by Kim Cleary
"We haven't been properly introduced." I stretched out my hand. "I'm Meagan Greystone. My home is Ravenswood Manor."
He inclined his head and gripped my hand in an icy handshake. "I know of it, near the market town of Winterhurst?"
I nodded and waited for the slow current to climb up my arm, like it did the first time we shook hands. The hair on the back of my neck prickled, but so slightly it could just have been from the cold. If he was a sorcerer, he kept his natural power in check this time.
"We have the honor of a visiting witch. One with both necromantic and healing powers." Dark circles under his eyes weighed down his face. Black and gray stubble decorated his chin. "A rare combination. An intriguing marriage of skills. And experience?"
I smiled politely. "More experience than my age might indicate. Thank you for assisting Del, and for speaking with me."
He cocked his head on one side. "I am not fooled. I see the wisdom of the ancients in your eyes. Can I refuse to speak with you?" The tone of his voice held a challenge. "Do I have a choice?"
He continued to gaze into my face, an unassuming confidence encircling him. His appraisal of me held no ill-will. I gave him a genuine smile. No point in wasting energy fighting with him.
"I need answers to a few questions, and on top of that I'm full of curiosity, but you are entitled to your privacy, as long as it's not hurting anyone else."
His strong brows arched, thick eyelashes framed his eyes, so thick he could have advertised mascara. Flecks of silver swam in blue-gray eyes the color and intensity of a sparrow-hawk. I pressed my fingernails into my palms as heat climbed up my throat and settled on my cheeks.
Obvious how he gained leadership of this group of undead. He beamed out charisma in a delicious aura of tantalizing perfume.
He knew it, and smiled slightly. "What are you doing so far from home?"
It seemed reasonable to answer his questions, if I wanted answers to mine. I swallowed my embarrassment. "I followed Glynn here."
"Captain Glynn Buckley?"
"You know him?" Owen's expression didn't change but he nodded once, so I continued. "He's a major now. He rushed here, then I read a report in the Winterhurst paper. All the information suggested troubles with undead, so I caught the train here."
"They let you through the checkpoint?"
"I'm on official business." I wriggled my spine straight.
His lips twitched. "Here to rid the world of pesky undead?"
"No." I gesticulated my palms open. "I seek to understand."
"Then what?"
"I'll help resolve the issues. I want what's best for the living and the dead."
"Why?" Owen sounded genuinely curious.
"It's what I do."
His fingers stilled. "We want to help. The pains we've taken not to hurt." He shook his head. When he looked up, he grinned with a smile that lit up his face. "We get no credit, just an assumption that all we do is eat brains."
I smiled at his joke. We both knew no undead lusted after brains.
He lifted his palms as if to suggest he was prepared to be entirely open. "You've answered my questions. It's your turn."
"You're keeping several people prisoner. Will you release them?"
"That's not what I expected for your first question. I know Liliwen explained we are cautious about releasing the captives. We could not withstand a full-scale military attack here. I will keep my people safe."
"Then how long—"
"We must finish our work. If freed, the captives may be able to find their way back here. We can't release them until we can move."
That explained the empty shelves and boxes of books. "What is your work?"
"It was our intention, still is, to gift a working solar-powered railway back to the people of Brimbank. Most of us have descendants living above. We won't harm any of them. The attacks are too dangerous for both the soldiers and us. As soon as the train system is finished we will leave." He pointed towards the filled boxes next to the door. "And to answer your next question, we should be finished in the next few weeks."
That explained the power for the lighting and the machines they were using. Questions about how they collected solar energy; how they stored it for later use; how they could run a whole railway on solar power bubbled to the front of my brain. I pushed them to one side. A topic for another time maybe, but not now.
"I don't understand Colonel Asher's repeated attacks. You've never initiated an attack against them?"
"Never. Why would we? What would that gain us?"
I shrugged in response. Understandable why the military might clean up addicts in the unpatrolled inner suburbs. But why would Asher risk his men against a group of living dead and spirits who weren't causing any harm?
"It had me beat too." Owen watched my face closely.
"Had?"
"I've met with a steam power consortium. They are uninterested in our engineering for solar and wind power."
"Could they be behind the attacks? If you gift a solar-powered train service back to the city, they won't be able to charge for their steam-powered version."
He shrugged. "That explains the consortium. It doesn't explain Asher."
"Unless, he's linked with them somehow. Maybe he benefits from putting you guys out of business?"
"Your guess is as good as mine. Both made it clear they want nothing to do with us. The last time I visited Asher to try and negotiate peace, he arrested me. Locked me in a metal cell. I felt many pairs of eyes watching me. They made it hot, then cold. Dark, then lit with so many different colors I lost count. I'm not sure what he expected." Owen rolled up his sleeve. An ugly burn scar circled his arm from his wrist to his elbow. "Apparently, they wanted to see how well my skin healed after burning."
I pulled his arm closer to me. I winced. Thick scarring showed where multiple burns seared through his skin. Nothing justified such cruelty. "You're here. So, he let you go?"
Owen laughed again. "No. A soldier, a cousin of mine, found out they planned to burn me alive. He found the key and released me."
His voice held no bitterness. No anger. But resentment swirled in my gut. I sensed no evil in this man, no hidden agendas, nor any egotistical urges. "Is that all you're doing here? Working on the train?"
He cast a steady gaze over my face. "You're dying to ask I know."
I jumped to my feet. Strode across the room with my hands gesticulating. "How are you doing it? I see spirits stronger than any that I've met. I see corpses as fresh as if they just died, and fuller of humanity than many of the living. Yet I've also seen a couple of corpses decayed, perhaps dying all over again."
He nodded. "Hundreds of years ago, when such things mattered, Brimbank was built at the intersection of two pronounced ley lines. With the right magic, it's the perfect place to foster and support us."
"I've read about ley lines. I'd kill to get my hands on my library now." I jolted to a stop. "Figure of speech. I wouldn't really kill anyone."
He cocked his head to one side again.
"Only if there was no other choice." I glowered back at him.
A smile sparkled in his eyes. "We have a small library, and we count two earth witches among our number. Between the books and their knowledge, we understand the power of the ley as well as anyone ever has."
I twitched at the mention of old and experienced earth witches. Father taught me necromancy, but my mother wasn't around to teach me her magical skills.
He noticed the jerk in my steps, but didn't mention it when he spoke. "The belief these lines possess spiritual power is not new."
"I've never attributed any supernatural significance to leys. I thought they were ancient trade and ceremonial pathways, possibly dating back to the Neolithic, certainly pre-Roman—"
"These lines resonate with psychic and mystical energy." He circled his fingers like Glynn did when he wanted to hurry the conversation along. "Here the crossroad gives enough psychic energy to sustain both spirits and the bodily undead."
"So where is this leading? Soldiers attack. You hide them away. You say you'll move when you finish your work. But the psychic energy? What will sustain you if you move? Where will you go?"
He shrugged again.
This wasn't right. Who were they hurting? What drove Asher? I had to find a way to persuade him to leave them alone. Owen still stared into my face. Waiting for another question, or perhaps waiting for me to take some sort of punitive action.
"I've seen Aidan is in good health. He seems happy too, in his own way. I'd like to check on the soldiers you have here."
Owen's eyes flashed. "You don't trust me?"
Good question. The answer was no, not yet. "I'd say we trust one another equally. I need to check on the prisoners myself."
As soon as I let Glynn know the men were safe, he'd be prepared to talk, I knew he would. I had to get back to the base. Assuming this morning's raid didn't succeed.
I struggled to keep my face blank. I didn't want to give-away a hint about Glynn’s early morning raid. Hopefully their search bought them nowhere near Echo Den. "To succeed in dissuading Glynn and his colonel from attacking you again, I must convince them the missing men are unharmed."
"You'll need to convince them of more than that." Owen tilted his head, his chin jutted out.
"Help me." Quivers of frustration swirled in my belly. "Let me help you."
He laughed again. "You might be able to command some of us. But how do you plan to work your magic on the living who want us gone. Permanently?"
"I don't know. Yet. But I know Glynn. He won't wage war against you if you aren't a danger to the people here. But I must convince him the missing soldiers are okay. So, you need to convince me of that."
"You put me in an impossible position. How can I trust you? Yet how can I stop you from doing whatever you damn well want to do?" He lifted his palm to silence me. "Oh yes, your fame has spread. Maybe not among the living, but many here tell the story of how you raised the entire cemetery at Winterhurst."
While I'd been talking to Aidan, had he quizzed his entire group to find out what he could about me? I let out a small gasp. I should have expected it I suppose. "Those were exceptional circumstances."
He lifted his eyebrows. "Tell me about it."
I stepped closer to him. "You knew this about me, and yet you only just mentioned it?"
"You don't deny it?" He stood, and towered at least a foot taller than me.
I craned my neck to maintain locked stares. "It's a long story. Complicated."
"I'm not going anywhere." He sat down again, crossed his legs, and made that annoying motion with his fingers like Glynn did to tell me to hurry up and answer the damn question.
"You can twirl that finger all you like. I'm going to find your captives." I stomped to the doorway.
He leapt from the chair and grabbed my arm. "Not so fast."
Definite sparks this time. My own power eddied in my abdomen. I faced him. "You are a witch yourself."
He backed away. "No, not a witch. I have limited healing powers. A blessing before Dr. Graham joined us."
What else hadn't he told me? I pushed out with my senses, he squirmed in response to my probing. Still no malice, no anger. We stood a few feet apart, wary, waiting. I huffed out a peeved breath and rubbed my temples, a headache niggled.
After a couple of minutes, he lifted his hands in surrender. "Okay, let's visit the captives."
In a well-lit corridor, I trailed behind Owen. He had good reason to be cautious about anyone, let alone a necromancer with the possibility of controlling and interfering. He didn't know anything about me, except the stories he'd heard and what he could see with his own eyes. Still, the headache chafed and threatened to grow worse.
Back in the main hall, he spoke quietly with a decaying corpse working on a small metal box. This one was skin and bone, his eyes sunken in his face, his leathery skin stuck to his bones, tufts of hair dotted across his scalp.
His eyes narrowed as Owen spoke to him. He nodded at Owen, and glowered at me. He wiped oily fingers across his shirt and lumbered toward me. With cloudy eyes, he stared into my face as if daring me to command him. His anger pounded against my body. I ignored the power surging in my chest, damped down an instinct that told me to command him. We stood staring at one another for several seconds.
"What do you want to see the men for? Our word not good enough for you?" He dropped his gaze to the floor. "Sure, I'll take you to them."
He pivoted unsteadily on one heel, balanced himself and marched to yet another dark corridor. I darted after him and groped my way along the wall. Symbols carved at hand height stood out. I didn't recognize all of them, but my fingertips found the runic alphabet, pentagrams, triquetra of many sizes, and a double spiral that turned into a huge maze. It felt like a giant exercise book in stone.
The man loped ahead, one leg dragging behind him.
"I don't know your name," I said.
"You don't need it," he answered.
"Why are you more decayed than the others?"
He stopped suddenly, I almost smacked into his back.
He spun and pushed me against the wall, his arm across my throat. He let out a sound that was almost a giggle. "Don't you know?"
"I'm not trying to trick you." I struggled against the weight pressing on my throat. "I don't know why some of you are more decayed than others."
"You expect me to explain it all, do you?" Sunken eyes stared at me, intelligent despite the decaying flesh around them.
The bony arm pressed across my throat. If I could have swallowed I would have gagged on the stench of rotting flesh and moldy bones. I kicked against the man's legs, dug my fingernails into the rotting flesh. I pushed the command to release me into his head. He pressed even harder against my throat. If I didn't get air soon I'd pass out. I bundled my anger and frustration into a swirling black arrow of energy and thrust it into what remained of the man's brain.
Chapter 15
The decaying man recoiled, hands pressed to his temples. I slid down the rough wall gasping for breath. His screams echoed the length of the corridor. Footsteps sounded and strong hands lifted me. Someone stood me up against the wall. I heard my name but from far, far away. Someone thrust a flask of water to my lips and dripped a few drops into my mouth.
Slowly, I remembered Echo Den and what I was doing there.
Owen laid a cold hand on my shoulder. "Sip it. Gently now."
"He tried to kill me." The words croaked out of my bruised throat. "I didn't want to hurt anyone."
"I'll deal with him. He knows better than to attack a guest here."
"All I did was ask him why he is so decayed."
"A sore point I'm afraid." Owen held the flask to my lips while I drank.
"He shouldn't be permanently damaged. But his brain was already badly scarred and shrunk."
Owen didn't need to know I tried to command the man and failed, that it hurt me to push pain points into his brain. Owen was a little scared of me. Or at least a little wary. I wanted to keep it that way.
"It's not just water?"
"A soothing concoction from one of our witches."
The pain in my throat eased with every sip. "Why a sore point?"
"He was an addict before he came to us. He was killed in a military raid, but they missed his body and left to rot in the sun."
"That led to his current decay?"
"Honestly?" Owen shrugged." We don't know, but it seems to be a factor. Can you walk?"
"I'm fine." I drank the last of the soothing liquid.
"Then I'll show you to our guests myself."
Someone led the still whimpering man away. I stroked my throat, swallowing seemed to work fine again, the concoction worked a treat. If I got a chance after seeing the captives, it would be great to meet with the earth witches Owen mentioned. But first, check on the soldiers.
With his hand at the small of my back, Owen guided me to the end of the dark corridor. Cursing like a
sailor, he struggled with an old key in a rusty lock. When the lock opened, he shouldered the heavy door open and we exited the tunnel into a regular square-shaped room lined with plaster and filled with bluish light from globes on the ceiling.
"This room is different to the rest of the cavern—"
"Built as part of the original underground train loops." Owen pulled another key from his pocket, opened an iron grill, and motioned me through. The same blue light flickered in this room.
"Keep walking this way." Owen pointed to a dirty brick wall about ten paces away. "We turn left, then right, the men are in there. In good health. Just like I told you."
If I was crazy to trust this man, I was about to find out. I strode to the brick wall and turned left, followed another corridor a few paces then turned right.
The blue light shone brighter here, into a room the size of a large dormitory. Two men lay on beds at one end of the room, another three lounged on an old sofa at the other end. Another man tended a large pot bubbling on a gas stove in the center of the room. The smell of chicken soup wafted to my nose.
Two men sat at a table playing cards. That made eight out of nine missing men accounted for.
The man cooking soup pointed to the battered table surrounded by mismatched and equally battered chairs. "You want some?'"
I shook my head. "I'm not hungry. But thank you."
"How did they catch you?"
"I came with Del, she is looking for her husband and son. I found Aidan. Now I need to find Ed."
One of the men on the beds swung his feet to the floor. "Sergeant Tanner at your service, ma’am." With a wince, he jutted out his chest. "Del is here? Where is she? With Aidan?"
Owen sauntered to the sofa to chat with the men there. It could have been a soldier's dormitory anywhere. Owen behaved more like a friend than a jailer.
I crossed the floor to sit at Ed's bedside. He scrubbed his fist across his forehead. "I suppose Del came looking for Aidan. Why isn’t she here?"