The Book of Kindly Deaths

by Eldritch Black

  “No. I was just admiring the view.”

  “You should admire it from indoors, where it’s warmer and the moon won’t turn your skin. I can see it changing even as we speak. We must reverse the effects now, before it’s too late.”

  The driver opened the doors and stepped aside, admitting Katherine into a grand hallway.

  “Fetch the potion at once,” Yarrowiska told the driver. “We need to counteract the moon’s effects.”

  As Katherine watched the driver vanish into the shadows, she shivered, wondering what type of creature resided within that voluminous cloak.

  Yarrowiska guided Katherine into a large room with a huge fire blazing in a hearth that illuminated the paintings placed above it. They were horrible pictures. Spiders devouring prey; hunched mourners in black beside graves; figures standing in empty, desolate places, their faces heavy with melancholy.

  Katherine approached one of the many tables filling the room, each holding a glass case. Inside, dead insects, animals, and tiny figures floated in amber liquid.

  “You like my collection?” Yarrowiska asked, a thin smile playing at her lips.

  “I…” Katherine was glad of the distraction as Yarrowiska’s driver hurried into the room, a tall silver goblet in his hand.

  “Let’s get your beautiful skin back to its natural color,” Yarrowiska said. “Drink.”

  As Katherine reached for the goblet, her heart began to pound. She’d sensed from the start that there was something both strange and a little frightening about her rescuer and now, looking back to her art collection, she realized why.

  Every picture and exhibit suggested cruelty.

  Katherine peered at the liquid in the goblet. It was a dark, oozing substance, and bubbles broke upon its murky blue surface. She didn’t want to touch it, let alone drink it.

  “Drink, girl. Or end up an Eiderstaark forevermore.” Yarrowiska fixed Katherine with a steely glare.

  The driver murmured something as he stepped towards her.

  Katherine raised the goblet to her lips, for what other choice was there?

  Suddenly there was a blur of motion from the corner of the room as a figure rushed forward, leaped into the air, and knocked the goblet from Katherine’s hand, sending it tumbling to the ground.

  It was Oldsy and he had a victorious gleam on his battered face. He grabbed Katherine, yanking her across the room as Yarrowiska let forth a furious scream.

  “Keepsy follow quickly!” Oldsy seized Katherine’s hand. They ran to the end of the room and flew through a door.

  Katherine glanced back to see Yarrowiska and the driver pursuing, her crow sweeping over their heads as it soared towards them. Oldsy slammed the door shut and grabbed a chair, jamming it below the door handle.

  Katherine’s breath felt as if it had been swept from her chest as she took in the room before her. A large, black-winged chair stood at the center of the room, angled to face a gallows and the rope upon its beam swung slowly.

  “Careful,” Oldsy warned, pointing to the plants set out in pots across the lushly carpeted floor. Each of the deep green plants was covered in a profusion of spiny leaves. “Killostax flowers. Poison.”

  They made their way slowly and carefully across the room. Katherine kept her eyes on the floor as the dead animals rocked and swayed above, their shadows falling across the carpet and plants.

  The sound of splintering wood came from behind them. She glanced back at the door as the chair juddered. They’d be through any moment.

  At the end of the room was another door, but Katherine’s relief at the thought of escape was short-lived. The chamber beyond was bathed in gloom and filled with headstones, and below, a layer of dank, musty earth.

  “What is this?” Katherine gazed at the headstones. It was as if someone had moved a graveyard from its rightful place and set it inside a house.

  “Bad place,” was all Oldsy said as he gripped her hand and led her through the graves, taking great care not to touch any of the stones. Katherine gazed up at the huge chandelier illuminating the room and swallowed as she saw what it was formed of—hundreds of bleached white bones reflecting a ball of blue fire at its center.

  Katherine turned as the door behind opened and Yarrowiska called to her from across the room, “I tried to make things easy for you, girl. Had you drunk the potion, you would have become petrified where you stood. No pain, no suffering. But there will be plenty now.”

  Oldsy squeezed Katherine’s hand, leading her on as Yarrowiska followed, threading her way nimbly through the graves.

  Her driver wasn’t so fortunate. As the hem of his great cloak brushed against a headstone, he gasped, clutching his chest, and toppled over with a hideous scream.

  “Fool!” Yarrowiska pointed to Katherine. “Fly, Euryok, take her eyes lest they guide her further!”

  The crow flew from her shoulder, sweeping below the bone chandelier, beady black eyes trained on Katherine, claws outstretched.

  As Oldsy pulled her through the next door and slammed it, she heard the crow hit the other side with a satisfying thud.

  The room before her was empty but for a raised platform at its center. Lurid red figures stood upon the stage, their limbs bent as if broken, heads cast down to face the ring of candles spread before them. A heavy aura of suffering hung in the air.

  “Why?” she asked as Oldsy led her through the room, keeping as far away from the figures as he could. “Why has she done this? So much suffering.”

  “Cruesha’rl,” Oldsy said as the door flew open behind them. “She feeds on suffering. A darkling. Very bad.”

  As they reached for the door, a dagger thudded into the wall beside Katherine’s head.

  Suddenly the room was filled with the most terrible shrieking.

  Katherine looked back to see the red figures at the center of the room writhing and screaming, the sound of their agony unbearable. Before them, Yarrowiska stood, hands clamped over her ears, her face contorted with rage.

  Oldsy opened the next door, pulling Katherine through, and slammed it against the terrible din. They were in another corridor. Oldsy dragged Katherine to a nearby window, opened it, and leaped through.

  Katherine was about to follow when she glanced at the heavy moon hanging over the city. “The moonlight…”

  “Keepsy come. Moonlight better than dying.”

  The door flew open behind Katherine, and Yarrowiska appeared, her crow on her shoulder, her eyes narrowed. “I’m going to make you a living exhibit, girl. It shall take years for you to die.”

  Katherine leaped through the window, landing heavily on the stony path outside.

  Oldsy grabbed her hand, pulling her up as they ran down towards the pair of black wrought-iron gates. They squeezed through.

  Katherine glanced back to find Yarrowiska stalking after them, her crow soaring up, an extra pair of eyes in the night sky.

  “How far is the door to Tattleton?”

  “Tattleton?” Oldsy asked, leading Katherine across a wide road and into an alley.

  “The other place. Where I come from.”

  “Not far,” Oldsy said. “Keepsy quiet now. Keep energy for running.”

  They ran, threading their way through alleyways, each narrower than the last, while above them Yarrowiska’s crow followed, cawing as it guided its mistress to them. Katherine threw another look behind to see Yarrowiska’s silhouette looming towards them. “She’s catching up, Oldsy!” Katherine cried as they emerged into a road.

  Another passage loomed ahead. They ran towards it but stopped as dozens of soft blue lights shone from the alley.

  But they weren’t lights. They were eyes that belonged to a number of figures that stepped from the shadows. Katherine’s first thought was that they were children, with their stunted limbs and unsteady gait, until a gleam of moonlight caught the edges of the blades they wielded in their tiny hands.

  “Slicers!” Oldsy whispered. “Nasty.”

  The slicers ran from the alle
y, stumbling towards them, hacking and slashing the air with their blades. A chorus rose from their mouths that sounded like a cross between a baby wailing and someone humming a broken melody.

  It was a horribly arresting sound.

  “Leave them be, slicers. They’re mine!” Yarrowiska stepped from the alley behind Katherine, her crow sweeping down and landing on her shoulder.

  The slicers hissed as they regarded Yarrowiska, waving their knives towards her.

  “Really? Well then, I’m going to enjoy taking your shiny heads for my collection.” Yarrowiska reached into her cloak, withdrawing a small, glinting axe. She revealed its serrated edge and grinned. “Come and help me paint this street with your blood. Euryok, you may take their eyes.”

  As the slicers ran to meet Yarrowiska, Oldsy squeezed Katherine’s hand and they broke through the tiny waddling figures, shooting into the alley.

  Behind, screams seemed to engulf the entire city.

  Katherine looked back to see Yarrowiska bent low, surrounded by slicers, her axe slowly rising and falling.

  Katherine gasped as she ran, her chest aching, but as she reached to wipe the sweat from her eyes, she stopped, gazing at her hand.

  Oldsy pointed to the hill before them. “Keep running. Not far!”

  “Look.” Katherine held out her hand. “My skin is… It’s like yours.” She rolled up her sleeve. Her arm was the color of a tea-stained parchment.

  “Keepsy keep going.”

  Katherine nodded numbly. What else could she do?

  As she climbed the hill, she looked at her hand clenched by Oldsy’s, their skin as one.

  Katherine gazed at the passage that led to Tattleton, a dark patch between two derelict buildings. She wondered how much time had passed since the Wrong People had taken her.

  Somehow, it seemed like a lifetime ago.

  She trudged on, and as they stepped into the passage, someone within the gloom giggled.

  “Quickly, Keepsy, quickly!” Oldsy pulled her into the passage, and if he’d heard the laughter, he showed no sign of it.

  As they hurried between the dark walls, Katherine tensed, waiting for the vympaar she’d seen on her first visit to reach from the shadows and grab her. But they reached the door without opposition. Katherine took the long key from her pocket and thrust it into the lock. As she turned it, a dreadful din shook the passage, and dust and lichen fell from the ceiling.

  Katherine pulled the door ajar, a sliver of light spilling through and searing her eyes. She cried with the pain, holding her hands over her face as she stepped through. “Come, Oldsy, follow me,” she shouted above the noise. “Quickly!”

  The grass beneath her feet was so soft, the air almost unbearably sweet. She opened her eyes and there, before her, the old, familiar blanket of fog. As she turned back to pull Oldsy through the door, she stopped.

  Oldsy stared back, his eyes wide as a gnarled hand with long, curved nails sank into his neck. Behind him, the vympaar stood, her eyes flashing white, a sadistic smile on her gnarled old face.

  “Let him go!” Katherine demanded.

  “Come to me, child. Come, and I shall let this one go,” the hag promised. “Just spare me a drop of blood for these tired old bones.”

  “Keepsy close door,” Oldsy said. “Keepsy close door!”

  Katherine stepped towards it, clenching her hands into fists. “Let him go now!”

  The old lady shook her head. “When you come to me, I shall let him go”

  “I won’t let her take you.” Katherine offered Oldsy a weak smile. “You belong with me, away from that ghastly place.”

  Oldsy shook his head, his eyes filled with tears. He looked beyond her. “Oldsy remembers now. Oldsy lived there once. Too long ago. Keepsy close the door. Vympaar doesn’t want Oldsy’s blood. Not fresh like yours. Old like dust.”

  Katherine flung the door open, flooding the passageway with light. The vympaar hissed, stepping back and releasing Oldsy.

  “Come on!” Katherine cried. But Oldsy raised a yellowed hand to his tear-filled eyes, covering them. “Too bright. Please close door, Keepsy. Please close door.”

  Katherine took one last look at Oldsy before doing as he asked. She slammed the door, its sound like a thunderclap rolling across the village. She fumbled with the key as she locked the door before slipping it into her pocket. As she began to trudge home she was glad for the fog as it enveloped her, shielding her from the world.

  Gradually, her eyes adapted to the light and the village appeared before her. It hadn’t changed. Strangely, it was just the way she had left it. Katherine didn’t know why she’d expected it to be any different. “It’s just me that’s changed.”

  The village was silent, and judging by the patch of light in the east, it was early morning. As Katherine reached her door, she stopped, looking down at her hand as it grasped the knocker. All traces of her old self had gone; her skin was as yellowed as a page from an old book. She wiped her tears, raised the knocker, and brought it down with three loud taps. Within moments, someone ran down the stairs. She knew the sound of his footsteps. David.

  He opened the door, flinching as he caught sight of her. “Katherine?”

  “Let me in, David.”

  He stepped away from her, his eyes wide with fear. “Katherine? Is that you? You’re…”

  “Of course it’s me. Where’s Mother?”

  “Resting. She’s been waiting at the door under the bridge all night. We all have. Some of the men tried to pick the lock, but it was impossible. What happened? Where did they take you? And…Katherine, you don’t look well. You…” He paused and swallowed. “Have you come for me? Are you going to take me with you?” He turned from her and fled up the stairs.

  Katherine stepped into the house, catching her reflection in the large mirror next to the door.

  A stranger’s face stared back. A stranger’s face with dark, hollow eyes and waxy yellow skin. Her nose was covered in sores, her lips had thinned, and as she opened her mouth, she saw that it was filled with rotten stumps. She ran a hand through her hair, once chestnut-brown, now long, black, and lank and sticking to her crooked shoulders.

  Katherine screamed as she lashed out, smashing the mirror into hundreds of glittering shards.

  When my father, himself a writer and protector of our realm, retired from duty, he took me to the Guild in Grimwytch. I started my apprenticeship the same day, and over time they gave me a number of curious tools.

  Along with the pile of blank journals that would become my Books of Kindly Deaths, I received a sword, pen, map, and a necklace of Solaarock.

  The cartographer who created the map was born in the Grimwytch and had never visited our world, but had based her map on one of ours. The purpose behind her map was simple. Each time an illegal crossing was made from their world to ours, blots would appear on my map, giving their locations. Thus, I could see where the monsters had crossed and how to find them.

  From time to time, the village of Tattleton had darkened upon my map, but the blot signified only a minor breach and occurred so infrequently I paid it little attention, for I had more pressing concerns.

  In reflection of the tragic events that overtook Katherine Meadows, I wish I’d travelled to this dismal, foggy village sooner.

  Word of the events in Tattleton reached me via my network of informants. They told how Katherine’s mother, Elizabeth Meadows, had been searching for a doctor to cure her daughter’s terrible, monstrous condition.

  Immediately upon hearing the report, I packed my belongings, summoned my assistant, Sarah, and we set off.

  I remembered the name Tattleton from my father. It was one of the few places where crossings from the Grimwytch to our realm had once been allowed, originally for the purposes of trading. But that was many years ago. Sadly, some of the villagers who traded with the peoples of Grimwytch had been so entranced by their strange and exotic lives that they had passed through to see the Midnight City for themselves.

 
A tragic mistake.

  Once the Grimwytch moon had wrought its terrible power upon them, the villagers became known as the Eiderstaark, which means “they who have turned.”

  As we reached the outskirts of the village of Tattleton, Katherine’s mother Elizabeth and her son David intercepted my carriage. They were keen for their business to be kept private.

  Once Elizabeth Meadows finished telling me of Katherine’s circumstances, I could barely contain my rage. “Where is she now?” I demanded.

  Elizabeth pointed to a large hill overlooking the village. “There’s a cave…”

  “Your daughter’s living in a cave?”

  “We all thought it best,” Elizabeth said. “After the other villagers saw her, they turned on us. Threatened to burn our house down if we didn’t send her away. I didn’t want her to go. It was Katherine’s idea.”

  “We take food to her every day,” David said.

  I glanced at the village of Tattleton, my anger raging. “What a soulless, vindictive place.”

  Elizabeth Meadows began to speak, but I held up my hand. “Just take me to Katherine. Now.”

  I found Katherine sitting by a smoldering fire, and I’d never seen such a pitiful, dejected figure. Having met the Eiderstaark in my travels, I knew what to expect, but poor Katherine hadn’t completely turned. Indeed, I could still see the vestiges of the girl she once was.

  I told her who I was and showed her my Book of Kindly Deaths.

  “You want me to go back?” she asked, her eyes wide. “To that dark city?”

  “You cannot spend your life in this cave, Katherine,” I told her.

  “I won’t. I’ll leave. I can disguise myself… I can…”

  “You cannot stay in this realm,” I said with a heavy heart. “It’s not permitted. But you will not have to return to the Eiderstaark. I can find you shelter at the guild. There are some beautiful quarters, and you will be well looked after. And I shall come to see you from time to time, I promise.”

  “But I’m not…I’m not a monster,” Katherine said through her sobs. “I’m not like them.”

  “You’re not a monster,” I told her. “Not at all. But I cannot allow you to stay in this realm. Sooner or later you will meet with even worse people than those of Tattleton. And your appearance will be your undoing. People are cruel. Sometimes crueler than monsters.”