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Content warning: image of body horror.
Chapter 21
Micka’s gasp of fear wakes it. He scrabbles against the carpet, calling into the darkness with a frantic voice, “Metilia! Metilia, where are you?”
“Here.” It grabs the sparker and bowl of paper and soon coaxes a flame into being. Micka is shaking and pale and his breath coming in gasps. His hands are spread wide against the rug, like he was searching for it with his fingers.
“Oh thank the God,” Micka whispers, as it lights the lamp. He settles back on his haunches. “Thank you, Metilia.”
“I’m not Metilia,” it reminds him. “Are you afraid of the dark?”
“I didn’t think so, until now,” Micka says. He takes a few more moments to calm down, and asks, “What should I call you?”
“Death,” it says. “Or Death of House Kilcharni. That’s what I am.”
“But it’s not who you are,” Micka protests.
“Neither is Metilia.”
“Then who are you?” Micka asks.
He’s serious, which makes it think. It doesn’t want to be Metilia, even for simplicity’s sake.
It’s just a name, and it would make things easier for Micka, so why not?
Because Metilia is someone Silinie invented. I like her, but she’s not me.
“No one ever asked me before, so I don’t know.” It says as it picks up the food basket and brings it over to the rug. “We should have breakfast, now.”
“Can we eat it outside?” Micka asks.
His expression is as pleading as little Cilil’s ghost’s, when he stands in the kitchen asking for snacks. A wave of sadness runs over it, and it wonders if it will ever be able to look at people without comparing them to its dead. It says, “Let me check if it’s safe.”
Micka frowns “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Because the Death last night might have come back and brought friends.” It straps on its daggers as it heads to the door. “If you hear a fight, stay here until everything’s quiet.”
Micka nods. “Do you need the light?”
“No,” it says over its shoulder. “Wait here.”
There’s the possibility they will kill it, of course. They know it’s in the house, and most likely have figured out that it has the contract. Nothing is stopping them hunting it, except that it said it would go to them and waiting is easier. Also, the Death it sent away the night before probably told them about MIcka, which means he’s in danger, too.
So how do I protect him? It takes the servant stairs to the second floor and starts searching. No one is there. It goes through the house, then the yard and the carriage house, but finds only ghosts. Back in the kitchen, it picks up its servant’s clothes and brushes away the worst of the dirt. The blood spattered on them isn’t obvious, and while it won’t look respectable, it will be passible. It changes clothes and goes back downstairs. Micka is still sitting on the rug, waiting. It puts the flower weapons into its shoulder bag and says, “We can eat outside.”
Micka jumps to his feet and takes the lamp and food basket. The relief on his face makes it smile. The moment they step out into the morning sunlight, he heaves a deep breath as though the darkness was a weight crushing his lungs. It picks a spot in the courtyard where it can’t have see its ghosts and sets the basket between them. They eat up the flatbreads and meat and cookies until the last of the food is gone.
“What do we do next?” Micka asks.
“We get the weapons blessed,” It says. The other Houses are going to summon N*klabl’ch^gik’dm and use the Kilcharni bastards to show that this House still stands. When they do, I’ll kill the demon.”
“And then you’ll be free?”
“Yes.” I hope.
“How will you get the weapons blessed?” Micka asks. “Won’t any Silagh you tell report it to the church and stop you?”
“I know one that won’t, I think. I’ll talk to her.”
“I . . .” he hesitates. “Do you want me to go with you?”
“You have to,” it says. “The Death saw you were with me last night. If they’re watching us, and you return to the university alone, they may try to take you and interrogate you.”
The idea hadn’t occurred to Micka, from the way he pales. He swallows hard, and tries to sound brave. “All right.”
“After I give them the contract, you should be fine,” it says, in what it hopes is a reassuring tone. “They’ll be busy with the demon.”
Micka looks as if he wants to say more, but just nods his head and stands. He’s trembling again, but only says, “Should we get going?”
They spot no watchers on the way to the public docks, no sign of pursuing boats on the river, and no one waiting for them on the island. It takes Micka to the small chapel beside House Tishia. This hour of the morning, Silagh Lacinth is inside, leading prayers for a crowd of prostitutes and servants. They wait outside until she finishes and says her goodbyes. As soon as the last prostitute leaves, she nods at them.
“Servant of House Kilcharni,” she says. Her head tilts. “I take it you found help at the university. What is your name, young man?”
“Micka,” he says, bowing. “Student of Learning House Martyr Pelinol.”
“Good to meet you, Micka,” Lacinth says. “Is it a demon?”
He spares it a surprised glance before answering, “Yes, Silagh.”
She nods. “Come inside, both of you.”
The church’s interior is plain; an open, empty room with a simple wood altar at the far end, a dull, metal, seven-pointed star sitting on it. Micka walks in and makes the proper genuflection. It remains in the doorway, uncertain.
“All may enter here,” Lacinth says. When it still hesitates, she adds in a gentle voice, “Even those who have been told they are not welcome or allowed in other chapels. Come in.”
It stays where it stands, eyes narrowing and suspicion rising inside it. “How did you know I wasn’t welcome in the God’s church?”
Lacinth sighs. “The church watches all the Houses. It knows everything that happens, including the Cleansing of Kilcharni, and the sparing of its cursed servant.”
“You knew I’m a thing?” it asks, and its hands twitch toward its daggers. “Why did you invite me in that first day?”
“This is a chapel of whores,” Lacinth says, her voice still gentle. “My predecessor said that those who the church scorns need to understand the God loves them, without condition, no matter the words of his less enlightened servants.”
She walks to the altar, bows, and turns around to sit, facing them. “So tell me what I can do for you, Death of House Kilcharni.”
It’s a struggle for it, but it steps inside and sits before Lacinth. It takes the flower weapons from its bag and lays them before her. “I need these blessed so I can kill the demon.”
Lacinth picks one up and examines it. “I’ve not seen these before. How do they work?”
“After a priest blesses it, a flower blade can cut through demon flesh,” it says, bringing out the folder with the instructions. It hands them to Lacinth. “According to Micka, anyway.”
Lacinth looks them over. “It seems simple enough. What’s the name of the demon?”
“N*klabl’ch^gik’dm.”
“Except saying that.” She smiles, but it fades a moment later. “Have you determined why it’s hunting you?”
“It isn’t.” It takes the cylinder from the bag, opens it, and pulls out the contract. “It’s killing the scions of the seven Houses that made a contract with it.”
Lacinth reaches for the contract, and a small voice says, “Can I go now?”
Her head snaps up. It waits, knowing without looking that the flayed child has appeared. Tears well up in Lacinth’s eyes, and her breath catches in her throat. Her face turns grim, and she rises to her feet. Words of prayer and invocation pour from her lips. It looks at Micka.
“The ritual of rest,” he whispers before it can ask, his eyes on Lacinth. “Used to help the dead leave this world.”
Lacinth brings her hands together in a loud clap, and calls, “In the God’s holy name, I give you rest!”
The spirit wavers a moment, then solidifies and asks, “Why can’t I go? It’s been so long.”
It puts the contract away in the cylinder, hoping the child vanishes, but they stay, watching Lacinth. The woman tries twice more without success. She stops, wipes the tears from her eyes, and murmurs one last prayer. The child smiles at her, but doesn’t leave.
Lacinth takes a moment to pray before the altar, then asks, “Is it a powerful demon?”
Micka nods. “Yes.”
“Will these be enough?” Lacinth nods at the flower blades. “Even with you wielding them, Death? Would it not be better to have the full power of the church on your side, and have them banish the demon?”
“I don’t need it banished. I need to kill it.”
“Why you?” Lacinth asks. “Are you so desperate to revenge your House?”
It shakes its head. “If I don’t do this, my curse will kill me.”
Lacinth frowns, confused. “But the ones who cursed you are dead.”
“The curse still works.” It pulls down the collar of its shirt, showing the brand. “It burns, Silagh. Every day the burning grows hotter and spreads. And it’ll keep spreading until I kill the demon or the curse burns me alive.”
Lacinth’s lips go into a tight line. “The church does not allow anyone to summon a demon.”
“I’m not summoning it.”
“Then you know who is.” She sighs, blowing out irritation with the breath, and puts her elbows on her knees. She rests her chin in her hands and stares at the weapons and the instructions, then her eyes go to the ghost child. When she straightens again, her jaw is set with determination and anger. “I want to help, but I am bound by my oaths as Silagh to warn the church of demonic activity. So how do you suggest I do both?”
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