by Cait Spivey
“One of you run back to the palace and bring a covered cart. No, two covered carts, and perhaps some more men if you can find them,” she said. “We have some items which we need to transport back to the palace for the empress to inspect.”
Hamish bowed quickly and disappeared into the crowd. Evadine pointed to two more guards and her herald.
“You three remain here,” she said. “The rest of you, into the tower. I will show you these items, and then I want you to begin moving them down here for loading. Do you all have gloves on? Good.”
They followed her back up to the storage room with the coils. The men could obviously feel the power coming from them, and they held back, squinting in the dim purple glow. Evadine glared at them.
“Go on, now, nothing to be scared of. Line up along the stairs and start handing them down. We’ll pile them on the landing until the carts get here.”
The men quickly moved to follow her orders. Evadine herself went into the twins’ bedroom on the second floor. She picked up a book entitled The History of Arido and sat herself down on a sofa, leafing through the pages.
Perhaps an hour or more passed before Hamish came into the bedroom. He coughed to get Eva’s attention, and she looked up from a rather intriguing section of Aridan history that she had somehow never learned.
“Yes? Is everything loaded?” she asked.
“Aye, Evadine-ami,” Hamish said.
“And the carts are well covered?”
“Aye. The coils are quite hidden.”
“Excellent,” Eva said, snapping the book shut and getting up. “Then back to the palace we go. Hamish, run ahead again and request that Her Majesty meet us at the entrance. She will want to see these immediately.”
The lad bowed and left the room. Evadine made to return the book, but thought better of it. She tucked it under her arm instead, exited the tower after Hamish, and signaled the men to pull the carts back to the palace. The return trip through the streets went slower; the carts, being loaded down, were heavy, and it was more difficult for the people still thronging the streets to make way for them. Though the coils were safely hidden from view, their effect on the people surrounding them was clear. The herald didn’t need to blow his horn at all to signal their coming; the crowds parted instinctively as they approached. Evadine’s understanding was that magic was natural and fundamentally neutral . . . yet whatever magic comprised the coils unnerved people, and they cringed to get away from it.
Guerline, Desmond, and Hamish were standing on the palace steps waiting for them. As the carts pulled up, Guerline descended the rest of the stairs. Evadine walked around to meet her.
“What is it, Eva? What have you found?” Guerline leaned forward, peering at the carts. Desmond frowned as he came down the steps behind her.
Eva pulled back the canvas covering one of the carts, exposing the coils. Guerline’s eyes widened. She reached out to touch the nearest coil hesitantly, as Eva had in the Maravillas’ tower. She drew her hand back before making contact and turned to Desmond. The tall, golden-hued man came forward and examined the coils closely. His frown deepened.
“Where did you find these?” he asked sharply.
Evadine winced at the accusation in his voice. Desmond Kavanagh had always found favor with Lina, but he and Eva were fundamentally at odds. He was, after all, an arrogant buffoon with little enough of direction or sense. And since his return to Del, he’d been colder toward her than ever, which she couldn’t account for. She would have to be careful with what she said around him.
Guerline looked back and forth between them. “What are they, Desmond?”
“Energy coils,” he replied. “Witches sometimes use them to set aside the magical power they will need for a large spell at a later date. My mother makes small ones for me occasionally, which I can then use to power simple spells. But these . . .”
He stared at them again and shook his head. Guerline put a hand on his arm and looked at him questioningly. Evadine kept her face neutral, trying to come up with something to say when he inevitably asked once more where the coils had come from. Should she tell the truth? Or some version of the truth? She could explain Alcander’s conspiring with the Maravilla twins, but would they believe her?
She met Guerline’s eyes and reached for her hand. As her fingers curled around Guerline’s, warmth flooded her and Guerline smiled. Yes. Guerline would believe her. Eva glanced over at Desmond, who wore a suspicious glare. He stepped closer to Guerline, pressing against her from behind. Guerline twisted away from him and stepped to the other side of Evadine, facing the carts and taking Eva’s other hand. Even as satisfaction settled comfortably in her chest, she guessed from Desmond’s hard gaze that he would disbelieve her out of spite.
“What about these, Desmond? They feel . . . dark. Cold,” Guerline said.
“This energy is dead,” Desmond said gravely.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out something small and white. It was a miniature version of the purple coils. He held it out to them.
“Put your hands over it. Do you feel the difference?” he asked.
Guerline put her hand out, and after a moment she nodded. Evadine remained still. Desmond closed his hand around his coil and stared hard at Evadine.
“This energy has come from the world under the mountain,” he said. “Now, you must tell us, Evadine. Where did you find it? Do you know who has gathered it?”
Guerline stepped closer to her and spoke quietly. “Please, Eva. Whoever has made these may be damaging the curtain between the worlds of the living and the dead. They are the ones responsible for the missing Thiymen witches. We must find out who they are.”
Eva clenched her jaw. She turned and let go of Guerline’s hand, slipping her arms around Guerline’s waist instead.
“Let us get inside. I will tell you there.” She glanced at Desmond, then back to Guerline. “Only you.”
“I think not! Lina, please, let me speak to you first,” Desmond said.
She looked at him, then looked at Eva. Guerline’s face was neutral, and for a terrifying moment, Eva thought she might allow Desmond’s usurpation. But she shook her head and put her hands on Eva’s shoulders.
“Eva is my Chief Adviser. I will hear her, and then you, Desmond.”
She looked at Desmond again, and Eva could see the slight glare narrowing her eyes.
“Obviously, whatever you need to tell me wasn’t worth mentioning in our hours alone yesterday, so I’m sure it can wait a few more minutes,” Guerline said.
Desmond opened his mouth, but was prevented from answering as screams rose from the palace green. Men began to appear around the corner of the wall that separated the green from the stone entrance yard, running full tilt. Townspeople raced out the palace gates, the castle staff through the palace doors. The guardsmen followed, some without their weapons or even pieces of their armor. All the while, the screaming in the distance got louder. Underneath the high keening sounds, there grew a low kind of roaring that sent chills down Evadine’s spine.
“What is it? What’s happening?” Desmond shouted, running forward and seizing the nearest man.
The man fought Desmond’s hold, writhing in the northerner’s big hands, his eyes wild with fear.
“The dead are coming! The dead are coming!” he screeched, clawing at Desmond’s face.
Desmond let him go and the man fell backward, struggling to regain his balance. He twisted around and bolted toward the palace gates. Desmond watched him go, breathing heavily.
“What can he mean?” Guerline asked in a quiet, horrified voice, as though she already knew. “Eva, what can he mean?”
Eva did not need to answer, because, at that moment, the dead came into view.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The dead followed closely on the heels of the living, moving surprisingly fast for all their stiffness. They were dirty, clearly just broken out of their shallow graves in answer to some unholy call. Some were still fresh, and were di
stinguishable from the living only by their jerking movements as they attempted to use dysfunctional joints. They stopped only when they fell upon a straggler. Desmond watched in horror as an older man tripped and was seized by two of the walking dead. They were joined by a third, and they set upon tearing the screaming man to pieces. They bit into his flesh, staining themselves with his blood, and pulled him in opposite directions until his bones broke and his flesh tore. The man didn’t die right away, though. He continued screaming, eyes bugging, until one of the corpses finally severed his neck while pulling his head back to get at his throat.
Screams rose from the square outside the gate as well, and Desmond’s head snapped toward the sound. There was still a steady flow of people into the entrance yard through the open gates. Ripples formed in the crowd as groups pushed this way and that.
“They’re out there too,” he said, his eyes wide. “There are people still bringing corpses. They must be all over in this section of town.”
“Oh gods,” Guerline said. “The guards. Where are the guards? They were all out on the green, digging graves!”
Desmond pointed. The retreating guards had formed lines at the edge of the entrance yard and the gate, and were attempting to hold the corpses back. They were failing miserably. Typically fatal blows did nothing to stop the corpses. They continued to press forward unless they were literally hacked limb from limb. The guards were not so fortunate.
“Guerline, Evadine, get back into the palace, now,” Desmond said, turning back to the two women.
“But Desmond—” Guerline began.
“Don’t argue now, Lina, please. Evadine, take her,” he said.
He kissed Guerline on the cheek and turned away, running toward the guards.
“Someone get me a sword!” he shouted as he neared them.
Evadine’s man, Hamish or some such, handed him a sword that had been dropped by another guard. Desmond accepted it and swung it experimentally. It was a little light for him, but it would do. He glanced back once to check on Guerline, and was pleased to see Evadine dragging the struggling empress up the palace steps. Evadine sent the door guards down to fight and pushed the doors shut herself. He was grateful. He didn’t much care for Evadine, but she was a woman who could do whatever was needed in a given situation, even if it was difficult—even if it meant leaving someone you cared about behind. Guerline was not that sort of woman, and even though he usually liked that about her, it would only put her in danger.
He turned his thoughts away from Guerline. He was incredibly vulnerable, having not the slightest bit of armor. Hoping for inspiration, he looked around. If they attempted to stop the dead by simply dismembering all of them individually, it would take many hours and many lives. They needed some way to knock down several corpses at once. At the very least, they needed to create a barrier to keep them out of the entrance yard. They would still be free to massacre those outside the gates, which pained Desmond greatly, but it would give Desmond and the guardsmen a chance to regroup.
“Josen!” Desmond shouted. “Josen!”
The captain turned back from the fighting and stumbled over to Desmond. He had been bitten in multiple places, including his face. Part of his nose was missing and the hole left by it bled freely. Desmond reached into his pocket for the small white coil and held it up in front of Josen’s face. He concentrated hard on the ragged edges of Josen’s mangled nose. The bleeding slowed, then stopped. Desmond shoved the spent coil back into his pocket. Josen touched his nose experimentally. It was the merest of healings. There was nothing Desmond could do to replace the nose, but at least he could use the magic his mother bound for him to do some good.
“Aye, Master Kavanagh! Thank you. Gods of the forest, please say that you have a plan,” the man said.
“We have to seal off the entrance yard,” Desmond said. “Start by closing the gate! Try to push them back and get the gates shut!”
Josen stared at him, his mouth open and his eyes wide.
“But there are still so many people out there,” he said.
“I know, Josen, I know. But we won’t be of much use to them if we’re all dead. We must regroup and strategize,” Desmond said.
Josen stared a moment longer, but in the end, his compassion faltered before his military training. He nodded and made his way back to the front, shouting the orders. The guards gave him the same look he’d given Desmond, then started pulling the living roughly out of the hands of the dead and shoving them into the yard, trying to save as many as possible.
Out in the plaza, Bridget pulled her short sword from her belt and dashed through the crush of bodies, trying to get to the gate where her people were trapped. Her small size made her a difficult target, and she nimbly avoided the flailing of the living and the dead alike. In her mind, she cursed whatever magics were being used to reanimate the corpses. She wondered if it meant that Thiymen had come after all. Were the black witches come to kill them? Wasn’t that the tale on the streets?
She needed to find Desmond, tell him that Lady Malise was working with the twins. She wouldn’t be surprised if the coils Eva had taken were what woke the dead. There was a strong, evil magic in them. Bridget felt it pulling on her power even now, though they were surely within the palace walls by this point.
“Orran!” she shouted, climbing on top of a large man standing dumbfounded in the plaza. He hardly even seemed to notice her on his back as she scanned the crowd for her second-in-command.
She spotted his tall sandy head before it ducked down, moving briskly away from the gate. Bridget hopped down from her human tower just as he was seized upon by one of the hungry corpses. She ignored his screaming as she too tucked her body down and ran in and out of the crowd.
“Bridget! There you are,” Orran said as she approached them.
“How many did we lose?” she asked.
“Five dead, many more injured,” he replied.
She glanced back down their strange little line of thieves on their hands and knees. It was difficult to tell who was injured because they were all covered in blood, both from the initial attack and from crawling. Yet it was better that they crawl. The dead were more focused on those who were running or remained standing than those on the ground.
“Good. Get the hell out of here,” she said.
“What about you?”
“I’ve a message to deliver first.”
She turned and tried to weave her way toward the palace. The crowd of bodies got thicker and thicker the closer she got to the gate, and she couldn’t tell who was dead, who was undead, and who was still alive. She crawled and hacked off legs at the knees to get through until she couldn’t even do that. She was close to the palace wall, and she tried to force her way to the top, climbing up the flesh around her. Then a surge came from behind her and she was pushed forward. Her head connected with the wall with a crack, and everything went black.
Desmond looked around the entrance yard again, searching for a solution to the second half of the problem: blocking the entrance to the palace green, which was inside the palace walls. Luckily, there was a wall encircling the whole palace and separating it from the green, and it was high enough that the corpses could not climb over. All they had to worry about was this one gap by which it could be entered. But what to barricade it with? The carts with Evadine’s dead magic coils caught his eye, but because of their unsavory cargo, Desmond was loath to use them. He feared, if the coils weren’t the reason for the waking of the dead, that they would only lend more power to the corpses and make them harder to defeat.
Desmond ran into the palace’s stables through an arch to the left of the palace doors. He looked around and spotted some of the stable hands cowering in a stall.
“You there! Please. Is there anything in here we can use to make a barricade?”
The stable hands quailed in front of him, wailing quietly and covering their heads with their hands. One of them appeared to be praying, holding his hands flat in front of him and dra
wing them slowly across his face over and over again. Desmond went over to them and knelt. They shrank back with gasps of surprise and cried out when he shook them by the shoulders.
“Please! We have to block up the entrance so that they can’t get through. You must help!” Desmond said.
It was no use. They were too in shock to even comprehend what he was saying. He stood up and turned away. When he did, he saw a small dark-skinned child of indeterminate gender standing at the door of the stall.
“Please, sir,” ze said. “There are carriages. This way.”
Desmond grinned and nodded. He followed the child to the far end of the stables, where the carriages were stored—just the sort of thing he needed. There was a black one, which Desmond spotted first, belonging to Evadine. Four were devoted to the empress’s use, two of them large enough to seat eight. In addition to those, the palace housed five or six others belonging to the empress’s councilors.
“Yes, this will be perfect,” Desmond said, smiling. He turned to the child. Ze couldn’t have been more than four. “What’s your name, child?”
“Sonja.”
“Can you be very brave now, Sonja, and run into the yard? Send back some guards to help me pull these out?”
The child nodded and ran off. Desmond put his sword down and went to Evadine’s large black carriage. He positioned himself under the stay, bent his knees and put it as squarely across his shoulders as he could. He took a couple deep breaths, hooked his arms over the bar, dug his heels into the floor, and pushed off, throwing his weight forward. He straightened his legs, groaning and clenching his teeth with the effort. Desmond was a strong man, but Evadine’s carriage was heavy. He continued to breathe deeply and maintained his pressure on the bar. Finally, he felt the carriage shift and he took a step forward. The carriage rolled with him, and he took another step.
He heard footsteps approaching, and a moment later, Sonja and four guardsmen rushed to take hold of the carriage on either side of him and help roll it out of its space. As they set it rolling, Desmond slipped out from under it.