Ravencaller

by David Dalglish

  “I don’t know what to do,” Jacaranda said. “I don’t know. Abigail, I don’t know!”

  Her lips were turning blue. Her eyes had rolled back into her head. Jacaranda held her mouth open with shaking fingers, and she pressed down on her tongue, but it didn’t matter. Her throat was crushed. Convulsions soon started.

  “No,” Jacaranda whispered. “Please, no. Just breathe. You can do it.”

  Wait. One of the Sisters’ keepers! They could heal her! She slid her arms underneath the girl’s back and knees to lift her. She never did. There was no life left in the body she held. No breath. No heartbeat. She held a corpse. Jacaranda slumped over her, her vision blurring with tears.

  How worthless was she? One girl. She couldn’t even save one girl. Jacaranda bathed Abigail’s face with her tears as she beat her fists against the cold stone. Damn this night. Damn this city. In that moment, if the Goddesses would have granted her any wish, she’d have burned the entire labyrinthine city to ash. Anything to stop the hurt.

  Jacaranda forced herself back to her feet and ran. She left the girl’s body where she lay. The guilt she felt for doing so didn’t matter. She couldn’t look at her anymore. The swirling, tumultuous mixture of emotions clawing at her heart and lungs were more than she could bear.

  After some time she grabbed a windowsill and used it to vault to the roof of a random home. She pressed her back to the chimney, pulled her legs to her chest, and cried. She let the horror of the night wash over her, and this time she didn’t try to maintain control. Why bother? There was no one to protect. Let her tears fall. Let it all crush her under a weight she was painfully unfamiliar with. Gerag’s vanishing. Abigail’s death. Devin’s safety. So many things beyond her control. How did people live like this? How did they deal with such constant uncertainty?

  In time her tears slowed to a stop. She stared at the night sky and let its starlight soothe her. Even amid this pain, she reminded herself it was better than her previously soulless self. Others dealt with uncertainty, and so, too, would she learn.

  Jacaranda waited out the night on that rooftop. She tried to sleep, but between the bells and the distant screams, there’d been no rest for her. Occasionally she’d get the impulse to sprint toward Low Dock to find Devin on patrol. The rational part of her mind choked that impulse down every time. She didn’t know his location, nor could she guarantee her own safety during the journey. Devin knew what he was doing, and he’d shown a remarkable ability to adapt to any situation. He’d survive. Of course he’d survive.

  She wished those rational thoughts had any effect on the constant fear twisting at her insides.

  Just before dawn she climbed back down to the street. It seemed with the rise of the sun, the madness ceased, and a heavy silence settled over the blood-soaked streets. Jacaranda hurried to the Church District, refusing to entertain the bleak thoughts running round and round inside her mind.

  The door to Devin’s home was locked. Jacaranda leaned against the wall beside the front door, her arms crossed over her chest, and waited. The sun steadily crept over the city walls. Half an hour or so later she saw Devin come walking down the street. His shoulders drooped, and it seemed the weight of his heavy coat was more than his tired body could bear.

  “Hey, Jac,” Devin said as he neared. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and dried blood spackled much of his coat, but his smile was soft and genuine.

  “Hey, you.”

  She slid her arms underneath his coat and around his waist. Her eyes closed, and she buried her face into his chest. After a moment his arms pulled her against his body as he returned the embrace. Only then did she relax, her silent tears wetting his shirt as she grieved. They said nothing, merely held one another as the sun rose and the city of Londheim awakened to the horror that had unfolded throughout the night.

  CHAPTER 8

  Faithkeeper Sena bowed low before her Vikar and kept all hints of frustration buried deep down and out of her voice.

  “I understand,” she told Caria of the Dawn.

  Understand that Low Dock is being abandoned.

  “This isn’t a decision I make lightly,” Caria said. The Vikar sat on the edge of her desk and folded her hands in her lap. The two discussed provisions for the upcoming night while inside the Vikar’s office located within the Faithkeeper’s Sanctuary of the Grand Cathedral. Much like Caria, the office was perfectly neat and orderly. Not a speck of dust dared show its face. The bookshelves were as immaculate as the tight curls underneath the Vikar’s black church hat. Behind her desk was a grand painting of the Cradle surrounded by a protective ring of stars. Beyond that ring lurked the void, painted in the darkest blacks possible and scraped across the top to give the appearance of clawing hands and fingers.

  “But it is still a decision made,” Sena said. Even that was more confrontational than she’d intended. The lack of sleep was getting to her.

  “The church’s priorities must be upon the largest districts. We Vikars are in agreement on this.”

  “Then help us evacuate Low Dock completely,” Sena insisted. “Don’t leave us on our own to fend off those—those things people are becoming when the moon rises.”

  “It won’t be on your own,” the Vikar said. “After all, you have the supposed reborn Sacred Mother to protect you.”

  Sena crossed her arms and counted to three before answering. She would not dare risk a careless word here, not about her friend. The two of them had fought for Low Dock’s heart and soul over many hard years, and she would not betray her now, not even to her Vikar.

  “That is a title Adria has not once embraced,” she said. “The people are frightened and seeking prophets and saviors. Do not cast harsh words upon a Mindkeeper who has done nothing but aid this city with the gifts given to her by the Sisters.”

  Caria slid off the desk to her feet. She didn’t look at Sena as she smoothed out the wrinkles in her finely tailored black suit.

  “She has not condemned the praises, either,” Caria said. “But she is a Mindkeeper, after all. Perhaps she does not understand the public the way you or I do. Counsel her, Sena. I would hate to see blasphemy spread throughout your corner of Londheim at a time when we most desperately need unity.”

  Sena wondered if the reason she was called to the Cathedral of the Sacred Mother was not about the complete lack of aid for the coming night, but instead so she might be reprimanded for her handling of Adria’s newfound stardom. Neither possibility left her in a decent mood.

  “The people of Low Dock are some of the most faithful and worshipful servants of the Sisters in all of Londheim,” she said. “And sadly they are used to hardships. We will endure. We always do. May I be dismissed? I dare not waste a second of daylight with how much left there is to do.”

  Upon her dismissal, Sena kept a practiced look of contentment upon her face as she walked the halls of the Faithkeeper Sanctuary. It was only when she exited Lyra’s Door and strode the crowded city streets that she allowed a scowl to emerge.

  I expected so much better of you, Caria, she thought. And perhaps you don’t understand the people as well as you claim. Abandoning them to Adria’s protection will only encourage the devotion you fear is growing blasphemous in its intensity.

  Sena would never have believed as much about her Vikar before the black water came and changed the world. Perhaps the woman had changed. Perhaps Sena had been blind to her own Vikar while focusing on the faults of the other two Sacred Divisions. It didn’t matter now. Coming up with a plan to protect innocent men, women, and children from being eaten by the flickering ravenous needed to be her focus.

  “Coming through, miss!” a cart driver hollered as politely as he could from the driver’s seat. Sena stepped aside while mouthing an apology. The stench that followed pulled her out of her daze. Corpses were piled into the back of the cart, and though they were covered with a heavy blanket, humanoid shapes still emerged, and errant limbs poked out the edges. Sena stared at the cart as the clop of the horse’s
hooves faded into the distance. Londheim’s Pyrehands would be busy tonight sending souls to the stars during the reaping hour. A stone settled into the pit of her stomach as she wondered how many carts would be needed to haul away the dead that amassed from another set of attacks in Low Dock.

  Sena’s stomach grumbled, reminding her she had not eaten since the night before. She adjusted her path to swing through one of the smaller nearby markets. The winding street looked like it’d been decimated by a storm. Many stalls were broken or knocked over, and many others were stripped of their wares and left unattended. Windows were smashed in and hastily replaced with nailed boards. Sena settled into the back of a line for one of the few tent stalls still open. Several ahead of her quickly gestured for her to take their place.

  “Rumors say the Sisters are punishing us for our gluttony,” a gruff bearded man ahead of her said. “That true, Faithkeeper?”

  “The Sisters do not punish,” Sena said, keenly aware of how others in the line were listening for her answer. “They are beings of love. We seek them for comfort and succor, not punishment.”

  “Then what is this curse?” asked another. “People eating other people. It’s sick.”

  Sena wished she had an answer, but none were forthcoming. Was it a curse? A plague brought by magical creatures? Or were people’s minds breaking completely from the strain of understanding the new?

  “Together we are strong,” she said, emphasizing a point she’d focused on ever since the crawling mountain arrived at their city’s doorstep. “And together we will endure.”

  Sena bought a roll stuffed with apple jelly and devoured it as she walked. Every part of her wanted to lie down in her room and sleep the day away. Sisters knew she wasn’t getting much rest between fleeing survivors coming to her church and the need to guard against the monstrous people beating on the church doors seeking blood.

  “Alma give me strength,” she muttered through her full mouth. “Have we no chance for peace?”

  Londheim was already a city of fear and paranoia, but the new threat had worn everyone thin. It seemed every man and woman was a carpenter now, applying boards to windows and new locks for their doors. Worst was how even that might not be enough. The city guard had been forced to knock on every home during their daytime patrols, and break into those that did not answer. Stories of the carnage they discovered flowed like poison throughout Londheim’s veins.

  That paranoia fueled the arguments she heard as she neared the entrance to Low Dock.

  “I’m telling you, Jora’s one of them sick fucks,” a dark-haired dockworker shouted. “I saw him pawing at my window last night, trying to get in.”

  A man in the other of the two groups squaring off shouted back.

  “It weren’t me. I was watching after my little ones. They’ll swear by me.”

  Two families, by Sena’s guess. They looked ready to come to blows.

  “You mean they’ll lie for you. I’m trying to help you, all of you. Don’t let Jora behind your barricade tonight. It’ll be the death of you.”

  “Just look at his eyes,” a relative of Jora chimed in. “He ain’t sleeping a wink.”

  “No one is sleeping a wink lately,” an older man of Jora’s family roared back. “You want all folk with dark circles under their lids to be executed? Piss off.”

  Sena had hoped to ignore the brewing problem, but that seemed no longer an option. She stepped between the groups and stood at attention. Her gaze moved from one family to the other. She said nothing, not one order or command, but both sides withered underneath her vicious glare. The shouts dwindled until she might speak without raising her voice.

  “This ends,” she said. “There is enough bloodshed at night to last us twenty lifetimes. We will not devour each other in the day as well. Am I understood?”

  “They’re putting children at risk,” one of them said, but his tone was more of a plea than an argument. Sena turned to Jora, and she pitied his helpless frustration. Was he one of the ravenous? Come daylight, those afflicted succumbed to sleep, and when they awoke, they remembered nothing of their nightly horrors. Perhaps Jora was one of them, perhaps not, but if she let him be, there was a chance someone would kill him out of mere suspicion.

  “Are your families gathering together for safety when night falls?” she asked.

  “We are,” Jora said.

  “Then I ask that you yourself come to my church in Low Dock. I’ll watch over you personally to ensure you are no danger to others.”

  “That ain’t necessary,” an older woman of the other family offered. “Lock him in his room. We’ll know well enough if he turns violent.”

  “No,” Jora said. “I’ll—I’ll go. None of you trust me. I’ll stay with the Faithkeeper.”

  That seemed to finally settle the matter. Sena noted none of them protested that doing so put people in her church at risk. That, sadly, was a common part of life in Londheim. Once the problem was in someone else’s hands, it was quickly forgotten.

  “You’ll be sleeping on a hard bench tonight,” Sena told Jora. “I assume that will be sufficient.”

  “Better than sleeping out in the street, which is where the Dorseys wanted me.”

  Sena escorted him to her church, which, as usual lately, was crowded with all sorts of visitors. Some sought bread and water, others a kind word from Mindkeeper Adria. It seemed Adria herself was resting, though, for the dozen or so in waiting lingered absently near the steps.

  “Good day to you,” Sena told several, and she put on a pleasant face as much a lie as the mask Adria wore. Once inside, she found Adria sitting alone in a pew near the front, her hands in her lap and her thumbs twiddling.

  “What is the word from the cathedral?” Adria asked as Sena partly collapsed beside her.

  “Unified agreement to do nothing,” she said. “At least for us in Low Dock. I was too harsh with you earlier, it seems. Even my Vikar cares not for the poor here.”

  “She cares,” Adria said. Her voice behind the porcelain mask was painfully weak and tired. “They all care. But it’s a distant caring. A dull, numbed ache for the poor and tired that spurs speeches but never actions.”

  “You sound like a jaded idealist,” Sena said, and she wrapped an arm around Adria. “I hate it. Is my old Adria under that mask somewhere?”

  “Deep, deep down,” she said. “A few days of peace and quiet would probably unearth her. What are the chances of us having that, I wonder?”

  “The same chances of Lyra walking into our church and offering us pudding.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on the doors, then.”

  Sena squeezed Adria’s shoulders and then stood up.

  “I need a moment to gather myself,” she said. “I’ll come out here and help you with the crowds afterward.”

  Once alone in her room, Sena loosened the buttons of her suit and pulled out a hand mirror from one of her dresser drawers. Goddesses, she looked a mess. Thick bags drooped underneath her eyes. Red, angry veins stretched toward each side of her irises. Normally she was very consistent with shaving her head the day before every ninth-day sermon. Now she couldn’t remember when she’d last done so, and guessing by the thick shadow growing from her scalp, it’d been a few weeks.

  “You can get through this,” she whispered as she stared into the mirror. The weight of the coming night sagged her shoulders, and she felt her pulse quicken. So much to do. Not near enough time to do it.

  “Sena?” someone asked from the other side. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, of course,” she said upon opening the door to find Adria standing on the other side. “Why do you ask?”

  “You’ve been in there for over an hour.”

  “Was I?” She rubbed at her temples. How strange. She wasn’t prone to dozing off like that. “Forgive me. I must have fallen asleep.”

  The day did not become easier, and however long her nap had been, it hadn’t been long enough. They set up rows of blankets and pillows. Anyone who lac
ked a secure home came to them, which at least granted them a decent number of burly men with clubs and knives eager to volunteer as guards. Both Adria and Sena insisted it’d not be necessary. When night came, they’d shut and bar the doors. They picked four to keep watch just in case, and insisted the rest sleep with their families.

  Inside the church would be safe from the horrors outside, they told all comers. Of course, there was still the risk of someone inside the church becoming one of the ravenous, but no one spoke that dreaded fear. Several soldiers stayed on guard all night against that exact possibility.

  By the time night came, an eerie silence fell over Low Dock, broken by the occasional tolling of a distant watch tower bell.

  “Last night may have been a singular event,” Adria whispered as the two stood at the cracked doors of the church.

  “And it may have only been a taste of what’s to come,” Sena replied. “Caution is the wisest course of action.” She glanced at Jora, who sat looking miserable in a far corner. Sena had assigned a single guard to watch over him in particular, a younger man in his twenties who twirled a finely sharpened knife between his fingers. Caution would have had him locked in another room. Perhaps she wasn’t so wise as she pretended.

  The stars twinkled into view. Adria and Sena watched the sky together, the cool night air a blessed feeling on their sweaty skin. A bell tolled to the north, followed by another, and then a third to the west.

  “It’s starting,” Adria said. She tugged on the chin of her mask, pulling it down slightly. The Mindkeeper hadn’t removed it all day. Sena was starting to suspect she even slept with it on.

  “Not a onetime curse,” Sena said, and she shook her head. “May Anwyn have mercy upon our city.”

  They retreated to the safety of their church.

  “Half-tempted to leave it open,” one of the men at the doors joked. “I say it’d be better we kill those who come our way than hide and hope they wander off.”

  Yet they locked it nonetheless, then slid a thick block of wood over two newly installed metal hooks. Sena felt the eyes of her congregation upon her, dozens of little white orbs hovering in the dimness.