Ravencaller

by David Dalglish

  “So have I missed anything since I was knocked out of commission?” Lyssa asked.

  “Things have gotten… strange over the last few days,” Devin said. His fingers brushed the small pouch tied to his belt, and the three unique flamestones within. Knowing they were there eased his nerves. “I can’t explain it, but it seems the day-to-day stress of living under these conditions is wearing people down. Been finding more and more people wandering about at night despite the curfew. Their behavior is erratic, on edge. Wish I could describe it better, but I know I don’t like it.”

  “It was bound to happen,” Lyssa said. “Having a giant mountain crawl to your city’s doorstep will lead to a few mental breakdowns.”

  Devin hoped it was that simple. Truth be told, he was glad to have Lyssa with him. The previous night had been the worst so far, with over twenty people ignoring the curfew and resisting when he tried forcing them back inside.

  An hour passed in relative peace. Only once did they spot a giant owl. Thankfully it circled twice and then continued on. Devin prayed for Lyra to show mercy to whoever the creature might pick as its eventual target. Owl attacks had grown rarer as patrols had grown in strength and number, but in a city so large as Londheim, there were always people foolish enough to brave the night.

  “Hear that?” Lyssa asked halfway through the second hour. Devin shook his head. “Follow me, then.”

  They cut through an alleyway shielded from the sky by sheets and tarps, and stepped out the other side. A woman knelt in the middle of the street, her back hunched and her head bowed low. A sound like a low sob pulsed from her throat. Devin approached, looking to comfort her, but his insides twisted in fear. Some instinct inside him screamed warning, and he paused to reassess. It took only a second to discover why. Blood. It darkened the hem of her plain dress, and little rivulets of it trickled to the street on either side of her.

  Devin drew his sword from its sheath.

  “Miss?” he said. “Are you all right?”

  Her head twisted. The sob, he realized. It wasn’t a sob at all. It was a guttural moan of pleasure. Blood caked her face and neck. Her long dark hair hung in thick wet clumps. Her bloodshot eyes widened at the sight of him. She smiled, flashing teeth dripping with gore.

  “Not fine,” the woman said. Her voice was rapid, and clipped. “Still hungry. Always hungry.”

  Her body twitched, and she was on her feet. Devin never saw the upward motion. It was as if she rematerialized in that new position. Her bloodied hands held what had once been a cat, before its body had been ripped open and its fur peeled away. Devin watched with paralyzing horror as she brought the body to her lips. She crunched pieces of bone between her teeth, shivering with joy at every crack.

  “Anwyn spare us,” Lyssa said. She raised her pistols. “What new monster is this?”

  “Monster?” the woman asked. She took a step, slow and unsteady, but her next was so fast her body was a blur to Devin’s highly trained eyes. The cat corpse slipped from her fingers and landed upon the stone with a wet plop. “Where? Protect me, Soulkeepers. Protect me from the monsters!”

  She was laughing, laughing even as tears fell from her eyes.

  “I’m so tired,” she said. “So tired, and so… damn… hungry!”

  The woman lunged at Devin with the speed of a panther on the hunt. A sound like thunder boomed through the street, echoed by another less than a second later. The woman froze in front of Devin, one hand grabbing the front of his coat, the other clasping at his trachea. He hadn’t seen her cross those final few feet. One moment she had been before him, the next, she reappeared with her hands upon him. Her entire body shuddered. A giant hole in her forehead gushed blood and fluid, and a matching one in her chest did likewise.

  She crumpled at his feet, her eyes locked open in surprise. The feel of her wet fingers sliding free of his throat would haunt his nightmares for weeks to come.

  “What was that?” Lyssa asked, smoke rising from the barrels of her pistols. Her entire form was as still as a statue. “What—the fuck—was that?”

  Devin pulled a handkerchief from his shirt pocket and wiped away the warm blood on his neck. His mind reeled, and he felt his hands shaking. Had to regain his composure. Had to remain calm. After sheathing his sword, he knelt at the body and examined it with as much indifference as he could muster.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “But I think she was human.”

  Her blood was dark and red, not blue like several magical creatures they’d fought and killed. A rudimentary scan of her body showed no abnormalities. It could still be a creature disguised as a human, he supposed, but so far as he could tell, there was no evidence of that beyond paranoia.

  “That’s bullshit,” Lyssa said. “No human acts like that. No human moves like that. She wasn’t just running, Devin. She was… flickering.”

  A distant scream pulled him back to his feet. Lyssa reloaded her pistols and gestured the direction it came from.

  “Another?” she asked, voicing Devin’s mirrored fear.

  “Pray not,” he said. He loaded flamestone and lead into his pistol. “I’ll lead. Save your shots for whatever I can’t handle with my sword.”

  Together they sprinted down the narrow street, urged on by a second scream that choked to a sudden halt. At the turn of the corner he paused, and he was glad he did. A group of five ravenous beings clustered around the body of an elderly woman, ripping and gulping down pieces as fast as their dull human fingers allowed. The door to the nearby home was broken open, and a trail of blood led from it to the center of the street, where the poor woman had been dragged out to her death. That the cannibals were working together only heightened Devin’s already growing horror.

  Devin flashed a hand signal to Lyssa, ordering her to fall back and remain silent. It was time to try something new. His hand slipped inside the secondary bag of flamestones. These were the magically altered stones Tommy had given him prior to his patrol. Spellstones, Tommy called them. He pulled the hammerlock back, slid the spellstone into the chamber, and cocked it all the way. There was no need to insert a lead shot. The spellstone was all he needed.

  “Hope you knew what you were doing,” Devin whispered. He stepped around the corner, aimed straight into the heart of the five, and pulled the trigger.

  The pistol rocked backward in his hand with abnormal recoil. A glowing red dot crossed the distance so rapidly, it seemed a singular line, and then it connected with the shredded corpse. The spell detonated in a roaring explosion of flame that swirled upward like a spontaneously formed tornado. The five cannibals shrieked before the fire stole the breath from their lungs and charred their flesh down to the bone.

  “Damn,” Devin said, in awe of the damage. “You went all out on that one, Tommy.”

  He turned to find Lyssa staring at him with her mouth hanging open.

  “How in blazes did you do that?” she asked.

  “Magic,” he said.

  Her head tilted to one side, the gears within catching and grinding as she tried to process what she’d seen and heard.

  “Later,” she said, snapping out of it. “When this is over, you owe me an explanation, maybe even two or three. Got it?”

  Before he could answer, the heavy toll of a bell sounded from a quarter mile to the west. It was a warning to the citizens to stay indoors, as well as a call to arms for any and all city guards. Other districts soon answered. Devin tried to take comfort in knowing the patrols would keep people safe. That comfort paled with each additional bell. This curse wasn’t localized in Low Dock, or even just the southern portions. Every single district had been struck by the ravenous cannibals.

  “Let’s keep on the move,” Devin said. He began the process of loading a regular flamestone and shot into his pistol. “It sounds like the whole city is in under attack.”

  “Keep your ears peeled for screams, then,” Lyssa said. “And pray we arrive in time.”

  It did not take long for another cry to p
ierce the night. The two Soulkeepers dashed toward it. A mere block over they found two crazed cannibals beating on the door of a bakery, and when it failed to open, one of them moved to the window and flung himself through with no regard to the shattering glass that cut into his flesh. Devin readied his sword, but before he charged, he heard the woman’s scream that had pulled them this direction coming from the opposite end of the street.

  “Go,” Lyssa said. “I’ll take these two.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She winked at him as she lifted her pistols.

  “Two targets, two shots. I’ll be fine.”

  Devin sprinted in the opposite direction, offering no other protest. Lyssa was deadly accurate with her pistols, and could reload her pair faster than most could load a single flamestone and shot. He only feared what might happen if there were more lurking nearby. Granted, he was the one running blind, perhaps he should fear for himself…

  Two more screams guided him onward to an alley, and he dashed in with pistol and sword raised. The sight within rooted his feet in place and left his jaw hanging.

  The screams came not from another innocent victim, but from the ravenous cannibals themselves. A whirlwind of shadow and steel blazed through them. Blood exploded in showers from their bodies and fell upon the stone like rain. A lone woman danced around their eager hands and teeth, outnumbered five to one, yet not once did Devin feel she was in danger. One after another they fell, until the last ravenous collapsed, a long spike of steel driven through his forehead. The battle over, Devin got his first good look at the woman he thought he’d come to save.

  A thick, downward-pointed beak covered much of her face, the blackish silver coloring reminding him of a raven. A thick hood hung over her face, its shadows unnaturally deep so that only the beak and her silver-blue eyes were visible underneath. She wore dark gray trousers and a gray shirt with long, buttoned sleeves. Every part of her bore some flicker of silver, either the buckles at her waist, on the tops of her tall black boots, or most striking of all, as ornaments over the fingers of her gloves, giving a distinct impression of sharpened claws.

  No part of her clothing was as striking as the wings that stretched from her upper back. They were as tall as her, long and black, and though they bore distinct raven feathers near the top, by the bottom of the wings they dissolved into a shadowy smoke-like substance that hid much of her lower body. The front of the wings folded around and over her shoulders until they touched, and the flowing feathers and shadow gave a distinct impression of a heavy cloak.

  The woman put her heel on the dead man’s skull and held it in place so she could yank the blade of her sickle out. It slid free with a sickening slurp. She wielded two such sickles, the handles made of wood and bearing dozens of chips and scars. The blades themselves were nearly as long as the handles, and though they were clearly sharpened to a vicious edge, they bore just as many signs of wear and tear along the steel. Everything about her bore that feel, Devin realized, from her clothes to her weapons. Not old, exactly, but experienced. Weathered.

  “Have you come to rescue me?” she asked. Her beak did not move to produce words, giving it a masklike presence, but he felt certain it was real. Only her throat flexed to produce the sounds, deep and calm. “I appreciate the concern, but I can quite take care of myself.”

  “So it seems,” Devin said. “I am Devin Eveson, Soulkeeper of the three Sisters. Might I have the name of one so skilled?”

  Her eyes narrowed. From a smile, he wondered, or from distrust?

  “Evelyn,” she said. “These men and women you see before you have lost themselves to a poison of our making. I will do my best to solve the crisis, but until then, I would recommend you humans locking your doors and boarding up your windows anytime the sun goes down. Oh, and if someone shows signs of insomnia, separate them. You can’t risk a killer hiding in your own home.”

  Her wings spread out, tips touching from wall to wall of the alley. A single beat lifted her to the rooftop. The wings closed back around her, turning her into a deep shadow nearly invisible in the starlight.

  “Your partner is in danger,” she said. “I would hurry if I were you.”

  Evelyn spun around and vanished into the night. If not for the piled corpses, Devin might have thought the whole encounter a vivid dream. Her warning echoed in his mind. He sheathed his weapons and sprinted, praying he was not too late.

  The space before the bakery was empty. A knot grew in his throat, and he pumped his legs faster. The sounds of struggle greeted him as he closed the distance. Still alive, he begged to Lyra. Still alive, and not lying on the ground with her throat opened and her innards spilled out like a goddess-damned gourmet meal for the sick, ravenous humans.

  Through the broken windows, Devin could see two corpses beside a table, while a third doubled over halfway out the window, a hole in its head and its stomach serrated by the broken glass that held it in place. Lyssa lay atop that table, stale bread haphazardly spilled across the floor. A ravenous cannibal pinned her, his wrists held back by her trembling grasp. Every few seconds both she and the ravenous would flicker from view and reappear, their positions changed. The tubby man Lyssa wrestled was a good hundred pounds heavier than her, and the difference was steadily exhausting her. Her face was red, and those clacking teeth kept getting closer and closer to her exposed neck.

  Devin raised his pistol. No time to hesitate. Had to take the shot, no matter how closely they struggled. No matter that one more flicker might throw off his aim. He squeezed the trigger, his heart freezing in his chest as time itself seemed to hold its breath. The thunder of the exploding flamestone filled his ears. The cannibal’s forehead caved inward. His spine went rigid, and he collapsed over Lyssa, who cursed loudly as she shoved the body aside.

  “Good timing,” she said, using her sleeve to wipe some of the gunk off her face and neck. “I swear, Londheim’s just full of things eager to eat you, and not in a pleasant way.”

  Devin normally would have appreciated the terrible joke, but he was too busy staring at the front of the bakery. A memory from weeks earlier flashed through his mind, that of a jittery, nervous man banging on that same bakery’s door. He, too, had insisted he was hungry, and that he could find no sleep. His movements had also come in rapid bursts, though not quite to the extent of the ravenous creatures they currently fought.

  “Lyssa, do you remember the night the gargoyles attacked?” he asked.

  “Remember it? They broke my arm. Of course I remember it.”

  “I’m not talking about the gargoyles, but the man they attacked. The one trying to break into this bakery.”

  Lyssa hesitated a moment, and then he saw the same connection click in her own mind.

  “This has been building for a while,” she said.

  Devin surveyed the horrific mess of broken glass, stale bread, and drying blood.

  “How many were affected?” he asked. “How many now prowl the streets? There could be hundreds, even thousands throughout all of Londheim.”

  “Doesn’t matter how many,” Lyssa said. She stepped through the broken window. Glass crunched underneath her boots. “One is too many. Anwyn have mercy on us all. As if the owls and gargoyles weren’t enough.”

  A guttural moan pulled their attention down the street. A man and woman hurried toward them, by-now familiar grins on their faces and lustful hunger in their eyes. Devin braced his legs and raised his sword as he watched their forms flicker and reappear closer each time.

  “Forget the number,” he said. “Forget everything but the here and now. We fight to the dawn. You with me, Lyssa?”

  The other Soulkeeper twirled her short swords in her hands as the ravenous closed the distance.

  “I always am,” she said. A tired, crazed grin crossed her face. “To death or the dawn, whichever comes first!”

  CHAPTER 7

  Jacaranda crouched on the worn shingles of a modest (by the wealthy Windswept District standards) home and put her ha
nd over the chimney’s crown. No heat. No smoke, either. Good enough for her. She dropped down into the flue, and then braced herself with her knees. It was a tight fit, but that was fine with Jacaranda. It meant her slide would be easily controlled. Only at the bottom might things get complicated.

  A minute later her feet touched a half-burned log in the heart of the fireplace. She crouched her knees to her chest and ducked her head, becoming a little ball of dark leather and cloth. A single roll had her out of the fireplace and into the living room of Wolter Horry, Gerag’s premiere book fixer.

  Not a single candle or lantern lit the place, leaving only a thin ray of starlight from one of the windows to guide her. She carefully followed the nearby wall, taking plenty of time between each step. She was in no hurry. She and Wolter would have all night to discuss Gerag’s sudden disappearance. A hallway branched out near the fireplace, and she followed it to a closed door. She tested the handle and found it unlocked. Good. She slowly opened it an inch or so at a time, just in case the hinges were loose or squeaked.

  Inside was a four-poster bed surrounded with heavy curtains. A dim candle burned atop the nearby dresser. Jacaranda held her breath and listened. When she heard a soft rattle of air, she knew Wolter was asleep. One last detail to take care of. She had replaced the scarf she used to cover her neck with a much thicker and wider black cloth, and she lifted it up over her nose to hide the bulk of her face as well. Combined with her hood, only her eyes would be visible. She feared even those might be enough for Wolter to recognize her. They’d interacted several times while she served as Gerag’s puppet. If he realized who she was…

  Best not to think on that prospect. She drew her short swords, crossed the gap between the door and the bed, and lifted her leg. Wolter gagged awake from the pressure of her heel pressing down upon his throat. He instinctively grabbed at her ankle, then froze when he saw the glint of her swords in the candlelight. The sleep faded from his eyes. His chest rose and fell as he sucked in what little breath she allowed.