Ravencaller

by David Dalglish

  The old man smiled sadly at her.

  “The public is too sentimental to handle some of the world’s harsher truths,” he said. “And the nature of soulless is one of them.”

  “And what’s a soulless woman’s nature? To be your personal fuck toy?”

  Too strong. The man holding her tightened his grasp on her arms, and she made a show of collapsing to her knees.

  “Your crude language is unnecessary,” Thaddeus said. He slowly rose to his feet. “The Sisters do not make mistakes, Jacaranda. That is a cornerstone of our belief, and without that, the Cradle becomes nothing but meaningless chaos. You were denied a soul at birth for a reason, and that soul residing within you now most certainly does not belong to you.”

  “You bastard,” she said. “This is who I am. This is who I was meant to be.”

  “You were meant to be a sack of meat that followed orders,” Thaddeus snapped. “No different than an ox strapped with a harness and forced to work the fields. Gerag understood that. Your resemblance to a human causes undue sentimentality, but once stripped of that, your kind offers many varied uses. If you resembled what you truly are, such as one of the soulless monsters that have recently awakened, the populace would have an easier time understanding that truth.”

  “You’re sick,” she said, having had to choke down an urge to throttle him the entire time he prattled.

  “I am practical. You are the last person I should have to tell this to, aren’t you? Of how soulless feel nothing, care for nothing, and want nothing. Even the animals of the forest seek out needs beyond mere food and drink. Dogs will play. Birds will sing. But you…”

  He knelt beside her and gently brushed his thumb across her cheek.

  “You merely exist. You’re an unnecessary glimpse at a world without the Sisters, and the Cradle will be much better with your passing.”

  “If Devin finds out, he’ll—”

  “Devin will die once I’m done with you,” Thaddeus interrupted. “Killed during a failed escape after he ordered you, his obedient soulless, to make an attempt on my life. No one will question it. My word against the tattoo on your throat, Jacaranda. We all know who the world will believe.”

  “Killing me stops nothing,” she said. “Others are awaking all across the Cradle. I’m just the first.”

  The Vikar stood. His patronizing look of pity made her want to scream.

  “Except you’re not the first, Jacaranda. Five of Alma’s Beloved have already awakened over the past several years. They were properly and quietly put down, just as you will be. Perhaps we’ve seen the last of the soulless now that the strength of the Sisters returns to our keepers. If so, no one will miss you and your kind. You’ll fade away, aberrations that marred the Cradle for a few decades and then died off.”

  Jacaranda collapsed to the floor, feigning complete paralysis. Enough listening to this disgusting old man justify his wretchedness.

  “Finally,” Thaddeus said. “Cave her skull in.”

  The moment the soulless raised his foot, Jacaranda swept her legs in a direct collision with his knee. He toppled instantly, but it wouldn’t be enough to keep him down and out. His soulless nature would have him keep trying to kill her until his own life was lost. Jacaranda stayed on her back and lifted her legs so she could bring them down with all her might upon his exposed throat. The flesh crunched inward upon contact with her heels.

  Jacaranda was on her feet before the soulless let out his dying gasp. Her hand closed about the hilt of his short sword. Instincts set her to rolling. The other soulless’s blade punched into the carpet and then scraped upon hitting the stone floor underneath. Jacaranda coiled her legs like a spring and then vaulted back at him. Her shoulder struck his chest, they toppled, but his weapon was out of position, while she’d braced for impact. The tip of her short sword punched through his stomach and out his back. When she landed atop him, he convulsed, the pain overriding his ability to follow Thaddeus’s orders.

  She caught movement from the corner of her eye and kicked. Her foot struck Thaddeus in the chest. The old man toppled over his desk, slid, and landed on the other side. Jacaranda rose to her full height and yanked her short sword free. She twirled the bloody weapon in her hand, taking pleasure in the groan of pain she heard from the opposite side of the desk.

  Thaddeus staggered to his feet, his silver eyes wide with fear. He was sputtering something, a meaningless protest, she thought, but then the words finally registered inside her mind.

  “Anwyn of the Moon, hear me!”

  Oh, fuck me, she thought as she broke into a sprint. His each and every word added an unseen chain across her body. Her steps slowed. Her teeth clenched as she fought onward, closer, closer, her sword seeking blood.

  “Hold this serpent so its teeth find no purchase. Turn flesh into lawful stone. Turn willful impulse into silent obedience. May the body remain still so the heart and mind listen.”

  She froze with her sword three inches from his heart. Her every muscle locked tight. Her eyes could move, and her lungs draw breath in and out, but that was all. Helpless, completely helpless, and to a man that much more of a monster than she had ever realized.

  “It seems I won’t need to fake any bruises from your escape attempt,” Thaddeus said with a pained chuckle. “You’re good, very good. I see why Gerag was so distraught by your betrayal. No matter. I thought to give you a quick death, Jacaranda, but instead I think I will have you join Gerag in his imprisonment. There’s some poetic justice in it, don’t you think?”

  He limped to one of the bookcases and retrieved an old, leather-bound tome with its title embossed in gold: The Book of Ravens.

  “The mutilation curse should suit you perfectly,” Thaddeus said as he limped back to her. His eyes sparkled with sick pleasure as he flipped it open and began to read.

  “Anwyn of the Moon, hear me! This flesh before me hides its rot. This smile belies its sickness.”

  A lancing wave of the worst pain Jacaranda had ever felt traveled from her head to her toes. It felt like her bones were at the edge of breaking. Her every inch of skin stretched as if eager to tear. Horror gripped her heart, yet her frozen frame could only offer quiet tears in protest.

  “These bones deny the weakness within.”

  And those bones were shivering like reeds in a thunderstorm. Jacaranda could not see it, but she felt her rib cage begin to extend. She was helpless, helpless, once more a prisoner in her own body.

  “Anwyn, hear me, Anwyn!”

  Anwyn may or may not have heard, but Jacaranda did. She heard Thaddeus condemning her to permanent imprisonment. She heard him locking her within her body. It would be just like when she was soulless, except this time she’d be keenly aware of her circumstances. Her wants and desires would remain, only to be denied by the foul magic holding her limbs in place. A scream built inside her, born not of the agonizing pain she felt but of absolute horror and revulsion at returning to the way things had been. The scream started in her mind, but as Thaddeus shouted the word “Tear!” the force of it reached her lungs, and her throat.

  Her limbs moved an inch, and then another. Thaddeus’s eyes widened, the next word stumbled upon his tongue, and suddenly the invisible chains weakened. It wasn’t much, but Jacaranda didn’t need much. Just a single thrust of her sword, crossing the last few feet between her and Thaddeus. The point easily piercing Thaddeus’s jaw, through the floor of the mouth, and out to spear the tongue. The curse halted, and with it the excruciating pain. The invisible chains that held her departed, and she collapsed to her knees with a long, frantic sob.

  The wounded Thaddeus took hold of the sword’s hilt and staggered backward. Jacaranda wiped the tears from her eyes as she fought to recover control. It felt like his curse had twisted her body to its absolute breaking point, and though the strain had faded, the exhaustion remained. The Vikar started to pull the sword out from his jaw, but by his sudden gag, it seemed like the pain was more than he could bear.

  �
��Not yet,” Jacaranda said, rising to a stand. She grabbed the hilt from him and guided him back into his chair at the desk. “I’ve a question for you first.”

  Once he was seated, she scanned his desk. The Vikar had several sheets of paper strewn about it, and she grabbed one plus a stick of charcoal and shoved both into Thaddeus’s hands.

  “Where is Gerag?” she asked. “Where have you imprisoned him?”

  Thaddeus held both paper and charcoal, but he did not yet write anything, only glared back at her.

  “Answer me,” she said, and she shifted the sword the tiniest bit. Thaddeus whimpered. “If not, I’ll begin twisting.”

  That finally set his hands to moving. Jacaranda waited until he was finished and then yanked the paper from his grasp. The handwriting was atrocious, but she could make out the location. It wasn’t far. She stuffed the paper into her pocket and then grabbed the sword hilt with both hands. Until today, she’d never met the man, yet he was responsible for so much of her torment.

  “You deserve worse,” she seethed. “But this must do.”

  She ripped the blade from his jaw, looped its edge about, and then slashed it across his throat. Thaddeus gasped a torrent of blood and then collapsed upon the carpet. Jacaranda watched him die with grim satisfaction. Her hand dipped into her pocket, and she pulled out the scrap of paper.

  “One down,” she whispered. “One to go.”

  CHAPTER 35

  The corridor was long and dark, allowing Jacaranda ample time to envision how she’d kill Gerag when she found him. Would she strangle him? Would she bleed him slowly one cut after another so he could truly appreciate who was killing him? Or would she do something appropriate to his crimes, such as cutting off his testicles and making him bleed to death through his cock? This was her moment, her time to finally repay years of abuse… and yet she found her pulse quickening, her throat constricting, and her breath shallow in her lungs.

  “It seems the church is full of secrets, none of them pleasant,” Jacaranda whispered as she walked the dank corridor. Sneaking out of the quiet cathedral had been simple enough, and once she’d reached the Sisters’ Remembrance, only a single guard posted by a door had tried to stop her. Her short swords had made quick work of him. Beyond she’d found weathered cells on either side of the stone path, all of them empty.

  All but one.

  There in a forgotten prison built beneath the Sisters’ Remembrance, after countless nightmares and daydreams of how she’d react, she confronted her former master. She’d anticipated rage, or hatred, or contempt, none of which matched the overwhelming confusion and horror she felt looking at the mutilated, deformed mess that was now Gerag Ellington.

  “What—what did they do to you?”

  Hardly anything resembled the man who had once owned her body. His rib cage was extended and twisted as if the bones were attempting to escape. Most of his hair had fallen out, exposing sickly pale skin covered with sores. His arms looked like they’d been broken in multiple locations and incorrectly set. A sweat-and-pus-stained blanket lay over his naked body, which had lost a staggering amount of weight. The only part of him that resembled his former self were those brown eyes. They stared at her as he wheezed, his bloated tongue unable to form words.

  “The mutilation curse,” she said, hovering back at the cell door. She thought of the way the Vikar’s words had pulled and twisted at her body with every syllable. “He cast it on you, didn’t he?”

  Gerag sucked in a raspy breath and then groaned it out. There would be no talking, not with him. He lifted his hand toward her, and she grimaced at the sight of it. Half the fingers were bent backward. The other half were curled downward with seemingly an additional knuckle, making them resemble legless centipedes.

  Jacaranda drew her sword and stepped closer. She tried to summon the hate he deserved. He’d been despicable. Even when she was soulless, and could feel no emotions, he’d inflicted pain and torment on her. His need to harm, and take pleasure in that harm, was insatiable. He’d cherished her, even as he hurt her, for she’d been his most precious possession. Pins, clamps, long strips of leather: He’d harmed her with all of them, but always in a most careful way to ensure he never left a scar.

  “You can hear me, can’t you?” she asked him. “Lift your hand again if you do.”

  Another long, ragged breath. Another lift of those deformed fingers. Jacaranda felt some of her rage flicker to life.

  “Good,” she said, and she knelt closer. “Now you know how it feels, you bastard. Now you know what it’s like to sit inside a body that won’t listen to a damn word you give it. How do you like feeling powerless? Feeling worthless?”

  No lifted fingers this time. Instead his breathing turned thick and wet, and it was only after a long moment she realized what he was doing.

  He was laughing at her.

  Jacaranda’s arms shook. Her lower jaw trembled. Tears built in her eyes, and she fought a whirlwind of emotions far beyond her capabilities of understanding. Here he was, wretched and broken, and he would laugh at her? Mock her?

  Even worse, despite her holding the sword, and him lying helpless before her, she felt his sway over her. With but a laugh he could send her tumbling back through a thousand memories. How many times had he praised her beauty? How many times had he used her for his pleasure? Nearly all of her thirty years of life had been under his slavery. There wasn’t a moment he didn’t lord over. There wasn’t a memory he didn’t dominate. Did he even know she was awakened now? Or had Gerag merely thought Devin had stolen her from him?

  “I’m free of you now,” she said. “Can you tell? I’m not soulless. I’m not helpless. And I’m not yours, you hear me, Gerag? I’m not fucking yours.”

  Those brown eyes of his twinkled. She could almost hear his mocking words.

  Who are you trying to convince, Jacaranda?

  She could leave him there. Few beyond Vikar Thaddeus likely knew the grotesque man was below the Sisters’ Remembrance. She could leave him to suffer and starve, undergoing pain far beyond what she could do to him with her sword. The desire was tremendous. She could just turn around and leave, confident in his death and never to see him again.

  Yes, she could flee. But would she be able to live with herself if she did?

  Jacaranda sat on the cold floor and faced her broken master. Still his eyes watched her. When he could manage, he made that sick, mocking laughter. He wanted victory over her, she realized. He needed it more than anything, for it was the last comfort left to him upon the Cradle. Killing him in a rage would not deny him it, either. Perhaps the truth could cut him, for its edge was often sharper than a sword.

  “Listen to me, Gerag,” she said. “Are you listening?”

  His fingers raised an inch, then lowered.

  “Good. I want you to know I awakened when returning from Oakenwall, and from that moment my choices have been my own. And do you know what has happened since then? I’ve met a man I love. I’ve spent time with him, talking, laughing, walked through gardens holding his hand. He’s comforted me when I’ve broken down in sorrow. He’s been there for me in the dark nights I’ve struggled to forget everything you made me do.”

  She stared into those beady brown eyes, refusing to look away, and refusing to allow him to do the same.

  “I’ve made friends, good friends who I’d die for and who would die for me. I’ve eaten cakes and tasted sweet cream for the first time. I’ve laughed, I’ve loved. I’ve found joy, the one thing you never, ever gave. The one thing you never, ever could give.”

  At last she looked down at her sword, and she lifted it up so it caught the light of the torch upon its sharpened edge.

  “I’m going to kill you, Gerag, but it’s not out of anger or hate. I—I feel tired, and drained, and nothing but disgust for this miserable wretch you’ve become. Who I am, and who I will be for the rest of my life, are my choices now, and I choose to end your suffering out of pity. Once you’ve bled out your last, and I leave thi
s cold, dark cell… I will be free of you. Forever.”

  Jacaranda stood, and she met his gaze once more. His mockery was gone. No more laughter. Finally she saw rage in his brown eyes, but she had no rage to offer in return. That well was exhausted.

  “Not a murder,” she said. “A merciful end to a cruel chapter.”

  Jacaranda smoothly slid her blade across Gerag’s wrist. The skin parted with ease, opening the vein. Dark blood poured across the stone as Gerag forced out a deep, garbled sigh. She steeled her jaw and stared the monster in the eye. She wouldn’t look away, she promised herself. Not until the life in those eyes was gone.

  Gerag gasped in his breaths. He lifted both his hands toward her. His tongue moved, but he could form no words. The blood flowed.

  Her former master died.

  A thousand memories burned and died within her mind. She released them all, let them bleed out of her like the blood pumping from Gerag’s sliced wrist. She cried, softly at first, then great chest-wrenching sobs as the weight of a million abuses fell from her shoulders. Part of her couldn’t believe the truth. The monster that had hounded the edges of her vision was gone. No matter what future awaited her, it would not be a return to slavery. This moment, this relief, was life-giving. It was pure.

  It was nothing like she expected, and everything she ever needed and more.

  CHAPTER 36

  Tommy had not yet worn a groove into the floor of the Wise tower’s cold stone, but he was doing his best as he paced in front of the enormous fireplace.

  “I just don’t know if it’s the right thing to do,” he rambled. “I mean, it’s not a question of could but should. I could blast open the cathedral walls with a few boulders of ice and then roast any guards with fire who try to stop me, but I don’t think Devin would take too kindly to such a rescue. I mean, would he take kindly to any rescue? Damn it, that’d be all kinds of embarrassing to break him out only for him to refuse to leave his cell.”