Ravencaller

by David Dalglish

  Adria remembered the secret interior of the Sisters’ Tower, of how the triumphant Goddess statues were actually exhausted and weeping. She wondered if Tamerlane’s understanding matched how humanity first perceived the Goddesses before centuries of dogma and study.

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “How do you find comfort in believing our Goddesses are not perfect?”

  “If they are not perfect, then how can we be perfect?” he asked. “We can’t. It is impossible, and yet we strive toward perfection in the same manner as our Goddesses. I see no clearer example of how we are their children, and lovingly made in their image.”

  Adria drummed her fingers atop her knees as she thought.

  “You never answered my question, though,” she said. “Has the church changed, or was I blind?”

  That earned her a laugh from the handsome man. Goddesses above, he appeared so much younger than when manacled in that dark cell beneath the Sisters’ Remembrance.

  “Just as I take comfort in knowing the Goddesses are not perfect, so, too, do I understand the church cannot and will never be perfect. Some see that as a failing of the Goddesses. I see it as blindingly obvious, and proof that we must remain ever vigilant against those who would use our faith as a means to power. Deakon Sevold was one, and he suffered the fate he deserved. If you’re as special as I believe you to be, perhaps it will be your fate to cleanse away the rot that has festered within the cathedral walls. I can think of no one more suitable for the task.”

  Adria wished she could dismiss such lofty ambitions as nonsense. The events of the past week made that impossible.

  “I’m a Mindkeeper without a district to call her own,” she said. “Even if I wished to root out problems within the church, why would anyone listen to me, or grant me such authority?”

  “Because of your tremendous gifts. Only you can hold yourself back from your true potential. Burn brighter than the stars! Don’t deny your gifts to the people for fear of how others may react.”

  “It’s not others,” Adria snapped, much harsher than she intended. “It’s me, Tamerlane. I’m afraid of what I might do, and what I might become. The more power I wield, the more paralyzed I feel. What if I choose wrong? What if the path I take is not one of wisdom but of folly? And now here I am, criticizing the church, questioning its doctrine… what if I embrace blasphemy? What if I turn my heart from the Goddesses?”

  Tamerlane shifted closer to her, his look one of naked adoration. She felt herself craving his attention, but more so, she yearned for him to calmly explain away her fears. It always seemed so simple to him, so obvious. What she would give to have that confidence. Perhaps she lacked it within herself, but if she could find it in another…

  “The Keeping Church has pushed and pushed the idea that this life upon the Cradle is but a stepping-stone toward the true reward of eternal life with the Goddesses,” Tamerlane said. “They cannot be more wrong. Our souls represent permanence, not to our internal identities, but for our very actions. This life we live, these choices we make, become everything. Kindness shown to a stranger echoes throughout eternity. The love we feel, and the love we give to another, will linger unchanging in a cosmic memory. With this gift of the Goddesses, the fleeting becomes divine. While the church would have us trudge with eyes closed and heads bowed just hoping to make it to the heavens, I would have us walk with a song and a yearning to help and befriend others.”

  The small room steadily faded away until it was just him and her, their eyes locked, their voices low.

  “Your time in Low Dock was a blessing,” he said. “Keep the least among us in your heart, and seek to make the world a better place for those in need, and I believe you will always choose the path that will have the Goddesses smile upon you.”

  Adria felt tears building in her eyes. Tamerlane’s passion was a beautiful flame burning with intensity she had not felt since her earliest days as a novice.

  “This power I have,” she said. “The ability to touch and manipulate souls… it’s such a burden, Tamerlane. I don’t know how to view it as a blessing. I don’t know how to turn this weight into a song. I feel like I can do so much good, and I know that I have, yet all I can think of is the lives I have taken.”

  “Human lives?”

  “The magical creatures that tried to prevent our escape from Low Dock. I tore them apart with such ease, it frightens me.”

  He brushed her mask with his fingers as if he were wiping away tears. The contact felt more personal, and she herself more naked, than if he had wiped her actual cheek.

  “Soulless beings,” he said. “Dust in the wind. Feel no sorrow for their passing, only disappointment that they would use their fleeting, impermanent time on the Cradle to spread hatred and pain.”

  He was so close to her without touching that his presence overwhelmed her. Not since her fumbling days as a novice had she kissed another man or woman, let alone slept with one. She felt a glimpse of that awkward, conflicting desire return, of yearning for a touch that simultaneously frightened her.

  “And what should we use our time for?” she asked.

  Tamerlane leaned even closer.

  “We should comfort those in need,” he whispered. “Share in our burdens and tribulations. Embrace one another.” His fingers trailed to the back of her spine, twirled through the curls of her dark hair. “Love one another.”

  “Love one another?” she asked, unable to hold back her laugh. “How poetic. How naïve.”

  “I am nothing if not a dreamer.”

  Adria brought her hands to her mask. Slowly she pulled it upward, just enough to expose her mouth. She’d meant to remove it completely, but she could not bear to have it gone.

  “Then kiss me,” she said. “And I shall show you a dream.”

  He leaned closer but then hesitated, as if not fully believing her. Adria closed the rest of the distance, her lips clumsily pressing against his. The contact sent a tingle up and down her spine, though the physical act was but a prelude. She kissed again, keeping him close, as her eyes shifted to a sight granted to her by Janus’s machinery.

  Tamerlane’s physical self steadily faded away like shadows before a torch. The light of his soul shone brighter, clearer, visible even through her porcelain mask. It swelled over her vision, its luminescence so great she felt tears building in her eyes. Her hands clutched the sides of his face, and little silver threads gathered upon her fingertips. She pressed her mask to his forehead and stared, the brilliance of his soul swirling closer. Closer. Her own soul reached out to meet it, its spiderweb strands passing through her hands and a thicker stream between their foreheads forming like a streak of lightning.

  And in that meld, she sensed his every emotion for her. It wasn’t love, like she anticipated. It wasn’t even lust. Tamerlane worshipped her. He saw divinity within her, and it humbled and excited him in equal measure. That adoration was infectious, so powerful it burned away her doubts like a cleansing fire. She let it fill her. Her own heart may be weak, but if she could take strength from another, to let his certainty fuel her actions, then perhaps they might together shape the future of Londheim.

  The little spiderwebs untangled as they pulled back their lips from a kiss that had lasted only a few seconds in the physical realm but felt like an age in the spiritual. Her heart felt ready to burst in her chest as her entire rib cage shook with each beat.

  “Damn,” he said. His eyes were glazed over, and he gasped in air as if from a sprint. “Just… damn.”

  Adria pulled her mask low over her face, and she smiled behind the porcelain.

  “Don’t get used to it,” she said. “I’d hate to spoil you.”

  Tamerlane escorted her back down the stairs. Before leaving, she felt obligated to share one last worry that plagued her mind.

  “Vikar Thaddeus wants me to publicly support him as the new Deakon,” she said. “If I do, he has promised me the position of Vikar of the Day.”

  Tamerlane cast her that half
-cocked grin she was beginning to love.

  “I had hoped you would set your sights far, far higher than that. Was I wrong?”

  “No,” she said. “I don’t think you were.”

  Adria exited the jewelry shop and closed the door behind her. The cool air hit her sweaty skin, and she closed her eyes and breathed it in deep. It felt like a fog had lifted from her mind. Goddesses help her, she could get used to this. Confidence filled her to the brim. It was time to start throwing her weight around, beginning with freeing her brother from his imprisonment. Temporarily removing Jacaranda’s soul from her body and floating it before the three Vikars would prove beyond a shadow of a doubt Devin’s story. And if they questioned this ability, or demanded an explanation, she would give it. To the void with them if they feared what she could do, or how she wielded her power.

  Her eyes opened, but she was not greeted to the soothing light of the stars, for there were no stars to see, only a thick river of smoke flowing across the night sky.

  CHAPTER 34

  The rattle of the bolt on her prison door was Jacaranda’s only warning she was about to have visitors. She slid off the bed and took in a deep breath. As far as prisons went, Jacaranda figured she could do much worse. The room inside the cathedral was plainly furnished, but the bed was comfortable and the room warm. She’d paced it many times, and she trusted she could turn several items into weapons if matters called for it. She doubted any true hardened criminals spent time in there, only misbehaving keepers needing a day or two of slap-on-the-wrist punishment.

  Two men in matching brown robes stepped inside, short swords strapped to their leather belts. Both were pale skinned and with shaved heads, and they were younger than Jacaranda by many years. She briefly thought of assaulting them, but so far she’d no reason to act so drastically. From the moment of her arrest, she’d been well treated.

  “Turn around,” one of the two said. “Hands behind your back.”

  She did as she was told. They tied her at the wrists, then turned her about.

  “Follow me.”

  They led her out the door and into the long corridor that ran through the eastern wall surrounding the Cathedral of the Sacred Mother, one man behind her, one man ahead. The starlight coming in through the windows confirmed the late hour. Not too surprising that whoever wished to see her would want it done in the quiet.

  “Where are we going?” she asked as they walked.

  “No talking,” the one behind her said flatly. She doubted she could get a rise out of that one.

  “Am I to meet with someone?” she asked the man in front.

  “No talking,” the man behind her repeated. Jacaranda rolled her eyes and accepted she’d just have to wait.

  The men led her to the southeastern corner of the enormous triangle formed by the outer wall, where there was built a great bell tower. They led her up the winding stairs, and with each floor, Jacaranda felt more certain of her destination. The bell tower was known as the Soft Voice, and it housed the many Mindkeepers of the church. At the very top would be their Vikar, Thaddeus Prymm.

  A plush waiting room with embroidered couches and stacked bookshelves greeted the three upon exiting the stairs. A door with a triangular window blocked off the Vikar’s office. It opened immediately, and out stepped Thaddeus.

  His gray hair was neatly parted, and startling silver eyes peered at her from behind his spectacles. He braced his weight on a cane, his hands neatly folded atop its silver head.

  “Remove her bindings,” he said.

  The two men immediately obeyed.

  “Thank you,” Jacaranda said as she crossed her arms before her. “Vikar Thaddeus, I presume?”

  “You presume correctly,” the older man said with a smile. “Please, come into my office.”

  Inside was even more lavishly decorated. Two padded chairs faced an ornate fireplace to her left. Opposite them was a couch with red cushions, a gilded frame, and a matching small table. A mahogany desk larger than most people’s beds was directly across from her, with symbols to the Goddess Lyra carved directly into the wood. Bookshelves lined the walls, their contents older than Thaddeus and no doubt worth a small fortune. The other two men closed the door and positioned themselves on opposite sides.

  “Have a seat,” Thaddeus said, and he gestured to the couch. A gleaming silver tea set rested on a tray in the center of the table before it. A cup was already poured for her, with faint wafts of steam rising from its black surface.

  “A drink for a soulless?” she asked as the Vikar sat opposite her and took a matching cup in hand. “Such extravagance.”

  “Yet I’ve been told you aren’t soulless,” he said, sipping his tea. “Perhaps I wish to see how one reacts to the offer, soulless or otherwise?”

  Fair enough. Jacaranda sat and took the cup in hand. She made a show of blowing across it while testing its smell. Next she sipped a bit across her tongue, and just as she had with the giant fungal creature, she spat it back out while pretending to take an additional sip. The lingering bitterness raised a dozen alarms inside her mind.

  The tea was poisoned with wolfsbane petals.

  “Thank you, this is lovely,” she said as she shifted to a more relaxed seated position. The movements disguised her spilling a bit of the tea upon her hip. “So why is it I am here? For you to judge whether or not I am soulless?”

  “That is a large reason,” Thaddeus said. “And even if you are soulless, I’d like an explanation of what you’ve been doing living with Devin. Perhaps you could enlighten me?”

  Jacaranda didn’t know what game the Vikar was playing, but for now she’d play along. She told of her time with Gerag, how he used her for his own personal pleasure as well as his bodyguard. She detailed the underground trade of soulless, how they were smuggled in by boat, and of her role in escorting them to and from the mansion. Thaddeus listened to it all intently.

  “What of your awakening?” he asked. “When did you regain your soul?”

  Jacaranda hesitated. Telling anything other than the truth was a huge risk. If her story didn’t match Devin’s, then the Vikar might doubt they spoke the truth. The bitter poison in her tea made her think the truth, however, was far from what the Vikar was interested in. She stalled by pretending to take another long sip, shifting her legs again, and then wiping her mouth with her arm. She spat the tea out upon her sleeve, then positioned that arm across her waist to hide its wetness. It was risky, allowing so much of the poison into her mouth even if not swallowing, but she had to keep the act going.

  “It happened during the reaping hour on our travel back from the Oakblack Woods,” she said, having skipped over everything involving the songmother and the alabaster faeries. “Nothing seemed to have caused it. I slept outside, and then my soul descended from the sky.”

  The tea was starting to grow cold, and the cup was half empty. Jacaranda timed it in her head, analyzing what she knew of that particular flower. Its first symptoms were weakness of muscles, a racing heart, and light-headedness. She decided enough time had passed that she should be showing signs, so she hesitated for a moment to exaggerate her breathing.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I… need a moment to catch my breath.”

  “Take your time,” Thaddeus said. Though his words were kind, his tone was not. She could see his patient, fatherly façade melting away to whoever he was on the inside. The cold silver in his eyes appeared more appropriate by the minute.

  “I’m not sure why I need to tell all this,” she said, deciding to push the conversation toward what she was interested in. “Surely it’s obvious I am not soulless?”

  “Oh, it’s quite obvious,” Thaddeus said. “Which is why you’re talking to me, alone, instead of with the other two Vikars.”

  Now she was getting somewhere. Look confused, she told herself. Like the world is spinning and your heart won’t slow down long enough for you to think.

  “I don’t… what? Why?”

  Thaddeus sat back on his
desk, his cane resting across his lap. The more she emphasized her supposed symptoms, the more he relaxed around her.

  “You know far too much, Jacaranda. You’re a loose end that needs to be cleanly cut.”

  Thaddeus snapped his fingers, and one of the two guards came forward to grab her by the arms.

  “Let me go,” she said and pretended to weakly resist.

  “Don’t bother,” Thaddeus said. “My soulless are expertly trained, as you should well know.”

  Jacaranda glared up at the shaved man, and sure enough, he had that calm, steady gaze that was still second nature to her. So that was why there was no baiting reactions out of them on the way to Thaddeus’s office. But if they were soulless, why didn’t they have the required tattoos across their throats? She pulled against her captor’s grip, testing his strength, and the movement shifted his long sleeves, revealing the three dots tattooed between the soulless man’s knuckles.

  The sight of those tattoos set Jacaranda’s heart to pounding for real. Those dots, their placement along the knuckles… it was exactly what Larsen described when she interrogated him at the Gentle Rose. But that meant Thaddeus had bought those two soulless from Gerag…

  The last few scattered pieces fell neatly into place. The unknown but wealthy buyer that abducted Gerag to keep their identity a secret. The source of the rumors that reached Vikar Forrest about her and Devin living together. It was Thaddeus. The Vikar was one of Gerag’s clients. No, more than that. The Vikar was almost certainly responsible for Gerag’s sudden disappearance.

  “You,” she said, spinning back toward him. She barely caught herself in time to pretend her muscles weren’t cooperating, and that her speech should be slurred. “You took Gerag. You’ve been a part of this all along.”