Knell

by Olivia R. Burton

  Veruca noted as she got near enough to see properly, that she did indeed only have one eye, but that it didn’t look natural. The place where her other would have been was nothing but a gnarled and ugly knot of scar tissue.

  “The king blinded her kind ages ago,” Darcy said quietly, “because the queen feared their power to see.”

  “See what?” Veruca asked, realizing then that the edge of the cyclops’ soul was shredded, tucked into the whole as if freshly wounded and in need of protection. Power was missing, an ability Veruca could only barely read because the edges were so raw and jagged. If she wasn’t mistaken, this poor creature had once been able to see the future.

  “There are many rumors, but I’ve never asked,” Darcy said.

  The sheep cried, her fear palpable, backing up slightly as the cyclops got close. Delighted by the wooly creature, she dropped to her knees immediately, reaching her long, strong arms out toward the creature.

  “Little pet,” she said, her voice deep and lovely. “Come, you’re safe here.”

  “It’s okay,” Darcy said, still just speaking. She patted the sheep’s head gently. “Go on.”

  The sheep bleated, still nervous, but the sound carried to the others in the field, who lifted their heads curiously, one by one. As the cyclops spoke calmly, trying to lure the sheep in, the others hustled, running closer, their wool shaking in a way that made Veruca laugh. As the herd approached, the sheep seemed to relax, noticing others of her kind, and seeing that the giant wasn’t sweeping her up and consuming her whole. By the time the others had surrounded them all, she’d closed in to sniff the cyclops’ hand and even allow a head scratch.

  “For me?” she asked, still looking at the sheep with pure joy. When the sheep baa’ed at her and bumped her head against her hand, the cyclops laughed out loud, leaning even lower so she could press her lips delicately to the much smaller creature’s head. The other sheep closed in to inspect the newcomer, a cacophony of animal sounds and sniffing filling the air that made Veruca laugh again.

  “Yes, as a gift,” Darcy said. She was smiling softly, but it looked to be out of politeness rather than out of actual happiness. Justin, still warbling softly to himself, seemed to have no idea anything had changed. Benedict was standing off to the side, hands in his pockets, looking bored but pleasant.

  Veruca cleared her throat, trying to draw Darcy’s attention and, as the cyclops stood and gave a low whistle, Veruca leaned in. “Can we get started?”

  The sheep took off toward the field, still sniffing and bumping the newcomer, energetically, clearly glad to have a new friend.

  “We can,” the cyclops answered, turning to lay her gaze directly on Veruca. “I’m assuming you’re here for protection from the banshee?”

  “You recognized me?” Darcy asked, surprised.

  The cyclops nodded but didn’t explain. After looking each of them over, she gestured toward the castle. “Come. Out of the sun.”

  ****

  The bottom floor of cyclops’ home was scaled up to her size, which wasn’t so much surprising as disconcerting. Veruca felt strange in this home filled with massive things. Most of the art on the walls was metal and yet delicate, soft somehow in a way that Veruca found intriguing. The edges were hard, the lines occasionally sharp, but the metals in their complete shapes managed to look inviting rather than aggressive.

  “Your pieces are lovely,” Veruca said, gesturing to something that looked vaguely animal in nature, but unrecognizably so, as if someone had started to craft a wolf but gone wildly off track halfway through.

  “Not all of them are mine, but thank you. You’re the Reaper?”

  “Oh, yes,” Veruca said, realizing they hadn’t introduced themselves. “Veruca.”

  “Bronte,” the cyclops said, pulling open a heavy, metal door across from a staircase that curved in an oval spiral up toward the palace above. “Mind the tools. The forge has an organization to it, but to many it appears messy.”

  The heat hit Veruca before she’d even approached the door and she sighed out, as if the wave of it had punched her in the chest and constricted her lungs. Darcy strolled in eagerly, sidestepping the handle of some blackened metal tool that Veruca couldn’t identify, but that she knew she didn’t want to bump into. The handle was blunt, but the rest looked dangerous enough that she assumed it would have done a fair amount of damage if knocked from its stone resting place and into a foot or knee.

  Veruca paused, glancing back to make sure Benedict and Justin were still following. The witch looked fascinated by the castle, but in his usual distracted and disconnected way. Benedict was his typical self, politely curious but not terribly invested.

  “I’m assuming you know what we’re here for,” Darcy said, hurrying to keep up with the cyclops’ giant stride.

  “I can guess,” Bronte said, glancing back to look them over. “There are few reasons for a group such as yours to arrive at my doorstep. Luckily for you, no one else has been interested in the last hierean charm you requested—not that one would be, now that banshees have been exiled.”

  Veruca wondered for a split second if Bronte’s tone was worrisome, but it became apparent after she caught Darcy’s eye with a small smirk that she was teasing.

  “Excellent, good!” Darcy said. “I can’t thank you enough.”

  “It’s not thanks I’m after, but you’ve brought the payment promised so long ago, so we may proceed. I’ll have to dig up the charm, so please, give me a moment.”

  “You ready?” Benedict asked, stepping up next to Veruca and catching her eye as the cyclops stepped away.

  She nodded once, not thrilled with the prospect of having iron sewn into the back of her neck, but understanding it was necessary to keep the banshee’s voice from dislodging her soul.

  Benedict had promised to do the honors without hesitation—another reason she’d brought him along rather than Donald. Donald would have been able to muddle through if forced, since he had some basic first aid training, but Veruca knew he would have abhorred the idea of cutting her open, even such a small part. The witch would help, both to infuse magic into the metal, and also to control her body’s natural reactions to both the iron itself and the wound that would envelop it. Ultimately, though, it would be Benedict’s steady hand that did most of the work.

  “Yep,” Veruca said, though she could admit to herself there had been hesitation there.

  “You trust her?”

  “Of course,” Veruca said, meeting his gaze, curious about his sudden doubt. “You don’t?”

  “I don’t need to trust her, not to the level you do. She’s gotten me here, I’m trusting her to get me home in the end, but I’m not the one who’s having enchanted metal stuffed in my body. You said she’s done this before?”

  “I … believe she has experience.” Benedict watched her for a moment, before glancing at the witch and jerking his eyebrow as if gesturing.

  “I can keep an eye on him if you’d like to get more concrete answers.”

  Veruca was quiet, thinking on the conversation she’d had with Darcy earlier, going over the details in her mind. She trusted the banshee to want this to work, if only because she seemed to see Veruca as some sort of savior, but if this was an untested method of keeping Veruca immune to the banshee’s powers, she should know the risks.

  “Darcy,” Veruca said, gesturing to the door. “Can we talk for a moment? While Bronte is searching?”

  “Of course,” Darcy said, nodding rapidly, sweeping by Veruca and out of the forge into the cooler hallway beyond.

  “I’ll be back,” Veruca said.

  Benedict only nodded.

  “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?” Darcy asked, once they were out of the stifling heat.

  “No, I just wanted to get more details.”

  “Like what? Are you worried? The hierean charm isn’t big. You won’t even notice its presence.”

  “That’s actually what I wanted to ask about. How do you kn
ow I won’t notice? Have you done this before? With another human? I consider myself formidable, but if your experience is in putting one of these things in some other creature, I may have more difficulty in dealing with the charm—or it may not work on me at all.”

  “She was a Reaper, like you,” Darcy said, before her gaze dropped and her brow furrowed. “Unfortunately, we didn’t make it this far.”

  “You never met the cyclops?”

  “We never made it here, to this moment together. She betrayed me—all of us.” Darcy fisted her hands, her jaw clenching for a moment as she seemed to slip into the past. “Nys was almost as vile and selfish as Belial himself. I just didn’t see it until it was too late.”

  “Nys?” Veruca asked, curious about the strange name—trying to catch why it sounded familiar. Even considering this had likely been hundreds of years before her birth, Veruca couldn’t imagine such a name being commonplace. “That’s an interesting name.”

  “It, uh, was the name she gave herself once she was under Belial’s tutelage. She wanted to become a different person than the human child she’d been before he found her and recruited her. She didn’t talk about her life before we met, but I always assumed it wasn’t pleasant.”

  “And you wanted to make her immune to your voice?”

  “She wanted that. It was Nys who came up with the plan. I was unsure at first, worried we wouldn’t be able to get free, even with the power she would absorb before we fled, but she was confident. It wasn’t until after the Morrigan had descended, until after we’d been banished that I found out she hadn’t meant to escape and hide, she’d meant to usurp Belial himself.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “She meant…” Veruca paused, unable to finish the sentence. It seemed such a nutty idea, to take down a man—a creature as powerful as Belial. To think that a Reaper had decided to do it centuries ago, when fae roamed the land more freely, and the rulers of Fairy were more likely to learn of a fresh threat to their power seemed insane.

  Though, Veruca thought after a moment of silence, perhaps Belial had been much weaker then. She’d lost count of the number of souls she’d collected for him over her twenty years at his side, and she wasn’t the only Reaper who aided in his gaining of power. Perhaps, with the banshee’s cry, it wasn’t impossible for another Reaper to steal with Belial had.

  “Belial stopped her?” Veruca asked after a bit, more curious than ever to hear Darcy’s story.

  “I have to assume so, but I wasn’t told specifically. We had plans laid out, and we were just searching for the last of what we would need when the Morrigan descended, culling your kind. For all I know, she was killed, her soul one of the many taken as a pet by Lady Nemhain. I was captured and banished, punished for my role in Belial’s growing power, even though I wasn’t given the choice.”

  “Did you tell them you didn’t know what he was doing until it was too late?” Veruca asked quietly, sure she knew the answer.

  Darcy smirked, but it was brittle, filled with bitterness. “The queen didn’t care why we did what we did, or how we were tricked. She cared only about securing her own power.”

  “Why didn’t she kill Belial? Why leave him to continue to get more and more power if she was so worried?”

  “Again, I can’t say. The queen and king have their motives, many of which are unclear to those of us outside their circle. None of that matters now, though. We have a plan. With the hierean, you’ll be immune to my cry, and we can move on. We can find me another body and we can be free, just like I hoped hundreds of years ago.” Darcy clasped Veruca’s hands in her own, bringing them close to her chest as if she wanted to hug the whole of her but wasn’t sure it was appropriate. Her expression was a little desperate, and it quieted the rest of the questions Veruca had. Sighing, she tried to match Darcy’s enthusiasm, but knew she didn’t entirely have it in her.

  “Should we head back in?” she asked, eager to be distracted from the worried feelings inside.

  Still holding her hands, Darcy gave a small nod, but took a deep breath and dropped her gaze, which didn’t read to Veruca as agreement. “One more thing,” she said after a moment. “We’re going to leave the witch here.”

  “Excuse me?” Veruca asked, hoping she was misunderstanding.

  “In exchange for this charm, the cyclops has asked for payment. The witch is that payment.”

  “What?” Veruca demanded, shocked when Darcy held onto her hands as she tried to jerk them away. “He’s not yours to give. He’s a human being.”

  “It’s not uncommon for fae to own witches—”

  “So you said, but that doesn’t mean you can just give a person away. Besides, doesn’t he already have a—a—what did you call it?”

  “A patron,” Darcy said, letting Veruca take her hands back. “And they take very good care of their charges.”

  “Like Belial took very good care of you?” Veruca spat, turning to walk a few paces away, still incensed that Darcy would even suggest such a thing. “I can’t believe you would do this, especially given your history. I thought you were better than this.”

  “We don’t have a choice.”

  “Don’t we?”

  “No!” Darcy marched closer, lowering her voice as she got into Veruca’s face. “Without giving Bronte the witch, we have no hierean, which means you’re unprotected from my voice, which means every time Belial comes around, you go down as fast as he does. We can’t move freely, we can’t find me an appropriate host, and we risk my freedom. Besides, Justin has a patron, one who will notice he’s gone, who will track him down—hell, he’s probably already aware he’s here. We didn’t prepare a scattering charm for him, remember? His patron will collect him in time. He will be fine.”

  “Wait,” Veruca said, lifting her hands as if she would clutch her face in frustration, but not quite managing the act. Squeezing her hands into fists next to her cheeks she went tense, dumbfounded, sure that further revelations couldn’t be as appalling as what Darcy was laying out now. “Not only did you come here planning to give away a person as payment for services rendered, but you did so knowing that it wouldn’t be permanent? Knowing your payment would be taken back by its—by his rightful—for lack of a better term—owner? You’re intentionally reneging on your deal?”

  “What choice do I have?” Darcy hissed, grabbing Veruca’s shoulders, her soul jumping, tugging on the siren’s as if she wanted to let loose the frustration she felt at her core. Veruca tensed, preparing to grab for the siren’s power if it tried to arc out and strangle her autonomy. “I’m being hunted by both sides in a powerful, far-reaching cold war. I don’t have a home or resources. I don’t even know where I’m going to end up in all this. You’re my only hope, and you can only be that hope if you’re immune to my only weapon in this fight. I need you and you need this charm. Without it, both of us are susceptible. Without it, neither of us has hope.”

  Veruca went quiet, examining Darcy’s frantic expression, feeling the strength in her desperate grip, feeling guilty for judging her, for forgetting the position she was in. Swallowing her pride, trying to set aside her righteous indignation, she nodded, tried to turn the discussion to more productive topics.

  “What are we hoping for?” Veruca asked, clasping her hands in front of her breast. “I get this protection, we leave here, and then what? I still don’t know where to go from here. I don’t know how to protect you.”

  “I don’t know what to do, yet, but I think to start, we consider the meeting Belial proposed. There are ways to safeguard ourselves from him. You trust him. He hasn’t offered you harm, despite your harboring of me. Perhaps I can hear him out. And if he turns out to be the monster I believe, we can leave together and look for other avenues.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “You trust him, right?”

  “I’ve spent my life trusting him.” It was the closest she could honestly come to agreement, in light of the recent revelations about Belial’s past.

&nb
sp; “Then let’s get back in there.”

  Veruca nodded, knowing Darcy could feel the cyclops’ return as clearly as she could. They stood still for another moment, gazes locked together, both women considering each other and what the future held, before they parted silently and headed back into the forge.

  ****

  Finn had waited nearly three hours, tried to call Donald’s cell phone half a dozen times, and moved from concern to pure panic.

  Donald was supposed to protect him, safe house or not, but then he’d just up and left. Not only was that just rude in and of itself, it was very out of character for a man of Donald’s moral fiber. He’d made a promise to Veruca to stay with Finn, waffle pizza and all, and Finn couldn’t imagine a good reason for him to abandon that mission and disappear. The only way he would, Finn had figured, would be if he’d found a danger somewhere that needed to be kept at bay, and the danger had been too much for him.

  Finn made another pass around the property, at a loss, hoping Veruca was going to be back any minute. She may not have been connected to Donald in the same way she was to Finn, but she had tricks up her sleeve Finn was sure he had yet to learn of. If anyone could track down the man who was secretly in love with her, it would be Veruca.

  As Finn headed back toward the sliding door, wondering if it would be rude or thoughtless to rifle through the kitchen for a snack, he heard an unmistakable scream of terror from the house next door.

  Swearing, crouching to the ground before he had the chance to properly process his body’s reaction to another person’s fear, Finn froze. Without really moving, he looked off in the direction the scream had come from, even though he couldn’t see anything other than the fence between the safe house and its neighbor.