New to the story? Read Chapter 1 here!
Content warning: filth, violence, gore.
Chapter 24
The children’s muffled wails fall silent long before the last candle drowns in a pool of its own wax. It wonders if any still live as it once more tenses its muscles to stretch the ropes or bend the stakes; anything to break free.
It’s lost track of how many times it tried.
It desperately needs to sleep, to close its eyes and let everything fade, but its entire chest burns with the curse. Its body wants to curl around the pain, its fingers itch to rip the brand from its flesh, but the ropes make both impossible. Screams threaten to break free from its throat. It keeps its mouth tight shut, because once it starts, it knows it won’t stop.
It forces its agony far back into its mind and pulls and twists once more. The blood dripping from its abraded wrists make the ropes slippery, but do nothing to loosen them.
When its strength gives out again, it wonders why Ralleen said it was a bastard of House Kilcharni.
It imagines—or hallucinates; it isn’t sure—being a true member of House Kilcharni. Of getting raised with Silinie and learning in the classroom; of eating at table and receiving gifts on its birthday. Of having a name.
Stop it, it tells itself. A bastard wouldn’t grow up in the manor.
But it wouldn’t be treated like a thing to be branded and left in darkness. The House would let it have a name and be a person.
Wouldn’t they?
New tears fill its eyes. It closes them and lays still, breathing through the fire in its chest and gathering strength for its next attempt.
When its eye opens again, the crypt is lighter.
It raises its head and sees light spreading down the stairs. Steel clatters and feet stomp. Men carrying lamps and wearing shining armour charge in, swords in their free hands. They gasp in horror and rush to the children. A soldier calls, “this one’s alive!” and another, “this one, too!” A third soldier comes toward it, sword ready. It expects to die, but the man saws the ropes, saying, “You’re all right. I’ll get you out of here.”
As he cuts each rope, its muscles contract, exhaustion and pain curingl it into a ball. The soldier puts his arms under its back and legs, lifting it as though it weighed no more than a child. It leans into him and gets carried out into dim evening light.
A man wearing the ornate shoulder pads of a captain says, “Get them in the carriage. The others go to the healing houses, but the council wants this one.”
The soldier obeys and sets it on the floor of a carriage nicer than the ones Felcina owns. Two women in the dark grey jackets and kilts of council servants sit on the seats. Neither speaks as the carriage starts moving. It stays curled up, fists tight to keep its fingers from ripping into its own flesh.
The cut ropes remain around its wrists. It doesn’t have the energy to remove them.
The ride is interminable. It lays silent and still, gathering its strength. At last, the coach pulls up before the prince’s magnificent palace, now the ruling council’s chambers. The women get out first and one taps its leg. It forces its body to move, to uncoil and slide out of the carriage. It falls, still-clenched fists scraping against the palace’s marble steps.
The women offer no help as it gets its feet under it. Its legs shake, and it hunches in pain. They gesture it forward and flank it, matching their pace to its own. With slow, trembling steps, it climbs the twenty marble stairs.
Behind them, hands on their sheathed swords, come four council guards.
It has not seen the palace before. On the rare occasions House Kilcharni came here, they didn’t bring their nameless Death. The doors stand three times the height of a man, with bright brass inlaid in the wood. The floors beyond are polished marble. Guards in shining armour line the hallways. The council chamber doors—twice man-height and intricately inlaid with silver—stand open.
Now the women step beside it and each grabs an arm. Together, they guide it into a room as big as the entire Kilcharni manor, and higher. The shining white marble and gold inlaid walls rise to a high domed ceiling painted with images of rich men riding in a hunt. They chase a winged snake whose rainbow hued feathers glitter in the light of the many lanterns hanging on lines above. Long rows of chairs, twelve wide and twenty deep, stand on either side, creating an aisle that leads to a semi-circular dais, seven steps high.
There, around a long table, are ten red-robed men and women wearing gold chains and tall black hats–the councillors, representing the city’s most powerful Houses. Several are on their feet, yelling at the six elders from the ritual. The old men and women kneel before the dais, their wrists and ankles chained together, looking small and exhausted.
Beyond them, sitting in a chair between two men dressed in Council grey, is the mother from the first manor they visited to take children. She wears the colours of House Talique and looks both terrified and furious.
The councillors spot it and stop talking, their noses wrinkling and faces twisting as they take in its near-naked body and the writing on its torso. Several look curious, others angry. One stares like it’s something to wipe off their boot. Another councillor—a dark-skinned, dark-eyed woman—glares in fury and turns on the elders.
“This?” she demands. “This is the reason you chose to engage in forbidden rituals?”
“That is the reason the ritual was necessary, Councillor Davina,” says the Litarch of Felcina. She is old, her body thin, her skin wrinkled and her face marked with bruises and exhaustion. “Had House Kilcharni not needed Cleansing, things would not have come to this.”
“Bullshit,” snaps the councillor staring at it in disgust. His skin is lighter than Davina, though his hair is as black. He stands taller than the other councillors and looms over the Litarch. “Demons don’t exist. Your ritual was nothing more than a blasphemous attempt to gain more power among the Houses.”
“You heard our testimonies, Councillor Hahack,” the Litarch of Felcina says, “and the testimonies of those who witnessed the demon’s attacks.”
“I heard lies, made by men and women desperate to not have their Houses Cleansed,” the Councillor snarls. “A Cleansing that I move we vote on right now.”
Five other councillors shouts their agreement. Davina is not one of them.
“Execute us and doom the city,” the Litarch says. “The demon will kill everyone if our seven Houses do not prevent it.”
“Six,” says Hahark. “There are only six of you.”
“Seven,” the old woman raises a manacled hand and points. All eyes on the council table turn toward it as she says, “This is the last bastard of House Kilcharni, Councillor Hahark.”
“So what?” Hahark demands. “Declaring that shit-covered person a Kilcharni bastard does not absolve you of trying to murder them and six other children to summon an imaginary demon.”
Only then does it realize it stinks. It looks down at the stains on its loincloth and legs. It can’t remember losing control, and wonders if it happened before or after the demon slaughtered the scions.
“Sacrifice,” the Litarch insists, and pushes her chained hands against her chest. “We were willing to sacrifice our children, to forge a new contract with the demon and keep it from destroying the city.”
Their children? Something stirs in its memory, but the whirlpool of pain and confusion inside it carries the thought away before it can grasp its meaning.
“There’s no demon!” Councillor Hahark thunders. “They are mythical! Flights of ancient imagination and irrelevant to your defence.”
“No,” the Litarch says. Somewhere in the distance, the city bells ring the hour. “They are real.”
The woman in Talique colours lets out a deep, liquid cough as the demon’s tail-spike tears out her mouth and a dozen thick tentacles wrap around her body.
Chapter 24 comes May 16th!
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!