Children of the Nameless, page 14
The old hunter-turned-gardener was a geist now? But how? He wasn’t from the village.
“What...” Rom’s spirit whispered. “What have you done to me, m’lord?”
“What do you remember?” Davriel said, voice soft, even kindly. “The last thing you recall?”
“I saw you off into the night,” the spirit said. “I was tired, and returned to my room to sleep. I couldn’t. Like usual. Remembering all those that I’ve killed...” The glowing spirit blinked, then looked toward his hands. “Oh, Angel. I thought I’d find peace here. But no...never peace...”
“Why is a priest a Whisperer?” Tacenda said. “What is happening?”
“The priory has been attacked since we left,” Davriel said. “The souls of the priests made into geists. I worry that whoever is behind this realized that the spirits of your village wouldn’t harm you, so they have begun seeking the souls of people untouched by the Bog.” He dropped the symbol. “Apparently, the Angel was no help to them.”
“I saw her,” Rom whispered. “When I first got here. That’s why...why they asked me to come...she’d gone mad, like the others...” The spirit bowed its head, weeping softly.
“Rom,” Davriel said. “Something happened a little under twenty years ago, at the Bog. The Entity within it fled for some reason.”
“Twenty years ago...” Rom said. “I wasn’t even here then. I was killing demons.”
“Davriel,” Tacenda said. “A little under twenty years? We know something that happened. Fifteen years ago.” She gestured to herself. “I was born.”
Davriel frowned at the words, then glanced back toward the road—where the army of spirits had re-formed. They were now flowing out into the woods. “Come.”
He quickly started through the underbrush away from the geists. She reached toward Rom, but the quivering spirit was beginning to distort again, muttering about his murders. Feeling a chill, Tacenda scrambled after Davriel. She pushed through the underbrush, stumbling, practically on hands and knees.
“Your warding power isn’t simply the strongest it’s been in generations,” Davriel said. “The Entity of the Bog moved into you and your sister. What was left of it, at least. It was afraid, perhaps being whittled away by something.”
“The church,” Tacenda said, grunting as she pulled herself over a log. “Don’t you see? The prioress arrived some two decades ago, and the priests arrived in force. Souls began being converted, and they gave themselves to the Angel instead of the Bog. The Seelenstone!”
“The Seelenstone is a trinket with a fifth-rate glamor charm on it,” Davriel said. “Good only for wowing peasants. It stills souls, but otherwise...”
He stopped in the forest just ahead of her. She looked over her shoulder, feeling cold as the green light of approaching geists flowed toward them.
“You told me,” Tacenda said, “that the Bog’s power had seeped into the souls of the people here. What would have happened to that power when the people died?”
“I’d guess that normally, it would have returned to the Bog.”
“Unless some device—some magical trinket—was collecting those souls instead? Might it have begun gathering the strength of the Bog, siphoning it off? So the strength of the Entity in the Bog shrank, until it grew desperate enough to try something new? To pull the rest of itself out and seek a host?”
“Two hosts,” Davriel said. “By accident. It sought the womb, a child being born, but ended up split between twin sisters. Whoever is behind this must have realized the source of your power, and killed your sister for her half. But it couldn’t touch you. Why?”
Behind, the spirits coursed around the kneeling Rom, who held the symbol of the Nameless Angel in his fingers. Tacenda thought she saw him drop the necklace and rise, his face distorting fully.
“Come,” Davriel said, pulling her along with him. They emerged into open air, reaching the roadway. It wove a winding course here, and they’d cut through the forest to emerge into another section of it.
“We should return to the mansion,” Davriel said.
“The power,” Tacenda said. “The rest of this...Entity that lives inside me. It’s at the priory. Inside the stone.”
“It was at the priory. Someone has obviously claimed it.” His expression darkened in the moonlight. “I swear, if I’ve somehow been played by the prioress after all...”
Tacenda glanced back at the forest. Those spirits were coming faster and faster. “They’re speeding up,” she said. “We have to try to outrun them!”
“Miss Verlasen,” he said, aghast. “Run? Me?”
She took him by the arm, but he remained steady. What was he waiting for? As she was about to begin running along the road, she heard the beating of hooves.
A moment later, Miss Highwater tore around the curve up ahead, riding bareback on one of the horses. Visible by the light of the lantern she carried in one hand, she appeared to have slit her skirt up the front and back for riding. She led two other horses behind her on a rope, and was trailed by Crunchgnar on his beleaguered animal, which seemed a pony by comparison.
Miss Highwater pulled her horse to a skittish halt near Davriel.
“Excellent timing,” he said. “And with proper flair, too.”
“I’m charging you for this skirt,” she said. “You’re lucky we rode off to try to intercept you on the other side here—Crunchgnar wanted to wait like you’d ordered.”
Tacenda eagerly scrambled up onto one of the horses, taking little notice of the lack of a saddle. “What made you decide to come for us instead?”
“If my years of service have taught me one thing,” Miss Highwater said, “it’s to never count on Davriel to be on time for an appointment without my help.” She turned her horse, fighting to keep the feisty beast under control. She appeared to have picked the most difficult of the animals for herself; Davriel’s stately black mare stood placidly as he hauled himself up.
“On toward the mansion?” Miss Highwater said, nodding along the road in the direction opposite the spirits, who were beginning to flood out of the forest.
“No,” Davriel said. He took a deep breath. “Back the way we came. To the priory.”
“But—”
He kicked his horse forward, straight toward the mass of geists, and Tacenda joined him. Miss Highwater cursed loudly, but then followed, as did Crunchgnar—whose horse was making an incredible effort to not collapse under his bulk.
As they reached the spirits, Davriel let out a blast of blue light. This time it made only the very closest of the spirits disintegrate. Fortunately, the others did waver for a moment, as if stunned.
Tacenda and the others entered the mass. She was sure she felt the touch of ghostly fingers brush the skin of her legs. Their ice seemed to reach her very core, chilling a part of her that hitherto had always known only warmth.
Then she was out of it, thundering after Davriel, clinging to her horse. She didn’t have to do much—she gave the beast free rein and tried to hang on with her knees.
It had taken well over an hour for them to reach the Bog from the priory—but they’d stopped for Davriel’s nap during that, and had ridden the rest of the way at a leisurely carriage pace. Their return took a fraction of the time.
The ride worked each poor horse into a lather, but never once did Tacenda have to urge her mount forward. The whispering spirits chased them the whole way, and it seemed that no matter how hard the horses ran, the geists were always just behind. Flowing through the forest, staying out of reach—to the point that Tacenda worried she was being herded in this direction.
They eventually galloped from the forest onto the priory grounds. The suddenly open sky presented a field of stars—the moon had begun to set. That struck a sudden note of terror within Tacenda. She looked over her shoulder, past the ghosts, toward the eastern sky. The horizon was obscured by the trees as always. But she did see a faint glow, heralding dawn.
They’d been about their investigation all night. Soon, when the sun rose, Tacenda would become blind again.
She turned back around, trying to wrestle control of her horse as they neared the priory. Only then did she notice that all of the windows were dark. The bonfires and lanterns at the perimeter had gone out, and not a single candle seemed lit anywhere in the building.
Miss Highwater got her horse to stop, then climbed down. Davriel didn’t bother with any of that. He just stepped off the horse and hit the ground, skidding to a halt. How in Avacyn’s name did he manage that without tripping? Tacenda was far less skillful as she accidentally made her horse rear as it pulled up. She slipped off in a half intentional attempt at dismounting, and hit the soft ground in a heap.
Crunchgnar arrived last of all, his horse barely at a trot. He stepped free, grumbling quietly about his hatred of horses—though the poor animal had been the one to suffer. It, like the others, took off in a sweaty canter as the glowing line of spirits coursed out of the forest.
Instead of advancing, the Whisperers spread out, making a ring around the clearing. We’re going to be trapped here, Tacenda thought. Have I lead us to our deaths?
Davriel let the horses go without a second glance. Perhaps he knew that after such a hard ride, they’d be too exhausted to carry riders further. The poor animals would be lucky if they survived the night.
As will we, Tacenda thought.
Crunchgnar led the way into the priory, sword out, carefully checking one way, then the other. Davriel followed, then Miss Highwater with their single lantern.
The hallway was dark, empty—but two corpses lay just inside. Church guards, fallen where they had stood, eyes open and mouths frozen mid-scream. They looked just like the first victims of the Whisperers that the village had found.
Davriel nodded to the right, and Crunchgnar led the way—stepping with a silence that seemed at odds with his stature. Miss Highwater slipped a few half-melted candles off a windowsill, then lit them on the lantern. Tacenda took one, though the quivering light it provided seemed a frail thing.
They passed a couple more bodies—servant youths, who were priests in training—though most here had probably been in bed when they’d been taken. Tacenda’s heart thundered in her ears, and she felt anxious at walking so slowly after their rush to arrive. A glance out the window showed the geists approaching the priory, surrounding it in an increasingly tighter ring.
Crunchgnar reached the point in the hallway where Davriel’s disturbing runes covered the walls, then eased open the door to the prioress’s office. They found the elderly woman’s body slumped at its desk—frozen like the others.
Davriel cursed softly. “It might have been easier if she were behind it,” he said, “as I leeched her powers away earlier.”
Tacenda shivered, looking around the darkened hallway. Would the soldiers here have been able to fight back if Davriel hadn’t stolen the prioress’s abilities?
“What now?” Miss Highwater asked.
As if in response to her question, a faint vibration struck the building, thrumming through the stones. Something about it...there was a tone to the sound. As if...it was part of a song Tacenda knew...
“Down,” Davriel said, turning and leading the way toward the stairs into the catacombs. They reached the stone steps, a hollow tunneling down into the earth. The shape of it, from the landing, looked reminiscent of the way the mouths of the spirits had twisted when screaming.
“I inspected the Seelenstone soon after arriving in this land,” Davriel said, starting down the steps. “I recognized the wards it had on it, but I sensed no well of power as you describe, Miss Verlasen. Still, I believe you must be right on some points. The Bog Entity sought a host in you, after being threatened over time by the church’s expansion here.
“But as it was split by the birth of twins, the Entity was not complete, and therefore cannot communicate with you. The Entities can affect one’s senses, however—which could alone be the explanation for why you are sometimes blind. Perhaps it is trying, and failing, to override your vision as a way to communicate. I cannot explain why the loss would be so regular.”
“How do you know so much about it?” Tacenda asked.
“Let’s just say, I have encountered a similar circumstance myself,” he said. “I...” He trailed off, stopping in the stairwell, cocking his head. Tacenda looked up, past the two demons.
Whispers.
She could hear them echoing above, soft but haunting. The geists had entered the priory.
Davriel continued downward, and Tacenda gave chase, holding up her candle and shielding it with her hand from the wind of their quick descent.
“Our focus must be on your talents,” Davriel said. “Though shrouded in superstition, there is likely a seed of truth in the stories your people tell of this Nameless Angel. I can only assume that I missed something about that stone.”
They reached the catacombs, and Davriel opened the door without needing to be told where to push. He turned right, following the winding path toward the room with the Seelenstone. Soon, Tacenda spotted its glowing walls and ceiling, lighting the way.
They stepped into the room where the stone lay, undisturbed, on its pedestal. Someone else sat at the back of the room, staring at the stone with its swirling colors. A young woman with golden hair and pale skin.
Willia.
Chapter Seventeen: Unison
Willia.
Willia was alive.
Tacenda tried to rush into the room to embrace her sister, but Davriel seized her by the shoulder, his grip strong and firm. And...something was wrong with Willia. The way she glowed, the power Tacenda felt emanating from her. She wasn’t a geist.
She...she was the one controlling them.
“Willia?” Tacenda pled. “What have you done?”
Willia stood up, wearing her white burial dress. “They put me down here, you know. Guarding the stone is one of the duties they give the new acolytes. I made them give me duty during the days, because I didn’t want to be down in this place of death when the pure darkness took me. You know that darkness, don’t you, Tacenda?”
Willia stared into the stone’s shifting light. “It spoke to me,” she whispered. “Told me of power that I held, that we held. Power to stop the darkness. I just had to make it whole. Find the other pieces scattered through the people of the Approaches. Each one with a little sliver...”
That sweet voice was so familiar. And yet, the edge to it—the rawness—was so terribly wrong. “Willia,” Tacenda whispered. “What did you do to our parents?”
Willia finally looked up at her. And she could see. It was night, but she could see? For the first time in her life, Tacenda looked into her sister’s eyes and Willia looked back.
“I didn’t mean to take them, Tacenda,” Willia said. “They were carrying offerings to the Bog—what I thought was a false god. I yelled, and argued, but I didn’t mean to kill them. But the power I’d taken from the stone, it combined with my power, and cried out for more. In the end, I let it loose on them, and...and it just happened.”
“You killed them.”
“Not killed. Reclaimed.” Willia stepped forward, the Seelenstone’s shifting colors reflected in her eyes. “At first, I thought the voice in the Seelenstone was her, you know. The Angel? I thought she was the one whispering to me. I didn’t know then that she was already dead.”
Crunchgnar slipped carefully into the room. Davriel kept hold of Tacenda, blocking the way out of the small chamber, Miss Highwater standing just behind him. Tacenda’s worry spiked as she noted Crunchgnar easing his sword from its sheath.
“No!” Tacenda said. “Stop. Willia, Lord Cane can restore the souls to their bodies if you release them. It’s going to be all right. We can fix this.”
“You assume I want to.” Willia eyed Crunchgnar, then tipped the Seelenstone off its pedestal, sending it to the ground, where it smashed apart. “I don’t have to hide from the darkness any more, Tacenda. I don’t have to cower behind your song.” She raised her hands, and a deep, powerful glow began to rise within her. “It is time that the darkness feared me.”
§
Davriel had heard enough. He struck, piercing the young woman’s mind, digging for her talent. Perhaps she was new enough to her powers that he could reach inside, pluck the Entity she held, and—
Davriel slammed into something. An impossible force, even more vast than what he’d found in Tacenda.
Willia rebuffed Davriel with an almost indifferent stroke. He was forced back into his own mind with a grunt, a terrible headache stabbing him right behind his eyes. And then, Willia released a column of green-white energy, so bright it painted the walls of the room iridescent.
NO!
Davriel summoned the remnants of the power he’d taken from Tacenda—the protection ward. Pain split his head as he used it, raising the power like a shield. The glowing green barrier he created blocked Willia’s incredible bolt of light, forming a bubble of safety in which Davriel sheltered the surprised Miss Highwater.
Crunchgnar, however, was vaporized in the blink of an eye. The demon’s sword—which he’d been raising to strike at Willia—clanged to the floor. Tacenda screamed and fell to her knees, but this power was like a condensed, raw version of her Warding Song. It wouldn’t harm a human like her.
Bits of ash from Crunchgnar’s corpse blew around Davriel, who grunted, holding his protective ward firm. The Warding Light beat against his shield like a physical force, spraying around him like a river, filling the corridor behind him. Only the little space just behind him was safe from it.
“Hellfire!” Miss Highwater said, pulling against him as her finger touched the flow of light and was burned. “Dav?”
“I believe,” he said with effort, “I may have misjudged our opponent’s strength.” He stumbled beneath the force of the warding light. His shield was made of the same power, but was far, far weaker.
