Ravencaller

by David Dalglish

  “One last parting bit of wisdom,” he said. “Perhaps I am insane, and your prayers are but empty words that land upon deaf ears. But if your prayers are heard, and the Sisters grant you power like they did for me, then perhaps you should worry about helping all of Londheim instead of just one suffering old man. The 19th Devotion might be a good start. Give it a try, Adria, and if it works, think on why it took so long for you, or anyone within your church, to consider it. Go on then. I look forward to hearing the results.”

  Adria exited the cell and gestured to the guard waiting at the far end of the tunnel. He returned carrying the leather gag, and Tamerlane made no effort to resist.

  “Did you learn a cure?” Thaddeus asked. The cell door clanged shut behind them.

  “No,” she said. “His words twist more than a snake.”

  “I warned you, he is a cunning man lost to the lies of the Ravencallers. If we are to save our Deakon, it won’t be through his aid, I fear.”

  Adria wanted to ask about the deal Tamerlane claimed the Vikar had turned down: a life for a life. Wasn’t their Deakon worth it? And if Thaddeus had refused… was it for the reasons he offered? Did he seek the Deakonship? And if he was considering her as his replacement, did that mean he believed she would help him consolidate his power?

  “I am sorry I could not be of more help,” Adria said. “I will pray on the matter, and if I discover any other ideas to try, I swear I will return.”

  Thaddeus offered her a weary smile.

  “Thank you, Mindkeeper. You’ve already done more than I could ever ask.”

  Adria left the Sisters’ Remembrance hurrying faster and faster until she was practically running. Once she was out of Church District, she found herself an isolated corner by the district wall and slumped against the stone. Sweat dripped down her face. Her breath clung hot to the interior of her mask. Her heart pounded. The thousands upon thousands of souls throughout Londheim surrounded her like a second set of stars, and no matter her attempts, she could not remove the feel of them watching her every action.

  “Lyra of the Beloved Sun, hear my prayer,” she whispered. “Our stomachs groan with hunger. Our hands shake with want. Deliver us that which we need, and may we rejoice in your kindness.”

  Adria was well familiar with the 19th Devotion, for she had prayed it often with the poor and destitute of her district, Low Dock. The meaning had always seemed obvious: Acknowledge your needs to the Sisters and trust that they will care for you and ensure your daily necessities were met, whatever they might be. It didn’t actually mean you hoped the Sisters would appear and deliver bread to appease your hunger. It was symbolic, it was humbling. It wasn’t literal.

  Adria looked down at the small loaf of bread cradled between her palms, warm to the touch and smelling as if freshly pulled from an oven, and knew not whether to laugh or cry.

  CHAPTER 3

  Sweat dripped down Dierk’s neck as he hurried along the winding Low Dock street. He walked with his shoulders hunched and his eyes planted firmly toward his feet. His hands were buried into the pockets of his pale brown coat. He’d bought the cheap thing at the market thinking it an appropriate disguise, but mere minutes inside the destitute district he realized that his definition of “poor” was wildly off.

  You’re too clean, he thought as he veered away from a tired worker carrying a bucket of something on his shoulder. The bearded man glared at him as they passed, or maybe Dierk imagined it. No holes in your clothes, no calluses or scars on your hands. Your coat may be cheap, but it’s still new.

  It didn’t help that he felt incredibly young compared to those who lingered in the streets or made their way to the docks. Young, spoiled, and trespassing into a world where he did not belong.

  Dierk is afraid, Vaesalaum whispered into his mind. Dierk is a coward. Whole city belongs to humans. Do not cower.

  “Easier said than done,” Dierk muttered. The nisse floated just above his left shoulder. It had grown considerably since he’d first found it weeks ago in his family’s cellar, its serpentine body now the length of his forearm. Its soft fur rippled as it flew despite the lack of wind. The air in Low Dock felt stiff and sick. Perhaps it was the proximity to the river and the many shops there. He wouldn’t know. He hadn’t come this far south in Londheim in years… if ever.

  Power breeds confidence, Vaesalaum said. Remember your power.

  “You’re wrong. Confidence breeds power. My father is friends with many powerful people who are completely spineless when challenged.”

  Spineless like your father’s only son?

  Dierk winced at the insult. Damn it, here he was arguing aloud with an invisible creature while walking in a district he knew nothing of. People would likely think him crazy. Then again, being crazy wasn’t as big a deal in a place like Low Dock as it would be in, say, Quiet District. Despite knowing it’d be smarter to answer the nisse in his mind, he whispered and muttered his responses. Mentally talking with the nisse unnerved him, for it made it feel like he had to guard his every thought lest it be seen as a dialogue. It might be an illusion of privacy, but it was an illusion he desperately needed.

  “Are we close?” he asked.

  We are close. Turn left. Follow Vaesalaum.

  Dierk did as he was told. The street was lined with makeshift tents, compressing the already crowded space between houses on either side. The cries of young children grated across his spine. He wished he were in Windswept District, where his family’s mansion was located. One of its many patrolling city guards would have ordered their parents to shush their children or take them elsewhere.

  “Won’t there be a crowd?” Dierk asked, hurriedly glancing away from a tan-skinned man in a hood who smiled at him with teeth whiter and sharper than what seemed natural.

  Vaesalaum cares not for crowds. Seen only when desired. Dierk will be calm. Dierk will remain silent. No human shall be the wiser.

  Dierk could already hear the growing commotion. Tugging on his collar (why did it have to be so damn hot, wasn’t it already autumn?), he hurried after the strange, luminescent being with the paws of a cat and the face of a child. Ever since that first clumsy kill, the nisse had guided him at night to bodies of men and women who’d recently died, be it from hunger, disease, or the hands of another. Each time, their bodies had been left hidden and undisturbed so he could drink of their memories in private.

  This time, though, he did not seek a body to drink of memories. This time, Vaesalaum brought him to witness a body sacrificed at the hands of a Ravencaller.

  The dead man hung above the street, his head tilted backward and his mouth open as if letting out a silent cry to the heavens. Two lengths of rope had been tied to the rooftops and then bound to his wrists to keep him suspended. His clothes had been removed and his head shaved. A single spike pierced through one ankle and out the other to keep the legs together. Across his chest and cutting down to his navel was a giant, gaping triangle exposing ribs, guts, and tissue. Intestines hung like bloody streamers to decorate the street for a particularly macabre holiday.

  Dierk stood at the back of the small crowd, admiring the amount of attention to detail necessary to suspend the body in such a way. The slack on the ropes was just right so the body hung perpendicular to the ground instead of slanted one way or another. The spike pinned the legs together so they did not dangle about. Even the hanging intestines, while seemingly random, were carefully positioned and stitched in place with black thread.

  “Why hang the body in such a way?” he wondered aloud.

  Burial for bodies with a soul. That is Sisters’ decree. Pyre for bodies without. That is Soulkeeper decree. But pyre is not opposite of burial. Give body to the air. That is avenria decree.

  “Who are the avenria?” he asked, careful to keep his words at a barely perceptible whisper. The nisse hadn’t mentioned them since his first appearance, but to refer to this as an “avenria decree” jostled his curiosity.

  Shadow walkers. The first Ravencalle
rs. Avenria guard souls of the dead from abuse. From corruption.

  “From things like you, then?”

  Not nisse. Nisse are gifts. Nisse let grieving humans say good-bye.

  That hardly described what Dierk and Vaesalaum had been doing with the bodies they found. With the nisse’s help he’d plunged through their memories, “reading their pages” as his new friend would call it. Nothing compared to its rush. Dierk felt like he was being told a story, sometimes mundane, sometimes exciting, but he experienced every sensation, felt every emotion as he peered through a dead man or woman’s entire life. He was even starting to learn how to control it himself instead of relying on Vaesalaum to guide him to specific memories.

  “That’s it, back up, all of you,” a gruff man shouted. The small crowd parted as two city guards pushed through to the space below the hanging body. One let out a loud curse, then ordered the other to enter the home on the right.

  “Why did you want me to see this?” Dierk asked as he slumped against a building, shrinking into himself to make his body as small as possible.

  There are more like you, Dierk. More seeking truth. Find them. Become one with them. Ravencallers will guide humans to their new place in the awakened world.

  The other guard emerged from the waist up at a window on the upper floor. A few hacks with his sword cut the rope holding the body aloft. It immediately swung low, its momentum carrying it to the wall of the home on the other side. It struck with a wet splatter, internal organs dumping out across the dirt. The first guard swore up a storm and again shouted for the crowd to disperse.

  Dierk wandered away with the rest. He tugged on the hood of his coat, wishing it would stretch even lower over his face.

  “And what is our new place?” he asked the nisse.

  Not yet. You must learn. Keep learning. Wisdom comes with time.

  Dierk had plenty of experience with evasive non-answers, given his father’s occupation in politics, and he easily detected another from the nisse. He decided to let the matter drop. There would be no forcing answers out of Vaesalaum. The nisse held all the cards in their relationship.

  There were two exits out of Low Dock, and though the nearest led away from his mansion, Dierk hurried to it anyway. He wanted out of the crowded, somber district as fast as possible, even if it meant a longer walk back home. His “disguise” made him feel more noticeable, not less, at least here in the poorest parts of Londheim. He kept his head down, his arms crossed, and hurried through the streets. He slowed only when he heard the sounds of a crowd, but unlike before, these noises were loud and jovial.

  “What leads that way?” he asked Vaesalaum at a junction. Down the other road he could hear people shouting, laughing, some even singing. It had the air of a festival in a district normally bathed in quiet struggle.

  Somewhere Dierk should not go.

  The refusal to answer, as well as the insistence not to go, was enough to convince Dierk to take a brief detour. He could sense the nisse’s disapproval like a bad smell lingering around his head. Dierk relished it. Too often the strange creature commanded every aspect of his life. It was refreshing to do something against its wishes, no matter how simple and petty.

  At least eighty people, maybe more, crowded around the small church. It took him a moment, but he realized they formed a haphazard line leading to the church’s stairs. A dark-skinned Faithkeeper with a shaved head stood at the top, two younger novices at her side holding baskets. Distributing food, from what he could tell. That explained the commotion. The price of bread had doubled since the black water’s arrival, and from what discussions he’d overheard at his house, it was expected to double again by the time winter was in full swing. Who wouldn’t be excited by a free meal?

  Foolish human, Vaesalaum whispered, an uncomfortable reminder that it permanently haunted his mind. Look closer.

  Dierk wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be seeing, but he watched as directed. After a minute the Faithkeeper stopped helping the little ones distribute loaves of bread and instead closed her eyes and rested a hand above each basket. She was praying, he decided, based on the movement of her lips. He knew that Faithkeepers often prayed a blessing over meals, particularly during large gatherings, but what was the point of praying over empty baskets?

  He blinked, and the baskets weren’t empty anymore. Steam rose off loaves of bread piled so high they were in danger of spilling out across the steps of the church. A hush went through the crowd, followed by gasps and cheers. Some were even crying.

  “Miracles,” Dierk whispered. “The—the servants of the Goddesses perform miracles.”

  As they have for weeks. Are Dierk’s eyes still so closed to the world?

  He’d heard some stories of healing, yes, but all of Londheim was awash with the most ridiculous of rumors. It took just one loon insisting they saw, say, talking birds or man-eating mushrooms and the rumor would sweep through the city for a day or two before being replaced by the next asinine claim. Dierk had assumed the rumors of the church keepers healing the wounded just one more false claim, perhaps meant to inspire trust in the organization during these troubling times.

  “But—but the Book of Ravens, it insists the Sisters are foolish, conceited, even liars. They don’t care for us. For truth, I didn’t… I didn’t really think the Sisters even existed.”

  Does the book ever deny their power? Does the book ever claim them to not exist? We slumbered. Sisters slumbered. The jailer and prisoner manacled in the same cell. We awaken. Sisters awaken. Dierk must learn to accept the miraculous as commonplace, or Dierk will never reach true power.

  It was the harshest Vaesalaum had talked to him since first appearing. Dierk winced at the words. They made him feel small and stupid, nothing but a dumb child needing to learn his place. It reminded him of cowering before his father, and he instinctively crossed his arms and looked to the ground.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  Human apologizes. Vaesalaum does not want apology. Vaesalaum wants its pupil to learn. Return home. Nothing for Dierk here.

  But Dierk’s curiosity was much too aflame to leave now. He wanted to see the miracle again, and he started worming his way through the crowd toward the front. Men, women, and children ate all around him, commenting and making comparisons. Apparently no one could quite agree on how the bread tasted. As he closed the distance, he heard sudden, loud sobs unbefitting the overall jovial atmosphere. Dierk turned their direction, and it was then he saw the celestial being.

  Her long dark hair spilled down either side of her porcelain mask and curled about her shoulders. Her skin was as pale and perfect as the white half of her mask. Her brown eyes were the color of the stained wood that made up every piece of furniture in Dierk’s family mansion. With the rest of her face hidden by her Faithkeeper mask, and the flow of her body buried beneath thick gray robes, she was an unseen mystery, but for Dierk, that didn’t matter in the slightest.

  He didn’t need to see her physical body. He could see her soul.

  It shined like a diamond behind her mask, swirling with white fire within the prison of her skull. Dierk had seen souls before, but none like this, and none while the host was alive. It pulsed with life. It cast a shadow across all else in his vision, making colors seem drab and the skin of people’s bodies vaguely translucent. A separate line spread out before her, filled with dozens of sick and wounded people of Londheim. This miracle woman knelt over a young girl at the front of the line. Her skin was pale, her body weak with consumption. The Faithkeeper’s hands pressed against either side of this girl’s face, as if preparing for a kiss. The light of her soul flared, so beautiful, so terrible, that Dierk lifted an arm and squinted as if that would do anything. It swirled like a storm, little tendrils shooting through her bones to exit out her fingertips.

  The girl’s body jolted with life. A single, rapturous cry erupted from her dry throat. The family with her sobbed and worshipped in equal measure. Dierk felt tears run down his face. Was it the be
auty he witnessed, or the light stinging his eyes? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. His awe was overwhelming. Who was this woman who possessed a soul unlike any other in all the Cradle, and who healed flesh with a kiss and a prayer?

  Dierk grabbed the arm of the nearest man and pointed.

  “Who is that?” he asked.

  “Mindkeeper Adria,” was his reply. “Some say she’s the Sacred Mother reborn, others say Lyra made flesh.”

  Dierk released his grip, and he did not bother to thank him for the answer. In his world there was himself, Vaesalaum, and Adria. All else were bothersome statues clogging up his way toward her.

  “How can I see it?” he asked Vaesalaum. “Her soul. It’s—it’s blinding.”

  Dierk’s eyes change with contact with nisse. Improve. Evolve. She is the Chainbreaker. The dragons chose her to lead humans to a new way. A way free of the Sisters. You see gifted power.

  Another family approached Adria for healing, and Dierk pushed and shoved his way forward, ignoring the angry remarks he elicited from the gathered throng. He had to see. He had to bear witness to her next wonder. Adria bent toward a sick child, from what Dierk could see, maybe six or seven years old. His skin was pale as milk, his gaze listless, and his body shivering from fever. Adria put her hands upon his face, and this time Dierk watched with utter fascination as little tendrils of the woman’s soul wound through her body to her fingertips. They pulsed with life. They burned with light.

  “Her power,” Dierk whispered in awe. “It’s like mine. She—she’s like me.”

  Not alike, Vaesalaum spoke. Ravencallers harvest souls of the dead. Swindle their power. Chainbreaker wields souls. Commands them. She is queen, and souls her subjects. You are a peasant compared to her.

  It didn’t matter. Their difference in power might be vast, but it was the same power. He and Adria, they were connected, two practitioners of magics long thought impossible. His feet moved of their own accord. The urge to speak with her overwhelmed his stomach’s nervous protests. Before he even knew it, he stood at the head of the line, mere feet away from this crystalline beauty. Adria’s eyes fell upon him. Her head tilted slightly to one side.