“Take … bodies,” they chanted, their voices echoing all around me.
Banash bent over Mel and pressed her mouth against hers just like Rath had once done to Jagger many winters ago. Mel began to glow.
And then the deadmen attacked.
With awful screams of excitement, they rushed in on us. The mist became so thick that it was impossible to see where one deadman ended and the other began. Zarra, Shyronn, and Rath were completely obscured by the current of white mist. I heard them scream.
The deadmen recognized me.
“Come … for us …” they crooned, lurching toward me.
“Set … us … free …”
I had underestimated how many of them there were. They had us completely surrounded. My little pitchfork wasn’t going to do much in this chaos. I heard the sound of struggle around me, but the mist was so thick I couldn’t see what was happening. The deadmen’s voices were constant and insistent. They grabbed at me, raking their nails over my skin, trying to reach my neck.
I had had just about enough of the undead.
“Enough!” I hollered. The deadmen around me paused. “Yes, I’m talking to you. You’ve listened to me before, and you’re going to listen to me again, you hear?”
Skinless heads turned curiously toward me.
“He speaks …”
I had their attention. Now what? I tried to think on their terms.
I heard a shriek. Was that Zarra?
“Leave them be!” I commanded. “These — these lives are mine.”
“For … us …?”
“No! These bodies are spoken for.”
“We … want …”
“Not for you! For me! Now be gone!”
The nearest deadmen shuddered, intimidated by my anger. I pushed my advantage.
“Obey me now, or I will never set you free.”
They all moaned, their voices laced with anger and sadness and desperation. The humanity in their voices chilled me to the bone.
They obeyed. As one, they turned and walked away.
I wasted no time. I barreled into the mist, tripping around for a bit before I found Zarra. She clutched her arm, which hung at an awkward angle, but she was alive. I guided her back toward Banash, who was still bent over Mel. Banash at least was easy to see since she was glowing like the sun.
I followed the sounds of pain until I found Shyronn, and Rath wasn’t far from him. They had both fallen to the effects of the mist. They whimpered and groaned. I put my hands on their backs and pushed them toward Banash.
I had just managed to pull everyone into the safety of Banash’s presence when she released Mel.
Mel gasped to life.
“Mel!” I fell to my knees and reached for her. But before I could touch her, my hand was singed as if lightning had struck between us. I cried out in pain and withdrew. Mel’s eyes fluttered open. For a moment, they were entirely gold. Then she blinked, and the gold faded to the usual green.
Banash stepped between us.
“I warned you,” she said, “that she would be different.”
“What did you do to her?”
“I repaired her soul tie with vala. She is alive. With luck, she will live a long and healthy life. But you, Izayik, are your mother’s son. You were born with sys laced in your blood.”
“So?” I tried to get to Mel again, but Banash caught me with a hand on my chest. Her touch sent a shockwave of pain through me. I gasped, stunned.
“If you ever touch her again,” Banash said, “even once, the tie will sever, and she will die.”
I didn’t like the fire. It was too bright and too hot. I preferred to sit away from the campfire where I would be comfortable in the cool shadows.
Zarra sat with her arm in a sling, staring into the fire with empty eyes. Rath and Shyronn spoke quietly as they cooked some sort of meat on a spit. Mel was resting inside the tent Shyronn had brought with him.
As our exhausted group recovered from the nightmare of the Old Capital, Rath, Shyronn, and Banash explained what had happened while we were trapped in the city.
Banash had rescued Rath from the haunts and healed him. She didn’t go into any detail about how she had managed that miraculous feat, but no one questioned her story. She possessed enough of the Insurgent’s Armor that she could probably do anything she wanted.
After healing Rath, the two had Stepped to the outlands to find Shyronn. When they returned to the Old Capital, they set up camp and waited for me to get myself into danger so Rath could warp directly to me. He used Shryonn’s sword to make a signal so Banash and Shyronn could join us using Zarra’s boot.
They were very proud of themselves.
If I had only known Rath was alive, waiting for a chance to get to me, everything would be different. I could have saved Mel. I maybe could have even saved my father’s spirit. But I had assumed Rath was dead and getting myself nearly killed would mean getting myself all-the-way killed.
Mel was saved, I reminded myself. But now if I ever touched her, she would die.
He can touch the dead, but not the living.
Poor, poor Death-Child.
I squeezed my eyes shut. I wished that closing my eyes would close my ears as well. Dangerous as the Old Capital was, I longed to return. The only spirit I had encountered in the Old Capital was my father’s. But out here, the spirits were everywhere. There were so many of them that I could reach out in any direction and touch one. They haunted every tree, congregated everywhere there were shadows. Their voices were half-heard whispers constantly humming in my mind. I missed the days when I was deaf to their words. Since defeating the Deadman Queen, I was no longer spared the constant noise. I was harassed by their memories. I had spent days reliving their deepest regrets or their terrifying last moments. I was so emotionally exhausted that I couldn’t really decide why I was so angry.
And then there were the Voices.
They had started up their chorus as soon as I crossed the threshold of the Old Capital. They whispered excitedly inside my head and filled my mind with horrible thoughts. Even if I could stop up my ears, I would probably still hear them.
I was beginning to understand why my mother lost her mind.
I leaned my head against the smooth bark of the tree I sat under and turned the circlet over in my hands. I could feel the sys pulsing inside the metal. It was enough, apparently, to kill a person. Why did my mother have something like this?
“Izzy.”
I flinched when Banash appeared so suddenly in front of me.
“Would you stop doing that?” I whined.
Banash didn’t seem to understand what I meant. She crouched beside me. “You did well,” she said. “I was uncertain how well you understood my messages, but you broke the seal without a problem.”
“Your messages?”
She invaded your mind.
Banash tapped her temples.
“I used the Insurgent’s Visor to visit your dreams. It was the only way to prepare you for the seal without—”
She used you, the Voices whispered.
“You used me,” I said.
Banash looked confused. “I did what was necessary for—”
“You used me,” I said again, my horror mounting as the Voices filled my mind with their own alarms.
She has seen into your mind.
She knows your secrets.
She will find us.
She will destroy you.
“My mother sealed that room for a reason,” I said. “Maybe she meant to keep you out.”
Banash’s expression darkened.
“Let me see your eyes,” she said.
No! The Voices shrieked.
Instinctively, I flinched away from her.
“Izzy—”
“Leave him alone, Banash,” Rath called from the fire.
Banash looked like she wanted to say something, but decided against it.
“Take this.” She held out the fife. She must have picked it up when I droppe
d it in the Old Capital. “You know how to find me if you want to talk.”
I hesitated.
Do not take it.
She cannot be trusted.
I took the fife.
“Banash,” Rath said again, warning.
“Yes, yes, I’ll leave him alone.” She gave me a strained smile and left me to stew in my thoughts.
Silly woman, the Voices said.
Her eyes are dark with secrets.
She cannot be trusted.
“Um, Don?” Mel hovered anxiously nearby. Her lips were squished to the side of her face, an expression she made when she was frustrated.
“What is that?” She nodded at the fife.
Throw it away!
It is evil!
“Nothing,” I said. “Banash gave it to me. If I play a note on it, Banash will come to my aid.” I chuckled. “Too bad musical talent isn’t my strong suit. The last time I used it, I almost died before I could manage to play a single note.” I set the fife on the ground beside me.
“I brought you some food,” Mel said.
Flesh to be devoured.
Rip it and shred it.
Warm blood.
“I’m not hungry,” I said.
Mel shuffled her feet awkwardly. “You haven’t eaten more than a third of a biscuit in days. Maybe getting some rest will help bring back your appetite?”
Yes, Death-Child.
Close your eyes.
Dream with us.
“I don’t want to sleep.” That was the truth. I couldn’t really tell if I was tired or not, but the thought of closing my eyes and being alone with the Voices was enough to keep my eyes wide open.
“I know you aren’t happy about everything that’s happened.” Mel said, kneeling beside me. She was careful to keep several inches of space between us. “But, Don, I love you, and I am here for you. Whether or not I can touch you. It doesn’t matter. We’ll figure it out, alright? I’m not going anywhere.”
One slip and she dies.
One touch is all.
And then she is ours.
“Just— Stop!” I snapped. Mel looked startled, then concerned. I covered my face with my hands. “Just please stop talking.”
“Don, are you alright?” Mel asked.
Hug her.
Touch her.
Kill her.
“Please, Mel,” I begged, “just leave me alone.”
Mel rolled her lips inward. She looked like the last thing she wanted to do was leave me alone. Part of me wished she would stay and talk so the Voices would be quiet, but I knew the prospect of her death would not quiet them. Just one touch was all it would take to end her life.
“Please at least eat something. Can you promise me that?”
Tear the flesh.
Devour.
So delicious.
“Yes,” I said.
I stood on shaky legs and approached the fire. Banash glanced at me with an unreadable expression as I took a seat next to Zarra.
“… will have to return soon,” Shyronn was saying. “Lord Brenden will not be happy to find me missing in the morning.”
“Lord Brenden is alive?!” I practically shouted to hear myself over the Voices. Everyone flinched.
“Alive? Not just alive, but proving to be quite the rebel.” Shyronn passed me some spit-fried rabbit. “He bribed his guards and escaped. Arrived home a week or so after you left, all ready to join the cause. He has been a priceless ally.”
Devour the flesh, the Voices urged.
I was on the verge of vowing never to eat again, but I had promised Mel that I would, and she was watching me from across the fire, all concern and curiosity. I took a bite.
That was some good stuff. I hadn’t eaten in days.
Succulent flesh.
The meat was picked clean off the bones too quickly. I wanted more. But when I looked up, I found that the conversation had died and everyone was staring at me.
“Izzy,” Rath said with a chuckle, “I know you’re hungry, but slow down. You’re gonna choke. I’d rather not reach my hand down your throat if I can help it.”
Maybe eating was a bad idea.
I tossed the bones into the fire. It hissed and spat.
Flee!
It will consume us!
I fell off the log in terror.
“Izzy?” Rath floated above me, worried.
Shyronn stood and offered me his arm. I was hesitant to touch him. What if the Voices could transfer to other people? I wouldn’t wish this torment on anyone.
He reached down and hauled me up anyway. Nothing happened when he touched me. He was neutral, no vala or sys. I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Will you be alright out here?” Shyronn asked, patting me on the shoulder as he helped me back to the log.
“We’ll keep an eye on him,” Zarra said.
“You’re leaving?” I asked.
Shyronn nodded. “Safford is expected to attack any day now. The troops need me.”
“Safford is attacking the outlands?” I felt horribly cold. “But my family—”
“We’ll do everything we can to keep them safe, Izayik. I promise.”
“I want to come.”
Yes, go toward the death.
War is death.
Death is good.
Shyronn shook his head. “No, it is best if you stay here and recover from your ordeal in the Old Capital.”
“Nothing is wrong with me,” I insisted.
Liar, the Voices teased.
“I can help you,” I said. “Isn’t this whole war about me, after all? Wouldn’t it be good for the men to see me fighting with them?”
“Not in this condition.”
“I’m fine!”
“The rebels don’t want to see you die, Izayik. You need to stay here where you’ll be safe.”
Stay in the darkness.
Stay with us.
“This war isn’t about me at all, is it?!” I snapped. “This war is about you.” I jabbed a finger at Shyronn’s chest. “You want power. You used my parents’ deaths as an opening, and now you’re going to throw my other family into the mix just so you can get what you want!”
Shyronn grabbed my wrist. “If I wanted to take advantage of your parents’ deaths,” he said darkly, “I wouldn’t have waited seventeen winters.” He twisted my arm and forced me to sit.
Everyone else watched quietly with wide eyes.
“You’re right, Izayik,” Shyronn said, “This war was never about you. Whether you lived or whether you died, this conflict was bound to happen. The things we are fighting for are bigger than you. Until you can get that through your thick head, you will sit here and stay out of our way.”
“Yes, sem,” I whispered.
“Good.” Shyronn released me. “Let’s be off then, Banash. I have a war to win.”
They Stepped away. I was left listening to the laughter of the Voices in my head.
Rath settled beside me on the log. I had pushed it back as far away from the fire as I could without looking suspicious, but Rath saw the grooves in the ground and raised an eyebrow at me.
“Feeling a little warm, Izzy?”
Stay away from the Life-Child.
He would hurt us if he found us.
I was so caught up in the words of the Voices that I didn’t respond. The Voices were almost as afraid of Rath as they were of Banash. Was that a good thing or a bad thing?
Rath leaned closer. “Izzy?”
Danger!
Save us from him!
“Yeah?” I managed at last.
“Let me see your eyes.”
“What?”
No!
He mustn’t!
The Life-Child will see us!
Danger!
I hesitated. Rath grabbed my face.
“Rath! What—? Stop!” I couldn’t hear my own voice above the shrieks of the Voices. I jerked away from Rath and covered my face with my hands. “What is your problem? That hurts.” My
cheeks stung where he touched me.
Rath shook his hands as if they hurt, as well. At least the pain went both directions.
Make him hurt.
Make him pay.
“Fine, I’ll leave you alone.” But Rath didn’t move. “Izzy?” he asked after a moment.
“What?!” I just wanted to be alone, away from the Voices, away from people, away from the reminder that my touch would kill Mel, away from everything.
“You would tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you?”
Do not trust the Life-Child!
In a moment of clarity, I realized exactly what was happening. The Voices didn’t trust Rath. If they were afraid of him, maybe that meant he could help me get rid of them.
“I hear—” the words disappeared from my throat as if the Voices had devoured them. I was left choking on my own half-formed thought. I couldn’t even remember what I was about to say.
Was this the way the Voices had silenced my mother’s suffering for so long? They actually stole the words from her mouth, robbing her of the ability to ask for help. No wonder Rath thought my mother was crazy.
Did he think I was crazy?
He does not trust you.
He looked at me closely, trying to see my eyes again.
“What do you hear?”
I tried to speak again, but all that came was more choking and a puff of useless air.
You must not betray us to him!
He would destroy you to get to us!
“I can’t see into your mind, Izzy,” Rath said. “If something is bothering you, you need to tell me.”
“I’m trying—” Oh, these Voices were getting really annoying! They took my frustration and flared it into anger, so by the time I could finally speak, my words burst out. “STOP!”
Rath flinched.
“Alright, alright,” he said. “I’ll go away. But, look, you’re clearly exhausted. Please, just drink some of this, alright? It will help you sleep.” He held out a vial of the sleeping draught.
He wants to make you useless.
He will leave you with us.
Alone.
My hands shook as I took the vial from him. This sleeping draught was powerful enough that I didn’t even dream under its influence. Would it be enough to save me from the Voices at least for a little while?
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