by Luke Scull
‘Listen to Willard, dear,’ Lyressa added. Dark blood had begun leaking from her nose, but she appeared not to have noticed. ‘There’s trouble out on the streets. Why don’t you sit here a while? I’ll brew you a mug of hot tea.’
‘No, honestly, I enjoy the rain,’ Sasha said hurriedly, watching the blood dribble down Lyressa’s chin and patter to the floor and trying not to shudder. ‘I just need to clear my head. I won’t go far, I promise.’
That was a lie. As it happened, she did plan to go far – about the width of Deadman’s Channel away in fact. The hashka she had somehow possessed the foresight to hide in a nearby alley ought to fetch her enough coin to pay for passage back to Dorminia, if she could find a buyer. She wanted out of this city as soon as possible, with or without Ambryl.
Willard made no effort to block her path as she hurried past him and out into the late-afternoon storm. Her dark hair almost instantly became a sopping mess in the hammering downpour, and she squeezed her chin into her chest and tried to ignore the water soaking her boots as she splashed her way up the street. Another flash lit up the sky and she glanced back to see yet more Whitecloaks emerge from a side road and turn west towards the harbour, though she could make out nothing of the docks through the endless veil of rain.
As Sasha closed on the alley where her stash was hidden she drew level with one of the soaring spires for which Thelassa was renowned. This particular tower was small in comparison with those nearer the centre – not even half the height of the Obelisk back in Dorminia. She paused a moment to gaze up at the rain-shrouded pinnacle. Suddenly the entrance door creaked open and one of the White Lady’s handmaidens glided down the short row of steps leading up to the tower. The rain seemed to fall around the pale woman, leaving her white robes untouched.
The handmaiden stopped just in front of Sasha. ‘Return to your home,’ she said coldly.
‘What’s happening?’ Sasha asked, partly to buy herself some time to think in the event of any awkward questions.
‘There is a disturbance at the docks. A hostile wizard has arrived in the city. He will be neutralized shortly. Until then these streets are not safe.’
‘My house is just up ahead,’ Sasha lied. ‘I’ll return there now.’
The handmaiden stared at her for a moment with those colourless eyes. Then she drifted past Sasha, gliding west towards the harbour, eventually disappearing behind the grey curtain of rain.
Sasha heaved a sigh of relief and shook her head, sending droplets of water flying everywhere. The alley beckoned close by. She was about to hurry down it when she noticed the tower’s door was slightly ajar. The handmaiden had neglected to close it behind her.
‘Don’t be a fool,’ she whispered to herself. No one knew what lay within those soaring spires. Or if they did, none ever spoke of it. The White Lady’s handmaidens were an enigma, but they were far from the only secret this city kept hidden behind its bright exterior.
She hesitated and looked around again. The streets were empty. She asked herself what Cole would have done in this situation, knowing the wisest course of action would obviously be to do the exact opposite. But the tower seemed to beckon to her. With a final check to be sure no one was watching, she dashed up the stairs and darted inside.
Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the gloom. Outside, the roar of the rain continued unabated. Inside it was silent, and all but bare of decoration. Only a single torch on the opposite side of the circular chamber provided any illumination. It revealed a stairwell in the centre, with several doors positioned at equal distances around the circumference of the floor. After a moment’s hesitation, Sasha tried one of the doors and found it locked. Further inspection revealed a wooden panel positioned at head height. Sasha fiddled with it and discovered that it slid open to reveal clear glass, affording a perfect view of the room beyond. The room was well adorned with a bed and a sofa and small bookshelf in the corner, though it was currently unoccupied.
Sasha selected another door at random and slid back the panel to stare through the glass. This room was identical to the last – but this time there was a heavily pregnant woman lying on the bed. She appeared to be crying, though no sound penetrated beyond the room. Sasha banged on the glass, trying to get the woman’s attention, but it seemed that the door cancelled noise from both sides. The woman couldn’t hear her.
Wary of lingering too long in one place, Sasha abandoned the room and its occupant and climbed the stairs to the next floor, which was somewhat more brightly lit than the ground floor. Life-sized statues of the White Lady stared down from alcoves cut into the walls, capturing the likeness of the Magelord in a variety of poses from the serene to the vengeful. None truly did justice to the immortal ruler of Thelassa, though with all she had witnessed in the last few weeks Sasha was convinced that beneath the White Lady’s outward perfection lurked something warped and unspeakably ugly.
There were only two doors on this floor. Both were plain and featureless with no panels to slide back and see inside. Sasha found them both locked when she tried their handles. She thought she could hear whimpering from behind the door to the left, as well as a strange metallic snipping sound, but the last thing she wanted was to draw attention to herself by knocking on the door so she quickly moved away.
She was climbing the stairs to the third floor when she became aware of a foul odour in the air. It reminded her of the terrible smell that had infiltrated Dorminia in the days following the liberation of the city: the carnal stench of old blood going bad and corpses rotting on the streets.
Despite the warning her nose afforded her, Sasha was nonetheless unprepared for the horror that greeted her when she emerged from the stairwell.
With the exception of the stairwell and a narrow walkway adjacent to it, the top half of the tower was surrounded by thick glass. It formed a giant tank that rose to the apex of the building. Behind the glass, a thick and evil-smelling liquid oozed from somewhere far below, filling the tank to the top. As Sasha brought a hand to her nose to shield it from the stench, she realized with sickening certainty that the fluid was blood. A vast quantity of the stuff, enough to fill the rooms of Garrett’s estate with plenty to spare.
Something bumped up against the side of the tank. With rising horror, Sasha saw a tiny, vaguely humanoid shape scrape along the side of the glass, its misshapen limbs wrapped around a foetal body as it spun slowly in the sluggish current.
‘What the fuck?’ she whispered, and then she jumped as something struck the glass right in front of her. She stood paralysed in terror and stared into the face of an adult woman, naked and covered in blood except for the eyes, which were shockingly white and very dead, right up until the moment they swivelled slightly to regard her with an expression that almost stripped away her sanity right there and then. The woman’s mouth suddenly burst open; her lips formed a silent scream.
Sasha turned and ran. She took the stairs two at a time, desperate to get away from this tower of horrors. Such was her single-minded determination that she almost didn’t see the man preparing to climb up the stairwell. She smacked into him and almost knocked him down in her mad haste to escape the nightmare she’d just witnessed.
‘Who in the blazes are you?’ he demanded in a surprisingly distinguished voice. He was tall and sharp-featured, with a high widow’s peak. The white apron he wore was spotted in blood – as were the sharp metal scissors he carried in his slender fingers.
She stared at him for a moment, her mouth working soundlessly. ‘I…’ she trailed off, overcome with revulsion.
‘State your name!’ he demanded again. ‘If I have to call for the guards, why, you can consider yourself fortunate if you’re still able to feed yourself come the morrow. No memory repressants for you, I’m afraid. No, I’ll go straight in through the skull.’ He gave the scissors a snip.
‘Cyreena,’ Sasha blurted out. She wasn’t sure why. The lie was on her lips before her brain had even caught up with what was happening.
�
�Ah-ha. So you’re the Mistress’s new favourite. I wasn’t expecting you for a few more weeks yet. The clandestine work we do does not agree with everyone’s palate, at least at first. In my experience acceptance, even enthusiasm are only a matter of time. My name is Fergus. You might consider me a pioneer of sorts. A man of science. My work enables Thelassa to safeguard its autonomy in this cold and merciless world.’
‘Your work?’
‘The Unlife Chamber is quite something, is it not? Who would have imagined the blood of a dead god could have so many uses. At our current production rates the Mistress should possess in excess of one hundred Unborn before the year is out.’
‘The Unlife Chamber… That… that tank? You’re creating more of the White— the Mistress’s handmaidens?’ The realization of what was happening in this tower appalled her. How many other places like this were there? What kind of monster was the Magelord of Thelassa?
‘Naturally our output is restricted by population considerations. The Seeding is an effective means of maintaining a sustainable level of female candidates for the change. Ply a man or a woman with the correct substances, provide them with an excuse to discard the social constructs that moderate our impulses and separate humans from the lesser beasts – why, the results are remarkably easy to predict. It is simply a case of stimulating the brain to achieve the desired outcome. Thelassa is more efficient than any city its size in the entire course of human history. The Mistress could never abide the ugly dictatorship practised by the Tyrant of Dorminia and his ilk. Her methods are so much cleaner.’
‘I should go,’ Sasha said. She forced herself to keep her tone neutral, though a part of her wanted to bend over and vomit. Another part wanted to throttle this Fergus with her bare hands.
‘As I said, it does get easier. The next time you are here I will demonstrate the procedure for removing a babe from the womb and preparing it for submersion in the blood of the Reaver. Some wastage is inevitable, but I’m happy to say the ratio of successful Unborn to Abandoned is ever improving.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ Sasha said numbly. As she walked past Fergus she caught a glimpse of a woman tied to a table through the door he must have just come through. There was a pool of blood forming between her open legs. Sasha looked away, somehow resisting the urge to snatch Fergus’s scissors from his hands and drive the sharp end straight through his windpipe.
‘Remember,’ he called after her. ‘Drink only the water provided by the Consult. While the drugs we pump into the city cisterns are not dangerous, it is better for members of the Consult to serve the Mistress with a clear head.’
As Sasha exited the tower and let the rain wash away the tears that now rolled freely down her cheeks, a clear head was the very last thing on her mind.
Fourteen Years Ago
‘Pa, what’s the matter? Pa!’
He heard Magnar’s voice, but what he saw were the faces. So many faces, some of them not much older than the one staring back at him just then.
He’d given the order. There hadn’t been any choice in the matter, not when it came right down to it. Once a man gave his word, he stuck to it or it wasn’t his word any longer. The Shaman’s instructions had been clear. Seven years of blood needed answering with blood.
And so he’d given the order, and men hardly older than his son had died beneath the eager swords of Krazka and his men. The nightmares kept him awake at night, and now they were following him into his waking hours. He ran a rough hand down his face. It came away slick with sweat. ‘We’re done for the morning,’ Kayne rasped. ‘Go help your mother.’
‘You promised to teach me!’ Magnar pouted. He was barely ten winters of age and already he was tall enough for his head to reach his father’s chest.
‘I said we’re done for the morning.’
Magnar threw his wooden sword to the grass and turned his back on his father.
‘Pick that up.’
‘Why? You were never around! Now you’re back and you don’t even care. All you and Ma ever do is argue.’
‘I told you to pick it up,’ Kayne said, his voice dangerously soft.
‘I heard Mother say you’re not the same since the war,’ Magnar hissed. It was a boy’s instinct, that ability to hurt a parent precisely where they were most vulnerable.
Kayne wrestled with the sudden rage that swelled within him. Ever since Red Valley it had lurked there, waiting for any excuse to burst free. Watching countless friends die and ordering five thousand put to the sword had broken the ice that slaked his fire. These days he found himself getting incensed at the smallest things.
He took deep, measured breaths and tried to compose himself. The spring sun was pleasantly warm after the hard winter, and the gentle birdsong helped soothe his fury. ‘When did she say that?’ he asked, as calmly as he could manage.
‘She was speaking to Aunt Natalya. Aunt Natalya said some bad things about you and Mother was crying.’ Magnar’s anger faded, forgotten as quickly as it had come. ‘Sometimes I don’t like Aunt Natalya.’
Kayne’s eyes narrowed. His fingers tightened around the hilt of the practice weapon he clutched until he felt the wood crack. ‘You and me both, son.’
Mhaira’s cousin Natalya and her husband had built their house nearby, on the land granted Kayne by the King. Keeping his wife’s family close had seemed like a good idea at the time, a way of making sure she wasn’t lonely while he was away in the West Reaching, especially after her sister Lellana had died so unexpectedly. He knew that Natalya bore him a grudge and he couldn’t rightly blame her for that. But poisoning his own wife against him: that was low.
‘I’m going inside,’ he said abruptly. ‘Put your sword back with the others. You can throw this one away. It ain’t no good now.’ He approached Magnar and handed him the split hilt of the practice weapon. Then he hesitated for a second before placing a weathered hand on his son’s head. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t around more,’ he said. ‘I love you and your ma more than anything. There wasn’t a day that passed when I didn’t think of you. You know that, aye?’
Magnar nodded. ‘I know, Pa.’
Kayne smiled and patted Magnar on the shoulder. ‘We’ll practise again tomorrow.’
He crossed the field to the house, pausing a moment to inspect the wreath hanging on the door. He recalled the day of their joining. Borun walking Mhaira down the aisle and her beauty near taking his breath away.
Kayne pushed open the door and padded silently inside, thinking to surprise Mhaira, to sneak up and throw his arms around her like he had when they were younger. He spotted the hole he’d punched in the wall and winced. He’d seen and done some terrible things in the war, but that was no excuse. He needed to master his temper. Before he did something that couldn’t be fixed with a hammer.
There was no one inside the house, so he continued on through the hall and out to the garden at the rear. The flowers were in full bloom this time of year, expertly tended by Mhaira’s loving hands. He wished he had half her skill at running a household or growing a garden or even raising their son.
He slowed when he saw Natalya and her husband Gared. Kayne had never much liked Gared. The man had wedded Mhaira’s cousin just as soon as he learned she was coming into some land, or so it had seemed to him. Now he was nodding along while his wife spoke, the two with their backs to Kayne. Mhaira was opposite them, sitting on the bench under the old apple tree in the corner of the garden.
‘Hope I ain’t interrupting anything,’ Kayne said politely. Gared jumped and Natalya whirled around, a guilty look on her face.
‘Brodar,’ Gared stammered. ‘Well met! We thought you were out practising with young Magnar. Teaching him to be a famed warrior like his father, eh?’
Kayne stared at Mhaira. She looked like she might’ve been crying again.
‘We were just leaving,’ Natalya said curtly. She gave Mhaira a long, meaningful look that for some reason filled Kayne with dread. ‘I’ll speak to you soon, cousin.’
&nbs
p; ‘Good to see you,’ Gared babbled. ‘We should catch up some time.’
Kayne watched them go and turned to his wife. ‘What was that about?’
Mhaira rose slowly. ‘I need to prepare dinner.’
‘Mhaira… I ain’t a stranger. I’m still the man you married.’
She stared at his face, as if searching for something. ‘Natalya brought Gared to speak with me.’
Kayne froze. ‘What about?’
The sorrow in Mhaira’s eyes might have broken his heart if her next words hadn’t filled it with rage. ‘You’ve changed. You… you scare me. Some of the things Gared told me, about Red Valley—’
‘What a-fucking-bout it?’ Kayne roared, all the pent-up anger pouring out of him like a river bursting through a shattered dam. ‘It was a war! The Bloodfist and his army weren’t for giving an inch! Men like that, you need to send them a message.’ He realized he was shouting and lowered his voice. ‘There were thirty of us, Mhaira. Thirty. All that was left of the army that marched on Reaver’s Gate. A couple minutes more and I wouldn’t be standing here at all. If Mehmon’s reinforcements hadn’t arrived…’
‘You ordered all those men killed,’ Mhaira said accusingly. ‘Even those that surrendered.’
‘If I hadn’t, the war might’ve dragged on another seven years.’ He spoke quietly, not wanting to hear the words even as he uttered them. They might be true, but that didn’t matter. Not now. ‘They were my orders. The Shaman’s orders. I’m the Sword of the North now, Mhaira. I ain’t a Warden no more.’
‘Natalya and Gared asked if Magnar could move in with them,’ Mhaira whispered. ‘They don’t think it’s safe for him to be around you.’
‘They… they what?’ Kayne struggled to speak. He was shaking with fury now, like a great volcano about to explode. ‘After all I’ve done for them. For you.’
‘You left me here alone,’ she said.
He raised a hand, and before he knew it, before he could stop himself, he slapped her.
An instant later he knew he’d made a terrible mistake. Mhaira didn’t move, didn’t react at all. She only stared at him uncomprehending. And that was about the most heartbreaking reaction he could imagine.