Eldritch, p.38
Eldritch, page 38
At the bottom of the staircase, the soft flicker of a flame danced across the walls, where the sconces along the corridor lit the way up ahead. I scarcely had a moment to ponder who’d lit them, before catching sight of Aleysia, who stood staring into one of the cells.
“Aleysia?” I called out for her, my quick strides bringing her close enough to see the cold expression cross her face, when she turned to look at me. “What is it?”
I closed the distance in slow, cautious steps, until I stood beside her, and the sight on the other side of the cell door stole my breath.
Three dozen, or more, children lay scattered over the floor, their pale, emaciated bodies starved, bones sticking out beneath the tatters of clothing that covered them. The stench of urine and defecation burned my nose, and the rims of my eyes stung with the threat of tears as I dragged my gaze over their lifeless forms. Crosses had been painted in what looked like blood on the stones of the floor and walls outside of the cell, along with a phrase that confirmed my suspicions for why they’d been imprisoned.
May the souls of the innocent spare us from death.
They’d been sacrificed.
Left to starve.
Aleysia’s dress fell out of my hand, a cold shiver stitching across my skin.
The twitch of an arm seized my attention, and I stared in on a little girl, perhaps no older than five years old, who shifted against the bigger body that lay beside her.
I darted forward for the iron lock and tugged to see if it might click open. “Can you open this one?”
“A door, yes. Not that variety of lock though.”
“A lock is a lock, Aleysia.”
“Clearly, you don’t know your locks. There are fetterlocks, pin tumbler locks. That’s a warded lock. It requires a key.”
“Well, I don’t have time to search for one.” I took two big steps back until I was once again standing beside Aleysia.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Stay out of the way.” I flipped up my palm and called upon the bone whip. The glyphs scarred across my skin surged to life, glowing a pale blue, and the spine uncoiled onto the floor. Fingers wrapped tight to bone, I struck the lock, which clanked but didn’t budge. I drew back and struck again. No more than a dent. Again. An impressive fissure, but overall intact. On the fourth strike, it unlatched, hanging cocked from the cell bar. I recoiled my hand, drawing the whip back to my palm, and lurched for the door, tossing away the lock.
Once inside the cell, I stepped over small, frail bodies, careful not to disturb them, and knelt down beside the little girl. Pale as the snow, only a feverish blush colored her cheeks. In her arm, she clutched a ragged teddy bear covered in dirt and grime. Her dampened, dirty hair was darker than the others, and I wondered if she was a child of Foxglove Parish, or from somewhere else.
Tiny, abrupt movements on the opposite side of her drew my attention to a rat gnawing one of her fingers. The sight of it stirred my anger as I swatted at it. “Shoo! Go away!”
The rat scampered off, leaving behind a bloody gash.
I glanced around at the other children, noticing small gashes on their bodies, too.
The girl let out a weak whimper, and I slid my hand beneath her head, lifting her up just enough to rest her head against my thigh. Blood trickled out of her eyes and nose. “Mama?”
Tears wavered in my eyes as I held her in my lap, stroking her hair.
“Nalapox,” Aleysia said, kneeling beside her. “All of them must’ve suffered from it. She’ll die, too.”
“No, she’ll be fine.”
Aleysia reached for the girl, but I clutched her arm. “Death would be merciful,” she urged.
“Don’t you touch her.”
Her brow flickered as if I’d slapped her with an insult, and she glanced around. “Look at their faces, Maevyth. They died in agony.”
Reluctantly, I swept my gaze over the cell, heartbroken to find every child’s face contorted in pain. Through a blur of tears, I turned back toward the little girl in my arms. “I can take your pain away,” I whispered. “Do you want to dream?”
The little girl nodded, her blue-tinged lips quivering. “Cold ...”
My throat tightened, and I swallowed back the urge to weep. “You’ll feel warmth soon.” Tears spilled onto my cheeks as I stroked her hair, keeping my blackened fingers away from her skin. “Close your eyes and imagine your mother’s arms wrapped around you. Can you feel her warmth?”
The girl gave a weak nod.
“Does she sing to you?”
Again the girl nodded, the movement nearly imperceptible.
My voice faltered with the first note of Vayr mu dahlje.
“Maeve …” Aleysia turned away, but I caught the shine of tears in her eyes, while I sang for the little girl, gently stroking her hair.
“Stay there with your mother. In her arms.” I placed my hand against her chest and closed my eyes, summoning the death glyph to mind.
“Mommy,” the girl whispered, and her body gently disintegrated into dust, leaving behind the teddy bear that lay beside her remains. Before I could so much as whisper goodbye, she was gone.
A tremble ran through my chest, like a growing fissure just before something split open. Quiet tears slid down my cheeks, and I held my face in my palms as the agony tore through me. Somehow, the world felt heavier than before. A little girl, alone and dying, had broken something inside of me.
And I wept.
For her. For all the children who’d been left to starve.
Abandoned by their mothers and fathers, just like I had been.
“Come, Maevyth. We shouldn’t stay here.” Aleysia tugged at my arm, and I wiped away tears as I pushed to my feet. “Your hands…they take life.” It was the first time she’d acknowledged any of the powers I’d called upon.
“Yes.” A somber ache lingered in my chest. “I killed The Crone Witch this way.”
She sighed, carefully threading her arm in the crook of my elbow as she guided me over the small bodies. “I’m afraid she deserved it, the wretch.”
Ignoring her comment, I asked, “Did you see Zevander? Is that what brought you down here?”
Aleysia frowned. “No. Come to think of it, I don’t know how I got down here. I think I may have been dreaming of…father. I swear I heard his voice.”
“Do you remember the sound of his voice?” I asked as we stood outside of the cell.
She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Not really. It’s peculiar, I can hear Grandfather Bronwick’s voice clear as a bell, and he’s been gone far longer than Father.”
Father had disappeared a little over two months before I’d passed through the Umbravale to Aethyria. Had only been presumed dead mere weeks before Aleysia’s banishment to The Eating Woods. But it had been longer than that since we’d seen him last.
“Come,” she said, weaving her arm in mine again and waving me toward the deeper end of the corridor. “Let’s see if we can find something to eat.”
“I need to find Zevander.”
“He seems exceptionally capable of taking care of himself.”
“Were you not the one who worried about him last night?”
Aleysia chuckled. “I told you, I just wanted the bed to myself.” Her brow raised. “Did you fuck him?”
My mouth gaped at her crudeness. “Not that it’s any of your business, but—”
A cough echoed from down the corridor, and I froze, watching that curious glint shine in her eyes.
“No, I can’t take another life. I won’t.”
“It could be your lover.” She slipped from my arm and, to my utter frustration, scampered down the hallway in the direction of that cough.
“He’s not my …” Groaning, I swiped up her fallen dress and followed after her. “Aleysia! Slow down!”
Instead of slowing her pace, or heading straight, she turned down another passage.
I hastened after her, vowing that I would search for some kind of rope, or leash, to fasten to her. That, or lock her in her room.
The cough echoed through the stony passageway again, and I watched her peer into each cell she passed.
My blood chilled at the sight of the dark emptiness, imagining a time when they’d once been filled with those deemed heretics and witches—myself included. I wrapped my arms around myself, keeping my eyes ahead.
She finally skidded to a halt and stood staring into one of the cells, her jaw open, hands trembling at her side. “Father!”
Wary of what she’d found, I schooled my face to an impassive expression as I approached, studying the way her eyes filled with tears. When I finally tore my gaze from her, I turned to find an aged man I didn’t recognize behind long, straggly white hair and an overgrown beard. I’d have thought she’d lost her mind, if not for the fact that he looked too much like Grandfather Bronwick.
I stepped closer, not trusting my own eyes. The letter…my head battled. Signed by the king himself. It’d confirmed his death.
A lie. All of it.
His eyes. Warm, blue eyes that never once looked at me any different than he looked at his own daughter stared curiously at the two of us. His brows pulled together, and it was then I remembered the silver in my eyes and turned away from him.
“It’s just a condition, Father. I’m fine.”
“My…apologies for…staring.”
Through a mist of tears, I took in the scribbles scratched into the walls of his cell. Verses from The Red Book, if memory served me. “Father?” My attention shifted back to him, and his eyes shone with the kind of hope he must’ve abandoned long ago.
His expression broke, the corners of his mouth pulling downward into a look of sadness and guilt. Lip quivering, he opened and closed his mouth, as if he fought for what to say. “My girls,” he rasped.
Father!
Something bloomed inside my chest at the sight of him. It felt as if another broken piece of my life had clicked back into place. The universe had given him back to us.
“Break the lock, Maeve.” The urgency in Aleysia’s voice mirrored my own, as I curled my hand into a fist, glancing at my father.
“He’s probably going to be upset, seeing this.”
“He will have to understand, if he wishes to get out of this damned cell.”
Nodding, I closed my eyes, visualized the bone whip, and felt a weight in my palm when the spine clacked against the floor.
Father’s eyes widened, and he kicked back on the bed until his spine pressed against the wall. “Wh-wh-what is this?”
“Try not interrupt her, Father. She’s not entirely proficient at this part.”
I sailed a glare back at my sister and, noticing the white mist expelling from her lips, handed off her dress to her. “Would you like to give it a try?”
Aleysia chuckled. “Of course not, silly. I was just trying to ease the shock, is all.” She waved me on. “Proceed.”
“Hey!” A voice shouted from behind. “When you get his open, perhaps you might consider this one next.”
Aleysia glanced over her shoulder, and her face soured when she turned back toward me and whispered, “Ignore him.”
“Who?” I asked, and as I turned to look, she cupped my cheek to stop me.
“Father. Focus on Father.”
“Hello?” the stranger asked from behind.
Despite my curiosity, I didn’t bother to turn, but drew back the whip.
First strike bent the lock’s face.
I threw forth my palm for a second strike that sliced a divot in the cell bar.
The third cracked the lock open, and Aleysia rushed forward, yanking it free, as I drew back the whip. As both of us rushed into the cell, the horrific stench of body odor and defecation nearly gagged me.
Father pushed to unsteady feet, his legs unmistakably weak and brittle. “Red God in Heaven, I never thought I’d see the two of you again!” He reached out for the two of us, but Aleysia pressed her palm to his chest.
“Perhaps after a bath.”
He lowered his arms, and gripped his tattered robe. “I must look positively disheveled.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” she muttered, and I shot her a look of disapproval. While Aleysia had never been entirely affectionate towards our father, there was no reason to be outright rude.
I reached for his cold and wrinkled hand, smiling as I gave it a squeeze, and he lifted it to kiss my knuckles, then lowered it with a tender pat.
Glancing around the room, I took in the small bucket next to the bed, the discarded rat hides, and that of a larger animal I couldn’t identify from its remains. I swallowed hard, trying to imagine how he must’ve survived all this time.
“Has someone given you food and water?” I asked.
He glanced back toward the bucket himself. “In the beginning, yes. I was given gruel and water. The meals turned infrequent after a while. I was forced to collect the water that drips into my cell on the occasions it rained.”
Aleysia slapped a hand to her mouth. “In your urine bucket?”
“Aleysia,” I whispered. “Be kind.”
“Well, it’s disgusting that he had to resort to such measures.”
Shaking my head, I turned my attention back to Father. “When were you imprisoned? And by whom?”
“When I returned from Lyveria. I tried to convince Sacton Crain that they should leave the Lyverian people alone.” Gaze lowered, he shook his head. “I made the grave mistake of sharing a vision imparted to me by a priestess I’d encountered there. The end of the world.”
“Decimation.” I recalled the words painted in the nave.
“Yes. I thought for certain I’d have been banished for blasphemy. Branded a heretic. Instead, they threw me in this cell to rot, and I’ve been here ever since.”
“I suspect they left you starving when they fled.”
“Um…if I may…interrupt.” The voice from across the hall drew my attention to a stocky man, round in the belly and soft in the jaw. Despite the long, black, robe-like garment that looked a bit like a dress with its tattered, flared hem, I recognized him from the village.
“Corwin?” A cold hand gripped my arm, and I turned to see Aleysia clutching me.
“Tell me you’re not letting Corwin Grinsgaith out of the cage. He belongs there.”
“I’m letting him out simply because you said that.” I wrenched my arm free.
“Maevyth…his family is from Cruxmere. Port of Pirates?” The coastal side of Cruxmere was a fishing community comprised of what was rumored to be a bunch of ale-guzzling ruffians and thieves. Sacton Crain had once called it a city of wickedness and sin.
“If you imagine that’s a worthy argument for me, of all people, clearly you’ve forgotten who you’re talking to.” I exited Father’s cell for the corridor.
“Fair enough, but that’s another mouth to feed.”
“I…I actually know where there’s an abundance of food.” Corwin curled his fingers around the bars of his cell. “An entire pantry. Stumbled upon it when I first arrived at the temple.”
“But you’ll not tell until we let you out,” I said in a flat tone.
“Well, that is …. Yeah. No.”
“You see? Not worth the trouble,” Aleysia chimed from behind. “Besides that, he could be dangerous.”
“I promise I’m worth the trouble. Truly, you could eat for a week.” His smile faded for a pained expression, and he rested his hand against his belly. “And I’m nothing more than dangerously hungry. Haven’t eaten in days. Not quite to the rodent consumption stage, but close. Admittedly.” His brows knitted together. “Un…canny. Your eyes, they’re so silver. Beautiful, don’t get me wrong, but uncanny.”
“Thanks for noticing.” I tugged the lock on his cell, but like the others, it wouldn’t budge. “Tell us where this pantry is, and we’ll bring some food back to you.”
“No.”
“We could find it ourselves,” Aleysia argued.
“You’ll be discovered by the others before you do.”
“Others?” I frowned. “There are others?”
“Nearly the whole village. Or…those Sacton Crain felt worthy of saving.”
“Did you see a man wandering about? Tall, likely wearing a black cloak?”
“Hideous scar on his face?” Quiet steps brought Aleysia to my side, and I elbowed her in the arm. “It’s easily identifiable, is all I was saying.” She rubbed the spot where I’d hit her.
“I was probably asleep.” Corwin sighed. “All I ever do is sleep these days. Dreaming of food.”
“I saw a man like you described.” Father’s hoarse and gravelly voice came from behind. “Thought he was death coming for me at last.”
Finally, a clue. “Did you see where he went?”
He winced and lowered his gaze. “Tried not to look at him. Heard him say he wanted to consume me.”
I recoiled at that. “Consume you? Are you certain?”
“Good heavens,” Aleysia scoffed. “That is grounds for getting as far away from that man as possible.”
I sailed an exasperated frown back at my sister.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Cannibalism, Maeve? Can you fathom kissing a man who gets bits of human skin stuck in his teeth?”
“Enough. He’s not a cannibal.” I turned my attention back to Father. “You’re certain you didn’t see where he went?”
He shook his head. “Thought it’d be less painful if I didn’t acknowledge him there. When I finally dared to turn around, he was gone.”
“I could help you look for him.” Corwin pressed himself closer to the bars. “If you let me out.”
“Why were you locked away to begin with?” It was strange Aleysia would ask such a thing, given the reason was fairly obvious. While the Grinsgaiths were welcomed ale makers in the village, they were still looked upon with suspicion.
Corwin breathed a bitter laugh. “You ask as though Sacton Crain has any reasonable explanation for locking people away.”
