Roe sank lower to the floor, realizing what she was being asked to do. Poison a boy, dead by morning. How could she go through with this?
Josie must have seen her look dejected. “Roe,” she whispered. “I didn’t pick this job to make it hard on you. Poison’s actually really easy. Blow dart, gas, or in this case, just pour it into his drink and we go.” She looked down at the floor, letting the silence linger a bit. “My first time,” she spoke, voice so soft Roe could barely hear it even with her own blessing. “The job called for my mark to appear as though a gang of thieves had robbed, throat slit, and then stabbed twenty seven times.” Her eyes closed.
“I…I’m sorry.”
“It got the job done.” Josie returned her gaze on her, her eyes as cold as snow. “He’s going to grow up, Roe. And, he’ll be helping the man whose hurting this country. If you can’t do this now, tell me. But I promise you, it’s only going to get harder.”
“No, I’ll do it,” Roe said quickly so she wouldn’t doubt herself. She had to, for her country, for the Goddess, for her brother Reid, for everything she believed in.
Josie’s eyes narrowed to half-moons as though she were smiling under her mask, before turning back outside. “One more thing, don’t forget to take something from him,” she said. “We always take something from the innocent ones to honor them.”
“What do you mean take something?”
“When my mark is innocent like this boy, I usually cut a lock of hair if I can.”
“Why? What’s the point?”
Josie didn’t answer right away, her eyes seemed distant, unfocused. “Trust me, it’ll help you sleep at night. Alright enough,” her eyes turned lucid. “I see a hall outside. You’ll have to get to the last door with a lamp out on top. Go inside.” She reached into her another hidden pouch, taking out a vile of powder. Handing it to her, she continued, “there’ll be a glass of water laid out for him to drink. All you have to do is drop it in. No need to stir. He’ll drink it sometime after midnight after he uses the latrine. He’s been doing that for a fortnight already.”
Roe brought the vile up to the light from the hall, revealing only a pinch of some very fine and purple powder. “What is it?”
“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “No one knows. We lost our last poison expert that made that way back before you joined. The new guy doesn’t know —or actually, he doesn’t care to know what it is.”
“What’s it do?”
“Slows the heart until it stops,” Josie replied with a hint of compassion. “The boy will simply die in his sleep. Better than that other crap Zeth tried giving me.” Then she muttered, “Bad enough we’re murderers.”
Roe pocketed the poison in her right stomach pocket before leaning close to Josie, maneuvering herself to slip through the door way. This close to Josie, she couldn’t even hear her breathing, not a sound came from her. Josie shuffled back into the shadows, giving Roe more room. Again, so silently, not even one footfall clattered or scraped. Such control.
“Remember,” Josie whispered. “Don’t force your blessing. Just pretend it’s an arm or hand, an extension of yourself.” Easier said than done. “I’ll stay here. You’re on your own, but don’t worry, I’ve got you’re back.”
Roe took a sharp breath and exhaled slowly. Please, Veiled Goddess. After rubbing her gloved fingers together, she pulled on the open door; it’s sudden creak made her flinch. Damn. Josie was probably shaking her head from the shadows.
Leaning closer, Roe took in a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm herself. OK, just an extension of my arm. Natural and smooth. Don’t command it; just use it. Trying to keep her mind blank, she started pushing the door again. This time, to her relief, the door glided open without a sound. She thought of giving Josie a thumbs-up but decided not to. ‘Missions are serious affairs,’ she would say. And now crossing off her first mark, she was beginning to understand why her sponsor was always so serious on missions. Roe was going to become Night Daughter. It was time she started acting like one.
Roe scanned the length of the hall, well-lit with oil lamps on the walls. A whiff of burning wood came from somewhere below as did crackling of fire and soft-spoken words. Damn. Someone’s awake. The floor was wooded with a long red carpet. Wood floors always creaked, but she trained for this. She knew what to do. Four closed doors on the left and a railing on the right. Down toward the end appeared two posts and a gap in the railing which could only mean a stair down to a lower floor. That would be most difficult part. Someone was down there, and she’d have to slip by unnoticed.
Still beyond that, one of the wall lamps was out, darkening the rest of the hall. Squinting her eyes, she could barely see the last door facing her. Easy enough. She’d done more challenging things in the past…but she never had to kill anyone. No, stop, she told herself. This is why you’re not with Rochelle. Why you’re not like that flake, Mend. They wouldn’t —couldn’t— do what has to be done. Besides, Josie was right. This was as easy as it gets, so Roe better get used to it.
With her focus on the far side, she started down the length, down almost on all fours, except she kept her knees up and used her feet to move forward like climbing up a wall horizontally. This way, if someone found her, she could lunge at them easily and use her short knife by her chest —it would be the first time she’d use it. Her stomach knotted at the thought that it would have to be used one day. You can do this.
Silently she moved, turning to see what was down on the lower floor. She saw a large room, expensively furnished with couches, chairs, a long serving bench and a fireplace roaring. She smiled under her mask. There was someone down there, but he was sitting in a plush chair facing away and toward the fire, his graying hair appearing over the headrest of the chair. He had a book opened in one hand and a glass of what Roe guessed to be wine in his other.
“One of the oldest names is Rag..rag…nar..ek,” he read in a slow thoughtful voice. “The most obscure of the Shard of the Almighty—” He stopped, his neck jerked straight as if something caught his attention.
Roe froze, holding her breath. Her heart raced, ankles buckled. No. No. No!
“Ah! I know that reference. The Cults of Ragnarok.”
“Dear, quiet please,” said a woman’s voice from out of view. “Malek is trying to sleep.”
Roe exhaled and to her surprise her breath came out soundless. Smiling, she refocused her efforts to get across the hall. Nobles, she scoffed. She didn’t know this Count, but they were all the same: imposers of the One-King’s rule. When she lived at home, she never saw the noble family who ruled her village, but they certainly made themselves felt. Their commissioners stole men and boys for field or production work. The woman for house servants —or worse. The children for soldiers. The assassinations and indoctrinations of anyone found with a blessing. The bloody revolts, stories of the One-King blotting out the sun and thrashing through the rebellion five at a time. And now, seeing the Count there, enjoying himself at the toil of everyone less than him, stirred more than her courage; it steeled her will. If they would kill those blessed, she would do the same. Besides, that kid sleeping would become just like him, viewing people like her —like her family— as livestock. What atrocities would he commit for the One-King’s approval?
“Sorry, my dear,” the Count answered. “But, this is truly amazing. This book was exactly what I was looking for. Imagine, an Eighth Shard somewhere in this world with the power of the old Ragnar race. I doubt those cultists found it; they never manifested any abilities as far as I know, their necromancy notwithstanding. …Not unless maybe the Ragnars survived.”
“We would all have seen that, dear.”
“Yes, yes. I know,” he let out a frustrated sigh. “But I can hope. If only we hadn’t lost the boy, we wouldn’t be stabbing in the dark like this. The One-King’s Champion…lost. I asked him to anoint another, but he can be so unreasonable sometimes.”
“You shouldn’t say that.”
He mocked a laugh
. “He’s not omniscient, dear, despite what he can do. He learns and fears like any other. I…just… I’m frustrated. I wish I knew what he wanted, his goal. If I hadn’t known the breath of his knowledge or might of his power, I would believe he was looking for insight into his own nature. Imagine that, a god wondering what it means to be a god. We —our entire family— has been at this for generations!”
“And it would be arrogant of us if we believed we would be the ones to solve the mystery. He promised us an escape from the Catastrophes. Isn’t that enough?”
Roe moved on, light foot after light foot, stopping at the stair, but she didn’t hesitate. She wasn’t conflicted anymore. She pushed on, reaching the darkened door. Clasping her hand around the knob, she slowly turned it until it stopped suddenly. She cocked her head. Locked? Why would they lock their own son’s room? It didn’t matter; she knew how to open locks.
Fetching her roll of picks from a pocket on her right side, she got to work, and with a few tries, the lock gave way. Turning the knob again, she opened the door and slid inside.
My…Goddess! She almost let out gasp. The room was lit with tiny orbs of light that shot their rays out in random directions giving the room a soft blue glow. Frozen there by the door, she was unable to take her eyes off the...beauty around her. Other things floated too. Blocks and toys. Dolls and wooden swords. Up above, she saw clouds, dark and menacing like a storm, yet charmingly miniature, churning and hugging the ceiling in a whirlpool pattern.
A crack of thunder shuddered the room and she lunged back against the door. Not so charming. A small voice stirred and then quieted. The storms faded out as did the orbs of light. The toys fell, thumping to the ground. Again, darkness surrounded her, but she didn’t find it comforting.
Pushing herself against the door, her ankles trembled, and her heart thundered with short breaths, making more noise than she wanted. She didn’t care, all she could think was: Is this what a mage can do? She’d met mages before, but rarely had they used their magic. She got the impression it was impolite to ask, but this kid was conjuring in his sleep. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have any nightmares while she was there.
As soon as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she discerned the posts of boy’s bed and his body with covers pulled up to his head, facing the opposite wall. Her eyes darted to the nightstand, a glass cup and pitcher of water sat there. She reached for the vial, clasping it into her gloved palm.
Gingerly, she crawled to the nightstand before standing up as slowly as possible. The boy’s body rose and sank in his bed with soft breaths. She stared at her open palm and vial of poison. Her first mark. Few back home talked about their marks, even Josie. She had been with the Coming Shadows for as long as Roe was alive, thirteen years. And for as long as Roe could remember, Josie would go out at least once a month without her to collect her mark but returned without a hint of how the mission went. When pried, she’d tell Roe it wasn’t something to be talked about. If one had to talk about a past mark, it had to be good reason —usually when things went badly.
Roe looked at the boy’s face above the covers, no older than five, maybe six. Did he have a choice, she asked herself with that rising anxiety that told her to slip the powder in quickly and go. But she lingered on that question. Did he have a choice? No. She replied. Neither did she when she began manifesting the Veiled Goddess’s blessings. Silence. Sheath. Senses. It had all been so much fun at first, sneaking around and stealing her mother’s cooking, overhearing conversation her brother and sister were having. Was it the same with him?
She didn’t even know his name. ‘Doesn’t matter,’ Josie would say. And she was right. This boy never had to hide his blessing for fear of being seen by foremen or commissioners. Never had to work twice as hard to pay the “surplus” tax and still hope no one was taken to make up for shortfalls. No, he wasn’t the same as her.
She twisted open the cap for the poison, and —the glass was empty, but the pitcher was full. She hesitated. Would if he doesn’t drink it? Would if someone else drinks it with him? Too many questions. Just pour, she told herself, positioning the powder over the pitcher of water, holding it with her thumb over the vial opening.
But she didn’t pour.
She remembered when she was first caught using her blessing. Her parents were so frightened and scared for her, scared someone might have seen her. Scared that either the commissioners would grab her, or the Coming Shadows would recruit her. How did his parents react? Scared too, probably. The One-King loved mages, the few in the country he would steal away to himself, but this boy was a Count’s son. He wouldn’t be stolen away, would he? He was going to the Priests for training, after all. But did he even want to? What would he choose?
Roe closed her eyes. Thanks to the One-King, Roe didn’t have a choice. She had to join the Coming Shadows. And thanks to the One-King, this boy wouldn’t have a choice either. He would be forced to help the help him. And for that reason, she poured the powder in, watching it dissolve. If someone else drank it with him, it’ll be their own—
The door swung open behind her.
“Who are you,” came a shrilled woman’s voice.
Before Roe could react, a blade punctured through the woman’s throat from behind, blood spraying all over Roe’s black uniform and onto the bed. The woman grasped at her throat, her eyes curled up, and she fell to the floor. Behind her crouched Josie staring Roe down like an angry beast about to pounce, freezing her to her core. But then Josie’s eyes darted to Roe’s left —the boy was awake!
He let out a piercing scream.
“It’s not going to work now,” Josie shouted, running up to her. “Finish it,” she snarled, pointed at boy.
But Roe couldn’t pry her eyes off the woman on the floor and the blood pooling around her. She’d never seen someone die in front of her before, let alone, stabbed through the throat. It was nothing like ending someone with the Chills; no, that woman was alive, was fully herself and now her wide eyes stared blankly at the floor, frozen in horrible surprise. And the quickness of it and the easy of which Josie did it made her heart skip beats. How—
“Damn it, Roe. This is your job.” She unsheathed Roe’s knife from her chest and placed it within her hand. Steadying Roe’s shaky hand in hers, they both turned to the boy who sat on the bed, scrunched up against the wall with his covers pulled up to his eyes, wide, frightened, accusatory eyes budding up with anger and fury. Even in the darkness, she could see them, unnaturally bright blue like two of Josie’s gemstones raging with with magic. Those eyes, she sheered into her memory.
Josie, pushing on Roe’s hand, lunged in. Roe shut her eyes—
Her entire body suddenly tightened into a painful cramp as a shearing river of energy shot through her forehead down to the heel of her foot. And then a deafening crack of thunder shook the room like an earthquake, sending their bodies to floor. She squirmed there for what seemed like minutes, her body vibrating intensely with stray muscles spasming.
With sparks in her vision, Roe felt Josie’s hand grab her wrist. “It’s done. We go,” Josie’s muted voice reached her ringing ears, pulling her outside into the light of the hall. Josie slammed the boy’s door shut, quickly working to lock it. But Roe couldn’t catch her breath, staring at her white knuckled hand gripping so hard on her knife that it felt numb…her now bloody knife —now used. It was done. Roe’s stomach knotted as she collapsed to the ground again.
“Intruders,” echoed a muffled voice —the gray-haired Count at the bottom of the stair. He held a sword, but his eyes lingered on Roe’s bloody clothing, her knife. “Dear Almighty, no,” he whispered, Roe’s blessing mercilessly helping her hear him.
Josie pulled on her. “Keep going, just go,” she roared as the two ran for the storage room, the window open to the cold night.
The old man thundered his steps up, giving them pursuit with profanity riddled accusations —each one churning her stomach further. Pulling on Roe’s arm, Josie dove out of the window and o
nto a thick pile of cold snow they had prepared.
Hearing trumpet blasts, they mounted their escape horses and rode into night. Roe’s hands couldn’t stop shaking, the knife still held in her hand. Her heart hammered in her ears, and even the horse whined at her unsteady grip. She thought back to what had happened, what’s she done —what she knew she would have to do again. That woman, the boy; his scared blue accusing eyes.
Feeling a wave of nausea, she pulled down her mask and vomited.
Josie’s horse slowed to ride alongside her. “Pathetic,” she whispered, knowing Roe would hear her. “You took too long, Roe. You didn’t hear that lady coming up. And, you weren’t stealthing—”
Blinking frustrated tears, she screamed back, “I did what you said! I poured the damn poison!” Josie straightened on her horse, visibly displeased with Roe’s tone. But she didn’t care. This was too much, too soon. Why couldn’t her first mark be a commissioner? Or one of their filthy foremen lackeys? No, that boy was no killer, no extortionist; he didn’t steal people away because crops didn’t grow. He was just a boy.
“That feeling you feel right now,” Josie said with a uncaring hard voice. “Get used to it.” She then cocked her head, turning back behind them. “They’re following us, so we’ll have to separate. You know what to do.” Before Roe could acknowledge her command, Josie veered off and into a denser part of the sparse forest.
Roe spurred her horse faster as the icy wind blew the tears from her face.
That icy wind…so warm now like a hand on her cheek. Blinking her eyes open, she saw the Major hovering over her. “Araa,” he said softly, his hand on her cheek. “Good, you’re waking.”
She went to shove him away, but her arms cramped up. Then it came to her: where she was, who she was, and what she was doing. A dream, she thought. No…it was so real.
“Can you hear me?”
“Yes,” she answered with surprising strength. Even her eyesight had cleared; the Major had lit a lantern and set down inside the cell, and she wasn’t blinded by it.
Call of the Chosen- Broken Kingdoms Page 34