The Book of Kindly Deaths

by Eldritch Black

  “Of course there aren’t any shops!” Shard said. “But…” he glanced to the stars. “I know somewhere that we can find a change of clothes. And they’ll smell as vile as a cheesedung fly at the height of summer.”

  “I don’t need to know what a cheesedung fly is,” Eliza told Shard as they set off. “But I’ve got a perfectly hideous image in my mind.”

  They walked, passing through the woods as Shard asked Eliza questions about her world, greatly amused by most of her answers. And she asked him of his world.

  “Remind me to keep away from the sheep if we see them!” Eliza said, worried now about the species of lambs that Shard had explained were savagely carnivorous. A part of her was sure he was joking, but if he was, he hid it well.

  “How is it that you don’t know of our beings?” Shard asked. “Your grandfather’s a writer. You must be one too.”

  “I write, but not in the way you mean. I didn’t know this world even existed until two days ago.”

  “How could that be?”

  Eliza slowed now, gazing off into the trees. “My mother kept it from me. She’s kept me in a safe little bubble for as long as I can remember. Anything even remotely weird or imaginative is a big no-no in our house. She told me stories were just made-up and a waste of time. Perhaps she was trying to protect me from all of this. If she was, I guess she meant well.”

  “You don’t sound so sure,” Shard said.

  “I could see why she would do it, I suppose, but whatever the case, I resent her for not trusting me to make up my own mind about things. This is all so…huge. She should have told me.”

  “And if she had, would you have wanted to come here? Would you have become a writer and battled the bad seeds in our realms?”

  Eliza laughed, her face reddening. “I don’t think I can battle anything. Even my cello lessons defeat me. I’m not like you.”

  “What am I like?” Shard asked.

  “Well, you’re a warrior, aren’t you? You’ve probably bested loads of foes.”

  Shard ran a hand through his writhing hair and patted his horns. “Don’t let appearances deceive you. I can fight; I’ve been trained to fight. That’s what my family does…or should I say did. Fought for justice for those who choose to live in our fiefdom. But I haven’t spilled blood yet. That will change soon enough, though.” His face was grave now.

  “I hope you catch whoever hurt your family,” Eliza said, unsure of what else to say.

  “I will,” Shard replied, fingering a necklace about his neck. “It’s only a matter of when.”

  He pulled his hood back up then, and Eliza was glad. For while Shard was perfectly friendly and she knew she could trust him, the sight of his horns and his hair, which seemed to move of its own accord, unsettled her. She looked forward to the time where she’d no longer notice it, praying he hadn’t picked up on her awkwardness.

  “So,” Shard said, “what do you make of our land, then?”

  Eliza shrugged. How could she put it without causing offense? “Well, it’s very interesting. I mean, there are so many weird and wonderful things here. And the air is really clean. And, well, it’s very dark. I don’t know if I would want to live somewhere where there’s no sun.”

  “There will be light one day. Or so legend says. But legends say a lot of things, and some of them never come to pass. “Anyway,” he gestured up at the moon, “she won’t affect you. She won’t make you change into one of us, not while you wear that Solaarock around your neck. So, does everyone look like you where you come from?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know, a lack of wings, horns, tails, things like that. And your eyes are very mild. They don’t seem to shine much. Do they ever?”

  “Not really. I suppose we do look pretty plain compared to you. Although some people try to look different. They spike their hair up and wear colored contact lenses—those are things that can make your eyes look really weird. And some people wear strange clothes and have bits of metal in their face. Mum says they’re idiots, mostly, but I don’t see why everyone should look the same all the time. If we lived in my mum’s world, it would be as interesting as cardboard. Which is not very interesting at all. I know she doesn’t really mean most of what she says. She’s just scared.”

  “Of what?”

  “This.” Eliza swept her hands before her. “I don’t know what happened between her and my grandfather, but I have a pretty good idea. I think he tried to teach her about the Grimwytch and something must have gone wrong. Perhaps she got really frightened, which is probably why she’s spent her whole life trying to keep all of this from me.”

  Suddenly Shard stopped, grabbing Eliza’s arm. “Don’t speak,” he whispered.

  Ahead, squat figures stood as still as statues amongst the trees. Until something moved in the forest beyond them, and they turned their elongated, canine heads as one.

  The sound of movement came once again as something crashed through the foliage, and then the figures were off, leaping and tumbling through the brush. They vanished into the gloom and, moments later, a terrible, agonized scream rang through the trees.

  “Hackthins,” Shard said with a note of disgust. “Vile beasts. It’s the first time I’ve seen them in this part of the forest. Usually you find them near marshes and foggy places. They appear from nowhere and pounce upon their victims as a pack. They like to skin their prey alive.”

  “That’s horrible!” Eliza said, shivering as she strained to hear the creatures, but the forest was once again silent.

  “As I said, there’s much evil in our world, and good, and plenty in between. Come, we should be near Malumdell.”

  “Malumdell?”

  “It’s a village. Or was a village. My parents used to go there for the festival of windfall. The villagers made the most delicious wine from their fruit. I wasn’t allowed to drink it, but my brother and I used to borrow the odd bottle or two.”

  “You said it was a village. What’s it now?”

  “A dead place. Fireghasts razed it to the ground. And apparently it has a new occupant and it might have clothes for you somewhere within its collection.”

  They stepped from the forest onto a narrow, ancient trail as black as the stunted trees rising like spikes on either side of it. Eliza looked ahead to what must have been the village—mounds of stone, bricks, and the charred remains of roofs and timbers resting in a sea of ash.

  At the end of the blackened, leveled village stood a solitary house. Its walls were darkened with soot and smoke, but its sloping roof had been seemingly untouched by the blaze. Its windows were smashed, jagged shards of glass reflecting the moonlight in a toothy red display. As they drew closer, Shard stopped. “Stand still and do not move. The wind is at our backs. It will raise our scent and bring it out.”

  “Bring what out?” Eliza said as something burst through the broken window.

  At first she thought it was a stag beetle, until she saw its tatty black wings and the hundreds of legs kicking the air below, each covered with spikes. As the creature neared them, its maw wide open, Eliza realized with a thrill of horror exactly what it was.

  “Repulsive fetcher!” Shard growled. As the creature soared towards his face, he snatched it from the air. Eliza stepped back as the creature’s pincers frantically snapped.

  The fetcher flipped in on itself, its pincers slashing the back of Shard’s hand, its tiny feet reaching for him but missing, their bright green venom dripping in the moonlight. Shard cried out as the fetcher slashed him again.

  “What should I do?” Eliza screamed as his face darkened with agony.

  “Get back!” Shard threw the fetcher down. Before it could spring up, he caught it by the back of its neck and held it at arm’s length as blood dripped from the gash on his hand.

  The fetcher gave a shrill scream. Seconds later, its cry was answered from the building by a wrathful roar of outrage.

  Eliza’s heart pounded as she glanced at the dark, ancient h
ouse.

  20

  The House at the End

  A crash came from the house, followed by a scream. And then the door exploded open as a huge creature emerged.

  She was taller than anyone Eliza had ever seen, at least eight foot. Her face, below her straggles of nicotine-yellow hair, was a mass of pus-engorged boils but for two narrowed eyes and a great, yawning mouth. She reached into her ragged, grime-encrusted smock, removed a claw hammer, and howled, her voice as loud as a thunderclap, “Give me back my fetcher!”

  Shard gripped the fetcher as he drew his sword, resting the blade against the creature’s head. “How many pieces would you like your familiar in? Because for every step you take towards us, I’m going to cut it. And when I’ve finished slicing it, I’ll smite your woefully ugly head from your neck.”

  The hoardspike stopped, holding out a gnarled hand. “Don’t hurt my baby,” she begged, absently rubbing her chest. As Eliza remembered the story of Victoria Stapleton, she was glad for the smock covering the hoardspike and the wound in its chest that nurtured the fetcher.

  “I’ll spare your fetcher,” Shard said. “And you with it, even though the idea revolts me. But only if you keep your end of the bargain.”

  “What bargain?” the hoardspike asked.

  “My friend here needs a change of clothes.”

  As the hoardspike glanced at Eliza, her eyes widened and she licked her lips. “Drearspawn! So that was the delicious scent…”

  “She needs to mask her delicious scent,” Shard said. “Which is why you’re going to let her enter your dwelling to find clothes. Either that, or I’ll slay you and your servant and we’ll take what we want.”

  “What a cruel boy you are,” the hoardspike said with a look of admiration on her gnarled face.

  “I have no pity or forgiveness for darklings.”

  “Let’s hope you don’t become a darkling yourself, boy. You have slaughter and revenge in your eyes. And who knows what direction you might take on your life’s path?” The hoardspike spat, then nodded to Eliza. “You realize the drearspawn sees us all as darklings. Why are you helping her?”

  “That’s none of your concern,” Shard answered. “Just tell me if you’ll allow the girl to search through your hoard unharmed. Or if I must shed blood.”

  The hoardspike swallowed, glancing to her house. “What will she take?”

  “Only what she needs. Clothes, so she can pass through the Grimwytch unhindered.”

  Thinking again of Victoria Stapleton and the hoardspike, Eliza understood the Collector’s anguish. “Once I find something suitable, I’ll leave these behind,” she reassured the hoardspike, pointing to her dark-red sweater and her favorite jeans. “It’s like a trade. So you’re not really losing anything.”

  The hoardspike smiled. “Drearspawn clothes for Grimwytch clothes. Doesn’t seem like such a loss. And who knows, perhaps the girl and I will have dealings further along the road, and I’ll find something else for my collection.”

  A shrill wail filled the air as Shard pressed his blade against the fetcher. “Enough threats, hoardspike. Eliza, go into the house and find whatever you can. And be quick.”

  Eliza ran, giving the hoardspike a wide berth.

  She stepped through the shattered door into a large room heaped from floor to ceiling with towers of junk. Beyond the debris, most of which was charred and covered with ash, was a half-flight of blackened steps. The walls and ceilings of the house were scorched, yet somehow the building stood. Although judging by the creaks coming from its timbers, it was surely only a matter of time before it collapsed altogether.

  Eliza clamped a hand over her nose as the stench from the hoardspike’s collection wafted over her.

  It was the reek of dead and rotting things and a cloud of red, bloated flies swarmed in the air, buzzing around the decaying bounty.

  The floor was a narrow maze winding between mounds of objects. Eliza navigated her way through columns of charred, mismatched bricks and heaps of soot-encrusted furniture. She moved aside the broken chairs and drawers barring her way as she searched for a change of clothes. The thought of actually wearing anything from this revolting trove made her retch, but she pushed on, stepping carefully over a huge collection of bones.

  She picked through a nearby pile, finding a large bowl. Eliza looked away from its bloody contents to a small, tattered box, which appeared to hold a collection of eyes. She tried not to think about who, or what, the eyes may have belonged to.

  Something squawked. A large cage housed what appeared to be a crow with a dark, rat-like head. It gnawed at the cage bars, hissing as she drew closer.

  Eliza moved on, her shoes slipping over a jumble of cutlery, each of which was bent out of shape.

  Ahead, she found what she was looking for, a pile of clothes heaped in a tangle. Eliza picked through them, tossing them down and stepping away, lest anything crawl out of their jumble. Most of them appeared to have belonged to a woman three times her size and weight. There were lots of old hats, dresses, and shawls, each of which was coated in mold.

  Below the clothes, she found a filthy, black-hooded cloak, mercifully free of fungus. She set it aside and picked up a dark, midnight-blue dress. Slightly large, but it would fit.

  Eliza changed into her new outfit, holding her breath against the stench, frowning as she dropped her favorite jeans amongst the pile.

  They looked strange lying there, amongst the hoardspike’s pile of rubbish. Literally out of this world.

  Dozens of shoes hung by twine from the ceiling. Eliza sorted through them until she found a suitable pair. They were slightly large, but she could make them work. She reached for an old book, tore out some pages, and stuffed them into the toes of the shoes.

  “Now I’m almost perfectly uncomfortable,” she said, rolling her eyes and praying her journey to the Midnight City would be a brief one. The ceiling creaked, as if in answer. Eliza made her way back through the mountains of rot and squalor.

  But as she reached the door, she stopped.

  Something was humming. It was a strange, low sound. One that seemed to call to her. As Eliza wound her way through piles of book covers, their pages torn out, the sound grew louder. And then she found its source. The hum seemed to be coming from a small dagger with a navy-blue blade, its pommel a dirty gold, inscribed with a series of symbols.

  As she reached for the blade, it sang even louder, and a distant part of Eliza begged her to tip over the tower of book covers and bury the thing. But she didn’t. Instead, she picked up the blade, gasping as a charge of energy ran along her arm and it seemed to come alive, hacking the air before her.

  Eliza tried to set it down, but the blade continued to cut and slash, inscribing dark-blue patterns in the air. “Stop!” she said. But it wouldn’t. She glanced around, spotting a sheath attached to a belt.

  As Eliza reached for it, the blade slowed, its energy dissipating and as she slid it into its sheath, the humming stopped. The house fell silent once more but for the creak of rafters and drone of flies.

  Eliza disregarded the voice in her head yelling at her to throw the blade as far into the debris as possible. She thought of the hoardspike waiting outside and the other creatures she’d encountered since leaving her world for this dark, insane place. Eliza fastened the belt over her dress, the sheath heavy and reassuring against her thigh, and concealed it below her cloak.

  “You look…interesting,” Shard said as she stepped from the house.

  As the hoardspike regarded Eliza, her eyes narrowed. She sniffed the air. “What did you take?”

  Eliza met her gaze, swallowing. “Just these clothes. I left my old ones behind. So you haven’t lost anything; you’ve done well with this trade.”

  “Liar,” the hoardspike growled. “Drearspawn liar!”

  Shard tightened his grip on the fetcher, making it squeal. “Enough. Or I’ll carry out my promise. You call the girl ‘drearspawn’ as if you come from a place of superiority. To my k
ind, you’re less than vermin.”

  “She’s stolen something from me. I can smell it!”

  Eliza held her hands up. “Why would I want to steal anything from you? These clothes are disgusting! And now you’ve got my clean clothes. Hardly a bargain, is it?”

  Eliza stepped past the hoardspike, avoiding her accusing eyes as she joined Shard.

  “Give me my fetcher!” the hoardspike demanded.

  “In a moment,” Shard said as he and Eliza began to walk along the snaking path toward the forest trees.

  When they were thirty or so feet away, Shard turned and released the fetcher. It flew, slicing through the air as it returned to its mistress and the hoardspike tore open her smock, revealing a bloody hole in her chest. The fetcher squirmed inside, and she clasped a gnarled hand across her chest, her expression like that of a mother reunited with her newborn.

  “That’s hideous,” Eliza said. “And creepy.”

  “The parasite finds its host. Though I’m never sure which is which,” Shard replied. “Either way, now would be a good time to run.”

  They sprinted through the trees, Eliza’s shoes hampering her as she ran. The hoardspike pursued, a look of malicious hatred on her putrid face. Eliza ran harder, but as she glanced at Shard, she found him grinning. “What on earth are you smiling for?” she cried, her words labored as her feet pounded the stony road.

  “Twenty, nineteen, eighteen, seventeen…” Shard counted.

  Eliza looked back; the hoardspike was feet away now, her great hands reaching for them, a snarl of fury on her spittle-flecked lips.

  “Sixteen, fifteen, fourteen, thirteen…” Shard ground to a halt and seized Eliza’s cloak.

  “What are you doing?” Eliza cried.

  But the hoardspike had also stopped, her hands on her knees as she leaned over.

  “Why’s she stopped?” Eliza fought to catch her breath.

  “I thought she’d stop at fifteen.” Shard laughed and then shouted to the creature, “I admire you. You almost made it!”