repel nihilim. Its emblem is the Blue Flame. Motto is Lux et lex, Light and law.

  * * *

  Kasia Novak. A cartomancer with a rare ability to work the ley through her tarot deck. Classified as a sociopath by the Curia, although she adheres to her own moral code and doesn’t always act selfishly.

  * * *

  Kvengard. The capital of the Southern Curia, it sits on a rocky, windswept peninsula between the Northern and Southern Oceans. Emblem is the Wolf, often depicted running in profile.

  * * *

  Ley. Psychoactive power that upwells from the core of the planet. Neither good nor evil, it’s altered by interaction with the mind. Divided into three currents that correspond with the layers of consciousness: surface (blue), liminal (violet) and abyssal (red). These opposing currents flow in counterpoint to each other. The ley itself can become corrupted when thousands of people behave in selfish, wicked ways. Twice a year, it floods the artificial grid of stelae, temporarily bringing ley to the Void.