Blood Requiem

by Christopher Husberg

  The man’s fist came down again, and Cinzia collapsed to the ground, her vision fading in and out of blackness. She breathed in the dust, felt the dirt beneath her fingertips, and then there was a sharp pain in her abdomen. Had the man kicked her?

  A part of her wondered where Canta was in this moment. Where was the power she had felt, protecting Jane from assassins? But another part of her knew better. If she was not receiving that power now, it must be for a reason.

  But Goddess, this hurt.

  Another kick thudded into her belly.

  “That’s enough,” the Beldam said, but as she said it Cinzia felt another kick crunch into her ribs.

  “I said that’s enough, Simmon. You’ll stop this instant.”

  Cinzia heard a muttered response, and the kicks stopped. The moment they did, pain exploded in Cinzia’s belly. She curled up, moaning.

  “Goddess rising, you idiots are more trouble than you’re worth. Help her up, for Canta’s sake.”

  Arms slid beneath Cinzia’s shoulders roughly, yanking her to her feet. She doubled over and another burst of pain cramped through her abdomen.

  “Why?” Cinzia managed, the question coming out in a rush of air.

  “What kind of world do you think you live in?” the Beldam asked. She had not moved from that wretched wooden chair this entire time. “What did you expect from this encounter? To be treated like a noble? A priestess? What?”

  Cinzia’s gut, her face, her whole body hurt too much to reply.

  “There is no room in the Sfaera for fairness, Priestess Cinzia. Freedom, true love, redemption—all take up far too much space to be allowed. They are fictional concepts, twisted from a reality that hasn’t existed since the Age of Marvels. Constructed by historians, writers, storytellers, so we could escape the mundane world for moments at a time. That’s all they are.”

  Finally, the Beldam stood, her legs quivering as one of the men rushed forward to steady her. Goddess, the woman was frailer now than she had been only months before.

  “There is no fairness, no freedom, nothing of the sort,” the Beldam continued. She took an old, gnarled cane from the man who had steadied her, and shooed him away. “There is only truth and the inevitable pain that follows. The truth is that the Nine Daemons have been plotting to re-enter the Sfaera for thousands of years. The truth is that their success was always inevitable. The truth, Priestess Cinzia, is that we don’t stand a chance against them. And now, the pain will follow.”

  Between gasps, between the waves of unbearable fear she felt, between spikes of pain, Cinzia raised her eyes to glare at the Beldam.

  “If you…” Cinzia stopped to cough violently. “If you care about… truth…” Cinzia rasped. The pain still pulsed through her, but she was regaining her composure. “…then tell it to me. I am willing to take the pain that comes with it.”

  The Beldam looked at Cinzia for a few moments, then the wide smile returned to her face. “Come visit me again, Priestess Cinzia,” she said, waving her away. “I enjoy our time together. And yes, if it is truth you are after… perhaps, next time, we will have a real conversation.” The old woman nodded, and the two men on either side of Cinzia dragged her away. Somewhere in the darkness of the forest, they released her, and let her lie.

  10

  KNOT SAW ASTRID APPROACH from afar. She walked slowly, hood pulled low over her face. It was almost morning, just an hour or so before dawn, and Knot had been up all night waiting for her. He clenched his jaw. The girl seemed fine, and that only fueled Knot’s anger, but that was nothing compared to the relief he felt at seeing her again.

  “’Bout time you came back,” he said as she approached.

  She said nothing, instead walking right past him into their tent.

  Knot frowned. Astrid had mood swings; that was not abnormal. Whether because of the age that had trapped her or the fact that she was a vampire or something else altogether, he couldn’t begin to guess, but it didn’t matter. He’d grown used to it, and to her.

  But he knew immediately this was different.

  The way she slunk past him without a glance, without even a sarcastic remark. The way her shoulders slumped as she shuffled along contrasted with her normally alert, nimble pace.

  Knot ducked his head as he followed her into the tent.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  She did not respond. Instead, she curled up on her cot with her back to him, her cloak pulled over her face.

  Knot’s sense of unease sank deeper. He could feel its weight pushing inward, against itself. He cleared his throat. He’d never been good at comforting people. Course, he hadn’t had much opportunity in the two years he’d been alive, but still. Based on all the skills the sifts within him provided, comforting someone in pain would have been one of them.

  Perhaps this is something no one is ever good at, Knot realized. Something no one can ever do right. He sat on his cot, opposite hers, staring at her back. Then he reached across the small divide between them, and placed a hand on her shoulder. He could think of nothing to say.

  They remained that way for some time, until the rising sun peeked over the eastern horizon, filtering into the tent.

  From the movement outside, Knot became aware of someone waiting hesitantly at the entrance.

  “Knot?”

  Knot sighed. It was Arven, the eccentric genius who’d taken charge of camp logistics and record keeping. She had recovered, more or less, from the trauma of the man killing himself to bring in the Outsider, and had recently volunteered to go back to work.

  “Another time, Arven.”

  “But—”

  “Another time.”

  Silence for a moment from outside the tent. “Of course.” Her footsteps rushed away.

  Arven fled just as quickly from Knot’s mind as Astrid turned slowly in her cot to look at him.

  “You’re needed.”

  Knot frowned. “Maybe,” he said slowly. “But I won’t go anywhere unless you tell me to.”

  Astrid did not respond, so Knot stayed.

  They remained that way for a time, Astrid lying on her cot, Knot sitting across from her. Finally, Astrid spoke.

  “I must tell you something.”

  “Anything you like,” Knot said.

  Astrid sat up, hair tousled and hanging over her face. She removed her hood, tucked her hair behind her ears, and looked into his eyes. The moment she met his gaze, Knot knew he would not like what she was about to say. He decided that didn’t matter. If Astrid needed to tell him something, let her tell him. They would deal with the consequences afterwards.

  “I’ve been lying to you,” she said.

  The words actually did hurt him, like a dagger that pierced through skin and tissue and into something much deeper. But Knot didn’t respond, not yet. He could tell there was more to come. Best to let her get it all out first.

  “Since I first met you, I’ve been lying,” she said. “Our meeting was not chance. My following you was not arbitrary. You suspected as much at first, and I refused to acknowledge it. But you were right. I was tasked to find you, follow you, and eventually lead you back to Triah.”

  Knot stared at her, dumbfounded. The strangeness of their first encounter—she had saved him from two Nazaniin operatives—and the mystery behind her following him, had made him extremely suspicious of the girl. And while he had never forgotten the unusual start to their friendship, it had faded from his mind the more time they spent together. He hardly thought of it anymore.

  But now it mattered. “You made me think it was my fault. You blamed it on my own memory problems.”

  Astrid lowered her head. “I was wrong to lie to you. I was following orders at first, but then you and I connected; I found something in you that I thought I’d lost. I started shirking my orders, prolonging the time between contacting them, but… but I could only do that for so long.”

  “‘Them’? Who are you working for?”

  “The Denomination,” Astrid sa
id, without hesitation. “They own me, Knot. I take orders from a woman who calls herself the Black Matron.”

  The Black Matron. Had he heard that title before? It sounded familiar.

  “I haven’t led a good life,” Astrid said, no longer meeting Knot’s eyes. Instead, she looked to the tent entrance. “Humans, you live such short lives, I almost can’t blame you if you don’t accomplish anything good. You never have the time for it. A few mistakes and you’re in deep enough to never climb out. But me… I’ve had time, Knot. I’ve had time, and none of it has been well spent.”

  “And your time with me? Hasn’t that been well spent?” Knot did not know why he was trying to defend Astrid, from herself of all things, but he felt the compulsion to do it.

  “Not when I’ve been lying to you the entire time.”

  “Why, then? How do they own you?”

  “They offered me redemption. They can save me, help me clear away the shitstorm that has been my life. I want that, Knot. I’m still not sure what they want with you, I can’t imagine it’s anything good, but… I’m trapped. I’ve been trapped for a long time, and I don’t know what to do.”

  Knot took a deep breath. The immensity of Astrid’s confession washed over him, like wave upon wave crashing into a rocky beach.

  “I have more to tell you,” Astrid said, “but… I think that can wait. Until you are ready.”

  Knot hardly heard her. Empathy washed over him, and he was surprised how easy it was to hold on to it and let his other emotions go. His conversation with Cinzia had made him think about what he wanted to be. He did not want to be angry. He did not want to be sorrowful. He did not want to hurt, either, but he suspected there was no stopping that.

  Knot could not imagine keeping something like this from Astrid for so long. He could not imagine his affection for her being marred for so long, so invasively. It would be truly miserable. As much as it hurt him to hear these words, to hear that she had betrayed him, it…

  It hurt even more to think what it must have done to her.

  “That must have been incredibly difficult,” Knot said quietly.

  With a sob, Astrid leapt forward and threw her arms around him.

  Knot did not return the embrace at first. He’d meant what he said. That did not mean he was ready to forgive her, and that did not mean they could ever go back to the way things were.

  But perhaps they might. It all came down to one question.

  What kind of person did he want to be?

  Slowly, he wrapped his arms around the girl’s shaking frame. He held her tightly, until her tears ceased, and the sun had risen high.

  * * *

  Knot followed Arven through the Odenite tents. The woman had finally gotten a hold of him, having tried and tried numerous times, but Knot had spent the entire morning and afternoon with Astrid. Now, with Astrid resting in their tent, Knot figured he finally had a moment to see what Arven had wanted to speak to him about.

  Turns out she hadn’t wanted to speak to him about anything. Instead, she led him to Cinzia and Jane’s tent, where she indicated he should enter. This tent was larger than most. Before they’d left Harmoth, a group of Odenites had volunteered to make tents for those who did not have them, including Jane, Cinzia, and their family.

  When he entered, the crowd inside surprised him. Cinzia’s parents, Ehram and Pascia, were both there, along with the triplets, Wina, Lana, and Soffrena.

  And there, on one of the cots, lay Cinzia.

  Knot moved quickly to her side, and as he did so he saw the bruises on her face, her puffed-up lower lip. One eye was swollen shut.

  “What happened?”

  “I am all right, Knot,” Cinzia said. She sounded far better than she looked.

  “You are not all right,” Pascia retorted. “She could barely walk, Knot. Our people found her crawling out of the forest on her hands and knees. In there all night, she was, in the dark.”

  “Who did this to you?” Knot demanded.

  “Later,” Cinzia said. “But… I think I’ve made progress.” She looked around at her family. “Please, leave us for a moment. I need to speak with him alone.”

  Pascia began to protest, but Ehram put his arm around her and the fight seemed to go out of her. Ehram looked to his daughter. “Are you sure, Cinzia?”

  “Of course, Father.”

  “We’ll be just outside if you need us.”

  When they had gone, Cinzia looked back up at Knot, her one good eye bright. “I think we will soon know more about the Nine.”

  Knot couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Knot, what is wrong with you?”

  “You’re lying here, looking like that, and the reason you’ve called me to see you is some bullshit about the Nine Daemons?” Knot laughed harder. He realized most of his mirth came from the fact that she was still alive. He could not bear to lose two people close to him in so short an amount of time.

  You haven’t lost Astrid, he told himself. He wished that was something he could believe fully.

  “Knot.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, wiping a tear from his cheek. He placed a hand on Cinzia’s. “Glad you’re all right, that’s all.”

  Cinzia relaxed back into her pillow. “Well, so am I,” she muttered.

  “I’m so sorry this happened to you.” Then, suddenly, he remembered. “You asked me to be your Goddessguard,” he said quietly. “Was this… was this why?”

  Cinzia looked away. “This is not your fault, Knot. I did something stupid, and only I deserve the blame. I am lucky to be alive, actually. But… but I would ask you, even if you will not be my Goddessguard… I would like you to accompany me next time.”

  “Of course.” Knot realized as he said it that something in him had changed. Because of Astrid? Because of how Cinzia looked now? He wasn’t sure. “I’ll be your Goddessguard,” he added. “I can do that for you. I can do that, and find myself at the same time. I’m sorry I couldn’t before.”

  “You do not need to be sorry. But… if you truly feel that you could be my Goddessguard, I… I would like that very much.”

  “I would, too.”

  Cinzia smiled. “That is some good news, then.”

  The decision felt surprisingly good. Funny how something that felt wrong only days ago could feel so right now.

  “You won’t tell me where you went? What you did?” Knot asked.

  Cinzia took a deep breath. “I suppose there is no harm in it, especially if you will accompany me there next time. I went to see the Beldam, Knot. I went to ask her about the Nine Daemons.”

  “The Goddess-damned Beldam. Of course. You asked her about the Nine, and she did this to you.”

  Cinzia rolled her eyes. “The Beldam did not do this to me, Knot. I am not that helpless. She had guards, two men… they did this.”

  Knot clenched his jaw. If he ever met these men, he would kill them where they stood.

  “I do not think the Beldam wanted them to do this to me; they did it on their own. She stopped them, and she agreed to speak with me. Will you come with me when I return?”

  “Are you sure that is what you want?” Knot asked. To go back into the lair where she was so recently hurt seemed pure madness.

  “I know it is. It is not for me. It is for the good of us all. It is what I must do. Will you come with me?”

  “Of course I will.”

  “Thank you.”

  Cinzia smiled up at him, then shifted in her cot, and fell asleep in moments.

  PART II

  FROM FIRE, BY FIRE

  11

  Cineste

  WINTER LOOKED FROM GALCE to Urstadt. “You both are ready?” she asked.

  “Are you?” Urstadt asked.

  Galce smiled. “I am ready for whatever Chaos would have me do.”

  Winter ignored Urstadt’s question—of course she was ready—and led them up to the same building where she’d attended her first Druid meeting, and she’d ended up killing a dozen humans.


  It was time for Galce and Urstadt to meet the Druids.

  The same short, stout man—Talian, Gord had called him—stood outside the entrance, his face still healing from bruises and cuts. Good on him for taking up his post once more. A lesser person might’ve refused, given the beating he took last time. The man’s eyes widened as he recognized Winter. She could not tell whether he was happy to see her, frightened, suspicious, or all of the above. The tiellans had been difficult to read. She could not pretend she’d done them a favor; dealing with thirteen dead humans could not have made their lives any easier.

  While Talian’s reaction to Winter was ambiguous, his opinion of Urstadt and Galce was clear as his eyes narrowed when he saw them behind her.

  “No humans.”

  “They’re with me,” Winter said.

  “Don’t matter. No humans allowed.”

  “You let a dozen humans in a few days ago, and you’re lucky I intervened then.” Winter flinched internally at her own words; she was being far too harsh on the man.

  Galce placed a hand on Winter’s shoulder. “It’s all right, my garice.”

  Winter ignored him and glared at Talian. “Stand aside.”

  Unhappily, the guard obeyed, and Winter, Urstadt, and Galce entered the Druid headquarters.

  Inside, tiellans bustled back and forth, scribes prepared messages for the other factions, couriers strode purposefully in and out of the room, and the tables that had been clumped together along one edge of the room during the meeting had been spread out across the floor, maps and documents of every size sprawled across them.

  Urstadt drew stares from almost everyone in the room. Taller than most human men, she stood almost an entire head over average tiellans. Add to that her ornate armor, plated with rose gold, and she was impossible to miss in any crowd. Galce, short and portly, would have been more difficult to notice had he not been in the company of Urstadt and Winter.

  The only tiellans too occupied to have noticed them walk in were Ghian and the matriarchs and elders Winter recognized from the meeting she had attended—they were speaking in quiet but emphatic tones as she approached. Ghian and one of the tiellan elders seemed to control the conversation.