Ravencaller

by David Dalglish

There was something about them, something that had Adria slipping deeper and deeper into the new sight granted to her by Viciss’s machine. Souls… the winged creatures had a power over souls, but they were different than hers. Her soul was a shimmering light of memories and emotions. Their souls were black voids upon a colorful canvas. She was a painter wielding a brush. They were madmen holding a torch.

  An hour before dawn their numbers were fully gathered, and a lone winged monster approached. He was dressed akin to the others but for a single deviation: Sewn across his breast was an enormous silver crest, a small, upward-pointed triangle enveloped by a circle. The inversion of the Keeping Church. The symbol of the Ravencallers.

  “Greetings, keepers,” this wearer of blasphemy said. His beak did not move to speak. It was as if his gravelly voice were ground out from stones lodged in his throat. “I am Logarius, leader of these Forgotten Children. Tonight has been a grand night. Low Dock is no more. We have Belvua now, a place to call our own. The only hiccup is this ugly little church at the end of a dark street run by two stubborn women refusing to evacuate like they should.”

  “That sounds like something to be proud of,” Sena said. “Might I meet these two women?”

  Logarius stepped closer.

  “I do not fear your prayers, little keepers. Every mark of humanity within Belvua will be erased. To let a church to the Sisters remain? Unacceptable. Order those within to leave, or they shall become ash when we burn this church to the ground.”

  Adria put one hand to her breast and the other to touching the forehead of her mask. She felt power swelling within her skull, the fire of her soul, and she knew she would need its raw energy to survive what was to come.

  “We are not leaving,” she said. “Not under threat of violence, and not so you may insult the Sisters with your destruction. Have I made myself clear?”

  Logarius seemed almost pleased with the response. He drew two long daggers with blades curving like waves upon the ocean and held them in hands covered with dark, scaled skin.

  “Then I will kill you myself.”

  The rest of the Forgotten Children tensed, eager for blood. Adria drew in a deep breath as Sena began murmuring the 59th prayer to herself, preparing another shield about the church.

  “You will not!”

  That voice. She recognized that voice, but why would he be here now?

  Janus leapt from the roof of the church and landed between the two parties with a flourish of his black coat. An ugly look of anger covered his normally handsome face. Instead of addressing Adria, he marched right up to Logarius and jammed his finger against the monster’s chest.

  “Adria Eveson shall not be harmed,” he said. “Her church is off-limits, do you understand me, avenria?”

  “You’re an unwanted, unloved bastard creation,” Logarius retorted. “Why should we not kill you where you stand?”

  “Because this isn’t my order,” Janus practically growled. “Viciss demands her survival. You couldn’t kill me if you tried, you petulant child. Do you think you can also kill the dragon?”

  Logarius’s hands clenched tightly around the hilts of his wicked-looking daggers.

  “We emerge from our prison abandoned and alone, given no comfort or answers from our makers, and yet the Dragon of Change would protect this human keeper?” He turned away. “You merely offer proof of our abandonment. Do Viciss’s bidding if you must, Janus. We will look after our own.”

  He motioned a signal with his hand, and just like that the circle of magical creatures receded into the rest of Low Dock. Or Belvua, Adria corrected in her mind, at least until human soldiers stormed into the district to take it back. Janus remained where he stood, and after a long, awkward silence, Sena brushed Adria’s shoulder with her fingers.

  “I’ll be inside calming the others.”

  Adria waited until the door shut behind her to speak.

  “Thank you for stopping them. If you hadn’t…”

  Janus whirled to face her.

  “I’m not here to babysit you,” he snapped. “And I do not enjoy spending my time ensuring your survival. Stay on your guard. Logarius has been warned, but that doesn’t mean he’ll obey.”

  “He would ignore the order of his maker?”

  “How often do humans disobey the orders of their Goddesses?” He smirked. “Your eyes have opened to wisdom beyond your fellow humans, Adria, but they are still blind to a great many things. The Forgotten Children bear no love for Viciss, and I cannot blame them. Antagonize them at your own risk, and do not think your importance will keep you safe forever. At the end of the day, you are an object of our creation, and should you fail, well…”

  He leapt back to the church’s rooftop. His mocking smile didn’t reach his eyes.

  “We can always make another.”

  CHAPTER 13

  It would have been better if the men and women were shouting, Dierk decided as he stood in the corner of his family’s grand library. If they were shouting, then the fear and confusion wouldn’t seem so overwhelming. Twelve people surrounded a stained oak table in the library’s center. They were the usual suspects of his father’s meetings, men and women in charge of Londheim’s fate. Seated next to his father was Royal Overseer Albert Downing, looking cool and collected as ever in his tan suit. Next to Albert was the world-weary and heavily scarred city guard commander, Nikos Flynn. General Kaelyn Rose stood instead of sitting, as if she needed her legs stiff and her arms locked behind her to remain calm. Vikar Caria paced nearby, though despite her constant movements, she appeared the least worried of the bunch. Scattered among the rest of the chairs were their retainers and assistants, doing their best to keep their heads down and their presence out of sight.

  “What you’re asking for is a military-style invasion,” Nikos argued. He jammed a finger at the elaborate map of Londheim spread across the table. “Both entrances are completely blocked with debris, and who knows what other barricades the monsters have erected further inside Low Dock. My guards are trained for keeping the peace, not marching in formations into enemy territory. If you want to use them for such, at least give me time to train them accordingly.”

  General Kaelyn audibly scoffed. Her hair was an apt fiery red, and she kept it combed over the left half of her face to hide the ugly scar that had taken out her eye. Her lone good eye glared contempt in Nikos’s direction.

  “If we had time, we wouldn’t need your guards,” she said. “We could wait until my soldiers arrived from Wardhus or Stomme to do the job properly.”

  This was a sore fact the entire council lamented daily since the living mountain had crawled its way to Londheim’s gates. Though Londheim was the official seat of power for West Orismund’s Royal Overseer, the vast bulk of their soldiers were stationed at the easternmost cities of Wardhus and Stomme, protecting both the ports from piracy as well as managing the borders of East and South Orismund. Stomme in particular had suffered a brutal siege during the Three-Year Secession, and had it fallen, Dierk held no doubt it’d have been transferred into the Queen’s direct control in East Orismund. There remained a fear, however poorly founded, that the Queen might still send her troops to finish the job.

  “That’s if the troops have remained loyal,” Vikar Caria said. She was a beautiful woman unsuccessfully attempting to downplay that fact with her dark hair wrapped into a bun and her rich brown skin lacking any cosmetics. “Something we cannot know for certain in this new world that has emerged. At least we’ve received reports from Stomme now that trade’s been reestablished. We’re still completely in the dark about Wardhus.”

  “Distant cities are not our concern,” Soren said, his father’s commanding voice steering the conversation with ease. The entire morning had gone as such, wild speculation led back into organized discussion by Soren’s hand. The takeover of Low Dock the previous night had unnerved them all a great deal. “Londheim is what we must focus on. Until matters change, we work with what we have, not complain about what we don�
�t have.”

  “And what we have is a pile of flamestones below a hammer,” Albert said. “We are one good strike from everything going up in flames. Our citizens are terrified. At any moment that mountain outside our walls could come alive, and we still have no contingency plan in place. Now magical creatures have assaulted one of our districts and claimed it as their own? This is unacceptable. If the people feel we’ve lost control, they’ll hang us from city gates and replace us with those who will give them safety. Tell me, Nikos, would your guards do better attacking Low Dock, or attempting to hold off riots throughout every single district in Londheim?”

  The men and women present were all keenly aware of what might happen if they lost the illusion of control. It amused Dierk knowing how fearful they truly were of the populace. It stripped their aura of prestige from them in his mind.

  “I’m not saying we won’t do it,” Nikos conceded. “I’m just worried we’ll be in over our heads.”

  “We’re all in over our heads,” Caria said in a smooth voice Dierk jealously coveted. The Vikar of the Dawn could make even the most terrifying pronouncement sound inviting. “What matters is we adapt and persevere. I have reliable reports that one of my Faithkeepers is trapped in her church within Low Dock, along with many other refugees. Their safety is my current priority. Have these creatures offered any demands? Perhaps we might reason with them before we commit to further violence.”

  Dierk snapped to attention. The church in Low Dock? That was where the heavenly Adria resided. She was trapped there, too?

  “My offices have not received any such communication,” Albert said. “As best we know, their only demand is for Low Dock to be theirs, and us to allow it.”

  “Not Low Dock,” Dierk interjected. “Belvua. They want it called Belvua now.”

  All eyes turned his way. Dierk had entered the library without explicit permission, relying on his relationship to his father to avoid any questioning of his presence. Now that he’d broken his silence, several there seemed eager to see him gone.

  “And how do you know that?” his father asked. His tone was far from inquisitive. It sounded more like when he’d caught Dierk masturbating in the hallway when he was nine.

  “I just heard it is all,” Dierk said, his gaze drifting to the floor. “Don’t remember where. Everyone’s gossiping, even the servants.”

  In truth, he’d heard it from Vaesalaum, but he wasn’t going to say that to the ruling council of Londheim. An agonizing silence followed.

  “Belvua,” Kaelyn said. She looked ready to spit. “Those fuckers have already renamed it? This cannot stand. Albert, we have to assert control. I have one hundred well-trained soldiers at my disposal. I assure you, they will be more than enough to retake the district. Give me the order. Show humans and monsters alike that in our lands, our human lands, we shall have law and order.”

  Albert looked to Soren. As Mayor of Londheim, Soren directly controlled the city guard, and those guards vastly outnumbered the soldiers stationed for Albert’s protection. Albert could use his elected authority to co-opt them from Soren, but doing so risked losing a key ally. Cooperation between Mayor and Royal Overseer was always important in Londheim. Making an enemy of Soren meant, even if they survived the current chaos, that Albert wouldn’t stand a chance of reelection when it came about two years from next spring.

  “The creatures have already set up barricades,” Soren said. “A few more days won’t matter. Let us set up our own barricades and then study our opponents. We’ve a hundred conflicting reports of what these ‘fox people’ can do, plus there’s the owls, the rumored shadow people…” He shook his head. “While we learn and prepare, Kaelyn can run drills with the city guard. When we retake Low Dock”—he paused and glanced at Dierk—“it must be on the first try. We’ve already received one black eye. We can’t afford a second.”

  There was unanimous agreement on that final point. The men and women disbursed without any formalities. There was too much work to do. Dierk hung back in the corner. Even from there he could feel the cold fury rolling off his father. When the library was empty, Soren shut the door, turned the lock, and then gestured for Dierk to join him by the table. Walking to it felt like he was walking to his own execution.

  “Yes, Father?” he asked.

  In answer, Soren backhanded him across the mouth. A heavy ring split his lip, and blood spilled across his tongue as he cried out. Dierk immediately choked the cry down. Making any noise, or showing any weakness, would only antagonize his father further. As for Soren, he crossed his arms over his chest and stared. His face was calm. His voice didn’t even sound angry.

  “Who told you to speak up?”

  “N-no one,” Dierk said. “But I had relevant information, and I thought—”

  “You thought?” His father’s arm moved so fast it was a blur. A single hand flung him backward. He was so much bigger, so much stronger. Dierk sucked in a breath through his teeth as pain rolled up and down his back. He’d caught the edge of a bookshelf with his spine and it hurt like the void.

  “I’m sorry,” Dierk said. It was practically a reflex at this point.

  “If you think you know something useful, you tell me,” his father continued. “I will decide if it is useful, if I want it shared, and if it is even true in the fucking first place. Am I understood?”

  Dierk bobbed his head up and down, his eyes not leaving the floor.

  “I said, am I understood?”

  “Yes.”

  Soren stepped back and smoothed out his suit, oblivious to the nisse that now floated angrily above his head. Long claws stretched from its paws, and they were black as the night itself. Dierk mentally begged for the creature to leave them be. He just wanted this confrontation over with.

  “I allow you inside these meetings so you might learn,” Soren said, as if all were well between them. “That means paying attention, listening to what others say, and thinking over the arguments as they are presented. You aren’t here to influence these proceedings. One day perhaps, but not yet. Now can I rely on you to do that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Now who told you these monsters wanted Low Dock renamed Belvua?”

  Tell rotten human I am near, Vaesalaum spoke into his mind. My claws are ready. Is Dierk ready to stand tall, too?

  “I heard it this morning at the market,” Dierk blurted out. “It was a group of merchants. I don’t know who they were, but they sounded convinced.”

  The lie seemed to have worked.

  “A rumor,” Soren said. “Of course. I pray your rumor is true, otherwise you have humiliated me for nothing.”

  Dierk wiped more blood onto the back of his hand, then sucked on his lower lip. Staining his clothes might earn him another rebuke.

  His father turned, and Dierk thought he would finally leave him be, but instead he went to a bookshelf, scanned a few titles, and returned holding a book finely bound in blue leather.

  “Here.” He handed the book over. “Read this, cover to cover. Then you can leave.”

  Dierk glanced at the title. On Maintaining Proper Public Persona.

  “I will.”

  Soren straightened his suit. There was blood on his knuckles. He didn’t notice.

  “Good. Once you have, then maybe you’ll understand why your outbursts and unpleasant habits reflect poorly on everything I worked so hard to accomplish.”

  The door to the library shut, and with his father finally gone, Dierk dropped to his knees and clutched his arms to his chest. A trio of sobs escaped his throat, each one quieter than the last. He didn’t need to release much, just enough to restore order to his mind. Once finished, he grabbed a candle off the table and carried it with him to a table tucked between two bookshelves. He’d need to finish the book his father gave him quickly to have any time for himself today. There’d be no pretending or skipping. His father had a keen mind, and sometime in the next day or two he’d make a passing reference or pointed question involving a mat
ter discussed within those pages. Failing to answer risked far a worse punishment than what he’d endured today.

  Dierk should not suffer for speaking truth. Father is a brute. Father should be punished.

  “This is his household to do as he pleases,” Dierk muttered as he opened to the first page. “I shouldn’t have interfered with his work.”

  The nisse floated above the candle. Disgust registered on its weird, childlike face.

  Is Dierk truly so weak? Is Dierk a beaten dog? Bite your master. Remember who is stronger.

  “I know who is stronger,” Dierk snapped. “And I’m lucky he didn’t break a bone. Never should have spoken up. Stupid of me, so stupid.”

  Vaesalaum lowered itself so it blocked the pages.

  Dierk thinks of himself in the past. Dierk is Ravencaller now. Bite. Back.

  Dierk tried to turn a page but couldn’t. His hand was shaking too much. He thought of the rituals he knew, of the power he’d begun harvesting from souls after their body’s destruction. To use that power against his father? It was… it was unthinkable. It was awful. It was… it was…

  “You in there, kid?”

  Dierk slammed the book shut and startled out of his chair.

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  The door opened, and in strutted Three-Fingers. He was a gigantic man who towered a good foot taller than Dierk. His chin and neck were covered with coarse brown hair, his nose was crooked, and his smile was missing teeth. His eyes, however, sparkled with intelligence whenever he spoke to Dierk of other cities, other wild lands, and of the magic long forgotten to the Keeping Church. True to his name, he had only three fingers on his right hand.

  “Such a dumb nickname, really,” Three-Fingers would often say when discussing his name. “Nothing’s wrong with my left hand. Shouldn’t I be called Eight-Fingers?” To which he’d laugh and pound back whatever cup of alcohol he was currently favoring that month. The servants of the mansion treated Dierk gingerly, like a stray animal brought in from the cold to be nursed back to health. Soren treated him like a fungal growth with the unfortunate sharing of a last name. Only Three-Fingers treated him like a friend.