Necrophobia

by Devaney, Mark

  “We’re not far now.” Adrian said as eased himself past a carriage blocking most of a narrow street. The workers offloading sealed cardboard boxes of goods and food-products to the bakery. The warm pleasant smell of fresh bread a welcome reprieve from the peculiar mix of smoke, mud and fear that pervaded most of the city.

  Claire nodded and followed without a word. Her mind was busy trying to make sense of the geography and memorising the route they had taken. The scale of everything was the hardest to adjust to, the sheer number of bodies pressed within each street, shop and building. Caelholm was a small town with a population of the low thousands, built from wood and stone in difficult and uneven terrain of the desolate island. She knew it like the back of her hand as well as many miles of surrounding forest and mountain. Though unfamiliar and confusing, the city of Kriegsfeld intrigued her and she relished the challenge of learning the layout, of exploring the surrounding area. Life in Caelholm was difficult especially in the winter months but it was predictable and lacked excitement.

  “You seem to know your way around.” Sevaur said. “Figured you’d mostly be in the forests and all.”

  The lumberjack shrugged and slowed his pace. “Sometimes. The lumber from that forest is special. Solid for construction but really comes into its own for magical artefacts. Sometimes I get the odd job that takes me deep into the forest for rare specimens. Pays well, given the risk and all.”

  “The risk?”

  Adrian laughed and shook his head. “It’s not like Altus forest y’know. Whole different beast. Faunus is overflowing with unstable magic, the trees grow and regrow in days. Reach heights and density unheard of anywhere else. Cut a tree down in a clearing and three more grow back within the week.”

  “How? Growth like that would take years.” Claire asked. It wasn’t that she disbelieved him just that having planted trees of her own and watched them grow over the years it was absurd to her.

  “Exactly. Nobody really knows.” Adrian said with a grin. “Impossible to build anything in that forest. The plant growth rips it apart within hours.”

  They turned a corner passed an old tavern, a sign saying The Silver Blade swinging in the wind. She could hear the people inside drinking, talking and shouting to each other even over the noise in the street.

  “So what’s the danger?” Sevaur cocked an eyebrow. “Tripping over some roots?”

  “Try getting strangled by them mate. They’ll come out of the ground after you sometimes. Thorns whip at you from the undergrowth if the forest thinks you’re a threat.” He patted the axe at his belt. “Which it usually does. It’ll block off paths and send man-eating walking plants at you.”

  “Alright, alright.” Sevaur held up his hands in surrender. “Just curious.”

  “Did I mention they spit acid too?” He stopped and pointed towards the dents and stains on his chest plate. “How’d you think I get all these marks?”

  “Well…” A wide grin crossed his face. “You always were careless.”

  Adrian shook his head and continued walking. “Says you. You should see my scars. I’ve got—”

  “Let’s not and say we did, shall we?” Claire said. “We’re close right?”

  “Yep. Just up this road. Assuming that address you found is correct.”

  She nodded her thanks and followed him up the cobbled street towards a series of imposing houses, each tiled and smoke-blackened. The windows bolted and shuttered just like Adrian’s house had been. She ignored the stares from the locals fixing up their shutters and repairing storm damage, watching the trio with a distrusting eye. It wasn’t a personal thing, she knew but a constant vigilance, anyone and everyone could be a vampire or one of their cults or thralls. They saw monsters everywhere and never let their guard down.

  “You sure this is a good idea?” Sevaur asked. She saw he was nervous even beneath the grin he flashed.

  “It’s the last lead I could find.” She rubbed her hands together, even despite the leather clothes there was a chill in the air. “If this is a bad idea at least I’ll have back-up this time.”

  Sevaur nodded in agreement. “Listen if this doesn’t pan out, don’t sweat it. It was worth trying. All of them were.” Claire walked up the steps towards the house listed within her mother’s journal and paused. She knew it was a stretch, a tenuous connection at best but what other options did she have left. It wasn’t that she expected instant success but even the smallest of trails would have suited her, instead they’d found almost nothing. She rapped her knuckles across the bolted-wooden door and waited. Silence. After a moment of discomfort and embarrassment Claire heard movement from behind the door and heavy footsteps coupled with a repeated thud. She heard someone rattling the chains locking the door from the inside and felt a small sigh of relief. Claire tried smartening up her hunting jacket and catching strands of hair dislodged by the wind and feeling foolish. The wooden door creaked open and a woman’s face appeared from the dimly lit hall.

  “Yes?” The woman asked. She was an ageing white-haired woman with a deep yellow-brown umber complexion and lined with determination. Her brown and bloodshot eyes narrowed in suspicion as she stared at the girl before her.

  “Isobel Caldwell?” Claire asked, watching the ageing woman before her with interest. “I’m Claire Acestes and—”

  “I remember. You’ve grown.” Isobel’s eyes flickered to the awkward men standing behind her. “They with you?” Isobel adjusted her glasses and her stare intensified for several seconds before disappearing behind the door but did not close it. Once more she removed the chains and opened the door wider. “You’d better come in then.”

  The pair behind her introduced themselves, Sevaur tried deflecting tension with a nervous laugh and a smile whereas Adrian merely stated his name and a terse nod. She waved them inside and checked each of them with a careful eye as they passed before glaring to the street at large. Claire caught a flash of steel as Isobel surreptitiously tucked a knife back into her sheathe as they passed and closed the door. Isobel pointed them towards a living room with chairs with a long stick. Claire realised it was a walking-cane and noticed the limp as Isobel hobbled down the hall. She’d lost her left leg and replaced it with an intricate prosthesis made from metal that clanged across the floor.

  “Your father doing well?” Isobel asked as she eased herself into a chair with a muffled whimper of pain.

  “Still hunting.” Claire replied. She’d only met Isobel a few times — most of which were during and after her mother’s funeral, this tended to overshadow her memory of the ageing Inquisitor.

  “I don’t let just anybody in you know.” She tilted her head and watched the huntress for a few moments. “You’re the spitting image of Eleanor.”

  “I get that a lot.” Claire nodded. “I had a few questions, if you don’t mind?”

  Isobel snorted. “I’ll save you one.” She patted her prosthetic pointedly. “Happened about a decade ago whilst working on a case so now I’m retired. Unless you count helping the Night Guard.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” She replied, allowing herself a few moments to stare at the intricate metalwork on the prosthesis. “I didn’t realise you’d left the Inquisition.”

  “Eleanor was right to try and get out whilst she had her youth. Raise a family, that sort of thing.” Isobel sighed. “Not that you ever really leave that job.”

  There was an awkward pause, punctuated only by a ticking clock on the mantelpiece.

  “I was wondering if you could help us. We’re looking for someone. An Inquisitor.”

  “Haures.” Isobel shook her head. “You’re not the first to come here looking for him and you won’t be the last.”

  Claire attempted to retain a neutral expression but it was clear Isobel saw through it. The reactions from Sevaur made that gesture futile. Though the wind was taken from her sails she was a little impressed, evidently Isobel was more aware of current events than she gave her credit for.

  “That’s right. He
attacked Caelholm and escaped. I couldn’t stop him.”

  “I’d be very surprised if you could have stopped him dear, no offence of course.” Whilst her tone was far from patronising it was difficult not to bristle at the comment. “Why are you hunting him Claire? As far as I know the Caelites have their own operatives after him in this city.”

  “I know that.”

  “And since you’re not here with them I suspect you’re not here to aid them so much as find him yourself. Why is that?”

  “Is attacking me and my home not reason enough?” She’d expected questions but her answers felt weak and unsteady even as she voiced them.

  “No. It isn’t.” The wizened woman tilted her head appraisingly, her voice firm. “I ask not to belittle you Claire but because it is dangerous and you must be sure of yourself and your motives.”

  Claire hesitated.

  “What’s the real reason you’re after him. I might be getting on in years but I’m not a fool girl.”

  Claire smiled. She knew an Inquisitor would be sharp and there was little point in dressing it up, better to come clean.

  “I want answers. He spared me. He talked about my mother I want to know what he meant. They worked together - in the Inquisition.”

  Isobel nodded her expression gave nothing away.

  Adrian cleared his throat. “Funny way of sparing you. I thought you said he melted your sword and threw you into a wall with his mind.”

  “Lot of effort don’t you think. It’d be easier to just snap her neck with his mind.” Isobel replied with a half-smile. “He’s always been a potent telekinetic. Always showed real promise.”

  “You know him?” Sevaur asked.

  “Of course. He joined not long after I made full Inquisitor. He had a talent like me and we were interested in how it worked.” Isobel’s eyes stared into the fireplace. “Come to think of it Eleanor and I sponsored his promotion to full Inquisitor. We thought he’d go far. I guess we were right about that.”

  “When did he go rogue?”

  “Twenty years or so.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence and Claire’s mind raced. Twenty years — the timing fits.

  Isobel turned sharply and met her eyes with a questioning look.

  “You think he killed Eleanor don’t you.”

  Claire faltered. “How did you—”

  “I told you, I have a talent. It’s written all over your thoughts.”

  “You’re a psychic?” Adrian interjected again, his own eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Can you read minds?”

  Isobel ignored him and softened her tone. “What makes you think it was him?”

  Claire shrugged and avoided eye-contact. “I knew they worked together before he turned traitor and I saw the three-eyed owl in my mother’s journal — a death cult. It might even be the same one that attacked the Caelites. It was one of her final investigations before she…” She shook her head and pressed on. “I don’t have any real proof. It’s just a feeling. I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  Even as she tried to explain it sounded stupid. She couldn’t prove it. She had no evidence only the diary of a dead woman and vague comments from a madman. But still there was something about him that put her on edge. They’d never found her mother’s killer in the end. She was an Inquisitor — her enemies were as secret as they were common. As a hunter she’d come to value her gut feeling, to trust her instincts. They were usually right.

  “Do you think revenge will help at all Claire? I’ve watched men and women destroy themselves over it. There’s nothing so empty as revenge.”

  “It’s not revenge.” Claire replied — perhaps a little too defensively. “It’s closure.”

  She folded her arms and surveyed the untidy living room. Paperwork and old dusty tomes lay scattered throughout the room, like Razakel loose paperwork and opened books seemed to orbit around her. “I know you tried to solve her murder, even though nobody would give me specifics. Do you think it was him?”

  Isobel stared in contemplation for several moments. “I haven’t ruled him out entirely.” She conceded keeping her expression neutral. As she spoke she tended to her sore leg and adjusted the prosthetic with a grimace. It was clear Isobel was in pain and trying to hide it.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’ll be alright.” Isobel replied waving away her concern. Claire wished to ask more but it was clear from Isobel’s tone that was all Claire was getting.

  “So, do you know where Haures is?” She watched the former Inquisitor with an unblinking stare, her eyes gleaming against the firelight. “You can stop reading my mind by the way.”

  After a long pause Isobel shook her head. “I’ve been trying to find him. He’s stirred up a lot of trouble here and he doesn’t want to be found, I’ve caught traces of him but he’s good at covering his tracks. He slips through our nets and keeps a low profile.”

  “Our? The Night Guard? And the Inquisition?” Adrian asked once again. His tone was becoming more hostile with each question ignored.

  “Yes. This isn’t something you want to be involved in.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.” Claire said.

  To her surprise Isobel laughed. “Oh I like you girl, you’ve got that same spark.” The old lady leaned forward towards her and smiled. “I’ll help you if I can, but you need to realise what you’re getting into.”

  “How do we know you’re not hiding him? Or working with him?” Adrian demanded.

  “Aren’t you charming.” Isobel said without any humour. “You don’t.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking—” Sevaur interrupted trying to defuse the situation. “Let’s say she’s honest and not working with a murderer like Haures. How can we find him if he doesn’t wish to be found? As far as I know the Caelites don’t have any real leads.”

  “How do you know a thing like that?” Isobel watched the Knight-errant for several moments, her tone even.

  “My brother’s the one hunting him as we speak.”

  “Ah, I see. Is that why you’re here?”

  “Well…” He hesitated and looked away from her intense stare. “I want to help Claire, and he did attack my home and family after-all. I want justice.” She saw the young Knight-errant redden under the intensity of Isobel’s gaze. She seemed to accept this explanation and nodded.

  “Well, to answer your question: Luckily, reading minds isn’t my only trick.”

  Isobel cleared a space around her and reclined in her chair, the worn frame groaning under her weight. Claire, Adrian and Sevaur stood around her expectantly, though unsure of what to expect. Adrian’s scowl faded as his own curiosity overwhelmed him.

  “Haures is shielded from clairvoyance and psychic traces.” Isobel shook her head. “We’ve been periodically scanning the city for him but we’ve come up empty.”

  “Or he might not be in the city at all.” Claire replied. “Perhaps he’s moved further inland.”

  “We might not be able to find him directly but there are traces of activity that suggest him or the cults he’s stirred up. Disappearances, grave-digging, ancient tomes stolen.”

  “Did you locate the dragon?” Sevaur asked leaning forward. “With Valdgeirr under his control who knows what he could do. The Caelites are searching for it as we speak.”

  “It sought refuge in the Palespine mountains a few days ago but we simply don’t have the firepower necessary to bring it down on such short notice.” With a painful grimace she lifted her prosthetic leg onto a footstool with a sigh of relief. “I’ve not sensed it since.”

  “I’ll let my brother know, perhaps the Caelites can do something about it.” Sevaur said.

  Isobel’s eyes glazed over and became unfocused staring into a fixed point for almost a minute before she snapped back into motion with a start. “I think I found something. Stay here and keep the doors locked. This will take all my concentration — it won’t be easy to return to my body in a hurry.”

  Claire nodded and chec
ked the doors and windows before returning, feeling a sudden chill in the air as she returned. “Secure. Are you expecting trouble?”

  “Always.” Isobel replied her voice distant. The temperature in the room dropped within an instant, and frost began to form on the windows. The retired woman went still once more her eyes closed and her misting breath slowed. “I’ll find him.”

  Behind the Temple of the Four Gods and beneath the shadow of the noble district lay Lychgate Cemetery. Walled, gated and watched over by the Night Guard; it was a silent respite from the noise and busy streets around it. The cemetery was almost untouched by the outside world, shielded from the winds and constant sound of industry and city life. Reiner lead his party through the rows of tombstones and ancient stone mausoleums interspersed by trees and foliage. Besides the mist pooling around their feet the air was still and silent, even the colours seemed faded and forgotten.

  “It’s quiet here.” Cynthia’s voice wavered.

  Reiner looked up from his map of the area and smiled.

  “It’s a dampening spell, cast across the entire cemetery. Keeps out the sounds of the city — the dead like their quiet, as do the mourners.”