by Scott Hale
Bjørn closed his eyes and shook as he cried. “Two times I’ve taken a life from Death. And then you two end up together? You said we have to go to Death to stop the witches. I stopped taunting Death the day I saved you. I’m not looking to start it up again.”
Aeson let go of Bjørn’s shirt and fell back on his haunches. His whole body felt as if it were deflating. Digging his thumb into his temple, he said, “I… I… didn’t know…”
“That’s the way I would’ve liked to have kept it.” Now, Bjørn turned and faced Aeson. “Tell me about the weapons.”
“The Red Death weapons?” Aeson shook his head. “No, you’re right. There h-has to be another—” he saved me; they tried to kill me, “—way. I don’t know what I was saying earlier.” They tried to kill me; he saved me.
“Tell me,” Bjørn persisted.
“No, you’re right.”
“Tell me.”
“They… fuck… they are said to be able to kill anything. Living or dead, it doesn’t matter. Death forges them Itself. It’s like a safeguard against things humans can’t normally kill.” They tried to kill me; and he saved me. “One was up in Eldrus, but the last story about anyone using it was… I don’t know.” My parents tried to kill me.
At the edges of the sky, there was light; soft and white, it rose slowly, as if the night were a curtain that had been cast over the Earth.
“There’s no way we’re going to find any unless we go straight to Death. There’s the Ferry Woman outside Caldera to take us to Death. That’s true. Everyone knows that.” Aeson sighed. “But, I don’t think I want to. You’re right.”
Bjørn made fists; he squeezed his knuckles until they were white. “How many Night Terrors are left?”
“I… I don’t know. Seven hundred? Maybe less?”
“How many are Children of Lacuna?”
“Hundreds, I guess. Thousands? I don’t know.” Aeson’s mind clicked. “The Dismal Sticks was our first stop. There’s Lacunans in every town and village. What if this is happening everywhere? Or is about to? Most of the Night Terror population nowadays is from Lacuna. Just them building their Cult is going to wipe us out.
“And there’s going to be an outbreak of flesh fiends, and I don’t think anyone is prepared for that.”
Bjørn nodded. “And Vrana.”
Aeson’s heart started to hurt again. “And Vrana?” Aeson squeezed his eyes shut; he started to cough; his breaths became shallow. “You saw what they did to her. What they were… making her do. She’s going to get worse. It’s all going to get worse, whatever they are planning.”
“I don’t want to see Death again.” Bjørn stood, and pulled Aeson up with him by the hand. “And I don’t want you or Vrana to see It again, either. But—” he paused, swallowed hard, “—we don’t have any more options, and we’re… out of time. They’re headed for Angheuawl to finish their pilgrimage. We can meet them there or on the way, but we have to move now.”
Aeson didn’t mean to, but it happened, anyway. He leaned into Bjørn and dropped his head against the big man’s chest. “I haven’t gotten anything right so far. What if I’m wrong?”
“Vrana fought two Worms, and everything else those witch bitches have thrown at her so far. We owe her this.” Bjørn took the back of Aeson’s head and held it. “This is why I brought you, Skull Boy. To stop me from doing something stupid. And you’re not stopping me. Besides, seeing Death again—” he held Aeson away and laughed, “—third time’s a charm, right?”
CHAPTER XV
Felix was two peanut butter sandwiches deep when the Arachne had attacked the Divide. He was cutting the crust off a third sandwich when he heard Justine outside his tent, working her way through a sea of praises. She was coming to tell him it was time to make a choice about who was going to live and who was going to die. For most of the men and women they had conscripted on their way to the Divide, living was preferable, but death wasn’t so bad, either. Those who fought for the Holy Order of Penance were told they would be automatically admitted into heaven, regardless of their sins. Felix didn’t like that lie so much. Not because there wasn’t actually a heaven to have them, but because it gave the bad people a good reason to keep on being bad. Justine had told him not worry about it; but the joke was on her: He worried about everything. He had to. That’s what gods were supposed to do, wasn’t it?
Hearing Justine just outside his tent, Felix took the sandwich in two hands and went to town on it. He could buy himself about forty-five seconds of silence if he got his mouth good and gooey. He would need that silence to think; otherwise, he’d just end up doing whatever she told him to do.
The tent flap flipped back and Justine came through. Instead of the warm, campfire smell that used to precede her, there came a soft breeze of her natural odor: Lilac and wine. The White Worm of the Earth no longer had the sealing stone in her breast that could force into her slumber; instead, it was now around Felix’s neck, where it had always been ever since she had given it to him that night on top of Pyra. She had never asked for it back, and she had never treated him differently. They were partners-in-crime, she had told him back then, as the petrified Holy Children carried Deimos, Lucan, and Audra away. And since they were pretty much lying to everyone about the existence of god and heaven, partners-in-crime sounded about right.
“You’re awake,” Justine said, taking a seat at his table. She touched his face and added, “When was the last time you slept?”
Felix looked at Justine and wondered the same thing about her. Ever since they had arrived on the Divide two days ago, she had never changed out of her clothes. But were they clothes? Felix really couldn’t tell. Both the dress she wore and leggings underneath it were variations of white, sometimes pinkish, sometimes grayish, but there didn’t seem to be any seams or edges. And they didn’t look like any fabric he had ever seen before; they were terse, almost glistening, like a carapace or a kidney. Justine used to wear the opposite of what she felt to remind herself how to act. Now, to Felix, it looked like Justine just wore herself, plus whatever the tendrils beneath her skin could conjure.
“You said—” Felix chomped through the peanut butter and bread in his mouth, “King Edgar wouldn’t—” and then took a big swig of milk, “—attack.” He swallowed the last of the sandwich and sat there as his stomach gave off nervous gurgles. “Are there as m-many spiders as they say?”
“Even more than they’re saying.” Justine smiled and took his hand from across the table. “Thousands.”
Felix arched an eyebrow. “Why’re you smiling?”
“Because this has worked out perfectly.” Her eyes lingered on the chained sealing stone around his neck. Then: “It’s happening just like you said it would to our people.”
“Lucky guess.”
Justine laughed. “Not at all. King Edgar couldn’t help himself once he got ahold of the Nameless Forest. Instead of sending Eldrus’ army to meet us, he’s summoned an army of monsters.”
“Yeah, but he’s saying they are servants of God,” Felix said.
“I’ve been playing this game a long time. Anything that makes people nervous is a ‘servant of god,’ or better yet, the ‘will of god.’”
“They’re going to lose a lot of faith in the Disciples if we beat them,” Felix said, the red of hope returning to his cheeks.
“We will beat them,” Justine corrected. “But if we’re lucky, some of the Arachne will scatter into the Heartland and start killing people there.”
Felix didn’t like the sound of that, and he didn’t like the way Justine’s eyes shone when she said it; it was like she hadn’t realized that was a possibility until now. So to distract her, Felix said, “King Edgar will just say it was the will of God.”
“Eh, maybe.” A thick cord rippled behind the skin on Justine’s forehead, and then it was gone. “When God starts killing its own, suddenly, it doesn’t seem so godly anymore. That’s what the Vermillion God does, Felix. That’s why we have to stop this madn
ess, once and for all. If we crush the Disciples of the Deep in the days to come, then God is done.”
Felix touched the pile of crusts, while his mind overworked itself to make sense of everything that was going on. “Why didn’t the Trauma stop God before?”
“Because God threw a temper tantrum and went back to bed.” Justine took one of the pieces of crust and ate it. Cringing, she said, “It left on Its own, and I was too stupid to make sure It couldn’t come back. I—” she took his hands, “—we won’t make that mistake again.”
Sitting there, his hands in Justine’s, Felix felt a longing for Penance and Pyra he hadn’t realized was there before. The ride between home and here had been a blur; one unending arctic wasteland of hamlets, villages, and towns that had been almost completely emptied by the conscription. The peninsula, now called the Holy Land to spite the Disciples of the Deep, had a population of about eighteen thousand—twenty-one thousand, if you included Penance. The conscription had snatched about three-and-a-half thousand, two-thirds of which were still here; the others had fled, died, or simply disappeared. Penance’s main army, Narcissus, was four thousand strong, and it was still many days away, simultaneously guarding the city, while also waiting for an opening at the Nameless Forest.
Because if the Vermillion God was going to wake up, it was going to wake up in the Nameless Forest, for that was where It had fallen into slumber so many years ago. With the Dread Clock taken from the Forest, all It needed now was enough belief to make Its waking worth the unfathomable effort required to do so. To make matters worse, there was reportedly a massive blood well at Gallows, where the Skeleton who stole the Black Hour resided. Between the Forest, the Disciples of the Deep, and a portal that was weakening the barrier between worlds, conditions were more or less crap. Justine had told them they needed to act fast. Felix, and he felt bad for doing it, was the one making them do everything slowly.
Because here he was, hundreds of miles away from home, surrounded by thousands of people ready to lay down their lives for him and Justine and their bullshit faith. To do anything but take it slowly didn’t seem right.
“The people need to see you,” Justine said, standing. “And you need to see the Arachne.”
Felix gulped. He had heard stories of the Arachne at the camp’s borders and across the Divide, but he had yet to actually lay eyes on the creatures himself. Justine wouldn’t let him, and even though she didn’t know it, he knew she had been spiking his food with a little bit of Null to keep his anxiety away. Any other day, he might’ve minded; but given that there were thousands of humanoid arachnids spinning webs on their doorstep, he could make an exception.
“The people need your strength,” she added.
“I’m twelve,” he said, his heart beating faster and faster at the thought of finally leaving the tent.
“Not to them.” She motioned for him to get up. “Not anymore.”
Felix stumbled to his feet. The sounds and smells from outside the tent flooded his senses as he was finally forced to acknowledge that they were there. He went to his bed and threw on the holy vestments strewn there. Ever since Avery and Mackenzie had been killed by the Cult of the Worm in Pyra, Felix’s guards had become the statuesque Holy Children who’d preceded him. They didn’t speak to him, they didn’t prepare his clothes, food, or bath; they simply stalked him at all hours, and murdered anything that drew too close. There were no better guards to have, but in his darker moments, Felix often wondered if Justine had assigned the Holy Children to him as a reminder of what could still happen to him, if he didn’t do his part in all of this.
“It was smart of you to suggest we not attack the Divide. The Lillians were always too aggressive.” Justine watched as he stripped down to his underwear. “Our being here was enough to frighten Edgar into responding.”
“Yeah, but he was supposed to send an army, not A-araka-”
“Arachne.”
“—Arachne and vermillion veins.”
“All the better.” Justine came over to him and slipped his robe over his head.
“Because—” he wiggled the robe down his body, “—it makes him look bad.”
“No. It makes him look bad when we defeat his monsters, and his justification for using them falls through. Then he’ll have to use the very people he supposedly spared.” Justine smiled, kissed his forehead; her affection felt acidic. “Edgar has everything to prove.”
“And we’ve been here for untold years,” Felix said, basically repeating the Mother Abbess’ words verbatim.
“Exactly. Granted, we worshipped the same God back then, but no one needs to know that.” She wrapped her arm around him; he could feel appendages inside it. “First we deal with the spiders. Then we’ll treat with the Skeleton, if he isn’t already on his way to ask for an alliance.”
“Then the Nameless Forest,” Felix said. He tied his sash and fixed his hood and went to consult the mirror that wasn’t there. “What about the Heartland?”
Justine smirked. “We’re already there. Religion is no different than anything else you can sell. When Edgar’s product breaks, they’ll come back to ours.”
When she wasn’t looking, Felix grabbed the contrition knife from under his pillow. The blue blade sang as he slipped it inside his clothes. “Yeah, but what about the followers we have now? They’re going to die.”
“They’re going to die defending their faith, not spreading it. We want martyrs, not crusaders, right? That’s what we both agreed to.”
If this does or doesn’t work, someone’s going to say I messed it all up. Felix leaned to the side; just beyond the tent’s entrance, he could see the star-shaped head of one of the Holy Children.
“It will look dire out there.” Justine went to the tent flap and pulled it back. “But I promise you, our faith has weathered worse.”
Felix nodded and stepped towards the entrance to the tent. The sunlight pouring through the opening made his eyes hurt. “Why did you make me stay in here?”
“Because once Edgar knows you’re here, he’s going to have to attack.”
“So am I bait?”
“No.” Justine sighed. “Not intentionally. Felix?”
Head swimming, stomach sick, and one foot outside the tent, he said through his teeth, “What?”
“I love you.”
Felix blushed, mumbled a few vowels, and pushed past the Mother Abbess. Out of the tent, he wasn’t really outside. Surrounding his tent and Justine’s was a ten foot stretch of incredibly sharp palisades. Beyond that, there were guards, and tents as far as his short self could see. He and Justine were so entrenched in the encampment that if they lost this battle, they might need a raven to deliver a letter telling them so. And the same was true for the Arachne. Here, at the heart of their god machine, everything looked fine, as everything often did. It wasn’t until someone reminded him of the truth of reality that he let himself realize it wasn’t.
When they realized he was there, the Holy Children guarding the high command’s post turned to face him. There were forty of them. Forty grotesque, marble-like abominations draped in pale sheets with star-shaped heads. They came in all different shapes and sizes; some were skinny, some were overweight; some were muscular, while others were no more than bones. Regardless of their size, their strength, like their appearance, was unchanging. They didn’t eat or drink or sleep; they watched, and they waited, and crushed things the way the stone they resembled crushed things—effortlessly, and without empathy. They were the Mother Abbess’ angels, which meant they were now his angels, too. They were another lie he had to tell, because he was pretty sure angels weren’t supposed to cry at night.
“Show him the Divide,” Justine said, coming out of the tent. “I’ll be there in a moment.”
I love you. The confession caught up with him as Justine disappeared inside her tent. Twenty Holy Children converged on her tent, while twenty others converged on him. Why did she say that? The Holy Children encircled him—their star-shaped head
s catching the sun and casting strange shadows onto the grass—and urged him forward. Why didn’t I say anything back?
Justine liked to throw a lot on Felix at once, he knew that. Like the Null in his food, her telling him she loved him was a way to take his mind off what was to come. She was expecting him to fall apart, and that ticked him off. He had been through a lot this year. He wasn’t a kid. Samuel Turov made sure of that. The Cult of the Worm made sure of that. And so did Justine. He could handle this. He had to, damn it.
With their pale, distended bodies, the Holy Children formed a phalanx around Felix. He sighed, held the contrition knife through his robes. This would be his second official appearance since arriving at the Divide. A lot of knees were about to be bent, and a lot of tears were about to be shed. He could already feel it, the change in the air; the rumors, the gossip; the whispers like lightning crackling through the camp. Sometimes, Felix wondered if there was something special about him, because he did seem to have a presence others could sense. He tried to not let it go to his head, but admittedly, the thought was pretty cool.
The wind kicked up and reminded him that winter wasn’t far off. Felix hugged himself for warmth, and then let go as a tide of vapors twisted languidly into high command. He reached for them, like they were snowflakes. Expecting them to evaporate, the vapors curled around his hands and lay in his palm like limp pieces of fabric.
“Spider web,” he whispered to himself.
At first, his hand tingled, almost tickled; and then the webbing began to burn along his lifeline, like fire riding a wick. He flailed the web away and, dodging the hundreds of pieces of other loose Arachne webs, made his way for the tall tower outside high command.
Passing through the palisades, Felix found hundreds of soldiers waiting for him on the other side. Hundreds of faces he didn’t recognize that looked back at him as if he were their closest friend. Some held swords, others Helminth’s Way and The Sinner and the Shadows. Those who weren’t star-struck formed a second guard in front of the Holy Children, to ensure those who lurked farther back wouldn’t try and fall into Felix’s orbit. It was like this everywhere nowadays; he was a prized piece of work from god’s great museum only to be seen, never to be touched. He missed the days of Pyra, of talking to the Exemplars, of meeting the common folk during his lunch hour. He had always been held above everyone else, but now they held him so high they didn’t even see him for what he was anymore. They couldn’t, but honestly, they probably never had.