“Who is Corran?”
“My brother. He’ll be worried sick—and then he’ll be angry that I made him worry.” Rigan slumped against his pillow and closed his eyes. “I am in deep shit.”
“The healer assures me you are mostly recovered. You’re weak from hunger. I’ll have food brought, and when you’re able, I’ll lead you back to the surface.”
“Thank you,” Rigan said. He looked at Damian. “Why? Why bother saving me?”
“There are many people who have a flicker of magic and are able to hide it, even from the guards. Your magic is much stronger. I didn’t want you to fall into the Lord Mayor’s hands. You would be conscripted to serve him, or be killed. That’s still a real risk, if you try to pretend none of this ever happened. But there is another option.”
“What?”
“We can train you. You can return to us and we will teach you how to use—and conceal—your magic.”
“I’ve heard about the witches of Below,” Rigan replied. “They say that you gain your power from killing people.”
“And yet you’re not dead.” Damian chuckled. “Don’t believe everything you hear. It serves our purpose to be feared, since even the guards hesitate to come looking for us.”
“I can’t stay here. My brothers depend on me,” Rigan argued. “I can’t leave them and move Below.”
“If the Mayor’s guards discover what you are, they’re likely to kill you and your brothers.”
Rigan looked away. “It’s just the three of us. Corran and Kell need me. I can’t run off.”
“The rituals you use to prepare the dead have power so old, no one thinks of them as magic anymore,” Damian replied. “Done by someone with true power, they rival anything the priests can do.”
Damian paused. “Your power is strong. Without training, it will grow harder to control. You’ll kill again, without meaning to, and perhaps next time, the target won’t deserve it. Your brothers maybe, or someone who just got in the way. That’s one reason magic is so tightly controlled. It’s dangerous.” He stood. “You’ll be recovered enough to go home in a candlemark or so. I’ll lead you out. I can show you how to find me, to get the training you need. Think about my offer, and tell me what you decide.” He left Rigan alone with his thoughts.
By the time Damian returned, Rigan had eaten and his head had cleared. He would have bruises from his struggle with the guard, but as the pain faded, he felt his strength gradually returning.
“Ready?” Damian asked.
Rigan rose and followed him from the room, pausing to glance around. The inside of the house looked utterly normal, except for its age and for being below ground.
“I didn’t get to thank the healer.”
“I’ll pass along your gratitude to Aiden,” Damian replied. “Did you consider my offer?”
Rigan had thought of little else in the time Damian left him alone. I can scarcely believe it’s true that I have that kind of power, but I can’t explain what happened any other way. And I don’t want to be a danger to Corran and Kell—or anyone else. I certainly don’t want to be hunted by the guards. What choice do I have?
“I accept,” Rigan replied. “Tell me how to find my way back here, so I can learn what I need to know. There are enough monsters up above already, I don’t need to be one of them.”
Chapter Four
“WHERE’S RIGAN? HE never misses dinner.” Kell set a bowl of boiled cabbage, potatoes, and pork in front of Corran, and fetched a warm loaf of crusty bread from the oven. Since their mother died, Kell had taken over the cooking and shopping and most other errands so Rigan and Corran could see to the work downstairs.
“I don’t know, but I’m ready to give him a good thrashing when he shows up,” Corran replied with an ill-humored edge to his voice, tucking his napkin under his chin. “We’ve had five new bodies come in today, and I need the pigments and powders I sent him to get.”
“Bet he stopped off at the Dragon with those friends of his and forgot the time.”
“He won’t forget it again, once I’m done with him.” Corran stabbed his fork into the meat, more comfortable with anger than with the fear gnawing at his stomach. Rigan’s dependable. He’s never this late. I don’t begrudge him a drink or two with his friends, or a chance to go see that girl he’s sweet on—gods know, all we do is work—but something’s not right.
Kell often regaled Corran and Rigan with the gossip he heard during his rounds. He’d go to market early to get food, then take the cart through Wrighton, gathering the bodies of those who’d died in the night and could pay for proper preparation and burial. He embellished his tales shamefully for his brothers’ entertainment, and reveled in the telling. Kell’s silence tonight told Corran that he worried about Rigan, too.
Three months had passed since Jora’s death; six since their mother died, the last time monsters surfaced in the city. Since then, there had been too many silent evenings. Kell and Rigan alternated between trying to jolly Corran out of his mood, which never worked, and leaving him to his thoughts, which was worse. Corran doubted that the ache of Jora’s loss would ever really leave him. Hunting the monsters that killed her helped, but it wouldn’t bring her back.
Halfway through dinner, a pounding on the back door roused them.
“I’ll go see who it is,” Corran said, finding his appetite gone. “Maybe Rigan lost his key.”
Donn stood in the doorway looking flushed. “Is he here?”
“Who?” Corran asked, his heart sinking.
“Rigan. Did he make it back?” Donn peered past him into the workroom.
“I think you need to tell me what’s going on,” Corran said, grabbing Donn by the arm and pulling him inside. He shut the door and motioned for Donn to sit. Kell stood halfway down the stairs, watching worriedly.
“What’s going on?”
“That’s what Donn’s about to tell us,” Corran replied, hands on hips.
Donn licked his lips nervously. “We didn’t mean to get in any trouble,” he said, looking from Corran to Kell. “I ran into Rigan after he finished his errand, and we stopped off for some ale at The Lame Dragon. Wil had already drunk a pint or two—or three— before we joined him. Rigan said he had to get back, so we left.”
“When?” Corran demanded.
“About two candlemarks ago. Wil got sick, and we ran into some guards, who decided to be bastards about it. They started pushing us around, and Wil was drunk. He took a swing at one of the guards, so they came after us. We ran.”
Corran and Kell exchanged a worried glance.
“We split up, and one guard went after each of us. I picked up two more. It took me a while to shake them; I almost didn’t get away.” Donn’s hands shook. Scrapes bloodied his arms, and blood oozed from a gash on his pale forehead.
Kell went back upstairs and returned with a cup of hot tea, which Donn accepted gratefully, though his hands trembled so much that he nearly spilled it on himself.
“I hid in an old shed when I couldn’t run anymore,” Donn said. “I didn’t expect them to chase us so far. Figured they’d just put the fear of the gods in us and that would be it.” He shook his head. “But they didn’t let up. I thought I was going to die.”
A cold chill settled into the pit of Corran’s stomach as Donn talked. Rigan’s never been in any trouble, but that wouldn’t stop the guards from giving him a beating if they thought he’d crossed them.
“Do you think the guards knew who you were?” Kell looked as worried as Corran felt.
Donn shrugged. “No. Maybe. I don’t know.” He paused to sip his tea and take a deep breath. “I don’t think so. I’m guessing they were just in a black mood about something and we crossed their path. We were an easy target.”
“What about Wil?” Corran asked. The more he heard, the more he worried. I don’t think Rigan’s ever even thrown a punch that wasn’t meant for me or Kell. He hates fighting, and Kell’s a faster runner. If Rigan couldn’t talk his way out, he’d be in b
ig trouble.
Donn looked up miserably. “I haven’t seen him. I hoped he and Rigan made it back here.” He set the empty cup of tea aside and buried his head in his hands. “By Qel! What do we do?”
“Stay here with Kell,” Corran told Donn. “I’ll go to the farrier and see if Wil got home safely, and if he did, whether he knows where Rigan is. If he’s safe, I’d rather not draw attention by asking around at the jail.”
“It’s after curfew,” Kell warned. “And the farrier’s a distance away.”
Corran met his brother’s gaze, and saw his worry reflected in Kell’s eyes. “What choice do we have? If Rigan’s lying hurt somewhere, we need to go find him.” And if he’s dead, we need to bring his body home.
A rap at the door made them all jump.
“Hide,” Corran hissed at Donn. He waited until Kell had hidden Donn in the cupboard under the stairs before he opened the door, hoping to find his brother waiting in the alley.
“Please, help me.” Rendan, the farrier, stood in the darkness, holding a limp, bloodied body in his arms. “Wil’s dead.”
Corran looked both ways in the alley, checking for guards, and ushered Rendan into the workroom. Donn and Kell joined them a moment later.
“He’s dead,” Rendan repeated, tears running down his cheeks. Rendan was Ross’s father, and Corran knew the family well. That just made the loss keener.
Corran helped him lay Wil’s body on one of the tables. The young man’s face was bloody, beaten badly enough to break bones. Just from the way Wil lay, Corran could tell that an arm and a leg were broken, likely ribs and a shoulder blade, too. Bruises and cuts marred his skin. The body smelled of ale, piss, and bile.
“I’m so sorry,” Corran said, his heart in his throat. What if they’ve done the same to Rigan?
“Why?” Rendan asked in a strangled voice, looking up as if beseeching the gods. “He was my sister’s son. I took him in when she died of fever. Wil was a good boy, a hard worker. He didn’t cause trouble. I just want to know, why?” He broke, down sobbing. Corran glanced to Kell, who poured a glass of whiskey and handed it to Rendan.
“Where did you find him?” Corran asked, gently. Donn stood behind Kell, staring at the corpse in shock.
“A man came to the door and said they’d found him in one of the alleys halfway across Wrighton,” Rendan said. “Someone recognized him and brought him home. He was already dead.” Rendan’s throat seized up and it took him a moment to speak again.
“Ross was so angry, I thought he would go out looking for Wil’s killers, and I would lose two of them in one night,” Rendan sobbed. “I made him swear not to go anywhere.” He sniffed and blinked, trying to regain control. “I didn’t want my wife or the others to see Wil like this. I can’t imagine what he went through.” Ross bowed his head, taking Wil’s bruised hand. “Please, give him a good burial. Full Guild honors. I don’t know who did this or why, but I do know Wil deserved better.”
Corran and Donn exchanged a glance. He deserves to know.
“I know what happened—up to a point,” Donn said quietly. Kell fetched him a whiskey to fortify him as he prepared to recount the awful tale, then poured one for himself, Corran and Rendan.
Kell barely held back tears as Donn recounted what had happened. Corran had not seen his brother weep since the night their mother died.
“Since when is it a killing crime for a young man to drink a bit too much ale?” Rendan cried when Donn finished. “By Jorr and all the gods of the Guilds, it’s gone too far!”
“Both of you had better get home. And be careful; if the guards catch you, you’ll be joining him,” Corran said. He looked over at Rendan, covered in Wil’s blood. “Kell, go fetch some water so Rendan can clean up.” He turned to Donn. “Where did you last see Rigan?”
Donn told him. “If he ran like I did, he could be anywhere.”
Corran’s heart sank. I can’t just leave him out there. I’ve got to bring him home.
“See that’s Wil’s taken care of, please,” Rendan said. He took Wil’s hand again, then crossed the young man’s arms over his chest and bent to kiss his bruised forehead. Donn put an arm around the older man’s shoulders and guided him to the door.
“I’ll walk him home,” Donn promised. “It’s not far out of my way. And if I hear anything of Rigan, I’ll come back as soon as I can.”
Corran nodded. “We’ll take good care of Wil. Full honors.”
As the door closed behind them, Corran shut his eyes, mustering the strength to do what had to be done.
“We’ve got to go find Rigan. We can’t let the guards get away with this!” Rage reddened Kell’s cheeks, but his eyes were utterly blank.
Corran put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Don’t make this any worse. I’ll go look for him.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No, you’re not.” He held up a hand to stall Kell’s argument. “Someone needs to be here in case Rigan comes home. It’s after curfew—bad enough for one of us to be out. I’ll be back to work on Wil’s body. Anything you can do to get the preparation started will be a help.” He sighed. “Neither of us are going to get much sleep tonight.”
“Do you think Rigan’s alive?” Kell’s voice had deepened of late and he usually tried his best to keep it from cracking, but now it sounded thin and reedy, like a scared boy. Corran put a comforting hand on his brother’s arm.
“I don’t know. If he is, I’ll find him. And if he isn’t—well, I’ll bring him back so we can do right by him. Do what you can to get Wil ready. Anything we need for Farriers’ Guild honors we can get in the morning. If we can prepare his body tonight, we can bury him early. The fewer questions asked, the better.”
“I’ll do it,” Kell promised as Corran grabbed his cloak off a peg, and, after a moment’s thought, reached for a long knife from the worktable. “Be careful, Corran.”
Corran nodded and headed out.
* * *
TRYING TO FOLLOW Rigan’s trail posed more of a challenge than Corran had expected. He had no difficulty finding the place where Donn said the three young men had split up, trying to outrun their pursuers, but every block further out meant more paths Rigan might have taken, to say nothing of the cellars, abandoned buildings, and walled yards.
Maybe if I had a bloodhound, I could pick up his trail, Corran thought. His chest tightened at the thought of Rigan, hurt or dying, alone in the dark.
Rigan and Kell depend on me. Mama and Papa expected me to carry on after they were gone. And I’ve failed.
If Rigan had left a trail, the dim light in the alley hid it, and by daybreak, foot traffic would obliterate any clues. He’s out there, somewhere, and if he’s alive, he’s counting on me to find him.
For all that Corran worked with the dead, helping them to their rest, he thought little of the gods from day to day. Doharmu, the god of undertakers, was a dark and fearsome presence, not the kind of deity whom one beseeched for good luck and reassurance. For that, the common people still turned to the other Elder Gods, the old deities now fallen out of fashion with the rise of the new gods of the trades. Doharmu was the only Guild god that was also an Elder God; death was a constant, whatever the pantheon.
Kell usually took care of the offerings and feast day rituals, delivering the required gifts to the temple, offering prayers on their account—one more task he had taken over when their mother died. But tonight, bereft and at a complete loss, Corran had no other choice but to beg the Elder Gods for help.
Oj and Ren, Forever Father and Eternal Mother, hear me. Bring Rigan home safely to us. Doharmu, god of darkness and death, if it’s too late for him to come back to us, make his passage swift and his journey easy, And by the Old Ones, by Ardevan and Eshtamon, by Balledec and Colduraan, if his life is forfeit, let me see vengeance done.
Chapter Five
THE SUNSET CAST the streets in gold as Rigan made his way across Wrighton. He kept to the alleys, fearful of encountering the companions of the
guard he had killed. But as he got closer to home, a new fear filled him. I’ve been gone for a night and a day. Corran’s gonna have my ass. Have Donn and Wil made it back? Do Corran and Kell have any idea what happened? If I’m a danger to them, would it have been better for me to stay Below?
All of those concerns paled in comparison to his real fear: what to do about the lethal power he could summon.
If Corran and Kell ever find out, what will they think? Will I become one of the monsters in their eyes?
He thought again, briefly, about just staying ‘dead’ and going back to find Damian, but he forced himself to keep going.
It’s not fair for me to leave Corran and Kell with all the work. It’s hard enough to make ends meet. I’ll figure out a way to live with this, to keep the power under control, I have to. If Damian’s right and the Mayor’s guards suspected I had unsanctioned magic, they’d kill me—and probably Kell and Corran too. Gods! What have I gotten myself into?
Rigan slowed as he neared the shop. Damian had given him fresh clothing to replace his torn, bloodied shirt and pants, as well as a cloak with a collar and a hat with a wide brim that hid his bruised face and neck. Aiden had spent his power saving Rigan’s life, replenishing the energy tapped dry by the burst of magic, and had not concerned himself with less urgent matters, so every muscle ached.
He paused in the alley behind the workshop and saw a light in an upstairs window. Kell’s probably making dinner. Corran’s likely working, and mad about having no help. I am in so much trouble, and I can’t even tell them the whole truth.
He steeled himself, took a deep breath, and opened the back door, to see Corran working on a body. His brother turned, holding a bloody knife. When he saw Rigan, the blood drained from his face and the knife clattered to the floor.
“Sorry I’m late,” Rigan said, knowing the apology was wholly inadequate. He held out the bag with the items from his errand. “Here. I got what you needed.”
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