The Unblessed Dead

by Rhiannon Frater

  “Undertakers serve the Chantry by seeking out newly awakened necromancers. We’re assigned to a settlement and keep watch for any signs of necromancy. I’ve been doing this since I was eighteen. In four years, I’ve brought six awakened necromancers to the Chantry. I’m good at my job.”

  Carrie snorts.

  Ignoring her, Quade continues: “After what happened to the Bridgetown settlement, the Undertakers were dispatched to any settlement with a large infestation of the dead.”

  “Why didn’t they do that before?” Carrie asks.

  “Because it’s not that unusual for the dead to gather around settlements of the living. Don’t get me wrong. It was part of the algorithm the Clerics use to pinpoint potential necromancers, but once you’re further out on the continent near the Radiated Lands, the algorithm falls apart.”

  “And that’s where the Bridgetown Settlement used to be.” I touch my lip to find it healed. I’m in awe and for the first time I wonder why we’re not allowed to embrace healing tech.

  Quade inclines his head. “And now it’s gone. I had just returned from the Lone Star Settlement when the Clerics decided to send out Undertakers to all the settlements with any large amassing of the dead, which included this one. Additionally, we knew there was a suspected necromancer discovered in this settlement a few years ago that was killed when she was discovered.”

  I shiver at the memory of my dead mother grabbing Bale. “That was my mother.”

  “She wasn’t killed. She committed suicide,” Carrie says sharply. “She didn’t want to be a necromancer.”

  Quade doesn’t respond to her outburst, and presses another cylinder to my wrist. “This is for the bruising.”

  “My mother died because she didn’t want to be a heretic,” Carrie persists, but even I can hear doubt in her voice. She doesn’t believe what our father told us? I’m stunned by this revelation, but then begin to wonder if maybe she’s right to suspect.

  Quade glances toward my sister, and I suspect he’s trying not to rile her further. “I don’t know all the details about what happened to your mother.”

  “She was terrified of what she was and it drove her to commit a terrible sin,” Carrie replies.

  “Whatever happened to your mother is a tragedy. I was sent to investigate her surviving daughters. I didn’t expect to spot you as soon as I got off the train. This has been my easiest recruitment.”

  “She’s not recruited,” Carrie declares.

  “I don’t want to be a necromancer,” I tell him, tears threatening to fall again.

  Quade sets the cylinder down on the table and leans back in his chair. With a sympathetic tone in his voice, he says, “You may not want to be, but that is most likely what you are. You could also be a Summoner, which is what we call people who can summon the dead at will, but that’s the limit of their power. They can’t actually control the dead.”

  “I made them kill Bale,” I whisper.

  “Or they did what they do naturally: attack the living. And when you willed them away, they took Bale with them. There are tests to determine the limits of your power, Ilyse.”

  Though I’d been contemplating leaving the settlement to escape suspicion and persecution, I’d never really thought about going to The Enclave. I’ve heard stories about its towering buildings and enormous wall, but I can’t even imagine such a place. What would it be like to enter the Chantry and be among people with powers over the dead?

  “Is there a cure?” I dare to ask.

  Exhaling slowly, Quade rubs his chin. “No, but there is a drug that suppresses the powers. It affects the neural pathways of the brain and, for some reason that no one has yet to figure out, it keeps necromancers from using their power.”

  “Then you have to get it for my sister!” Carrie skitters across the floor to slam her hands down on the table and glare at Quade.

  “It’s an illegal drug that is sold in the Deadlands. I can’t get it for her, and there are dire side effects. It might be the reason behind Aura’s insanity. Her mother was taking the drug and it could’ve affected Aura’s development in the womb.”

  “So a girl really did wipe out the settlement on purpose.” The mere thought is too awful to believe.

  Quade rubs at the scruff over his lip. “Yeah. She sent thousands of zombies over the walls. Cleric Fabiola was forced to kill her and had a difficult time getting the dead under control. It was a very bad situation. Very few people lived.”

  I ponder what it would take to secure the drug and then keep it hidden. It would enable me to live an ordinary life, but at what risk? I’ll be expected to have children. What if they grew up to be like Aura? The life designed for me has never held great allure, but I thought it was what I was supposed to do. Now that it seems unobtainable, I feel so sad. Maybe it’s because I’m not who I imagined myself to be. I always wanted to please my father, but I know for certain that I will be banished from his lips and heart very soon.

  “You can’t stay here, Ilyse.” Quade rests his elbows on his knees and regards me sadly. “You need to be where you can be trained and protected.”

  “I can’t leave the settlement with you,” I say.

  “Once they figure out what you are, you’ll be in danger,” Quade answers.

  “No, you don’t understand. I literally cannot leave the settlement with you. I’m supposed to face my Bridal Auction soon. I’m not yet an adult. I won’t be allowed to leave. Before the train departs from the station, the wardens come on board to make sure that everyone departing has permission to do so. I can’t even walk down the road without a chaperone.”

  “She’s right. If we were caught here with you, we’d both be barred from the Bridal Auction and become Unclaimed.”

  “What is this Bridal Auction?”

  Carrie and I exchange surprised looks. Just how different is the outside world from ours?

  “All young women on their eighteenth birthday attend the Bridal Auction. The eligible Crats attend and bid on wives. The women who aren’t chosen are Unclaimed and enter the work force. I’m about to turn eighteen.”

  Quade frowns. “The Crats are the land owners and tradesman, right?”

  Carrie bobs her head. “Right.”

  “So you see I can’t leave here on my own. Even after I’m married, I can’t leave without my husband’s permission. If I want to leave, I’d have to go over the wall.” The memory of the Unblessed outside the walls in the seconds before they were destroyed will forever haunt me and I shudder.

  “That’s not a good idea. I can’t control the dead and you’re untrained.” Folding his arms over his chest, Quade slumps in his chair. “This will be more complicated than I thought.”

  Slapping her hands against the surface of the table, Carrie exclaims, “You have to train her so she can control it and won’t be exposed! You can’t let her life be ruined!”

  A loud beep startles all of us. Quade slides out of his chair and walks over to the machine that’s cleaning and mending my gown. He pulls it out and tosses it over to me. I catch it and find it warm to the touch.

  “Get dressed and go home,” he says.

  “You have to help her,” Carrie insists.

  “The best way to help both of you right now is for you to go home and pretend none of this happened. You need to act like normal. No crying. No moping. No unusual behavior.” Quade’s voice is clipped and his gaze piercing. “You were never here. We never saw each other. This conversation did not happen. If anyone asks, you were asleep all night.”

  “Are you on Ilyse’s side or not?” Carrie puts her hands on her hips and glares at him. “Or are you setting her up?”

  “Right now I’m not sure what to do. I have to do some research, talk to the Chantry, and sort out what my role is here. The best thing you two can do is act like nothing happened.”

  Afraid I’m about to start weeping again, I rush to the bathroom to change. For some reason, his words feel like rejection and it stings. This time my reflection
looks almost normal except for the tears glimmering in my eyes. I study my thighs and find that the bruises are gone. I pull on my dress, fold Quade’s clothes, and leave them on a counter.

  Again, when I exit the bathroom, Carrie and Quade are standing nearly toe to toe glaring at each other.

  “Maybe it’s not her, but someone else,” Carrie says.

  “I told you I can’t raise-”

  “Maybe not you. Maybe someone else. Someone trying to set her up. Or playing a game. I don’t know! But my sister is of Pious Standing, which means she is one of the best among us. I can’t believe she killed Bale.”

  “But I did,” I say with certainty. “I killed him because he attempted to force me into relations with him.”

  Carrie’s face pales. “What?”

  I realize then that Carrie didn’t even understand what had happened between me and Bale. Quade and I regard each other for a moment.

  She doesn’t understand why you did it.

  Should I tell her? It’s shameful.

  It’s not your shame, Ilyse. It’s his.

  Taking a deep breath, I turn to face my sister. “Bale wanted to have relations with me like a husband has with his wife. Our aunt explained it to me a few weeks ago, and it’s when-”

  “I know what it is!” Carrie surges toward me, grabbing my arms. “He tried to put his thing in you?”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “Rachel-Ann told everyone in her class when she found out from her older married sister.”

  There were many times when I caught my classmates snickering about things we shouldn’t know at our age. I had chosen to walk away in fear of losing my standing. It’s evident that Carrie had no such fears.

  “He wanted to,” I reply. “I fought him, but he was too strong. He said other girls with Pious Standing had resisted at first, too, but had given in eventually.”

  “That boy was a serial rapist.” Quade sneers with disgust. “He deserved what he got.”

  “Why did you think I killed him, Carrie?”

  “I thought you hadn’t! I thought he had!” Carrie points at Quade. “I couldn’t imagine a reason why you’d hurt Bale. But now that I know I don’t feel bad for him!”

  “So you do believe it was me now?”

  Carrie presses her lips together, then nods.

  Quade’s fingers play with his goatee, a nervous tick, I’ve observed, and he stares at me solemnly.

  Go home. Go to sleep. Pretend that everything is normal. The simplest explanation for everything that has happened is that you’re an awakening necromancer, but I’ll keep an eye out for anything that might point to an unknown necromancer in action, okay?

  Yes, but when will we talk again? I try not to project too much hope into that thought, but I do want to see him soon. My heart even beats faster at the thought of it.

  When it’s safe. Bale’s disappearance is going to cause some issues. Just take care of yourself.

  I pull my cape about my shoulders and secure it about my throat. Carrie raises her hood, mimicking me. We stare at each other and I’m certain that my sister will not falter in her loyalty to me. I hold out my hand and she takes it. Her fingers squeeze mine, the gesture very reassuring.

  “Thank you,” I say to Quade.

  “Just be careful going home,” he replies.

  “You better be a good guy,” my sister grouses as I drag her down the hallway to the back door.

  Quade’s only answer is to chuckle.

  Through the darkness of the night we retrace our steps home until we’re finally in our beds again. Dread and guilt settle on me like a heavy mantle. Flashes of the Unblessed and Bale make it hard to fall asleep. I toss and turn throughout the rest of the night and don’t fall asleep until nearly dawn.

  In my dreams, I see my mother, her mouth bloodied, standing at my window, watching me with a smile on her lips.

  Chapter 8

  Nothing is the Same

  Carrie shakes me to consciousness. I stare at her, bleary-eyed, unsure of what time it is or where I am. My thoughts are jumbled together and I can’t seem to focus. I’m so tired my eyelids close.

  I want more sleep. I’ll deal with the world later.

  “You need to wake up, Ilyse,” Carrie insists, shaking me harder. “I let you sleep late and now you need to hurry. Father will be home soon for breakfast.”

  Groaning, I force myself upright. My head feels heavy from sleeping so soundly. I don’t even want to think about the long day that stretches out before me. Carrie rushes about, gathering my dress, underthings, and shoes. She dumps them onto my lap.

  “Hurry,” she whispers. “And act normal.”

  I stare at her, blinking my eyes in confusion, and, all at once, remember. I gasp and cover my mouth. “It wasn’t a dream!”

  “Shh!” She waves her hands at me.

  Bale’s stricken face as he was dragged beneath the ground fills my mind’s eye and I almost retch.

  “Deep breaths, Ilyse. Calm yourself. We have to act normal. Do you understand?”

  Staring into my sister’s frightened eyes, I nod. I do understand but I’m not sure what normal is anymore. I feel as though everything I ever believed about my religion, my family, and myself is being ripped from my flesh, one bloody strip after the other. My legs are trembling when I stand, and Carrie steadies me with one hand.

  “Ilyse, you can do this,” she says, her fingers giving my arm an encouraging squeeze.

  “I can do this,” I reply, squaring my shoulders.

  Feeling exhausted makes everything harder this morning, but I force my way through my morning routine. As I bathe, I study my arms and legs. There isn’t a sign of the bruises Bale’s fingers left on my skin. The memory of him pressing me against the tree threatens to reduce me to tears again.

  Taking a deep breath, I focus on the coming day. I have exams to plan for in preparation for my Bridal Auction, which I promised my father I would do my best on. High scores will elevate my status, which will bring a better payment. After I’m gone, I want him to have some good memories of me. Maybe he won’t always think of me as a vile necromancer, but as a faithful daughter until my heritage destroyed my life.

  I finish washing and start to dress. Every time my thoughts start to turn to Bale, I recite the vow of a Pious Woman in my mind.

  I am humble

  I am quiet.

  I am kind.

  I am faithful.

  I am hardworking.

  I am fruitful.

  I am plain.

  I am pious.

  Arriving last at the breakfast table, I’m a little breathless from hurrying. My aunt’s gaze rests heavily on me as I greet Rennon with a kiss on his forehead.

  “You were almost late,” he whispers to me.

  “We can’t all be early like you,” I answer, tweaking his nose.

  “I am always on time,” he says with pride.

  I take my seat and face Carrie. She looks the same as always, with her slightly damp hair resting on her shoulders and her cheeks flushed from rushing about to be on time. That seems a little odd, since I was the last to bathe, but I don’t give it much thought.

  “How are you this morning, Ilyse?” my aunt asks.

  Perhaps it’s my guilty conscience, but her gaze feels especially pointed this morning.

  “A little tired,” I answer truthfully. “I’m a little nervous about my upcoming exams and the Bridal Auction.”

  “Your marks are always excellent, and you’ve kept yourself properly plain. You will find a good husband,” my aunt reassures me.

  “I aspire to be humble and without pride,” I answer automatically.

  “As all good women should.”

  The sunlight filtering through the curtains warms my shoulders. Like any proper woman, I don’t show discomfort by squirming. I keep perfectly still, my hands in my lap while we wait for my father. Any second now the front door will open and he will enter.

  The minutes tick by and
my worries start to deepen. Our lives are meticulously planned from the time we wake up to the time we lay down in our beds. The patriarch of each family maintains strict control over the lives of those in his household. My father knows exactly where each member of his family is scheduled to be at any given time of the day. My father is never late or early, but always precisely on time.

  But not today.

  My aunt’s chair creaks as she shifts her weight, the only sign she might be anxious about my father’s lateness. Carrie sits across the table from me with her hands in her lap and her head slightly bowed. She looks at me through her lashes, but doesn’t say a word. I wish I could read her thoughts like I can read Quade’s. A tiny frown forms between Carrie’s eyebrows which matches mine. We don’t speak up though. We’re well-trained to behave properly.

  Rennon has no compunction about being proper, and wriggles around in his wheelchair. Tilting his head, he surveys the clock. “Father is late.”

  My aunt’s eyes flick toward him. “Your father is never late.”

  “He is this morning. By three minutes.” Rennon frowns. “I’m hungry.”

  “Sit still and wait like a proper young man,” she tells him, but her unease is clear in her expression and the sound of her voice.

  A few minutes later, we hear a sharp rap on the door. My aunt stands sharply, her hand over her heart. I observe the look of alarm on her face, and my own stomach lurches. I’d be worrying about Bale, but it didn’t occur to me that something had happened to my father at the bakery. I glance at Rennon in his chair and panic fills me.

  Forcing herself to sit down, my aunt clasps her hands together. “Annah, get the door.”

  Annah obeys and rushes from the back of the house to answer the front hall.

  At the table, my family sits with stiff backs as we wait in horrible anticipation. The door shuts and a moment later Annah appears with a loaf of bread wrapped in paper.

  “Ma’am, the master has been summoned to the council building. He will not be joining you,” Annah explains, then sets the bread in the waiting basket near my father’s plate.

  “Did the messenger explain why he was summoned?” my aunt asks.