Grace of the Light

by Fergal F. Nally

  Raine looked round.

  Kit was nowhere to be seen.

  Chapter 6

  Whistlemount

  Liss was alone for the first time he could remember.

  It felt strange, he had always been surrounded by the pack. They thought and moved as one. Yellow Eyes was gone, Ice Heart was gone; it was the time for Whistlemount, the herds would be gathering before their spring migration. He would join the pack there.

  He was confused. Why had they left him? What did his dream mean? The woman in the underground chamber; what had she taken from him? She told him he had freed her from captivity, she had spoken to him without moving her lips. She was not like the other humans he had seen.

  Liss looked around, there was no sign of a room, no sign of a stairway disappearing into the ground. He traced his fingers across the wall carvings, there was no hidden switch, the ruins looked on impassively. The wind played with his hair, the sun warmed his face. He pulled his furs tight and stood. He would make Whistlemount by nightfall. He knew the way, a route the pack had taken for generations.

  He felt his blood rush, it would be good to be on the move, to find his kindred. It would be good to be with Yellow Eyes again.

  Liss left the ruins and headed west, across the broken spine of the Jacta Arx Mountains, to the high passes, towards Whistlemount. His muscles sang with the joy of movement, the exertion of running and clambering over the bones of the high mountains.

  He threw himself down the slope, his legs bounding skilfully over the rocks. A haze developed as the morning progressed. He moved methodically through the boulders and registered a sudden drop on his right. Then he smelt it, unmistakable.

  Blood.

  A blood stain on the rock just before the dip ahead. He froze, senses reaching out, sight, sound, scent. He picked up nothing, he waited. After a full minute had passed he stirred and approached the stain. He ran his finger through the blood and brought it to his lips tasting it.

  Wolf blood. One of his own. Wounded? An attack? His mind rejected the thought. No, only a great bear would take on the pack, even then only in extreme circumstances. A fall was unthinkable, this ground was familiar, known to them all and the skies were kind. No, something else had attacked the pack. He decided to follow the blood trail.

  He found Ice Heart a short distance away. Liss stood in shock staring at his dead pack leader. Ice Heart lay sprawled, spine snapped like a twig, a hole in his chest where his heart had been, his carcass flayed. It was a shock to see Ice Heart’s body unmoving and broken. Ice Heart who had led the pack through the darkest, hungriest winters and the brightest, endless summers.

  Who had done this? Why?

  Liss staggered and sat down heavily. His face was wet, he looked up, there were no clouds, he did not understand the tears on his face. His body shook. He touched the skinned body, the urge to howl rose in him. Instinct stopped him.

  Fear stopped him.

  Whatever had killed Ice Heart could be near. It could come for him. He looked round through the haze seeing nothing. He looked at Ice Heart and faltered. He resisted the instinct to roll in the scent, he needed to leave his dead leader and find the others. He would find them, Yellow Eyes would know what to do. Yellow Eyes always knew what to do.

  Liss returned to the ridge and continued along the spine of the mountain. Thirty minutes later he found the second body, then a third. They too were flayed, their hearts removed just like Ice Heart’s. Liss trembled, anger replacing fear. He would track and find the killer and reclaim the pack’s spirit.

  He stumbled through the mist and saw ground falling away on both sides. He recognised this section, the narrow ridge leading to the peak which guarded Whistlemount. He would be with the others soon, together they would seek revenge. His feet took him up and over the mountain pass and down into the valley beyond.

  Liss reached clear air, the visibility improved. He stood in the high valley surrounded by death. He counted twelve of them, the rest of his pack, deer too, their heads gone. His eyes searched the bloodstained ground frantically. Then he saw Yellow Eyes, his mother, her spine crushed beneath a rock, her body a bloody pulp. He ran to her, cradling her head in his arms. Her eyes were open, staring blankly.

  This time Liss howled, long and loud, his cries echoing off the mountainside, deep into the forest below. He howled until he could howl no more until his soul was empty, his voice in tatters. He felt something break inside, he lay down beside Yellow Eyes, all thought of revenge gone. He closed his eyes preparing to die. His pack was gone, his life was worthless. What was he without the pack?

  He lay and shivered in the night air, mist and rain caressing his skin. But his body refused to die, his heart kept beating, shock took over. He lay catatonic for two days. His mind broken, his body numb, his spirit defeated.

  On the third day the mist parted, a woman’s figure materialised before him. Liss remained withdrawn, eyes closed. She spoke to him in his head, her lips did not move.

  “I heard your call, Liss. I felt your pain, so does your child.” She patted her belly. Her eyes narrowed, all was going according to plan, these humans were so malleable, especially this one raised by wolves. He would follow her. She had given him no choice, it had been necessary to kill his pack, now he had nowhere else to turn.

  “Come with me, we’ll find who did this to your kin. We’ll have revenge, we’ll drink their blood. You help me, I’ll help you, Liss the strong.”

  Her words found their mark penetrating Liss’s skull. He looked up recognising the woman from the ruins. She had come back for him. Why? He didn’t care, what mattered was she was there, she was beside him.

  She carried his child.

  He chose life. He would rise, live and fight, kill those who had taken his family, his Yellow Eyes.

  The woman reached out. He hesitated then took her hand, it was warm, soft. He got to his feet, his body ached, he ignored the pain, he would feed off the pain, use it, seek it out, let it rule him.

  “What’s your name?” he thought. His throat made grunting noises.

  She looked at him and smiled, knowing. “I am Morrigan. I’ll look after you, Liss the brave, you’ll look out for me. Together we’ll take revenge. We’ll right this wrong.”

  Liss held her name in his mind and allowed it into his heart.

  Morrigan.

  What kind of name was Morrigan? No matter, he felt stronger already. They descended from Whistlemount together, through the unnamed forest to the plains below.

  Chapter 7

  Bright Feather

  “You govern my heart. Why do you play seek and hide, with me? Why have you forsaken me, betrayed me to those… others?” Bright Feather kept her eyes closed and brought the dish to her lips. The ox blood would bring her strength. Alchemy and ox blood kept her going, that and the love she had for her beloved, the man others called Senchant. The man she called Dark Feather.

  A knock came from the door.

  “Come,” she said.

  Aelisa entered the room. “We have the girl, the one called Grace of the Light.”

  “Were there any… complications?”

  “No, my Lady, everything went smoothly.”

  “Have you searched her?”

  “Yes, she is unarmed, no hidden weapons.”

  Bright Feather sighed. “She is the weapon. Bring her in… show me what the Sisters of Light are capable of.”

  “Yes, my Lady.” Aelisa brought Grace into the room.

  Bright Feather studied Grace. Finally she spoke.

  “So you are a Stolen. The Sisters of Light took you at birth, you answer only to the Mother and Lael, your goddess.” She spat the last word. “Well your goddess has kept you alive until now, think on that assassin. I see those sewer rats branded you, animals. Their necks need to decorate the gallows.”

  Bright Feather paused. She turned to the fire and gazed at the flames. After a while she spoke again, her voice low, smouldering.

  “I want you to work fo
r me. I need the best assassin there is and you are the best for what I have in mind. If you accept my offer I will grant you a new identity, with that new identity comes freedom from your old life. You will have payment too, enough to allow you to resettle comfortably anywhere in the Imperium, or further afield if you so wish.” Bright Feather continued speaking, outlining her requirements.

  Grace waited for the catch, those in power liked the sound of their own voices. Still, they were the ones with the power, so let them ramble on, what did it matter? She could retreat from words. Her eyes took in what the room had to offer; window, fire, table, chair. So many ways to kill, she was surrounded by weapons. She would hear Bright Feather out. She would play the game, see what the woman had to offer.

  Grace’s creed came to her:

  Trust no one: rule number one of the Sisterhood.

  Leave no trace: rule number two of the Sisterhood.

  Kill ruthlessly: rule number three of the Sisterhood.

  She had broken the rules. She had let the Sisterhood down, they would not come for her. The Mother would be her only protector.

  “What say you, Grace of the Light?”

  Grace had been processing Bright Feather’s words, reaching a decision. So, Bright Feather had a series of jobs for her. Six marks; people blocking her way, doors needing to be opened. Six deaths in six days, a gruelling mission. The incentive? Her freedom, a new identity, a new start. She could escape this life and set up in another city.

  The Mother had provided for her once more. “I accept your offer Bright Feather,” Grace heard herself say.

  Bright Feather nodded. “Tomorrow you will kill the Duchess of Mordent, she and her brother have blocked me in the king’s court. With her death, her brother’s resolve will collapse. I will fill the vacuum. The king will appoint me her successor, which will bring me closer to your next mark, more of that when you have completed your first kill. Go now, Aelisa will fill you in.”

  Grace turned to leave the room.

  “Oh, and if you fail… well, Aelisa will tell you. I’ll see you again tomorrow.”

  Grace looked at Aelisa who held her gaze. Aelisa nodded and they left the room.

  “Six steps to the king, six steps to power,” Bright Feather whispered to the empty room.

  Later, Aelisa came to Grace’s room and brought her food and drink and sat with her in front of the fire.

  “You need to keep your strength up for the first kill. The Duchess is a formidable woman, trained in sword and shield. She’s taken part in jousting and has bested a knight of the realm. You’ll need to be sure of yourself and your method.”

  “Bright Feather mentioned failure...”

  “If you fail, you die, simple,” Aelisa replied. “Bright Feather will find you, anywhere…”

  Grace nodded. “I needed to hear the words.” She sighed. “Just take me to the Duchess, I’ll do the rest.”

  Aelisa nodded. “That’s what you’re trained to do, I’ll take you to her home, you’ll be on your own. Take care, there are dogs.”

  Grace smiled. “The least of my worries.” She turned her attention to the food.

  Four hours later Grace stood outside a walled garden in the dark. Aelisa was beside her in a hooded gown.

  “Best way is over the wall, across the garden, to the back of the house. Then in through a window. The Duchess is powerful, she has enemies, there’ll be guards and dogs, they patrol day and night. Good luck, Grace. If you live, return to the friary the way we came, it’s off the beaten track.”

  Grace nodded, Aelisa took her hand and squeezed it. “Falinor protect you.” She turned and walked away keeping to the shadows.

  Grace was in her element. A cool breeze sighed through the trees. It was late, she had four hours to complete this task. She walked from the walled garden towards the main street and the front of the building.

  She ducked into a shady recess in the wall. Completely hidden, her eyes darted round, nobody was watching. She reached within herself releasing the prayer the Sisters had taught her. The prayer that would bring invisibility, the Sisterhood’s great secret. Her form shimmered then vanished, the feeling of invulnerability rushed through her, as always, a thrill.

  Cat-like she left her hiding place, invisible. She walked to the road junction and continued to the front of the building. The grand entrance was guarded by four armed men. Grace waited, watching. Eventually the door opened and a group of people emerged, men in robes, women wearing long summer dresses, their perfume carrying on the air.

  The guards stepped aside to let them pass. Grace positioned herself on one side. As the last of the group passed she darted through the open door, silent as a shadow. The guards closed the door, outside was suddenly gone. Grace stood, her invisibility complete, and took stock. The house was huge, candles lit the entrance hall, she heard voices in the distance, coming from upstairs.

  The Duchess had been entertaining. Grace moved to the ornate marble staircase. A brief flashback came to her; the two child princes she had killed, their faces clear in her memory, along with the others. A gallery of lives taken, a gallery of doors opened and closed.

  She stopped and listened. Training took over, her breathing steadied, resolve returned. She climbed the stairs, taking two steps at a time and reached the first floor. Voices came from the room on her left, a draft made the landing candles flicker. She heard a woman’s voice, then a man. She’d found her mark, she entered the room.

  It was shrouded in darkness, murmurings came from a large bed surrounded by silk drapes. Grace approached and saw movement through a gap in the fabric, her target. She looked round the room and saw her weapon. She took the heavy statuette, hefted it in her hand and returned to the bed.

  She made a noise, intentionally, dropping a platter from the table. A man’s hand pulled the drapes back. Grace saw the Duchess, recognising her face from Aelisa’s description. The man rose, to explore the sound. Grace climbed catlike onto the bed, secure in her invisibility. The Duchess lay, eyes closed, on the silk sheets, her golden hair adorning the pillows. Grace lifted the statuette and brought it down hard on her victim’s skull.

  A brittle crunch, blood on the sheets, blurred movement, escape. Grace, wrapped in her invisibility, made her way back down the staircase and out the front door. The house was now in uproar, guards swearing, servants screaming. She made it to the street and felt the job lift like a weight from her shoulders, peace filled her heart. She would return to the friary, she would play the game for as long as she needed.

  The Mother would look after her.

  Grace wandered the streets as she always did afterwards. In the end it had taken her twenty minutes to take this life. Her mind reached out to the little girl she had been, a long time ago. She was a Stolen. She wondered what had happened to her mother, her father, her sister… she had a vague recollection of a younger sister, a form, a shape, a presence...

  Sara.

  She did not remember her mother’s name, nor her father’s, but Sara’s name remained. What had happened to little Sara? The whirlwind of memory settled. Grace saw the first rays of morning light, as ever she was tempted to linger, it passed, a fleeting freedom. She sighed and went to the king’s park, she went to a stand of tall beech trees, wind playing with their leaves. She twisted round as if dancing, her hair a curtain of hazel, her arms stretched out on either side.

  Grace reappeared, her invisibility banished. She breathed the air of the living, releasing the residue of death from her hands and heart. She turned and left the trees, she took Aelisa’s route back to the friary.

  She would complete the six tasks with ease, provided she obeyed the Sisterhood’s rules. Perhaps news of her exploits would reach their ears, perhaps they would take her back. Deep down she knew they would not, once outside the Sisterhood, always outside. Still, it was good to dream, much like she dreamt of Sara.

  Does Sara even know I exist?

  She knocked at the friary door just as a cock crowed in the ya
rd. Her hair hung tangled and wild over her face. She knew she did not look like an assassin, which was good. People had preconceptions. If only they knew what walked in their midst.

  The door opened. A grubby face peered out; one of the kitchen boys, he smiled a flash of teeth. He signalled her to follow, she knew then he was a mute, trapped in his own prison.

  We are all of us trapped in our own prisons, she mused.

  She suddenly felt tired, her shoulders slumped. The boy brought her down a maze of corridors to a door marked with a carving; a sheaf of wheat. He knocked, then looked at Grace before running off.

  Grace stood and waited. She reflected, life was endless waiting punctuated with the relief of violence.

  Shuffling feet behind the door, a bolt and chain disengaged. The door opened, Aelisa stood before her, deep rings under her eyes. Grace knew that look; the look of the poppy. Aelisa was in thrall to opium, yet she was not a priestess, at least not like any priestess Grace had known. Grace’s mind processed the information, information was power. She felt detached, empty.

  “Well?” Aelisa said.

  “It’s done,” Grace replied.

  Aelisa nodded. “I had no doubt, come in. I’ll inform Bright Feather. We know where your next mark is, you’ll go out tonight, I’ll take you there. Meantime, rest, wash, eat, pray, whatever it is you do. Are you a believer? Do you touch the one true faith or are you an abstinent?”

  Grace could see the lingering effects of the poppy in Aelisa’s eyes. The older woman approached her and ran bony fingers through Grace’s hair. Grace had partaken of intimacy with the Sisters and had enjoyed their love many times. Now she knew that side of her life was dead to her. She shook her head.

  “Abstinent,” she said.

  Aelisa’s hand froze on Grace’s cheek. “Pity,” she whispered, “you’ve the makings of a skilled lover.” Aelisa withdrew and waved Grace away. Grace opened the door to leave.