House of Vultures

by Maggie Claire

  A death for a new life created. The irony is not lost on me as I force my body to rise and return to Antero’s hiding place.

  Chapter 4

  “What do you want?”

  Antero’s strange eyes watch me as I enter the hiding place. He scuttles deeper into the cave, a club pointing at me from his clenched fist. His fever has broken, but the burns still ooze with raw skin exposed. Even my ability to control him isn’t enough to heal all his ailments. Some things still require time.

  I hold out my hands before me as an offering of peace. “I need to put medicine on the burns again, so you won’t get an infection.”

  Antero curls his lip. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?” He raises the club high as I reach into my pocket for the tin containing the ointment.

  I unscrew the lid and hold out the medicine for his inspection. “It’s an herbal treatment I traded for with a house that dwells near the ocean. I cannot tell you what’s in it because I do not know. However, the healer I spoke to from the House of Piranhas swears it will speed recovery from burns.”

  Antero sniffs at it doubtfully. However, something in the stuff must look familiar. He lowers to the ground and stretches out his leg with the cauterized wounds. “I’m only letting you do this because you caused it.”

  “It has nothing to do with saving your own life, hmmm? Oh, how thoughtful!” I retort as I invade his space and work on his leg. The smell of sweat and putrid flesh mixes with his fear, and I struggle not to heave. A too wide smile appears on my face to keep from gagging.

  “You think this is funny?” Antero barks, his body quaking with shock.

  I cannot answer for fear that I will vomit if my mouth opens. So, I make quick work of the ministrations, my hands rough on his skin. By the time I am finished, Antero looks as green as new grass in the springtime.

  “How old are you, Antero?” I wonder as I push myself as far away from him as possible, trying to keep his mind off the pain and mine off the stench.

  No response comes from my patient.

  “You know what the law says. No mask means public banishment and beating,” I lie, inspecting his face for any hint of understanding. Nothing. Every sign points to the idea that he has come from Déchets, and it makes my blood run cold. “How did you make it across the mountains?” I mutter, and still he does not respond. “Are you hungry?”

  I can will him to answer me, but I do not know if he will be able to recognize that he is being forced. The prudent choice is to save that skill until it is a last resort, so he will grow to trust me. While Antero doesn’t reply with words, his stomach betrays him with a grumble. “We have deer, rabbits, and birds in these parts. What should I aim for?”

  Antero shakes his head emphatically, and I almost shout for joy. It is interaction. I’ll take any form of communication, even a silent one. “No meat at all?”

  Antero nods that I am correct, and I hold a swear on my tongue. Good—fresh vegetables and fruits are difficult to find in this part of the land, and I am not going back to the city ever again if I have my way. “Well, that limits your options considerably. There are a few dandelions outside, maybe some wild berries along the stream. But most of the vegetation in these parts isn’t good for eating.”

  “No meat,” he repeats aloud, eyes bright with feeling.

  “Wait here.” I grumble, pulling a small, empty sack out of my pants pocket. It’s never easy, is it? I muse as I hurry out of the cave to find suitable food for Antero. I search for nearly two hours but come back with a barely filled sack of leaves and six berries. Antero savors each meager bite, keeping one eye on me as he eats.

  “What are you supposed to be anyway?” He asks, motioning to my mask as he finishes his last berry.

  “It’s a mynah. That is what I am called,” I reply, hoping that if I share some details about myself, maybe Antero will feel comfortable enough to do the same.

  “A what?”

  I sigh in exasperation, this not being the first look of confusion I have ever faced in my time with this mask. “Before the windstorm ravaged Cassé, this land was not a bad place to live. We had gleaming cities bustling and writhing with people. While we may not have been the richest nation, we were comfortable.” I clear my throat, desperate to keep breathing as I dredge through the murky images of my past innocence. “There was a place in Omphalos that housed all different types of animals, all living in harmony despite their differences. People could pay to see these creatures housed in their recreated environments, and I had always wanted to go there. My parents took me once, and I remember seeing a white, smooth feathered bird with piercing blue around its eyes like a cerulean mask. I loved those feathers that matched my hair and the cunning, sleek look of the bird. Apparently, a white mynah is rare, for most are dark, solitary birds. It is the last animal that I remember seeing before my parents….” I feel my shoulders tense as my memories fade, the horrible images twisting through my thoughts like smoke. “I was only seven when the windstorm stole my parents from me.”

  A hard scowl forms on Antero’s face as he listens. “What did you do after they were gone?”

  I hate telling my story, but it has his interest, so I forge on despite the lump forming in my throat. “After Cassé was destroyed, the people decided that hiding our faces was the best method of maintaining objectivity. You must understand, Cassé became a land of chaos and anarchy after the windstorm. To survive, you would have to do terrible things to your neighbors. You’d lie, cheat, steal, and murder just to have enough food for the night. The masks made it easier for the strongest to survive. In a sense, we wiped away our own humanity by giving ourselves anonymity. At least, that’s what we told ourselves.” I take a swig from the water skin on my hip, my throat dry from so much talking. “On the day of the storm, after my parents were gone, I bolted from the city. My dad’s last words were to run, so I did. I hid in the grasslands, eating what I could find and eavesdropping for any information I could hear. I stayed out there half wild for about a month. By then the new laws of Cassé had been established.”

  “What laws?” Antero interrupts with a scoff. “What rules are you supposed to follow in this chaos?”

  The words that come to mind are rote, engrained in all members of any house. They were the first words that I had to memorize when I was accepted into the House of Vultures. “Rule one: never take off the mask. It keeps you from knowing if the person you hurt was once a loved one. It does no good to dwell on past relationships in this land of brutality.” I swallow a cry as my mind sees Lion’s broken body once more before me. For the first time, I understand the purpose of this law. If I had realized in time that Lion was family, I would surely have stayed Wolf’s attack. His past offenses would not have been enough for me to allow my uncle to die.

  “Rule two: Never give your true name, because it gives power to another person. This was the easiest law for us to follow because it was already an observed practice even before the windstorm. No one ever told me how it works, but if you know another human being’s name, you have control over that person. You can force him or her to do anything you wish. We choose our names in secret and share that knowledge with no one.” I smile as I watch Antero shift nervously in his seat, suddenly aware of the vulnerable position in which he has placed himself by telling me his name.

  “Rule three: survive.” I add more wood to the fire, relishing the fear that I see building in Antero’s eyes. “When the laws were established so were the major Houses: the House of Vultures—my house—is close by in this forest. The House of Piranhas is by the sea, and it is probably the largest of them all. The House of Wolves keeps its main den somewhere in the north; no one knows exactly where. They live as nomads, travelling through the forest most of the time. The House of Lions has been destroyed today by Wolf, so his pack has grown in number considerably.

  “Those who are not a part of the major houses are called the nameless unchosen. They live in the woods, hiding and observing the houses. We c
atch glimpses of them on occasion, especially if someone masked dies. They seem to think that death creates an opening for them to join. It is folly. You only gain a mask in the houses anymore if you are born into it. Because resources are slim, any member of the major houses is expected to kill a nameless unchosen on sight.”

  “You’ve legalized murder in the name of survival? That’s barbaric!” Antero balks at the idea, horror widening his expressive eyes.

  “I agree with you, and you can be grateful that I do, because according to our laws, you should be dead by now.” Antero’s face blanches at the thought, his mouth falling open. I continue with my explanation. “There are other minor houses with fewer than ten members that rise up every now and again. These groups are often formed by the nameless unchosen who are trying to join one of the other houses. They do not typically last long.”

  “What of the south? I notice you did not say any houses lived there,” Antero asks, his eyes nonchalantly searching the floor for any weapons he might use against me. I pity him, knowing that his attempts to protect himself are wasted. I can snuff out the air in his lungs with a single thought if I wish. No weapon can stop me.

  “The Pith? No house resides there. It is a barren land where not even the hardiest bushes last the season.” But at least now I have an inkling of what has brought my captive this far into our lands; we are the house closest to the Pith. But why anyone would purposely travel there is beyond my understanding.

  “How did you become a member of a major house if you were only seven years old?” Antero inquires, his brow furrowing in confusion. “If it was as bad as you say, then why would a house choose a child to join their ranks? What could you possibly have offered them?”

  I’ve only enough emotional strength to share this story once. Now that I’ve opened these wounds, I find I must complete it in one sitting. Although, by the end of the tale I may be too broken to breathe. “I realized that my best chance of survival was in one of the established houses. So, I found the bark of a sycamore tree, and its smooth, milky texture reminded me of the mynah. I formed my first mask out of that bark with glastum dye around the eyes. I marched up to the House of Vultures and demanded to be heard. Hawk, the former leader of the House, took one look at me and burst with laughter.”

  ***

  “My-nah.” Hawk drew out each syllable with a gleaming smile. “And you wish to join our House, little one?”

  “I have nowhere else to go.” I tried not to cry. The time I had lived alone had made me skittish of others, and my eyes kept darting to the unknown masks all around me. So many faces, so many strangers! I struggled not to appear as terrified as I was.

  “There are many out there who wish to join my House,” Hawk exclaimed, lazily waving a hand at the crowds behind me. “So why should I pick you?”

  My chin jutted out, my hands in fists so he could not see me shivering. “I am small, young, and fast. I’ve lived out in the grasslands alone for a month, and I am still alive. I can learn to do anything.”

  “Very confident, little Mynah. Some might even say arrogant.” Hawk watches me closely, inspecting my face as he awaits my reply.

  “Then they’d be wrong,” I whisper, unyielding as I stand before him. I will not be bullied.

  Hawk’s laughter roared and nearly shook the rickety porch of the house behind him, but he caught hold of my arm before I could run. “You are bound to the House of Vultures, little Mynah. You have learned to survive; now I will make you thrive in this new land. You have my protection, although I think you will not need it for long. You will be one of the greatest, I am sure.”

  ***

  Antero waits expectantly when I pause, unable to continue the tale. After a few breaths, he grows restless, asking, “What happened to him? You called him your former leader, so I assume he died.”

  “I killed Hawk when I was thirteen.” My eyes drift closed so the tears forming there cannot be observed by the boy. Nothing removes Hawk’s friendly, soft leather mask from my mind’s eye. I see him every day in little things at the House. The way I fletch arrows, the setting of the traps, the quick, clean skinning of a deer, and the songs I sometimes whistle on the good days, when I am rarely happy with my life. He haunts my every breath, and I see his fingerprints in every aspect of my existence.

  The fire crackles as Antero falls silent beside me. His throat bobs and his eyes shift from side to side, as if he is searching for a way to escape this cavern. “Why? Why would you kill someone who had helped you?”

  “It was a mercy killing, Antero. I killed him because I could not watch him suffer. I loved him like a second father,” I murmur as the images of those terrible days drift back to my conscious mind.

  ***

  Condor had been covertly threatening Hawk for months before the end. He’d leave little threatening notes tagged to the door, broken bodies of animals left as “gifts” on the steps. He spread word of unseen attackers near our home, preparing for a raid on our supplies. It made Hawk so paranoid that he was unwilling to leave the house alone. Condor and Falcon had been happy to “track down information” about these threats, and Hawk had been too grateful for their aid to see through their ruse. We all missed the signs that Condor and Falcon were plotting a coup until it was too late.

  One day after months of psychological torture, the pair returned to the House and announced that the attackers had been found. “I want to tell you more in the privacy of my room,” Condor exclaimed as he took our relieved leader by the arm, Falcon close behind. “The attackers may have spies in our very walls, and the fewer the number of people who know what we have to say, the better.”

  I knew something was off by the way they snuck glances at each other behind Hawk’s back. So, I followed, slipping inside the room as silently as the flight of my namesake. Condor had very few clothes, so the space that was meant for a closet was nothing more than an empty cavern, shadowed and secluded. I slipped into its darkness, hiding and observing the scene unfolding before me.

  Falcon made quick work of the burly man, whacking him unconscious as soon as Condor shut the door. Together, they strapped his body face up on Condor’s rickety bed. Hawk woke up soon after Falcon unleashed the fury of her whip upon his chest. I listened to his screams as bones snapped, tendons popped, and teeth were ripped away. “Why are you doing this?” Hawk moaned through his bloody lips, his eyes gaping up at Condor, pleading for him to intercede.

  “You didn’t help me, all those years ago,” Condor whispered, his hands reaching toward his own throat. Condor’s back was to me, so I never saw exactly what he did.

  But the way Hawk screamed, eyes widening as he shouted, “It can’t be!” never left my memory. Hawk was terrified; something about Condor had frightened him far more than Falcon ever could with her torturous ways.

  When Falcon and Condor left the room for their dinner meal, I crept up beside my leader. His face was so disfigured by swelling that he could not speak. He could not open his left eye at all. Hawk used his good eye to look at the table beside the bed, to the long, serrated blade sticking its tip into the wood. His eyes focused on me, and a small whimper erupted from his lips. Do this for me, little Mynah, he seemed to whisper. Put an end to my misery.

  My fingers shook so violently I dropped the blade twice. “Are you sure?” I whimpered, begging him to give me some indication that I was mistaken. I cut through the bindings on his wrists and ankles, but Hawk was too badly beaten. I saw the blood pooling around his back, a deep gash on his stomach sluggishly expelling his life force. He’s dying already, I forced myself to acknowledge. He’s lost too much blood to survive.

  Hawk managed to lift his broken hand, moaning in agony as he tapped the blade. Then, raising his shattered fingers, he pointed to the skin under his chin.

  I leaned down and kissed Hawk’s swollen forehead. “You saved me once.” My voice broke on the words. “My debt is repaid.” Hawk’s mouth quirked in a tiny smile as I scraped the knife across his throat, my tear
s mixing with his spraying blood. “I’m so sorry, my friend,” I choked, my eyes glued to the pulsing blood emptying around his head. I hurried away as he gurgled his last breaths, vomiting in the bathroom as I grieved.

  When my hands had stopped shaking I rinsed them in the sink. That knife had stayed with me, and it does even now, I realize as I run my hand along the blade. My hands still seem stained with blood; no amount of washing can get me clean. My eyes behind the mask were hollow, and I had almost taken it off, stopping only as I remembered the peepholes Creeper always drilled to watch the girls as they bathed. Even here I was not safe.

  Condor and Falcon waited outside the door. “Your first kill,” Falcon muttered with a wicked smile as she hugged me to her chest. Violence was the only thing that made her truly happy. “It is time to celebrate!”

  Condor nodded to me as I stumbled out the door, his mouth as stoic as the rest of his mask. “Let me help you,” he whispered when I nearly collapsed.

  “Get away from me!” I screamed, throwing my hands over my face. “Why did you let Falcon hurt him? What did Hawk do to you?”

  “Mynah,” Condor began, his mouth forming a grim line as he dropped his head. “I know that you cared for him. But there were things about our leader that you did not know. I am sorry that you had to—”

  “I killed him. Holy gods, I killed him!” I wailed, unable to move from my place on the ground. This time, I had no strength left in me to ward off Condor’s aid. He carried me to my room and left me sitting on my bed. He said nothing to me as he pulled the door closed, but Warbler scratched at my door a few moments later. I had always suspected that he had sent her to me, but I’d never asked.

  Only Warbler had understood the pain, the loss, the guilt that I felt that night as Falcon led the others into a drunken stupor in my honor. Warbler had held me as I cried. She was barely ten at the time, so I did not divulge anything about what I had done. However, I think she knew, for it was shortly after that incident that she became too afraid to leave the House.