New to the story? Read Chapter 1 here!
Content warning: filth,images of violence
Chapter 27
It freezes, body tensing, fists clenching around the cloth and feet shifting to fight or flee, though neither is an option. The Trimagh and councillors watch it, and it can feel them looking for weakness. It glares at them, saying, “I’m cleaning myself. Go away.”
“They’re washing you,” Davina corrects it. “And you will listen to us while they do so.”
Humiliation and helplessness make its cheeks burn, just like when Talint ordered it to strip for his friends. And like that time, it knows it has no choice. It hides its feelings under an expression of uncaring disdain, finishes peeling off the filthy, stinking loincloth, and tosses it in the bucket. An attendant takes it and leaves.
It stands straight with its hands at its sides, facing its new audience, as the two attendants chosen to wash its body come forward. It hears them pour their water pitchers into a pair of buckets, but refuses to look. Their cloths touch its hips, and it tenses but doesn’t let the councillors see it flinch. With gentle swipes the attendants clean it, their cloths moving slowly down to other, more intimate places.
“Do you know why the Council allowed the Cleansing of House Kilcharni?” Councillor Hahark asks, as the attendants scrape the filth from its flesh.
It doesn’t know, but won’t give him an answer because it has no other way to rebel.
“Your House betrayed this city,” he continues. “It sent secret messages to our enemies about the city’s defences. Did you know this, Death of Kilcharni?”
Still, it says nothing.
“When Houses Tralique, Paskoni, and Glarin learned of Kilcharni’s treason,” Hahark says, “your Diragh ordered their messengers murdered, to stop them from warning the city.”
That isn’t right. At least, it doesn’t sound right, because it would have been the one murdering them. It tries to remember how many killings its master did in the year before the Cleansing, but can’t think straight. The councillors and Trimagh are staring at it like an animal in a stall, being washed for market. The touch of the attendants’ cloths on its body drive it to distraction.
The woman working on it stops and gasps when she sees the small hole that it has in front. She glances up, and whatever expression it’s wearing is enough to make her gulp and return to her work. The other bath attendants murmur to one another as they realise it is neither male nor female. The councillors crane their necks to see, while the Trimagh remains still, her face impassive.
I shouldn’t care who is touching me, or who is watching. It forces its face expressionless. Stripping in front of Micka didn’t matter. This doesn’t matter either.
“When you become the Head of Kilcharni, you will be responsible for restitution,” Councillor Davina says, “to the Houses and the city.”
Except that it does matter. Its flesh crawls with humiliation. It wants to scream at everyone to get out and leave it alone; to smash the attendants’ faces and make them bleed for daring to touch it.
“The Council will decide the restitution you owe,” Davina continues. “And the longer you delay this ritual, the greater that restitution will become.”
It thinks of Micka, cleaning its wounds. His touch didn’t make it want to hit him, even though the water was cold and the wound cleanser burned. Here, the water is warm, the cloths soft, the attendants gentle, and it wants to tear away from their ministrations and beat them to death.
Why is this so awful?
“If you keep choosing to defy us, we will take whatever wealth remains after Talint’s drinking and smoking and whoring,” Hahark says. “You will have even less than you do now.”
Choosing?
That’s when it understands.
I chose show Micka who I am, to take off my clothes and let him touch me. It looks at its audience, one at a time, taking in the Deaths with their bored expressions, the Trimagh’s neutral face, and councillors’ anger. They’re doing this to make me think I have no choices.
Its eyes land on the line of attendants, their near-naked bodies exposed for bathers’ pleasure, their faces expressionless. It looks at the woman and man diligently rubbing the shit from its flesh and realises: they have no choice either.
With its voice low enough that only the attendants touching it can hear, it says, “I’m sorry they’re making you do this.”
Both attendants stop and regard it with surprise. They exchange a glance, and then each puts a hand on it—the woman on its hip, the man on its back—their touch as gentle as their work. The man whispers, “This is their doing, not yours.”
There is acceptance in his words, and acknowledgement of their shared helplessness. Something inside it breaks open, releasing its fury and fear. It breathes deep and lifts its chin. The cloths no longer feel wrong against its flesh, because the attendants aren’t attacking it. The councillors are.
So how do I stop them?
If this was a fight, what would I do?
“Are you listening, Kilcharni?” demands Hahark.
The answer is: attack. “I want my daggers back. Master of Death Kileiteria from House Felcina should have them. And my bag and everything that was in it. Silagh Lacinth of the island church knows where it is.”
“You are in no position to—”
“And food,” it says. “And sleep.”
Trimagh Ashinitha speaks for the first time. “We cannot wait, Kilcharni. The demon is killing children.”
Children. This time it’s able to catch the thought it missed before and understand what it means. The ugliness of it turns its stomach. “Are they the children of the principal Houses?”
“What does that matter?” Davina demands.
“The demon kills the heads and scions of the Houses,” it says. “Tralique’s Master of Death told me. But Ralleen was alive for the sacrifice. He was next in line after Falleen. It should have killed him days ago.”
“What are you talking—” Hahark starts, but it interrupts him.
“When we collected the children, we took three each from small manors, not the principle Houses. Cousins and children of cousins. One was for the ritual. Where are the others? And the woman who died in the Council chamber was one of their mothers. She wasn’t even from the main line, so why did the demon kill her?”
The Trimagh understands first, and fury fills her voice when she says, “They made them scions to keep the principal House lines intact.”
Councillor Davina shakes her head, saying, “We don’t know that.”
“Then go find out,” it says. “And bring back my daggers and bag when you’re done.”
Hahark comes to his feet, his fists clenched. “Why do you think you’re in positions to make demands?”
“You need me,” it snarls at him. “I don’t need you. Stop treating me like a prisoner. Get my daggers and bag. Find food for me. And leave me alone until I’m clean, or I will let this city die.”
It crosses its arms and stares at them. It knows it looks ridiculous, standing naked, covered in filth, acting as if it is in charge. The Deaths in the room could put it on the floor in a moment; the soldiers could beat it senseless if they wanted. One order from the councillors would leave it locked in a cage, hanging from the bridge, and starving until it gives them what they want. But they won’t, because they need me to stop the demon.
Davina rises and walks out, tension and anger radiating from her body. A moment later, Hahark and the guards follow. Trimagh Ashinitha stands and watches them go, but instead of leaving, steps closer until she is standing in front of it. Her men follow, but a wave of her hand sends them back to their posts.
“Are you smarter than we give you credit for, Death of House Kilcharni?” Trimagh Ashinitha asks.
No, just stubborn. It doesn’t say anything, and waits.
“Tell me,” the Trimagh says, “how did you convince a Silagh of the church to help a cursed thing?”
This is a fight. Everything she says is an attack. It parries her words with, “Are they all right? Silagh Lacinth and Micka?”
“If they’re not, what will you do?” The Trimagh asks, a challenge in her voice. “What can you do?”
Kill you and everyone else who helped hurt them. But because it can’t do it right then, it doesn’t answer.
Trimagh Ashinitha nods, as if its silence is a victory. “When I blessed you, I touched both your curses. The one that makes you a thing will be difficult to break, but not impossible. The other, though . . .”
She leans in close, her voice dropping low. “The other is killing you, burning you from inside out. That curse will destroy you, and I’m the only one who can keep it under control. So I suggest you don’t make me your enemy.”
The words cut into its defenses, like a dagger sliding into flesh. The Trimagh nods, turns away, and walks toward the door.
It can’t let her have the last attack, so it calls, “When you read the contracts, did you see the flayed children?”
Without turning back, the Trimagh says, “I did.”
Her tone tells it that the cut landed. It tries for another. “Then how can you help the Houses that did that to them?”
“I’m helping the city, not the Houses.” The Trimagh stops at the door, and over her shoulder says, “We will speak again, Death of Kilcharni.”
She goes out, her attendants following. A tremor of relief runs through it as the doors swing shut. It turns to the Deaths, readying itself for its next round.
“Not a chance,” the closest says before it opens its mouth. “We’re here to make sure you don’t run off, so don’t even try.”
Nothing it says will change the Deaths’ minds, it knows, so it nods at the attendants, who come back to it and start once more cleaning its flesh. It closes its eyes and relaxes to their touch. The fight isn’t over, but it has its breathing space and time to think.
So what do I do next?
Chapter 28 comes June 13th!
Thank you for reading!
If you are enjoying this story and would like to support the author, there are four things you can do:
1. Buy me a coffee!
Whether a monthly membership or a single donation, your support will help me write longer, faster, and better. Also, monthly supporters get discounts, free books and more. Buy me a coffee today!
2. Join my mailing list!
Subscribers get first access to new chapters, as well as a free copy of The Trials of Abyowith, first book in The Stalker Chronicles. They are also the first to hear about new books and events, and have a chance to get free books. Click here to join.
3. Buy my books!
I have two great series, The Thomas Flarety Stories and The Stalker Chronicles. Pop over to my books page to check them out.
4. Tell your friends!
Share on the social media of your choice or email the link to this page to your friends. The more people who read, the better!