The Miscreant (An Assassin's Blade Book 2) (23 page)

P
icture this
. Two swooping masses of rock, a yawning basin of sand and grit stretching between them. No matter how hard you try, you can’t see where the horizon of the basin concludes. It seems to go on forever, perhaps ending only when it drops off the other side of the world. And if you ever fancied seeing that sheer drop into oblivion, well, now’s your chance, ’cause a well-placed bridge — intelligently placed, you might say — of sand as dense and heavy as a brick extends like a branch over a creek, offering you the trip of a lifetime.

My Rots and I set out across that bridge on horseback. It was not the edge of the world we were looking for, but we would meet oblivion nevertheless.

To our backs, docks were crusted over with salt that used to wash ashore from the ocean that once filled this basin. Some of the villagers had deserted. Others stayed behind, prophesying the end times through their teary eyes, determined to stay in their homes as the cataclysm came. An emaciated man had lunged for Rory’s satchels, hungering for the food he claimed to smell. His mind was playing tricks on him, because one doesn’t smell stale bread, and that was all we were carrying. It was all we needed.

Stay alive until the reaped poured through. That was the only job we had. The last job the Black Rot would ever undertake.

The width of the bridge allowed all twenty-two of us to ride abreast with about twenty feet of space on either side. Pockets of water lay in the basin below, swirling with the glossy reflection of a sun that roasted both the earth and the back of my neck.

A boundless splash of beige besieged us, monotony tightening its grip as we ventured deeper into this newly made desert. A graveyard of flat, dull scales lay amongst the sand — rotting fish whose flesh and eyes were being feasted upon by opportunistic vultures and crows and gulls.

Sometimes I looked into the sky, wondering if perhaps hope would strike as it had when I’d stood before the gates of Edenvaile, the bluster of winter chilling my spine. But, no. Only a starlit sky at night, and a blue wonder in the day.

We came to our resting place as twilight settled above. Our horses snorted and flicked their tails, perturbed at the sight before them.

A ways out lay a ridged shelf poised high above the basin. When the sea was full, water would have lapped against the edge. But now? Now the edge was stained with the blackness of shadows. Tall, corrugated shadows that bore resemblance to jagged shapes created from bare bone and fleshless skulls.

Their numbers were innumerable. From left to right they gathered, as wide as the eye could see before the haze of a distance too great muddled your view. From front to back they stood, in formal rows reminiscent of a proper army.

They were idle, as if frozen in time.

“Gods,” Rimeria said. “There must be thousands.”

“What are they waiting for?” Rory asked. “Sea’s drained.”

I looked at the sun crescendoing over the mountains far behind Lith. “They’re waiting for the right time. Better they arrive in Mizridahl at nightfall than during the day. They’ll take the fishing villages by surprise. By morning, they’ll be on their way to the larger cities, kingdoms. Poor bastards won’t know what hit ’em.”

A crow circled above, cawing.

“We hadn’t stood a bloody chance,” Demerick said.

“We had more than a chance,” I said. “I had a plan.”

Unfortunately, plans don’t work very well when their success depends on a king who believes the bloody sea is his mother and a rebellious nineteen-year-old conjurer.

The crow belted out a series of caws in a one-two pattern. A small black bird hopping along on the bridge cocked his head at us, then chirped.

“Well, I say fuck it,” Millis said. “Everyone croaks eventually, yeah? How many get to say they took a dirt nap fighting some undead fuckers?”

“Everyone on Mizridahl will get to say that,” Rory said.

“Oh. Suppose you’re right.”

The black bird bounced on its bony feet toward us, head swiveling.

“Most will die cowering behind their beds, clinging to their loved ones,” I said. “We’re going out swinging ebon and chopping off some heads. Black Rot style.”

The Rots grinned at that. But fear dwelled behind those proud faces. I saw it in their forceful swallows, their grinding jaws. Their relentless gazes ahead, into the fortress of white bone.

“It appears you have a friend,” Vayle said. The black bird flapped its wings and settled on the head of my horse, who was none too pleased about this turn of events. She flicked her ears and snorted unhappily.

The bird aimed its beak at me, then squawked.

The crow circling above us cawed and swooped down in a tight spiral. A moment later, I had two birds sitting before me. The crow regarded me coolly with its beady eyes. It stuck its neck out and swiveled its head. Then it lifted a foot, opened its talons and dropped a balled-up piece of paper into my saddle.

And it flew off, along with the black bird.

I delicately unfolded the paper and quickly realized it wasn’t just a piece, but multiple pieces.

“What is it?” Vayle asked.

“Looks like journal entries,” I said.

“What’s wrong?”

Apparently my commander saw what I could feel, which was the color draining from my face.

I
t is
with regret I draw only from the experience of reading. As such, this text may appear to have little regard for common acceptance among savants, but should I perish in this attempt to discover a cure, I hope it will suffice.

We have settled in at the library. It is not an ideal location, but my protector — who, in an effort to spare his life, shall never be named — feels these walls provide us the greatest defense should an attack occur.

On the morning after crossing the Bay of Selaph — which is depleting rapidly — we changed our direction and approached Lith from the rear, avoiding the enormous gathering of reaped at the shoreline. Several were scattered amongst the city, but my protector dispatched most of them. Fortunately, he managed to take into custody two. Science would refer to these as test subjects and assign numbers to each, but science must sometimes adopt new morals. I have named them Serith and Nilly, after my parents. I hope to do for these reaped what I could not for my mother and father.

They are currently bound with rope, locked in a small closet for both their safety and ours. Tomorrow I will begin my research. Tonight, I must sleep.

I
have discovered something interesting
. I am focusing only on Serith at this moment, so I cannot say if this holds true for Nilly, but it appears that all of his memories and thoughts have remained intact. This is contrary to what we believe happens when a soul is pulled from Amortis into the living realm.

But there is a problem. They are not connected. For a thought to feed energy to the mind, it must be connected by a network of tendrils. This is the basis behind the mending of mind in conjuration.

Serith’s thoughts and memories appear to be floating. They exist, but like a plant whose flowers lay on the ground, they are nothing more than litter. Only rudimentary thoughts remain intact, such as those that govern basic needs.

I will work on reconnecting his severed thoughts and memories tomorrow. I will cause myself harm if I try today… accessing Serith’s mind was more difficult than I’d imagined. But it seems to have calmed him down. And Nilly too. Hmm.

A group of reaped attacked the library today. They are gone now.

I
can’t sleep
. I can hear their growls outside. They seemed so far away just a couple hours ago, but now… I can feel the thunder in my feet. But I cannot see them. They must be gathering beyond the walls.

A
fter many days
, I’m feeling better. I remember watching a young boy go deep into the mind once. He never returned. I didn’t think that would ever happen with me. But I pushed myself too hard, and I almost lost control. Work will continue with Serith and Nilly tomorrow.

Y
es
! Yes! Yes! I can’t stop dancing around the library. It worked. Serith acknowledges his name and even memories from his childhood. On an individual basis, this is amazing. In the context of Occrum’s intentions, it’s not so positive. It takes time to mend the mind. I’ll need to figure out a way to grasp thoughts and memories on a massive scale if my plan to turn the reaped army against Occrum has any hope of working. It’s been nineteen days since I landed in Lith. I’m running out of time. Tomorrow I’ll bring Serith and Nilly together. Nilly has been untouched thus far, and Serith still has a few loose thoughts. If I can probe both of their minds at the same time — without killing myself — I can turn the tide on Occrum. And equally important, I can free so many lost souls who have been perverted into reaped. I can restore their histories. Their dreams, their aspirations, their lives! I could open schools in Amortis, spread my research to the tips of the world.

But first, sleep. I sleep so much now. Almost eighteen hours a day, but it’s necessary.

I
can’t stop shaking
. I opened the closet door and Nilly greeted me by name. She told me that in a very strange, abstract way, she recognized Serith as her own, and her thoughts and will over her mind slowly gushed into her eyes and ears, as if a dam had been broken.

Is there an innate connection among all reaped? I guess the whys don’t matter. If the key to returning the reaped to their former selves lies in recognition of another… then I have the key.
We
have the key. I have to return to Astul. It’s getting late. I can hear their growls. They’re so much closer. There must be twenty thousand of them on the beach now. I hope we can get out safely.

D
ammit
! Dammit! They’re inside. Something made them come inside. My protector barred the doors, but they won’t hold. There’s a bird in here with me. He flew in a couple days ago when my protector went to check on a noise. He’s a crow, and he might be this world’s last hope.

M
y only prayer
is that it’s quick.

M
y hands shivered
as I read page after page, ten in total. I was breathing through my gaped mouth now. “We have to go.” I snapped my head up. “She discovered a way to turn the reaped to our side.”

“Is she in troub—” Vayle didn’t finish her sentence — she received her answer from the look on my face. “Occrum?”

A torrent of emotions ruptured in my chest, clawing up to my throat. Fuck! I couldn’t bloody think, much less talk.

Vayle reared her horse around. “Listen up! We’re going back. I want half of you to evacuate every village you come across, from here to Watchmen’s Bay. Get them to leave by any means necessary. They’re to seek shelter in Dercy’s kingdom. Once you reach the gates, inform Dercy Daniser that he has an army marching to his walls.”

“A dead army?” Rory asked. “Think he’ll believe that?”

“Make him believe it. Everyone else will ride for the North. Get Patrick Verdan down to Watchmen’s Bay.”

Deep breathing and some inner monologue cleared my head. “No. Forget the North. They won’t arrive in time. If the reaped overrun Dercy before we can get Lysa, it’s better the North remain united where they are. Everyone to Watchmen’s Bay. Let’s move.”

Shuffling hooves kicked the dust of dry sand into the air as my Rots shifted around.

Vayle positioned her mare next to mine. “Everyone to Watchmen’s Bay?” she said. “You know that I’m coming with you.”

“I know,” I said, eyes affixed to the horde of corpses. “Time for another dance in Amortis.”

I
took
the papers from my pocket and read them again. Every page was neatly written, except the last, whose letters were scribbled by a clumsy hand.

The terror Lysa must have felt when penning those words.

“You believe it’s still there?” Vayle asked. “How long do they persist?”

“Forever? Maybe a year? I’ve no idea. It better still be there, or we’ll be more fucked than we already are. Hmm. Wonder if a horse can make it through. I’d rather not try to commandeer one in Amortis. More difficult than it sounds, trust me.”

I clicked my heels, easing my mare down into the Hole. She went cautiously, uncertain.

“Is there anything I should know before entering this tear?” Vayle asked, her voice echoing through the hollow hole.

“Well, you might want to take one long look at the Hole before you leave. ’Cause if you kick the bucket in Amortis, you won’t be coming back.”

“I intend to live.”

I pointed ahead. “Should be right there.”

“I can’t see it.”

“You’re not supposed to see it. It’s a tear in time. A wee little thing, from what I gather. Anywho… here goes. See you on the other side, Commander.”

A blink. That’s all it ever was. And then you were through. Couldn’t feel a thing, couldn’t hear a thing. At least after the first time.

“Look at that,” I said to my mare, rustling her ears. “Welcome to the land of the dead, Missy.”

“Interesting,” Vayle said, examining her surroundings carefully. “I expected something different.”

“Let me guess. You thought it’d be a colorless gray, a sort of purgatory.”

“Yes.”

“Me too. Turns out being dead is just like being alive. Exciting, huh? Feel anything coming through? Some sort of, er, emotional pain, perhaps?”

“No. Should I have?”

I rubbed my chin and thought about it. How’d she get through without suffering the same shit I had when traversing the tear that led into Rav’s house?

“Way I understand it,” I said, “is if you have regrets, you’re going to have a rather bad first experience coming through.”

“I don’t have regrets,” Vayle said. “I gave them all up when I prepared for death. Do you know where we are?”

“You kidding? I’m a veteran of this place. We’re… in a forest.”

Vayle brushed a drooping branch of needles out of her eyes. “I can see that.”

“Near a village,” I clarified. “I’ve got a few friends there. You could say I’m popular around these parts.”

“Then lead the way, reverent one of Amortis.” She smirked.

I clicked my tongue. “Right. I believe it’s that way. Or that way.” I turned in my saddle. “Could be over there.”

It began to rain. Cold, swollen drops that filtered down through the canopy of the forest. As the pine-littered floor drank its fill, I saw puddles forming in the shape of wheel tracks.

“Voilà,” I said, leading my mare over to the worn trail. “It’s most definitely this way. You can thank Taryl.”

“Taryl?”

“One of the village people. His wagon’s responsible for these tracks. At least I hope it’s his wagon. We’ll find out soon enough.”

The dismal weather persisted long after our slow-moving horses put the tear behind us. I’d have preferred to move with more haste, but long legs, hooves and wet mud do not mix.

The sound and sensation of a steady rain was comforting at first, and a nice change from the brutality of Mizridahl’s drought, but once everything except my balls were cold and sopping wet, I hoped the sun might come out to play.

It did not. But the trees were thinning now, which meant the forest was drawing to a close. And beyond the tree line lay the village whose inhabitants would welcome me in like a brother, and they’d tell me which way to the Prim, because I couldn’t well remember. But I knew from the Prim it was a straight shot to the cove. And through the cove, Occrum. More importantly, Lysa.

Before the outskirts of the village even came into view, Red Eye and his band of merry archers greeted Vayle and me just as they had greeted Lysa, Rovid and me: with nocked arrows and drawn strings.

Red Eye pointed at me knowingly.

“I’m back,” I said. “With another friend. Can I talk to Silma, please?”

He gestured for us to come forth.

I leaned in toward Vayle and whispered, “Guy scares the shit out of me.”

Crokdaw Village welcomed us in with… well, silence. The circular streets were empty. No buzzing of children and busybodies out and about this time. It seemed the weather had chased everyone inside.

Red Eye held up his palm, asking — or ordering — us to wait.

Out of the large building at the center of the village walked a bare-bodied woman. Hair black and braided, hanging around her shoulder, beyond her breasts.

“Silma,” I said, climbing down from my horse.

Her tight lips formed a smile, teeth concealed. “Astul.” She bent her knees, opened her arms and bowed her head. She considered Vayle. “And you are?”

“Vayle. A friend of Astul’s.”

“Welcome to Crokdaw Village, Vayle.” Silma returned her attention to me. “Am I to assume you are looking for your prisoner?”

How did she know about Lysa? “Good assumption.”

She furled her lips. “I hope this won’t cause a rift between us, but he is in our possession now. We will carry out the justice.”

“Er… what?”

“Taryl corralled him in the forest several days ago. On the midday, he will hang, should the Three be willing.”

Oh. Fuck. Rovid. He must’ve come back through. Probably thought the living realm was doomed, so he’d hide in Amortis. He did a piss-poor job of that.

“Midday when?” I asked.

“Midday. It’s the middle of the day — tomorrow.”

I lifted my chin astutely, as if I knew about this sort of thing. “Ah, yes. Midday.”

“It won’t be a problem, I hope?”

I brushed her concerns away with a hand. “Of course not. A dead reaper is a good one, no?”

She smiled, her teeth glowing brightly. “I’m sorry you came all this way. Do you wish to rest before departing to your homeland?”

“Rest would be wonderful,” I said. “Actually, if it’s not a bother to you, we’ll stick around to see the reaper’s, er, demise tomorrow.”

Silma brought her hands together. “Absolutely, Astul, if that’s what you wish. There will be festivities tonight, to celebrate the eradication of a reaper. You may partake in them if you wish. I will find you accommodations shortly; someone will surely spare a room for you.” She looked past me. “The stables are over there. There is plenty of feed.”

“Much appreciated, Silma. Thank you.”

She bowed her head, then strolled back to the long, triangular building she’d come from.

I looked at Vayle. “We’ve got to get him out of here.”

“We have limited time,” Vayle said. “I would be in favor of such a decision, but the circumstances are what they are, Astul. The reaped are likely on Mizridahl as we speak. We must find Lysa.”

“We’ve gotta rest at some point, yeah? Now’s as good a time as any. Plus, we could use all the help we can get against Occrum.”

Vayle chewed on this idea. “We need to find where he’s being kept.”

I took Missy by the reins and led her toward the stables. “The time to do that would be tonight, at the festival. Drunk lips are the loosest, after all.”

Vayle grunted.

We put our mares in tie stalls and shoveled some roughage in front of their long faces. I jumped onto the ledge of an empty stall and had a seat, waiting for Silma to show us our new residence for the night.

“You know,” I said, “speaking of drinking, I’ve noticed something. You haven’t had a sip of wine since coming out of Braddock’s little torture camp.”

Vayle chewed on a long stick of roughage. “No. I have not.”

Hm. Vayle wasn’t exactly the epitome of a conversationalist, but by her curtness, it seemed this wasn’t a topic she wished to broach. So I said, “Well, good,” thinking that would end it.

She twirled the straw between her lips, took it out and regarded it thoughtfully. “It almost killed me in there.”

“The wine?”

“Lack thereof.”

“Ah. I hear that happens to some.”

“Only the worst of us. I seized. Rimeria was there with me when it happened. My hands trembled so badly I could not wipe the tears from my eyes without slapping myself.”

I watched her closely. Her attention remained affixed to the piece of straw, as if were her mouthpiece. “You don’t need to be there,” I said. “At the festivities tonight. I can handle it myself.”

For the first time, she glanced up from the straw, held my eyes. “No. I won’t let it control me. All I ask” — she drew in a deep breath — “all I ask is for your help.”

“I’ll knock a goddamn chalice of wine right out of your hand if I see you holding one.” I winked. “How’s that for help?”

She chuckled. “I think it’ll do. Thank you, Astul.”

“Anything for my commander. Funny how fate has brought us together again, isn’t it?”

“Fate doesn’t exist. You know this. We’re together again because of my own volition and yours. Had I come with you and Lysa, I very well might have perished on the journey.”

I kicked my feet out and allowed the heel of my boots to smack back against the stall, like an energetic child. “Maybe you’re right. But you know I don’t like admitting when I’m wrong.”

Vayle smiled. “It would be unbecoming of you. Hopefully you are not wrong about the need for your reaper friend.”

Hopefully not
, I thought. Although I had an inkling that Vayle suspected my desire to prevent Rovid’s demise was not based solely on a need for his assistance. And she’d be right. He’d put his ass on the line for me in Erior, to rescue my Rots. Letting him die and, according to him, endure an eternal torture in Amortis did not seem… well, fair. And life isn’t fair, not in the least bit, but you do what you can to make it fairer.

Silma told us that Gurtle and Hauditch offered us a room in their cottage. So Vayle and I slung our supplies we’d brought from the Hole over our shoulders and introduced ourselves.

Gurtle looked like my grandmother about a minute before she croaked, and Hauditch looked worse. I half-expected to have to shout so they could hear me, but their ears were just fine, and they moved with the flexibility of youth. It was then I remembered bodies here were only vessels. Mere aesthetics. I’d guessed Gurtle and Hauditch hadn’t been lucky enough to snag one of the fresh corpses Rovid, Lysa and I had brought over from the Prim.

As evening approached, the sky split open into a cordial palette of violets and blues. Bloated clouds departed, taking with them the rain. And soon, smoke billowed high above the buildings of Crokdaw Village, and folks paraded along the circular streets.

Fire pits were edged with smooth, colorful stones. Skinned deer were brought out on spits and positioned above the fires. Performers were dressed in brightly colored clothes and drummed on percussions, plucked string instruments and sang songs I did not know. A woman with long, thick hair woven into a tight nest held a pair of animal bones. When she knocked them together, they’d click in musical harmony, and those around her would clap their hands and swing their hips out, as if the music was an enchantment that commanded their souls.

“Astul!” called a hearty voice.

I felt a hand on the back of my shoulder and turned to see Taryl holding a wooden bowl. “Silma said you were here. Good to see you again.” He put the bowl to his lips and tilted his head back, drinking as much of whatever was inside as he could. A green liquid dripped down his chin and into the knotted hairs of his chest. “Ever have kashik before?”

“Can’t say that’s a thing where I come from,” I said.

“It’s to die for!” He winked and gave me a jab of his elbow, like he’d just told a knee-slapper of a joke.

I smiled, but quietly refused his offer.

“No, no,” he said, pushing the bowl into my hands. “You’ve got to try it. It’s a festival tradition. Go on.”

I took the bowl uneasily in my hands. The liquid was a thin soup of what looked like juiced cucumber, or maybe ground parsley mixed with broth. The hell if I knew. But it didn’t look appetizing in the slightest.

“What’s in it?” I asked.

“Just drink!”

A blur of fingers flashed in front of my face, and the bowl was snatched from my grasp. My eyes caught up to the thief just in time to see Vayle throwing back the bowlful of kashik. She wiped her lips, slammed the empty bowl back into the hands of Taryl and let out a satisfying sigh.

“
That’s
a merrymaker!” Taryl shouted, bent over and howling. “What’s your name?”