Ravencaller

by David Dalglish

  CHAPTER 37

  Devin sat with his back against the door of his prison and hummed a quiet hymn. His accommodations were quite pleasant as far as prisons went, for it wasn’t truly a prison. There were two rooms within the Cathedral of the Sacred Mother that had been converted into a makeshift stockhouse. It was generally used for quarantining younger keepers accused of petty crimes outside the cathedral grounds. The city let the church punish their own, so long as the crimes were small enough and the public made no outcry. There was a sparse but clean bed in the corner, a chamber pot underneath it, and a small table with a chair for him to read at or eat his meals.

  Could be much worse, Devin thought as he hummed along. They could have sent you to the city prison.

  He had two opposing ideas as to why they had kept him and Jacaranda in the stockhouse. One was that they viewed his crimes as minor enough so he didn’t belong in the city prison. The other was that they wanted to bury any and all mention of a rogue Soulkeeper and his soulless lover.

  The doorlock clicked above his head. Devin let out a confused grunt. As best he could tell in his windowless room, it was well into the night. Who might be coming for a visit? He hopped to his feet and turned. A few possibilities bounced around his head. All were better than the woman who finally did step inside the door and then shut it behind her.

  “Hello, Devin,” Lyssa said. She removed her tricorn hat, and he noticed she picked at its five raven feathers as she held it at her waist. “Trouble sleeping?”

  It seemed as if she was the one with trouble sleeping. Dark circles spread underneath her eyes. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, and she hunched as if she could vanish entirely into her heavy leather coat.

  “Sleeping is all there is to do in here, sleep and pray, and I think the Sisters are tired of listening to me.”

  Not the faintest hint of a smile touched her face. Devin could feel the tension and awkwardness in the air as thick as the fog rolling off the Septen River on a cold autumn morning. He glanced at the pistols buckled to her hips. Were they loaded? he wondered. She couldn’t view him as that dangerous, not if she was coming in alone at night. What then?

  “Why?” she finally asked.

  “Why what?” he shot back. “You’ll need to be specific, Lyssa. There’s quite a bit that’s happened since I was arrested.”

  Her slender face was so passive, so controlled. That wasn’t like her at all. She normally wore her emotions on her sleeve at all times.

  “Why her?” she asked. “Why a soulless? I told you to come to me, didn’t I? I said I could be here for you, like I’ve always been here for you. I don’t know if I should feel hurt, or insulted, or just overall very, very pissed. It’d be nice if you could help me sort this out so I know the proper way to be angry with you.”

  “It’s not like that at all,” Devin insisted.

  “Then what is it like? Did you steal her from Gerag before someone killed him, is that it? A free, fancy servant that’ll obey your every whim?”

  “She’s not a servant! She awakened, Lyssa! She was once soulless, but not anymore.”

  Lyssa leaned back against the door as if she’d been slapped.

  “Horseshit.”

  Devin let out an exasperated sigh.

  “Go next door, spend five seconds talking with her, and you’ll find out I’m telling the truth. Her soul was given to her during our trip to Oakenwall. I swear by all three Sisters I saw the moment her soul came down from the stars themselves to enter her body. She’s awake, alive, and aware just like you and I are, Lyssa.”

  Lyssa’s anger slowly melded into shock.

  “That’s never happened before,” she said. “Not in the eighty years the soulless have appeared on the Cradle.”

  “And that’s why I kept it a secret,” he said. “Jacaranda had enough to deal with learning to control her own life. I didn’t… I didn’t want the church to take her into custody and study her like they would some ancient textbook or scroll passed among the scholars. Besides, I promised her, if she made herself known, it’d be her decision, not mine.”

  Lyssa pulled the chair out from underneath the desk and sat facing him on the bed. He could feel her gaze studying him intently, and he tried not to wither beneath it.

  “Tell me about her,” she said.

  And so he did. He told her of how she’d been when first they met, her a soulless in Gerag’s control. He told her of the moment her soul returned outside Oakenwall, of how she’d not even known how to breathe in those early confused moments. He told her of trips to the market, her first time eating sweets, of shopping and mirrors and the constant threat of Gerag discovering she was alive. He talked until her hand reached out to his and clutched his fingers to stop him.

  “I’ve only heard you talk about one other person this way,” she said softly, and they both knew exactly who she meant. The silence fell heavy between them. “Why didn’t things work out between us, Devin? I thought after Brittany’s death, you’d just need time, but time didn’t help. It only pushed you further away.”

  He owed her honesty, he knew that. But what was the truth? He’d entertained thoughts of them together, especially in the long months after. Amid his depression, he’d clung to her, finding brief sparks of joy between the sheets. And yet when things seemed ready to advance, he’d fled into his work, covering thousands of miles and a dozen missions in the lands west of Londheim.

  Devin could not look her in the eye. He stared at her hand upon his, gaze lost in the little whorls of her skin.

  “When I think of you, when I think of us, I—I can’t help but fall back into how it was. It reopens a wound I used you to heal. It’s not fair, I know it’s not fair, but moving on from her meant moving on from you.” He took in a long breath to steady himself. “If I was a better man, I’d have asked for your forgiveness years ago. I knew it hurt you, and I always pretended to never see it. I’m sorry.”

  A rumble shook the ground. From somewhere in the distance came a scream, and many others quickly echoed it. Lyssa bolted to her feet, her pistols already drawn.

  “What’s going on?” Devin asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “But I’m going to find out.”

  She hurried out the door, and Devin was keen to notice she did not lock it behind her. He almost followed after her, almost, but until he knew more, he wasn’t going to risk worsening his situation with a jailbreak. He didn’t need to wait long. Lyssa returned almost immediately, but instead of entering the room, she flung the door open and beckoned him to exit. Smoke floated above her head. Screams added urgency to her words.

  “You’re needed, Soulkeeper. The cathedral’s under attack.”

  Devin hurried out and immediately hooked a right to the adjacent room.

  “Not without Jac,” he said. He slid back the bolt lock and flung open the door.

  Empty.

  “Where is she?” he asked as he stepped into the plain room that mirrored his own. “Where did they take her?”

  “I don’t know,” Lyssa said, pulling on his arm. The smoke was already thickening. He could feel the first taste of it burning his throat. “But you’ll have to trust she’s all right.”

  Please, Sisters, keep her safe, Devin whispered in prayer. Lyssa hurried to the cabinet nailed to the wall opposite the stockhouse rooms and flung open the doors. Devin’s weapons and ammo pouch were piled neatly on one of the shelves, and he quickly belted them to his waist.

  “Who would dare attack the cathedral?” he asked as she impatiently waited.

  “The Forgotten Children, most likely,” Lyssa said. “It seems they’re not happy with just Belvua under their control.”

  Devin drew his sword, and he steeled his emotions for the coming battle. No matter how worried he felt, he couldn’t dwell on Jacaranda’s safety. Distractions led to mistakes. Mistakes meant death.

  “Lead the way,” he told Lyssa. “And if anyone notices I’m free and objects, make it clear you helped
me, yeah? I’d rather not die to friendly fire.”

  “You escaped on your own,” she said with a wink. “What? If we survive this, I’d rather not get court-martialed and stuck in a room next to yours.”

  The two stockhouse rooms were built into a secluded lower section of the eastern-facing outer wall, whose only exit led farther into the cathedral grounds. The two Soulkeepers dashed up the stairs, through a cramped entryway, and into the courtyard beyond.

  The courtyard of cherries was a blood-strewn battlefield, one without lines or formations. Keepers, novices, and even a few Alma’s Beloved were fleeing toward Alma’s Greeting in an attempt to escape the rapidly growing fire consuming the great cathedral. Devin absorbed the shock of the sight like a body blow. The cathedral had felt timeless, eternal, its stone as old as Londheim itself. Now its stained glass windows were broken, and smoke billowed out them in giant, expanding plumes. As for the courtyard, various members of the Forgotten Children darted about, killing without mercy. Devin watched two young novices emerge from the training yard to his right, only to be cut down by a trio of foxkin blades. The monsters licked the blood off their weapons’ edges and then added their howls to the sounds of chaos overwhelming the night.

  “Side by side,” Lyssa said. “Overrun them while they’re still scattered and blood-drunk.”

  “Try to make it quick,” he added in return. “We’ve work to do this night.”

  It was one thing to cut down unarmed children. It was another to face the wrath of Soulkeepers. Devin’s pistol announced his presence, driving lead through the nearest foxkin’s heart and turning the two survivors his way. His sword battered aside a panicked block with ease, he stepped in close so his shoulder could ram the foxkin off balance, and then he decapitated him with the returning swing. The last one braced her legs, anticipating a charge from Devin. Instead Lyssa buried two lead shots into her throat, firing them so close together, they sounded like a single explosion.

  Devin spared a glance to the novices the foxkin had cut down. Sadness and anger warred within him in equal measure.

  “Goddesses help me, what a nightmare.”

  The ground shook beneath him, and through the trees he could just barely see the eastern wall of the inner cathedral collapse amid ash and smoke. Devin prayed that all within had escaped beforehand. Two children fled the noise toward them, each wearing simple bed robes. He waved for them to near, and though one did, the other continued running. Upon seeing the foxkin and gargoyle chasing, he understood why.

  “The gargoyle’s mine,” Lyssa said, taking off into a sprint. Devin holstered his pistol so he could wield his sword with both hands. There was no time for him to reload.

  “To me!” he shouted, ensuring the fleeing boy turned his way. The foxkin shifted his attention to Devin, and he snarled like a rabid animal.

  “Stubborn keepers,” the foxkin said. “Lay down and die if you wish to avoid suffering.”

  “Sorry,” Devin said. “But I’ve no plans for that tonight.”

  The foxkin assaulted with his twin daggers. Pain shot through Devin’s arms with his every swing. He grit his teeth and endured. Lyssa could handle the other, of that, he had full faith. Once she did, they could finish off this one. He focused on parrying the foxkin’s quick hits, relying on the occasional feint to force the dragon-sired back. It took all his concentration, but Devin could tell he had far more training, and the foxkin was used to his speed being enough to win a fight.

  It seemed the foxkin realized his predicament. He retreated, dipped his head, and opened the third eye directly across its forehead. Colorful smoke wafted out its edges, and Devin forced his gaze away lest it alter his mind. That temporary opening was all the foxkin needed. Instead of charging Devin, it sidestepped him, grabbed the boy he’d defended, and put an arm around the boy’s neck to hold him still. His other hand pressed the edge of a dagger into his back.

  “Stay back or I skewer him,” the foxkin said. Devin lifted his sword in a show of surrender. He dared not even a glance at Lyssa sneaking up behind the two.

  “Let him go and run away,” Devin said. “That’s all. Just run away.”

  Before he could respond, Lyssa lunged, driving her short sword into his skull. It was fatal, but the foxkin had a half-second of life in him to react, jamming his dagger between the boy’s shoulder blades. They both dropped, blue and red blood pooling together.

  “Damn it,” Lyssa seethed, seeing the wound. Devin rushed to the boy, his own curse dying on his lips. Not fatal, but it would be soon. Before he might administer aid, a torrent of wind knocked him to one knee. A black-furred lapinkin approached, his spear twirling in his grasp. The body of a dead Soulkeeper lay not far behind, the corpse slumped against a tree trunk.

  “I’ll keep him off you,” Lyssa said, her hands a blur as she sheathed her sword and began reloading her pistols. “Help him if you can.”

  Devin tried not to worry as he checked the boy’s back. The wound was deep, and there was so much blood. No impromptu bandage would suffice. He looked about, spotted a Faithkeeper fleeing toward Alma’s Greeting wearing only her shift, and sprinted to intercept her.

  “Not yet,” he told her as he latched on to her wrist. She spun on him, her eyes wide with shock. “We need your help.”

  He practically dragged her back to the boy bleeding out upon the grass.

  “I have no bandages or cloth,” the Faithkeeper said upon seeing him. The helplessness in her voice stirred anger inside Devin for reasons he couldn’t explain.

  “I don’t want bandages,” he said. “I want you to pray. The 36th Devotion, it can help him. Pray, and mean it.”

  The frazzled Faithkeeper dropped to her knees above the child, and she pressed both hands upon the bleeding hole in his back. Tears fell upon her bloodstained fingers. The words of the devotion flowed off her tongue, and she was not even halfway finished when Devin knew it would take effect. Light shimmered underneath her hands, blood fading and skin knitting together before the Faithkeeper’s command.

  Maybe they all can harness the Sisters’ power, Devin wondered. They just need lives to depend upon it.

  A scream diverted his attention to an ashen gray avenria walking straight through a thick tree trunk, her slender sword cutting down an unsuspecting novice fleeing from a foxkin at his heels. She shook blood off the blade, then turned her blue eyes their way. Devin stood before the Faithkeeper and lifted his sword.

  “Pray for me,” he told her, an idea popping into his head. “The 5th Devotion.”

  She obediently prayed as the avenria calmly approached, the devotion’s lines tweaked slightly so it applied to Devin and not herself.

  “Lyra of the Beloved Sun, hear my prayer. His body is weak, his legs unsteady, and his burdens beyond what he may bear. Grant him strength to walk in your name. May he stride tall through fields of strife, and care not for the danger, but only for your blessed light.”

  The words flowed over him like a cool wind amid desert heat. His sword cut through the air like it weighed nothing. His foe tried to match his newfound speed, and her lone blade should have been faster than Devin’s larger, heavier sword. It wasn’t. He parried her first thrust, sidestepped her second, and lunged with his arm fully extended. The tip pierced through her inner ribs. He set his feet and pulled, ripping the sword out the side of her rib cage and dropping her instantly.

  A gargoyle attempted to ambush him while he was distracted with the avenria. Devin’s feet shifted, and his sword continued the arc it’d begun when tearing out the rib cage. The sharp edge caught the gargoyle in mid-leap and sliced through its neck until hitting the spinal cord. Its frighteningly heavy body continued onward, just barely missing Devin due to his side step. The gargoyle’s claws cut thick grooves through the earth, and its momentum halted only upon slamming into a cherry tree. Its body seemingly hardened, a trick of time Devin recognized and refused to believe. He sprinted closer, flipped his sword downward so he might hold the hilt in both hands,
and buried his sword deep into the gargoyle’s chest where he believed its heart to reside.

  Immediately the creature’s body and time returned to normal, blood gushing from both neck and chest as it flailed its death throes.

  “Share your prayers with others,” he said to the Faithkeeper. “We are all in need of Lyra’s strength.”

  The woman nodded, looking in awe of what her prayers had accomplished. Lyssa rejoined him, her short swords wet with fresh blood. Two young boys wearing simple novice robes followed a step behind her.

  “We need to get these people out of here,” she said.

  “Alma’s Greeting,” Devin said. It was the closest major exit, as well as the largest. “That’s where most should be fleeing.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  A wide, bricked path led between Alma’s Greeting and the cathedral proper, and once Devin’s group had exited the rows of trees, he had his first good look at the enormous gate. Its thick wooden doors were splintered and off-center. The stone supports were heavily cracked and collapsed inward, effectively sealing the doors both shut and immobile. A large gathering of keepers held firm before it. Four Soulkeepers formed the outer perimeter, holding dragon-sired at bay with their pistols and swords. In the deep center of the group hid the youngest among them, some barely older than six or seven.

  Destroying the cathedral wasn’t enough, Devin thought as he glared at the collapsed gate. The dragon-sired wanted every last soul to perish. Several times he saw shimmering golden light wash over the humans, a shield reminiscent of what Sena and Adria had cast about their church. So it seemed the rest of the keepers were realizing the extent of their powers. A group of five dragon-sired guarded the stone pathway from their direction, two gargoyles, two lapinkin, and an avenria. They darted in and out toward Alma’s Greeting, never pressing too hard. Instead it looked like they were merely trying to contain the keepers. Waiting until the cathedral was ash and their forces could regather.