Chapter Eight
The wheels of the carriage rattled across the road, throwing up gravel that pinged like bullets off the thin wood walls of the cabin. The dimly lit interior of the cabin was a charnel house: blood smeared across crushed velvet, tears in the padding, and a disturbing spray pattern of buckshot across the back. Rae pulled himself onto the seat opposite his sister and put his head in his hands.
“Are you alright?” La asked. “What the hell happened out there? Did you do that? The swirling cloud and screaming voices?”
“I don’t know,” Rae said. There was blood in the back of his throat, and a piercing headache behind his left eye. His vision in that eye was blurry. He had to peel his fingers off the hilt of the sword, then shoved it behind his back. He looked around the cabin, blinking hard, trying to clear his sight. When his gaze fell on his sister, he stopped blinking and just stared. “You’re covered in blood.”
“Only a little covered,” she said, dropping her eyes. “And most of it isn’t mine. The guard took his job a little too seriously.”
“Did you . . . Is he dead?” Rae asked, his head spinning. His sister couldn’t kill someone, could she?
“It wasn’t me,” La said. “Mahk has no moral compunctions, it seems. Especially after what happened to Morgan.”
“La! What the hell are you doing here? You’re supposed to be back at the farm, making sure Mom and Dad don’t get curious and come snooping around my room!”
“Well, I . . .” Lalette caught his gaze and smiled meekly. “I couldn’t let you stumble into doom on your own, could I?”
“You could have gotten killed, La!” he exclaimed.
At first she didn’t answer. La started reloading the pistol, filling the pan from an engraved silver flask, dropping a ball and wadding down the barrel, ramming the whole operation home with the rod. The entire set was nicer than anything their family owned—from inlaid handle and silver-worked trigger guard to engraved barrel and mahogany shot rack, this pistol belonged to a nobleman. Or it had.
“La,” Rae said, trying to get her attention. When his sister didn’t respond, he reached out and took her hand. She was shivering. “La, are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” she said too quickly. “I’m just . . . It’s been a hell of a day. I knew you’d screw something up. If I hadn’t followed you, you’d be dead right now. Or worse.”
“That was you in the woods, wasn’t it? Following us.”
“With father’s scattergun, yeah,” she said. “Not sure what I was going to do with it.”
Rae looked around the cabin. The pattern of shot that singed the walls told a story. La followed his eyes.
“That was Mahk. He found me, a little after I came over the wall. We got to the theater just in time to see Morgan—” Her voice caught in her throat, and a wave of emotion washed over her face. She had never seen anyone die, much less by violence. Terror, then anger, then back to nothing, in the blink of an eye. “Anyway. We ran. Morgan knew about this carriage, knew that something was up. He only told Mahk, in case something went wrong. So we came here. And we took it.”
“Mahk took it,” I said. “You wouldn’t kill anyone.”
“I might. I still might,” La said. She glanced up at him, and for a brief second she was just his sister again, teasing her older brother while she chuckled. “I might kill you, for all the trouble you’ve caused.”
Rae let out a single, harsh laugh, then swept across the cabin and folded his sister up in his arms. She laid her bloody head on his shoulder and let it out, a little laughter, a few tears, but she hugged him back.
They were interrupted by a harsh banging on the roof of the carriage. Rae tumbled back onto the floor of the carriage, while La snatched up the flintlock and pointed it at the ceiling. A muffled voice yelled at them. La leaned across the carriage and slid open the narrow window between the cabin and driver’s seat. Mahk’s face scowled at them.
“We’re not clear yet, ya scrubs! We need to dump this carriage and find someplace to hide until things cool down!” Mahk yelled.
“Shouldn’t we go to the Bastion?” La asked. “Turn the carriage over to the houseguard, tell them where the body is? Surely they’ll care more about soulslaving in Dwehlling than a couple kids in over their heads.”
Mahk snorted. “You’ve got a lot to learn, pretty-eyes. The guards will lock you up as quick as look at you. And last I heard, your brother was an unlicensed spiritbinder. That’s worth a week in the stocks by itself. Throw in the rest . . .” He let the implication hang in the air.
“I know a place,” Rae said. Mahk turned to look at him, and Rae thought he saw a glimmer of fear in the big man’s eyes. “The Clevend manor, out by the orderwall. The family abandoned it months ago, when the last surge of Chaos pushed the border a little too close. There’s even a stable there. We can cut the horses loose, and stash the carriage with the rest of the abandoned livery. Even if they come looking for it, it’ll just be one more hulk in the junkyard. And then La and I are going home.”
“Fools, then. But not my fools. You’re free to go where ya like. I can find my way,” Mahk said. He turned back to the road, and Lalette closed the screen.
“We’ll be lucky if he doesn’t leave us with the carriage for good measure,” Rae said. “Mahk’s always been nice to me, but he’s a criminal. Can we trust him?”
“You’re both criminals, Raelle. He’s just honest about it,” La said. She put a hand on the ornate flintlock, thinking. Finally, she shook her head. “It rattled him when Morgan got shot. Bad. I think the two of them were more than . . . well, they were close.” Lalette settled back in her seat, the flintlock held primly across her lap. “He wanted to go in swinging. I talked him down. But he took that frustration out on the guard, that’s for sure.”
“What do you think he’ll do?”
“Not sure. But I don’t want to be anywhere close when it happens,” La said. She leaned back and closed her eyes. “That boy has a blast radius, sure as any bomb.”
Mahk insisted on burning everything, even the fancy flintlock. They pushed the carriage into what remained of the stables at the old Clevend estate, then dropped a bottle of pitch and a match into the cabin. The carriage went up like a torch, staining the stone walls of the stable with soot and filling the air with the sweet scent of burning blood. The powder flask and shot box went up in a flash, bullets whizzing indiscriminately across the sandy ground of the stableyard. Mahk stood watching the blaze impassively.
“That’ll draw the guards’ attention,” Rae said.
“Not this far out. Even a nice place like this gets ignored so close to the orderwall,” Mahk said. “Ask me how I know.”
“Rather not,” La said. “So now what do we do?”
“I don’t care what you do. I’m going to find the bastard who killed Morgan and give them a piece of my fist.”
“Button’s already dead,” Rae said. “More than dead.”
“Not Button. The guy behind Button. The guy who wanted no loose ends.” Mahk ground his fist into his palm. “Knew it was a bad deal. Told Morgan we should have nothing to do with it. But he had gold coins in his eyes, and . . .” The big man paused, swallowing rapidly. He looked away from them. “I’m going to find that guy and do something terrible to him. Then I’m going to lay low for a while. You should do the same.”
“Sounds dramatic,” Rae said. “I think we’ll just go back to being farmers. Safer.”
“No, you won’t,” Mahk said, shaking his shaggy head. “I don’t know who Button’s buyer was, but if they’re serious enough to be trading in soulslaves, they’re not going to take this lying down.”
“Especially not if they’re still looking for us,” La said. “You heard what Button said. Someone’s looking for a stormbinder hiding in Hammerwall.” She lowered her voice. “You know what that means.”
“Hammerwall has its share of exiled ’binders,” Mahk said. “Can’t imagine why. Nothing here but dirt and the orderwall.”
“And very few justicars,” Rae said. La elbowed him hard in the ribs, but Mahk seemed to ignore them. The siblings exchanged a look.
“Anyway,” La said, trying to move the conversation along, “we’re just going to go home. We’ve caused enough trouble for one night.”
“That you have. Can’t farm your way out of that. Besides”—he drew back and spit into the raging fire, smiling at the hiss of steam—“spiritbinders make terrible farmers.”
“I’m not much of a farmer, but I’m less of a ’binder,” Rae said. “I’m starting to think this was all a terrible mistake.”
“Now you figure it out,” La said. “Come on. Home, and then we can figure out what’s next. You can stay with us tonight, Mahk. Maybe help out in the fields tomorrow.”
“I can sleep in the rough. I’ve got a place. Safer.”
“You’ll freeze to death. And besides, my mother makes a better breakfast than whatever you’ll scrounge from the brambles.” La shouldered the scattergun, which she had reclaimed from Mahk at some point, and started down the road. “Gonna take us until morning to get home, anyway. No use you seeking terrible, violent vengeance on an empty stomach.”
Mahk hesitated, but did eventually follow them. Rae gave one last look to the burning carriage, and the mildew-stained walls of the stable, turning black with soot. The rest of the estate was slowly collapsing in on itself, a relic of a more glorious, more stable time. The world is dying. Rae had heard his father say it a thousand times if he had heard it once. How long until this place falls down? he wondered. The sluggish lightning of the orderwall hung close by, flickering in slow motion. How long until it all falls down?
Dawn beat them to the Kelthannis homestead, and with it a clinging mist rose from the ground, blanketing the road and surrounding forest in a thick fog. It reminded Rae of the storm of mists that had sprung up from the ground, claiming both Mister Button and his wraithbound slave. A gentle breeze turned the fog into a roiling wall of eddies, drawing faces in Rae’s imagination. He hurried after his sister and their taciturn companion, the murderous Mister Mahk. Lalette didn’t seem to mind the mists. Her mood was light enough, considering what they’d gone through.
“So it’s vengeance for you?” she asked Mahk. “Button’s dead. Who will you hunt down?”
“Someone had to hire him.” He shrugged massive shoulders. “Whoever this buyer was. That’s who I want.”
“Well, that sounds terribly violent. And it’s not going to bring Morgan back. You don’t have to go through with that, you know,” La said gently. “There’s no need to die for the dead. I’m sure we could find you a job. If not on our farm, then someone else in the steading. There’s always a need for another set of strong hands.”
“You wouldn’t understand. Losing someone . . .” Mahk squared his shoulders, staring sightlessly into the distance. “I have to settle the debt. Morgan would’ve done the same for me. It’s all I can give him. Besides, I’ve done time on a farm. Not the life for me,” he said. “Farming’s a dead end.”
“Getting shot is a dead end,” La said. “And that sounds like the alternative.”
“Getting shot is still better than getting stabbed in the gut,” Mahk said wistfully. “Pretty much everything is better than getting stabbed in the gut.”
“I will keep that in mind,” Rae mumbled. Mahk glanced at him over his shoulder, a wry smile on his face.
“There are worse ways for a spiritbinder to die, scrub.”
Rae hunched his shoulders and fell in step with his sister. She and Mahk were walking side by side down the road, a study in contrasts. Lalette had washed most of the blood from her head and changed her clothes. Why she had thought to bring a change of clothes with her on a rescue operation, Rae would never fathom. Mahk might not even own a change of clothes, for all Rae knew. He certainly looked like the type of person comfortable sleeping in shrubs and eating his bacon with a healthy serving of dirt.
They came around the final corner on the approach to the Kelthannis homestead. The farm was wreathed in mists, even thicker than along the road, which struck Rae as kind of strange. A column of smoke rose from the kitchen, straight as a pipe and just as black.
“Here we are,” La said. “Mother already has the bacon on the stove. There will be coffee, and eggs . . . assuming someone collected the eggs.” She turned to Rae, her forehead wrinkled in concern. “Speaking of which, we’re going to need to come up with a story, dear brother. Where were we last night?”
“La?” Rae’s eyes followed the column of smoke, the mist . . . the open front door. “Something’s wrong.”
“Come on, you’re used to being in trouble. Surely you have a dozen stories in your back pocket. Something to do with the Hallowsphere? A party of your ne’er-do-well friends—no offense, Mahk.”
“He’s right,” Mahk said quietly. The big man’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the farmstead. “Something ain’t right.”
“What do you mean?” La asked. She turned back to the farm, looking around.
The front door was open. The pillar of smoke was broader and darker than a kitchen fire. Something was burning that shouldn’t be burning. A glimmer of light came from Rae’s bedroom window.
Mahk plucked the scattergun from La’s hands, efficiently checking the pan before moving the hammer to full cock.
“Get into the woods. Stay there,” Mahk said. “Stay quiet.”
“Mom!” La shouted and ran for the open door. Rae was only a step behind.
The house was on fire. Windows cracked like gunshots as they covered the distance, letting smoke and flame escape. La hit the front steps at a full sprint. She disappeared into a wall of smoke. Rae couldn’t have been more than ten feet behind her, but he couldn’t see his sister at all.
“La! I can’t see! La!” A fit of coughing turned his lungs jagged. Cinders floated through the air in front of his face. Screams filled his ears—his sister’s screams. Smoke-stung tears flowed down his cheeks. “Mom! Dad!”
He had to clear the air. He had to do something.
Without thinking, Rae reached out and summoned his elemental. There was a moment when the spirit resisted him, but he pried it loose and threw it at the clouds of smoke. A wave of wind blasted out from his outstretched hands, scattering the smoke and sending a ripple of ash and cinder skittering across the floor. Rae had the briefest glimpse of the room.
The family table was overturned, chairs scattered and broken. His mother’s rocker lay in splinters. Ironically, the hearth was blazing happily among the andirons. The doors to their bedrooms were open and black with smoke. The main source of the fire seemed to be his father’s library. His books, the overstuffed chair, the small iron lampstand . . . they were an inferno, hotter than any mortal flame could burn. But that’s not what Rae saw. What he saw was his sister, kneeling in the center of the room, cradling their mother’s body.
She was dead. No question. Rae was not familiar with death, or hadn’t been before tonight. But Lady Kelthannis was dead. Her face was slack, almost unrecognizable beneath the ash. Her musket lay limp in her hands, cracked in half along the barrel, as though it had been split with an ax. She was still wearing her holiday best.
Lalette clutched her dead mother to her chest, weeping and screaming in equal measure. She looked up at Rae, and her eyes were torn between grief and cold accusation.
Then Rae’s windblast hit the burning library. Fire feeds on oxygen, and Rae was channeling pure Air, straight into those flames. The inferno exploded, throwing Rae onto his back, blowing out the remaining windows, and sending La to the floor.
Mahk’s strong hands wrapped around Rae’s collar, then dragged him deeper into the inferno. Rae struggled, but Mahk ignored him. Big mouthfuls of thick smoke filled Rae’s lungs, and his head started to spin. He was just about to give up, to accept that Mahk had gone mad and was going to burn them both alive, when La’s limp form came into view. Mahk looped an arm under her waist, throwing her over one shoulder and then charging out of the house. A burning timber fell from the ceiling, showering them with cinders and blocking the path. Still dragging Rae behind him and La over his shoulder, Mahk kicked the timber out of the way, bulling through the front door and stumbling into the yard. Flames followed them, clinging to Mahk’s clothes and singing his hair. He collapsed into the grass, releasing Rae and sending La sprawling into the mud. As soon as she was free, La stood up and began stumbling back toward the house.
“Mom!” she shouted again. Her voice was gritty and thin. Rae grabbed her.
“She’s dead, La! You saw! There’s nothing—”
Lalette twisted out of Rae’s grip and started toward the house again.
“I’m not going to just leave her in there.”
“You have to. La, all you’ll get is killed. And Dad—”
“Might still be in there. We have to try!”
“If he’s in there, he’s dead,” Mahk said, standing up. He stared at the house with sad eyes, shaking his head. “No need to die for the dead. You said that to me, didn’t you? Easy to say, isn’t it? Harder to believe.”
“To hell with you!” La snapped. “To hell with your clever—”
A rumbling crash interrupted her. The buried roof of the root cellar, about thirty yards away from the house, cracked open in a cloud of embers. A swirl of blue-tinged flame whistled out from the cellar, crawling into the air before it dissipated. Its last glimmer formed a grasping claw, as clear as if it had been painted in the morning sky.
The three of them stared at the ruptured cellar. Lalette looked around the yard, spotting the scattergun where Mahk had dropped it, and snatched it up. She marched toward the cellar, stock seated against her shoulder. Rae grabbed her as she passed.
“We don’t know who it is,” Rae hissed.
“We know it’s the guy who killed our parents,” La said. “That’s enough for me.”
“The guy who killed your parents, and then tore the roof off your cellar with a ghost hand,” Mahk said. “Behind the shed, both of you. If we can fight, we’ll fight. But I make that call.”
“They weren’t your parents!” La growled.
“And it’s not my fight,” he answered with a growl. “So get down, before I put you down.”
Mahk and La stared at one another for a long moment. Rae looked between them and the broken cellar. Something was moving in the wreckage.
“Dad might still be alive, somewhere on the farm,” Rae said quickly. “We’re no good to him if we die right now.”
La glanced at him and grimaced. Rae shook his head and ran toward the shed, grabbing her as he passed. She didn’t resist, but she didn’t put down the scattergun, either. They reached the shed just as the figure emerged from the cellar.
At first, Rae didn’t know what to make of what he was seeing. The man who rose out of the cellar was dressed like a gentleman for a masquerade. A thick red formal coat swept through the wreckage, with collar and cuffs trimmed in black brocade, and the insignia of the Iron College on his breast. Beneath the coat, the man’s body shimmered like gold plate. Pistons slid effortlessly across his chest, and his plated legs whined as he walked. Heavily armored feet sank into the soft mud of the field. The mage carried a metal box in his hands, and was slowly disassembling it, casually discarding the pieces. But what drew Rae’s attention was the man’s face. He wore a full mask, fastened tight to his skull, made of articulated gold. The mask’s face was expressionless. Carved bronze eyes swept the wreckage of the Kelthannis homestead. Rae ducked back behind the shed. La stared at him, her eyes questioning.
“Whoever he is, he’s wearing an isolation suit,” Rae said. “That’s a freaking high mage.”
The burning house reached some internally critical point, and collapsed in a plume of cinders and black smoke. The roar drew the mage’s attention, and he paused, watching the blaze. Though there was no emotion in that bronze-etched face, Rae felt he could sense satisfaction in the mage’s stance. Bile filled the back of Rae’s mouth, anger mixed with horror, and the urge to both run and fight. Lalette tensed at his side. Mahk laid a big hand across her shoulders.
The mage dropped the last bits of the box. Rae recognized it as the tiny steel safe that once held the shattered spiritblade, the same blade that hung from Rae’s belt right now. His mother’s warning whispered through his head. The realization made Rae’s skin crawl. Unconsciously, he reached for the weapon, his fingers brushing the cold glass of the hilt.
With a gesture, the mage summoned a blazing spirit. It consumed him, swirling around the isolation suit like a tornado of flames, whipping the hems of his formal coat and lifting him off the ground. The mage chopped one hand forward, and shot off in that direction, carried by the roaring elemental. Together, they cut a path through the forest, incinerating trees and leaving a trail of ash and ember.
The path led straight to Dwehlling.