Ravencaller

by David Dalglish

  Her head tilted. Tamerlane had admonished her to stop being fearful of her strength, and of the knowledge she might gain. So be it. Her eyes focused upon the silver thread that split the sky. Always there, a seemingly infinitely long river of light. Not a star. Something even farther away. A celestial flow of memories and emotions. The destination of every soul she sent to the heavens after their body’s passing.

  Adria put her left hand on the boy’s forehead and lifted her right to the heavens. Her eyes narrowed on that silver river. This child, this soulless being, felt like a gaping wound. A part of him was missing, and she could almost feel what it was, like forming the shape of a man based on his shadow. Her right hand clenched into a fist, and she felt a previously untouched power within her mind rip open.

  “Forgive me, precious Alma, if I overstep,” she whispered. “But I must try.”

  From deep within that river of souls, she called for the gift the boy should have been granted upon birth. A soul. A seed of power, to be filled with memories and emotions over the course of a lifetime. From a world beyond their own, across a distance her mind could not fathom, the tiniest little speck of light shot down and plummeted straight into the boy’s forehead. He quaked within his mother’s arms and then let out a long, frightful wail.

  The boy’s mother stared in shock. Soulless children didn’t cry.

  “Praise be to Alma,” Adria said as she felt her mind collapsing back in on itself, the world among the stars receding and the river of souls returning to a barely perceptible scar across the sky.

  “It wasn’t Alma,” the mother said as she kissed her crying child. “Thank you, Mindkeeper. May all three Goddesses bless you!”

  She sprinted down the steps and shouted Adria’s praises to any who would listen. A quick look from Adria to the novice let him know she was done for now, and he blocked the top of the line while shouting for the rest to disperse. Faithkeeper Sena took Adria by the arm and pulled her close.

  “Adria, what you did—”

  “Is only what Alma wishes,” Adria interrupted. “Or do you cling to old beliefs that the soulless are born unloved and unwanted by the Goddesses?”

  “You know I don’t believe that,” Sena snapped. “But this goes beyond prayers and miracles. You pulled a soul down from the heavens! That is Alma’s divine place, not yours.”

  The two retreated further, for Adria knew what she would say next should not reach any layman’s ears.

  “Where was Alma upon his birth?” she asked. “Why was his soul not granted to him? If I can spare him an empty, pointless life, than I shall do so, Sena. Look at his parents. Look at them. Look at their joy. Would you tell me that it was wrong what I did, to cause such happiness?”

  “Do you not hear yourself?” Sena asked softly. “Tread carefully, Mindkeeper. The first taste of blasphemy is often the sweetest.”

  Blasphemy? Her dear friend would accuse her of blasphemy? Before she could respond, a novice came running over to Adria, her face and neck shining with sweat.

  “Mindkeeper Adria,” the young girl interrupted. “Vikar Thaddeus requests your immediate presence and insists it is most urgent.”

  “Did he say the reason for this urgency?”

  “‘The death we feared has come,’” the novice said. “Those were his exact words.”

  A fresh wave of panic washed away Adria’s exhaustion. There was only one person that could be. The Deakon had finally succumbed to his curse. If that were true, then…

  “I must be going,” she told Sena.

  “Of course.”

  “The Vikar awaits you in the Soft Voice,” the novice offered.

  But that wasn’t where Adria headed. She dashed down the steps and then made her way around the western wall. She passed the Scholars’ Abode, passed the main entrance to the Sisters’ Remembrance, and ducked into the unassuming door to the hidden cells below.

  “They’ve already taken the body,” the guard manning the interior door told her as he unlocked it.

  “I’m not here for the body.”

  Once inside, she rushed past the other poor soul cursed with Malformation and stopped before Tamerlane’s cell. As usual, the former Mindkeeper lay slumped against the back wall, looking as relaxed as could be. She glanced to the guard accompanying her and then pointed.

  “Remove his gag.”

  The guard gave her a wary look.

  “Are you certain?” he asked.

  “Very. Now do it.”

  He did as told, unlocking both the cell and the gag.

  “Be careful,” he told her. “With the Deakon dead, he’s not got much left to lose.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  The guard left them to their privacy. Tamerlane massaged his jaw and observed her with a faint smile on his face.

  “What happened to your wrists?” he asked.

  Adria grabbed her left wrist on reflex. Two bright white scars circled around the bone, a permanent reminder of the black tendrils that had grabbed her.

  “A brush with the void,” she said. “I healed the flesh and bone, but no amount of prayers seems to remove the scars.”

  “The void? My, my, it sounds like you have a tale to tell.”

  “Have you no urgency?” Adria said. “The Deakon is dead, which means Thaddeus has no more use for you. The church may send your executioner at any moment.”

  Tamerlane shrugged.

  “Perhaps. Would it be better if I panicked? I’m not sure that’s how I’d prefer to spend my final moments, if these are in fact my final moments.” He laughed. “Or perhaps you are my executioner, Adria. I did not initially consider that a possibility, but it would have a nice stroke of irony to it.”

  “Irony?” Adria asked.

  “My greatest hope being my eventual murderer. Maybe irony isn’t the right word. Appropriate, perhaps, given the sad state of our world? But forget about me, Adria. I’m glad you came, because I have a request to make of you.”

  “And what is that?” she asked. There was one request in particular she feared he might make, for if he did, she wasn’t sure how she’d react.

  His easy smile faded.

  “Become the next Deakon of West Orismund.”

  She swallowed down a sudden knot that tied itself directly in the center of her throat.

  “You’re insane.”

  “No, I’m perfectly sane,” he said. “With Thaddeus finally dead, they’ll need to elect a new one. In normal times one of the three Vikars would be an easy victor, but these are not normal times. You told me you were the first keeper to display powers of healing. That makes you special in everyone’s eyes, deserved or not. And should you display your command over souls to the rest of the keepers, I am convinced they will vote for you. Do not let this opportunity slip away! Become our next Deakon. Usher in a new age of wisdom, starting right here in Londheim.”

  For a moment she dared imagine herself in that role. To have every keeper in West Orismund under her command. For the Vikars of Dawn, Day, and Dusk to serve her expressed will. The responsibility filled her with panic, but even amid that panic, she felt an inkling of excitement. She wouldn’t need to hide her power anymore. There’d be no one to judge her but the Ecclesiast all the way in Trivika on the other side of the Cradle. She might even be able to help her brother reveal Jacaranda’s condition, and that of potentially hundreds more awakening soulless.

  Adria shook her mind free of the daydream. Tamerlane was still staring at her, and his smile had returned. He’d planted a seed, and was clearly quite proud of it. He barely knew her, yet he was always pushing her to go one step farther, and believing her capable of greater things. But still, there was that one damning act he’d committed against Deakon Sevold.

  “Tell me why you cursed the Deakon,” she said. “I have to know, and I will take it from your mind by force if I must.”

  Tamerlane sat up straighter. His fingers tapped at his pursed lips.

  “So be it,” he said. “I think you ar
e finally ready to believe me. Deakon Sevold kept a small harem of soulless boys to serve as his sexual playthings. It’s not even that well buried a secret within the Cathedral of the Sacred Mother. I’m sure all three Vikars know about it, at the least. When I confronted him about this, he threatened my expulsion from Londheim, and that would only be after cutting out my tongue for speaking such ‘baseless’ accusations.”

  Adria shook her head, unsure why but feeling immediately defensive of the deceased leader.

  “No. That can’t be true. Deakon Sevold was a good man, a great man.”

  “I’m sure he believed he was,” Tamerlane said. “But since the reaping ritual is the only clear proof of the Keeping Church’s authority upon the Cradle, its scholars and keepers have elevated the importance of a soul to the absolutely highest status possible, beyond even what I believe the Sisters intended. This means all creations without a soul become worth less and less. We clear forests and burn fields without a care to the damage. Animals are not shared companions upon the Cradle, but exist solely to serve our needs. As for the soulless? Well, are they not akin to the animals? And Sevold absolutely had his needs.”

  Adria’s need to refute his logic bordered on desperation. Deakon Sevold had personally chosen all three current Vikars during his life-long appointment. His decisions, and those of his subordinates, had shaped much of the theological discourse the last three decades. To have all of that tainted with such sickening, horrific misdeeds…

  “What proof do you have of this?” she asked. “The soulless boys, where are they?”

  “Shuffled out among the various churches would be my guess,” Tamerlane said. “The Keeping Church is rotten to the core, Adria. If I knew my words contained real power, I’d never have so clumsily confronted the Deakon. When I spoke the curse, it was mere hours before the crawling mountain arrived at Londheim. I only wished to express my anger at the sick bastard prior to my exile, and I’d hoped that having my insults come from the Book of Ravens would only irk him further.”

  The worn, dirty man chuckled.

  “You can imagine my surprise when the Deakon’s body actually twisted and changed into that disgusting heap. Sevold’s screaming brought in guards and keepers, and since it was just the two of us in the Deakon’s room, there was no hiding my guilt. They brought me here, to my cozy little cell, and tried to beat, cut, and burn the cure out of me.”

  “And what is that cure?” she asked. “How do you undo the curse?”

  “The one who gives the curse must relinquish their hatred of the cursed,” he said. “And I assure you, that was never, ever going to happen, no matter how badly they tortured me.”

  Adria paced before Tamerlane in his cell, her fingers massaging her temples. Damn it, she was too tired to think straight. Everything he said, it could so easily be truth, and so easily be a well-sculpted falsehood.

  “How do I know you’re not lying?” she asked. “You have no proof. This could just be one last attempt at saving your own skin.”

  “You command souls,” Tamerlane said. “Stop fearing the truth. Touch my memories. See for yourself. Or are you afraid to remove the shield of doubt that allows you to cling to safe inaction?”

  Adria set her jaw and clenched her fists.

  “Fine,” she said. “Though the Sisters have mercy on your wretched soul if you are deceiving me.”

  Tamerlane’s soul shone brightly before her eyes. She felt herself falling into it, pulling at the millions of strands containing memories, senses, and emotions. Adria kept a single thought focused in her mind, using it as a beacon to guide herself to the proper memory. After a time she found it. The sensations of her own body faded, replaced by those of Tamerlane’s. She saw through his eyes. She felt the ruffle of his robes upon his skin. Proof of Thaddeus’s crime, she demanded. That was where Tamerlane’s very soul had brought her, and it was that instant of time she witnessed.

  She stood in Thaddeus’s office inside the Old Vikarage. Just inside the doorway. Time refused to move, giving the memory an otherworldly quality. As if everything were frozen in glass. Adria viewed the scene from Tamerlane’s perspective. She saw Thaddeus, saw his nakedness. Saw the soulless boy.

  Tamerlane had not explained how he’d obtained his proof. How he had walked in during the act. Adria tore herself from the memory and back into her own body. Wet tears slid down her face, and her entire chest hitched tightly with growing anger.

  “Why did you not tell me?” she asked. Her voice shook with rage. “Why did you not warn me?”

  At last Tamerlane stood. He crossed the distance between them slowly, cautiously, as if she were a deer and he a hunter. Once close enough, he wiped away her tears with his thumbs. His touch was rough, but his movements kind, and she wished she could melt into him and cling to his frame as the last remnants of his awful memory faded.

  “Because I needed you to feel the same shock I felt,” he said. “I needed you to understand why I would speak such a curse, and why I would cling to that anger no matter my fate.”

  Adria pulled away. Her mind was made up. She spoke quickly, with urgency that Tamerlane had stubbornly resisted.

  “Go,” she said. “Hurry. I will ensure the guard lets you past.”

  “You put yourself in danger by doing so,” Tamerlane said. “Are you sure?”

  “Very,” she said. “They’ll look for you, so do your best to hide.”

  “Come find me at a store on Jagged Alley,” he said. “The name is Sam’s and Sally’s. I’ll be waiting for you tomorrow night, after the reaping hour has come and gone, and not a moment sooner.” He bowed, took her hand in his, and kissed her knuckles. “Thank you, precious Mindkeeper. I know not what you are, only that you are unlike any other soul upon the Cradle.”

  Adria held her other palm against the knuckles, the warmth of his kiss seeping into her skin. She used that sensation to pull herself free of her mind, and help focus the resolve she knew would be required. Upon exiting Tamerlane’s cell, the stationed guard saw them and started to panic.

  “Tamerlane goes free,” she ordered.

  “That ain’t allowed,” the guard insisted.

  Adria ripped his soul out from his body. The guard immediately went still.

  “Go,” she told Tamerlane. The other Mindkeeper bowed once more and then hurried down the tunnel. After she gave him a good minute’s head start, she returned the soul to the guard. The man blinked and swayed on unsteady feet. No doubt he was trying to process the momentary vacancy of his soul, and of how he’d allowed Tamerlane to escape without lifting a finger to stop him.

  “The Vikar will hear of this,” the guard said as he stumbled toward the exit.

  “I know,” she said. She crossed her arms and shivered against the cold. “Trust me, I know.”

  Adria waited inside Tamerlane’s cell. She knew it wouldn’t be long. Several times she heard a commotion from the inner door, some hushed arguing, and then silence. After half an hour, Vikar Thaddeus appeared from down the hall. He walked alone, a small lantern cradled in his hands, but she could sense the souls of at least a dozen city guards stationed just outside the inner door.

  “Hello, Adria,” he said, as pleasantly as if they’d bumped into one another in the cathedral library. “It seems you’ve had an eventful day.”

  “I have.”

  She almost asked him then and there if he knew about Sevold’s sick desires. Tamerlane would have wanted her to do so. A cowardly part of her held her back. She’d already lost her respect for her longtime Deakon. Was she truly ready to see her beloved Vikar in a newer, much darker light?

  “I’ve alerted the city guards to Tamerlane’s escape,” Thaddeus continued. “Though I am not particularly hopeful. Tamerlane has always been fiercely intelligent. He’ll find a hole somewhere to crawl in until the moment is clear for him to flee Londheim.”

  “If he flees at all,” she said. “I have the impression he is not done with the church.”

  “Is that why y
ou released him? He whispered sweet lies into your ear?”

  “I released him because it was the right thing to do.”

  Thaddeus straightened up, and he leveled his silver eyes her way. Such wizened fire would have cowed her a mere year ago, but not anymore.

  “And who are you to make such a decision?”

  In answer she stretched out her hand and grabbed hold of the souls of the dozen city guards Thaddeus had brought with him. They ripped free of their physical bonds and soared toward her like fireflies. Thaddeus staggered away as they swirled about her body, the souls burning like brilliant stars, and she their orbital center.

  “I don’t know what I am,” she said. “But I know I possess power beyond any Vikar, any Deakon, beyond even the Ecclesiast herself.”

  “You speak heresy,” Thaddeus whispered.

  “The truth can never be heresy,” she countered. “No other person commands souls as I do. No one but the Goddesses.”

  Her Vikar stared at the swirling orbs of light. His initial fear and shock shifted to wonder.

  “I always knew you were special,” he said softly. “Even back when you accepted your post in Low Dock, I believed you were destined for far greater things. If this is your gift, then you are indeed a unique wonder upon the Cradle. But Adria…”

  He stepped closer and clasped her hands in his dry, wrinkled own. Adria shifted the path of the souls so they revolved around the two of them, keeping him safe.

  “Adria, please, I beg of you, do not abandon the church’s teachings. Don’t abandon our wisdom. I will not deny that you possess incredible power, but power does not remove the limits of authority. It only proves all the greater their need. Please, keep faith in the Goddesses and their creations!”

  Adria returned the souls to their proper owners. The world darkened without their light.

  “I have not lost my faith in the Goddesses,” she said. “Only my confidence in those who serve in their name.”

  “And perhaps you are right to do so,” Thaddeus insisted. “But the world is in a very dark place right now. The people need succor. They need comfort. We can provide that, if we work together.”